I step aside and allow him to enter. I close the door behind as Wes steps inside and practically crowds my small kitchen. He rests the take-out bags on my kitchen counter and turns to me.
"Would you like to eat first or get straight to work?" He asks.
"Both!" I answer him, turning and leaving him alone. I enter my living room and gather up all the scattered papers, and charts, along with my wine glass and join him in the kitchen. I enter to find that Wes had found his way around my kitchen with ease, although with every twist and turn he seemed to bump into the features of my matchbox kitchen. I place the files, and my wine glass on my small two-seater dining table. I take the moment to enjoy the view.
How the hell was it possible for a man to look just as beautiful in a customed made suit, as he did a pair of jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt. As he reaches up to remove two plates from the cabinet, the hem of his t-shirt catches on the edge of the counter and rips. His eyes fall to the spilt material, and I hold back a giggle, realizing that he wasn't used to a living space this small. With having grown up in mansions, penthouses and all the other luxuries he'd indulged in.
"I'm sorry, I should have warned you but the counters, as you can imagine, are pretty old." I say, finding myself reaching out and gripping the torn material between my fingertips.
"It's ok! It's just a t-shirt." He reassures. The soft cotton fabric tells me that although it was just a t-shirt, it probably cost more money than any t-shirt I ever owned.
"I've ripped a lot of good clothing in here." I say, still mindlessly toying with the ends of his shirt.
"Really? How did you remedy that?" He asks. I shrug my shoulders and look up at him.
"I started walking around naked." I blurt out, almost instantly hating my admittance. Embarrassed, my eyes fall to his torn t-shirt that was still resting between my fingers. Shit, what the hell was I thinking? The words were out, and it was too late to take them back. I swallow down for what seemed like the hundredth lump in my throat that day and glance back up at him. His glare is intense, sending sparks throughout my body, causing my brain to short circuit. I feel completely under his spell, my heart rate begins to pick up, thudding so loudly in my ears that I wondered if he could hear it. I take a small step back, needing to put some space between us. Wes reaches out and wraps his large hand around my forearm, pulling me against his hard frame. I hold my breath, as the air in the room grows thick.
Damn I needed wine. Or was it his cock? Maybe both? No! What I needed was to rewind the last five minutes and pretend that I wasn't home when he ranged my doorbell. Although the dull ache between my thighs reminds me that of the two, wine wouldn't subside the ache that was there.
I wait, with my body pressed against his. Breathing the same air as him. I grip the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling it taut against his shoulders and arms. I hold on to his t-shirt as if it were my only lifeline to force me to do the right thing. He leans forward, as I pull his torn t-shirt tighter and tighter. The smell of aftershave and soap, all but drugs me.
I can't do this.
I shouldn't do this.
He's my boss for Christ-sake. His name was written in bold white letters on the coffee mug that I'd drank coffee from every morning. It was a welcome gift from the company along with, a few other items. I didn't want to be the girl who'd slept with her boss, even though the option to do the right thing seemed to fade from reason.
I lean on my toes, my body working against me despite my feelings of his betrayal this morning. I close my eyes as Wes leans forward, waiting for his full lips to press against mines. A loud slam causes us both to jump and break apart.
Footsteps and a one-sided conversation sound through the halls. The familiar voice of one of my neighbors, Smith, passes by my door. Smith was a bartender and only worked nights. He was probably on his way in for his shift at the bar located across the street from our apartment. I inwardly both thanked and hated him for the interruption.
Wes clears his throat and grabs the two plates that he'd abandoned after his t-shirt tore. He brings them to the table and begins to remove the takeout containers from the bag. He removes a burgundy velvet drawstring bag from one of the takeout bags and sets it to the side. I watch as he begins to load a buttery pasta onto our plates, topping both off with a Bolognese sauce. He sprinkles fresh parmesan cheese on each pile of noodles and tops it off with chopped parsley. He places one plate in front of me and the other in front of himself.
"Dinner is served." He says with a wink and takes a seat across from me. As I take my own seat, for a split second I wonder if my small, dainty chairs would be able to hold his large frame. My small dining set was about a bazillion years old, which is probably why I bought it in the first place. It was an old find that caught my eye at the Brooklyn flea market a few years ago after I'd grown tired of eating on my couch. The chair creaks as Wes leans forward and begin to twirl his fork into the pasta. I wait a few seconds to see if my chair would give way, but after a while, I relax and begin to dig into my meal.
