Maliciously Obedient (BBW Erotic Romance) (18 page)

A commotion at the table made him look up. Lydia, half standing, knees bending like a Gumby doll, snickered. It was another woman, with similar coloring to Lydia’s but wild curly hair, a little younger looking, scrambling to get out, climbing over the laps and hips and asses of various people whose faces he dimly recognized from work.

“Lydia! Lydia!” she called out.

“Oh...thas’ my best friend Kristin...Krysta...Kristie,” she slurred, pulling herself up. Mike had to strain his right arm to find a balance point for her very relaxed and
very
luscious body. She leaned against him and his hands, as if drawn by an involuntary force, wrapped around her, her arms loose and free, palms splayed and exploring his back. “You're as muscular as I remembered,” she declared, squeezing one of his biceps publicly, nodding with approval.

And he laughed, great rumbling, stomach-aching chuckles. This was definitely how he remember most of his work outings from his mid-twenties. Kristin...Krysta...Kristie...whatever her name was, managed to squeeze her way through and to peel Lydia off of Mike.

“You must be Matt,” she said, the look on her face one of amusement and horror at Lydia’s condition. Something else, too: a curiosity, a best friend’s protectiveness that he knew all too well because he had rescued Jeremy from quite a few bad scenes himself.

“Yes. Matt Jones. I would shake your hand but it’s otherwise occupied.” Lydia was now meticulously cataloging his fingers, touching the knuckles and commenting on how soft his hands were, mumbling under her breath.

“Would you please excuse us? We’re going to go to the ladies room,” Krysta said, dragging Lydia off, who shouted, “But wait! I haven’t seen his lifeline yet!”

They faded into the crowd, leaving Matt standing in front of about fifteen co-workers who now viewed him as not a boss, though he was the boss of some of them – well, technically
all
of them – not as a peer, but as the guy Lydia threw herself at.

Better him than someone else.

“Oh, my God, Lydia, what are you doing?” Krysta dragged her into the cold, beige, marble-tiled women's room where the cool air and a splash of water on the back of her neck didn’t really make a difference. It just made her feel like getting back to Matt where she could touch that soft skin, where she could look at him with happy, smiling eyes. Oh, how she loved Cosmos. Cosmos were the best.

“How much have you had to eat?” Krysta asked.

“Why are you asking,
Mom
?” Peals of laughter came out of her mouth. Man, she was on a roll and Matt was waiting for her so why was she in this bathroom with Krysta and what happened to her face? It changed somehow when she looked into the mirror. It was sweeter, it was more sultry, it was the
real
Lydia. Right? That’s who she was. She was Lydia, the woman who was successful at going out and having fun and being a party girl and right now, that’s what she wanted.

“You’re going to regret this, Lydia. I have never seen you drink that much before when we go out.”

“I’ve never
needed
to drink that much before when we go out. Plus, Cosmos are my new best friend. You're off the list now. You don't treat me as well as that little drink does.”

“Is this about the presentation with Dave?”

“This is about
everything
, Krysta. this is about how I follow all the rules and I do everything by the book while holding up this unfailing moral standard and all that does is make me a fucking idiot because
this
is what I should be doing.” Her words were sloppy and she knew it, and she wanted more control over them because she wanted Krysta to take her seriously. This was her
truth
finally coming out. “If all that hard work just means that nobody takes me seriously then maybe it’s time I stopped taking
myself
seriously and have a little fun.”

Krysta swallowed hard and eyed her warily. “You can go out and have your fun, but sleeping with your boss is the kind of thing where I think you’re breaking a few too many rules, Lyd.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him!” she shouted just as two women from work walked in. They mugged at each other and then quickly found stalls. “I’m just having fun.”

“Have your fun with me as a companion.”

“You want to sleep with him, too? A threesome? Oooo.” Titters from the stalls.

“No, Lyd, I don’t. What I want,” Krysta crossed her arms and looked at Lydia in the mirror, “is my level-headed friend back.” They really could be sisters if Krysta weren't part poodle. The super-curly brown hair was the exact same shade as Lydia’s and she marveled at that right now, wondering how nature could give two completely different women the exact same color hair. Their faces, though, were about as different as you could get. Krysta’s was plump and friendly, a well-fed farm girl face with chubby cheeks and eyes that disappeared just a little when she smiled. Lydia, on the other hand, had a leaner face with high cheekbones and a broad plane under the eyes and across the nose, a higher forehead and perfectly symmetrical features.

The look on Krysta’s face made Lydia want to escape and go
dance
. Grind against Matt until he exploded. No – not quite. Until he
almost
exploded, with a need so visceral he took her out to his car and fucked her silly, her hand slapping the fogged-up window like a scene from Titanic.

“You know what we’re going to do, Lyd?” Krysta said, looping her arm through Lydia’s. “Let’s go bowling.”

“Bowling? You want to go
bowling
?” Bowling was about as far from the fogged-up car fucking as you could get.

“Yes, I do. They have really cool shoes.”

“Oh! Cool shoes? Yeah, ‘cuz my high heels really hurt right now.” Suddenly Lydia thought that bowling sounded like the
greatest idea ever
. They were on the way to the elevators that took them downstairs when Lydia remembered.

“Hey. What about Matt?” The elevator doors opened. Krysta grabbed Lydia’s arm and yanked hard, pulling her in.

“Ow!” Lydia shouted as Krysta pushed the close button furiously.

