Jennie

Lisa doesn't arrive right away. She says she has to "make a stop" first.

Make a stop. Wonderful. For half the day I could only concentrate on the empty space between my thighs that begged to be filled with two slender fingers, then three, while she whispered praise into my ear.

The other half of the day was spent with phone calls, meetings, e-mails, and paperwork from my divorce attorney. Everything seems equitable so far. Taehyung's not trying to take me for all he can get. Which would be difficult, considering the prenup my partners and I had gone over with a fine-toothed comb, but hell hath no fury like a husband scorned.

Even that hadn't held my attention for more than a few seconds before Lisa rushed back into my thoughts to torment me. I'd wondered where she was, what she was doing, even though realistically I knew she'd be following my orders to move my things from Point A to Point B. The furniture, anyway. Mabel was supposed to pack the clothes and toiletries. The idea of Lisa handling my personal items had sent such a thrill through me that I couldn't let it happen. I'm already in too deep.

So deep that I'm pacing my office after stalking the corridors of KLO to make sure nobody's here to ruin the fun. There was only one junior associate, and he hadn't asked questions when I'd snapped at him to go home. Smart boy.

Nine p.m. Where the hell is the girl? She called me nearly an hour ago. There's playing games and then there's torture.

Just as I'm thinking this, I hear the rattle of the doorknob. The door swings open on its silent hinges, and Lisa steps through, a plastic bag in her left hand.

I look at her, stricken dumb with longing before she's even said a word.

She closes the door, locks it, and looks at me from across the expanse of my office. "Hey."

I curl my hands into fists at my sides. It takes all my willpower not to rush forward and meet her where she stands, which is a good thing, because I have no idea what I'd do after that. Definitely something not allowed.

I clear my throat instead. "Hello."

She saunters forward. Her customary busy gait has softened and slowed into a roll of her hips. I'm already on fire. It's been an entire night and day since I've seen her. She's in pants today and a scoop-necked blouse that shows off the line of her cleavage without being inappropriate for the office.

"How was your day?" she asks, her voice low.

I bite my lip before I can help myself. "Typical."

"Did you miss me?" She comes to stand before me and drops the plastic bag into one of the chairs before my desk. The plastic rustles. "Did you need me?"

I have to deflect. I look at the bag. "What is that?"

"Something for now and something for later." Lisa takes a deep breath, obviously steeling herself, although the hunger never leaves her face. "I've been thinking about you all day. Moving your stuff. Pissing off your decorator."

Hermann was really Taehyung's decorator, recommended by one of his colleagues. We hired him because his portfolio was reasonably tasteful and I didn't want to be bothered with the details.

Still. "He's not your employee to piss off."

"Relax. He didn't quit. Just rolled his eyes a lot and tried to intimidate me." She drops her voice down into what I suppose is meant to be a masculine register. "Der furniture ist his thing, nein?"

As accents go, it leaves a lot to be desired, but my mouth twitches before I get it under control. "Nevertheless, he'll take care of it from here on out."

"Glad to hear it. I'd rather be here." She takes a step forward. "I'm here now. Hope you're ready for what happens next."

My face flames. I've been ready since the moment I opened my closet door and decided to wear a skirt today. One of my few A-line silhouettes. It slides more easily up and down my hips than a sheath. I'd blushed when I put it on this morning, knowing why I was doing it.

"Yes," I say. "I hope you are, too."

"I am now." She glances at the bag. "Did the janitor stop by this morning?"

For a second, I'm not sure if I imagined that question. "What?"

"I mean did anybody vacuum?"

"Yes?" My office is vacuumed each morning at an ungodly hour. I can't abide mess. "Why?"

"Because." She sounds as if she's summoning all her patience. "We're gonna get on the floor again."

My joints protest already. I remember what it was like to lie on my rug, feeling the pile beneath my bare ass while she worked me to ecstasy, feeling like such a bad girl. Good girls do it decently in their beds at home, not on an office floor after hours.

