Dwelling in Desire

There's nothing quite like the feeling of a safety being disengaged at the back of your head. I felt it before I heard it. The heaviness. The coldness. It's twice the rush when someone else's finger is on the trigger.

"So fucker, what the hell did you say to Kate? There's little opportunity for bullshit right now."

"Put the gun down Joe," I warned.

More pressure on the back of my head, pushing my face down further into my puddle of drool on the desk.

"Gladly," he agreed. "But first tell me. Now."

"Fine," I sighed. "I asked her if she was there against her will, and offered to help her leave if she wanted. Speaking of which, can I get Kate's number? I'd like to check on her."

I could sense him changing his stance, preparing to shoot.

"Why?"

"Why do you think fucker?" I laughed. "You fucking raped her! I was trying to do the decent thing. Maybe save both our legal asses in the process?"

>Clunk<

Joe set the gun down next to me before he rounded the desk.

"Jesus fuck Joe, what did I tell you about doing that?" I cursed, rubbing the back of my head instinctively.

"Relax Curt, it wasn't loaded. You think I want both rape and first-degree murder on my rap sheet? I'm good, but I'm not that good. I don't think, anyway."

"Shit," I muttered in annoyance.

"Next question, what the fuck are you doing here, drooling all over your desk? Did you work late last night or something?"

I'd fallen asleep at my desk apparently, after choosing to come in on Sunday—when yard work hadn't proven enough of a distraction. But Joe didn't need to know that.

"Yes Joe. You see,

someone

has to worry about the status of our cases. That extra week you took really fucked me in the ass."

"Ha, sue me for needing more than a fucking week off in a year that grayed half my head," Joe sneered.

I nodded.

"Yeah, as soon as this case is over with Ruiz, I'm gonna get away. Don't know where, but I need some time for myself as well."

"Yeah, you do," Joe agreed. "You might find a woman for yourself too, you know?"

"I can have women whenever I want," I growled.

"I'm not talking about women you share Curt.

A woman

. For you only."

I smiled condescendingly at him.

"Not everyone is cut from the same cloth Joe. I don't need to be exclusive with a woman to be happy."

"Then maybe you don't know what happy is," he smirked. "To look in a woman's eyes, and know she is

only

for you, that she adores you, and wants you more than anything, would do anything for you, Curt, there is nothing like it. Nothing in the world."

I flinched, and glared at him for getting under my skin.

And Joe got

the look

. The look he was notorious for, when he was just about to go in for the kill.

"Or maybe, you already know."

"Get out of my office Joe," I spat. "I need to work. Check your fucking emails and help me out around here for Christ's sake."

Joe's face was serious. He knew he had stumbled on something huge, and was not done with me. But he relented.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll check in with you after lunch. Get yourself some coffee—and preferably a shave. You look like hell."

I shook my head after him bitterly before reloading my gun and stowing it back in the safe.

---

"Well if those are the only options, then I guess I'll have to go with the Henredon piece. I'm not willing to compromise on fabric. On anything really. This customer wants the best. Thanks Terry, I'll see you tomorrow and we can review materials. Bye."

I sat back with a sigh and observed my shit-storm of an office. Slash bedroom. I hated it, and loved it at the same time.

There was so much

stuff

involved when you decorated a large house. There were catalogs, material samples, purchase orders, work-orders, blueprints...just a ton of

stuff

.

In my case, it just ended up everywhere. And oddly, I could keep track of everything. It worked for me. No one ended up in my room anyway, so I didn't have to worry about offending any neat freaks.

My face soured at the thought.

No one ended up in my room anyway. And no one would.

So when the heck was I gonna lose my virginity anyway? How was I supposed to meet anyone, and have that magical connection?

Most of the men I interacted with were either contractors who were married, or salesmen who were gay. Online dating was always a possibility, but to me it signified the end of the road—when one couldn't get the job done in the real world, and needed to resort to online shopping.

My journey had barely begun. I wasn't about to throw in the towel. So, what to do?

I thought of Curt. Handsome. Rich. Caring. Sexy beyond reason.

What if he

did

want me? Would it really be so bad? Would it really bring my career to a screeching halt? Would the skies crash down from the heavens? Or would I just be out one client in hundreds—a mere bump in the road when it didn't work out?

