A little slice of life as I ease back into writing more regularly.
*****
It wasn't a tremendous surprise the first time we had sex. As a matter of fact, I remember thinking it had probably been fated to happen, even if I didn't really believe in fate, but I remember thinking, "Of course," as he moved inside of me in harsh thrusts and pulled on my hair and looked at me as if he wasn't sure whether to kiss me or strangle me. If things like fate and God were real, then somewhere my name was linked with Colin's and it was always meant to happen like this. I was almost certain that if there were other dimensions and some part of us existed in those, too, then those versions of ourselves found each other, sweaty and furious and needy in the back of a car like we had.
When Amanda found out, she'd choked on her own spit for nearly ten minutes. She worked with the two of us and had watched us circle around each other for months. She was the only person I told, and that was partly because I expected her to be as grimly resigned as I was about the whole thing. She tugged me to her chest, instead, and whispered, "Are you all right?" and I'd said, "Sure," kind of surprised by her reaction, but then I realized that tears were running down my cheeks and maybe I wasn't so all right, after all.
No, what was really the surprise was that it wasn't just the once. It wasn't even just several times. It happened a couple of times a month until suddenly it was a weekly thing, part of a habit. Almost daily, in fact.
He didn't seem startled by any of it. He took each new development with the same begrudging acceptance I had felt during our first encounter. He didn't get any nicer to me--he barely spoke to me, really--and we certainly never spent time together in which we weren't working or fucking, but I viewed what we had as a strange sort of relationship that I didn't want to examine too closely.
I wasn't sure what he made of the whole thing. Obviously, the sex was outstanding, but it was also apparent that he wasn't enamored with me. He thought I was spoiled, capricious and kind of stupid. I knew this because he told me, and although I'd stormed out of his apartment after that particular argument, I showed up again the next time he texted me, taking him deep in my throat, letting him come all over my face.
I kept expecting it to end. At night, back in my own apartment, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining different ways it would go down. By morning, I would have myself half-convinced I could live without him, but then he would text me or I'd see him at his desk, forehead scrunched in concentration, and everything would go sideways again.
Tonight, however, I was certain it was over. He had been aloof at work, even more aloof than usual, and it wasn't as if he were working on some tough case that was making him edgy. I caught him watching me a few times, a blank and indecipherable look on his face.
His apartment door was unlocked but I knocked on it anyway because it pissed him off.
He told me so once, after his fingers were sticky from me and I was still panting from what he'd done. "You can just come in next time."
I'd put my hand to my heart because it felt like it might pulse right out of my chest. It had been a particularly exceptional orgasm."What are you talking about?"
"My apartment. I leave the door open for you when you come so I don't have to get up."
That fit what I knew about Colin.
Now, he opened the door with a glare. "I left it unlocked," he said, like he always said.
I pushed past him and caught his cat running into his bedroom. He or she wasn't enamored with me, either. I didn't know its name, mostly because I had asked Colin the first time I'd come over and he'd huffed and asked, "Why do you need to know my cat's name?"
An open bottle of cabernet was on his coffee table and he'd already taken the liberty of pouring some into two glasses. I chose one and kicked off my shoes so that I could get comfortable on his couch.
"Your leg is going to fall asleep if you sit like that."
I took a sip of wine and rolled my eyes. "What do you care?"
He sank down beside me and raised his eyebrows. "You do it every time you come here, and every time you whine about your leg for five hours."
Sighing, I turned my body so that I faced him and straightened my legs out, letting my feet fall into his lap. He didn't look impressed, but he didn't tell me to move them, either.
"You going to tell me why you were weird today?" I asked as casually as I could, unable to bear the silence for more than a few minutes.
His eyebrows lifted again. He loved to do that; it was the only expression his face actually made. "Weird? How was I weird?"
"You just were. You brooded more than usual, for starters, and then you ordered a salad at lunch."
His face broke out into a rare smile, the one I loved and hated to see. "You're such a psycho."
"Mm. You kept staring at me, too, but not, you know, with heat, or anything."
"With heat?" He was still smiling. It was disconcerting.
"You know what I mean." I poured us more cabernet.
One of his hands clasped my ankle and I tried not to get too distracted by the gentle circles his thumb made on the bone. "I think you're reading too many trashy novels these days."
"We can't all read books about middle-aged men who need to find themselves, or whatever weird shit you read."
He snorted, which was an even rarer thing for him to do than laughing, and shook his head at me. "Honestly, Miller, you're such a psycho. Kindly shut up."
That was another thing about Colin--he almost never called me Jessica. It was always "Miller".
"I can shut up," I promised, putting my glass on the coffee table. "I would prefer if you didn't, though."
And then I adjusted how I was sitting and leaned down to work on his cock.
*****
"Harder," I whispered.
He pounded into me, and though the filing cabinet behind me weighed more than both of us together, I had a fleeting thought that we might move it with our frantic fucking. A forceful thrust where I needed it chased away any rational thought. He bit my neck and I scratched up his covered back. We hadn't had time or the opportunity to undress. Our coworkers were just outside the thin door, and I was certain they could hear harsh panting and whispers. The thought only made me more desperate for him.
He leaned back and we met eyes while he picked up the pace and intensity. It felt like he was trying to fuck into the deepest part of me, like he wanted to bury himself inside me so I would always carry him under my skin. Funny he didn't know he was already there.
He swelled inside me and I tightened down on him. We were both close, each of our bodies daring the other to come first.
"Fuck," he hissed.
"Shh." I kissed him, taking his groans and partially formulated words into my mouth.
I imagined for a moment what we might look from above. My panties were dangling from one ankle. A heel had fallen off somewhere under the desk. He had my legs wrapped around his waist, and he was clutching one thigh. His finger imprints wouldn't leave my skin for days. My hands gripped his ass, fucking loving the feel of it clenching and knowing the strength he was using to drive in and out of my body. He began grinding deep inside my pussy, knowing how much I loved it. There was no choice but to take it, to know I would come first and lose our game. I wouldn't want to lose to anyone but him.
