Maliciously Obedient Part 7

"Wait a minute," Sandy said, her voice suspicious. "Is there a new guy? Is that why you don't want to take a weekend off?"

How to answer that? "Mmmm, nope."

She could hear Sandy's eyebrows shoot up. "That's a weak 'no.'"

"But it's a no." Please don't question it.

Random words, then shuffling, the her dad's voice shouting mild obscenities. "Hon, I have to go. Someone just pumped gasoline in their septic tank." Saved by a new RV owner.

"Your dad's fit to be tied," Sandy added. Lydia could imagine the mess.

"OK." Whew. "Love you, Mom."

"Save the date! August 22. Talent Show." Click.

That she wouldn't miss for anything.

"Did she say 'talent show'?" Krysta asked, saying the last two words as if she were talking about feces.

"Oh, yes she did. She said talent show. The talent show at the Escape Sh.o.r.es Campground in Verily, Maine is the absolute, hands down, most exciting, thrilling professional talent show you've ever been to. Didn't I take you?" She and Krysta had been friends for years.

Krysta shook her head. "Nope. If it's in late August, I'm at my mom's for a family reunion."

"Then that explains it." Lydia shook her head in mock sadness. "You're missing the greatest show on earth. My brothers, Dan and Adam, are famous for their nose marshmallow trick."

Krysta made a sound of disgust. "Do I want to ask?"

"Of course you want to ask!" said Lydia. "You take a mini marshmallow and stick it up one nostril, and then your partner a "

"Partner? You have a partner in this?" Krysta grew more disgusted by the minute. Lydia reveled in it.

"And then your partner," she continued, ignoring the interruption, "stands about twenty feet away, maybe ten if you're just starting, and you close the nostril that doesn't have the marshmallow in it." Lydia's voice developed a nasal tone as she demonstrated the motion. "And you take a deep breath..."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Krysta grabbed her stomach.

"...and you blow as hard as you can, shoot the marshmallow in an arc, across the air, and the other person stands there with their mouth open a "

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" shouted Krysta, waving her hands wildly as if fanning herself. "OK, OK, I get the point. So that's what pa.s.ses for talent in the middle of nowhere Maine."

"That's pretty much the...claim to fame for a...well, yeah." Lydia stumbled over that one.

Krysta sat up on her elbows, leaned across the table, looked Lydia dead in the eye and said, "How in the h.e.l.l did someone like you from someplace like that end up in Boston?"

Lydia leaned in as if to tell her a secret, waving her closer, cupping her palm over her mouth, and whispered, "That's exactly why I ended up in Boston."

A zing of thrill shot through her as she waited for her elevator and watched the doors open slowly, finding Matt already on board. That zing shouldn't have thrilled her. Horror at her own inappropriate feelings for her boss should have been her response, but instead it was her c.l.i.t that dominated, heating with a fire of excitement that turned into a deeper throb, making her pulse race and her heart slam against her ribs, every bit of her throat feeling her hot breath as it escaped.

"Morning," he said, his mouth stretching into a big grin. Lydia had avoided him since that closet kiss, hoping she could just a what? Forget it? He had come to her, once, and seemed like he wanted to say something, but she had been so fl.u.s.tered she had jumped up and found some files to scan, scurrying off, too uncomfortable to talk.

"Good morning," she replied. What she wanted to say was Kiss me. Or, worse, Take me.

How about: f.u.c.k me silly.

Good morning would have to do.

Everything about this man turned her on, from the hint of aftershave he wore, to the way his biceps pressed against his oxford s.h.i.+rt. Those arms had been around her just days ago, and his body rested in a relaxed, but aware state, knees slightly bent, hand holding a briefcase, eyes perceptive and watching her. As she stepped into the elevator she hoped no one would join them, the pneumatic hiss of the doors closing like an answered prayer.

Out of habit, she reached over and pressed the floor b.u.t.ton, feeling his eyes crawl over her, like a hot laser she could feel in every pore. A flush covered her cheeks and she felt a climax rising, just from this. Being in an enclosed s.p.a.ce with him, the air electric with the tension of touches not yet completed.

She wasn't imagining the tension, either. He gave it right back, his eyes intent on her, body tight now, s.h.i.+fting his weight toward her, surveying every inch of her skin with his eyes.

