CHAPTER THREE
Charlotte
I walk into the suite, now a fully employed lawyer, rather than an unemployed lawyer. I don’t care about the job, really. I have just shy of twenty-thousand dollars left in the account of the lawyer who handles my grandfather’s estate; all that is left after it paid for my seven years of schooling, a reliable car, and now, six months prepaid lodging at an extended-stay hotel. I know the ability to change my life with this new start didn’t come from any strength on my part, but rather from the generosity of a relative who died when I was six.
Cara, a friend of mine back in the city, told me she thought it took a lot of strength to break free of my parents. It wasn’t strength; it was just an explosion of panic and unhappiness. It was me; being stretched and bent for all of my life, and finally breaking. It was me; running as fast as I could, away from pain and unhappiness. Although it was terrifying, running felt a hell of a lot better than staying. I’m weak and damaged, but at least I know who and what I am.
Today, all of that is gone.
Oh, I know I’m still damaged and all that, but I have a new job with the hottest imaginable boss, and I feel confident about the future. No, that isn’t quite right. I don’t feel confident, but I certainly feel the absence of panic, and that’s good enough for me right now. In fact, it feels pretty darned amazing when it comes down to it. I used to get horrible headaches, until I found the right combination of aspirin, acetaminophen, caffeine, and chamomile tea. It didn’t make me feel good when the headaches disappeared. It just took away the pain. Thus is kind of the same thing. I’m not confident, but I don’t see impending doom around every corner any longer.
What I do see around every corner is Charlie. My God, that man! Everything about him is like a drug to me. He fills me with wonder, excitement, and a heck of a lot of arousal. I can’t help myself. The way he carried himself was… How can I even wrap my head around it? I have spent my whole life around immaculately polished men, the kinds of men who wear watches more expensive than most cars. These are men of authority. I have seen men with the kind of aristocratic poise that actors try desperately to emulate and never quite get right. From bespoke, tailored suits to two-thousand-dollar pens, these men represent the very definition of what makes a man desirable.
Charlie Hubble makes all those men look like slovenly rubes, even though he doesn’t wear a two-tone gold watch from Switzerland or diamond cufflinks, and even though he’s probably never worn a tailored suit. He has more authority and poise than a dozen of those men. Yet there is kindness in his eyes unlike any I’ve ever seen. I doubt he possesses enough arrogance to look down on anyone, but I know he possesses enough strength and character that it would be his right to do just that.
As for authority… wow! I don’t know what it says about me that the most exciting part of the interview was his sharp correction of my self-deprecation. I have no idea why the very thought of it arouses me, but it arouses me in shocking ways. People have controlled me from the day I was born. What he did was something close to that wasn’t it?
No.
Not at all. He wasn’t controlling me, but rather directing me and telling me how to get in control of myself.
I love the way he just naturally fell into guiding and directing me. He made it very clear how he expected me to behave, but did it in a way that was completely new to me. I didn’t feel driven to become something, or to comply with some path he’d laid out for me. He didn’t direct me to a future of his choosing. He told me to stop behaving as if I was unworthy of the future I wanted.
I don’t know if I would have been so turned on by the way he spoke to me, if he hadn’t been such an absolute dream of a man. I do know my attraction to him isn’t just for his muscular body and his classically handsome face. I’m attracted the whole package and it borders on an obsession, at the moment. I close the door of the suite behind me and, without even planning it, I head to the separate bedroom. My clothes form a trail on the floor behind me.
I run my hands over my body, imagining they’re his hands – rough and powerful, I’m sure – exploring everywhere. I imagine his eyes, that incredible combination of determined power and tenderness, taking in the sight of me. I can almost feel his weight on top of me, as my hands reach between my legs and I let my fingers play over the folds of my pussy. Soon, I see only images of him taking me with customary assurance. As my fingers move inside of me, I pinch my nipples with the other hand and breathe out his name time and time again.
Sometimes I call him Charlie and sometimes I call him Mr. Hubble.
When I climax, the power of the orgasm is shocking. I shake and tremble and finally stop, already overwhelmed by sensitivity. I stare at the ceiling, amazed in a number of ways. This isn’t the first time for me. Masturbation is an almost necessary part of law school, just to relieve the stress. This time, though, it far exceeded any of those previous experiences. I lie in the afterglow of my orgasm feeling complete pleasure, but not stress release.
After a long while of staring at the ceiling and just thinking about Charlie, I roll out of the bed and gather my clothes up. Since I completed the paperwork already, I’ll start tomorrow, instead of Monday. The rest of the night is an almost crazy nightmare of desperate anticipation. I eat dinner at the little café across the street from the hotel and I return, upset that only an hour has passed. I watch television hoping I will drift off and get to tomorrow faster. I even dream of waiting for tomorrow.
Then, tomorrow comes. The alarm wakes me at six in the morning and I leap out of bed and rush to the shower, excitement overwhelming me. I am already standing waiting at the office door at seven-fifteen. Even after the remarkable orgasm that my thoughts of Charlie gave me last night, I find myself almost desperately aroused and needy just at the thought of seeing him again. This is not me, at least not the me I know. I think I like the new me better.
I know that I like anticipating my day; feeling something wonderful is about to happen rather than frightening. I lean against the door and realize that I haven’t thought about how I’m a disappointment to my parents, in ages. I haven’t drifted into obsessing about being a disappointment at all. Instead, I can’t wait to get into the office, where I’ll be able to see him again and I’ll be able to help him succeed.
Wow. Suddenly work has become about helping someone else to succeed.
Yes. I definitely think I like the new me better than the old one.