Текст книги "Roomies"
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Five
Work, Work
Leila
A couple of weeks have gone, and I haven’t kicked Dane out yet.
That’s not a testament to his improving manners: rather, my saint-like patience.
I’m walking down the hall at the firm right now, hoping Mr. Kidman isn’t in his office.
Every time I pass, he calls me in just to see if I’m going to take him to HR for sexual harassment this time.
To tell the truth, I would—the man’s a degenerate—if I didn’t know he was just trying to get fired so he could cash in his ridiculously bloated severance package. This may be the only situation in which I’m willing to put up with his crap.
I pass the office, but am immediately beckoned back.
Unfortunately, Mr. Kidman is one of my many, many bosses. If he wasn’t, I’d just keep walking and let him use someone else for his little game.
“Miss Tyler,” he says as I poke my head into his office. “You look absolutely fuckable today.”
“Did you want something, or are you just trying to make me think you have a less embarrassing package than you actually do?” I ask.
It helps that I can give as good as I get.
“You know I love it fiery,” he smirks. “Why don’t you waddle that juicy ass over here and pick up this file? It needs to go to Atkinson, so don’t suck any dicks on your way to his office. This needs to go out today.”
Okay, maybe I can give as good as I can get, but this jerk is so far past the line, I almost don’t care that one complaint from me and he’d get rewarded with a check larger than what I’ll make in my lifetime. It’s almost worth it just to have the man out of my life.
This is really a horrible position to be in.
I walk over to his desk and take the file.
“Now, why don’t you give me a little kiss,” he says.
“Try it and you’re going to find the business end of my high-heel embedded in your left grape.”
He just laughs, and I am so sick of it.
I don’t know if he actually thinks I’m enjoying this or what, but I do know that things only got worse when I told him to stop.
My only consolation is that my silence is causing him pain.
“One more thing,” he says as I’m almost out the door.
“What?” I ask; any tolerance I had left now gone completely.
“Would you mind walking out again, only this time with your skirt pulled up above that bubble butt of yours?”
Leila, don’t hit senior citizens. It’s not worth it. You’ll be the one to end up in jail.
Oh, but it would be so worth it.
“Screw you.”
As I exit the office, fully intending to just give up and get the prick fired, I glance back: he’s smiling and pumping his arm in celebration. Getting him fired is what he wants, but I can’t deal with his crap much longer before I come in here and become the latest office-shooting statistic.
And I’m really a very calm, nice person.
I get the file to Atkinson’s office. Luckily for me, he’s always been respectful.
The problem with Atkinson is that he always has a couple dozen things for me to do, and I’m not sure he realizes that I’m still an intern.
It’s not like I haven’t told him a few dozen times.
He tries to get me to make a call to the SEC and go over my monthly numbers as some part of our firm’s latest investigation that I still don’t quite understand, but I have no personal numbers to go over. To make the conversation go more quickly, I just tell him that it’s already taken care of.
He smiles, and I only end up getting coffee for him and half the floor, emptying his wastebasket, calling his wife to tell her that he won’t be home until after midnight because he’s slammed with work and then call his favorite drinking buddy to tell him that they’re still on for six o’clock, water his plants, place his picture of the Great Wall in a more Feng-Shui-friendly position, explain to him yet again that I don’t know anything about money laundering, but reassure him that I’ll look into it, tell him which tie is most appropriate for a trip to a sports bar and organize his stack of subpoenas by date of appearance.
This is my job.
And college was so exciting.
I stayed up every night before an exam to make sure I’d always be at the top of my class. A social life was a concept that I only became aware of in a sociology class, and then only as a study of human behavior. It was never a participatory topic for me.
Now, I’m the office bitch and this is somehow supposed to prepare me for life as a big time broker.
“Hey, Lei-Lei,” Annabeth says.
She’s the only one here who knows the hell that is this job. By that, I mean she’s also an intern.
“Hey, Annabeth,” I sigh.
“Bad day?”
“I don’t know if I remember what a good one is to make a suitable comparison,” I answer. “How about you?”
“Well,” she says, “I tried slapping Mr. Kidman, thinking maybe that would get him to shut his fucking mouth without getting him fired, but that only seemed to turn him on.”