But this wasn't just any client. This was the big time. The rich client that could afford to do all the nice things that designers get published in magazines for.

My work thus far had been impressive, for the budget. But nothing worthy of Architectural Digest. And anything that came close would never be done justice by anything less than a professional photographer. Which I couldn't afford. It cost thousands of dollars to book a good photographer, which was such a huge chunk of my earnings, I simply couldn't swing it.

Put it out of your mind Beth. He is the client. You are the designer. He is...perfect. You are not. Just forget it. Put your freaking libido aside, and focus.

Okay, what now...

I had a meeting tomorrow in the city to confirm furniture and fabric selections, and my drapery installer this afternoon at two to do a final measure at the house.

At the house.

His house

.

Shoot. So much for putting him out of my mind.

And don't forget, you have to measure his closet. The one with no clothes in it.

Sighing, I finished my cup of noodles.

I might as well get going early and avoid the traffic.

Checking the clock, which showed 12:52pm, I tossed the cheap Styrofoam cup in the wastebasket and sought out some junky clothes.

It was hot out, and humid, so I picked some old denim shorts and a Cubs tee shirt, and finished with my hair in a couple loose buns. 'Pig buns' I called them.

They were perfect for keeping my hair up and out of the way on a hot muggy day. The humid midwestern summers had a tendency to turn me into a sloppy, frizzy, Muppet-esque mess in a period of minutes when I didn't take precautions.

It wasn't the most professional hairdo in my repertoire, but Alek didn't care how I looked, and Curt was at the office. It was a good day to go junky. I sighed happily as I slipped on my flip-flops.

Packing up my notebook and sketchpad, and my

amazing

new tape measure, courtesy of the sexiest man alive, I piled into my Jetta and took off to his house.

---

I'd just pulled into Curt's driveway when I noticed how beautifully manicured the yard was. Was it this nice before? The house and the grounds had always been nice of course, but today they looked, well, better. Or more noticeable I supposed. Maybe the gardeners had just finished or something.

Walking along the brick path to the front step, I shook my head at how the lawn's edges had been trimmed, and the bushes pruned and shaped. The money that went into yard maintenance in these high-income neighborhoods was ridiculous.

Entering the house through the foyer, I dropped my purse at the bottom of the staircase, since there was no table or anything.

Note to self—new console table for entryway.

Checking my phone, I saw it was about one-thirty. Okay, half an hour til Alek arrives. That'll give me time to measure the closet and maybe get started on some sketches.

My stomach turned at the recollection that I would be designing a closet system for sex toys, and I couldn't let on that I knew that that's what it was for. Just a generic, one size fits all shelving system, right?

Right.

I padded up the steps trying to remember the details of what I had found in the trunk. It was sort of fuzzy in my mind. I guess it wouldn't hurt to do a little more research and development, I thought as I concealed a mischievous grin.

But when I turned the corner into the "Hers" closet, I stopped dead in my tracks. The trunk was gone. Its imprint was still very evident in the carpeting along the rear wall, so I knew I hadn't imagined it.

He

had moved it. And it was clear why.

So where was it?

I turned and checked out the "His" closet, and again found no trunk. He obviously didn't want me to happen upon it, now that he had assigned me to work on his closet. Shoot.

Wait, what did I care? All he wanted was a generic system of shelves—and hooks. It was none of my business what he used them for. None of my business.

I took out my tape and got started.

Just focus Bethany. Focus.

---

>Ding Dong<

I had just completed sketch one of two when the bell rang. Alek.

"Hey Alek! Long time no see!" I greeted.

"Hello Miss Beth, yes it's good to see you!" he smiled reciprocally.

Alek was

the best

in the business when it came to drapery installation, and I always had him double-check my measurements before ordering. Draperies were big-ticket items, and it sucked to screw up, because it usually meant money out of pocket. Not on this job. I wouldn't have it.

"Wow, you hev a big house project," Alek mused, gazing up at the cathedral ceilings. "You in the big time now," He winked.

I beamed with pride. Alek worked on much higher end jobs than I usually—customers who could actually

afford

draperies. He did work for some of the top firms in Chicago and was in very high demand.

It felt good to finally be part of the club.

