The next time we work together.
Sheila's words echoed in my mind for days after that incredible New Years' Eve. I couldn't wait to see her again, to admire her exquisite body, to share the kink she had introduced to me. It was one thing to anticipate the delights of a potential lover, to experiment with what she did and did not like during that first night of lovemaking. But Sheila was taking that sensation to an entirely new level, protracting the exploration, while at the same time maximizing the pleasure of each step we took.
I still had questions, of course. Questions about Sheila and her attorney boyfriend. From all I had observed, her beau made Sheila happy. I had even learned that Sheila had been expecting a proposal from him for a while. But, contradicting that happy image was Sheila's revelation that they had been fighting. And if that was not the case, then why would Sheila spend New Years' Eve with me, masturbating together in my car, with the hint – hell, the implied
promise
– of furthering our sexual relationship?
But, if I had learned only one thing about Sheila, it was that she was a woman who wanted to call the shots. She would reveal to me only what she wanted, and no amount of insistence on my part would gain me any further knowledge. Indeed, I had the impression that, if I pushed too hard, Sheila would close herself off, and our fun would come to an end. I was at least intelligent enough to know that any continued pleasure Sheila and I might share depended upon my ability to play her game.
After that New Years' Eve, Sheila was absent from work for nearly a week. I learned, casually, through our managers and her friends, that Sheila had requested the first through the fifth of January off over two months before. Something about taking a trip with her boyfriend.
I tried not to feel jealous, but I couldn't help it. I felt that Sheila and I had shared something intimate, something special, something that was a beginning. Yet, the day after we had pleasured ourselves before one another, she was off . . . with
him
?
The illicit and hidden nature of our tryst demanded that I keep quiet about it. How could I brag to anyone that I, Nathan Briggs, had spent New Years' Eve masturbating in my car with the one and only Sheila Kareides? No one would believe me, I knew. Maybe that was what Sheila had wanted. A tease, a tryst, a little fooling around with the one guy she knew she could control through her sexuality.
By the time Sheila came back to work, I was morose, despondent, and thoroughly cold to her. I avoided her like the plague when we worked, and didn't even look her in the eye. I was a little surprised that Sheila seemed hurt by the way I treated her, and in a way, I even enjoyed it. She tried to corner me now and then, tried to make casual conversation. But I spurned her at every turn.
I wanted her, of course. Hell, I dreamed about her every damn night, replaying that night in my car, making events escalate to the point where she sucked me of, or I went down on her, or she fucked me with total abandon and told me she loved me. But my stupid male pride, wounded as it was, kept me cold and distant.
Less than two weeks into the New Year, it was a typical Friday night. I was busy enough that I didn't have much time to think about Sheila, even though she was in the section next to mine and we brushed against each other now and then throughout the night. The following Monday was the beginning of the new semester, so I also had that to occupy me. My junior year was important, as I was taking only classes geared toward my History major. So I found solace in concentrating my thoughts on ancient Greek stories and myths, on the legends of the Spartans and Phoenicians.
That night, I finally found time to take a smoke break just after ten o'clock, after having been flooded by guests since five. The relatively calm and cool air of the back loading dock was welcome after the five hectic hours I had experienced. Surprised to be alone, but also thankful for it, I lit up and enjoyed that sweet rush of nicotine.
I barely heard the door from the kitchen as it opened, then closed. I simply stared up at the dark, star-filled sky overhead, trying to think of anything other than the way Sheila's tendons stood out on the insides of her lean thighs as she spread them, the way her pussy split open wetly like a fish's mouth, the way her aroma swirled around me like a sexual maelstrom . . . .
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes a moment, the only reaction I had at the moment to the sound of Sheila's voice, the knowledge of her presence. "Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I should be happy that you wanted to play around with me before going back to your boyfriend." My reply was not as insulting and bitter as I had fantasized; now that I could finally confront Sheila about my feelings . . . I was still the 'nice guy.'
She was quiet for a long moment. I didn't look at her; instead, I smoked my cigarette, holding it between slightly-shaking fingers.
"Okay," she said at last, stepping around me toward the far wall of the small enclosure. "I guess I deserved that. But I wanna tell you something, Nate."
I flicked ash off my cigarette, watching it fall to the ground. "What's that?"
I heard her breathe in, then let it out shakily. "I meant what I said."
I pulled on my cigarette. "Did you?"
She laughed harshly. "Fine," she said bitingly. "You wanna be a dick about it, go right ahead. But don't forget that I wanted to give you everything, and you fucked it up."
She stormed past me, tossing her barely-smoked cigarette away, and reached for the door.
"Sheila," I said, finally letting my eyes see her. She hesitated at the door, ready to jerk it open. I took a deep breath, admiring her in a both a purely carnal way, as well as affectionately. "I still want you," I said. "That'll never change. I just don't know if I can handle being . . . the
other
guy."
Sheila's hard face, in profile to me, softened. Her eyes reddened slightly, her lips parted. "You really amaze me, Nate," she said, then looked to me for a moment, her face full of emotion and vulnerability. Then she pulled open the door and stepped inside.
