Wicked Ch. 03

The day after drinks with Vivienne, Michael sat in his office wondering what in the hell was happening to him. He felt every atom in his body humming, every inch of his skin desperate for some sort of touch. There was a great anticipation in his bones like any moment his life was about to change.

And then there was the wild fantasies in his head- of writhing with a naked, faceless woman who did unspeakable things to him. It was ridiculous to be so lusty; he'd had sex with his wife the night before and two times that morning for good measure. Still, it was as though he kept eating grilled chicken when what he really wanted was a slab of buttered steak.

He typed angrily on his keyboard, chasing away that thought.

A knock stirred him and he looked up, frowning at the redhead who seemed to be the catalyst of all this. "Yeah?"

Vivienne's head cocked at the brusqueness of his tone but managed to toss him a devastating smile. "I just wanted to thank you again."

Michael turned back to his computer. "You're welcome."

He heard her dull footsteps on the matted carpet. She wore a black dress that was just appropriate for work, but probably more so for a night out. It bothered him. It bothered him more that she walked over to him and peeked over his shoulder. Her scent was indescribable. It made his stomach jolt and his chest heavy. The faceless tormenter in his dream finally had a face- Vivienne's.

"Can I return the favor? You look stressed."

Frightened, he jumped up and crossed the room. "I think I need some air."

"I'll come with you," she said. He couldn't look at her, but he could tell from her tone she was smiling.

"Um..."

"Come on, it'll do us both some good."

He couldn't say no. They went outside and sat on a bench, far too close for Michael's liking. His mind screamed in protest, but his cells rejoiced.

The sky was grey and lifeless, promising rain probably by the work day's end. The air buzzing around them also crackled with the threat of a storm. A woman came up to the building holding the hand of a little girl, saying things to make her laugh. Then the girl spotted them and marched over with a toothless grin.

"Jennifer," the mother warned.

"It's my birthday today," the kid announced.

Vivienne offered a stiff smile. Michael beamed at her and wished her a happy birthday. He asked her how old she was, what grade she was in, what she wanted for her birthday. Eventually the mother had to tug her away with a big smile for Michael.

Laughing, he looked over at Vivienne. Her somber gaze unnerved him. She just stared with a lost look in her eyes, as if he were an animal she never saw before.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her eyes shut and then opened, and she let a smile curve her lips. "You were great with her. I see why you want to be a father."

Michael laughed. "I have a lot of practice. I have five nephews and three nieces."

She didn't say anything else. They drifted off into companionable silence for a few minutes.

Then Vivienne sighed beside him, rubbing her neck. He looked at her and was struck by the circles under her eyes and the strain in her expression. She was still as beautiful as ever, no doubt, but this made her look more human somehow. Fragile. Vulnerable. Intrigued, Michael started cataloging other parts about her.

The ring finger of her left hand wore a simple, slim band of gold. A beautiful charm bracelet slid up and down her wrist with the movement of her arm. Small diamond studs were her only other jewelry. Her style fit her- simple, not flashy, but beautiful.

Something inside of him that had once been safely caged released itself.

"I like your bracelet," Michael said.

Her hand froze on her neck. "Thank you." She let out a breath and glanced at him. "It was my mother's."

Not missing her use of the past tense, Michael looked down. He didn't ask her about it, but suddenly she started talking.

"She died when I was 12. She was an artist." Her eyes scanned Michael up and down as her red lips twisted. It made him a little uncomfortable, but he was glad to see the sad expression gone from her face. "She would have liked you, I think, and she was a bit averse to men."

Michael grinned. "Yeah?"

"She hated my father. And all her boyfriends after that were... Well, not much better."

"Who took care of you when your mom died?" Michael asked, the words flinging out in a strangely desperate desire to know more about her. The question was rude, but it couldn't be taken back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Vivienne waved a hand. "It's fine. A family friend took me in." A shadow crossed her face and shuttered her eyes.

