© 2017 by Rhiannon Hart. Proudly created with WIX.COM

It's Just a Quickie!!

Molly & Dean

By R.Hart

The elevator pinged for the seventh time in the space of an hour. The office couldn't take another hot flush of stale summer air that would flood through the opened doors. The water cooler had let out a groan and stopped working, and I had hitched up my skirt to an inappropriate level.

The open space of G.D Publishing was far from glamorous. There were cracks in the walls, stains on the carpet and our desks balanced by paper shoved under the legs. But I loved it, I loved my job as an author and so did the handful of others who shared the space with me.

I grabbed the spray bottle filled with water which permanently lived on the edge of my desk, misting myself in preparation for the rush of hot air. The elevator opened and closed, and I could hear the chirpy voice of my boss Grace, her high heels sticking and pulling on the cheap carpet.

“Attention everyone” she squeaked from the front of the room “I would like to introduce the newest member of our team. Mr. Dean Marshall.”

My ears pricked up at the mention of Mister. Ninety percent of my colleagues were female, so any male newcomers sparked an all-around interest. I lowered my skirt and spun around in my swivel chair twirling my auburn hair between my fingers in excitement.

Mr. Marshall was not what I expected. He was hot, in a nerdy sort of way. His earthy brown eyes were tucked away behind glasses, his baby smooth face didn't have a trace of stubble, and I could see the black elasticated suspenders peeking out from under his suit jacket. In one hand he gripped tightly to a briefcase, and in the other, he clutched a comic book to his chest. He was not my type, I liked rugged and dirty, but the spritz of water upon my skin had gone bone dry, and I found myself craving another wet down.

Mr. Marshall cleared his throat at the front of the room; all eyes were on him, everyone was in awe.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I'm looking forward to seeing the amazing work that comes out of this office. Oh, and please, call me Dean.”

I detected an English accent. The soothing sound was both comforting and arousing. My hair twirling had started to resemble a tornado thrashing about a village, with every word he spoke it got more and more savage.

Grace hooked her arm under his guiding him through the room towards the private cubicles up the back. It was then I realized who he was, the position he was filling and the style of book that I had just finished writing and placed on his desk. Dean was going to need to hold onto his suspenders.

 

****

Seated next to the man I currently lusted after was going to be a problem. We were only half an hour into the writer's convention, and I was already working up a sweat thinking about what I wanted to do to him. I couldn’t help it his Giorgio Armani cologne wafting in my direction combined with his tight jeans and slightly opened shirt had me flustered from the second I sat down.

Dean was the new marketing manager at G.D Publishing in charge of selling my dirty books. Even though I considered myself confident, I blushed every time I knew he was reading my work.  I would pace the office, peering around the corners, ducking under tables and on the constant lookout to try and avoid him. I never had that problem before, embarrassed by my writing, but I wrote from personal experience, and up until Dean I thought my promiscuous behavior was normal.

With only a few inches separating our body’s from touching I kept my knees pressed tightly together, and my hands folded neatly in my lap. Dean accidentally brushed his thigh against mine adjusting his legs beneath the table. I could feel the heat creep into my freckled cheeks as ripples of excitement flowed through me from head to toe.

“Sorry Molly,” he said, leaning in towards my face and gently bumping his shoulder against mine. “There isn't a lot of room at these tables is there?”

“Oh, it's not that bad” I smiled while placing my hand on his upper thigh in a momentary lapse of crude behavior.

Dean stroked the spot on his thigh where my hand had departed. There was a yearning in his eyes that suggested he liked my touch.

“Lucky, I got seated next to somebody as beautiful as you” he whispered in my ear.

His forwardness caught me by surprise; mine, however, did not. The only thing stopping me from flying out of my seat and throwing myself on top of him was the twenty thousand people stuffed into the same room and his girlfriend who sat beside him.

“Is everyone happy with the seating arrangements?” Grace asked a little too cheerily. “I was up all night making sure it was a perfect fit for everyone.”

Grace wore a smile as wide as an ocean, her question directed at me. After a night out on the town and too many drinks, I let it slip how I felt about Dean. Are you in love with him? She had asked. Don’t tell me you're finally going to settle down.

Love was not something I was familiar with or something I had ever experienced before. I wasn’t sure if I deserved it.

Dean shuffled nervously in his seat beside me. “How about you Molly, are you okay with where you're seated?”

“I'm thrilled. Thank you, Dean,” I responded with a lick and a bite to my bottom lip.

Caterers came and went, serving mediocre food with little taste as we listened to some amateur discuss ‘writing to heal’ at the front of the room. With every bite I took off the fork, Dean watched on, his eyes darting away every time I looked back at him. He may have been hungry, starving from the lack of substance in front of us, or he liked watching people eat. Either way, it felt intimate.

I watched him out the corner of my eye, down a few glasses of water like his mouth had suddenly transformed into a desert. He took a long deep breath and then turned in his chair to face me.

“Hey Molly, what are you doing after, I mean once this convention finishes.”

“After that speech,” I pointing to the amateur standing on a podium at the front of the room, “I'm probably going to need a few shots, followed by  McDonald's drive-through. Seriously this food is terrible.” I waited for an answer, stabbing the remaining piece of dry, flavorless chicken with my fork that lay cold on my plate.

 

Dean reached over and removed the fork out of my hand, placing it on the table. It was a bold move that earned my undivided attention. “Can we go and get a coffee? Together. Just the two of us.”

Nerdy dean from marketing, with glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose, was asking me out on what sounded like a date. Men didn’t ask me out on dates, I asked them back to my bed and then kicked them out afterward. I was flattered and unexpectedly disappointed that even though I wanted to, I would have to say no. I did have some self-respect, I wasn’t a homewrecker.

I moved in towards Dean’s face, the scent of aftershave combined with sweat from an afternoon seated in a hot, stuffy room was intoxicating. His perfect lips now plump and juicy had remnants of water at the edges that I was dying to lick off. Saying no was going to be harder than I thought.

“Are you sure your girlfriend is going to be ok with that?” I whispered, discretely pointing in her direction. “I'm not into that sort of thing, you know, I hate to share.”

“Oh no, I should have explained, sorry Molly, that’s my sister.”

Something shifted inside me as soon as I heard the word sister.

Relief. Excitement. Nervousness. Nervousness??

A ball of knots formed in my stomach, I could feel sweat beading between my breasts and lost for words I stumbled to think of an answer. Dean must have had a magic wand hidden in his pocket, or his pants because I was feeling all sorts of strange.

I tried to regain my confidence and composure, straightening my back and maintaining eye contact. I wanted the coffee. I wanted the date.  But I didn’t crave Dean in my bed, not yet, he was better than that.

“Sure, why not. You pick the place, and I'll meet you there.”

THE END

 

 

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Flash Fiction | Rhartauthor