The first time Tess shook his hand, she knew that eventually they would fuck. David, newly hired in her company, had leaned across her desk casually, his perfect white cuff showing from his jacket sleeve, to clasp her hand in his own. He didn't shake it hard, or grind her knuckles against one another. He merely took it in his own, applied gentle pressure, and released it. The feeling of his hand sent tingles into her belly, tendrils of warmth into her limbs. She had shifted in her chair, amazed at the gathering wetness between her legs. She had crossed her legs defiantly, noticing the ring on his left hand. He's married, she told herself. The inner Tess, who had taken in his feigned innocence and his subtle glance at her breasts, said "Who gives a shit?" But she had done nothing to encourage him.
Three months later, they met in the copy room. Tess was cursing at the copier, David frowning at the coffee pot. She threw her papers down on the counter, pushed her auburn hair behind her ear, and looked at him. He turned and met her gaze.
"Want to get some coffee?" he asked, grinning at her frustration.
"Yes, please, get me the hell out of here," Tess smiled back, anxious to get outside and smoke, get away from the building, get him alone, finally.
As they walked down the street, David changed places with her immediately so that he walked nearest to the street. Good breeding, good clothes, she thought, feeling the wetness again and wondering where the hell it was coming from. He placed his hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street, and then veered down an alley dominated by brick.
"Shortcut," he said, "and can I have a drag of that?"
