A/N: Here's a little smutty smut smut for a rainy Wednesday. I billion thanks to my good friend JamJunkie14 for her beta help. I'm afraid that my tenses made her tense. I recommend that she takes two shots of Jim Halpert, wraps a warm towel around her head and puts her feet up. I just hope that she remembers to move the George Foreman grill first.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of these characters or this show. I suppose that I could be held responsible for their actions in this particular story, but I don't think they mind terribly much. No infringement is intended.

How to Bring a Spice Girl to Her Knees

She's driving me crazy. The hand, the fingers, the leg, that skirt. We said one drink and it's been three. Doesn't she know that we can't sit here having three drinks when I know that she has nothing on under that damn skirt? Oh God, the fingers again. Those long, thin, graceful fingers rubbing my leg, tickling my inseam, making me nuts as they skim higher and higher. And then, she smiles. So sweetly, so innocently. She smiles; turning her head ever so slightly as Kelly babbles about her career aspirations to be the next Stacy London.

She knows. Oh, she knows what she's doing to me.

I reach for my glass and gulp down the rest of beer number three, holding the empty glass aloft so to get Andy's attention as he stood waiting at the bar.

"I've got ya, Tuna!" Andy calls from across the room.

Pam smiles as she turns to look at me. She squeezes my knee and then whispers in my ear, "I thought I had you."

"You can have me whenever you want," I answer, hoping that I don't sound as dorky to her as I do in my head.

Pam giggles and then pats my knee lightly as she turns back to the conversation at the other end of the narrow booth.

Crap, that did sound dorky. At least she seems to like me dorky. I look down, watching as those torturous fingers, trip along the seam of my pants, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric, teasing the inside of my thigh. Apparently, she likes me dorky and as hard as a rock.

Thank God Andy likes fetching the beers. His need to feel like the big shot was a perfect match for my need to not stand up at this very moment. Heaven forbid Angela get an eyeful of what was going on under this table. Pam's fingers are sliding a little higher this time. The nail of her index finger rasps against cotton as she strokes my balls. I lean forward, masking my groan by clearing my throat loudly as I reach for a stray bottle cap.

"Playing with fire, Beesly," I tell her. When the women at the other end of the booth look at me as if I have sprouted a second head, I shrug and try to play it off. "Aren't your shoes supposed to match your purse?" I ask with a smirk.

"Aw, isn't he cute?" Pam purrs as she winks at me and then turns away.

Winks! She actually winked! She'll pay for that. Oh, I'll make sure that she'll pay. She lets her hand glide harmlessly down the top of my thigh and cradles my knee as she talks excitedly about the prospect of being given five thousand dollars and what she could do if turned loose in New York to shop. Leaning back, I have to exhale my relief as I drape my arm around the back of the booth. Gimme five minutes alone. Turn me loose on you and I'll show you what I can do.

She'll pay, and she'll like it. Nothing for her. All for me. That'll teach her, teasing me like this.

Pam laughs, her hair brushing against my shoulder as she throws her head back and cuts loose. I can't help it, her hair smells so good. Sweet, plump, fresh strawberries. Suddenly, we aren't in this crowded, dank, beer soaked bar. Suddenly, we are home in bed and she is naked and gasping beneath me. I can hear her calling my name in that soft, desperate voice, I can feel her squeezing me; holding me tight inside of her as I slide down and bury my nose in her hair.

I can't help it; I turn my head and breathe deeply, drinking in the scent of her. It matches the memory so perfectly. I feel her turn her head a bit, and I brush my lips over her ear as I whisper, "I want to be inside of you."

Pam simply smiles as she turns her attention back to yet another story Toby is telling about his time in Costa Rica. But her hand; her hand has other ideas. She shifts in her seat, edging closer to me, her leg pressing into mine as she draws that hand up once more and let it rest lightly on my crotch.

"There you go, my good man," Andy announces grandly as he places a full glass of beer in front of me.

"Thanks. Get you next time," I promise, trying to force my voice into some semblance of a normal tone.