And then a a jolt. Black. Disoriented, a little scream escaped from her throat, hands gesticulating wildly, searching to grab onto a wall, or something to steady herself, to find herself in s.p.a.ce. Reaching the side of the elevator, she spread her hands out against the side, now attuned to her surroundings.

Lydia stood bathed in pure darkness, the only light in the elevator s.h.i.+ning from the tiny red emergency light on the panel of b.u.t.tons. A flicker of movement as Matt reached over and pushed the emergency b.u.t.ton, setting off an alarm, a loud bell that filled the tiny elevator's interior with enough noise to drive her mad, but not enough noise a unfortunately a to drown out the pounding of arousal and overwhelm in her body, in her veins, in her a "You okay, Lydia?" Matt asked, his rich baritone like a caress in the dark, making him seem everywhere and nowhere all at once. She heard scuffling sounds, and realized he was trying to find her in the dark. Well, f.u.c.k me, she thought. Racing thoughts filled her mind a images, touches, hopes, fantasies. Who didn't want to have s.e.x in an elevator at least once in her life? And here she was, with opportunity screaming, the alarm filling her ears, the darkness blocking her senses, and then she felt Matt's hand on her breast, soft and searching, as she stifled a moan.

"Oh, there you are." He seemed not to understand what he was touching a or, she hoped, he knew exactly what he was doing a and Lydia s.h.i.+fted just slightly, out of instinct. Not that she didn't want his hand on her there, and in fact she most desperately did, but she was so unused to being touched in such a manner like this, by a stranger who was her boss, her boss in the job that she had so wanted for the last two years, and now she began to feel something more than the primal fear of being trapped in a completely dark elevator with a stranger.

Boldness. The word bold was the last word anyone would ever use to describe Lydia. Fierce? Sure. Intelligent? Of course. Determined? Absolutely.

Bold? Overt? Sensual? She wasn't a risk taker. Not by nature and not by volition. Yet here she stood with chance screaming at her in the form of an emergency alarm, and something inside her tipped. She reached for Matt and found the top b.u.t.ton of his s.h.i.+rt, a sprinkling of chest hair under her fingertips. Feeling her way up over his throat to the slight roughness of his clean shaven face, up to his nose, she stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.

Pulling apart, their lips warm and wet, he silently reached for the emergency b.u.t.ton and pulled it out, ending the alarm.

They needed as much time as they could steal.

Their breath sounded like tortured gasps in the elevator. Bold. Deciding that she was going to be the Lydia that she had never been before, she took. Took his lips, his tongue a she took control.

Until he rose up, standing taller, his arms around her as if he stretched every muscle in his body, all of them toward her, all of them toward this kiss, everything and every part of him concentrated instantly on her. Tortured gasps for air and him made her breath ragged, his mouth on her neck, hands hungry for skin as he reached under her skirt and slid up, raking her thighs, claiming her body for his own.

"Lydia," he murmured in her ear as he pressed his hips into hers, giving her a full-on sense of his arousal, pus.h.i.+ng against her and making her want him in her. Rough kisses turned deeper, his hands sliding her panties down, her mouth and body afire.

"What are you a " she asked, alarmed that something so intimate would be so public, yet dripping wet with need and wanting every second of this.

"Shhhhh," he commanded, shoving her panties in his pocket and then, oh, his fingers were in her, on her, as he turned her around, hot breath in her ear, his erection pressing against the cleft of her a.s.s, his hands on her c.l.i.t, fingers in her, making her practically lick the elevator wall.

"I wish it were my mouth, Lydia," he whispered, her breath s.h.i.+fting, hips bucking against his hand, rus.h.i.+ng to find the climax she wanted him to give her. "And if we weren't about to get caught, it would be."

"Caught?" She panicked, grabbing his hands, which he held firmly in place, immutable, like steel.

"Not yet, my sweet," he insisted. "Not until I've given you this pleasure, and you've given me your abandon." His fingers stroked her, the faint hint of stubble rising up her neck and cheek, lips and tongue tasting her as he drove two fingers inside her aching p.u.s.s.y, c.l.i.t on fire from his tongue. "Let go, Lydia," he whispered, grinding into her from behind, his words an urging she didn't need to hear twice.

Mouth open, neck straining, she mewled a scream of unleas.h.i.+ng, her body thrusting against his fingers, her thighs shaking as she lost control. Without missing a beat, Matt turned her around, thumb steady as it circled her hot, red nub, and he took her mouth with his, her lips tense with climax, mind on fire and body overcome with surges of heat, then chill, of riding his hand to wring every drop of ecstasy.

