“How do we always seem to get on these topics?” A rosy flush spreading ever so slightly across his cheeks and throat. “I swear, you women are worse than any men’s locker room!”
“Oh, never mind Mike, just answer the flippin’ question!” Emma blurts out almost too excitedly, her green eyes gleaming as she awaits his answer.
Mike and Emma had worked together for several years and they had become good friends in that time; a friendship that was always easy and comfortable for both of them.
Michael Ferreira, tall with a muscular, runner’s build, pale skin, and eyes so intensely dark they often appeared black in certain lighting, dressed impeccably sharp. He was often the subject of office banter between the female staff members.
Emma Ryan, a fiery redhead with dark green eyes, a curvaceous figure and the stubborn tenacity which, like her hair, was handed down to her from her mother. Both are highly regarded in their respective field of forensic finance, dealing mostly in contracts from various governmental agencies.
Silence hangs in the air like a flag awaiting a breeze to animate it.
“Well,” he slowly sighs, wondering if he should entertain them or just head back to his office. “I’ve never had a problem finishing it.”
The women all simultaneously whoop and giggle. He’s enjoying this bit of schoolyard toying. He leans his tall, lanky frame casually over the partition that divides their workstations and decides to go on… what the hell.
His long fingers run absently through his hair, his speech slow and deliberate to emphasize his point. “Sometimes… there is an issue getting started.” He pauses, then continues. “What I mean is… Well, never mind. You’ll all just think I’m one of those assholes who like to brag.” With this, his full lips quirk upwards at the corners, exposing just a glimpse of his perfect white teeth below. Oh yes, he’s enjoying this.
Reading between the lines, Emma scoffs, “I don’t believe you.” Her hand waving in the air dismissively as she twists around in one of the secretary’s chairs–her ponytailed red hair swinging back and forth from the motion–suddenly tiring of this silliness and the near endless, blatant flirting from the female office staff.
“You don’t believe me?”
Emma does a half-turn in her wheeled computer chair and when she looks at Mike, he has his hand over his heart in an exaggerated, mocking gesture of being mortally wounded, though there is disappointment in his eyes. Perhaps he’s feeling a bit ganged up on, she wonders, or maybe because she isn’t just blindly backing him up as a friend should do. Like she would know, anyway.
Nevertheless, his dramatic demeanor makes her giggle in spite of herself.
“Mike, I know you, and know you are full of shit.” She laughs, spinning again in the office chair and ready to return to the analysis she’s been working on, and which is due the following morning.
From behind her, she hears Mike jest, “You want to see for yourself?” He knew she would back down then and was already planning to make her buy him beers after work for her insolence.
She was more tenacious than that…never letting a challenge get the better of her. No, her years growing up as the only daughter of five gave her a wicked tenacity. Besides, he was bluffing; she had known him long enough to know that. With forethought abandoned and arms which had crossed her chest unbeknownst to her, seemingly of their own volition, glaring into his eyes, she says, “Ya!”
Carried away by the moment, he begins marching toward the elevator.
Emma looks at her co-workers, who are all shaking their heads in unison…he was definitely bluffing. She decides to call her old friend on his bluff and starts after him. She wasn’t getting much work done at the moment anyway.
Determined, he hits the elevator call button. Alone in the hallway, they stand in mutual, silent defiance and after a moment the doors slide open with a ‘ding’ sound and they step inside in near unison. Mike turns to face the car’s opening, and Emma turns to face him.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looks down at her. “Here?” he asks, his face is serious but the light dances in his dark eyes. There is a playfulness and also, she thinks, a bit of uncertainty.
She scoffs, “Sure, someone may get on, but go ahead”. Noticing the lit elevator button, she asks, “The executive floor?”
He just glances at her in a sort of sideways fashion. A nearly indiscernible twitch briefly draws at the corners of his lips. Her heart begins to quicken its pace.
The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open with another ‘ding’. He leans through the open doors, poking his head out into the hall. He looks left, then right in an exaggerated, comically sneaky way, like a spy on a covert mission. Seeing no one, he steps out, waving her through with his hands in an all-clear motion. Emma follows him.
