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For D.
Becca knelt on the tiled bathroom floor and gazed at the impressive bulge level with her eyes. The background chatter seeping through the door almost drowned out the heavy click of metal as he locked them in, ensuring their privacy in the single washroom of the coffee shop.
She leaned forward, taking in the musky scent contrasting with the smell of pine hanging in the air around them. His long fingers slid his zipper down, releasing his erection. He was long. He was pink. He was— “What can I get you?” The lady standing at the register tapped her fingers on the counter.
Becca cleared her throat and shook away the remnant of her fantasy. Then she whispered her five favorite words, “Grande, vanilla, extra-hot latte.”
Saying them had become a ritual.
Or rather half of it. Every morning she started her day with a drink and a hot daydream about Mr. Sexy.
The object of her obsession stood just a couple of people behind her in the line. His presence heightened Becca’s senses: The coffee smelled sweeter, the music sang louder, and the ache between her legs throbbed harder, exciting her to the brink of gasping.
She stole a glance over her shoulder before she took back her credit card. He was wearing his lime green golf shirt. Not many men could pull it off but he could, with his cropped brown hair and his chocolate eyes.
His lean frame towered over the others, making it easy for her to watch him while she waited for her latte. One simple glance had her visualizing his hard body lying on top of her and his strong hands creeping up her skirt, stroking her until she crippled over in orgasm.
“Grande, vanilla, extra-hot latte!”
The merry voice almost sang the last word.
Becca secured a lid to her cardboard cup and stole one last look. Her legs weakened at the sight of his sly smile.
Before she could melt into a puddle, she raced out the double doors into the cool office building’s lobby.
As she strutted across the
concourse, she tried to tamp down her sexual energy. She focused on the beat of her heels clicking against the granite squares. The fresh aroma of her coffee and milk pulled her back, sending her insides into another tizzy.
Her shoe clicked one last time before she hit the carpet. She pushed the plastic button with the arrow pointing up to summon the elevator. With a hesitant breath, she surveyed the lobby from side to side. Surprisingly, she waited alone.
She sipped down her latte and savored the sweet aftertaste, longing for another type of thick, creamy liquid to coat the back of her throat. She wanted to take a man into her mouth and suck, lick, and stroke until he rewarded her with his heat.
Becca still held hope she’d get to use the stash of foil packets hidden in her purse. All she wanted was fast and satisfying sex. Was it so difficult for a girl to get laid?
The elevator dinged. When she stepped into the car, she pulled in a deep, calming breath. She used her knuckle to select the forty-seventh floor then took position against the mirrored back wall.
She held her cup tight and mindlessly watched the small television screen flashing the daily news.
The silver steel doors closing her in came to an abrupt halt when an arm thrust itself in between them. Her breath caught at the small glimpse of lime green. She had often fantasized about this—an elevator romp with Mr. Sexy. Standing up, bent over, or on the ground. Every time her orgasm was quick and mind blowing.
He stepped in bringing the fresh aromas of his coffee and his spicy aftershave. After pressing his finger against the number thirty-two, he made his way to the opposite side of the car.
The moment he settled into his spot his eyes locked on her, sending a tingle up and down the length of her body. It intensified when he focused all his attention on her face. Her stomach fluttered, and she felt a rush of heat travel up her neck to her cheeks.
He rested casually against the wall, his coffee flush against his chest and his black dress pants hugging his tight bottom.
Boxers or briefs? She would probably never know.
They rode in silence, but his eyes stayed focused on her body. The slight rattle within the elevator shaft provided the only noise to focus on. Damn! Her body craved the touch of a man. Trying to ease the ache between her legs, she squeezed tight. If she could have his touch, just one touch, oh how satisfied she would be.
She was mid-sip when the elevator lurched to a stop.
“Shit! Fuck!”
It went completely dark before the soft glow of the generator lights illuminated the space. This couldn’t be happening. She braced herself up against the wall, her cup shaking in her hand, and felt the rise of panic.
“Please tell me this isn’t happening?” Of all the scenarios she could dream up, she’d never expected her first words to Mr. Sexy to be spoken out of terror.
“’Fraid so.” He approached the control panel and opened up the small cabinet.
He picked up the receiver and spoke, but the pounding of her heart drowned him out. She held on to her cup for dear life as the space closed in around her.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she spit out in between gasps. “Just a little claustrophobia, no big deal.” She paced the elevator with unsteady legs. “We need to get out of here.
Right now!”
“They said they would get us out as soon as possible.”
His voice was calming underneath the frenzy of emotions running through her.
Approaching her with caution, he grabbed her arms, holding her steady, and captured her gaze. “It’s going to be okay.”
She lost sense of everything around her. A different type of disorientation replaced the raging panic that came with her fear of enclosed spaces. A butterfly-inducing haze began the moment he came into close proximity.
“Let me take that. You’re shaking.”
He grabbed the drink out of her hand and placed it on the floor in the corner beside his own. She hadn’t even noticed he’d put his down.
She returned to pacing, her mind racing. “This is no good, Becks. This isn’t the way to start a new day. Not to mention you finally get to talk to Mr. Sexy and you’re acting like a crazy woman that just escaped…”
He chuckled under his breath. Oh, God! Did she say that out loud? Add embarrassment to her list of symptoms.
What about mortification?
“Is there something I can do for you?”
Sure. Two minutes ago she was willing to lift her skirt and bend over for him, but now she just wished she could be somewhere else, anywhere else.
“Distract me.”
