Between Friends

This shall be my first upload to Literotica. I wrote this simple story several years ago and it has been transferred to each new computer since. I hope you enjoy it! -SB

*****

"How do we always seem to get on these topics?" His pale skin appearing a bit flushed with what could be embarrassment. "I swear, you women are worse than any men's locker room!"

"Oh, never mind Mike, just answer the flippin' question!" Emma blurts out almost too excitedly, her green eyes gleaming as she anxiously awaits his answer.

Mike and Emma had worked together for several years and they had become good friends in that time- a friendship which was always easy and comfortable for both of them. Michael Ferreira, a tall man with a runner's build, pale skin, eyes so intensely dark they often appeared black and with hair to match, dressed impeccably sharp. In reference, you might say he is handsome in his way, a man of quiet confidence. Emma Ryan, a fiery redhead with dark green eyes, a curvaceous figure and the stubborn tenacity which, like her hair, was handed down to her from her mother. Both are highly regarded in their respective field of forensic finance, dealing mostly in contracts from various governmental agencies.

Silence hangs in the air like a flag awaiting its breeze to animate it. The other gals in the office were all anxiously waiting for him to continue. Being the only guy in an office full of women was sometimes taxing. This was not one of those times.

"Well," he slowly sighs, wondering if he should entertain them. "I've never had a problem finishing it."

The women all simultaneously whoop and giggle. He's enjoying this bit of schoolyard toying. He leans his tall, lanky frame casually over the partition that divides their work stations and decides to go on...

what the hell

. His long fingers run absently through his sleek, dark hair, his speech is slow, deliberate, "Sometimes... there is an issue getting started...I mean..." He pauses purposefully for dramatic effect then continues. "Well, never mind. You'll all just think I'm one of those assholes who likes to brag." With this, his full lips quirk upwards at the corners, exposing just a glimpse of his perfect white teeth below. Oh yes, he's enjoying this.

Reading between the lines, Emma scoffs, "I don't believe you." Her hand waving in the air dismissively as she twists around in her chair and begins to work once again at her computer. Her naturally copper-red hair is pulled into a simple ponytail, which swings back and forth slowly from the motion, suddenly tiring of this silliness and the near endless, blatant flirting from the female office staff.

"You don't believe me?"

Emma does a half-turn in her wheeled computer chair and when she looks at Mike, he has his hand over his heart in an exaggerated, mocking gesture of being mortally wounded, but in his eyes she thinks he actually looks a tad hurt. Perhaps he's feeling a bit ganged up on, she wonders, or maybe because she isn't just blindly backing him up as a friend should do. Nevertheless, his dramatic demeanor makes her giggle in spite of herself. Besides, what would she know on the subject?

"Mike, I know you, and know you are full of shit!" She laughs, shaking her head as she returns once again to her keyboard. Trying desperately to get her mind back into the analysis she's been working on, and which is due the following morning.

From behind her, she hears Mike jest, "You want to see for yourself?" He knew she would back down then and was already planning to make her buy him beers after work for her insolence.

She was more tenacious than that...never letting a challenge get the better of her. No, her years growing up as the only daughter of five children gave her a wicked tenacity. Besides, he was bluffing; she had known him long enough to know that. With forethought abandoned and hands which had crossed her chest unbeknownst to her, seemingly of their own volition, glaring into his eyes, she says, "Ya!"

Carried away by the moment, he begins marching toward the elevator.

Emma looks at her co-workers, who are all shaking their heads in unison...he was definitely bluffing. She decides to call her old friend on his bluff, and starts after him. She needed a break anyway.

Determined, he hits the elevator call button. Alone in the hallway, they stand in mutual, silent defiance and after a moment the doors slide open with a ding sound and they step inside in near unison. Mike turns to face the car's opening, and Emma turns to face him.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looks down at her. "Here?" he asks, his face is serious but the light dances in his dark eyes. There is a playfulness and also, she thinks, a bit of uncertainty.

She scoffs, "Sure, someone may get on, but go ahead". Noticing the lit elevator button, she asks "The executive floor?"