"Thanks for dinner, I hadn't eaten since... since this morning." I say, twirling my fork around the pasta and placing it into my mouth. I close my eyes and moan as the authentic flavors coat my mouth.
"Oh my gosh, this is so good." I say over a mouthful of pasta. Wes winks at my enthusiasm from across the table. The look he sends me mixed with the bold flavors of the Bolognese sauce is almost too much for me to bear.
"I'm glad you're enjoying it. This is one of my favorite Italian restaurants in the city." He says. I nod my head over another mouthful of pasta. Wes continues to watch me eat. His fork sits in his hand as he quietly watches me shove forkful after forkful of pasta into my mouth, not bothering to pretend as if I were one of those women who only ate salads in front of a man. It's almost too good to stop but I manage. I set my fork on my plate and raise a brow at him.
"Is everything ok?" Why'd you stop eating?" I ask. With a small smile, he leans over the small dining table. He reaches his hand forward and swipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. Pulling back, he sits in his chair and holds his thumb up towards me, which is covered in the red Bolognese sauce.
"You had some sauce on your mouth." He answers. Heat rises to my chest as he holds my gaze and places his thumb in between his full lips, sucking the sauce from his thumb.
"You're right, it is good." He adds before turning back to his own plate, leaving me in a heated mess. I squeeze my thighs together, seeking a release. Resisting him was going to be harder than I'd thought, even in my own element.
"Would you like some water?" I ask, while clearing the frog from my throat.
"Actually, I brought along an Italian Chianti, I was told it pairs well with the Bolognese sauce." He says, reaching for the velvet burgundy bag, and pulls out a fiasco.
"Supposed to?" I question playfully.
"I'm not much of a wine drinker, but I figured you might be so, I asked the chef to pick a wine that would pair well with the meal." He answers.
"If wine isn't your style, then what's your poison?" I ask. This morning at his penthouse there'd been a lot of evidence of drinking. Empty beer bottles, vodka and tequila just to name a few. After the rest of his guests appeared, half-naked and clearly hungover, it was hard to guess which one of the many empty bottles was his drink of choice.
"For a while it was beer. I'd tried the hard stuff once as a teenager and it didn't go too well. Sticking with beer was safe and it got the job done. But after college and after attending countless social gatherings with my family, my father introduced me to bourbon and imported Irish whiskey. It's been my go-to ever since." He answers. I find myself drawn to the idea of learning something about him that wasn't provided to me via the internet, that I don't notice him staring at me silently.
Not wanting to just sit there overloading on carbs and gawking at him like a crazy person, I stand and retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet above the counter and hand them over to him.
He takes one of the wine glasses, grabbing it by the stem. His fingers brushing against mines as he does. I allow his touch to linger longer than necessary. If I didn't get myself under control soon, and soon as in the next five seconds, then I was going to take a page out of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet and "let lips do what hands do."
I reluctantly let my hands slip from his, and he begins to pour the chianti into both wine glasses. He offers me a glass and I take it, needing the chianti to do its job and get my out-of-control hormones in check before I did something I would regret in the morning. Before I can take my first sip of the chianti, Wes raises his glass in a toast; I smile and follow his movements.
"Here's to starting over. Creating new memories and new relationships." He says.
"I'll drink to that." I respond and clink my glass against his. We watch one another over the rim of our wine glasses as we take a sip of the full-bodied chianti. The air in my small kitchen is both hot and thick, as we continue to stare at one another through the haze of the wine before us. I set my glass down, turning my attention back to my now cold pasta and we sit in silence as we finish off our meal.
Wes' demeanor is different. It's a side of him that I hadn't seen before. It's a side of him that I didn't know existed. He'd seemed less "rich prick-ish" and more like a human being that actually had empathy for others. It was hard to gather whether or not his sudden change in attitude was due to my outburst this morning, or if he truly had a good side.
I push my empty plate aside and begin to lay the unfinished budget sheet along with the files that aided in the VitaMission project, on the table in the space between us. Wes places his fork on his empty plate and shifts in his seat. He digs into his pants pocket and pulls out a jump drive.