"Not a'tall," Andy replies as he wanders off to watch Michael show off his dart throwing prowess, spouting something about a dart club at Cornell.

I lift the glass and take a long drink. Then, I have to force the beer down my throat as Pam begins to stroke me softly. Her hand is barely moving, but God it feels good. Warm. I can feel the warmth of her hand seeping through my pants, penetrating my boxers, searing into my skin. And I'm so hard. Harder than I get when she bends over to mess with the copier, harder than I am in the mornings when I wake up with her draped across me, harder than I get when I see her in those trim little business suits she's been wearing.

My lips feel parched, my throat is dry, but she's wet. I know she's wet. She was so wet earlier. I ripped her tights open and buried my fingers in her. She was so wet. I stroked her, fucking her with my fingers there in the stairwell. And I want her. I want her more than I have ever wanted her; and anyone who knows me would know that was a lot.

I can't take it anymore. I can feel my cock twitching and jumping with each soft caress, and for a minute I fear I'll come in my pants. Now that would be embarrassing. I reach for my beer once more, and gulp half of the glass down in three swallows, trying to drown the raging heat inside of me. My ears burn as my eyes dart around the crowded bar, searching for escape, desperately needing an excuse to leave this booth.

Pam turns and smiles at me; her green eyes wide and guileless. "I should go to the bathroom before we head home," she says earnestly.

"Good idea," I answer as I slide from the booth, careful to turn away from my co-workers. "I should go too," I mumble to no one in particular, and then take off after her, watching her hips sway as she weaves her way between the tables. By the time we reach the dark, narrow hall, I catch up to her. And then she looks up at me, the challenge in her eyes coming through loud and clear.

I turn the knob on the ladies room door and push it open, holding it for her to duck under my arm and enter. "Allow me."

"Thank you," she answers primly as she slips under my outstretched arm and into the tiny cubicle.

I give the door one last push and it opens wider before beginning to swing shut. And then I step inside. I push the door shut behind me and turn the lock, leaning back against the scarred wood, just for good measure.

Pam's smile widens as she asks, "What are you doing here?"

I reach out; grasping her arms a bit too roughly maybe, because she gasps as I pull her closer. But then, her lips part and eyes meet mine, and we both know exactly what I'm doing here. I've come here to collect.

I lift my hands to her head, cradling her skull between my palms as I tip her chin up and lower my lips to hers. Her breath is grapey and sweet from the wine she has been sipping; her tongue is velvety soft and tart. She moans and I can feel it rippling through me, making my every nerve tingle. As our tongues tangle, I lower my hands to her skirt, that damn skirt, and yank it up, gathering the material in my fingers as I claw for more and more until I graze the silky smooth skin beneath. I push it up until it bunches at her waist, baring her ass, which I promptly cover with my hands and squeeze.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know that right now I want her so badly that I could tear her to pieces. I won't, but I could. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins, vibrating through my body at a low hum, growing louder and louder as she circles her hips, rocking against my thigh. I can't think, all I can do is feel. And God, do I want to feel her. She did this to me. She has to pay, I tell myself as I push her away. I'm know I'm visibly panting as she looks up at me hurt and confused, startled by the distance I put between us. I wet my lips, trying to find words to tell her how badly I ache, but none come.

Instead, I reach for the buckle on my belt and quickly open it. I watch as her eyes follow my movements and her hands move to help. But her help is more than I can bear, so I bat her hands away and yank my zipper down. I push my pants and boxers down, my cock springing from the fabric only to be masked by my shirt tail. I look down, pushing the shirt out of the way as her eyes follow mine to my engorged cock. "Look at me, Pam," I whisper. "Look at what you do to me."

Reaching for me, she wraps her fingers gently around me and my lungs collapse. Swallowing hard, I shake my head and reach to still her tender caresses. I don't want her soft and sweet. Not right now. Later. Now I just want her. I want her to want me the way that I want her. As I pull her hand away, she looks up at me with a puzzled frown. I have to close my eyes. I can't look into those beautiful green eyes that I love so much and ask her to do what I want her to do. I love her too much to want her like this, but God help me, I do. I want this so badly.

