He wanted to kill Dwight. He really, really had the urge to just get up and wrap his hands around his neck. Just looking at him brought to mind Ally McBeal-like fantasies of throttling the man until his head popped like a three-day-old birthday balloon, sending confetti or whatever was in that bulbous, idiotic head of his flying throughout the office.
Hours had passed since his insult to Pam's talent, but the rage in Jim's skull hadn't dulled at all.
Killing Dwight wouldn't solve anything, though, he rationalised. So instead, he watched the last seconds before five wind down.
The second hand was barely on the five when the front door swung closed and Jim was out of the building. He didn't notice - or at least chose to ignore - Dwight yelling that it wasn't officially time to leave yet because Michael was still in the office with paperwork.
Fishing through his bag for his car keys, he pushed out of the building and started across the parking lot. When he looked up, he was sure he wasn't actually seeing what he was seeing. Michael had hit him with his car, or Dwight had tackled him and knocked him down the stairs. It was a hallucination brought on by massive blunt trauma to the head. It had to be.
But when she smiled, when the words "I'm coming back the wrong way" filled his ears, he knew it was real - she was real. She looked like an angel, copper hair lit by the fading sun, eyes shining with love, lips curved in a deceptive smile.
Jim saw her speaking, but if he had to be honest, he barely heard a word she said. Instead, he moved purposefully towards her, inch by painstaking inch, until his body was pressed against hers.
"I missed you."
"I missed you, too."
He kissed her like they'd been separated for years, not the days it'd actually been. His tongue parted her lips as her small hands slipped beneath his jacket, their heat branding the skin under his shirt. The kiss threatened to get out of control but was - not surprisingly - interrupted by Dwight.
"You're back," he said, a bit condescendingly for Jim's tastes. Pam's reply and the rest of the conversation was again lost on Jim. He watched as Dwight handed Pam some paperwork as she rolled her eyes in wonder and as he walked away with a disgusted scowl.
"Car?"
She smiled again. "Car," she agreed.
Six green lights had sped by when Pam's hand slipped onto his thigh. "Can you go any faster?" she purred, sounding very much unlike the woman he'd fallen in love with. He'd never heard this particular huskiness or lust in her voice. Ever.
"No," he replied, her hand causing near-painful physical reactions. "There's construction on Lackawanna and Adams. It takes me nearly forty minutes to get home every day."
Pam's blue eyes glittered. "When you were a kid, did you ever...park in that certain part of the Steamtown Mall parking lot?"
"Pamela Morgan Beesly," Jim grinned, "a gentleman never kisses and tells."
She swatted at him. "We're two minutes away, even with traffic. I say we pull in, park under that big old shady tree... It's getting dark and no one will see us..." Her hand slipped further towards the inside of his leg, and he jumped involuntarily.
"I think I like what being a New Yorker has done to you." He carefully merged into the left lane and turned on his blinker. Her hand shifted again and he actually let out a yelp. "Pam! Do you want me to crash?"
"If I told you what I really wanted you to do, you probably would crash."
They couldn't get to the mall parking lot fast enough.
Seven minutes and thirty-six seconds later, (Jim had counted, hoping it would take his mind off of Pam's hand and fingers and breath on his neck,) he swerved the car into the deserted, darkened corner of the lot. He'd just managed to switch it into park when she grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth to hers.
"I've been waiting for this since I got into the car this afternoon," she said in a near-growl as her lips fluttered over his jawline.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked, not really wanting or needing an answer, but asking just the same. "This is not my Pam Beesly talking."
"Oh, yes, it is." She released his tie, climbing over the divider between them to straddle him, her knees on either side of his hips. She hit the seat adjuster, moving it back further from the dash, and met his eyes. "This is your Pam Beesly when she really, really wants you."
Words faded into the dusk as she kissed him again, her hands making quick work of the buckle of his belt. "Pam, slow down," he urged, reaching for her fingers. "There's no rush here."
"Jim, I need you. I need this. We can be slow at home. Right now, I just want... I don't want slow, okay?"
He was a little amused at how she went from so bold and daring to not being able to say just what she wanted. He took the initiative. Lowering his voice, he pulled her tight against him and slipped his hand up under her sweater. "What do you want, Pam?"
"I... I want..." Her cheeks darkened and she swallowed hard.
He smiled. "Do you want me to fuck you, Pam?"
Her reply was barely more than a whisper. "Yes."
His fingers worked the soft, sensitive skin under her breast. "Say it."
"Jim..."
"Say it and I promise I'll do it."
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering composure, her heartbeat accelerating with his ministrations. "Jim," she whispered. "I want you to fuck me."
He kissed her softly. "Okay." With that, he threw gentleness to the wind and tore at the button of her jeans, lifting her to turn her to back to him, pulling them and her panties just far enough down to give him access. He finished unhooking his belt as his free hand cupped her cheek and turned her head, pressing her lips to his roughly. He shifted a bit, angling himself beneath her and entering her to the hilt. She gasped, and her fingers immediately dug into his steering wheel as he grabbed her waist and slammed into her harder and harder.
"Jim," she groaned, barely more than a squeak, her head thrown back to rest on his shoulder and her knuckles whitening against the leather wheel. "Oh, Jesus."
Part of him worried he'd hurt her, but the sounds from her throat were definitely pleasure, not pain. So he continued thrusting, his mouth on her neck, his hands covering her breasts through her shirt. She slowed momentarily, repositioning herself leaning forward a bit to give him a new angle, and when he went deep inside her, she cried out. "Pam," he moaned, his mouth resting just behind her left ear as she writhed on him.
"Keep...going..." she managed breathlessly. "Jesus, Jim, fuck me harder."
He moved faster, going even deeper, his right hand slipping from her chest to the wetness between her legs. His thumb and forefinger went to work on the center of her, causing her to make little whimpering noises in her throat that were probably meant to be his name. "I need you to come for me, Pam."
"I'm close..."
"Come for me," he repeated. "Pam, just come."
Suddenly, he felt her muscles contract and her whole body tensed against him as his name tore from her lips. The sensation caused him to erupt inside her, and he was surprised to notice a part of him - for a split second - hoping that maybe, just maybe, her birth control wouldn't work. The thought passed immediately when Pam arched again before she relaxed, sweating and heaving, in his arms.
Jim wasn't sure how many minutes passed before Pam slipped off him and wiggled back to her side of the car. She'd managed to pull up her panties and her jeans, but they were still unbuttoned and wrinkled from being pushed to her knees. She handed him a tissue, and he cleaned up quickly before zipping his own pants back up and dropping his head against the seat.
"That was amazing," he said quietly.
"Yeah," she smiled. "When we get home, we need to try to top that."
Jim had never driven so fast in his entire life.
Story Notes:
Spoilers for 5x07: Business Trip.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
For Erin, with love.
CallieJames is the author of 11 other stories.
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