Mallory stands in the middle of the small room, looking around. There's a desk with an ancient computer, a small bookshelf, and a chair.
"I've been so busy updating the website and expanding what the mill offers, I've neglected my office," I explain, going to stand behind my desk. Beside it is a small metal filing cabinet. Knowing my dad, that is our best bet for finding old records.
"Except the mini-fridge." Mallory points at the black rectangle in the corner, humming along.
"That's usually where I keep my lunch."
Mallory stands at the bookshelf, poking through titles. "But you've been coming home for lunch every day since the day you brought me there." Confusion crosses her face. "That's not what you always do?"
"Sandwiches were suddenly my favorite lunch, and they're better fresh."
"You know what?" Mallory selects a book on olive oil extraction techniques, turning it over in her hands. "As yourgirlfriend, I am not surprised."
I wince. "Was that ok? We didn't talk about it."
Mallory crosses the small space, sets the book on my desk as she rounds it. Her hands start at my chest, slide up my neck and into my hair. "I'm still wrapping my brain around why you want to take on me and Peanut."
I run a hand through her hair, and she tilts into mytouch. "I'm still hacking away at what's inside you that makes you think it should be a problem for me."
"You're too good to me, Hugo."
"No, Mallory. For you, I am just right."
Mallory lifts on her tiptoes. Angles her face up for a kiss. We're here in my office for a specific reason, but we seem to have momentarily set it aside.
"This is so confusing," she whispers as I brush my lips over hers. "I came here with all this adrenaline, ready to pore over old papers, but now..." Her hand trails down, finds the front of my pants.
"I'm equally confused," I confess, growing into her hand. I'm starved for this woman, always. It doesn't matter when I've had her last, I'm in a perpetual state of wanting her.
A mischievous twinkle enters her gaze. "Our questions won't go anywhere if we spend five minutes engaged otherwise."
Mallory sinks to her knees. Pulls me from my jeans.
"I swear I didn't plan this," I mutter as she swallows me down.
Her cheeks lift into a smile. "Mm hmm," she says, the sound vibrating.
My hands find her hair, fingers flexing. "Hold still."
She listens.
"Put your hands on my thighs. Squeeze them if this becomes too much."
She listens again.
Hands on her head, I feed her slowly, inch by inch. Careful with her. Because I love her.
Mallory whimpers, but she doesn't give the signal. "You like it?" I ask.
She nods slightly.
"More?" I ask.
Another slight nod.
I listen. I give her what she wants. And then when the sensation builds to a crescendo, and I move to pluck a tissue off my desk, Mallory's hands travel to my backside, holding me in place.
My back teeth grind together, jaw flexed, and silently I fall apart.
