15
Why I say yes
[Midge]
The following day, I’m crabby. I don’t know why I said yes to any of it—the pre-show dinner, the after-show party, or Hank attending the hectic weekend activities. I’m stumped on an idea for Pendelton, and this is when a marketing crew works best, bouncing ideas off one another. I’m slapping papers on the front desk at Restored Dreams, staring at a design I made and worrying about the technicality of it. Pendelton wants a line of items for men. Masculine. Simple. Not necessarily for the stereotype that only gay men like to decorate their homes but for the single, successful man.
It’s obvious I don’t understand men. I’m divorced. I can’t escape a man who completely confounds me, aka Hank. Plus, I raise three boys, and that’s an adventure in and of itself. Which reminds me I wore a skirt and heels today to meet with Elston’s academic counselor after school. The meeting intends to guide us through which colleges we should visit this summer. I might break into tears thinking about my firstborn going off to college, so I push away those emotions and pick up the pad with my drawing.
I walk toward Brut’s office and slam into a male chest, dropping everything in my hands, including an empty coffee mug. The ceramic shatters on the floor, and I swear under my breath. Hank chuckles.
Where did he come from?
“You’re sexy when you swear,” he mutters, bending down to retrieve pieces of the cup. I bend as well, my knees kept together by the tight skirt. “And sexy as fuck in that skirt, little lady.”
My heart leaps when he speaks to me this way. I’m more pearls than chrome, but when he talks naughty, I want to jump him. Down heart, I scold. No leaping allowed. I’ve already leaped too fast for this man and look where it’s gotten me. Lonelier than before I knew him. His compliment adds to my irritation.
“I got it,” I snap, but his hand covers mine.
“You’ll cut yourself.” He picks up the large pieces, holding them in his thick palm.
“I’m not that delicate,” I mutter. He doesn’t look up at me, and I stand. His eyes follow the line of my legs and I stomp into the office after gathering up the dropped invoices. I’m working on making Brut paperless, but there are so many purchases outstanding.
Slapping the papers on the desk, I feel Hank right behind me.
“What’s wrong today, beautiful?”
I spin toward him. “Just stop it. Stop flirting with me when I’m obviously not good enough.”
“What the—”
“I get it. You made a mistake, and in another week, I’ll be out of your hair. It’s fine.” I lie. “Just don’t come to my kids’ activities out of guilt or whatever you’re trying to do.”
“I’m not—”
“My kids don’t need the confusion and neither do I. We’ve had enough.”
I turn my back to him, but his presence is even closer, and his hands cover my shoulders. He begins massaging me like he did the first night we met.
“Why…” He exhales. “Why in hell would you ever say you weren’t good enough for me?”
“I must not be. You ask me out but dismiss me afterward. I ask you out, and you ditch me. Which, I might add, was after I begged you to fuck me and—”
“Begged. Me.” He inhales sharply and I close my eyes. “To. Fuck you.” He breathes heavily, goose bumps pebble over my skin. “Lady, you would never need to beg me.”
“Really?” I bark. “You’ve already refused me on this desk. Twice, I might add. I mean, I know I’m not adventurous or all cheetah print, but—” He entwines my hair in his fist and gently tugs back.
“You don’t need to be cheetah print, whatever the hell that means. I like you just how you are.” He pauses, lowering his mouth to just under my ear. “Is this what you want? Do you need this for some reason? I’ll give it to you because I definitely don’t want Brut trying to find another excuse to get at you.”
He still has my hair, holding me pressed against him. My back arches, and my backside hits the weight in his overalls. I smile at the thought of Brut. I’m not attracted to him, but it’s nice to think he might be attracted to me. At least, someone is. I roll with the thought.
“You think Brut wants me?” I tease. Hank tugs tighter and then presses between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward to the desk. He holds my hair while leaning down and slipping his hand up my skirt. Dear Lord, I whimper. My heart races and I’m instantly wet. I’m so turned on when I shouldn’t be.
“Brut definitely wants you, but he can’t have you. You were made for me. You’re my cupcake, and only I get to sample you.”
I scoff at the reference until thick fingers slip into my underwear and impale me. I sigh with relief I shouldn’t feel. I should be mad at him. I am mad at him. He’s been a total asshole, but his fingers feel so good inside me.
“You think I don’t want you? Are you kidding me? You’re all I think about, and this desk has nothing to do with anything. It’s filthy, and you…you’re so sweet, Middy. But if you want to be a dirty lady, I’m here for you.” His fingers delve deeper, twirling in a way that makes me squeak with pleasure.
“Don’t move,” he groans, removing his fingers. I might have whimpered at the release, my elbows collapsing as I cover my face in humiliation. I’m begging him again to take me. What am I doing?
A lock clicks at the door, the blinds rustle, and the sound of his overalls unzipping make me turn my head to look at him over my shoulder.
“Don’t move,” he snaps, determination on his face as he slips the upper half of the garment from his body, pushing it below his hips. He circles the desk, dragging open a drawer and slamming it shut. Within seconds, he’s behind me, and I hear the rip of foil.
“Not good enough?” He tugs up my skirt, roughly pulls down my panties, and rams into me. The force pushes me forward, and I reach for anything to steady myself. Unfortunately, I’ve cleaned the desk, so I only slide over the flat surface.
“Lady, you’re better than anyone I’ve ever known.” His voice stammers as he continues to hammer into me. His hands grip my hips for several thrusts before one slips down my belly and finds the sensitive nub he touched the other night. Flicking it in rhythm with the speed of his thrusts, he continues to speak. “I’m not good enough for you, baby, but if you want me to take you on a desk, take you against a wall, or take you over that nasty couch, I’ll fucking take you.” His pace increases, and I grunt with each tap inside me. He’s deep like this, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“No one else gets at you,” he demands, working my clit until I’m almost drooling on the desk. I want this orgasm. I need this release. “Only me. Now come all over me. Mark me as yours.”
I do as he commands, holding back the scream with the clamp of my lips. I press back, forcing him as deep as he can go within me. He fills me and I burst around him, the release washing me clean of all negativity. Then my favorite part happens. He pulses, filling me as he strains from his own rapid explosion. He lets go of my hips and slides his hands down my arms, covering my fingers against the desk. I spread them, and he curls his with mine, resting his chest on my back. “You are so fucking incredible, naughty lady.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder, and I close my eyes, willing the moment to last. He’s going to pull out at any second, break the connection, and then walk away. He’s already done it twice before, and I hold my breath, struggling to catch it after the orgasm that just ripped through me. I wait for the rejection.
Why did I say yes to this?
“You cleaned the desk,” he mumbles at my ear. “Were you anticipating something?”
“A girl can always dream.”
“You dream of being taken over a desk?” He chuckles into my hair.
“Yes.” I exhale on the admission.
“Why?”
“Because I never have before.” The truth seems like too much. Admitting a fantasy to a man about to walk away adds to the stab wound he’s about to inflict.
“Middy, let me make all your dreams come true.” The comment stops my heart, and the breath I’m holding exhales on a gasp.
“What?”
“I know I’m an ass but let me try. I want to try with you, little lady. I think you’re the girl to make all my dreams come true.”
How can I say no to that?