I'm so tired of being a good girl.

"Where?" I whisper.

Satisfaction flashes in her eyes. She's pleased at my ready compliance. Only twenty-four hours ago, that satisfaction would have infuriated me—how dare she be smug? Tonight, all I feel is a thrill at having pleased her.

She nods at the space in front of my desk, behind the two chairs. "Here's pretty good. There's enough room to lie down and spread out."

Spread out. I imagine going spread eagle, my legs as wide as they can go, displaying myself to anyone who entered. Lisa has locked the door, but the thought makes me ache nevertheless, with both humiliation and need.

"Let down your hair," she says.

I shiver and feel exposed when I remove the pins that keep my hair up, exposed in a different way than when I'm naked. My hair falls in a coil down my back, and I fight the urge to shake my head and fluff it out for her. I can't be that much of a cliché.

"Nice."

She sounds perfectly calm, and I can't help remembering how I said the first orgasm she ever gave me was very nice. This must be revenge, and it's dreadfully attractive.

"Now, skirt off. Then panties."

Oh dear. I'm wearing unlovely, utilitarian underwear again—the things Mabel packed for my hotel stay. I know why she did it, but now I'm wishing for lace and scalloped satin. I'm sure I'd look much better out of the cotton blend.

But I silently obey her, and within moments I'm bare to her gaze. She's looking between my legs with such avid hunger that my knees go weak. Good thing I'll be on the floor soon.

"What do I do?" I ask unsteadily.

Lisa blinks as if for a moment she'd lost her train of thought while looking at me. "On the floor. And on your side."

On my side? What's this? I frown but obey, and my worries are soothed when she curls up behind me moments later. Her body is soft and warm against my back, and when she slides a hand over my bare hip, I gasp. She's spooning me, and for a moment, I can pretend we're cuddling in bed.

Which is a ridiculous thought, of course.

"Hook one leg back," she whispers in my ear, her breath tickling my earlobe before her tongue flickers over it. That alone gets me throbbing between my thighs.

I obey, rolling and tilting my hips so that my right leg slides backward over her knees, which she's bent forward to give me more support. The angle makes my back arch forward, and I feel a momentary twinge that vanishes when the cool air hits my exposed flesh. I'm so open, so exposed. The rest of my reservations vanish when Lisa's hand slips down and begins toying with what I've just spread open for her.

My eyes fall shut, and I sigh as she slides her fingertips down between my lips. Then the games begin.

She teases me unbearably at first. I've been feeling empty all day, and yet she doesn't go inside me, doesn't slide her fingers into that place that feels made for her. She strokes until I'm dripping and then spreads my moisture over my clit, playing with it like it's her new favorite bauble. After a few moments of this, I'm already about to come, rolling my hips forward into her delicate touch.

At this, her touch becomes a lot less delicate. She kisses the side of my neck and growls in my ear, "Don't you dare come yet."

"Oh." I gulp for air. "Then…then slow d—"

She crooks her fingers and pushes two inside me.

"Oh!" I cry out as I'm stretched open. It's glorious. And still not enough.

"Good?" she whispers.

"Yes." I can't help it. I'm barely managing not to beg for more. Meanwhile, she's still fully clothed and not a hair out of place. Is she wet too? Needy for this?

"You want it?" she presses, the purr in her voice driving me mad. "You want more? Want to be full?"

"Oh, yes." Now I sound like a drunk. Feel like one, too. "Yes, I want more." Her fingers slide out. What is this, torture? "Lisa!"

"Shh." Then, in answer to prayers I don't dare voice, she slips back inside me with three fingers this time.

Oh. It's so much better. I'm so full. And yet I already long for more. If only there were space inside me for her whole hand. I've heard about that, and it always made me want to clang shut like an iron trap. Here, now, I can see the appeal. I'd be so full of her, fully possessed by her.