“What the hell is it with men, anyway?” I ask. “I get that he wants the severance, but even in his position, with that much money riding on it, I would never treat anyone that way.”
“You and me both, girl,” Annabeth scoffs. “Smoke break?”
“Please.”
I don’t smoke, but going out on the roof with Annabeth is about the only time on the job where I can pretend like I’m making some kind of a difference.
Annabeth blows out her first puff before we’re out the door and I’m holding my breath.
“Have you gotten any offers yet?” she asks.
“Nothing yet,” I tell her. “I would say that I hope I can get something here when my internship is up, but I really don’t know that I could handle working in this hellhole for the rest of my career.”
She takes a drag. “I know what you mean. If it wasn’t for Kidman, I’d say we could make it work, but sometimes…”
“Have you heard back on anything?” I ask, walking to the other side of her to avoid the cloud floating by me.
“Not a damn thing,” she says. “I always thought that summa cum laude meant I could walk onto any job I wanted. Too bad everyone else had the same idea and we all moved to New York.”
The problem with Annabeth is that she tries to work how she got summa cum laude and I only got magna cum laude into every conversation. Still, other than Mike, she’s the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got in this city.
“Things still bad with your roommate?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe,” I tell her. “Last night, he came in at like four in the morning, drunk and knocking over just about everything that stands upright on the way to his room.”
“Well,” Annabeth says, blowing her drag out, “at least he was alone this time.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that every time he crashed into something, I could hear the chick behind him running into the same thing?”
Annabeth laughs.
“It could be worse,” she says, but doesn’t offer any proof to back the theory.
“I guess,” I tell her. “I wish that just once, something could go right for me in this city. Everything’s so competitive and everyone treats each other like dirt.”
“It’s not the city,” Annabeth tells me. “You just need to get out there and get your freak on.”
“My freak,” I tell her, “is permanently set in the off position. Besides, I think people stopped saying that like ten years ago.”
“Whatever,” Annabeth says. “I have the perfect guy for you.”
This is the other problem with Annabeth. She’s always trying to hook me up with someone, and she has the worst taste in men.
“My cousin just got into town and he’s looking for someone to take out to a nice dinner. He’s a really funny guy, and people tell me that he’s pretty handsome, too. He’s my cousin and all, so I don’t really look at him like that, but I think you two would really hit it off.”
“And now tell me what’s wrong with him.”
“Nothing,” she says, taking another drag. “Nothing’s wrong with him.”
Wait for it.
“Okay, I guess he can be a little impulsive, but girl, you know spontaneity’s the spice of life.”
“You said he just got into town. Where was he?”
“Upstate,” Annabeth answers, looking at her feet.
I really hope I’m not that bad at hiding things.
“Where upstate?” I ask.
And here it comes.
“Okay, he was kind of locked up for a little while, but the whole thing was just a total misunderstanding. He was drunk and thought the car was his!”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I do have a no-felons rule in my dating life.”
“Oh, like you’re going to find a good-looking single man in this city without a record,” she scoffs.
“I’ll take my chances,” I tell her.
“I’m done. You wanna play hooky?”
“I still have to go downstairs and help Atkinson write a speech for his son’s career day.”
Annabeth groans.
“I know,” I tell her. “Maybe next time.”
“You always say that, but you’ve never slipped out with me longer than a smoke break,” she complains. “Who’s even going to know that we’re gone?”
“Everyone!” I snap. “Every time you leave in the middle of the day, I have to pick up your crap just to make sure no one wonders why you’re not here. Nobody’s going to do that for me, and they’re certainly not going to do that for both of us. Maybe, with your summa cum laude, you might have better luck landing something if you ever did any damn work around here!”
I don’t know what exactly she said that pushed me over the edge, but here I am on my way down.
“Easy, girl,” she says, holding her palms up and toward me. “I didn’t know it was such a burden for you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing why I’m crying. “I just hate this stupid job and I hate this stupid city, but I can’t leave or else I’ll always be the one who couldn’t make it in the real world.”