Michael wanted to ask more, but stopped himself.

"You know," he said instead, "I'm really impressed by your work."

"Really?" The confusion was obvious in her voice.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "I think you're underestimated here, to be honest."

"Why do you say that?" Her cheeks were a little pink, it seemed, but he couldn't be sure.

Unthinkingly, he reached over and pulled away a strand of red hair attached to her lipstick. "I have a feeling you're always underestimated."

A small drop of cool rain splattered on his cheek, bringing him back to reality. He pulled his hand away when it dawned on him what he was doing.

The woman that was more mysterious than ever raised her face to the sky and smiled. "I guess it's time to get back to work."

+

She stuck her shaking hands under the freezing water and then scrubbed her face, not caring if she fucked up her makeup. She had fucked up bigger than that today, anyway.

The same face Vivienne saw every morning and night stared back at her from the mirror, but something had shifted. It was ridiculous that one conversation, one touching moment, one stupid memory could mess her up so badly. But it had.

It was the way he smiled at her. The way he moved. The way he looked at her. The way he spoke. The way he was with the little girl. He was everything she never had growing up. That she still didn't have, not really. Not ever.

He noticed things. He noticed her. It reminded her of how things could have been.

She slapped her pale cheeks with more ice water. " Stop it," she ordered herself.

Unfortunately tears were already dripping from her eyes and her nose was burning. She hated crying. It was such a sign of weakness. A sign of emotion. It was dangerous, much too dangerous for her now.

She knew now once she started she wouldn't be able to stop. It was always like this. So she surrendered to the tears, leaning against the cool sink, and watched herself weep. Everything had changed in the course of fifteen minutes. Her feelings rose up and threatened to strangle her now that she changed her mind.

Michael McGuire had just become human to her.

When she forced herself to stop crying, she blew her nose and decided that was why she had to go through with it. She had to make him hate her, she had to destroy him... before he could destroy her.

+

He couldn't explain why he did it. Of course, if he let himself think about it, he could definitely say why, but he didn't want to think about it.

It was just that she was broken somehow. He was sure of it. Pain oozed from her pores. Loneliness hovered around her like a sad perfume. He had an obsession with broken things.

That wasn't really why he did what he did, but it's what he would have said if someone asked.

"Vivienne," he said.

She looked up from her computer with a smile. It appeared false somehow, but Michael figured he was being paranoid. "What's up, Michael?"

"Do you... Do you want to get drinks tonight?"

Her grin was wide. "Sure."

"What about..." He made a helpless hand gesture.

"Victor?" she asked, eyebrows arched, grin wider. Michael nodded. "He's working late. Don't worry about Victor."

They went to the same place as the night before but sat at the bar this time. Vivienne's perch on the stool did wonderful things to her hemline, Michael noticed. Once they ordered drinks, he excused himself to call Christine.

"Drinks with a coworker again?" his wife asked. She sounded annoyed.

"Yeah, we're talking over a project. I'm sorry I didn't let you know sooner."

"Who is this coworker?"

Michael looked out across the bar and met eyes with Vivienne. She sat bathed in shadows, her eyes and skin glowing. "Joe."

"Oh," Christine exhaled. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Michael pressed end.

+

She had him. She knew she had him.

He leaned closer and closer as every minute ticked by. Due to her encouragement, he shoveled back the beers. His eyes grew glassier, more impertinent. They fixated on the black curves of her dress, the proper but somehow naughty cut of it over her breasts. His voice was breathier, his stories raunchier.

Vivienne, on the other hand, merely sipped at her drink. She kept herself alert and still. She prodded him to talk more, half-listening to his tales about his family and his younger days. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to know.

The bartender came over to let them know it was last call. Vivienne daintily stood and took Michael's arm, steering him to the door. They got in her car and drove into the moonless night.

"I should probably drive you home." Vivienne's voice was soft. "You can't drive like this."

"Yeah," Michael said, grinning at her. He was completely wasted. A corner of Vivienne's perfectly lipsticked mouth twisted up.