“We are not even supposed to be on this floor!” she rasps at him in a volume a bit too loud to be considered a whisper.
He doesn’t respond, just reaches out and grabs her hand in his as he continues to stride down the long corridor until they come to the end of the hall where the “executive lounges” are, a fancy name for the restrooms that were reserved only for the company’s executives. Since the cutbacks, the whole floor was devoid of employees and the executive team had taken to using the regular restrooms downstairs with the commoners such as them.
Choosing the door which had “Women’s Lounge” engraved on its polished brass plaque, he throws a glance over at her, looking for something on her face that will tell him she is backing down.
She returns his glance haughtily, still determined to call his bluff, and equally determined to make him chicken out.
‘She’s not going to back down’, he thinks to himself, smiling and shaking his head as he enters the forbidden room.
Emma glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is there to see them both go in, just as she is simultaneously yanked roughly inside by her arm.
“Wow” she mocks, observing the room’s upscale décor and dim lighting, a stark contrast to the sterile hall they had just exited. “All this to piss in! No wonder the company is in the tank!” The room is fancy, almost to the point of being ridiculous. Plush gray carpets give way to beautiful stone slated walls in grays and browns. Cool leather sofas in a coordinating, earthy brown at the far corners of the room with an over-sized plush upholstered ottoman. Beside them, another door, through which Emma assumes are stalls. Original artworks in sleek, modern frames hang over the stonework.
“Hey Mike, can you believe they have leather couches in here? Is this for real?” She says incredulously.
At his lack of response to her blatant mocking, she turns to find Mike standing across the room and watching her with his back pressed against one of the cool, stone walls. His dark eyes pinned on her with an intensity she had never seen in him before. They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Nervous butterflies take flight in her chest, her heart begins to thump and to her, it seems so loud that perhaps it would be audible from across the room. As he continues his lasered glare at her, she can’t help but wonder if he knows how nervous she suddenly is. Can he hear her heart pounding? Can he see the pulse in her neck? Does he know the reaction her body is suddenly having as those butterflies begin to fly southward, tickling her belly and settling warmly between her legs?
Get yourself together, girl.
“Well, out with it then!” She says playfully, her green eyes glistening.
“You really want to see it?” He asks. “Wwwe don’t have to do this. We can just say…”
“You started this, remember?” She asks, smiling at him coyly.
After a thoughtful moment, he says, “Okay then”, and with that, he widens his stance slightly and begins to unbuckle his black leather belt. He pauses again, searching her expression, then unbuttons the black slacks he’s wearing. He feels like he’s in slow-motion, still waiting for a sign of her concession, but there is none. He can’t believe what he is about to do. This has gone way too far and he should put a stop to it, still, he can’t help himself. There’s a need to see it through, and even though it’s gone beyond anywhere he thought it would, he’s sure she will end it soon.
After a moment, he is standing there with his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, his blue dress shirt still tucked in. He pauses once more, his fingers run absently through his hair again, but she stands in defiance with one foot tapping the rhythm of her impatience.
“Don’t make me go in after it.” She says, still determined to call his bluff. The words coming out of her own mouth surprise her, and his handsome face reflects her expression of shock and amusement, making her giggle.
She takes a few steps closer, then postures with one leg in front of the other, which is tapping its foot in mocking. As she looks at him in his current state, he appears vulnerable and unsure. Very different from his usual demeanor of quiet confidence. His dark hair, usually stylishly held in place with what Emma always assumed was some sort of pomade, is beginning to fall into his face, and she suddenly realizes he’s been nearly compulsively running his hands through his hair, as he does when he is feeling stressed. She has seen him this way on occasion, before a presentation, or when he’s behind on a project. He has taken his glasses off and set them on the granite counter beside him and fuck if he doesn’t look like the sexiest nerd she had ever laid eyes on, suddenly seeing her friend in a whole new light, her eyes and brain far behind what her body has been already telling her.
Slowly, he pulls the satiny blue material of his shirt from the front of his trousers, the cool material sliding easily from its confines, his belt’s buckle providing the only real sound in this place where the only inhabitants are each barely breathing.
