Champagne Rules (34 page)

“It wasn’t all bad. Kind of . . . interesting, in fact.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’d be doing my usual lawyer stuff, but when I moved, I could feel the silk on my skin. When I looked down I could see . . .”

“I can imagine.”

“Jesus, Suzanne. Don’t tell me you notice, uh . . .”

“Do I look at men’s crotches? News flash, Jaxon. All women do. Don’t tell me you’ve bought into the myth that all we’re interested in is the size of your brain? Or your wallet?”

He chuckled. “I’m shocked.”

“You shock
way
too easily.”

They shared a laugh, then he said, “The thought of you looking makes me hard.”

“What are we going to do about that?”

“You tell me, lover.”

“Hmm.” The obvious thing was sex at his desk, but she wanted to be more creative. “Are you alone, or are others working late too?”

“Probably a couple of students in the library, buried in work.”

“What’s the layout of the office?”

“Lawyer offices around the outside, the fanciest being Jefferson’s, the senior partner. Then there are workstations for staff. Library, two boardrooms, three smaller meeting rooms. Kitchen, photocopy room, supply room.”

Silk called for fancy, didn’t it? “Tell me about the senior partner’s office.”

“It’s a huge corner one and his taste runs to antiques. Mahogany desk, couch and chairs, original artwork, his own bathroom.”

“Does he keep the door locked?”

“Jesus! I can’t go in there.”

She sighed regretfully. “No, I guess it would be tacky, having phone sex in someone else’s office.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then he said, with a mischievous undertone, “A boardroom, though.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“There’s one next to Jefferson’s office that he uses when he meets with us lowly associates. Many times I’ve gone in there with my knees shaking, wondering if he was going to praise or criticize.” He drew a loud breath. “And now I’m imagining going in next week, with memories of tonight.”

“You’ll have a whole new attitude.”

“I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes, from the boardroom.”

She grinned, sipped wine and waited.

When he called back, he said, “I’m here and the door’s locked.”

“What’s the room like?”

“Dimly lit. I’ve just got one lamp on a credenza turned on. Huge cherrywood table with a black border, about a dozen chairs around it. Jefferson always sits at the head.”

“Go sit in that chair.”

“Jefferson’s chair?”

His disbelieving tone made her chuckle. “It’s just a chair, it’s not a throne. So, are these leather chairs, or what?”

“Soft, expensive, black leather.”

“Bet it would feel nice against your skin. Almost as nice as silk.”

“You want me to strip?”

“Not yet. Just your shirt. Then lean back against that soft leather.”

She heard a rustle, then, “I really need to get a headset for this cell phone. Suzanne? Where are you, and what are you wearing?”

“I’m wearing the robe you gave me. And a black lace thong. I’m on the couch, the lights are off, a sandalwood-scented candle is burning.”

“The couch? Wouldn’t you rather be in the bedroom? Your living room is . . . classy, but is that the mood we want right now?”

“Oh!” Of course, he was picturing her at Ann’s. She didn’t want to deceive him. “Last weekend, that was a friend’s apartment. I borrowed it.”

“Borrowed? Oh, you have a roommate?”

What the hell, why not make a full confession? “No, but my place is a converted garage, across the yard from my parents’

house.”

He began to laugh. “Oh man, I get the picture.” When he stopped laughing, he said, “I didn’t think that place really suited you. It was kind of formal. Except for the cats.”

Jaxon was right. Ann had great furniture, but because she so rarely had time to relax at home, or to shop, she hadn’t added many personal touches.

“My own apartment definitely isn’t formal. It’s homey. Small, a little cluttered.”

“I wish I was there.” He chuckled again. “If we could arrange for your parents to go away for the weekend.”

“Yeah, that would definitely be a requirement.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that was a real mood-buster, but I wanted you to know. Let’s get back to what we were doing.”

“I won’t object. Okay, lover, I’m in Jefferson’s chair with my shirt off. Now what?”

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the scene. “Acres of big cherrywood table, right? Let’s pretend I’m sitting on that table, right in front of you.”

“In the robe and a thong. Let the robe open a little, so it splits above and below your waist, just held together with the sash.”

She parted the robe, wishing he could see how the candlelight played over her skin. Imagining his eyes on her, she felt a growing ache of arousal.