“You think New York is the real world?” she asks. “Hell, you think there is something called the real world? Lei-Lei, you gotta calm down and realize everyone out there’s going through the same shit as you. None of us are going to land half what Kidman would pull down with his golden parachute and that man hasn’t done a hard day’s work in thirty years. What you’ve gotta do is learn to find some kind of happiness for yourself. That’s the only way you’re going to make it.”
“I’m sick of the platitudes,” I tell her. “I get what you’re saying, but going out there and hooking up with a car thief isn’t going to make my life any better.”
She laughs. “Fine, you don’t have to go out with my cousin. Actually, he’s not really my cousin. Joe just wants us to double with someone. Can you believe it? He says that when we go out alone, I just dominate the conversation and never let him get a word in. He tells me that I’m always trying to tell people what to do…”
She starts to trail off as I roll my eyes.
“Listen,” she says, “things aren’t that bad, okay? Yeah, we’ve got shitty jobs, but we’re working for a company that moves millions of dollars around every day. The whole economy can rise or fall depending on what mood the boss is in—yeah, that’s terrible planning on a societal level, but this is where it all happens and we’re a part of it.”
“Atkinson wants me to help him lance a blister between his toes.”
All right, I’m smiling.
“Okay, that’s disgusting,” she says, “but you know how good this place looks on a resumé. Hell, getting kicked out of the lobby will land you a couple hundred-thou anywhere else.”
“I guess.”
For all her flaws, this is why I love Annabeth. She always knows how to cheer me up when I’m starting to look at the edge of the building too seriously.
“There you go,” she says. “Now you get in there, and you lance the shit out of that old dude’s blister!”
I laugh. “You almost had it there,” I tell her.
“Took it one too far, didn’t I?” she asks, smiling back at me.
As I’m walking back into the building, the strangest thought comes into my mind.
I think it started as a way to comfort myself and keep Annabeth’s pep talk going, but the direction my brain just went is strange and I don’t like it.
At least I have Dane to go home to.
Chapter Six
The Building across the Street
Dane
She doesn’t really talk to me, so I can’t be sure, but I’m starting to get the feeling that Leila doesn’t like me.
It probably didn’t help that I only learned her name last week when I was going through her mail. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t caught me in the act.
After knocking that lamp off the table in the living room last night, it’s probably best if I don’t go home tonight. As I open my eyes and take in the gorgeous view that is this naked redhead, I think I’ll be fine.
“You know,” she says, pulling me down to her mouth, kissing me softly, “I never do this.”
They never do.
“Well, I’m glad you made an exception,” I tell her.
The next thing I know, she’s somehow pulled me down onto the bed, rolled us both so she’s now on top, and she’s sliding me inside of her with a greedy look in her eyes.
Her muscles wrap around me, holding me tight, and I kiss her neck as she breathes, “You feel amazing.”
“So do you,” I respond. It’s not the most romantic or clever option, but it’s close enough.
She leans back slightly, positioning her breasts directly in front of me, and I take her nipples into my mouth, each in their turn, drawing little circles with my tongue.
She leans back further and now I’m running my hand between her breasts and down the front of her body, her skin so warm to the touch.
“I love the way you fill me up,” she moans, and I place my hands on her hips, guiding her smoothly up and down my erection.
I meet the motion of her hips with my own and we move in sensual harmony, our only goal to bring each other to that release that just makes every problem in the world seem so trivial.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
She continues to rock her hips, and she throws her head back, her long, red hair flipping with the motion.
Her eyes are closed as she utters, “There’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but I’ve never had the courage to ask anyone.”
“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”
She leans forward and presses into me hard. She’s reaching for something with both hands, but from where I’m lying, I can’t tell what until I feel the cold metal around both wrists.
I snicker a bit.
“A bit kinky,” I tell her, “but that’s all right.”
“Shut up, bitch!” she yells and slaps me hard across the face.
I can feel her growing wetter, and I think maybe it’s time she and I have a little talk.
“I’m really not into any rough stuff,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says, pulling off of me. “I’m so sorry.”
A moment later, my hands are free and she’s sobbing uncontrollably.
I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m supposed to do here.
“It’s all right,” I tell her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“No, it’s not,” she says. “I’ve just always wanted to make someone my bitch.”
Okay, now I really don’t know what to say. I honestly didn’t think people talked like that.
