“Did you spit in it?”
“I should have.” She picked up her bag and rushed past me, heading for the exit.
A part of me actually wanted to go after her and make her explain what the hell she meant about “not doing this anymore,” but I knew doing so would be pointless. Talking to her for less than three minutes aroused me, and I needed to remember why I ended “us” in the first place.
I returned to the break-room and said thank you to the last of the interns, glancing at the photo HR had pinned on the wall. It was a collage of my professional photos with a birthday hat sticker attached to my head. And they’d written “Happy Birthday, Andrew! GBH Loves You!” in bright blue.
In all actuality, my birthday was months from now—in December, a day I hadn’t celebrated in a very long time. And even though I’d never publicly admit it, I somewhat liked the fact that the people at GBH were willing to celebrate my birthday—real or not.
“How many slices of cake would you like me to wrap up for you, Mr. Hamilton?” Jessica tapped my shoulder.
“Three,” I said. “And I’ll take a cup of lemonade, too.”
“You’re not going to stay for the “Who Knows Mr. Hamilton the Best” game?”
“None of you know me.” I returned to my office and locked the door, setting the new birthday gifts on top of my bookshelf.
The envelope from Mr. Greenwood contained a note that said he appreciated my hard work and dedication to the firm. Beneath his written words was a gift card to his family’s other multimillion dollar entity: A golf course.
The gifts from the interns were all “I.O.U.” letters that begged for extra time on their assignments. I held all of those over my shredder.
Jessica’s black box was next, and as much as I wanted to throw it away and never think of it again, I couldn’t resist knowing what she bought me. I took the top off and removed the paper, pulling out a soft piece of silk and a note:
I overheard that you like to keep these in your pocket… Here are mine. PS—I took them off in the bathroom five minutes ago
:-)
Jesus…
I buried her panties at the bottom of my trashcan and crumpled that note.
I stared at Aubrey’s silver box for a while, wondering if I should wait until later to unwrap it, but I couldn’t help peeling off the paper.
Inside of the box was a small black photo frame. It was handcrafted—bordered with iron pressed images of pointe slippers, law scales, and the words “Alyssa” and “Thoreau” in smooth white letters.
The picture in it was one of us, one of her laying against my chest in my bed and smiling at the camera. Her cheeks were flushed red—like they always were after sex, and she was dressed in one of my T-shirts.
I remembered her forcing me to take that photo—insisting that she “wouldn’t share it with anyone” and only wanted it for herself. She even forced me to smile…
I set the frame down and took out the other object in the box—a sparkling silver watch with an inscription etched across its back:
Subject: You.
I liked you as “Thoreau,” but I love you as Andrew.
—Aubrey (Alyssa)
My glass of wine sat untouched at Arbors Restaurant, and the candles in the centerpiece were shedding sheets of their wax onto the table.
I was expecting a date any moment now, but I couldn’t stop staring at the watch Aubrey gave me. She’d clearly thought about each and every part of the design; no element was by mistake.
I noticed two interlocking A’s in the corner of its screen, and earlier, in the sunlight, I’d noticed that my name was etched on the edge of its frame.
“Are you Thoreau?” A woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts, making me look up.
“I am.”
She smiled and took the seat across from me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a regular here and the waitress asked if I’d be having my usual when I arrived. I told her you would have the same.”
“I don’t mind at all.” A small feeling of guilt welled inside my chest, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from pursuing what I needed tonight: Pussy. ASAP.
The waitress placed two steamed dishes in front of us, and I checked the time. I was only giving this woman one hour.
“So, what type of cases do you normally handle?” she asked.
“Corporate for the most part, but I’ve done government and tax as well.”
“Interesting. Have you lived in Durham long?”
“Too long.”
“And is this your normal M.O.?” She leaned back in her chair, dragging her nails against her see-through top. “One night stands?”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“It never is.”
I raised my eyebrow and looked her over. She was actually quite appealing—long blond hair, curvy figure, and perky breasts.
Physical attributes aside, we seemed to have a lot in common. She was a real lawyer in the next county over, she read most of the same books, and from what she’d told me over the phone, we shared a comparable sexual appetite.
Our entrees came and went, the conversation plodded along, but Aubrey’s watch still had a part of my attention.
“Is something bothering you?” My date waved her hand in front of my face. “I remember you being a lot more talkative over the phone.”
“I’m fine.” I waved the waiter over for the check. “Just tired.”
“Too tired to fuck?”
“I’m nevertoo tired to fuck.”
Blushing, she crossed her legs and leaned over the table. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
I didn’t respond. I simply signed the check and stood up, holding out my hand for her.
We walked through the hotel lobby and straight for the elevators.
The second the doors closed, she pressed her lips against mine and threaded her fingers through my hair.
“Fuck…” I groaned as one of her hands slid down to my belt.
She moved her mouth down my neck as we ascended to the top floor, grazing her teeth against my skin. Moaning, she gasped as I gripped her waist and kissed her back—controlling her tongue with mine.
I pulled the band away from her ponytail and tossed it to the floor. I closed my eyes and deepened our kiss—torturously biting her lip as she tried to pull away.
Sliding her knee between my legs, she unfastened my belt and tugged at my zipper. “How long are we going to fuck tonight?”
“As long as you want.” I palmed her breasts through her shirt, slipping a hand underneath her bra.
“ Ahhhh…” She murmured as I caressed her nipple.
The elevator doors slid open quickly, but our bodies remained entwined as we found our way to the suite. Her lips latched onto mine again as we stumbled into the room—bumping into the lamps and the dressers.
She was moaning louder now, barely controlling herself as I unzipped her dress and unclasped her bra.
I felt her hands at my waist—pushing my pants to the floor, and when my back hit the wall, I realized she was on her knees in front of me.
Leaning forward, she rubbed her hands up and down my cock, asking me to tell her how badly I wanted her mouth on me.
“I don’t…” I shook my head as I realized I had been fantasizing about Aubrey the entire time.
“You’re not even going to beg for it?” She smiled, bringing her head closer.
“Stop.” I grabbed her by her hair and gently pushed her away.
“Is something wrong, Thoreau? Did you want to do me first instead? Should I get on the bed or the chair?”
I couldn’t make out the rest of her questions; images of Aubrey were clouding my brain, invading all my senses. And the more I stared at this woman, a woman who was nowhere near as beautiful as Aubrey, the more I felt my cock softening.
Fuck…
I pulled my pants up and zipped the fly. “I no longer feel like fucking you. You can leave.”
“ Excuse me?” She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms. “What did you just say?”
“I said that I don’t feel like fucking you.” I spoke slowly. “And that you can leave. Enjoy the rest of your night.”