One more night, the end should be a good one …
He watches her out of the corner of his eye. He’s gotten good at doing that, making sure no one can see him as he observes her movement. It almost kills him every time he hears her laugh, because it makes his chest ache. She’s putting on that pink lip-gloss that adds an iridescent shimmer to her mouth and makes her look sort of glamorous. He doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it, because he wants her just the way she is but the extra sparkle makes his palms sweat.
He shuffles the mess of files and loose papers on his desk when he hears her get up, and pretends not to notice when her skirt brushes against the edge of his chair and her warmth invades his space for one heavenly moment. He knows it’s clichéd, but he swears he can still feel the remnants of her touch from earlier, when she’d grabbed his arm playfully, giggling about wedding bands and making him forget the fact that he was leaving and she wasn’t his.
Her hair was different, obviously done especially for this evening, with big curls that bounced when she had walked over to stand at the copier. He knows that she had seen him looking, because she had blushed and glanced down at the numbers on the illuminated screen, the brightness of the light as it passed over the papers beneath her fingers making her eyes shine.
They’re the last ones in the office. And he doesn’t know if it’s his excitement or his complete terror over being alone with her that’s making him so nauseous. He had thrown a sweater over his oxford shirt, and changed into a different pair of pants after lunch. He didn’t know what kind of outfit he should be wearing for a Casino Night in a warehouse, and he skims his fingers along the wool on his sleeve almost self-consciously before re-folding the edge of his white cuff.
When he looks back up, Pam’s emerging from the bathroom wearing a sleek blue dress, and Jim can’t even think anymore because she’s peering at him through her lashes, looking both timid and bold in a way only she can, and he would fall over if he weren’t sitting. The only light in the office comes from the bank of fluorescents over the reception desk, but he swears she’s shining and it makes him a bit nervous.
“Well, now I feel all under-dressed,” he blurts out, his eyes sweeping dangerously past her face and down. He tries on a playful grin, but can’t quite manage it.
She smiles shyly, waving her hand absently at herself. “It’s not really all that special. I wore it to a wedding last summer, and figured I should try to get one more night out of it. It was kind of expensive.”
He swallows. It fits everywhere it should and his pants are suddenly too tight. “It looks good. You look …” he trails off.
“Thanks,” she smiles, and he misses her so much all of a sudden.
He can’t bring himself to say anything, so he offers a sideways grin and wishes he could just touch the creamy skin of her shoulders. It’s quiet for too long and he’s breathing too loud.
“I don’t want to be awkward or anything,” she suddenly says, her words rushing out a bit too fast. “But I can’t get the zipper up. Could you …?”
The lights of a car pulling into the parking lot downstairs make a slow dash across the wall behind her. He can hear people laughing outside and knows the fundraiser will be starting soon, and then she turns away from him and he almost dies. Her back is bare, her spine curving with an elegance that makes him think of a swan before he can really stop himself.
“Uh, yeah,” he murmurs, standing slowly. “Sure.” It takes him three tries before his feet can move, and he’s standing behind her. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, because all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
The air in the room shifts, charged, when his fingers close over the tab of the zipper. His knuckle brushes her lower back, and her skin is so soft that his eyes close and he moves closer without thinking.
They both know it’s over, but neither one admits it. His hips push forward, unconscious, his left hand on her waist. She gasps. He keeps his eyes shut tight.
“Please,” she breathes. His hand grips her hip and she pulls it into hers, lacing her fingers through his, dragging it down and across her stomach. “Please.”
He knows her fiancé is downstairs and he wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of that thought, but instead he moans softly as her hand pushes his against the fabric of her dress, brushing her inner thigh through the silk and chiffon, and her breath catches in her throat.
Her name is a sigh on his lips, and he can’t help himself as he rocks once and then again against her, and he knows she can feel what she’s doing to him because her fingers tighten around his and push up between her legs, hard. And he wants to hear her lose control, so he rotates his fingers, twisting against her center, and knows he’s done it when she shudders and throws her head back against his shoulder.
“What are we doing?” he whispers, his teeth grazing the spot where her neck meets her shoulders.
Her right hand is in his hair and her left hand holds his fingers where she needs him the most, but she doesn’t speak because it’ll break them both and all she wants right now is to feel.
“Just once,” he murmurs, and when she nods, he pulls his hand from hers and lifts her dress so he can really touch her.
They don’t have much time; they’ve never had much time. So his hand slips past her underwear and up into her, and she falls back against him because it just feels so right that it makes her knees buckle. Somehow her own hand finds its way to his thigh and over and she fumbles with his zipper as he pulls his fingers out and then back in, fast and hard. Her hand is shaking when she grasps him through his boxers and he exhales her name loudly into the nape of her neck.
“I need you,” she gasps, her fingers tightening dangerously around him, and he groans as she pulls away from him. “Hurry.”
She’s grabbing his hand and leading him towards the break room, like it’ll shield them from the outside world, or protect them from everyone else. But he suddenly needs to taste her, so he shoves her back against the walls of supplies by the door and she pulls his mouth to hers.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that this is wrong, that he shouldn’t be swiping his tongue along her lower lip, or stroking his left thumb over her hardened nipple, and she shouldn’t be rotating her hips against his in response. He grunts and decides to ignore the voice in his head because what she’s doing feels so right and he just wants to be inside her. So he grabs her wrists and pulls her arms over her head before tugging her dress up over her hips.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers through clenched teeth. She shakes her head.
And he’s inside her and she cries out, so he kisses her hard to keep her from giving them away. Stacks of Post-It notes fall off the shelves in rainbow disarray as he thrusts out and in and out again. Paper clips spill onto the floor in a mosaic under his shoes when he lifts her leg higher on his hip. He can taste the saltiness of her tears and hear her moans of pleasure as she begins to clench around him.
He wants her to be his, even if it’s just for this moment, so he groans “Come for me,” against her cheek and her eyes find his through her tears as she tightens around him. Her mouth opens and she whimpers as he falters and pushes into her one more time before shuddering and panting and falling against her.
As they straighten their clothes, he searches her face for regret, and is certain he doesn’t see any. Her eyes flicker to his, and then back down at her shoes, and he reaches over and brushes the dampness from her cheeks. She catches his wrist, kisses his palm, and smiles sadly at him before she turns to walk out the door and back to the real world.
He’s alone in the office, and bends to pick up the mess of Post-It notes and paper clips that litter the floor. The fluorescent lights over reception hum softly and keep him company. He pretends he told her he loves her. And as he places the last paper clip back into its box, he thinks maybe he still can.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my own little version of what happened on Casino Night ... only this one takes place before the night even starts.
DISCLAIMER: No one belongs to me. No matter how much i beg.
Chapter End Notes:
Reviews are like candy. And I really enjoy candy.
falldownmore is the author of 11 other stories.
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