RAVEN
Whether Roman was in proximity or not, I felt a disconnection between one part of my life and the others. My life had been contained, neat, manageable. After I met him the lid came unscrewed and the contents spilled out. I had to walk around the office like a normal person, but I felt like I was leaving breadcrumbs behind. Emotions I couldn’t contain. Bits of sadness and longing. Nuggets of happiness and satisfaction like brightly colored stones leading back to a house I’d never seen before. So thick was the disorientation that I questioned every word I said as if someone else was being so damn professional when I felt as if every solid thing in my body was turning molten. I took lunch at my desk so I could avoid a conversation about my social life. I had no idea what I’d blurt out, or if my eyes would give me away. My reluctance to say anything could be a signal. For at least three weeks, I needed to pretend the lid was on the jar.
We were great. We said hello and good-bye. Please and thank you. When the system had an issue and we happened to meet in the hall, we talked about the system and nothing else. We stayed a respectful distance apart, and though our bodies didn’t touch, neither one of us could control our eyes. His sought out a bra strap or garter line. Mine looked at his lips and his hands. The shape of them. The way they moved. His dick was safely put away, but the lips and hands had touched me. My nipples got hard and my panties got wet. I didn’t go to the executive bathroom and release the tension. I saved it for him.
We complimented each other’s professionalism every weeknight, lying in separate towns, separate houses, separate beds.
—What time did you leave?—
We asked this every night. Even if I saw him walk out the door, I asked.
—Seven-thirty. You?—
—Still here. I had a dinner with a new associate—
—Where?—
—Bird Dog. But all I wanted to eat was you—
That was how it began. A soft segue from the office talk to us talk. If one of us was in the office, we’d text. If we were both home, we’d call.
—Are you alone?—
Masy had gone out with some mutual friends. I could have joined her, but then I would have missed the highlight of my nights. Roman.
—Yes—
I touched the gray dots at the bottom, waiting for his reply. It was washed into black when the phone rang. It was him.
“Hi,” I said. I heard a door click on the other side.
“I’m not in the mood for autocorrect. And I want to hear you.”
“Hear me what?”
“Describe your apartment.”
I flopped on the couch. He’d never been over, so it was a legitimate question, even if it was a waste of time.
“I’m on the bottom floor. It’s one big room. Kitchen attached to living room with an island in between.”
“Doors and windows?”
“On either side. Front and back. Front has a porch onto the street, back goes to a courtyard.”
I heard his fingers drum on the desk and the clack of keys.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Working. Keep going. What do you have in there that’s yours? I don’t want to hear what the architect decided.”
What could I talk about? The rocking chair we pulled off the curb? The basket of laundry I had to fold? The coffeemaker my mother bought me when I moved in?
“My dress for the release gala is hanging over the bannister.”
“What’s it look like?”
“It’s a halter top. The top part is beaded in a dark silver color.”
“Touch it.”
I was taken aback for a second. I’d been getting comfortable on the couch and collecting adjectives for the dress. But Roman was always a good phone partner, so I got up and put my hands on the beaded bodice.
“What’s it feel like?” he asked.
“Like beads and lace.”
“I want to know what my hands are going to feel when I pull it off you.”
I took a deep breath as my glands shot arousal hormones into my blood. Running my hand over the top of the dress, the beads shifted and rolled under my fingers, while the threads caught in my nails.
“It’s rough,” I said. “And delicate. But the lace is soft.”
“Are you wet?” he whispered into the phone. “Check.” I imagined him with the door closed and the blinds shut, whispering against late-night interlopers as I slid my hand below my waistband. I was wet and open, throbbing when my finger touched my hard nub.
“Yeah. I’m wet.”
“Keep your hand there. Tell me about the bottom of the dress. More beads?”
“Tulle. Silver gray.”
“What am I going to feel when I put my hand up it? Feel it, and feel yourself with your other hand.”
I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder and got my clean hand up the dress.
“Soft. Silk lining.”
He gasped hard. “Take a handful.”
“Are you…?”
“Yes.” He said it with a groan.
He was jerking off under the desk. All the times I’d seen him in that office and wanted him to fuck me, he was jerking off for me right there. Such a turn-on.
“It’s scratchy when you rub it together,” I said. “The tulle has traction when you grab it but the silk lining slides.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say about the dress. “I got stockings. Since it’s a long dress, I’m not wearing panties. Just a garter. Silver-gray lace. You can have your thumb under the strap and a finger inside me.”
I moved my finger off my clit and put it inside, closing around it so I could feel every bit of pressure.
“You’re so dirty.”
“I’m going to come soon.”
“Say my name.”
I almost lost the phone when I did, running two fingers along my seam, half standing, half crouching with a fistful of satin and tulle in my other hand.
“Roman.”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, I am yours. So yours.”
“Damn right.”
I came leaning against the bannister. The phone dropped to the carpet. My back arched and the rest of my body followed until my toes held my weight and my mind went utterly blank. I let go of the dress and sat on the bottom step. My hand was soaked with my juices, so I put it palm up on my knee. Roman would lick it clean.
“Hey,” I said, snapping the phone up.
“Thanks for that.”
“You came at your desk?”
“Under it, into a napkin from lunch.”
“That’s so hot and sexy.” Shifting sideways on the step, I leaned on the wall and put my feet on the bannister rail. My dress hung on the other side. I’d have to steam the wrinkles out before Friday, then Roman would crumple it again.
“Were you serious about the underwear?”
“Yep. I have it but I’m not wearing it.”
He paused. I didn’t know if he was zipping up or what. Maybe he was turned on again.
“Wear it. Please.”
“Why?”
“Because the idea of you being in public without it bothers me. It makes me want to cover you. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m being protective.”
“I swear this dress is to the floor.”
“I know. I’m not saying I’m making sense, but if you’re leaving them off for me, you can put them on for me.”
“You’re being really bossy.”
“Yeah. And I’m sorry, but I’m not. You can boss me about something that’s important to you some time.”
“Hm. How about next time I’m over we play Destiny 2 instead of Call of Duty?”
“Fair trade.”
“Good.”
“I have to go or I’m going to be here all night.”
“Okay.”
I never understood the “you hang up first,” “no, you hang up” meme. Now I did. I floundered because I wanted to cap off the conversation with “I love you,” but we weren’t ready. Not until he left the Neuronet office.
We hung up and I held the phone to my chest.
I did love him.