"I'm going to need your laptop." He asks. With a quick reassuring nod of my head, I stand and leave him alone in my kitchen as I go to retrieve my laptop. When I return, Wes is placing both of our empty plates into the sink. He turns and as if he's seeing me for the first time since his arrival, he freezes in place. His eyes trail lazily up and down my body, and I could feel my nipples harden underneath my T-shirt. The attraction between us is so real, so raw, so intense that it's unyielding, however so is my lack of trust, and the reminder of my findings this morning and with that small reminder I'm able to separate the magnets that continue to pull us together. At least for the time being.
My feet are bare and I'm wearing a pair of cut off denim shorts that were so worn they'd practically created their own holes. My favorite worn and slightly torn Brooklyn College t-shirt hangs loosely on my shoulders. The holes that were created from years of wear and tear exposed my bare stomach. The ensemble should have long been thrown away, but they were some of the most comfortable pieces of clothing that seemed to fit perfectly with the unusual hot late- September weather.
Of course, I wouldn't dare wear it out anywhere, and as I shift on my heels, standing silently under Wes' watchful eye I couldn't help but to notice that my outfit choice may not be suitable for guests either. Expected or unexpected. I chew my bottom lip, a nervous habit of mine, aware that my nipples are now straining against my t-shirt.
"I wasn't expecting company, can you give me a minute to change?" I spin on the balls of my feet, my cheeks growing hot as Dr. Jekyll stands behind me, but before I could place one foot in front of the other his low commanding voice stops me.
"Don't!" He commands. I stop and glance at him over my shoulder. "After all you should feel comfortable in your own home." He adds. My nipples harden to tiny pebbles as I cross my arms over my chest hoping to shield them from his view. He nods his head towards my opened laptop and pulls the chair he was sitting in closer towards mine. In my small kitchen, I practically have to brush against his muscular thigh in order to take my own seat.
"What did you want to show me?" I ask him as I begin to power on my accent laptop. It was a gift from my parents after my second semester at Brooklyn College. I'd practically been the only one on campus who hadn't owned one and grew tired of having to visit libraries in order to write a paper or conduct research.
When my parents gifted me my first laptop, to say I was thankful was an understatement. However, after many years of usage my laptop could barely hold a charge and would often freeze up from time to time. I hadn't had the money to replace it and the very few times that I did, I just couldn't bare to do away with it. It had gotten me through a lot of all-nighters and several A-rating papers.
I type my password in and tilt the screen towards Wes. It takes longer than the norm for the computer to load. I've become accustomed to its snail-like speed, but by the confused look on Wes' face I can tell that he'd never had to deal with the lesser than finer things in life. I hide my smile behind my wine glass. Wes pushes in the jump drive he'd brought and clicks on a file that uploads to Vitamission's budget sheet. It was the very same excel spreadsheet that I'd worked on, except, well it was better. Ok, it was one hundred times better. As the charts, graphs, and categorized individual expense load on the screen I shockingly cover my open mouth with my hand, thoroughly impressed by Wes' hard work.
"Oh my God Wes, this is incredible" I practically squeal.
"I put the content, branding cost, paid advertising and public relations cost into their own categories. I noticed they were missing from your original report and the client would want to know exactly where their money is going, even down to any "other" expense that may arise, which is also included in its own category." He says.
The budget sheet is better than anything I could have come up with. I also want to kick myself for not taking full advantage of the many computer courses that were offered at the college. I'd taken the one intro to computers course that was required for my major and spent the next few years focusing on my core courses.
"Wes this is great. I don't know how I could have done this without you." I admit.
"Actually, I don't think I would have done any of this if it weren't for you and again, I apologize for letting you down Eden." He apologizes again. My eyes catch his and I swallow. He'd been apologizing ever since he'd arrived, but this apology was the one that stuck. It was genuinely sincere, and I smile at him in response to show my gratitude and to also let him know that I accepted his apology.
He leans over me, and points to the screen.
"I think the issues you were having is that your numbers didn't flow. You were entering budgets that just didn't make sense for that particular category. You see here" He points to one of the categories on the screen. "You projected that it would cost more money for email advertising, than commercial advertising." I nod my head, as the feel of his warm breath tickles my neck. I find myself tilting my head as he leans in closer.