"Yes, it's a huge house, and we need draperies throughout. Here are my sketches for each room, and my estimated widths. I need confirmed widths from you, and finished lengths please."

"No problem, no problem," he nodded as he took the sketches. "Okaayy, I'm ago get started."

"Perfect, I'll just be in the kitchen," I grinned.

I adored his thick Russian accent, but it came with its challenges. Thank goodness all of his measurements were submitted in writing.

I was just finishing sketch two when I heard a noise. It sounded like the garage door opening. I froze.

Was Curt home early? Why would he come home early?

Oh shit, and I looked like crap! Why did he have to come home early when I'd worn my junky clothes?

Why the heck did I care what he thought of my looks?

You shouldn't care Beth, just be pro. Be pro.

My eyes flew to the door handle as it turned, and I got butterflies.

---

I'd just finished cleaning up my spilt cup of noodles when I heard the 'ding'.

It was my tablet.

My heart skipped a fucking beat.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Dammit!

Don't look. Don't look. Don't you dare fucking look!

Picking up my tablet with total self-loathing, I opened the app to view the security feeds.

I scrolled to the foyer, and saw Bethany enter. Ho. Lee. Shhhit.

Her hair. Her hair! It was in pigtails! Sort of.

I zoomed in, and tried to get a better look as she set down her purse.

Well, they weren't pigtails proper, but they were close enough to make me go instantly hard. She looked like fucking Tinkerbell. What was this girl trying to do to me?

She's

not trying to do anything ass-wipe.

She

doesn't even know

you're

watching.

And then her legs. Her shorts were so...short. And tattered. And holy fuck were they hot on her. The way they hugged her cute little bubble butt...

And of course, who could forget, her breasts. Another tight tee shirt today. The way it just naturally conformed to her shape made my balls ache.

The shirt, the shorts, the hair. It was too much.

I was at my fucking wit's end. This ended

now

.

I stuffed my most essential files into my bag, along with my laptop, and was just about to storm past Margot's desk when Joe walked in.

Shit.

"Hey Curt, where are you..."

"I'm going home. Call you later," I barked as I shoved past him.

"What the..." were the last words I heard from Joe before I was out the door.

I peeled out in my Jag, and did what I had longed to do. I was racing home. To her.

I don't know why I didn't get pulled over. I'd passed about three cops so far going way over the speed limit, and no dice. Remarkable how lazy officers of the law could be when they were assigned highway patrol duty. You'd think they'd jump at the opportunity to bust a cocky middle-aged white guy in a Jag. Just to keep things interesting.

Oh well. Today at least, it looked like God was smiling on me.

I'd made great time on the freeway, and was pulling through my security gate when I saw not one, but two cars in my driveway. One was a white van with some logo on the side.

"Alek's Drapery Installation"

Delightful. She wasn't alone. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

This really let the air out of my tires. Shame the memo didn't reach my cock.

Grudgingly, I pulled into the only stall of my garage that wasn't blocked. My goddamn knuckles were white from their death grip on the steering wheel.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What was my explanation for being here, when Bethany inevitably asked? What excuse would I give?

I drew a blank.

Come on, think!

I didn't feel well?

No. I didn't want her retreating from me to avoid getting sick.

I decided to work from home today?

No. I don't have a home office yet.

My partner pissed me off and I needed some distance?

Better. But not ideal.

I was tired?

Yeah, I guess that was generally a good one. Something anyone could relate to. And not a bold-faced lie.

I

was

tired. I was tired of holding myself back from the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. I wanted Bethany. I wanted her against me, and beneath me, so badly. I was tired of fantasizing.

Good. That excuse would do. Just the first part though.

I hated myself. Why couldn't I just throw caution to the wind, like Joe? Just take what I wanted. Make her love me the way Joe made Kate love him. The jury was still out on that of course, but they had honestly seemed happy with one another. I wanted to taste it so badly for myself. But not at the risk of hurting Bethany. I just couldn't.

I shook my head as I entered through the garage door to the kitchen, thanking God and cursing him at the same time. I had raced over here like a bat out of hell, planning on doing the unthinkable. And God had promptly knocked me on my ass.

At least the devious bastard was watching out for Bethany. Had to give him kudos for that. She

deserved

his protection.

