His To Own (5 page)

He was inside her a second later; he didn't ask if she was sure, didn't check if she was ready. Laney was positive she'd been abundantly clear on both counts. Michael began a leisurely pace, taking his time as his hands roamed her body, acquainting themselves with the curves of her breasts, the supple mound of her ass, the hot, aching place between her legs where he kept making sweeping passes, stopping to briefly to touch where he was fucking her so slow and so incredibly good.

Laney clutched the edge of his desk tightly, then, as he began to pick up his pace, lost her ability to stay upright and pressed her upper torso against the cool, flat surface; her nipples contracted at the contact and she shifted, unconsciously seeking friction.

"Come back here," he muttered, grasping her shoulder and pulling her upright again. One of his hands went to her breast, cupping and kneading the flesh, causing her to mewl with satisfaction. The other went to her chin, forcing her head to turn so he could plunge his tongue inside her mouth, mimicking the movement of his cock.

The position was awkward and they kept losing rhythm. Michael made a frustrated noise and pulled out of her, causing her to whine in despair. He chuckled and delivered a single, hard smack to her ass.

"No whining," he instructed, urging her to flip over. He lifted her, setting her up on his desk the way he had two days ago. But this time, instead of dropping to his knees, he hooked
her
knees over his forearms and thrust back inside of her. They both moaned at how much deeper this position was, how much leverage he was able get.

It didn't take long for them to both lose it. The pleasure was too intense. Their mouths found each other again and her hands roamed every inch of his torso she could reach, enjoying the crisp smattering of chest hair that tickled her nipples whenever he pulled her close. His pelvis ground against her clit, hitting it just right with every thrust. She went off first, crying out her satisfaction into his mouth, triggering a deep groan from him as his thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. She dug her fingernails into his ass, holding him against her as he came, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Panting, they clung together for a few moments, her fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck, his hands sweeping up and down her hips in a gentle, affectionate manner. Too soon for Laney, he pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. They both got dressed, casting looks of melancholy each time the other covered up another inch of bare skin.

"It's late," he said quietly. "You should go home."

She nodded, unsure where they were leaving things but too afraid of disturbing the wonderful mood between them to say anything.

"See you tomorrow," she murmured, turning to leave. He reached out and caught her arm, hope sparking in her heart that maybe he would be brave enough to say something, to verbalize what this was between them…

"Laney. All the mistakes? The clumsiness? You've got to knock it off, the real ones and the… not so real ones." He smiled a little, then sobered just as quick. "If you don't, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop my partners from replacing you. And you’re a wonderful assistant."

Her heart actually felt like it was cracking. Ridiculous, considering they’d only known each other a matter of days; stupid, considering the nature of their relationship to this point; but she had harbored affection for him, some secret hope of reciprocation, and his words confirmed that he… had not.

She smiled, more confidently than she felt. "I won’t let them send me away," she vowed.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure it was the kind of promise Michael wanted her to keep.

##

5.

Laney had never really understood what people meant when they said that love and hate were different sides of the same coin. She had never really hated anyone, period, but she imagined how ugly the feeling would be, how all consuming. The idea that the two were related - that you could love someone so sweetly, so completely at one time, and at some point down the line dislike them so totally that the emotion could be described as hate - well. Laney had always had trouble reconciling the idea.

She’d gone home hopeful, refusing to see the plain truth in front of her face. A sleepless night followed by a day of being almost entirely ignored had made the plain truth undeniable: Laney had been used and her boss had no inclination toward anything romantic between them.

Every time she looked at Michael's office, the closed door seeming to symbolize the closed heart of the man behind it, she understood a little more exactly how foolish she had been.

As much as she tried to pretend she was working up a good head of
hate directed Michael's way, Laney had to admit that the person she really loathed was herself. After all, Michael had not really said or done anything to indicate he was interested in her, emotionally. Yes, he'd made a few teasing sexual comments, but he was a guy. Laney was well aware they were wired that way. The statistic that the average man thought about sex every seven seconds came to mind. Since she'd started working here, Laney had the average man beat by about two seconds. But it wasn't just sex she'd been thinking about; it was sex with Michael. It was the possibility of
more
with Michael.

All the while she'd been fantasizing about a possible future with him, he'd only been fantasizing about nailing her on his desk. And she'd made it more than easy for him. A few words of encouragement and she'd gone down on her knees. God, the thought of it mortified her, causing her cheeks to flush with the shame. Laney wanted to be one of those evolved women, like her friends; she wanted to have sex like a man, or whatever they did on that cable show that was on a few years ago. But deep down inside, Laney was still old fashioned. She still believed in love and commitment. She still
wanted
love and commitment.

Apparently, she wasn't going to get that from Michael. He was so attractive - too attractive, really. He was completely out of her league, both because of his position - no one made partner by 36 - and his physicality. His body was toned, perfectly proportionate; sturdy in all the right places. He was almost unreal. It should have been her first warning sign. It
was
, in all honesty. He had flagged her danger meter but she'd ignored it because he was so pretty, so incredibly sexy, that she had wanted nothing more than to be his.

He just didn't want to be hers. Or, she supposed, to keep her on a long term basis. And, oh, how she wanted him to
want
to keep her.

The next few days were difficult. On the upside, Laney
made no mistakes, feigned or otherwise. Her nerves were dried up by the shame and budding hate - for Michael or herself, she still couldn't be sure - and it made her productive. She still snuck in her special spice stash for Michael's coffee; still brought him Oreos in the afternoon; but she never lingered around him, never appeared anything less than professional in his presence. Unlike before, she made sure she spent the bulk of her time at her desk or running around the office, helping co-workers whenever she had the feeling Michael might ask her to do something, or worse, call her into his office.