"And here, you added an extra zero, and here, as well as here, you crossed the numbers, which is why your budget wasn't adding up correctly." He says, directly against my neck. I nod drunkenly again as the tips of his lips grazes my skin. I let out a low moan, unable to help myself just as his hand reaches into my loose hair. He grips the strands of my hair softly and I let me head fall lazily to my shoulder. His tongue dips across my exposed skin. He sucks the skin in between his lips, sucking and nipping at the sensitive spot on my neck. I moan, frozen in my seat feeling like a teenager again.
This is wrong.
This is bad, but I don't want it to end. He moves his lips to my ear and sucks on my earlobe. His fingers tighten roughly around my hair, and he pulls my head back. He presses his full lips against my ear and whispers my name.
"Eden." He says and I shiver at the sound of my name rolling off his tongue.
"Mmm! Yes?" I whisper in response. His lips leave a trail of kisses around my collarbone and chin. My chest rises and fall in deep, heated breathes.
"God, you're so beautiful." He whispers and my pussy stings with need. Fuck the rules. In this moment, the rules were all blurred and jumbled in my brain and none of it made any damn sense. My mouth hangs open lazily as he takes his free hand and pulls my loose t-shirt down my shoulder. With one more tug, my breast would be on full display for him. He licks, nips and sucks the juncture in between my breast and my head begins to spin.
"More! Please I need more." I beg, unable to recognize my own voice. Wes lets his grip loose from my hair and pulls my chair back away from the table. He lifts me and I quickly wrap my legs around his waist. Our lips still hadn't touched and the anticipation of it, had me buzzing like a fucking bumble bee in the springtime.
"Where's your bedroom?" he asks, the feel of his lips against my neck has rendered me speechless. I point towards the bedroom, at least I think I do, as Wes begins to carry me towards the living room, in small deliberate steps. His face is buried in between the juncture of my breast, obscuring his vision. The feel of his hard stomach ripples against my sensitive pussy, making me buck against him. Wes stops and places me on the sofa. I lay beneath him as he presses his hard-on against the base of my pussy.
"Eden." He growls again, cupping my breasts in the palms of his hands. He stares down at me, his eyes glazed over, as his thumb tenderly toys with my hard nipples. I press against him, needing more, not giving a damn that I'm probably unraveling at the seams. I need him and I need him now.
"More." I moan again as Wes takes his sweet ass time, lifting my shirt up and over my head; my bare breast greeting him in excitement.
"Fuck!" He growls, before dipping his head and pulling my nipple between his lips.
"Uhh! Yes!" I moan, as my fingers dip into his perfect hair. I buck against him and again chasing my high like an addict. I grip the ends of his torn t-shirt and eagerly pull it from his body. I toss the shirt over the end of the couch, and press my palms against his perfectly hard, sculpted chest. Wes doesn't waste a moment as he dips his head low again, pulling my other nipple into his mouth. His head bobs back and forth between both, sucking hard causing me to scream.
"WES!" I scream, practically coming undone in my denim shorts. Wes releases my breast and presses his forehead against mine.
"So. Fucking. Perfect." He breaths. I couldn't have said it better myself as my hands roam over his perfect body. He pulls his head back and stares at me. His hazel-green eyes are now a shade of dark brown almost black and I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth as he takes me in. The connection between us is indescribable. I couldn't believe that we were here when just hours ago, I'd left him standing in the gallery of his penthouse, utterly spent and angry that I'd been so unlucky to have met him. But now, now that feeling has changed. Call me crazy, but the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde performance he'd put on was apparently all I needed to drop my panties for him and that was fine with me.
"Eden." He says again, and I wrap my legs around his waist at the sound of my name.
"Kiss me." I say and he presses his lips against mines. I moan at the feel of his plumped lips. Lips that did unspeakable things to my body in my fantasies at night. I part my lips and Wes slips his tongue inside. We'd been toying around in the "is it or isn't it" going to happen pool and now, we'd both crossed a line that we weren't going to be able to come back from. I'd imagined so many different scenarios in my head of what it would feel like if Wes ever kissed me, and there was no comparison to the real thing. Wes is an amazing kisser, soft in the beginning only to grow much harder and rougher as the kiss progresses.