As if conjured from thin air, Matt appeared, sticking his foot in the almost closed elevator doors.

“Going down?”

“I am if you are,” Lydia replied.

An exasperated sigh from Krysta made him hold up his palms in surrender. “Is this a women-only elevator?”

“We're going bowling. You like big balls, Matt? I do,” Lydia giggled.

Matt laughed and took a step closer before spoilsport Krysta said, “Lydia needs some air. We're going...somewhere. Can you give us some space?”

“Space. The final frontier,” Lydia mocked.

Those fucking green eyes tore into her soul as he looked at her, then Krysta, and took a step back. Damn it – he was a good guy, too! The one night she needed an alpha male to take her home and drain every drop of frustration and need from her body, climax by climax, and she gets Mr. Decent.

As the doors closed she turned to Krysta and said, “I'm not even wearing any panties, so don't think you're going home with any elevator trophies.”

Mike already knew how the night was going to go and it
wasn’t
going to go his way. Lydia was the kind of drunk he felt protective about, not attracted to. It’s not that she wasn’t sensual, and lovely, and delicious, and certainly
wanting
right now – which made his own willingness difficult to tamp down – but he wasn’t
that guy
. He didn’t take advantage of drunk women, no matter how incredibly luscious they were.

While he understood her friend’s protectiveness (
which he shared
), he wished he could reassure her that he wasn’t going to take her home and fuck her when she could barely stand without help. He was long past any of that and, frankly, he had never been
into
any of that. The walk back to the booth gave him a chance to breathe and relax.

Barely.

“Next round's on me,” he said to the booth, and all eyes fixed on him, peering at him in confusion. This wasn’t the reception he’d expected.

Finally, someone said, “They must be paying you a hell of a lot more than they’re paying the rest of us if you can afford that!” A few derisive laughs, a few genuine laughs, and a couple of shouts of “Thank you!” and “Awesome!” and a few of women talking about the overpriced fruity drinks that they would get.

Joe, one of the mail clerks said, “So, Matt, you putting this on the company tab? Bournham is gonna love that!”

The tone of the laughter that came from the crowd told him that Mike Bournham was not a well-loved figure.
Ouch
. He took this as a chance to find out just
how
not-well-loved Mike Bournham was. “We’ll see. I mean, you think I can get away with it?”

More full-throated laughter, the women whispering to each other and glancing at him. “No way, man. Do you know what Bournham did to me – to our whole department?” asked Joe. He looked like he was about nineteen with an Adam’s apple the size of a baseball. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes that seemed a little too small for his face. He had that thick Southie accent that still made Mike want to grin with how stereotypical that was – and yet everyone he knew from Southie had it. Stereotypes are true sometimes, right?

“Yup. Bournham. I was told that this is a ‘culture where bonuses go out for merit.’ Know what my bonus was, Matt? 0.17% of my pay.”

“Did it fill your gas tank?” said some guy.

“I think I was able to buy a couple cups of coffee. So, that’s my ‘merit bonus.’”

Matt frowned. “I don’t know, Joe...”

“Those stupid rankings HR does, where they evaluate you and tell you which quartile you fit into? Exceeds expectations, meets expectations, that shit?” Joe shook his head ruefully and opened his mouth to say more.

“Where were you, Joe?” A slow simmer started in Mike as he looked at each person,
really
looked at their faces, their features, engaged in the conversation.

“Yeah, I fell into the top quartile in the company – and that’s how my work's rewarded?” More laughter, but this time not as infused with energy, more of a cynical, sickly sound from the group.

Someone else said, “I heard Bournham made $42 million last year. And then another $17 million in bonuses.”

“I get 0.17% and he gets – what’s that? Thirty-eight percent? Something like that. I don’t know, I’m too drunk to do math,” Joe said. “But that’s some fucked up math, Matt. Anything you can do to screw that guy and screw the corporation, I’m there. I’m there, man.”

Mike nodded, not so much in agreement but in acknowledgment. Boy, was he glad that Jonah’s cameras weren’t rolling right now. ‘Mike cam’ would have been a disaster. But even without ‘Mike cam,' this was a bloodbath. When he’d told HR to set up that bonus structure it had never occurred to him that managers would do that. “Joe, who is your boss?”

“Dave.”

“Dave? Dave, as in communications director Dave Crawford?”

“Yup.”

The gears started turning in Mike’s head. “And when he told you you were in the top quartile – ”

“Oh, no, man, Dave didn’t decide that.” The music picked up, a new song beating a thrumming that made it very hard to talk and listen. Slowly, the rest of the group stopped paying attention to them, a few women straggling out onto the dance floor, most guys ordering another drink.

“No, HR decides which quartile you fall into. It’s your boss who decides how much the bonus is worth.”

The final tooth in the final gear wheel clicked into place. “Gotcha. Drinks are on me this round, no matter what. I’m the new guy and I’m trying to suck up to all of you, so have fun and don’t be too mean to me.”

“Just don’t go into the supply closet with him.” Lydia’s voice cut through the crowd, but Mike could tell the rest of them couldn’t hear her. Joe was already walking away, so it was just him. Her sloppy voice in his ear made him rock hard instantly as she leaned against his shoulder. “Because he might kiss you,” she whispered, her voice low and quiet now, her hands reaching down to his hips, one sliding into his pocket, searching for – she found it, the play of her fingertips on his cock making him groan. “And you might like it,” she hissed.