"Is your wife going to be pissed off that you're drunk?"

"I'm not drunk," he laughed.

"Tipsy, then."

"I'm totally sober." He laughed harder and then stopped to watch her. "You're sexy when you drive."

Vivienne thought she heard everything, but this statement had her eyebrows up. "What?"

"I mean, you're sexy when you do anything. But seeing you drive, your concentration..." Michael ran a hand through his hair. "I am drunk, huh? I'm sorry."

"It's really okay. Don't worry about it," she said.

It was odd how he said it. Men had said far steamier things to her, admitted to their weaknesses, complimented her until even she couldn't stand it, but she never really believed them. Their words were a means to an end, a come-on they deemed necessary to get her into bed. Michael's words were said softly, meaningfully. It was more of a confession. He didn't exactly say it to make her feel good, which was why it did.

"Why don't we hang out at the office for a little bit and let you sober up?"

"Okay," Michael agreed quietly. She could feel his eyes on her, burning her right up.

She pulled in next to his car and didn't look at him as she unlocked the building's doors. They made their way up silently, both aware of the pull between their two bodies. The chemistry between them was something Vivienne couldn't recall ever having with another man before. She wanted him so badly she could hardly walk straight.

Vivienne followed him as he drunkenly made his way to the break room. He turned on the coffee machine and plopped down at the table.

"Coffee as a cure is a myth, you know," she laughed, desperate to relieve a little of the friction in the air.

"Couldn't hurt." His brown eyes watched her. Vivienne's breath caught as she started to get the feeling she wasn't the predator anymore.

Nervously she sat down across from him, keeping her eyes on her red nails and trying to calm herself. The situation was playing out exactly like she wanted it to. She only had to wait.

Except she didn't have to wait, because suddenly Michael was next to her, pulling her to her feet by her shoulders and kissing her.

Vivienne had been kissed by many men of all different ages, all different levels of attractiveness. Nothing shocked her anymore, and though the kisses pleased her on various levels, she rarely if ever lost herself in wild bouts of pleasure. Victor managed to keep up her excitement, but he was familiar. His kisses lacked novelty. Sometimes, they just lacked.

Michael was an amazing kisser. She could feel her pussy burst into flames. Chills danced up and down her spine and lava spread into her stomach. Her body was electrified under his touch, his roaming hands that skimmed her stomach, her back, and finally her ass. Then a wicked hand made its way to a breast and she lost her footing.

His sure lips pulled away and he panted against her for a minute. "I'm sorry," he said finally, releasing her. "I don't know what happened to me."

Instinctually, almost desperately, Vivienne reached for his hard cock. A part of her warned she was really losing it, for she always thought out her every move carefully and certainly was never desperate in anything she did. A larger part of her didn't care; she had to feel him inside of her.

"That felt so good," she purred.

His expression was a mixture of ecstasy, pleasure, confusion, guilt, and fear. "I can't do this. I'm married. You're married."

"No one has to know." She was Eve, tempting Adam with the tainted apple. No, she grinned, correcting herself, she was more than Eve. She was the devil.

That was perfectly fine as long as she got what she wanted.

"I need you to fuck me, Michael. Our secret. No one else will ever know. I promise."

Clarity washed over his eyes for only a moment. It was strange- he was the drunk one, and yet in that instant it was as if he'd figured her out better than she had herself.

"I don't know if I-" but she stopped his words with her hot mouth, flicking her tongue against his parted lips and then sliding it between them as he groaned.

The tension that had danced between them since that day in the elevator twisted and burst until it couldn't be contained anymore. Their bodies instinctively knew where to touch the other, how to drive themselves mad with desire.

His hands were no longer tentative as they pulled her dress down violently. He ripped off her bra and lapped at her nipples.

"We can only do this once," he breathed. His brown eyes glittered down at her, large and drunk.

"Mm," was all she responded.