Because, as angry as Laney was, as terrible as she felt about how easily she'd given herself to him, she wasn't sure she'd be able to resist if he asked for her again. And giving into him
knowing
he wanted nothing to do with her would be more than her fragile self-esteem could stand.

That thought just about put Laney at her quota for self pity. After a quick stop in the break room to pick up provisions (every bruised heart needed hot chocolate and Red Vines) she returned to her desk and dove into the soothingly tedious clerical work that needed doing. She had only just begun when the door to Michael's office banged open. Laney watched as an obviously distraught woman came barreling through. Laney realized she must have missed
the other woman while she was in the break room getting a snack.

Michael slowly walked out after
the hysterical woman, hands in his pockets, a conflicted but resigned look on his face. He glanced down at Laney's desk, eyebrows soaring upward as he took in her obvious lack of nutritional sense.

"Did you eat anything real for lunch?"

Oops
. Apparently moping around had made Laney forget her lunch break. It was nearly two.

"I got caught up," she confessed, indicating the pile of papers on her desk.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Go. Get lunch. Bring me back a sandwich from somewhere after you’ve finished."

"Thanks," she muttered. It was so much worse when he was nice to her. Laney almost wished he was more of an asshole. At least then there would be nothing to interfere with the animosity she'd been building up.

Grabbing her purse Laney hurried out of the office, grateful for the excuse to get away from the confusing emotions she experienced around Michael. Her stomach growled once she was inside the elevator and Laney realized she hadn't eaten more than a banana for breakfast, too upset over her non-relationship with Michael to eat anything substantial. There was a delicious deli on the corner, one that made huge sandwiches with garlic mayo. Her mouth almost watered. She was probably shifting from the angry phase into the depressed one where she sat home alone with a carton of ice cream watching bad reality television.

Resigned, Laney placed an order for her sandwich - turkey and avocado on a French roll - and added another for Michael - roast beef and sauerkraut on wheat. She had no idea how he could stand the taste of that sandwich, but he'd confided to her one day that it was one of the few nutritional pleasures he allowed himself in life.
Laney had almost ordered it wrong, but it had never been in her nature to hurt someone out of spite. And after all, it wasn't Michael's fault she'd invested emotionally in their relationship. He'd made her no promises. She'd simply made it easy for him to take advantage of her.

The truly disturbing thing was, Laney still wanted to please him. She wanted to be good for him, to give him everything he needed, even at her own expense. It was pathetic, but she was stuck, at least until she could find another job.

The boy behind the counter told her it would be a few minutes until the sandwiches were ready so Laney went outside to wait. Apparently being lost in thoughts of Michael had the same effect as being nervous about him - Laney ran head first into another woman.

"Sorry," she apologized automatically, then gasped. The woman staring back at her was the same woman who had fled Michael's office in tears a few minutes ago.

"No, I'm sorry," the woman mumbled, her dirty blonde hair thrown back into a hasty ponytail. Her eyes were still red, but she seemed to have composed herself. Until she looked Laney in the eye. It was like a dam burst. She covered her mouth with one hand, sobbing softly into it.

"Oh, it's all right," Laney soothed, placing a hand on the woman's back. "Here, sit down."

"I can't. I should--"

"You're upset," Laney said simply, urging the other woman to sit on one of the small chairs in front of the sandwich shop. "You shouldn't go anywhere feeling like this."

"Why do you care?" the woman muttered.

Before Laney could answer, they called her name from inside the sandwich shop. She held up a hand to the upset woman. "Because I do. Please just wait a few seconds for me."

After she had retrieved her sandwich order, Laney took a set opposite the woman. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Fran," the woman said.

"My name is Elaine, but my friends call me Laney." Friends and one boss that was too sexy for
her
own good. "I saw up there," she confessed.

Fran's eyes widened. "You work for him," she hissed.

"Yes," Laney admitted. "Please, just tell me what's going on, why you're so upset. I'd like to help, if I can."

Fran laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "You can't help. No one can help me."

"You never know until you try," Laney said.

"Oh, I've tried," Fran snapped. "I've seen at least a dozen lawyers today, all of them highly recommended and all of them spoiled little princes who had different ways of telling me I couldn't afford their fee. I've heard all about the large backlog of cases and the prior commitments the firm has undertaken and even one client freeze prohibiting any attorney from taking on a new case until some red tape was cleared up. I know all about trying."

There was so much pain around the woman's eyes. This was why Laney wanted to be a paralegal. She didn't kid herself - the amount of reading and retention that went into passing the bar was beyond her. But if she became a paralegal, at least she could have a hand in helping someone like Fran, someone who seemed to just need a small act of faith.

"What happened?" Laney asked quietly.

Fran's lower lip quivered. "My husband," she whimpered, staring down at the ground for a moment before clearing her throat and meeting Laney's gaze again, proudly. "He was murdered. The man who did it - he was robbing a liquor store, he had a drug problem, his rich family had cut him off… and Albert and I loved ice cream. We were out of chocolate chip and I told him he didn't have to go, I
told him
we could eat strawberry, but…" She took a deep breath. "His family has been trying to get him out for months. That man shot my husband in cold blood, just because he was buying ice cream, and they're trying to get him released after only two years."