“Really,” I say. “I’m fine with the handcuffs, but maybe we just don’t do the slapping or the name-calling.”
“Oh, what do you know?” she asks.
I’m at a loss.
“I really don’t know what you mean,” I tell her.
“You think it’s so easy for a woman to open up sexually. Well, it’s not. Everything we do either makes us a prude or a freak-slut. It’s such bullshit.”
I actually agree with her, but am having a bit of trouble expressing that with half of my face still numb.
“Why don’t we,” I start, standing up and discreetly looking for my pants, “just get dressed and talk it out. I bet it’ll make you feel better.”
“Oh,” she says, her tone changing completely, “so now you don’t think I’m good enough to have sex with?”
“I really—”
“No, see this is what all you guys do. The handcuffs go on and your balls just shrivel up because you can’t handle letting a woman be in charge for once.”
What’s the word I’m looking for?
“Seriously, if I’d known you were such a pussy, I never would have picked you up—I mean seriously, how do you get out of bed in the morning?”
Flummoxed: that's the word I’m looking for.
“Fucking say something, will you?”
I open my mouth, but can’t find any words to adequately describe my surprise or my terror in this moment, so I do the only thing that my body will allow.
I laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as soon as I can catch my breath. “Really, I am. I’m not laughing at you. I just have no idea how to even begin to approach this conversation.”
Her eyes start going wide again.
“No, no, no,” I say. “It’s all right. We can figure this thing out. Now, there are some things you want to do, some of which make me uncomfortable, some of which I’m okay with. What would be the ideal situation for you? Let’s start there, and I’ll tell you what will work and what won’t work for me. I’m sure we can find a consensus somewhere here.”
“I don’t know,” she says in a creepily normal tone. “I guess, when I saw your tattoos, I just kind of figured that you were into some freaky shit. Maybe I went overboard without seeing if you were cool with everything.”
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “Now, what would be ideal for you?”
“What I really want to do is tie you to the bed, ride you like a bull and, I don’t know…”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Just tell me what you want. That’s how we’re going to find a compromise here.”
My goal for the evening is to find some way to sleep with her and not end up with a black eye.
“I just want to make you my bitch, you know? I want to have you do what I tell you to do and maybe smack you around a little if you don’t do it right. Is that so much to ask?”
“Wow,” I chuckle. “You know, that’s a bit much for me,” I tell her. “Not that it’s weird or anything, it’s just not my particular cup of tea.”
I wonder what Yoga Chick is up to.
“Well, what do you want?”
“Me? I don’t know, I guess I’m a bit more old-fashioned when it comes to the bedroom. I like a nice, pleasant evening where we fuck like bunnies, maybe take a few pages out of the Kama Sutra and see if we can get your neighbors to file a noise complaint.”
“Okay,” she says, giving the situation the kind of thought one would put toward what college to attend or whether or not space-time is a fixed or mutable concept. “Well, I like what you’re saying, but I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“I can offer you light spanking.”
“Who’s spanking whom?” she asks, surprisingly articulately.
“I guess that’s really up to you,” I tell her.
“Oh, I’d definitely be spanking you,” she says.
I’m starting to get the feeling that we may be trying a bit too hard to make this work, but I’ve already put so much into it, I don’t want to just give up.
“I can live with some spanking—some light spanking,” I tell her. “But I’m talking with your hands. No paddles or whips. A riding crop might be acceptable, but that’s really going to come back to the force of the blow.”
“Okay,” she says. “I think I can live with that, but that’s still not quite enough for me. I mean, you’ve really taken me out of the mood here.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she’s enjoying this more than she was enjoying the sex.
Actually, I don’t know any better.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” she says, “you seemed to be okay with the handcuffs, but you weren’t okay with me slapping you.”
“Yeah,” I emphasize. “Not into the slapping. While we’re at it, I’m also not into either of us drawing blood, head-butting or any phrase that starts with donkey—just not my thing.”
“Well, you’ve got to give me a little more than some light spanking and handcuffs,” she says, her voice most of the way back to what it was when she uttered those memorable words: “Shut up, bitch!”
“This isn’t your first time with any of this, is it?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Most guys like to hear that sort of thing,” she says.
“Isn’t it funny the things we say to each other, never really knowing if it’s what the other person wants or not?”