As she looks on, he slowly rubs his cock which has begun to ache, just once, through the material of his boxers, which are also black in color. His trousers are now hanging loosely around his hips and he thinks, just for a moment, that he sees her tongue dart out and dampen her lips.
“One last chance to back down, baby girl.” He says.
‘Baby girl?’ Has he ever referred to her that way before?
Determined to win whatever game it is they are playing, he slowly slides the front of his boxers down and below his cock, which is now beginning to stand at attention.
Like a silly schoolgirl watching her first horror flick, she can’t help but cover her eyes with her hands. Slowly, giggling, she peaks out from behind her fingers, only to see that he is still covered beneath his blue, button-down shirt. In spite of this fact, the shirt is tented impressively.
Emma gasps. One of those embarrassing, against-your-will, out-of-body reactions that you want to take back instantly, but can’t. This man, this friend of hers, is a beautiful specimen indeed. How has she never noticed before? Without actually seeing his cock, she can tell that what he was bashfully saying was, in fact, very true. Not that she is any expert, but in life or in magazines, she has never seen a cock that could tent a shirt to that degree and she is sure that the petite girls he often dated would be a poor match for his body, and in that too, he was obviously telling the truth. “Trouble getting started, indeed,” she thinks to herself.
She clears her throat and straightens her back, still determined to somehow win this. “Well, I can’t really tell, your shirt is still covering you.” Her voice has suddenly turned from giggling, feisty friend, to soft sultry woman- surprising even herself.
Hearing the sudden change in her voice, Mike’s head tilts to one side as he stares at her. There is no denying her beauty. Her red hair seems to be glowing in the dim light and her ample breasts are straining against her blouse with her heaving breaths, making him stare at her chest.
His mind drifts back to the night he had held her in his arms, stroking that red hair as she cried herself to sleep in his lap over Andrew, the guy she thought she would marry. She was crushed when she caught him fucking another woman in his car, parked outside the local dive. To make matters worse, she had been out with her friends that night, so they had all been witness to the torrid scene. She had run straight to Mike’s apartment in the dead of night. He answered his thundering door, ironically wearing a Superman tee-shirt and boxers, and with a baseball bat in hand, only to find her flying into his arms, her high heels scratching his back as her arms flew around his neck, having kicked off her shoes and booked it barefoot through the city. Since then, Mike had been the only guy that she was close to, and he was just a friend.
He never did understand how that idiot Andrew could want anyone else.
Shocked by her brazen show of determination, he’s at a loss for words. He just stares at her as she awaits his response, words, or action; something.
She steps closer to him. It has been so long since she has allowed herself to be close to anyone and until now, she hadn’t realized how lonely her solitude has been.
Her green eyes betray her as they slowly scan every inch of him, seeing her friend, her very sexy male friend, in a whole new light. His usual intensely sharp, business proper appearance has gone in his current state of disarray, giving him an almost boyish air of vulnerability. Without even realizing it, she steps closer again, her body so close to his now that she can feel waves of heat emitting from him, without having to actually touch him. A soft node of his aftershave circles around her at this closeness, bringing her arousal to a fevered pitch beyond any rationale.
“I need to touch you.” She purrs, slipping her hands under his shirt.
“Wait…” He attempts to speak, but his mind is misfiring, turning to idiocy. His cock, now liberated from its confines comes to rest against her belly, but her focus now is on the man in whole. Her sharp green eyes are locked with his, which in this light, appear like churning pools of black oil as she runs her hands down both sides of his surprisingly well-toned abdomen, feeling it tighten as he draws in a shaky breath at her touch. She runs her fingers along the lumps and bumps of his muscular mid-section, her own heart pounding.
“Emma, what are you doing?” he breathes, trying to sound nonchalant, and doing a terrible job at it.
She steps closer still, so close that he can feel her nipples through her silk blouse against him. She says nothing and doesn’t need to. He can feel her warmth all over him now as she reaches her long arms around him, briefly touching the cool strands of his hair, her face close to his neck, just under his left ear.