I pull away from the kiss, my hands eagerly touching every part of his body that I'm able to touch from my position.
"More." I moan, breathing so fast I sounded like a dog in need of water after a long walk. Wes sits up on his knees, my legs spread on either side of his hips. His eyes never leave mines as he releases the button on the shorts. He grips both of my thighs and presses my legs together and rest them over his shoulder, giving him the access that he needs. He grips the waistband of my shorts and pulls my shorts and panties over my legs in one swift move. My thighs fall apart, exposing my slick, wet pussy that I desperately needed him to touch.
"Damn baby. You're going to be my kryptonite." He whispers. I grin up at him in my best sultry smile. It turned me on even more that he found my body so irresistible. I can feel my pussy puckering with need.
He presses his thumb to my clit, and slowly begins to rub my sensitive bud. He watches me closely as my eyes roll, and flutter from the pleasure. He presses another finger to the base of my entrance. I focus my attention on him as he pushes past my swollen lips, his fingers dipping deep into the abyss that is my eager pussy. He begins to finger fuck me. Slow at first, his thick finger dipping in and out as my walls contract around him. He slips another finger inside, curling them as he does and begins to massage the spot where I need him the most. My hips buck forward as I begin to pant and scream his name over and over.
"Wes, Oh God, Wes!" I scream. He dips his head lower, replacing his thumb with his lips. My thighs clench around his head as he both tongue and finger fuck me. My head thrashing from side to side at the goodness of it all. I'd never in my entire life been so fucking turned on by a man who both infuriated me and gave me such pleasure at the same time. I don't have time to dwell on the contradiction, as Wes begins to pump his fingers in and out of my pussy so fast that the sound of my juices mixed with the force of his finger's slips through the air.
"Uhhh! Yes! Wes! Fuckkk!" I ramble, dipping my fingers into his hair and fucking his face with such force that my ass no longer lays flat on the couch. He dips his fingers, once, twice, the tips of his lips press hard around my clit, and I come completely undone. Sparks of blues and pinks float through the air, as I pant in ecstasy. My hearing dulls and I don't realize how loud I'm screaming until my body uncoils from the intensity of my orgasm.
Wes slowly pulls his fingers from me and begins to lick each one that'd been inside of me clean.
"You taste so fucking good baby." He moans as his mouth crashes against mines. The pressure of his lips against mine mixed with my taste on his tongue causes me to shiver as the last bit of my orgasm leaves me.
"That was amazing." I say just above a whisper that I don't think he even heard me. I've never had my pussy treated that way before. I'd only read about this type of oral sex in those erotic novels I read when I needed an escape from textbooks, but I've never experienced it myself.
Without thinking, I begin to unfasten the button on his jeans, Wes continues to kiss me with such passion that my pussy begins to ache again even though I'd just had the best orgasm of my life. The sound of his zipper being pulled down rings in my ears and my heart thuds hard against my ribcage with immaculate force. I dip my fingers into the waste band of his boxer briefs just as a loud knock comes to my front door.
I choose to ignore it and instead I focus my attention on the beautiful man currently resting in between my thighs. Our lips are glued together as I slip his jeans and boxer briefs past his toned ass. I moan against our kiss as my hands roam the firm, perfect ass currently in my hands. The knock sounds again and again.
"Eden, dear it's Mrs. Wheeler from downstairs. I heard screaming and I was just wondering if you were ok." She asks, her voice frail. Wes breaks our kiss and presses his forehead against mines.
"She'll go away if I don't answer." I say, lifting my head to kiss him again, except she doesn't and knocks again.
"Eden, should I call the police?" She questions, causing Wes to break our kiss again. I squeeze my eyes closed and press my hand to my forehead in frustration.
"It doesn't seem like she's leaving until you answer her." He says. I groan, and nod my head knowing he was right.
"I'm fine, everything's ok Mrs. Wheeler." I yell, not wanting to break away from him. Mrs. Wheeler had a problem hearing and sometimes refused to wear her hearing aids no matter how many times I or her part time caretaker asked her too. So, it was just my damn luck that she'd chosen to wear them tonight, even if she were normally in bed asleep.
