Quentin kept his cock within her for a few seconds, gazing down at her, their bodies still joined. But slowly, he stood up, planting his large feet flat on the floor. He grew tall beside her, his shoulders muscled and broad. But she remained tiny, petite, tucked in the small chair, and wondering—panicked—if she’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
8
In the moments that hung afterward, Charlotte felt as if time no longer existed, as if they would remain like this—Quentin gazing at her gleaming naked form for the rest of eternity. But the clock on the wall gave them away, ticking mindlessly toward two in the morning. Quentin exhaled gruffly, roughing his fingers through his dark, sex-crazed hair.
“I heard something today,” Charlotte said quietly, lifting herself from the small chair and gliding onto the couch, patting the side tentatively.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Quentin asked, his voice still broad and dominating, but finding more companionship with her after making love. He took two easy, long strides and then planted himself beside her on the couch, wrapping his muscled bicep around her small, bird neck. He cradled her.
“I heard there’s a no-fraternization policy at my new job,” Charlotte said playfully, blinking her eyes several times. “I heard that you’re not meant to sleep with your boss, that is.”
“Oh? And do you think that will be a struggle for you?” Quentin asked her, wrapping his hand around her large breast. He leaned to the side and kissed her neck, inhaling the scent of her.
“I think it might be,” Charlotte whispered playfully, her voice raspy. “You see, I think I’m really quite attracted to my boss.”
Her eyelids felt heavy with continued lust. She turned toward him, kissing him again, and sucking at his bottom lip. “But I don’t even think he knows I exist.”
After a moment of silence, of tension, Quentin knocked his head back in laughter. Charlotte joined him in raucous giggles, bringing her hand to the side couch pillow and hitting him playfully with it. This felt candid; this felt natural. Never, in all her years of listening to massive grunge band Orpheus Arise, had she imagined she’d be naked on a couch with Quentin McDonnell.
“I hardly know you,” Quentin said then, gazing into her dark eyes.
“That hasn’t stopped you before, has it?” Charlotte asked.
“I suppose not,” Quentin said, his eyes flashing. “But I assumed I’d grown out of that stage of my life. I thought I’d grown up. Grown old. Becoming a dad will do that to you. But then, I saw you at the office. And I knew—“ He stopped, hunting for words.
The air grew tight around them. Charlotte pulsed forward, drawing her thin arms around his neck. She felt closer to this man, in a million different ways, than she ever had with her ex-boyfriend from college—her only other romance. She was inexperienced, having been with only one guy. And she knew Quentin knew that, too.
“What did you know?” she finally whispered, hunting for it. She wanted him to say he knew he could fall in love with her. She wanted him to say he wanted to fuck her from the beginning, even. She just wanted the dirty talk to continue, playfully, darkly, into the night.
“I know one thing,” Quentin finally said, his voice growing gruffer. “I know that you need to get back to your apartment.”
Charlotte’s eyes quivered with sadness. She swallowed sharply, her shoulders slumping. “Really?”
He nodded firmly, drawing a line between them in the sand. He moved her legs from over his and found his own stance on the floor. With quick, muscled movements, he guided her back to the foyer, where they both dressed. He looked like a ragged version of his office persona, which caused Charlotte to want to thrust herself at him with more force. But she bit her lip, forcing herself to be quiet, to be demure.
“And this, of course, can’t happen again, Charlotte,” Quentin said, his eyes still glittering.
“I don’t believe you,” Charlotte murmured, her eyes casting toward the rug.
“You should,” Quentin insisted. “I don’t often lie about what my plans are. As my new employee, you’d do well to adhere to them.”
Charlotte rose onto her toes, graceful, like a ballerina. Her breasts bounced easily in the soft light. She forced herself to look up at him, even as he towered over her. He could break her like a stick, any second.
“I know where the door is,” she murmured.
The tension between them mounted, then. Quentin’s soft, kissable lips parted, searching for a final thing to say. Finally, she spun back toward the door, pulling it open and darting into the hallway, leaving him alone.
When she entered her apartment once more, a wide, manic smile formed across Charlotte’s face. She quivered with excitement, rushing to the bathroom mirror and gazing at her naked form, trying to see herself the way Quentin had seen her. Slight bruises had begun to form on her hips and abdomen, from his wild thrusting. These were her battle scars. She wished she could keep them forever.