“We have to get you over her.”

He coughed, trying not to spit coffee over the table.

“Not like that, you idiot.” He turned purple in embarrassment.

“It was just a stupid crush, Karen, you don’t have to go--,” he started.

“Oh, come on, Jim. It wasn’t just a stupid crush, it is a stupid crush.”  She raised her eyebrow at him like a challenge. He had to have understood the difference.

It was Karen’s third week and she’d caught Jim, for the fifth time that day, staring at Pam’s ass while she made copies of purchase orders.

She’d noticed it before, too. Practically since the day she’d started Pam had been making mooneyes at the back of Jim’s head, and while it bugged her a little, she wasn’t outright offended by it. But it was when she realized that he was more than happy to give her the occasional once-over when he thought neither Pam nor Karen was looking (but Karen had been looking) that she’d started to go on the offensive.

When she’d mentioned his actions to him, he told her about the crush. At first, she thought it was cute. She’d even asked Pam to make a few extra copies herself; perversely enjoying the way Jim’s tongue traced his lips when she leaned languidly on the copier.

But there were times when the three of them shared an elevator and he would become increasingly agitated, practically shoving her against the wall when Pam had disappeared around the corner, growling in her ear all the things he was going to do to her later, when they got back to his place.

That was when the idea had first occurred to her. This was only the first time that she’d voiced it.

Pam had entered the kitchen, smiled widely at the two of them while she waited for her kettle to whistle. She asked Karen a question about her watch and Jim about the weekend basketball game he’d been so excited about on Friday.

He laughed at a few of her jokes in a way that Karen knew meant that he wanted; and she’d decided to confront him about it.

“We have to get you over her.”

She didn’t tell him about it before hand, didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Ordinarily she didn’t like surprises, and she knew he didn’t either, really.

But this was different.

He was expecting her at 8, but she’d called and made it 10, leaving little pretense to the activity she had planned.

She stood at the stoop of his apartment, shuffling in those too-tall shoes, waiting, but without knowing for what.

When she finally knocked around a quarter after, she heard him coming to the door and her heart started racing.

“Karen, you’re—oh, holy fuck.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Hi, Jim. Can I come in?”

She’d spent hours curling her hair into sloppy ringlets, which she then brushed and curled again. It was the perfect amount of frizz and style and she was pleased.

It was nothing she’d ever do to her hair again, oh god no, but for tonight? She didn’t mind.

There were bobby pins pulling it half-back, since she didn’t own any clips. Her bangs swept in an angry line across her forehead. She’d curled them, straightened them, curled them again. They still weren’t cooperating completely, so she wet them in the bathroom sink, bending over further than was comfortable to put her head under the faucet, and let them just dry naturally.

She’d purchased the pastel-striped button down at an overstock warehouse across from the Walmart, where slightly damaged items and things that don’t quite fit right end up.

The skirt was too big for her, but she hadn’t worn it since college, so it wasn’t a huge shock, and the pantyhose had a run through them, which she’d made sure was only visible from the back.

The heels were her own and a bit taller than was realistic, but it was a fantasy. She was allowed some liberties with a fantasy.

She’d even bought the padded push-up bra, for christssakes!

Looking at herself in the mirror, she was pleased.

Makeup was the biggest dilemma. She didn’t think Pam wore much, but she was standing there practically in hooker-heels and felt mismatched in the strangest way.

She’d opted just to keep it simple; not knowing how much would be left on her by the end of the night.

She gave herself one last glance in the mirror, running her hands over her thighs to smooth the skirt, before she grabbed her bag and climbed into her car.

“Karen, you’re—oh, holy fuck.”

“Hi, Jim. Can I come in?”

He stared at her a few moments, his mouth open, his eyes darting quickly over her body, taking in her appearance. The red in his cheeks gave him away, and she knew he was aroused, even if she was still standing on the threshold.

“Will you let me in?” She repeated slowly in dulcet tones, a way she’d heard Pam speak to him.

He stepped aside slowly, his eyes not breaking contact with her cleavage.

