FIVE
TINY LOOKS EXHAUSTED WHEN I arrive home. We eat a subdued meal, and she doesn’t begin talking until we’re in the living room enjoying a little after dinner wine.
“I feel like a fool complaining about how tired I am when my ass was stuck in a chair the whole day,” she says. I set my glass on the table and gesture for her to turn around so I can rub her tense shoulder muscles.
“Exerting a lot of energy is exhausting. Doesn’t matter if it is physical, mental, or emotional.”
“I used to bike sixty miles a day, and I never felt like this.” Groaning, she dips her head forward in a wordless gesture to continue.
Giving her a gentle push forward, I help her into a prone position on the long sectional cushions in the living room. “Let me help you.”
She lies there while I unfasten her pants and remove her shirt.
“I don’t think being Jake’s dispatcher is the right thing for me. I’m making so many errors taking messages and my notes are filled with pictures because it takes me more time to write out a word, but it’s like forcing everyone to play Pictionary with me. I feel stupid. I hate that feeling.”
I avoid the topic of her previous job as a bike courier. “Give it some time. You’ve only been there a few weeks.”
She grunts her disgust into the cushion but allows me to unhook her bra, a lemon-yellow confection of lace and silk. My hands smooth over the curve of her shoulders and down over the blades into the hollow of her spine. She has a few dark freckles on her back and a mole halfway down on the right side.
I follow the line of her ribs from the back around to her side and try to rub away her tension with light pressure. Gradually she begins to relax, her limbs loosening and her breathing evening out. I remove her panties so that I can rub her ass better.
“Sorry for complaining,” she mumbles.
“I hear no complaints.” I lean over and press a kiss against a bare shoulder. “Just my woman sharing her day with me.”
Besides, I think, how can I fix what’s wrong if she doesn’t tell me her troubles?
“Do you plan on doing anything else now that I’m all naked and relaxed?”
My lips curve against her skin. “I have many plans for you.”
I allow my fingers to brush the roundness of her br**sts and sweep over the apples of her ass cheeks in feather-light strokes until she’s squirming beneath me, trying to turn over. But my weight pins her down.
“I’d like you to execute those plans now,” she says, and by this time, her breathing isn’t as even or as deep.
I slide my fingers between her legs. “Let’s see if you’re ready.” Liquid heat greets me, and we both moan as I slide two fingers inside her. Her ass rises to allow me greater access, and the tight rosette of her ass**le peeks at me from between her round cheeks.
I drag my thumb down the crevice to her pucker and circle it. “Someday, bunny, I’m going to take you here.”
“I don’t know,” she begins, lowering her hips as if to hide from me, but I lift her back up as I stroke her tight cunt.
“You’ll like it.” My thumb dips inside the little hole and I feel her walls close around me, sucking me instinctively.
Slowly I begin to f**k her with my fingers, lightly in the ass and more forcefully in her pu**y. “Touch yourself, bunny,” I order.
Her hand dips between her legs to work her clit and it takes almost no time before her orgasm is upon her.
“Oh, f**kkkk,” she moans as we stroke together toward her finish. Her cunt walls are like a vise on my fingers, making me use more force to plunge in and out of her. She barely notices that my thumb is knuckle-deep in her ass. My c**k is hard and aching behind the wool and cotton barrier of my clothes.
“Come on, bunny. Let it go.” I curl my thumb downward and she explodes like a rocket.
“God, oh God!” she shouts. Her ass pushes hard against my hand and then I’m drenched with her come.
I pull her into my lap, wiping my hands on my abandoned suit coat. Thousand-dollar suit serving as a post-coitus serviette? Sounds about right.
“Shh, bunny,” I croon, rocking her a bit as she shakes and shudders in post-orgasmic delight. “Liked that, did you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was the pre-fingering massage that did it,” she snarks back, gulping in air.
“Maybe,” I say. “Let’s go upstairs now. My c**k may break in half if it doesn’t get some attention.”
“We can’t have that.”
I take special care not to overwork her that evening so that I can start the next day off right. This time we share a shower in the morning, and my smug smile sits on my face until I arrive at the office.
“YOU HAVE AN UNSCHEDULED VISITOR.” Rose informs me when I arrive. She does not like unscheduled visitors. Her strict adherence to routine is what makes her a great assistant. “He said you’d want to see him.”
She hands me a card. It isn’t a business card but rather a calling card with the name MITCH HEDDER in a bold but old-fashioned font. Underneath his name, the lettering reads “purveyor of fine things.”
What a f**king tool. “He’s right,” I answer. “I’ll see him today, but from here on out, he’ll need an appointment.”
She smiles in satisfaction, and I leave the card on her desk to throw away. Rose has placed Mitch in the large conference room down the hall from my office. The table seats thirteen, six on either side, with my chair at the head. Unlike my office, this room is modern with a glass-topped steel table and white leather Herman Miller chairs. One side of the room is paneled in walnut and the other is a bay of windows overlooking the Hudson.
Body language is as important as any words being voiced, and the glass-topped conference table prevents my guests from hiding their reactions under a layer of wood. With the clear table surface, I can view every leg twitch and hand wring.
Mitch Hedder must realize this, because he’s not sitting. Instead, his hands are tucked into the pockets of his tan dress slacks and his back is turned. I can’t read his expression or observe his hands, but I can see the determined set of his shoulders. He’s tense and his legs are slightly braced apart. There’s no question that he’s looking at the door, watching for me.
“Mr. Hedder,” I say, entering. I pull out the seat at the head of the table and sit down. He can stand like a lackey or sit below me. Either way I’m in control, and as a bonus, I don’t have to shake his hand. With a wave, I gesture for him to sit.