"You love it." Her teeth scrape over the side of my neck. Will she bite down this time? Begin to suck? "God, Jennie, you need it so bad."

Must she say so? Rub my face in my need? "No," I sob. If it's not true, I can still be recognizably myself.

"No?" Her fingers slide out of me again.

I can't bear it. She's not stopping, is she? "Wait!"

"No, you wait. And roll over on your back."

That doesn't sound as if things are over. I roll over while Lisa sits up. She reaches for the plastic bag on the chair.

"What is that?" I ask in this moment of respite when I can manage to string a question together.

"I stopped by a sex shop on the way here." She drops that into the conversation so casually. Does she stop by sex shops all the time? "You get so wet, Jennie. It's fantastic, but we still might need a little help."

She pulls a small bottle from the bag. Lubricant.

"I don't need that!" I blurt out. Why would she think I did? Surely there's plenty of evidence to the contrary.

"You say that now. Trust me." Her eyes soften with sincerity for a moment, and it makes me tremble as much as her desire does. "Just trust me."

I do. I can't say it, but I do, and she must see it in my face, for her eyes soften still further. For a moment suspended in time, we look at each other. My chest fills with a dangerously gentle heat.

Lisa says nothing. She looks at her fingers as she drizzles clear lubricant onto them and then begins to rub her hands together. Soon, they're shiny and slick.

"Four," she says, looking me in the eye. She puts her fingers together and holds up her hand to show me. They form a wedge, slim at the top, but thicker than anything I've ever taken at the base.

I nearly come at the sight of it. My hips jolt upward and I groan, already throbbing for the feel of that inside me.

She inhales sharply. Then she whispers, "Oh Jesus," and puts her hand at my entrance. "Deep breath. Remember to breathe, honey."

Honey again. Does she even realize she says it? Is it a pet name for all her lovers, all the women she sends to the stars and back?

Then she begins to push forward, and I can't think about that anymore, or about anything at all. I can see why she wanted the extra lubrication. It feels so good. It feels like too much. She begins to stretch me more widely, and it's both too much and not enough. I turn my head and muffle a soft cry into the crook of my elbow. Until Lisa I was never loud, never had to stifle myself.

She stops. "Okay?"

"Ah," I pant. "Uh…huh."

"You've got to tell me if it's too much, Jennie. I'll stop. I promise. Understand?" Her voice grows more urgent when I don't reply right away. "I'll stop if you don't say you understand."

My arm flops back down to the floor, where my other hand has been digging its nails into the rug, and I close my eyes. "I…understand."

For a reply, she presses forward again, and oh, I can't take this, I need more of this, until she's knuckle-deep inside me and I've never been so full in my life. It's so much. I wish it were her whole hand. I could take the pain—it's the pleasure that's making me lose myself.

"Good. That's so good, Jennie." Then I feel a light touch on my clit again. Just the barest brush of her fingertip. It makes me clench inside, clench on all four of her fingers, and this time both of us gasp.

"Gonna make you come." Her fingertip begins to move in circles, soft and then firm, soft and then firm. "You're gonna come all over my hand. Is that what you want?"

"I—" What the hell does she think? And yet, even now, I can't bring myself to say it. I can't be that weak, that desperate. "No, I…"

"No?" She sounds almost amused now, as she gives me another circle with her finger that makes me cry out. "Then what do you need?" I already know that tone of her voice. She is going to punish me. "Should I stop?"

She can't! She wouldn't, would she? "Oh—"

"Should I take my hand out and go home and leave you here?" She moves her hand, twisting it a little, letting me know just how deeply inside me she is. "Half naked and soaking wet and needing to come?"

Does she want me to die? "No! No…"

"I didn't think so. Unbutton your blouse."

I open my eyes and look at the ceiling. It's blurry. I might have misheard her. "What?"

"You heard me. Unbutton it. Quick."