My fingers glide up her arms, curling into the soft flesh of her biceps as I fight to hold back, but I know I won't win. My hands find her shoulders and press down, urging her to her knees. "Suck me," I ordered in a low, harsh voice. And now she is gone. My eyes fly open, and I search the tiny room for a desperate moment, only to find her on her knees on that damp, gritty floor. I feel her breath first, warm and moist, flowing over me, teasing me with the promise of her mouth around me and her tongue gliding over me. "Suck me," I say again, this time my voice is louder and steadier even though I know my knees are about to buckle under me.

She takes me in her mouth. No teasing swirls of her tongue, no tender fleeting kisses; only the plush softness of her tongue as she strokes me and the hard, hot pressure of her lips sealed tightly around me as she sucks fervently. I have to watch. I have to see those soft pink lips drawing me in, her cheeks hollowing as she pulls me deeper. Her mouth is exquisite. Each tug delicious torment as I slide deeper and deeper. My hands are on her head, my fingers curling into her hair as I hold her there, thrusting mindlessly, demanding that she take more.

But it's not enough. It will never be enough. I know this. I know this like I know that she loves me enough to kneel on this disgusting floor and suck me until I come in her mouth. She'll let me. She'll let me push my cock into her until she gags, she'll let me pull her down onto me forcing her to do what I need her to do. She'll let me, and that's why I won't. I grip her bobbing head in both hands and push her away. Her lips release me with a loud pop, and Pam looks up questioningly.

"Pam." Her name is barely a whisper on my lips as I stare down at her. "Pam." There, my voice is stronger as a bend to reach for her, pulling her up to her feet. "I'm sorry," I tell her as I pull her close and hold her tight.

"I'm not," she answers, her voice muffled against my shirt. And then she pulls back and looks me in the eye. "I want you to fuck me."

And then I'm done. I'm gone. It's all over. This woman, the future mother of my children, the love of my life; she's going to get exactly what she wants. I stoop down and wrap my arms around her, lifting her from that dingy floor as I step away from the safety of the closed door and we crash hard into the side of the gunmetal grey toilet stall. Pam lets out a soft yelp, but I'm pretty sure my arms that bore the brunt of the collision. Not that I care. She wraps her legs around me, holding on tight as I adjust her weight in my arms, lifting her bare ass up higher against the metal wall. Her eyes meet mine as we try to catch our breath, the tip of my cock poised at her entrance.

And then she says, "Fuck me, Jim. Please fuck me."

And so I do. I pull her down hard, impaling her on my stiff cock, burying it deep inside of her as I grunt like a rutting bull. I can't help it. I'm way past finesse now. I'm so far beyond the realm of style points, that I think I've been permanently disqualified. Pam raises her arms, the buttons on her blouse straining as she reaches back and grips the top of the stall. I plunge into her over and over again, pushing as hard as I can, reveling in her gasps and cries, lost in the hot, wet heat that envelops me. I can't stop it. There's no holding back. I know she's not there yet, but I pray she's close because I can't take it. I thrust into her over and over again, listening to the sound of her bare ass slapping against the graffiti covered wall. Never, ever call Pam for a good time. She's mine, all mine, all mine.

"Jesus, Pam," I gasp as she tightens around me.

"Yes, yes, fuck me, Jim, fuck me," she chants, staring down at me.

I come, hard and hot, shooting into her as my hips jerk wildly, each spurt ripping from the very core of me and pouring into her. "Pam."

"Don't stop," she whispers her plea.

"No." I'm still thrusting against her, my hands squeezing her ass and thighs as I tried to maintain my hold on her. "Come for me."

"Fuck me."

"I am. Oh God, I'm fucking you, Pam."

"I love it when you fuck me. I love you. Oh!" she gasps loudly.

"I love you. I'll always love you."

