By the time he was in her doorway, Vic had two fingers of Bulleit in her hand, and a glass waiting for him on the coffee table in front of a tiny IKEA sofa opposite her desk. Vic almost always worked at the sofa--her desk a repository for piles upon piles of books and papers. Her heels were kicked off and her tiny feet were propped up on the coffee table. He could have taken her right there, just as she was. But then she said deadpan, "schtep into mein office, Herr Upchurch," in such a ridiculous, terrible accent that cut through all his angst and made him laugh loudly enough to elicit some shushes from many offices down. God, nobody could make him laugh like Vic could.
Max slumped onto the couch beside Vic, kicked off his shoes, and took a generous swig from his drink. "Thank you, I needed that." Vic gave him a half smile, and refreshed his glass. Max suppressed an erection watching her slim fingers squeeze the neck of the heavy bottle.
"So, why are you here so late?" Max inquired, "other than after hours therapy services?"
"Writers' block. Sometimes I don't know why I try so hard." Vic rolled her eyes and sipped her drink. Max looked over the top of his glasses in dramatic fashion and returned the Freud spoof--"Go on." Vic huffed a laugh.
"It's a truck. The research says women find trucks sexier than cars." She threw up her hands. "That's all we need to say! Just run the strategy! 'Hey guys! Buy a truck and women will think you're sexy!' We're done here! And yet I'm over here thinking I'm fucking Shakespeare or some shit... just sell the cars Vic. Tell the men what they want to hear."
Max nodded empathetically. "Are we that boring?"
"I don't know. Would you drive a truck if it made you sexier?"
"That depends. Sexier to who?"
"To women."
A pause. "Which women?" Vic began to answer but he interrupted her. "Do you find trucks sexy?"
She looked at him for a beat. Given the clip of their conversation the lengthy pause was notable. Vic leaned forward almost imperceptibly to set her drink on the table but she was so close to Max he could taste her. He was most definitely hard now. And then she said to his lips, slowly, "I guess that depends on who's driving it."
Max couldn't take it anymore, he leaned forward to kiss her--
"KNOCK KNOCK MOTHAFUCKAAAS!" Slade walked right into Vic's office like he owned the place. "That's a wrap on the social cutdowns. Vic wanna come take a loo--Oh hell yeah! Hit me with a glass of that--hold up..." Slade exited as recklessly as he had entered. In the moments before he reappeared with a SOLO cup in hand, Vic and Max shared a little glance that was part desire, part embarrassment, and resituated themselves. Vic handed Slade the bottle, and it glugged as it filled his cup.
"Glad I caught you here before you headed out, Vic. You too, Max? Down in the dirty trenches with the Creatives, huh? Your woman not nagging you to get your ass home--haha!" When Slade spoke, he was never really looking for an answer, so the pair on the sofa just let him ramble on. "Alright you ready to DO THIS?" he asked Vic as he bounced out of the room with cocaine energy. Vic reluctantly stood and followed him. She looked back at Max and mouthed "Sorry!" He gave her a tight-lipped smile that he hoped didn't reveal his disappointment, and--elbows on knees--he watched her go.
Max twisted his wedding ring around his finger and felt a pang of guilt. He kicked back the last of his rye, returned to his office, packed up his satchel, and headed toward the elevators. On the way, he passed Vic at the Motion desk, looking over Slade's shoulder at his three enormous monitors. Her delicate arms were crossed and she looked beautiful and strong and exhausted. Just her eyes moved as she glanced up at him, and then back down to the work. He wasn't sure she even saw the little one-handed wave he gave her. And by the time he was in the elevator, he knew he was absolutely fucked up for her.
Max got home around midnight. He turned the key lightly in the lock and the door squeaked as he stepped into his Cambridge duplex. He set his satchel down in the drop zone by the door and kicked off his shoes. Using his phone light for illumination, he padded quietly into the bedroom to find Laurie gone. He sighed and checked the guest room, where he found her fast asleep, snoring lightly. He gingerly closed the door, secretly grateful that he wouldn't have to answer questions should he wake her crawling into bed. Max returned to the master bedroom and flipped on the bathroom light. He stripped his clothes off and tossed them on the floor, grabbed his toothbrush and watched himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He had to give himself credit... he looked good. He had a broad chest and a trim waist. His arms were built but not ridiculously so. He kept himself healthy. He didn't know why Laurie couldn't manage to do the same. They married young and she was never slim, but she used to enjoy staying active. But then came adult life, work, stress. They had tried to have a baby through IVF, which failed, and it wrecked her emotionally and physically. She became depressed, overweight, isolated. He loved her, of course, but they weren't intimate anymore, ever. And he was lying to himself if he said he found her attractive. And for these thoughts, Max felt like an asshole. He spit his toothpaste vehemently into the sink. He regarded himself once more and wondered--despite himself--what Vic would think of his body. Is he sexy? Thinking of Vic recalled the memory of her petite frame leaning over the coffee table. Her delicious lips teasing him. His cock stirred and his hand followed the sensation. He exhaled and pictured Vic half-seated, propped against her desk as he had seen her so many times--her little ass pressed into the edge--and he exhaled deeply as he pulled on his growing erection. He flipped the light off and indulged his imagination...
There she was, leaning against her desk in her dark office, beckoning him with her doe eyes. He walked over to her, and she spread her legs for him as he fit himself between the gentle curve of her thighs. In the bathroom, Max's hand dove into his boxer briefs and took a firm hold of his thick cock slick with his excitement. He imagined her relenting as he lifted her onto the desk, pushed her cotton skirt up with his hands, and pulled her panties to the side to feel her wetness. He wanted to watch her beautiful, pixie eyes beg him to please her. He would lean her back on her bed of papers, not caring if stacks of them ended up on the floor, and kiss and lick her beautiful legs and tease her clit with his firm, hot tongue until he heard her whimper for him to make her cum. The image of Vic--strong, resilient, intelligent Vic--laying there splay legged begging for release drove him to the edge of orgasm. Max was sweating and panting as his hand flew over the nine inches of his cock. He wanted to take her so badly--he wanted to own her. He wanted to feel her shudder and her pussy convulse and her fingers in his hair as he pleased her. Only then would he pull her hips to the edge of the desk, and pressing his fingers into the backs of her white-pink thighs until her knees were by her ears, would enjoy her however he liked. He would fuck her tight pussy deeply, and watch her perfect breasts bounce with every thrust. She would cry out and he would silence her with two fingers inside her gorgeous mouth, wishing he had two cocks with which to fuck her every hole.
In the dark of his quiet bathroom, Max fucked his hand greedily, imagining Vic's hot, wet pussy. Each thrust and grunt echoed around him, and he came violently, far louder than he intended. His knees buckled and his cum exploded over the bathroom vanity and floor, and the waves of convulsion rolled over him like waves.
As he cleaned up, he couldn't have known that at that very moment, Vic's face was pressed into her pillow in her Brighton apartment. One hand gripped the edge of the bed with white knuckles, while the other alternated between flying over her clit and plunging into her pussy, reaching desperately for her G-spot. Ass in the air, knees apart, drenched in sweat, she climaxed powerfully and screamed "OHMYGODMAX!!!!" into her bedsheets so as not to wake the neighbors.