Although she’s not wearing perfume, the scent of her is intoxicating to him. Her hands are flat on his back now, moving up and down slowly, her breath in his ear. She consumes his every sense. With every upward movement, he feels his shirt being lifted up and out of the back of his slacks, the heat of her palms, her heart beating faster against him. Her hands move upward again, and the remainder of his silky blue dress shirt liberates from his slacks. Down again her hands move, down past his waist, and into his pants. Her hands glide down and over his round, muscular ass and squeeze firmly as she pulls his body into hers, a small gasp escaping her lips, electricity running through his body.
He doesn’t touch her, part of him still wondering if she will suddenly laugh it all off as some sick prank, but his body betrays him as his breaths become ragged and his cock presses hard against her belly.
Raising her heels just a bit, she nibbles his earlobe. His jaw tightens and his body bucks.
She’s not playing fair. She knew that it would drive him wild; he had told her once over drinks that it was one of his weaknesses. She whispers warm nonsense into his ear, those sultry half-sentences that people say when they are drunk on passion. He’s half out of his mind, but from somewhere in the abyss he hears, “you are so warm” and “you smell so good”, making his head swim.
When she says, “I’ve been so lonely,” she crushes his resistance.
They are under each other’s spell now, their eyes closed, hearts beating faster and faster against the other’s body. Forgetting where they are, he can no longer deny himself the sensation of her. His arms reach around her, his large hands grasp her ass as he draws her tightly into him, bending to bury his face into her neck and hair, drawing in a deep breath. Her hair is silk against his face, filling him with scents of fruit and flowers and warmth. His hands run up her back and grasp her hair gently and she gasps.
Suddenly, he pulls himself back. Breathlessly he looks at her in disbelief as his eyes feast on her flushed cheeks, her heavy-lidded eyes and pouting lips. Desire for him blooming in her like never before.
He backs himself against the slated wall. Breathless moments pass as they gape at each other in disbelief.
The physical loss is too much to bear and she steps into him again and kisses him hard on the mouth, parting his soft lips with her tongue, making him groan as her tongue finds his, wet and warm, silky and foreign.
So very foreign. His friend’s mouth- Emma’s mouth and it’s exquisite beyond his wildest imaginings.
Her hands explore his body greedily, her fingers glide across his hard nipples, over the smooth butter-like flesh of his chest. He moans and leans his head back against the wall, looking to the ceiling for answers as her small warm hand finds his painfully stiff cock and encircles it.
For the first time, he allows himself to think of her as the woman she is, and not just as his close friend. A woman who has been his confidant in bad times and his Friday night movie buddy. A woman who had turned all the heads (women and men alike) at his high school reunion when he didn’t feel like bringing a date. A woman who had slept over at his house, in his bed, after long nights of too much to drink, and he had never touched her. Had never even considered it. Like a blazing punch to his head, he realizes that she is not only his friend, but his best friend.
Dropping his gaze his eyes lock with hers. He runs his fingers up the back of her head, entangling them in her hair. Her pouty lips are parted slightly, brow furrowed, eyes twinkling, cheeks now rose-colored beautiful. He leans down into her, his mouth almost touching her lips. She can feel his breath on her, sweet, hot, and moist. “I…” he begins breathlessly “I…can’t have just some hook-up with you…” “You mean too damned much to me.”
He releases his hold on her, allowing the tension to go out of his shoulders. His heart is pounding so hard and fast that he doesn’t know how he will survive it. He inhales and exhales hard in an attempt to clear his mind from this fog of desire.
“Mike,” she whispers throatily. Her glistening green eyes are locked with his as they threaten to spill over. He had only seen her cry that one night in all the years he had known her. “I’m realizing… just now… that I am madly in love with you, and probably have been, for a very long time, and if you don’t love me back, then that’s ok, but right now, I need you. I just need you so mu…”
Her confession rips at his heart. His mind is everywhere and nowhere as he cups her delicate face in his hands, silencing her mid-sentence. His heart is pounding in his ears, head spinning. “Oh my God,” he whispers so low it is almost inaudible, his face only centimeters from hers, his eyes searching hers intently. “How did this happen to us?” he whispers, his lips close to hers, as he lifts her in his arms and spins around, pressing her body between him and the wall.
