I didn't sleep again last night, so I come in early and there’s no one else here. I hang up my jacket and go into the kitchen to start the coffee but it’s already on, and I jump as the door to the ladies’ room swings open and it’s her, eyes puffy from crying because of some asinine thing he’s done to her (again), and she simply walks into my arms and buries her face in my chest.
I hold her, and gently stroke her back and lightly rub my lips on her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and I’m so tired that I don’t realize what’s happening or what I'm feeling and when she notices I’m hard, I’m so embarrassed that I pull away, but she pulls me back to her, and looks into my face and I’m not able to look away from her shining eyes and she slides her hand down my ribs and stops at my belt.
Oh God. I want her to touch me. I want her to feel my want. My cock is so swollen it feels like it’s going to rip open. It hurts to be this hard. I can’t think of anything but her small hand around my shaft and her eyes looking into mine as she starts to understand the depth of my need for her. Her lips are trembling and her tongue darts out to wet them and it’s like I’m hypnotized and can’t move.
“I can’t sleep.” I croak.
Her eyes shift from confused curiosity tinged with fear to concern in a blink. Her hand hasn’t moved from its spot at my waist.
“I can’t eat.” My throat feels raw and inflamed as I squeeze out the words.
Her expression deepens into worry but she says nothing and I can’t stop my lips from moving.
“You’re all I think about. I dream about touching you. I dream about your skin every night. And your eyes. And I think about the smell of your hair and how it would feel to run my hands through it—”
“Do it.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“What?” I can’t be hearing her right.
“Do it. Touch me.” She looks terrified, her eyes huge.
I shake my head like an epileptic. It’s the only part of my body I can move. No no no no no no nooo…
“Now. Touch me now.” Her eyes are changing color. The terror is gone. She looks…hungry.
My hand feels like it weighs a million pounds. It takes forever to hoist it the enormous distance from my side to her face.
As my fingertips graze her cheek, it's like being struck by lightning. She closes her eyes and sighs, her mouth dropping open slightly. I almost lose consciousness from the sensation.
My other hand weightlessly floats up to her other cheek. I lightly stroke the contours of her jaw, her chin, her hairline. Her eyes open slowly and they’re like molten metal, searing through me. Her breath is coming faster, and the hand that’s been hanging on my belt slips off, traveling so slowly down that I start to swoon. She licks her lips again and I’m staring at her mouth, almost choking on the saliva that’s flooding mine.
“I feel it when you look at me.” Her voice sounds like she’s strangling. “I feel it here.” She gently takes my hand from her face and guides it down to her stomach, just below the waistband of her skirt. “It’s like something alive. It gets tight and it hurts…”
“I never want to hurt—“
She lays the tips of her fingers against my lips to shush me and guides my hand further down and presses it against her slight mound. “I feel it here, too.”
My knees give out and I crumple to the floor at her feet, my hand captive in hers, my fingers on fire, my head bowed against her knees, still shaking back and forth in denial of this. She lays her hand on my head, gently gripping my hair, pushing my head back to look at my face.
“Show me.” She says, and my vision blurs with tears.
“I can’t. You’re…” the pain in my chest is unbearable.
“Show me. Please.”
I shake my head and with every ounce of strength I have, I push myself to stand, her hand slipping from my hair to my face.
“You don’t belong to me, Pam. I can’t. I won’t.” I have to get out of here. I have to breathe. I push her hand away and I move for the door when she grabs my arm, her strength shocking.
“No.” Her eyes are full of purpose and intensity and I can see anger in there, too. “I’m done.” Her breathing is coming even faster now. I can even hear the air moving in and out of her. I feel my erection strain against the material of my slacks as her hand shifts further down my arm to my wrist. “Show me.”
She’s completely serious and my brain is screaming at my legs to move, but her other arm moves towards me and she delicately brushes the back of her hand against the seam of my zipper. My hair stands on end and my eyes roll back into my head. I can’t believe this is happening. She’s stroking me so lightly and slowly that I'm going to explode and I can’t let that happen.
I wrench her hand away before I know what I’m doing. I’m gripping her wrist harder than necessary, but I can barely control any of my own muscles and my cock is spasming.
I look her in the eye, finding my voice and my anger and frustration all at the same time. “You want me.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.” She whispers it, but it’s clear and she’s nodding slowly.
I can barely breathe. “I will not let you go if I have you," I hiss. "Ever. Do you understand me?”
She nods again, gulping air, breathing raggedly.
“Good MORRRGANNNN!” Michael’s voice rips through us. I drop her hand like it's burned me. We’re staring at each other, chests heaving, as Michael bursts through the kitchen door.
“Hey guys! You’re here early! And coffee’s already a-brewing! Way to make my morning!” He grabs his cup from the dish rack and fills it, oblivious to the showdown. “Pam, when you’re ready, I need you.” He sails back out into the office.
We’re still staring at each other. On any other day, we’d both be grinning at Michael’s utter lack of awareness. But this day…this day is…something else.
“We’re not finished.” I grunt, and brush past her into the men’s room without waiting for her answer, but I see her nod again in my peripheral vision.
I plunge toward the sink, and shove my entire head under the tap.