“Karen, what’re you—,”

“I’m not Karen,” she smiled innocently at him, shrugging off her jacket and placing it on the back of a dining chair.

He was still standing with the door open, his hand on the knob, beside himself and practically poised to run. But she knew he wouldn’t; the outline of his erection already visible through his jeans.

“What are you doing...whoever you are?” He almost looked scared.

“Geez, Jim. It’s me! Pam.” She let her eyes look timid. “Do you not want me here? You were probably busy, I’m sorry I should just--,” she tossed her jacket over her arm and ducked her head, heading back the door. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

She was nearly back on the stoop (was he really going to let her leave?!) when she felt his hand fist in the fabric of the shirt. He pulled her back inside roughly and slammed the door, spinning her around until her back was pressing into the cool metal.

His hips pushed violently into hers and she could hear his heavy breathing in her ear.

“Fuck,” he muttered into her hair. She stroked his back softly, occasionally digging her nails in, like she knew he liked.

“God, Jim,” her own breath quickened but she tried to maintain the voice. “I’ve been thinking about you. Us, like this.” Her hands ran over his ass, slipping into his pockets. She squeezed gently. “I’ve imagined it over and over. At your apartment, in my car, at work. You could fuck me against my desk?”

He rocked against her hips steadily, grunting softly.

“God, you’re so tall,” she stood higher on her heels to whisper in his ear. “I’ll bet you’re huge, aren’t you Jim? Would you even fit inside of me?”

He moaned at her words, she could feel him trembling slightly.

 “Would you make me come, Jim? Would you fuck me until I came hard for you?” She honestly didn’t know what the hell she was saying, but he was reacting way more enthusiastically than she’d anticipated.

“Stop talking,” he growled the order and swatted her hands away from him and pinned them at her sides by the wrists. His voice sent a shock directly between her legs. It was the first time he’d ever been less than a gentleman and apart from being extremely turned on, she wondered if he was just a tiny bit angry with her.

His body was solid against her, his erection digging into her stomach and the door solid on the back of her head. She moaned softly, her body squirming against his. 

He moved his head to press his face into the swell of her breasts, kissing and nipping at the skin. She arched into him, while his fingers worked to undo a few more buttons on her shirt.

She was startled momentarily when he grabbed her again by the collar and pulled her forward towards him. He spun her around again and she put her hands out, bracing herself against the door.

He was pressing up behind her again, his erection hard on her ass. She pushed back into him and he grunted into her hair.

His other hand grabbed the lot of her curls into his fist and pulled them to the side, her shirt half-off, exposing her shoulder. When she felt his teeth on the spot between her shoulder and neck, she let out a surprised ‘oh!’

She’d told him that she didn’t mind if he did (her way of asking) but he’d never actually bitten her before like that, teeth and pressure. He soothed the spot with his tongue, and then his mouth was covering the mark, sucking hard.

Her neck had always been her spot, so to speak, and she was groaning loudly as his mouth worked her over.

“Shhh,” he reminded her harshly by tugging on her hair and she bit her cheek to suppress the sounds she was making.

His hands reached around, kneading her breast in his hand. He was squeezing hard, demanding.

“Do you like that?” He squeezed her breast again and she nodded. He flipped down the cup of her bra to expose her nipple. He pinched it between his fingers sending tiny shocks to her clit.

He abandoned her breast and she waited to see what he would do next.

Then she felt his hand on the back of her leg, stroking her thigh. He pulled hard on the tear in her hose and she heard it give way.

When he couldn’t tear them enough to remove them, he let go of her abruptly.

“Off,” his hands hovered over her, as if he were keeping her from leaving.

She removed her hands from the wall and noted the shaking in her fingers. She slipped off her heels and slid the pantyhose down her legs, along with her panties, stepping out of them and dropping both to the floor. “Shoes back on,” his hands were on her back as she bent over at the waist to slip the heels on her bare feet.   

When she stood up, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. One arm wrapped possessively around her and the other ran down over her hipbone to her leg, pulling the skirt up by his fingertips an inch at a time.

