The Spaces Between - Story Four

Chapter 1: Coffee, Not Just Coffee

Saniya had booked the conference room to talk through an idea about vendor consolidation in their installations. It made sense--she was in accounting, and she and Michael had worked together a few months back tracking down nearly a million dollars' worth of misplaced hardware. Since then, she'd been looking more closely at field costs, and this was a natural continuation. The invite came with a short agenda and the subject line "Vendor Review Ideas," nothing out of the ordinary.

The room was quiet when Michael walked in. She was already there, two coffees on the table, her laptop open but turned slightly away from her. Her skin was a rich, warm bronze that caught the light gently, and her dark, wavy hair framed her face in a way that looked deliberate but not staged. She looked professional, more so than most in the building--clean lines, soft makeup, a subtle perfume he couldn't place. And when she smiled, it lingered just a beat too long to be accidental.

"Thanks for making the time," she said. "I've been thinking more about the vendor consolidation angle. Your draft made a lot of sense--I was hoping we could walk through it together. I really value how you frame these things. You always bring a field perspective that's easy to miss from where I sit."

"Yeah, of course," Michael said, taking the seat across from her. "Been meaning to do something like this anyway."

They talked shop for the first fifteen minutes--field team feedback, dashboard bugs, partner feedback loops. It was real enough. But somewhere between her questions and the way she listened, Michael began to feel something else. Not flirtation, not overt. Just an attentiveness that went deeper than the topic at hand. Her eyes didn't just follow his words--they held them, turned them over. When he mentioned a workaround one of their techs had pulled off in the field, she smiled slightly before jotting something down. He hadn't even realized he'd been looking for that reaction until he saw it.

And then it struck him--she was paying attention to him. Not just the role he played, not just the info he offered, but him. It unsettled him in a quiet way. He wasn't used to that kind of focus, not without an angle behind it. But with Saniya, it felt like respect. Maybe admiration. Maybe more. He couldn't quite name it.

The realization left him a little off balance, unsure if he should lean into it or let it pass. But part of him liked the feeling. Part of him wondered if this was what it felt like to be seen.

"You always have good notes," he said, glancing at her notepad. She shrugged.

"Helps me think. And, honestly, I wanted a reason to get more of your time. You're good at this, Michael. I learn things when we talk."

He felt the compliment more than he expected. It wasn't the first time they'd shared late hours at the office or exchanged quick glances in crowded meetings. But this was the first time they were alone, without a deadline pushing them.

His phone buzzed. A text from Naomi.

**Naomi:** "OMG I totally missed this. Still at work. Maybe we can meet in a couple of days."

Ben: "Sure, just let me know. It would be great to see you."

Naomi: "Yah of course."

That was all.

Michael locked the screen and looked up. Saniya had seen the shift in his focus. She didn't ask.

She just nodded slightly, like she was filing it away.

"Anyway," she said, her voice lighter but not fake, "if this rollout works, we'll have a real case study. You think it's got legs?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning forward. "If we don't trip over ourselves, it could actually be a win."

She smiled at that. It was subtle, but he noticed. She wasn't pushing anything. Just creating space. And he was starting to feel the difference between interest and pressure.

She wanted time. Not a scene. Just time. To see where it might go.

He hesitated, then took a breath.

"You hungry?" he asked. "There's a Thai place a few blocks away. We could grab dinner, keep this going if you're up for it."

She looked at him a moment too long to be purely casual.

"Sure," she said, gathering her laptop. "Might help us polish the proposal."

They didn't call it anything. But when they left the room, walking side by side out into the evening air, it wasn't just about work anymore.

And Michael wasn't sure if he'd been waiting for this, or if it had been building all along.

**Chapter 2: The island invitation**

It was several days after his meeting with Saniya, Michael was reheating leftovers in Naomi's kitchen, still in yesterday's t-shirt and boxers, bare feet cold on the tile. The place smelled faintly of coffee and last night's sex--half-washed sheets, the tang of Naomi's shampoo. This wasn't comfortable domesticity, both of them had taken quick trips to the bathroom to freshen up, but it was part of their regular cadence to have a sleepover at her place on one of the weekend nights.