Okay, I'll admit that pledging your undying love while you're screwing your fiancée against a magic marker covered wall in a seedy bar bathroom isn't the most romantic thing a guy could do, but Pam seems to like it. The words seem to do the trick, pushing her over the edge and turning her into that soft boneless pool of Pam that tells me that I have done my job well. As much as I adore sexy, ballsy, hot and wet Beesly; she's got nothing on soft, sweet, satisfied Beesly. And, when she clings to me murmuring my name, I'm the fucking king of the world. Literally.

"Wow," I whisper, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I bend my knees and slowly lower her to where her feet can touch the ground. Pam's bare ass makes a most unladylike squeaking noise as she slides down the wall of the stall, and we both laugh as she reluctantly unwinds her legs. "We are a class act, aren't we?" I ask her as I pull my pants and boxers back up.

"Yes, we are," Pam answers as she tugs on her skirt, trying to work it back down over her legs.

"I'm, uh, you shouldn't tease a guy like that," I tell her as I rub the back of my neck, suddenly nervous. You see, I'm not sure what to do. I've never had sex in a public bathroom before, so I'm not familiar with the post-coital protocol.

"Well, we can't let Phyllis and Bob have all of the bathroom fun," she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

I groan as I tuck my shirt back into my pants. "Did you have to remind me?"

Pam smiles sweetly and lifts her hand to my cheek. "Wouldn't it be funny if I got pregnant? What would we tell the kids?"

I gape at her for a second and then laugh. "I don't think most parents tell the 'Where you were conceived story', do they?"

"True," Pam acknowledges, nodding, but clearly disappointed.

I can't help it, the way her mind works just makes me smile. "Would be kind of cool, though, I mean, we'd know."

"Like our own private joke."

"Exactly. That's better than, 'Aren't you cute, Junior. Mommy and I made you when I nailed her against the toilet stall at Poor Richard's,' don't you think?" I ask.

Pam's smile could light the darkest night. As a matter of fact, the radiance of it is enough to make even this hole in the wall look beautiful to me. She moves a little closer, tugging gently on the tie that hangs loosened around my neck and whispers, "I liked the sound of that almost as much as I liked doing it."

"Can we go home now?" I ask, unashamed of the hint of desperation in my voice.

"You're not having fun?" she counters innocently.

"I always have fun when I'm with you." I glance down, giving her a leering once over, and see that her knees are dirty from the bathroom floor. "Uh, Pam?" I said, nodding to her bare legs.

She looks down and giggles when she sees what I see. "Well, that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it?" she asks as she moves to the sink and turns on the water. "I look like someone trapped me in the bathroom and turned me into their sex slave," she said, pulling paper towels from the dispenser.

"Is that wrong?" I ask as I nudge her side and gently take the towels from her hand. I wet them and then squat down in front of her, carefully wiping the grime from her knees and legs.

She smiles as she looks down at me. "Wow, nice view from here."

I glance up, a smile teasing my lips as I tried to fight it back. "I liked it," I say, trying to sound casual, playing it off as just another night at Poor Richard's.

"I start a new job tomorrow," she says with a soft smile.

"I know." I stand up and toss the wet paper towels into the trash and pull a few more from the dispenser to dry her legs.

"I wonder if we'll get to sit near each other," she murmurs.

"I hope so, but if he's smart, Michael will put us on opposite sides of the office."

"Good thing Michael isn't always smart," she quips as I dispose of those towels too.

"Aren't you the saucy one tonight," I comment with a grin, and reach for her hand.

"Spicy," she corrects, patting me on the ass as I unlock the bathroom door.

"You are," I agree wholeheartedly. "Sexy Spice," I add as I reach for the handle.

"Hey, uh, maybe one of us should go first," she adds with a frown.

I turn and look at her, incredulous. She's amazing; this puzzle of a girl that holds my heart in her hand. My heart, and at the moment, my ass. I glance down at her hand and then lift my eyebrows as I stare into her eyes. "What's the matter? Can't take the heat?" I taunt her softly.