"Next time, I'll see your face," he said in the dark, voice deep and low, the intensity so much she nearly came again from the sound. "Next time," he hissed, lips taking hers, pinning her lower lip between his teeth, sucking, then using his tongue to explore her teeth, her palate, her mouth being loved by his.

Skirt around her hips, he used both hands to pin her a.s.s to him, the weight of her release resting in his palms as she swallowed, breathing labored and sensual, his own breath.

"You can't see me now," she answered, voice shockingly strong and bold compared to the jellied feel of her body, "but we can have our 'next time' right here." Reaching for the front of his pants, her skirt dropped down, thighs sticky with her own juices and quivering from what Matt had just done. Lydia undid the top b.u.t.ton of his pants, slipping the zipper down, finding him hard and aching (and commando), his control slipping as she reached down to stroke him, ready to straddle him and be f.u.c.ked wild in a dark, stranded elevator.

And then the lights went on.

In her. He needed to be in her, to have his c.o.c.k be the reason she bit her lip, to make those little gasps and hitches come from her mouth into his and to share in her climax, drive home through her hot, lush body, use his hands to pull those luscious curves into him. Handfuls of flesh weren't enough, soft skin and heat making him crazy in the dark, stalled elevator.

Shoving her panties in his pocket, he held her in place, forcing her to accept the pleasure of his fingers, her twitches and moans confirmation that he'd given what he had boldly intended. More, more, more his body screamed, and with swift hands he slid his palms around her waist, the faint scent of vanilla triggering something primal in him as her hand reached into his unb.u.t.toned pants and began to stroke him.

As she unb.u.t.toned him, released him, he reached down for her skirt to pull it back up, but then a Lights. Hum. Buzz. Sound. Lydia's face was beneath him, though she stood, leaning against his torso, her hand suddenly stopping, head shaking slightly, eyes now wide. Seeing her touching him made his solar plexus clench, his c.o.c.k jump, and she pulled back slightly, back straightening, hands carefully redoing his b.u.t.ton and gently a achingly, tenderly a tucking him back in and zipping him carefully.

The expertise in her motions made him pause. Had she done this bef a "h.e.l.lo?" a mechanical voice said, booming into the tiny, blindingly-light elevator. Lydia pulled back and smoothed her hair, a dazed expression attesting to her condition. "The elevator malfunctioned and we're just getting systems back in order. Give us a minute and you'll be out of there."

f.u.c.k! Blinking furiously, Mike felt electricity shooting through him, arms needing to hold her, erection needing to drive into her, his body barely holding back what he'd been seconds from having with her. She swallowed, not making eye contact, and kept looking at the ceiling.

Puzzled, he shot her a curious look, and she looked pointedly at the ceiling while splaying her hands in a questioning gesture. Ah. Now he got it.

Cameras. She was worried about cameras. Bournham Industries didn't have security video in the elevators.

But Jonah Moore d.a.m.n well might.

With a jolt, the elevator began its ascent, Lydia keeping her head down and not saying a single word, refusing to look at him when he moved closer. A quick nudge elicited nothing. Shut down, she wasn't going to give an inch.

As the elevator slowed upon arriving at their floor, Lydia stepped forward the second the doors cracked open. Without a sound she walked off, headed to the restroom. Fine. He let a much-needed grin cover his face, his fingers branded with her scent. Patting his pocket, he realized he had her panties.

A trophy. Oh, how she had responded to him, body grinding under his caresses, her need open and wanton, her willingness so evident and ripe. Those few minutes were more sensual, more sultry and arousing than all of the s.e.x he'd had for the past year a combined.

The idea that he could have that a and so much more a with her, day in and day out, made him hard again.

Back at his desk, he pulled the thin strip of silk from his pocket. Lilac silk with a cotton center that was absolutely soaked, the aroma of her wafting up to make him smile. He slid them in a desk drawer.

Next time, he would return them to her.

Next time.

"So you gave your panties to a geek. Who are you, Molly Ringwald? Jesus Christ, Lydia, you're twenty-five years old. This isn't Sixteen Candles." Krysta sprinkled some sweetener in her latte. Lydia had called a "Code Java" and they'd met at Starbucks downstairs.

