“Are you having trouble relaxing? Would you like me to be more aggressive?”
“No, I have absolutely no complaints.”
Making a ring with my index finger and thumb, I twist under the head and then stroke up and down.
“God, you are so fucking hot—you know that?”
“I do.”
“You are the best thing that has ever happened to my cock.”
“Thank you.”
“Now.For years you were the worst. Unbearable. Torture. I have had…the filthiest…monstrous…”
I’m using both hands again, picking up speed, varying pressure, twisting and squeezing, and he’s starting to undulate, so I move with him, leaning into him. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he does finish. Coming all over my hand, it’s so hot how hard he tries to stay quiet. I want to know what he sounds like when he is uninhibited, but this is so sexy.
It’s so much. Like,yearsof backup. I’m sure it isn’t, but it really seems like it.
I hold my hand steady when Elijah goes still. After a quiet moment, I get up to grab paper towels and a bottle of water to clean him off. He hasn’t gone all ragdoll like I did. I can see that he’s fighting to hold his head up and keep his eyes open. He isn’tsmiling exactly, but his dimples are showing and he bites his lower lip.
“That’s so hot,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“What is?”
“You’re cleaning me.”
“Don’t expect this kind of treatment every time.”
“Every time? I like the sound of that.” Now he’s really smiling. “I like you.”
“I like you too, Elijah.”
I signal that I’m done, and he puts his cock back and zips up. “I’m gonna close my eyes for a minute.”
“I’ll wake you up if I hear anything out there.”
He almost nods and then rests his head against the door, and he’s out like a handsome, very relaxed Christmas light.
I straighten up a little, check my blouse, find a couple of buttons on the floor and store them by my side before curling up on the floor and resting my head in Elijah’s lap.
When I wake up I have no idea how long I was asleep, but Elijah and I are both on the floor, in what can only be described as a mangled-spoon position. It takes me a while to realize the thing that woke me up is a voice. A man’s voice outside the closet. Simon.
“Cleo? Anyone here? Mr. Abrams?”
“Simon? Simon!” I call out, trying to rouse Elijah and stand up. I bang on the door. “Simon! We’re in the supply closet!”
“Cleo? You’re in here?”
“Yes! The door is stuck! Can you open it?”
Elijah hops up and grabs his jacket, combs his fingers through his hair, and then collects all of the sticky notes he wroteon. I pick up my buttons and tuck my ripped blouse into my skirt.
“Aww, sure. Lemme put the coffees down first—I brought you both coffee drinks. I’ve had to do this for a few people over the years, in different offices. It’s like this on every floor in this building, would you believe that? I got this. Stay back, okay? I’m gonna have to…”
And the door pops open.
I don’t know what he did, but he didn’t have to kick the door in.