She could feel the wetness between her legs, the insistent throb that begged for him, as he got closer and closer.  

When his hand cupped her roughly, fingers sliding in the slick heat, she tried to hold back the gasp but it slipped out between her lips, a strangled feminine noise that seemed to fuel him on.

Two fingers entered her unexpectedly and she fought against her buckling knees and the moan in her throat. The arm around her midsection tightened its grip, his breath puffed in her ear.

“Didn’t you want me too?” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth.

“To what Jim?” She was amazed she could still speak, let alone an octave higher than her own voice. His fingers continued to pump in and out of her, she grinded herself into his hand as he slowly worked in a third.

“You said that you wanted me to make you come,” he pushed into her even harder than he had been and there was another feminine gasp, then moan and she didn’t hardly feel like Karen anymore. “Don’t you want me too?”

“Yes,” it came out as a cry more so than a word and his hand started working faster on her. She clutched at his forearm pushing him deeper into her, the heel of his hand harder against her clit.

He starting sucking on her neck again, causing her cries to rise in pitch; this spurred him on even more.

He moved his hand even faster against her; she bucked into him.

“Jim, I’m gonna come,” she gasped as her orgasm hit her violently. She shouted his name and dug her nails in to his arm, tucking her chin to her chest and panting as the waves rolled over her.

His hand continued to move against her until she was moaning again, writhing against him.

“Do you want me to keep fucking you?” He whispered in her ear, but she was too far gone to answer, already swallowed by the second orgasm.

He still wasn’t slowing his hand. She grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Please, stop! I can’t...not again,” she pulled at his hand and he relented finally, slowly sliding out of her.

She stumbled forward some when he let go of her, her hands out against the door again.

She rested her head against the coolness and felt his hands close over hers and him bump up behind her. She could feel her panting breaths bouncing off the door against her lips.

He hoisted her skirt up around her waist, she heard his pants drop to the floor, and then was pressing against her opening and sliding into her hard and fast, as though making her come was the least he could get away with doing before...this.

As he drove into her, she heard an obscene progression of grunts that, only after did she realize she was the one making them. He hit that spot and she was probably wrong when she said that she couldn’t again because she was, and his hand was on her belly pushing, his nails biting into her, like she had been trying to get away, but the pressure only made her orgasm feel so much more incredible, and she’d never been this loud before.

His movements were becoming frantic and erratic and she thrust her ass out further to give him a different angle.

“Fuck!” They might have both yelled it because he was so deep she thought he was hitting the very back of her and when he thrust in and out, each time it felt like her body was trying to break again.

He buried his head in her hair in the crook of her neck and groaned.

She felt him shuddering against her back and pushed back harder into him. His hands fell to her hips, his fingers digging in to her skin and he held her to him forcefully as the orgasm overtook him.

“Shit, Pam,” he gasped as he came, holding her tighter and tighter.

She seized up momentarily at his words, forgetting what was happening, where they were and who she was. She suspected the same of him.

He relaxed against her, gliding out with the movement. They stood propped against the door until he kissed her neck, scooped her up, and carried her to the living room sofa.

She sat on his lap until they both decided they were starving.

He never mentioned it, never apologized. So she stayed quiet.  

“Your hair looks really pretty like that,” he twirled a strand around his fingers as they sat on the couch, watching late night TV.

They aren’t discussing what had just happened between them.

She’d never seen him that way and she wasn’t sure that he had ever seen himself that way either.

She shifted in her seat, leaning against him. Maybe one day she wouldn’t need the outfit to get him to take her like that again.

He didn’t mention it, didn’t apologize. So she stayed quiet. 

It wasn’t as though she was too incredibly familiar with the concept of role play, even though only a few months later, she would let him dress her up again (as a school girl, but he’d picked out the same skirt and top). 

Was he supposed to say someone else’s name? Or was he supposed to say hers?

She didn’t mention it until the next time it happened, four months later, in the back of her SUV after the cocktail party in New York.

No costumes, no acting, just them face-to-face.

She was less forgiving that time.