“Spread your legs.” His voice was a husky whisper.

“And you take off your pants but leave the boxers on.”

She heard rustling and imagined how he’d look. Red silk against that chocolate skin, his erection blatantly obvious.

“What now?” he asked.

“Touch yourself. Isn’t that what you want to do?”

“I want you to touch me. But, failing that . . .”

“Caress yourself through the silk, pretend your hand is mine.”

“And you put your fingers between your legs, rub gently against that tiny scrap of silk.”

She had wanted to before, but held back. Now she obeyed, feeling her moist, swollen lips through the crotch of her thong.

“If I was looking at you now, what would I see?”

“I’m leaning back with my legs spread out. My balls are bulging against the silk. And my cock is pushing against the fly. Almost escaping, but I won’t let it until you tell me to.”

Under her stroking fingers, her body swelled and throbbed as she imagined him. “Leave them on, they look so sexy.”

“Take off that thong, and come sit on my lap. Facing me, in this big, soft leather chair. Feel the silk of your robe draping your back and thighs, and the silk of my boxers under your sweet ass. The only thing between our naked bodies is that one thin layer.”

She stripped off the thong and closed her eyes, pressed her palm against her mound, her fingers between her thighs. “I can feel you, hard against me, with just that silky barrier between us. I want . . . Jaxon, slide your hand into the fly of those boxers and pull your cock out so I can feel it better.”

“Run your hands up and down my shaft. Oh yeah, your fingers are even better than the silk.”

She imagined that dark shaft, rising out of the front of his boxers, and pressed harder against her own hand. “I want you inside me,” she gasped.

“Slide your fingers inside.” His breath was coming in little pants. “Pretend it’s me.”

Her fingers were so small compared to him, but imagination transformed them.

“Lick your fingers,” she told him. “Make them all wet and slippery. Then curl them around yourself and slide up and down. Pretend you’re thrusting into me as I sit on your lap, riding you.”

“Oh God, yes. Your pussy’s so wet, so tight. I love being inside you.”

Her body clenched as her hips rocked forward and back, up and down. Fingers circling, pressing and releasing. Tension rising, need growing. “Oh Jaxon, you feel so good. I’m so close.”

“Me too. I can see you riding me, your breasts bouncing up and down, your skin flushing with passion. This is what I’ve been wanting all day, Suzanne. To be inside you.” He was gasping for breath.

“No condom.” Her fingers trembled as they stroked wildly.

“Just you and me, naked together. I want to feel you spill into me when you come.”

“I want . . .” And then he groaned loudly. She caressed her clit and tumbled over the edge with him. When she opened her eyes again, she was sprawled across the couch, the phone on the floor beside her. She picked it up.

“Jaxon? Are you there?”

“Just barely,” he gasped. “How about you?”

“Oh wow.” Her body was slowly relaxing. “You’re one heck of a lover, even long distance.” And how she wished he was there, so they could curl up in each other’s arms. Talk nonsense talk, discuss their days, drift into sleep together.

“You too.”

They were both quiet for a bit, then he said, “Damn, I’d better clear out of the boardroom. The janitorial crew will be around soon.”

So he was saying good night. She didn’t want to let him go. She heard creaks and rustles. “Are you getting dressed?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Want to talk some more? I could call you back from my office.”

Did he want to talk, or was he just being considerate? “Sure, that would be nice. If you have the time.”

“Oh yeah. I’m not ready for my Suzanne break to end yet.”

She’d given him an out, and he’d chosen her over work. Feeling pleased, she used the time to release the cats and refill her wineglass.

When she picked up the phone again, he said, “Did you have a good day?”

“In addition to the great sex, you mean? Yes, really good. When I got to the clinic, a four-month-old beagle had just been admitted. Hit by a car. The mom was there and this poor little boy, sobbing his heart out.”

“Must be rough when the kids come in.”

“It is. Anyhow, the assistant who normally helps with surgery was sick today, so I was nominated. I felt kind of iffy, after what happened with Bondi, but it went great. At the end of the day, the pup went home with stitches and a cast. And one very happy little kid.”

“Sure must feel good to play a role in something like that.”