He just glances at her in a sort of sideways fashion. A nearly indiscernible twitch briefly draws at the corners of his lips. Her heart begins to quicken its pace.

The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open with another ding. He leans through the open doors, poking his head out into the hall. He looks left, then right in a comically sneaky way, like a spy on a covert mission. Seeing no one, he steps out, waving her through with his hands in an all clear motion. Emma follows him.

"We are not even supposed to be on this floor!" she rasps at him in a volume a bit too loud to be considered a whisper.

He doesn't respond, just reaches out and grabs her hand in his as he continues to stride down the long corridor until they come to the end of the hall where the "executive lounges" are, a fancy name for the restrooms that were reserved only for the company's executives. Since the cutbacks, the whole floor was devoid of employees and the executive team had taken to using the regular restrooms downstairs with the commoners such as them.

Choosing the door which had "Women's Lounge" engraved on its polished brass plaque, he throws a glance over at her, looking for something on her face that will tell him she is backing down.

She returns his glance haughtily, still determined to call his bluff, and equally determined to make him chicken out.

'She's not going to back down', he thinks to himself, smiling and shaking his head as he enters the forbidden room.

Emma glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is there to see them both go in, just as she is simultaneously yanked roughly inside.

...

"Wow" she mocks, observing the room's upscale décor and dim lighting, a stark contrast to the sterile hall they had just exited. "All this to piss in! No wonder the company is in the tank!" The room is fancy, almost to the point of being ridiculous. Plush gray carpets give way to beautiful stone slated walls in grays and browns. Cool leather sofas in a coordinating, earthy brown at the far corners of the room with an over-sized plush upholstered ottoman. Beside them, another door, through which Emma assumes are stalls. Original artworks in sleek, modern frames hang in masculinity over the stonework.

"Hey Mike, can you believe they have leather couches in here? Is this for real?" She says incredulously.

At his lack of response to her blatant mocking, she turns to find Mike standing across the room and watching her with his back against one of the cool, dark walls. His dark eyes pinned on her with an intensity she had never seen in him before. They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Nervous butterflies take flight in her chest, her heart begins to thump and to her, it seems so loud that perhaps it would be audible from across the room. As he continues his lasered glare at her, she can't help but wonder if he knows how nervous she suddenly is. Can he hear her heart pounding? Can he see the pulse in her neck? Does he know the reaction her body is suddenly having as those butterflies begin to fly southward, tickling her belly and settling warmly between her legs?

Get yourself together, girl.

"Well, out with it then!" She says playfully, her green eyes glistening.

"You really want to see it?" He asks. "Wwwe don't have to do this. We can just say..."

"You started this, remember?" She asks, smiling at him coyly.

After a thoughtful moment, he says, "Okay then", and with that he widens his stance slightly and begins to unbuckle his black belt. He pauses again, searching her expression, then unbuttons the black slacks he's wearing. He does this slowly, still waiting for a sign of her concession, but there is none. He can't believe what he is about to do. This has gone way too far and he should put a stop to it, still, he can't help himself. There's a need to see it through, and even though it's gone beyond anywhere he thought it would, he's sure she will end it soon. After a moment, he is standing there with his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, his blue dress shirt still tucked in. He pauses once more, his fingers run absently through his hair again, but she stands in defiance with one foot tapping the rhythm of her impatience.

"Don't make me go in after it." She says, still determined to call his bluff. The words coming out of her own mouth surprise her, and his handsome face reflects her expression of shock and amusement, making her giggle. She is standing in front of him with her arms crossed, and one leg in front of the other, which is tapping its foot in mocking. As she looks at him in his current state, he appears vulnerable and unsure. Very different from his usual demeanor of quiet confidence. His dark hair, usually stylishly held in place with what Emma always assumed was some sort of pomade, is beginning to fall into his face on the sides, and she suddenly realizes he's been nearly compulsively running his hands through his hair, as he does when he is feeling stressed. She has seen him this way on occasion, before a presentation or when he's behind on a project. He has taken his glasses off and set them on the granite counter beside him and fuck if he doesn't look like the sexiest nerd she had ever laid eyes on. She was seeing her friend in a whole new light, her eyes and brain far behind what her body has been already telling her.