Naomi sat at the small kitchen table, legs folded beneath her on the chair, her laptop open and angled away from him. She was wearing one of her silk robes--black, with red embroidery that looked like plum blossoms running along the cuffs. Her small bare breasts peaking through a gap when he reached for items. The whole outfit was still exotic to Michael which also made it erotic and he went through his mental calendar of what he wanted from this weekend and if is could include a little stay over this morning.

She had her black hair pulled back with a hair tie, and her face was bare with the clean look of a morning wash. She was comfortable, pretty, and approachable in this mode. She was sipping coffee, stirring it occasionally with a single chopstick, half-reading emails, half-watching him. One foot bounced softly, in rhythm with morning chill acoustic vibes humming from her speakers.

"So," she said, not looking up. "I booked a cabin on Bowen for next weekend."

Michael glanced up from the cutting board. "A cabin?"

"Mhm." She scrolled through something on her screen. "Tucked in the woods. Big windows, quiet. Just needed to get out of the city."

He wiped his hands and leaned against the counter. "Nice."

"You're welcome to come," she added, almost like it was an afterthought. "But I'm going regardless."

"Oh," he said. "Cool."

"It is," she said, finally looking at him with a small smile. "Ferry on Friday. It's about two grand for the weekend, but I needed it."

He didn't say anything. She turned back to her screen like it didn't matter either way.

Two grand. It was, well it was a number. Not _impossible_--he made okay money now--but it wasn't money he just spent without checking his balance and his bills. That kind of weekend would need planning, prioritizing. For her, it just seemed like... an afterthought. Naomi didn't spend carelessly, but when she wanted something, she just got it. Like she'd already made the decision and he was just catching up.

He thought about offering to split it. Then thought better of it. Would she think that was sweet, or uncomfortable? She hadn't brought it up. He didn't want to frame it like she needed help. Didn't want to make it transactional. Maybe he'd just bring wine, or take her to a restaurant, or cook. Or.. show up?

"I want to read," Naomi said. "Maybe hike. Eat something slow. Maybe... a little sex."

She said it without inflection, the way she might've said "maybe do some laundry."

Then she smiled, a wicked curve of her lips. "You remember what you said about my ass?"

Michael choked on his tea, raised an eyebrow, half-laughing.

"You said it was a long process. That you'd take it slow and make sure I was comfortable."

"I did say that.", Michael wiped his chin.

"Good," she said, looking back at her laptop. "Maybe it's time to start... researching."

He stirred the noodles and thought of what research would look like, maybe that smaller toy of hers, a little lube, gentle non-alcohol wet wipes..

"I'll drive," she added, typing something. "You don't have a car and mines a standard. I'll send you the ferry time later."

Michael nodded. That was it. The whole trip decided, planned, paid for, scheduled. He wasn't driving. He wasn't paying. He wasn't making the plan.

He was being allowed to come.

And somehow, that unsettled him more than it should have.

**Chapter 5: Crossing to Desire**

The Queen of Capilano sat docked under a high sun, idling with the low, constant hum of its engines. The loading ramp hadn't quite sealed, some issue with a vehicle after them holding up their departure. Rows of cars sat baking under the afternoon light, windows cracked, passengers waiting in the quiet churn of anticipation.

Michael and Naomi were in the second vehicle of their lane, her silver hatchback tucked between a delivery van and a family SUV. Two cars ahead, some people had already stepped out, stretching their legs, leaning on bumpers. But inside Naomi's car, neither of them moved.

The sunroof was tinted dark, muting the light above. However, Naomi had no tint on her other windows and they had been people watching since sitting on the ferry. It was late spring so, the ferry was full of weekend Vancouverites getting out of town.

Naomi sat in the driver's seat, one leg folded beneath her, one arm draped out the open window. She wore white denim jeans, fitted, but low waisted, the fabric tight over her thighs. She had once said that her mom, thought that exposing any midriff or having a tattoo made her a slut. Naomi had done both, but clearly in an reclaiming her bodily freedom than a statement of her sexual experience. Her shirt was loose--something soft and blue that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was up in ponytail, but messily, strands already slipping down her neck. She looked like she had dressed for comfort, but had incidentally dressed to be devoured.

Michael's hand rested lightly on her thigh, idly tracing along the seam. He hadn't stopped touching her since they pulled onto the ferry.

"You know," he said, fingers gliding higher, "someone could walk by. Right now."