She curled against a pillow, wishing it was his chest. She went on to tell him about dinner with her folks. Then he talked about his workday and a big settlement he’d negotiated. They shared their weekend plans and, when she mentioned the usual Sunday night family get-together, he said, “I’m having dinner with my mom on Sunday too.”

“You once said you don’t see that much of her, but it sounds to me like it’s almost every week.”

“I’ve been seeing her more lately. There’s papers and stuff to go over for the new restaurant.”

“And it’s more fun to do it over dinner, than at the office.”

“Yeah.” He paused a moment, then said, “You once asked whether she’d rather spend more time with me or have me make partner? Made me think I needed—no, wanted—to make more time for her. She’s done so much for me, and she’s my only family. And a good friend too.”

Suzanne realized she’d never heard him mention friends. Maybe she and his mom and Tonya were it. How sad, not to have time for friends. The poor guy did suffer a high price, to pursue his goals. Trying to be supportive, she said, “I’m sure your mom understands.”

“She tries, but I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe you need to explain it better.”

“Maybe I need to clone myself. Thank God I can get by with relatively little sleep, but I never feel like I’ve got everything done that I want to.”

He sounded kind of down. So would she be, if she lived that way. But then, she’d never choose that kind of life.

“Will it get better, when you make partner?” she asked. He sighed. “I’d like to think so, but probably not.”

On Saturday, Jax’s office felt cold and sterile as he sat behind tinted glass, with the world going on down below. He found himself reflecting on a number of things Suzanne had said—

and those thoughts were no more comforting than his Family Friend notes.

Even though he’d never been keen on Rick’s do-gooder basketball group, it still felt good to get out of the office. His pal had insisted on giving him a briefing, obviously not trusting to Jax’s instincts. So it was with some trepidation that Jax approached the basketball court. He knew the kids were mostly black—boys and a few girls—from low-income or welfare families. Without naming names, Rick had said a few of them were more than flirting with drugs, one’s baby brother had been born HIV-positive, one boy’s mom was a street worker who brought her johns home and one girl had dropped out of school to care for six younger siblings while her mom worked as a chambermaid.

“And that,” Rick had said, “is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Sure enough, when Jax told them who he was and why he was there, he got a heavy dose of attitude.

“Okay,” he said evenly, “you’re pissed it’s me and not Rick. Me too, I got better things to do today than hang with a bunch of smart-ass kids who’re giving me ’tude. You got two choices here. We can all bail and find better things to do. Or”—he did a quick dribble toward the basket and tossed in a three-point field goal—“we can play some ball.”

There were a few murmurs. Then one girl called out, “Y’ever play ball for real?”

“High school and college.” He dribbled toward her, passed the ball, and she caught it and bounced it up and down. “Got myself into college on an athletic scholarship.”

“Fuck, man,” one of the boys shouted, “no fuckin’ chance we’re goin’ to college.”

Jax stole the ball from the girl, did some fancy dribbling around his legs. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“What the fuck you mean by that?” another boy asked.

“Like, it sure the hell ain’t up to us.”

“Lots more things are up to you than you want to admit,”

Jax said. He stopped the ball, held it. “Like, whether we’re playing ball today.” He hefted the ball, and looked around.

“Anyone with me here?”

“Yeah, me.” The girl he’d spoken to earlier stepped forward. Another girl joined her, then a couple of boys, and then they’d reached critical mass and the kids were choosing sides. Jax reminded himself this was no high school team, these were just kids who wanted to hang out. So he tried for a mix of fun and discipline, along with some skill development. By the time they’d all spent a couple of hours, they were sweaty, laughing, joking around, and he felt damned good himself. They were just kids behind all the tough bullshit. Kids living hard lives, trying to survive. Not so different from how he’d grown up. Except he’d had the good luck to have Darissa Navarre as his mom, and a couple of teachers and a coach who’d helped him aim in the right direction. Maybe he’d come back again, help Rick out. These kids needed an example, to prove they could pull themselves out of their crappy circumstances and make something of themselves. That was one thing he could give them better than his pal. Rick didn’t know what it was like to get woken in the middle of the night by the crack whore next door fighting with her pimp. To go to the bathroom and find roaches—both kinds—on the floor.