"Hey Bethany," I greeted, sounding as tired as I needed to pretend to be.

"Curt, hi!" she squeaked. "What are you doing home this early? I thought you were a very busy man.

Very

busy!" she quoted me smugly.

"That I am Bethany. I'm just feeling a bit run down. I spent some time at the office yesterday and actually fell asleep on my desk!" I laughed.

At least that part was true.

"Aww, well I hope you're not coming down with something," she stuck out her lip in a pout that made me want to bend her over the kitchen counter.

Her pigtails would be all fucked up before she knew what hit her.

"No, no," I assured her. "Just worked too long a day yesterday I think. So what's up? I saw the van outside."

"Oh that's Alek. He's doing some final measurements for draperies. Alek does the installation, so I have him verify my numbers before I push orders."

"That's a smart move," I nodded, though I was mildly interested at best.

"Watcha got there?" I gestured to her sketchpad.

"Oh," she blushed. "I was working on some sketches for the master closet."

"Oh nice," I smiled. "Can I see?"

"Sure," she answered shyly. "But why don't we go upstairs to discuss it? It may help you to visualize a bit better."

"Yeah, that sounds good," I replied nonchalantly.

I was such a master of words when I was around her.

Of course I let her lead. I had ached to watch her walk up those stairs since I saw her with Thor that day on the security feed.

In the tight, short, frayed denim, her ass did indeed sway back and forth. I was salivating by the time we reached the landing. I wanted to grab her and haul her to my bed just like I'd dreamed. But the installer was within earshot. Not in the cards.

I had a tent in my pants I knew, but I decided to ignore it. If she noticed, what the hell was she going to say? It would be awkward, but I knew she would play the professional, as always.

The air was dead silent as she led me into my bedroom. I think we were both holding our breath.

I wondered how Bethany had reacted when she'd discovered the trunk missing. I'd been in such a rush to get home that I hadn't paid any further attention to the security footage. Was she surprised? Had she gone in search of it?

As we entered the master bath I had to stifle a wicked grin.

I'd broken a sweat dragging that huge trunk to the garage yesterday. Its imprint was still very obvious on the carpet, but I figured it would be fun to mess with her a bit, so I didn't bother vacuuming it out. I wanted to see if Bethany would comment on it. But I knew she wouldn't. She was a pro.

"Okay," she let out a deep breath as we approached the doorway to Closet B. "Are you ready?" she asked, beaming with confidence.

"I'm ready," I confirmed softly. It was everything I could do to keep from growling at her in sexual excitement.

I was ready

. But in a totally different context.

"Okay, so if you stand here," she began, situating us both at the doorway looking in, "This is what you will see. This is option A."

She gestured to her pad and then to the space, all business as usual. But as we huddled together in the doorway, and I smelled her girly fragrance, it became hard to focus on anything but the ache.

Being taller than Bethany, I couldn't look down at her drawing without noticing her cute pigtails just inches from my face. God how I wanted to grab those sort-of-pigtails in my hands. I wanted to force her to her knees and make her suck my cock until I blew my load down her slender young throat.

"You see here that I've drawn a series of adjustable shelves. Very utilitarian, very basic, and on each wall are different depths. The far wall has the deepest shelves, and the side walls have medium and shallow depth. On the right hand wall, I have four linear feet of hooks, each accommodating up to one hundred pounds."

"Yeah, that looks nice," I commented. "Basic."

"Mhmm, so that's option A. And here's option B," Bethany continued, flipping to the next page in her sketchpad.

"Wow," was my immediate reaction.

"Yeah, so for option B, I've included a few more features. I have a bank of drawers here on the left hand wall, some closed cabinets at the far wall,

and

open shelving. Plus, a longer stretch of hooks on the right hand wall. About six linear feet," she explained authoritatively, pointing to the blank wall on our right.

"Wow," I muttered again. "You really put some thought into this."

I turned to her, and she looked down shyly for a second before meeting my eyes again.

"Yeah, I just wanted it to be versatile. Ideal for your needs, whatever those may be," she explained, retreating from me a few feet.

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. She stepped back. I stepped forward. She stepped back.

"Whatever those may be?" I teased.

I didn't want to make her aware of my intel, but God it was just too delicious. Pushing her, making her anxious and fidgety.