“I can’t do this.” He says in a low, soft growl. “I can’t make love to you here…” “…I can’t… make love to you here”. He repeats, his eyes still locked with hers as they share breaths, both of them drowning in a lake of desire.
“It doesn’t matter where we are” is all she can manage to say, her voice and breaths ragged, before his mouth is on hers, lips and tongue mobile and pressing and searching. He is powerless in his desire for her. The scent of her warm body envelopes him, as the entire universe fades except for the two of them.
She is all he knows.
He slowly unbuttons her blouse, starting at the bottom button. When he has managed to get to the third one, he runs his warm palm over her belly, making her tremble noticeably. “So soft” he whispers to her and bends to kiss and tongue her navel, the sound of her moans drifting to his desire-buzzed ears on a wave. He opens the last three buttons with the ease and dexterity of an expert, revealing her beautifully round breasts to him. Her alabaster skin is complimented by her white lace bra, her dark peachy nipples beg for attention through the silky lace, attention he is waiting breathlessly to give. He slides his fingers along the inner edge of the lacy fabric, feeling her soft warm breasts, and pulls the material down, allowing each breast to bounce out, free of confinement. He takes a long look at them both, heaving with each ragged breath she takes, and decides they are perfect. “So beautiful” he whispers.
Hating her clothing suddenly, he hastily pulls her blouse off her shoulders, followed by her bra. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt, which Emma quickly pulls off his shoulders and down his arms. The tie remains loosely encircling his neck. He presses himself against her, flattening her breasts against him. “Emma, Emma, Emmmmma… you’re so beautiful… so warm… how did I never see it before?”
His fingers slide lazily across her nipples, watching as the flesh pebbles beneath his caress. Her body reacting to the barest of touches. He grabs both breasts firmly, one in each hand, squeezing them and biting her nipples like an animal, sucking and dragging his teeth across the sensitive peeks, making her moan wildly and clutch at his hair, his neck, his back as he focuses his attention on one breast, then the other and back again, frantic.
Back to her mouth again, groaning into her parted lips as she squeezes and strokes his swollen cock. Keeping one breast tightly in his grasp, the other hand slides slowly down her body to her hip and then to the soft flesh of her thigh. He feels her body begin to tremble and she breaks their eye contact, looking down. He releases his captive hold on her breast and brings his hand to her chin, lifting her face to look deeply into her eyes.
He kisses her with warmth and passion on the mouth once again. “Don’t be afraid of me” he commands softly, his eyes penetrating her. She can only nod in response as his hand slowly slips under her tight black skirt, his eyes locked with hers, feeling lace panties that are warm and very wet with her desire for him. At his touch, her eyes close and she whimpers softly.
“Open your legs for me, baby.” He quietly commands her and she obeys, gasping at the soft sensual sound of his voice.
He slides his fingers along the warm, damp edge of her panties, making her tremble again as a small gasp escapes her lips. “Wait,” she gasps again. He doesn’t stop, just gently rubs back and forth along that edge for a moment, and then slips his fingers under, and slowly slides two fingers into her, holding her as she moans in his ear, his own body shuddering uncontrollably at the sound. “So warm, Emma… so tight.”
Her mouth still near his ear, she softly whispers, “Michael” as electricity bolts through his body at the sound of the name she never called him by ‘… Michael… Michael… Michael…’ over and over again his name on her lips repeats in his mind like a sweet seductive dream.
The time and place are all wrong, but they cannot help themselves. In a single fluid motion, he pulls her skirt up and then slides his hands behind her again, lifting her up against him. She wraps her legs around his waist. He carries her over to the upholstered ottoman and stands her in front of him. He can hear nothing but his heart beating and his blood rushing. He looks at her intensely. Her hair is tousled, her bare breasts heaving with each ragged breath. His face is red and hot with a maddening desire for her.
She slides her hands down his hips, slipping his slacks and boxers to the floor, then gives him a light push on his chest and he comes down on the ottoman.
Face to face with her white silk panties and the dark auburn-colored shadow beneath, he admires the view of her for a moment. She is exquisitely voluptuous and all woman.
“Michael…” she whispers in strained protest. In complete understanding, he smiles up at her urgency before hooking his forefingers into the sides of her panties, sliding them down her hips and legs slowly. She steps out of them.