What game is this? Is she going to stroke my breasts while her hand is inside me? At the thought, my fingers are on my buttons right away.

I pull open my blouse. Yes, the bra is unattractive. No, I don't care. I'll do better next time.

"Touch yourself," she whispers. "Touch your breasts."

I tilt my head up to gape at her. "W-what?"

Her face is flushed, her eyes bright. She loves this. The sight makes me wild, and without waiting for further clarification, I cup my own breasts. My hands are warm through the unlined cotton, my nipples stiff and aching against my palms.

"That's it," she breathes. "That's a good girl. Play with them, Jennie. Do what you like, show me how you like to do it."

How did she know that I like to touch my breasts? I can't help remembering that night in the shower, the first time I ever fantasized about her. I'd touched myself with such abandon, caressing and squeezing, and I'm transported back in time. I need to do it again. I need her to see me do it.

It's not enough to feel myself through cotton. Without waiting for permission, I shove the cups of my bra up to my sternum, exposing my breasts to her gaze before I take my nipples between my fingers and begin to stroke.

"Jesus!" The break in her voice is enough to make me arch my hips. My eyes fall shut and I strive for air.

"You look incredible." Her fingers turn slightly inside me again, and pleasure jolts through me. "Pinch them. Harder."

I gulp. I do. She strokes a finger over my clit once more, and when I begin to rub my nipples again, she starts to circle her finger in time with my own touch, following my pace. I cry out softly, she speeds up, and now I'm the one who's following her, working my own breasts faster while she strokes and strokes me.

"You like what I do to you," she murmurs. "You like everything I do to you."

It's not a question. I know she wants a response anyway. "Yes," I whisper, still stroking myself.

"Anywhere. Anytime. You'll want it. I can make you feel so good, can't I?"

I turn my face to the side again, trying to muffle my reply when I whimper, "Yes…"

"Imagine," she whispers, and I stop breathing. Any time Lisa begins a sentence with the word 'Imagine,' I know that I will lose control of any faculties I yet possess. "Imagine what I could do," she says and swirls her fingertip, "if I had all of you." My eyes open wide. "If I could hold you down."

Oh God. She knows.

She knows what I want. What I crave. She knows this isn't enough. She knows I need her hands, need her mouth. She knows I'll do anything, anything—

"Do you like having your breasts kissed?" she asks, her voice even, almost inquisitive. I cry out softly just from the suggestion. "I guess so, huh?"

"Oh," is all I can say, a sobbing moan.

"You like them kissed. You like them sucked." Her fingers move. "You like them sucked until you're as wet up here as you are down there."

Would she do that? Would she, if I asked her? I can't possibly. I don't ask Lisa for things. I tell her what to do in her job, and I take whatever she'll give me during sex. But perhaps…perhaps she would do this if I asked her to.

Perhaps she wouldn't. I can't ask. I won't ask.

"You want to be sucked, don't you," she says. "Tell me."

"Yes," I wail, and come without another touch, without anything but the whisper of her voice and the pressure of her hand inside me. And this isn't a little one. This is the kind of orgasm I feel in my toes, the kind that rattles me apart, breaks me to bits. She talks to me all the way through it, making it even worse, whispering, "That's it, do it—how bad do you want it, Jennie, how much will you beg…?"

I wonder if anybody has ever come to death. I wonder if I will be the first. My thighs are shaking uncontrollably, a counterpoint to the glorious pulsing between my legs. I am grateful for this. It keeps me sane. It tells me I will live through this one more time.

It ends, finally. Keeping my eyes closed, I relax, trembling all over. My throat hurts. I realize I have been…not screaming. I don't scream. Do I? Did I scream?

"Oh, wow." Lisa sounds reverent now. "That was—you're so—" She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, she has resumed her tone of command. "Relax now. Take in a deep breath and let it go, okay? Slowly, now."