"Great dear." She responds. I smile up at Wes, thankful that Mrs. Wheeler hadn't completely ruined the mood. He dips his head and begins to kiss my collarbone, while I rest my hands against his ass again. Another knock sounds at my door.
"Eden, it's Mrs. Wheeler again. I seemed to have locked myself out of my apartment. Would you be a dear and unlock the door for me?" She asks. Wes quickly sits up as I lean up, resting on my elbows.
"I'm sorry." I say. "After her husband passed, her caretaker thought it would be a great idea if I had a spare key to her apartment. She started becoming forgetful, and careless so, I check in on her from time to time." I explain.
"It's no problem. That's very noble of you." He assures with a warm smile. I nod my head, standing I retreat to my room to grab my cream-colored silk robe and head for the front door, leaving Wes half naked on the couch. It doesn't hit me that Mrs. Wheeler sprained ankle wouldn't be healed enough for her to climb the two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. I quickly open my door, praying that she was ok. Mrs. Wheeler is stands before me in her floor length terry cloth robe. Her hair is full of pink plastic rollers and her glasses hang on a chain-linked necklace around her neck.
"Good evening Mrs. Wheeler." I say, putting on my best I'm-not-annoyed-you-interrupted-the-best-orgasm-of-my-life face. Her face lights up as she sees me. I close my door behind me and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"You shouldn't be on your ankle." I warn her.
"I'm so sorry to bother you so late, but for the life of me I can't remember to bring along my keys when I leave my home. And my ankle isn't too bad today, I've been using my cane and I went to physical therapy this morning." She answers.
"It's ok. Now let's get you back inside your home safely." I answer. We take the stairs down two flights and I walk Mrs. Wheeler into her apartment. I spot her keys resting on a nearby end table. An old black and white television plays in the background as I settle her into bed. I pull the plaid wool blanket over her and turn off her bedside lamp, the glare from her black and white television illuminates her face.
"Have a good night Mrs. Wheeler."
"Goodnight dear." She says through her sleep like state. I watch as Mrs. Wheeler closes her eyes and I turn making my way back through her apartment. Before leaving I double check to see if her appliances are off and her windows are locked. I place her keys on the hook next to her front door. Her caregiver had it mounted after she'd driven out five times in one week to let Mrs. Wheeler back inside her home. Closing the door behind me, I climb the stairs to my own apartment and slip inside.
Once inside I'm met with a full dressed Wes, who stands over my kitchen sink cleaning the Bolognese sauce from the two plates we'd eaten from.
"Is everything ok?" I ask, confused as I watch him rinse the last dish and sitting it into the dish drying rack. He turns off the running water and begins to wipe his hands on the floral hand towel before turning to me.
"It's getting late. I should probably get going." He answers. I do a terrible job at hiding my disappointment. Just a few minutes ago we were together in our own world. A blissful state that only we could bring each other. I cross my hands over my chest and lean against the wall.
"You don't have –" I begin to say just as he invades my space, placing both hands on either side of me, caging me in.
"I think it would be best." He answers. My eyes fall, a little upset about his sudden departure.
"I'll see you on Monday?" he asks, and I slowly nod my head. He pushes off the wall and unlocks my front door. I follow behind him in a daze, as he steps into the hallway. He pauses and turns to me. I grasp the doorknob just as I did earlier. I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that we should at least try to see how far this thing between us can go. I want to tell him that the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde act is getting old. Not to mention it's starting to give me whiplash.
He slowly begins to reach his hands towards me but stops and shoves both hands into his pocket. My pulse quickens, it's obvious that he's holding back from me. Which only made my blood boil even more. In just a few short minutes we'd somehow found ourselves back to square one, just like that. It was as if the moment we'd shared had never happened. He had his fingers in my pussy for fuck sake and now he was leaving me high and dry without an explanation.
"Have a lovely night, Eden." He says before turning and begins to head down the flight of stairs. I stand in my doorway until I hear the faint sound of the lobby door to my prewar apartment building open and closed. I shake my head, closing and locking my door behind me.
Damn it! Why did he have to be such a fucking asshole?
Why did he have to be so closed off?
And why, why did he have to be so incredibly handsome.
And why the hell couldn't I let this all go?