He wants to just stare at the beauty that is her womanhood, but there is no time for that now.
“Come sit on my lap, baby.” He says.
“Oh, God” is all she can say as she straddles him on her knees, his cock nestling snugly at her opening.
“Emmaaaa…” he whispers to her. “I know it’s been a long time…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me…” she pants.
His throat is so tight he can hardly breathe as he holds her tightly to his chest, arms under hers, hands in her hair, cherishing her as he nestles the head of his cock deeper into her hot, tight opening, groaning into her neck as wet heat washes over him.
There are no words to say, he can only feel as he’s pushing, pressing himself into her as slowly as he can possibly muster. It takes every ounce of fortitude to not just plunge into her tight flesh. Finally, the thick head of his cock penetrates her. Her cries, a mixture of lust and pain stream into his ear as half words melt from his lips onto her neck. He kisses her tenderly; stilling himself as her body slowly allows his invasion. He begins to move beneath her.
“Tell me if I hurt you.” He growls low in his throat as he works himself further and further into her hot flesh, pressing and pushing with slow determination, each tiny thrust burying his cock centimeter by erotic centimeter until finally, he is buried within her quaking body.
“Oh God, you feel so… right. Like you were made just for me.” He breathes softly into her ear, holding her firmly, savoring this first sensation, kissing her passionately on the lips, neck, and breasts, their hearts pounding together, her hands in his thick hair, his breath hot on her skin.
“Michael,” she whispers, the urgency back, her body screaming for action.
“Lean back just a little baby.” When she does, she cries out in ecstasy.
“Yes, that’s it isn’t it.” He growls through clenched teeth at her. “That’s the spot isn’t it.”
“Yes, oh yes!” she cries.
He slides his hand down between them, finding her engorged clit with the pad of his thumb, and begins to rub in a circular motion. Her head swims and falls backward with the sensation of him inside her so deep, stretching her nearly past her limits, his breath hot on her skin, his heart pounding desire against her, his fingers expertly dancing with the most sensitive place on her body.
“Oooooohhhhh…” she sighs, trembling in his arms.
Just being inside her with her body pressed against him, touching her in places he had never even dreamed of touching her before today, and listening to her soft whimpering sounds as she tries to stifle her cries is enough to drive him nearly out of his mind; but when she begins to grind herself on him, slowly at first – then faster, he knows he died and was now in heaven. Groaning his approval as she rides him with growing frenzy, rising to leave only the tip of him inside her then sinking slowly down again and again, over and over; crying out, driving past gentle lovemaking to urgent, bruising, blinding passion, deliberate and steady, her body so hot and tight around him, milking him past any glimmer of control.
“Please cum in me.” She pleads only minutes later, breaths ragged. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”
The words almost wreck his control. Feeling her tension increasing to the breaking point, he captures her face with his free hand, kissing her passionately on the mouth, imprisoning her gaze with his.
“I know baby” he manages to whisper just before watching in pure admiration as she plunges into the abyss of a storm enraged orgasm, her body rigid as the waves of pleasure crash down upon her. The expression on her face is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, throwing him over the edge of any hope for control, groaning deep in his throat as his own intense climax plunders him, body and soul.
Breathlessly they cling to the other as their bodies tremble uncontrollably.
“Oh, God…” she cries completely overcome, beginning to weep helplessly into her hands.
“Hey,” he whispers breathlessly to her, grasping her hands and pulling them gently downward. “…You’re hiding from me?”
When she finally looks up at him, he’s wounded by her sudden play of emotional distance. He holds her hands and kisses away her tears as only a lover can do.
“I don’t want to let you go.” She sobs.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes are ablaze with his newly realized love for her.
“Marry me, Emma”.
Shocked, she is speechless for several moments. “You don’t believe in marriage.”
“Be my wife.”
Emma’s eyes pierce his, “Mike, I know you, and know you are full of shit.”
Smiling, he eyes her carefully. “You want to see for yourself?”
Sniffing, she glares into his eyes, and says, “Ya!”
Copyright Ess Hughes 2016 – All Rights Reserved