Naomi didn't look at him. She was watching a ferry worker at the bow shout into a radio. "That's the second time you've said that."

"And you haven't moved my hand."

She gave a soft exhale--half scoff, half breath--and didn't respond. His fingers curled slightly, applying pressure, sliding higher. She shifted her hips, just a little. He felt warmth in his fingertips from her arousal.

Michael leaned closer, voice low. "I don't think you want me to stop."

Still no answer. His hand reached the zipper of her jeans. He didn't hesitate. The button came undone with a soft pop, the zipper following with a slow, patient slide. She looked at him now--really looked--eyes dark, uncertain, a little of what he thought was tension.

His fingers were already teasing at the band of her underwear, already coaxing access. Occasionally rubbing over her mound, tracing her pussy through the denim. She lifted her hips, barely, but enough. Enough to say yes.

He pushed his fingers down, the dewy feel of her moisture providing the lubricant to give a gentle rub over her lips. He shifted slightly, his arm a little akimbo as it bent high on her chest, and pushed his hand down at a better angle. "Lift up", he whispered, and as she did, he used the force of his hand to make more room with her pants sliding down a little. She gasped quietly, as his fingers pushed into her.

A loud whistle and the ferry lurched. They began to move. A small cheer and clapping from the people at the bow of the ferry. Naomi tensed around his hand her legs coming together, but Michael was undeterred, casually opening and closing his fingers seeking to trace her insides. Naomi inhaled sharply, one hand going to grip the gearshift--not to move it, just to hold something, anything.

"You're already wet."

She turned her face away, biting her lip, trying not to smile.

His fingers moved with a maddening slowness, finding rhythm, exploring. She shifted, opened her legs a little wider. The car around them felt small now, private but not safe. He kissed her neck once, but mostly he watched her face--how it twitched and struggled with the rising tension. How her breath came fast in her throat. Every sound that reached them made her tense up. He increased tension in his fingers, while periodically rubbing the base of his hand into her clit to change tact.

Outside, a deckhand walked past, close. Naomi froze. The worker stopped near the front of the lane, adjusting something, scanning the rows. She took one hand off the steering wheel trying to grab at Michaels arm, pulling him to move him out.

Michael didn't stop. Tensing he pushed his elbow gently above her breasts locking her to the seat, he smiled at her, with a grin full of teeth and innocence. With that leverage he pushed his hand further down, curving his fingers into her more and running the tips along her soft insides. He clucked his tongue a little as if chiding her for trying to stop the process. Then turned to watch the deck worker, as he passed by the car, his BC Ferries vest shining in the sunlight. He felt warm liquid move around his hand, and suddenly Michael's hand movements started making very audible squelching noises.

His fingers moved deeper, pressing with more purpose. Naomi gasped, the sound swallowed by the engine noise and distance, but she covered her mouth instinctively. She shook, in the early phases of an orgasm. Her legs clenching and unclenching in spasmodic rhythm.

"You're shaking," he whispered.

She nodded, barely, her eyes wide and locked on the people just a car away taking photos of the water and islands.

"You're turned on," he added, voice lower now. "You like it."

Her whole body tensed in agreement.

The deckhand was still nearby. Too near. Michael didn't slow. Her thighs quivered, heels braced on the floor. She clenched her jaw, her hands in tight fists, panting silently.

The worker finally moved on. Moments later, the intercom crackled to life, the captain's voice announcing their approach to Snug Cove and asking passengers to return to their vehicles.

And Naomi exhaled, a long, helpless sound as her orgasm tore through her. Michaels hand continued briefly before resting easily between her legs, fingers still inside her.

She slumped back against the seat, breathing like she'd just run up a hill, her hand going to Michael's wrist as he finally eased away.

Michael kissed her shoulder, smug. "Perfect timing."

Naomi didn't respond at first. She just looked at him, face flushed and glistening, eyes foggy. Then: "You're lucky I didn't scream."

He smiled. "You did. Just really, really quietly." He brought the hand up to his face licking his fingers, the taste of her on every one.

Naomi pulled up her pants, "I hope the drive isn't long, I really need to change."

"And maybe a shower, I am happy to wash your back." Michael pushed the sunglasses off his forehead as Naomi started the car.

