Giovanny

I hated working overnights.

We were remodeling the bathrooms at the store and a manager had to be there with the crew, five nights in a row. Tonight was night five. I was done.

I came in at eleven as scheduled and immediately plopped into a chair in the office. I knew I wouldn't make it through the night without coffee. I knew I wouldn't make it through the night without having to speak to him. He, Giovanny, had been working with our facilities maintenance company for years and what had been a professional relationship had turned to a somewhat personal relationship over the past few months. We spoke on the phone occasionally and every time he came into the store, I had trouble keeping the smile off of my face and the flirt out of my voice. He knew I wanted him. He was half Italian, half Dominican. He was sexy, with his tanned skin and short dark hair, hard within his body from the physical work the job required, soft around his eyes, a deep brown that made you think you were seeing everything and nothing about him all at once. I would stare at his ass when he would walk in front of me to show me something, and I would hear the accented comments he made under his breath about mine when I had to do the same.

Every night that week, it had been hard seeing him. I was the only employee there with them, the six Spanish men who would make comments as I walked by, and I would hear what sounded like a warning from Gio in Spanish from time to time. I would stand there and stare, lost at the language I didn't know and get a reassuring smile, with a dimple on one side, and a wink, lower lip pulled under his white teeth. When he looked at me like that, his tongue running over his lips, his eyes hazy with lust, I would sweat and back away. It wasn't that I didn't want him. If anything it was quite the opposite. But I wouldn't do that in the store, even if there was no one there to see or hear or know. Even if I knew where there weren't any cameras.

The men were already quite involved in their work by the time I got there. I had to fight the urge to just put my head down and black out from exhaustion, and it was a struggle to push myself out of the chair. I went to the bathroom they were working on and inquired about where he was by saying only "Giovanny?" In broken English, I learned that he wasn't coming in tonight, there had been problem in another store and he was needed there. I smiled a shallow smile and thanked them, hoping they wouldn't make fun of my obvious disappointment. I don't know why I cared.

I don't know why it mattered to me that he wasn't going to be there. Our interactions were limited because of the work they had and the work I had; it was fleeting moments, quick words, a smile from across the sales floor, a soft pinch as I walked by, that made every stupid, exhausting minute over the last five nights seem like they were worth it; the hours left before me seemed to grow exponentially at his absence.

I threw myself into work, cleaning employee areas, moving things, rearranging displays, pushing product to the floor. Within the hour, I was sweating and breathing hard and trembling with my false energy. I stood there with my hands on my hips as the Spanish men filed past me to step outside for a smoke break. I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm, ran my fingers through my long hair, pulling it into a ponytail. I was thankful I had chosen to wear a tank-top, and a black one at that, so that no one could tell how hot I was, and I rolled the bottom of my jeans up to try and cool down. I had taken my shoes off already, my small feet looking even smaller in my white running socks. I needed water. I needed a break too.

I walked to the back of the store to the small café we had and went into the back room, almost completely black with the lights off. I grabbed a plastic cup off of a shelf and walked to the sink to fill it up, dropping it on the floor just before I got there. I sighed a heavy sigh at my tired unwillingness to bend over and pick it up, putting one hand on my hip, staring at the floor. I heard a small laugh behind me and turned quickly around to see Gio standing in the doorway, leaning into its frame with his arms crossed. "Consada, ha?" he asked, laughing softly.

"Beyond consada. There is a whole new word for tired that I have not yet even discovered." I tilted my head to look at him. "They said you weren't coming in," I said quickly, conscious that whatever desire for him I'd been trying to conceal was now openly displayed in those words. I could barely make out his face, but I could see enough to know he smiled.

"Are you crazy? And miss my last night with you? Never," he said, his accent heavy, sexy, making my skin tingle and my stomach flutter. I backed myself into the rim of the three part sink, the lip of the metal making it so I could almost sit on it, and I crossed my arms. I could smell him from across the room, deodorant and cologne of some sort.

"Why do you always back away from me?" he said, and I was glad I couldn't see his eyes as he spoke, knowing they'd be unblinking and inviting, challenging and enveloping all at once.

"Because," I said lamely.

When I didn't continue he said, "Because why?"

"Because, I don't know why. I don't mean to."

"What would you do if I walked over to you right now?" he asked, his arms still crossed in front of his body.

I laughed nervously, and shook my head. "I don't know. I wouldn't do anything I suppose." I started sweating again.

"What would you do if I walked over to you right now and kissed you?" he asked, almost sounding bored as he said it, almost sounding indifferent, though to his question or my possible response I wasn't sure.

"You're not going to kiss me," I said, with much more certainty than I felt, hoping that it sounded more like a no than the yes that I was feeling.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

I laughed a short laugh, saying "Because you wouldn't" before turning around to pick up my fallen cup. My fingers had just touched it when I felt his hands softly wrapping around my hips, the strength of his arms keeping me still more so than his hands. I drew a breath, closed my eyes, and slowly straightened my body back up. I put the cup in the sink and held onto the rim of the basin with my hands, letting my head fall down, the silence radiating around us. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, running through my hair as he moved closer to me, his fingers flexing into me. I could feel myself trembling.