Slowly, he pulls the satiny blue material of his shirt from the front of his trousers, the cool material sliding easily from its confines, his belt's buckle providing the only real sound in this place where the only inhabitants are each barely breathing.

As she looks on, he slowly rubs his cock which has begun to ache, just once, through the material of his boxers, which are also black in color. His trousers are now hanging loosely around his hips and he thinks, just for a moment, that he sees her tongue dart out and dampen her lips. Determined to win whatever game it is they are playing, he slowly slides the front of his boxers down and below his cock, which is now beginning to stand at attention.

Like a silly schoolgirl watching her first horror flick, she can't help but cover her eyes with her hands. Slowly, giggling, she peaks out from behind her fingers, only to see that he is still covered beneath his blue, button-down shirt. In spite of this fact, the shirt is tented impressively.

Emma gasps. One of those embarrassing, against-your-will, out of body reactions that you want to take back instantly, but can't. This man, this friend of hers, is a beautiful specimen indeed. How has she never noticed before? Without actually seeing his cock, she can tell that what he was bashfully saying was, in fact, very true. Not that she is any expert, but in life or in magazines, she has never seen a cock that could tent a shirt to that degree and she is sure that the petite girls he often dated would be a poor match for his body, and in that too, he was obviously telling the truth. "Trouble getting started, indeed," she thinks to herself.

She clears her throat and straightens her back, still determined to somehow win this. "Well, I can't really tell, your shirt is still covering you." Her voice has suddenly turned from giggling, feisty friend, to soft sultry woman- surprising even herself.

Hearing the sudden change in her voice, Mike's head tilts to one side as he stares at her. There is no denying her beauty. Her red hair seems to be glowing in the dim light and her ample breasts appear to be heaving, making him stare at her chest. His mind drifts back to the night he had held her in his arms, stroking that red hair as she cried herself to sleep in his lap over Andrew, the guy she thought she would marry. She was crushed when she caught him fucking another woman in his car, parked outside the local dive. To make matters worse, she had been out with her friends that night, so they had all been witness to the torrid scene. She literally ran straight to Mike's apartment in the dead of night. He answered his thundering door, ironically wearing a Superman tee-shirt and boxers and with a baseball bat in hand, only to find her flying into his arms, her high heels scratching his back as her arms flew around his neck. At some point she had kicked off her shoes and ran barefooted. Since then, Mike had been the only guy that she was close to, and he was just a friend. He never did understand how that idiot Andrew could want anyone else.

Shocked by her brazen show of determination, he's at a loss for words. He just stares at her as she awaits his response, words, or action;

something.

She steps closer to him. It has been so long since she has allowed herself to be close to anyone and until now, she hadn't realized how lonely her solitude has been. Her green eyes betray her as they slowly scan every inch of him, seeing her friend, her very sexy male friend, in a whole new light. His usual intensely sharp, business proper appearance gone in his current state of disarray, giving him an almost boyish air of vulnerability. Without even realizing it, she steps closer again, her body so close to his now that she can feel waves of heat emitting from him, without having to actually touch him. A soft node of his aftershave circles around her at this closeness, bringing her arousal to a fevered pitch beyond any rationale.

"I need to touch you." She purrs, slipping her hands under his shirt.

"Wait.." He attempts to speak, but his mind is misfiring, turning to idiocy. His cock, now liberated from its confines comes to rest against her belly, but her focus now is on the man in whole. Her sharp green eyes are locked with his, which in this light, appear like churning pools of black oil as she runs her hands down both sides of his surprisingly well-toned abdomen, feeling it tighten as he draws in a breath at her touch. She runs her fingers along the lumps and bumps of his muscular mid-section, her own heart pounding.