I obey, and on my out-breath, Lisa slides her hand out of me. She's very careful, but there's a twinge of pain nevertheless. I can't help it; I yelp. Even worse, once she's no longer filling me, I feel a gush again. I'm dripping all over my rug. If we keep doing this, perhaps I'll need to invest in a cheap blanket. Or a tarpaulin.

I feel the soft touch of Lisa's mouth on my left knee. She seems to like my knees. "All done?"

I don't tell her that isn't up to me. I don't say that if she wanted to, she could keep me here all night. Instead, I just nod breathlessly.

"How do you feel?"

I lick my lips, try to find the words, and just moan. Her breath catches. Surely she must find this arousing? Surely she must want my touch? Arrangements can be flexible—it's not like I signed a contract in blood swearing I'd never—

"Okay," she says breathlessly. I look at her again, but she's not looking at me. She's looking at her wet hand. All that was from me, and I can't stop a whimper just thinking about how wet I am, how stretched. I'm really going to feel the ache between my legs later tonight.

Thank God.

"So, I better—oh!" She looks up from her hand and at the plastic bag. "I almost forgot. Hold on." She glances down at the wreck she's made of me and clenches her jaw. "You can get dressed again."

I must look the picture of debauchery. Utterly unrespectable. But when Lisa looks at me with that gleam in her eyes, I don't want to be anything else.

Then she turns to the plastic bag, and there's no reason for me not to do what she says. By the time I've got my skirt back on and am buttoning my blouse, she's taken whatever was in the plastic bag and is holding it so I can't see it.

As I'm straightening my blouse, she says, "Here."

Then she holds out a vibrator.

I look at it in astonishment. It's burgundy and silicone, and it and curves in two places. Not too large, not meant to act as a dildo. The long end is just the right length to press against my G-spot, and the shorter end is clearly meant to rest against my clit.

"How—" I begin.

"It's remote-controlled." Lisa glances back at her laptop bag. "From my cell phone."

I gape. "What?"

She gives me a small, triumphant grin. I automatically take the vibrator when she presses it into my hands. It feels good, smooth against my palms. It must have been expensive.

"I thought about it when I was in your apartment," she says. "About using a toy on you. Do you have a vibrator?"

I have a showerhead. That seems close enough. My face heats at the thought, and her eyes gleam again.

"We'll just try it," she cajoles. "Nothing inappropriate. I won't make you wear it during a meeting or something."

I want to tell her she can't make me do anything, but I can't. I'm too busy imagining sitting across from a faceless client while this thing buzzes inside me, driving me to the edge with Lisa's hand on the remote. I'd have to hold still, be quiet, when all I'd want would be to writhe and call her name…

"You want it," she breathes. "You want it all, don't you?"

It's too much. Will she insist on lording my weakness over me? "I—"

Lisa holds up her hands quickly, backing down. "Just hold on to it. We'll decide when we want to play with it. Or anything else. 'Kay?"

"'Kay," I repeat, like an idiot. Then I shake my head, embarrassed. "I mean, all right. You should…" I look at the vibrator again. "You should go."

Silence. Then she says, sounding breezy, "Yep! I should. It's late. And I have, uh, school stuff to do."

Oh yes. She's got plenty to do. It couldn't be more obvious that this is nothing more to her than sex.

Which is fine.

I dress. She makes to leave. We do not speak until she heads for the door and says, "See you tomorrow."

I manage to nod.

When she's gone, I sit down heavily in my chair. I regret it at once. She worked me open, all right, and now I'm feeling the sting.

It feels good, too, though. As if she's marked me in a way people can't see, in the only way she can. I close my eyes and imagine that sometime she'll mark me in other ways, too. Maybe suck a bruise to life on my skin or scratch those short nails down my back.

This must be what drug addicts feel like when their lives are torn apart by their need, their dependency. Wishing it wasn't so, but not wishing for it hard enough.

Well, they can have their heroin, and good luck to them. As for me, I have given up the world for lust, and I count it well lost.