The Bad Jokes #2: The Blonde

Chapter 13 (Gracie): You'd Surprised Me

***TW for discussion of miscarriage***

I was rushing toward the elevator, running late to my appointment with my agent thanks to a construction delay I hadn't anticipated. Since I was already behind on my latest book deadline, I did not want to be late for this appointment where I had to throw myself at her feet so I could get more time. Time for my words to come back to me. Let them come back.

The elevator doors started to close, and I called out, "Hold the door! Oh, please hold the door!" 

The elevators in this building were notoriously slow. The charm of the older building made up for the lack of reliable elevators, I guess. I routinely waited more than ten minutes for the two elevators in this building before I eventually gave up and took the stairs to the tenth floor. I had no time for stairs today or for waiting for the next elevator.

Somebody obviously heard because I saw a large hand shoot out to keep the doors from closing, and I practically jumped into the small car, grinning in relief like an idiot.

"Thank y --"

Wyatt. 

You won't be able to avoid your destiny.

Seriously? I wanted to scream.

Of all the elevators in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into his. Ma'am's favorite movie was Casablanca, and I could now sympathize with Humphrey Bogart's character. 

Wyatt had held the door for me, and now he was watching me to see what I'd do, but I remained unmoving, debating whether I should back out of the car and take the stairs or just suck it up.

"I'll get off the elevator if you want me to, Gracie," he said, his voice beautifully rich and full. I tried not to let the way he said my name get to me, but the man's voice was like a drug, and with the way I'd been hurting, I was ready for some pain relief. 

"No, you don't have to." I ducked my eyes and pressed the button for the tenth floor, then stepped back to the corner. Wyatt was headed to the twelfth floor I deduced from the only other lit button on the panel. Quite frankly, I was amazed my brain cells had been able to notice that detail since Wyatt was invading my senses and short-circuiting my brain.

He ran his lips up her neck, his fingers between her legs.

"Do you think I can make you come before we get to the penthouse?" His low rumble could probably get the job halfway done on its own.

"We have a hundred floors," she said in a sultry voice. "Why don't we give it a try?"

"And what do I get if I do?" he asked, his fingers working their magic on her.

"Whatever you want," she promised breathlessly. "Wherever you want, however you want."

"Lady's choice: fingers or mouth?" He leaned in closer. "Or both?"

Sure, I could conjure up an elevator fantasy with Wyatt around but what would happen if I tried to write that down? She'd probably push him down the elevator shaft...but only after he gave her multiple orgasms.

Just seconds after the elevator began its ascent, it jerked to a halt and the lights went out. The emergency lights activated almost immediately, but we weren't moving.

"Wyatt?" Maybe a little bit of fear was tingeing my words. I wasn't a huge fan of being in a broken down elevator.

"It's OK," he said, his voice incredibly calm. "I'm going to use the elevator's emergency phone to let them know we're stopped."