He pushed her down on the table and tugged the bottom of her dress up. He hissed at the sight of her white lacy panties, so out of place with the black dress now crumpled up on her waist. "I never had a chance."

She couldn't answer. Suddenly he was out of his pants and slipping inside of her sweating, gasping body.

Vivienne whined as he hunched forward, slowly dragging himself inside her wetness. Once he was completely in, he grunted and pulled out. Then rammed back in.

It wasn't slow, unlike anything she pictured it would be. He pressed into her ferociously. He snarled. He beat the table beneath her with each forceful thrust.

Her long legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him closer to her. He fell on top, his still-clothed top rubbing against her sensitive nipples.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.

+

He was going to cum soon. That was the only thought that filtered through his foggy brain. It was the only thought he allowed.

Vivienne moved beneath him, matching his fucking. She keened and cried and scratched at his back. Something nagged at him, reminding him it was a bad idea to have evidence of this rough encounter on his skin. He didn't care.

Their bodies slipped against one another as they hungrily sought an end. Her eyes popped open and stared at him until he met her stare. With a fierceness in her eyes too wild to be human, she lifted her head and clamped down on his neck with her teeth. He felt a tug in his balls, a tightening of his muscles, a drop in his stomach, and then he released inside her so hard it almost hurt. He screamed into her skin and bit back.

A part of him registered the freezing of her own body, the increased slickness between her legs. She was orgasming. Dimly, he fingered her clit and growled into her neck, letting the rest of his cum out. It felt like his cock was sighing right along with him.

Then everything stopped. Their breathing slowed, their bodies stopped spasming, and the fierce electricity coursing through their blood ceased.

He took his mouth away from her and ran his eyes over her face. A small smile graced her damp lips. Her skin was flushed. She was satisfied. A small twitch shifted his dick at the sight and he exhaled sharply.

Her eyes focused on him and the reality of the moment sobered him up. His cock was softening inside a woman that was not his wife. He had cum in her. She was a female coworker in his office. His life was over.

Vivienne took in the changes that shifted over his expression and smiled so serenely he almost felt calm. There was a flash in those green eyes, however, that sent a chill down his spine.

"It's okay, Michael. Don't freak out. It's okay."

He pulled out, trying to ignore how hot the sight of his cum seeping out of her looked. "It's not okay," he said in a quiet voice. "I don't know what the hell just happened."

"We had too much to drink. It happens."

He couldn't meet her eyes. "I have to go home. I can't talk about this right now."

She got up and wiggled back into her panties. Her dress was a little torn but she didn't seem to mind. He leaned against the wall, taking her in. She had that just fucked air about her, but other than that she didn't appear drunk. She wasn't freaking out, either.

"Don't you feel guilty?" he asked her. The question sprang out before he could stop it.

She picked up her bag and eyed him carefully. "Yes," she whispered. "I do." She made her way over and kissed his cheek, ignoring his flinch and shut eyes. "It's going to be okay."

When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

+

Victor was watching a basketball game when she walked in. He turned the TV off and bounded over to her, glee evident on his face. He knew when she called tonight was the night. She had said as much.

Now she just felt sick. A horrible thing had come over her and she desperately longed for it to go away.

"Well?" he asked, either ignoring or not noticing the stress in her face. "How did it go?"

She shifted, feeling the wetness that was beginning to stiffen in her underwear. She wanted to lie, to say nothing had happened, but she had been gone far too long. Plus she could still feel the bites and hickeys on her body sizzling.

"It was a success," she heard herself saying.

Her husband stood in the dark. "Come here."

She went over robotically, like he was hypnotizing her. She wondered if he was. He caressed her breasts through her dress. The thought of him touching her right then sickened her but she didn't protest.She leaned over and kissed his full lips, lingering on the bottom one with her teeth.

He kissed her temple and smacked her ass. "Who do you always come home to?"

Vivienne sighed. "You."

She let him lead her into their dark bedroom.