"Emma, what are you doing?" he breathes, trying to sound nonchalant, and doing a terrible job at it. She steps closer still, so close that he can feel her nipples through her silk blouse against him. She says nothing, and doesn't need to. He can feel her warmth all over him now as she reaches her long arms around him, briefly touching the cool strands of his hair, her face close to his neck, just under his left ear. Although she's not wearing perfume, the scent of her is intoxicating to him. Her hands are flat on his back now, moving up and down slowly, her breath in his ear. She consumes his every sense. With every upward movement, he feels his shirt being lifted up and out of the back of his slacks, the heat of her palms, her heart beating faster against him. Her hands move upward again, and the remainder of his silky blue dress shirt liberates from his slacks. Down again her hands move, down past his waist, and into his pants. Her hands glide down and over his round, muscular ass and squeeze firmly as she pulls his body into hers, a small gasp escaping her lips, electricity running through his body.

He doesn't touch her, part of him still wondering if she will suddenly laugh it all off as some sick prank, but his body betrays him as his breaths become ragged and his cock presses hard against her belly.

Raising her heels just a bit, she nibbles his earlobe. His jaw tightens and his body bucks. She's not playing fair. She knew that it would drive him wild; he had told her once over drinks that it was one of his weaknesses. She whispers warm nonsense into his ear, those sultry half-sentences that people say when they are drunk on passion, such as, 'you are so warm' and 'you smell so good', making his head swim. When she says, "I've been so lonely," she crushes his resistance.

They are under each other's spell now, their eyes closed, hearts beating faster and faster against the other's body. Forgetting where they are, he can no longer deny himself the sensation of her. His arms reach around her, his large hands grasp her ass as he draws her tightly into him, burying his face into her neck and hair, drawing in a deep breath. Her hair is silk against his face, filling him with scents of fruit and flowers and warmth. His hands run up her back and grasp her hair gently and she gasps.

Suddenly, he pulls himself back. Breathlessly he looks at her in disbelief as his eyes feast on her flushed cheeks, her heavy lidded eyes and pouting lips. Desire for him blooming in her like never before.

He backs himself against the slated wall. Breathless moments pass as they gape at each other in disbelief. The physical loss is too much to bear and she steps into him again and kisses him hard on the mouth, parting his soft lips with her tongue, making him groan as her tongue finds his, wet and warm, silky and foreign. So very foreign. His friend's mouth- Emma's mouth and its exquisite beyond his wildest imaginings.

Her hands explore his body greedily, her fingers glide across his hard nipples, over the smooth butter-like flesh of his chest. He moans and leans his head back against the wall, looking to the ceiling for answers as her small warm hand finds his painfully stiff cock and encircles it. For the first time he allows himself to think of her as the woman she is, and not just as his close friend. A woman who has been his confidant in bad times and his Friday night movie buddy. A woman who had turned all the heads (women and men alike) at his high school reunion when he didn't feel like bringing a date. A woman who had slept over at his house, in his bed, after long nights of too much to drink, and he had never touched her. Had never even considered it. Like a blazing punch to his head, he realizes that she is not only his friend, but his

best

friend.

Dropping his gaze his eyes lock with hers. He runs his fingers up the back of her head, entangling them in her hair. Her pouty lips are parted slightly, brow furrowed, eyes twinkling, cheeks now rose colored...beautiful. He leans down into her, his mouth almost touching her lips. She can feel his breath on her, sweet, hot and moist. "I..." he begins breathlessly "I...can't have just some hook-up with you..." "You mean too damned much to me." He releases his hold on her, allowing the tension to go out of his shoulders. His heart is pounding so hard and fast that he doesn't know how he will survive it. He inhales and exhales hard in an attempt to clear his mind from this fog of desire.

"Mike" she whispers throatily. Her glistening green eyes are locked with his as they threaten to spill over. He had only seen her cry that one night in all the years he had known her. "I'm realizing... just now... that I am madly in love with you, and probably have been, for a very long time, and if you don't love me back, then that's ok, but right now, I need you. I just need you so mu..."

Her confession rips at his heart. His mind is everywhere and nowhere as he cups her delicate face in his hands, silencing her mid-sentence. His heart is pounding in his ears, head spinning. "Oh my God" he whispers so low it is almost inaudible, his face only centimeters from hers, his eyes searching hers intently. "How did this happen to us?" he whispers, his lips close to hers, as he lifts her in his arms and spins around, pressing her body between him and the wall.