“I know, right?” she smiles.
I feel like the term emotional rollercoaster is too slow a metaphor to capture this particular moment.
“Okay,” she says. “How do you feel about adding someone else? If you’re going to veto the fun stuff, we could at least switch gears.”
I lightly clap my hands together. “Okay,” I tell her. “That’s something we might be able to—”
“Yeah,” she interrupts. “I have a friend who’s a dom—”
“You know, maybe we should figure this out between the two of us before we bring a third party into the equation?”
“Okay,” she says and shrugs.
About a minute goes by in awkward silence with me sitting with my pants on but undone, her still naked beside me.
“I know!” she shouts, clapping her hands hard in triumph.
A few minutes later, we’re on top of her roof, she’s up on the ledge, leaning back and my arms are wrapped around her lower back, just trying to figure out a way to get through this without her falling.
Don’t misunderstand; I’m definitely feeling the draw.
Her hands go above her head and she leans back even farther. I have to move my grip from around her back to around her legs, but she’s quick to pull them together and rest them on my shoulder.
She’s not quiet, but that only adds to the thrill of the moment as I enter her, the sound of our skin hyphenating every movement as she falls again and again onto my hard, throbbing cock.
“This is fucking great!” she calls into the night, and I can’t help but agree with her.
I tighten my grip around her thighs as her legs begin to quiver in my arms, and as she erupts into screaming orgasm, I’m checking the windows of the building across the street to see if anyone’s filming this.
We’re in public, so it’s not really an invasion of privacy.
Really, I’d just like a copy for myself.
No luck, though. There are plenty of people nudging their friends and pointing but not one of them is holding a camera.
Lame.
I’m not much of an exhibitionist, but it is a bit of a rush being on display like this, bringing this gorgeous woman to orgasm on the very edge of the building.
As her contracting muscles relax again, I reach up and put a hand on her shoulder.
She gets the idea and grabs my arm with one hand and pulls herself up. Without a word, she hops down from the ledge and turns around, placing her stomach over the towel we set on the ledge—which, by the way, only made keeping her from slipping that much harder—her breasts hanging just over the side of the building.
A few drapes have shut in the building across the street, but even more have opened.
That’s one thing about New York: almost everyone’s a voyeur.
I run one hand down her back while, with the other, I reach around her front and write the alphabet in cursive, print and at one point, I’m pretty sure, Cyrillic over her clit with the pad of my middle finger.
She’s using the ledge as leverage to push herself onto me so hard that I have to hold onto her hips not to lose my balance.
“Say my name!” she shouts.
Okay, this is awkward.
“Come on,” she says. “I’m almost there again. I want everyone over there watching us to know who you’re fucking!”
I’ll be the first to admit that she’s a lot more hardcore than I am.
It’s not even a contest.
“I don’t—”
“I don’t know yours either!” she pants. “Just think of something!”
It’s not dignified and it’s not romantic.
I have no illusions there.
It is, however, surprising that the name that I call out as I feel that rising pull in my body is Leila.
It’s not that big a deal, I guess. She told me to call out a name and I called out a name. There’s no reason to read anything more into it than that.
“Oh, Wrigley!” she screams.
Wrigley? Really?
I guess it works for her, as I can feel the tense-and-release in her body as she grinds against me hard and that does it for me.
I come hard with an eager audience across the street.
I’m a little disappointed that I don’t see or hear applause, but as my body spasms in pleasure, that disappointment quickly dissipates.
“Woo!” she interjects. “That was perfect! I’ve never done that before.”
Once my orgasm fades away, I pull out and remove the condom, cleaning first her and then myself—for obvious reasons—with the towel from the ledge.
I’m naked and still hard as I turn to see the security guard standing in the doorway to the roof.
I tap my companion on the shoulder and she turns her head. She’s still leaning against the ledge, her arms fully outstretched.
“Wrigley!” the security guard shouts. “I told you to stop coming up here. You have any idea how many complaints we get when you pull this shit?”
I should probably feel more exposed or fearful, but I can’t help but laugh with the realization that the woman was calling out her own name from the top of a rooftop as she was having sex, basically in front of her neighbors.
This might just be true love.