"This can't happen," I whispered as his soft lips found the curve of my neck, my head reluctantly, intentionally coming back up to rest against his shoulder. His mouth moved slowly, leaving a light trail of wetness as his tongue touched my skin, his breath brushing over it, sending a dizzying chill through my body. I felt the small pinch of his teeth, and as his mouth grew hungrier, my hands found his hands on my hips, his fingers opening and extending to allow mine to wind into his. They moved together as he began to slide them along the front of my body, first lower on my hips, then up to the bend in my waist, then to the soft roundness of my breasts. My breath became audible, and a small sound escaped my mouth before he turned my head far enough for him to kiss me.

It was so soft at first, so loosely formed, so warm and sweet that I felt uncertain on my feet. I could feel the wetness of his mouth, our lips touching in places, his tongue grazing mine for a second before pulling back. I felt his hand along the side of my face, gentle but strong, his fingers reaching into my hair, then back to my skin. His other hand found the other side of my face and I turned my body to him, my hands running along his arms, his muscles rippling underneath my touch. It seemed so contradictory to me, this kiss, so slow and unhurried, so full and partial and tender, and his arms, so strong and hard, so solid and definitive that my senses, dull and tired from the long week, buzzed with confusion and want. I gripped my hands into the bend of his arms, pulling down, and consciously noticed how they didn't move an inch. I wanted to touch all of him, I wanted to feel every part of this body, to feel it as it moved and searched and worked.

"Gio," I said hoarsely, his teeth pulling on my lip as he pulled his face away to look at me. "Amor," he said, burying his face in my neck, his lips and tongue working themselves over me, moving further down my body, his hands cupping my ass as his mouth grazed the edge of my bra.

"Gio, no," I started to say, my hands on his face. He pulled his mouth back up to mine, his kiss firm and consuming, forcing my false words back into my throat as his tongue delved softly, deeply into my mouth. I melted into him, his arms wrapping themselves under my ass and lifting me up until I was half sitting on the sink, half supported by my legs around him. I felt his fingers working at my pants and my mind was softly saying not here, not here as my body was saying now. He worked them down my hips and off my body, sitting me on the metal countertop to the side of the sink to pull them past my feet. I felt his fingers graze my stomach as they found the edge of my tank top and pulled it over my head. My fingers found his shirt and pulled it off as well, and I ran my palms and fingers over every curve and bulge of his muscled body, exploring with soft fingertips, feeling the rise of his skin as he shivered with my touch. I could feel the wetness between my legs and his cock, hard against his pants, pushing on the inside of my leg. He ran the flat of his hands softly up the sides of my body, burning me with slow, hard desire, and I felt his fingers moving to pull at my bra. I felt it gently snap away from me and he ran his hands over my back, forward towards my breasts, softly cupping them from the sides before maneuvering his hands underneath the straps, letting his fingertips slowly graze my skin as he ran it down my arms.

As he pulled it completely off, he stepped back, taking in what he could of my body with the dim light. My eyes had adjusted more as well, and I could see his classic lower-lip-under-the-teeth smile, the look he had given me every time I saw him for months, years maybe, showing me in his gaze that this is what he thought of every time he looked at me, this is what he wanted every time he smelt me and touched me and spoke to me. Every time he thought of me, this is what he was thinking of, and it made me burn and pulse between my legs.

I leaned back into the wall, my breasts round and soft and so white compared to his dark skin. My legs were spread where he was standing and he put a hand on either one, starting at my knees and slowly, firmly moving upwards. His body moved forward into me and he reached for my hand, pulling me to him from the wall, his mouth finding my mouth once, twice, and again, the drawback growing shorter each time as the intensity of our searching lips grew. I felt his fingers slip beneath my underwear and slowly start to move them downwards. I shifted my ass to let him pull them off, his lips never leaving mine, his soft, hot tongue gently prodding at my willing mouth.

My breath quickened as I felt him hook his hands behind my knees and pull me forward, my open pussy pushing into his body, his cock, still contained within his pants, straining to be released. His hands moved down the curves of my body, from the sides, then the back, and finally forward to my open hips. I thought I would die of want for him to touch my pussy, my clit, my wetness. He knew it, he sensed my need and desperation for him, and I felt his mouth smile as he kissed me, his hot breath on my face as he moved his mouth to my ear.

"Tell me what you want baby," his voice hoarse, his accent making even the simplest words seductive and sensual, his tongue and lips and teeth gently prodding at my ear, my neck. I breathed out loud, my hands feeling his back, his muscle shifting and hardening at the slightest movement of his body. I softly ran my fingers up his body to his shoulders, the rigid curves of them flexing as he held me into him. I ran my hands up along his neck and pulled his face to me as my mouth found his again, one of his hands coming to the back of my head to bring me further into him.

"Dígame lo que usted quiere, amor," he whispered into my mouth, and my hands moved to show him. I fingered at his button, then his zipper, spreading his jeans and slipping my hand between his pants and his underwear, feeling the hardness and thickness of his cock through the soft cotton fabric. My whole body trembled and the anticipation of feeling him inside me, and a small moan made its way out of my mouth as his kisses grew deeper and stronger at the feel of me touching him.