They disembarked into the thick green of Bowen Island, the winding roads quickly giving way to gravel and moss-covered shoulder. Naomi shifted gears constantly, navigating potholes and uneven hills. Her little car bounced and growled with effort, gravel spitting under the tires as they climbed one last twist of road before it finally opened into a quiet cul-de-sac carved from the forest.

The cabin sat nestled between towering firs and the ocean below. Modern, angular, dark wood and glass. The front featured a wide gravel drive and a timber-frame entrance with clean lines and soft, hidden lighting. From the outside, it looked like a house in a design magazine--remote, expensive, serene.

Michael whistled low. "Wow."

Naomi didn't speak. She was already out, grabbing her weekend bag from the back seat, her ponytail swinging with purpose.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar and lemon oil. A short hallway opened into a high-ceilinged living room with heated stone floors, a chef's kitchen with slate counters, and tall windows that overlooked the ocean, sparkling now under a shifting sky.

Michael followed her upstairs with both their bags. The master bedroom had a vaulted ceiling and a wall of glass that faced the water. A king bed dominated the space, all white linens and layered textures. To the left, a bathroom with a walk-in rain shower and side jets caught his eye.

He pictured her under the spray, arms braced against the wall, water sliding down her spine.

"Holy shit," Naomi said from the deck. She'd stepped out onto the balcony, both hands on the railing, staring down at the private inlet below.

Michael joined her, dropping his bag beside the lounger. The deck was wide and clean, with built-in benches and a small fire table.

"Okay," she said, grinning now. "This was worth the money."

He stepped behind her, letting his hands rest casually on her hips. "You planning on reading out here?"

"Maybe." She leaned back against him. "Or maybe I'll just watch the trees."

"Or," he murmured, voice low again, "maybe I'll bend you over that railing."

Naomi smiled without turning around.

"Let's unpack first," she said.

Chapter 4 - Field Research

Naomi sat by the window, absently tapping her fingers against the takeaway container balanced on her lap. They'd grabbed sushi and bánh mì from that place off Commercial Drive before heading out. Michael had insisted they get both--"options," he had said with a grin.

Now, in the Bowen Island rental, dusk was draped across the treetops, and the last of the unpacking was done. Naomi had disappeared into the small bathroom to change into pajamas--Michael had seen the way she packed them, those silky loose things that always made him lose his train of thought. Michael stood barefoot on the wooden floor of the bedroom, holding the last few things he needed.

The plush white towels went down first, layered carefully over the comforter. Then, with a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, he reached into her bag and pulled out the toy box. It wasn't particularly organized--just clean and well-loved. A jumble of silicone dildos nestled against one another, varying in color and size, and a small vibrator that hummed faintly when jostled. Typical Naomi--meticulous where it mattered, unconcerned where it didn't.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, her feet bare and hair twisted into a lazy knot, Michael's smile widened. The thin, silky pajamas skimmed her small frame, just translucent enough to hint at the darker curve of her nipples and the soft lines of her hips. Her dark black hair was loose around her head and he wanted so much to kiss her and run his hands through it.

He didn't say a word.

Instead, he walked over, caught her hand mid-step, and spun her toward the bed with a suddenness that made her laugh in surprise. One palm against her lower back and a playful nudge sent her tumbling forward onto the towels.

"Uhmm what!" she said, grinning back at him.

"You love it," he replied, his tone easy, almost innocent.

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Is that my toybox?."

Michael just winked and began peeling her pajama top upward, slow and steady. Every inch revealed made him hungrier. She didn't resist, just raised her arms and let him undress her like he was unwrapping something delicate he couldn't wait to get his hands on.

Michael paused, palms resting on her hips. "Lie back for me," he said, voice low but coaxing.

Naomi rolled onto her back without protest, her hair fanning out across the towel, her eyes glinting with interest. Michael knelt between her legs, hands skimming from her knees up to her thighs in long, possessive strokes. She shivered, the smooth fabric of the pajamas sliding with his touch.

He leaned down, kissing her stomach first--just beneath the navel. A soft press of lips, then another, slowly tracing upward. Her skin was warm and lightly flushed, as he blew cold air, he marvelled at the small goosebumps he could raise. When he reached her chest, he paused, hands slipping beneath the top to lift it away. Her small breasts were delicate, but firm, nipples already hard from anticipation.