It was the end of the week, which I was grateful for, though I was already dreading the monotonous exchanges of "How was your weekend?," "Too short, what about yours?" that would be shared Monday morning on the elevator.
There was a small birthday party for a coworker in the kitchen earlier today, and I was cleaning up the remnants of cake and plastic utensils. The overnight cleaning crew normally tidied, but I didn't mind. It was contemplative and I was lost in thought. It was almost evening time and I thought everyone had gone home for the day.
I was at the sink, rinsing off some plates and the black spatula we used to serve a dozen birthday cakes each year. You startled me when you came into the kitchen.
"Someone else would have taken care of that," you said, gesturing to the dishes. Your voice made me jump, but I smiled when I looked in your direction. I wondered if you could tell by my expression that I had secretly been hoping you were still at the office, and that you would find me.
"I know, but it's no bother for me to do it before I head home." You walked toward me slowly and I was acutely aware of your presence. You stood facing me, but I was still facing the sink. The faucet was running, but I stopped washing the dishes.
"I like the perfume you've been wearing lately," you said quietly.
"I didn't imagine you noticed." I blushed slightly and looked up at you.
"How could I not?"
You moved behind me and wrapped your arms around my waist, pulling me gently into you. My hair was up, but wisps had fallen out over the course of the workday. The feeling of your breath against my skin made me quiver gently.
"We're being risky," I said breathily. I suspected we were alone but did not know for certain.
Your lips were by my ear now, your head resting against mine. "I locked up when Sarah left. She was the last one here. Besides us, of course." My heart was already racing.
You trailed light kisses against my neck and my knees almost bucked. You chuckled.
"Have you been a good girl lately, Alexandria?"
***
We first interacted with each other like this months ago. After a year of looking at each other across the conference table, planning unnecessary meetings to talk about things that were already finalized, and finding excuses to stay late at work together. At first, I was sure it was in my head—my own fantasies were always so vivid. I was surely imagining the look in your eye that made me feel so desired and warm. Especially since we were both married.
I began to realize there was more going on than my active imagination. It started slowly—a firm hand on the small of my back as we were the last two to leave a meeting. Sitting next to me to eat lunch and moving your chair just a little bit closer than it would normally be. Our conversations as we stayed late at the office, me working on a brief that I was already ahead of schedule on, you working on projects you knew you could do the next day.
Initially, we talked about work. Regular banter about coworkers and clients. Over time our conversations evolved. The things I already noticed about you became even more alluring—the confidence in your voice, your hands, the shape of your shoulders. We started talking about our pets. Films we enjoyed. Politics and philosophy. Our families. I began to crave the time I spent with you. The more I got to know you, the harder it became to refrain from pushing my body against yours in those moments we were alone and asking you to kiss me. I felt like a high schooler with a crush. It was intoxicating. I suspected you felt similarly but I was not positive. We never discussed our feelings toward each other. It felt forbidden, so we danced around it.
One night, though, about a month earlier, our ability to pretend as though we did not desire each other beyond our professional relationship faltered.
Every year, the office threw a Halloween party. The firm paid for drinks and catering and ran an auction, the proceeds of which went to a local non-profit organization.
I dressed as a Rockford Peach from "
A League of Their Own
." I wore a tastefully short pink dress (this was an office party, after all), cinched at the waist with a red belt, knee high socks that emphasized my shapely thighs, and clean white sneakers. You were Marty McFly and wore jeans that fit well and a red vest, your hair boyishly messy.
We had a good evening. We spent time with each other but not so much that it drew attention (we each individually hoped, anyway). We enjoyed some wine and a couple of beers and shared laughs over various stories told by coworkers.
The party came to an end and most people cleared out. You were staying until the end of the event as always, making sure everyone left safely and locking the building. As people gradually left, you and I made conversation as we tidied up—putting chairs back in their usual places, picking up the occasional stray napkin and plastic wine cup. Eventually, the only people left in the office were the two of us and another attorney and his partner. The attorney was drunk, and his partner was searching for the keys to drive them home. They waved a laughing and stumbling goodbye as you opened the door for them, and they headed to their car. You came back in, and we both realized we were alone.
There was an awkward silence at first as we cleaned up the few remnants of the party. We found ourselves in a storage room putting decorations away. The light was off, and the room was illuminated dimly by the light from the hallway. We were standing close together, elbow to elbow.
Your voice was quiet as you turned toward me, "This was a fun evening."
I folded the last tablecloth and placed it in a bin. I could not think of what to say because all I could focus on was how fast my heart was beating. We were only a foot apart, maybe a little more. We had spent time alone together before, but this was different. Maybe it was the wine or how late it was or that neither of us was wearing our work attire, I didn't know. Maybe it was that way you looked at me from across the room earlier that evening—like you wanted to devour me—that I hadn't been able to get out of my mind.
I looked at you and somehow managed to boldly ask, "Is the evening over?" We stared at each other for a moment. I was nervous about what you were going to say.
Instead of saying anything, you stepped toward me. I didn't move away. We were close enough to hear each other's breath now. I suddenly got butterflies in my stomach. My back was against a storage shelf. You moved even closer. You put your forehead against mine and I immediately rested my hands on your chest, under your vest, excited to be so close to you. The energy between our bodies created a heat that felt like fire on my skin. Your hands found my waist.
"This is a bad idea," you said, but you didn't move away.
I could smell your cologne. I pressed my fingers into your chest and your hands squeezed my sides.
"I want you," I whispered.
There are several moments of silence, but you broke it with your voice, which is gruffer than usual.
"You know, Alex, I see you. I watch the way you work and see the control you exert, and you do an amazing job. All the attorneys you supervise love you. You never miss a beat. Every filing, every client, perfectly attended to."
I looked at you, a little confused at where this is going. "Is this a performance review, Mason?"
You laughed. "Always with the smart mouth. No, it's not." Your hands slid down to my hips and gripped me harder, drawing me into you so I could feel the hardness of your cock against my body. I gasped.
"It's me saying that I see you and I know what you want."
"What do you mean?" My heart raced.
"I mean that after all of these months of late nights at work, pretending that we are just coworkers, I feel like I've gotten to know you well. And I think that what you want is for to take control right now. To use you."