"Tell me," he said once more. So I did.

"I want this," I said, slowly, softly working my hand under his boxers, working his pants off his body, working his cock into my hand. The softness of his skin in my palm made my pussy ache and I wrapped my fingers firmly around his thickness. I heard him take a breath and hold it, a small smile forming itself on my lips at his pleasure, and slowly, I worked his dick back and forth in my hand.

"I want to feel this inside me", I said, barely enough of a whisper to be heard, his cock growing ever harder in my hand. I felt his hands resting at the top of my thighs where they met my hips, and his thumbs slowly ran themselves back and forth over my skin. As I held him in my hand and shifted my ass, my pussy with uncomfortable want and desire, his hands and fingers slowly, torturously moved themselves toward my throbbing clit, to my wetness and heat. His fingers worked the places around and below and above my pussy, and my breath was uneven and tense at the waiting, the wanting of his touch.

I barely felt it when his finger first ran itself along my pussy, barely grazing the soft hair, my lips, my slickness, but it ran through me like electricity. I closed my eyes and shivered from head to toe, my breath coming in short gasps, and I could feel how all of my energy was centered between my legs. I opened my eyes to see his face close to mine, his eyes, blinking slowly, his mouth parted in silent, stilled desire. He wrapped one hand behind my neck and I let him support the weight of my head, and he pulled me to him again.

As his lips grazed mine, I felt his fingers at my cunt again and would have jerked back with surprise and pleasure if his grip would have allowed me to move. Slowly, so softly, he ran his fingers over my open wetness, taking a little time to nudge at my clit, before teasingly moving on. I held my breath in waiting, felt that smile against my mouth again and wished I had the energy to tease him back. His cock, hard in my hand, was hot and throbbing and controlled. Every single ounce of power was his, and I resigned myself to the idea that whatever he wanted, whatever he wanted, was his.

I finally felt his fingers center on my clit, my body melting and radiating with the pleasure of it. I felt more and more that his one arm and hand behind my head was supporting me, my weight, yet I could do nothing to pull myself up, to do anything but feel the burning wave that was slowly taking over my body. I felt it building with every stroke, every movement of his fingers, and his mouth grew softer and more open as he felt my orgasm take hold of my body. I pulsed and released myself into his hand, my body, rigid and fluid all at once, my breath without purpose, a hoarse series of moans coming with each ragged letting go of air. I felt the burst of pleasure and my body, contracting over and over again with its release, felt on fire and under water and floating on air all at the same time.

The touch of his fingers grew softer when he felt my body begin to relax again, and I could hear his soft whisperings in the dark, his voice hoarse, his words lost on my mind, their meaning apparent whether in English or Spanish. His mouth was on mine again and when I felt like I could manage, I squeezed his hard cock in my hand. He kissed me once more before hooking his hands under my arms, slowly pulling me off the counter, placing me softly on my feet before kissing my nose and turning me around.

I willingly bent myself forward over the counter, holding on to whatever my hands could find. I heard the shuffle of his pants coming off his body and then his strong hands on my hips, my ass, his hard cock nudging at the back of my pussy. I could feel it when he bent forward and down into me, his lips kissing my back lightly before his cock entered me and filled me up and consumed me. I could feel my legs trembling, the thickness of his dick pushing at my body, his slow movements in and out of me evening out my breath while making it harder to breathe. I felt his hands touching me, running themselves over the curves of my sides, the softness of my skin, my tits and ass, the push of my hips into his fingers. He worked me slowly, taking his time, for him or for me I do not know. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, felt. I could feel my body responding again, working itself to orgasm with him, as his movements grew harder, quicker, his breath shortening, and I began to come again.

In his lush accent he told me he was coming, attaching the word "baby" to it as he had always done when speaking to me, and the word "amor" was whispered just before I felt his movements alter for his release inside me. I could feel the pulse and the heat of him, I could feel the sweat on my body under the touch of his hands, I could feel everything in him, in me, all at once and the sheer intensity of it made my kneels start to buckle. His arms wrapped around my waist, his strength easily holding me up, his Spanish words loving themselves into the kisses he left on my back, my mind and mouth smiling at the softness of it.

I felt when he pulled himself out of me, pulling my body up and turning me around to wrap his arms around me, to kiss me and say things to me that I couldn't understand yet couldn't mistake. He ran his fingers over me again and again, into my hair, down my face and neck and breasts, using his mouth on them, pulling at my nipples with his teeth and following it up with soft kisses. He could have went again and again that night, if I could have taken it, and if I could have taken it, I would have wanted it for every minute we had left. His face came back to mine and even in the dim light he could see my immense exhausted satisfaction. He smiled at me and shook his head, a soft laugh coming from his throat. I asked what he was laughing at and he kissed me again.

"My little amor," he said, his arms wrapping around me tightly, his lips on my forehead. He softly pushed my head into his shoulder, stroking my hair with one hand as I closed my eyes. Deliriously my hand moved to his cock, but he moved it away.

He nudged my head and brought his lips to mine as I turned to him, his eyes black in the darkness. "Later, amor. We have all the time in the world now."