"If I wanted a lecture, I'd call home." Scalding coffee burned her tongue, the same flesh that had been in Matt's mouth minutes ago. Coffee drove away his taste, but it couldn't diffuse her current state of teeming, fever-pitch arousal. Even after coming a twice! a in the elevator, she wanted more.

More, more, more.

Krysta started humming, ignoring Lydia. Then the tune was clear: Aerosmith's Love in an Elevator. Lydia shot her a withering look.

"Took you long enough," Krysta laughed. "Going down?"

"He was close," Lydia sighed.

"Eww, eww, eww. I have to interact with him, Lydia! Don't tell me this." Fingers in her ears, Krysta mouthed lalalalala.

Ears perked up around them. It was only 8:15 a.m. And she'd called Krysta to meet here. Loads of coworkers wove their way in and out of the brightly-lit, overly-sanitized store, ordering and walking out with white cups with green logos, drinking their morning happiness.

Her s.e.x life didn't need to perk them up, too.

What s.e.x life? You got fingered in an elevator by your boss, Lydia, a voice whispered in her ear.

Yeah, she replied. And it was good. Go away. She hated that voice a the Joey Stillman voice, the one that taunted and undermined and destroyed. Getting rid of it wasn't easy. She just had to be more centered than whatever creepy part of her worked to destabilize.

Sometimes that was harder. Right now? Nope. Exhilaration from her unexpected encounter fueled a very nice confidence boost. Matt found her attractive enough to respond. Respond. And give back as much as she gave.

More, actually. Lips twitching with a sly smile, she ran a slow hand through her hair, swinging her brown waves over her shoulder. A pair of green eyes locked with hers and her pulse went thready, her breath halted, the room spinning with expectation and unresolved l.u.s.t.

Dave walked up behind Matt and clapped his shoulder. Krysta followed Lydia's gaze, snorting.

"Saved by the a.s.shole," she whispered.

"Saved?"

"Lydia, you look like you're going to f.u.c.k him on the floor right here. With a shot of mocha syrup and whipped cream." Reaching for Lydia's face, she used her hands to force eye contact. "You are about as nakedly vulnerable as anyone can be. Just...protect yourself. Shut down a little," she pleaded. Krysta's brown eyes showed concern and alarm.

Nodding furiously, Lydia forced herself to gulp more of her hot coffee, turning away from Matt and Dave, who were now engaged in some sort of intense conversation, Matt's eyes s.h.i.+fting to her twice in the few seconds she looked at him.

A sharp yank and she was on her feet. "Let's go for a walk, my dear," Krysta crooned, an affect of hopelessness in her voice at Lydia's besottedness. She glanced at Lydia's a.s.s. "You gave your panties to him. You're hopeless."

"My life is more 9 to 5 than Sixteen Candles."

"You're careening more toward The Secretary, Lyd."

Then, in unison, they both hissed, "Anything He Wants." A common groan.

s.h.i.+t! Krysta was right. Time to walk it off.

Commando.

Chapter Six.

The most difficult part about this dual ident.i.ty wasn't being Matt Jones. It wasn't being forced to wear clothing that he wouldn't dress a scarecrow in. It wasn't that he struggled to find a way to connect with Lydia.

It was that he still had to be Michael Bournham behind the scenes. There was still a company to run, investors to appease, a board of directors he had to crush in the race to prove them wrong.

While he was Matt Jones by day, he was burning the candle at both ends being Michael Bournham at night.

Tonight was one of those nights when he needed thirty-nine hours in a twenty-four hour period. He was in the middle of receiving a haircut and dye rinse, his hair needing to return to its original color, his contact lenses removed, so that he could attend a charity ball. He sat on the board of directors for this particular charity, one that contributed large volumes of money to autism for research in the field and he called Joanie, his a.s.sistant, to ask her to make sure that Dom had the car ready for him to pick up.

"Joanie, who am I going with to the ball tonight?"

"You're going with Diane Powell, sir." Joanie was new, having replaced his former a.s.sistant, Gloria, who had been more grandmotherly than his own grandmother, but who had finally decided that coddling and nurturing her own seventeen grandchildren was her life's work. Gloria had worked for his dad and she rose up the ranks with Mike. Truth be told, he was ready for a change, and Joanie was green but smart. Tech savvy. Enough training and she'd do fine.