Her grin is bright and huge. “I want to kiss the screen.”
“Me too. Unbutton the shirt.”
She scoots her computer off her lap onto the bed between her spread legs. Perfect! Her lips part and her tongue eases out to wet them as she works the last button. Alluring eyes look up at the screen through sexy glasses and a few strands of her hair hang down from the messy pile on top of her head. “Like this?”
I slide my hand down my briefs and fist my erection. Her eyes follow my hand then she looks back up in wide-eyed surprise.
“Let me see your breasts.”
She glances back down at the screen. I slide the front of my briefs down so she has a better view. I can see her breaths coming quicker, almost feel her nipples hardening, and I can definitely taste the slick sweetness between her legs. Vivian pulls the sides of my shirt back with slight hesitation until her perky breasts with pebbled nipples are fully exposed.
I swallow and wet my lips while my hand slides along my erection. “Vivian, how do you like me to touch you?”
She drops her chin to her chest and stares at herself. Then bright emeralds peer at me over black frames. I have to slow down my hand. The vision before me is college professor porn.
Vivian moves her hand to her stomach then eases it up to her breast like she’s touching herself for the first time. She looks down and squeezes it while drawing her thumb down over her nipple. Okay, I thought this was a good idea, but I was wrong. I want to crawl through the screen and devour her. This sucks … really, really sucks.
Her other hand does the same thing and when I see her eyelids close and fight to open again, I squeeze my hand and moan in both agony and pleasure. She bends her knees and spreads her legs wide.
My hand speeds up.
“See anything you like, Mr. Konrad?”
“Fuck, Vivian!”
“I miss your lips here.” She slides her hand down her stomach and between her legs. “Mmm …” She moans and closes her eyes.
I’m so close.
“And I miss your tongue here.” She presses two fingers to her clitoris and moves them in slow circles. “Oh, Oli …” Each word is a drawn-out pant.
I slow down again and try to hold off, but it’s killing me. I close my eyes to let the tension ease a bit, but her soft pants and whimpers don’t allow much of a reprieve.
“Oli, don’t stop.”
I open my eyes to Vivian with one hand on her breast squeezing and tugging at her nipple and her other hand still low on her stomach. Her two fingers are alternately pulsing in rapid succession.
“Ol-Oli … oh God … Oliver!” she yells my name as her head falls back and her knees collapse together.
It only takes a couple more pumps before I release—stomach muscles tensing, teeth digging into my lower lip.
God, I love technology even if I hate missing her.
The days have blurred into weeks and I’m starting to wonder if time exists. Is anything changing or am I stuck in limbo where Vivian is busy with school and working a few hours a week at The Green Pot while I’m trying, with little success, to get Caroline to … what? That’s just it. I don’t have a damn clue. She may never get better. I think Doug and Lily are grasping for something that’s just an illusion—wishful thinking, but not reality.
I need to work, but not just for the money. I need to feel like I’m making a contribution and doing something more than watching Caroline eat dinner every night while chanting she loves me. Yes, that’s the new development. She loves me. It’s ridiculous, unbelievable, but mostly pathetic. Since I’ve been here those are the only three words she’s said to me. I think it’s the meds, but who knows and who really cares? Not me.
Her doctor is going to adjust her meds and get her back in therapy now that she’s showing improvement and isn’t suicidal any more. I’m not a doctor, but where he’s “seeing improvement” is beyond me. Improvement would be moving past her half-ass suicide attempts and just getting the job done. There’s no need for her to be using up air that other people could make better use of. Obviously the monster in me is still alive.
Visiting Sturgeon, Wallace, and Faye, the law firm I used to work at, was not on my Portland to-do list. Unfortunately, plans have changed. Valerie Wallace is due with twins next month and the other partners and myself were planning on absorbing her work load while she takes maternity leave. I’m sure my leaving has made the load that much heavier for Sturgeon and Faye.
“Oh my gosh! Oliver!” Samantha, the receptionist, calls as I walk into their office. She waddles in her tight skirt and heels to give me a hug. She turned fifty this past spring, but between her time in the tanning bed and years of smoking she doesn’t look a day over seventy.
“Hey there, Samantha.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to talk with Brice. Does he still mark off an extra half hour after lunch for a nap?”
“Oh, honey … you know that’s just hearsay.”
I laugh. “No, it’s I’ve seen, not hearsay. I’ve walked into his office on more than one occasion and seen him hunched over, drooling on his tie.”
“Well, Cindy said he has sleep apnea so I’m sure he’s just exhausted by one.”
I glance at my watch. “So are you stalling or are you going to let me sneak in on him?”
She shoos me toward the hall. “Have at it, but if he asks, I wasn’t at my desk when you arrived.”
“Deal.”
Brice Sturgeon is third-generation law school. His grandfather practiced until he was eighty-two, but his dad took early retirement at sixty-three after a triple bypass. Brice and his twin sister, Valerie Wallace, took over the family practice seven years ago and brought their friend from UCLA law school, Mitchell Faye, in with them.
“Knock, knock, wipe your drool and stash your porn.”
“Oliver Konrad, what the hell are you doing in town?” Brice shoves his half-eaten sandwich back in its sack, stands while wiping his mouth, and offers his hand.
I shake his hand and take a seat opposite him. “Wish I could say sightseeing, but unfortunately that’s not the case.”
I look around his office. “You found another Ivy League sucker like myself to come work for you?”
Brice, Valerie, and Mitchell never tried to hide the fact that they hired me based on my Harvard degree. Brice said my diploma would look good on the wall and lend confidence to potential new clients. I just needed a job and an established client base. We were a good match at the time.
“Nah, preppy boys like yourself don’t like to navigate off the East Coast. Most of your breed are just a bunch of mama’s boys with a trust fund.”
“Well I haven’t been notified about mine. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
“I’m in town for a while. Unfortunately, I think it’s going to be longer than I originally expected. Caroline’s parents want me to stay here until she gets … better, of sorts.”
“Better? You do realize—”
I hold up my hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m fully aware of her chances of ever getting out of there or having anything resembling a normal life. I’m doing this for Doug and Lily and … I guess my own closure or something.” I rub my hands over my face. “I don’t know.”
“So you need a job?”
“Not a job. I’m not staying. Just work. I need something to keep me from going crazy myself and some income until my magic trust fund becomes available wouldn’t be bad either.”
Brice grins and tosses a whole stack of files on the desk in front of me. “Have at it. Valerie’s here maybe two hours a day before she has to go home and elevate her swollen feet. As you know, she has a lot of female clients that would bend over backwards to work with you—figuratively and literally.”