Focus Ch. 02

II.

"How did you do it?" Joyce asked, calm, levelly. She watched as the faintest hint of a smile crept across his lips.

"How did I do what?" Greg asked, eyebrows raising, cocking his head, and feigning innocence at her directness.

"Do I have to say it? I know you made it happen. I want to know how." She replied, studying him, the set of his jaw, his relaxed demeanor. Earlier in the day she had gone over his proposals again, fine tuning a few things, but passing it on with her approval. She scheduled their appointment, ostensibly for a planning session for the strategy launch, but first, answers.

"Do you realize how high-strung you are?" Greg asked, leaning forward, voice lowered, holding eye contact. His eyes sharpened, holding her. She couldn't look away. She felt it, his stare, in her center, making her naked, afraid.

"Yes. That's the burden of my position." She replied, a slight quaver in her voice now, a hesitation, barely perceptible yet glaring, deafening. The small doubt since her experience at the stranger's house grew a little at Greg's question, needled. Her seat was uncomfortable suddenly, her clothes ill fitting. An urge to flee her office surged, flitted across her mind, died. Her breathing slowed; she stared into Greg's eyes, staring back.

"Relax, Joyce. You're wound tight enough to pop, even now. Don't you want to relax?" He asked, voice lower still, soothing.

Joyce nodded, her focus slipping. She floated outside herself now, hearing his voice, staring into his eyes.

"You see how easy it is? You're obsessed with being in control, you know? Yet here you are, slipping away. Do you feel it?" He asked, soothing more still, comforting. Joyce felt she was falling asleep, on the barest verge of consciousness as Greg spoke, still staring into his eyes, unable to look away, drifting. She heard him from far away as he spoke, his voice faint, low. She realized what was happening, fought against it.

"You understand now." He said loudly, blinking, breaking the contact between them. He leaned back in his chair, smiling at her as Joyce blinked, shook her head to clear it.

"I do." She agreed, cold desire brewing, a small fear, realization blossoming alongside it.

"Did you put anything else in my head to go along with... the other?" She asked, feeling a small rush of blood, pulse quickening as she awaited his answer, knowing it already.

"Maybe, but answer a question for me first. And be honest." He said.

"What is it?" She asked, already knowing, blushing, equal parts shame and exhilaration in her heart, dueling. Her answer danced on her lips, awaiting freedom.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asked. He sat, looking at her, waiting. Expectant. Eyes, greedy for her reaction, the minutiae, searched her face.

Her shame diminished; heart racing, skin prickling, she nodded slowly. A spark went off inside her, warmth spreading between her legs, up her spine as she admitted her pleasure to her subordinate. Doubt became certainty, certainty became resolve. Even now, vulnerable to him, the control would be hers. A cold snap, frowning, the slightest pause before speaking again, assuming her previous posture of distant, cold, superior. She wrote her address on a notepad, tore it off, and handed it to him.

"We need to discuss our strategy, but I'm too busy for the rest of the afternoon. Eight tonight." Joyce said. Her heart pounded, nerves jangled, excitement raced in her blood, pushed it faster, gripping, but she remained outwardly impassive, stolid. It was Greg's turn to blush slightly as he took the slip of paper. He paused, measuring, a question on his face, but he left, unasked. He would come, of that she was certain. She would demonstrate her control, even as her knees shook under her desk now. To anyone outside looking in, she was engrossed, lost in concentration, and she was, even as she slid her hand slowly up her thigh, delicately between her legs, slowly applying pressure to her clit, exhaling.

Greg showed up early, but waited. Joyce watched him at the window, waiting for him as he waited. Inscrutable at this distance, in his car across the street, Joyce imagined his thoughts. She knew he had a girlfriend, serious or not? Was he feeling guilt? Was it outweighed by his curiosity? Desire? Watching him, her hands drifted, fingers teasing her nipples, searched for the warmth within her, let it out, kneading her clit slowly as it washed over her, building. Is he thinking, imagining me right now? Her thoughts continued, weighing the likely scenarios playing out in his mind, her hands busy, exploring. She could feel her heartbeat, hear it, as he exited his vehicle, standing, smoothing his clothes. Were his hands shaking? His knees weak? Is his stomach tied in knots, anticipation and expectation? Joyce left the window, a small burst of heat washing her. She walked to the door, waiting.

Greg approached, reaching for the bell as the door opened. He took her in, standing there in the doorway. A near silhouette, naked, she stood facing him, frank, unabashed as he appraised her. Chin up, defiant, her nostrils flared, breasts rising, falling, with her breathing, ragged and uneven.

"Joyce, I-" He started to speak, stepping forward, crossing the threshold, eyes wide. She slapped him then, her open hand across his cheek, his lips, cutting him off, stinging. He stumbled, tasted blood, raised a hand to his face, surprise and confusion on his face, anger slow to follow, muted by understanding. She bunched his shirtfront in her hands, pulling him to her. She kissed him; angry, crushing her lips to his, keeping him off balance, shirt threads tearing, popping as she pushed him against the wall. Greg fought to keep up, ears ringing, arms encircling her as she writhed, twisted against him. She ground herself into him, tearing at his shirt. The buttons fell, plastic chiming against the tiles as she pulled his shirt off of his shoulders, fingernails on his chest now, searing, tearing his skin. Greg regained his footing, searching her body with his hands, pressing his hips into her, finding her breasts, nipples, trying to hold her.

She disengaged then, breaking the kiss, her hand rising to his face, pushing his head to the side roughly. Her other hand at his belt now, jerking, undoing. She felt his hardness pressed against her, he had caught up to her, lust guiding his hands. He glared at her as she held him away, her hand over his mouth, crushing, sinews standing out on her arm, distorting his features. He dropped his hand between her legs, finding her wetness, pushing his fingers into her, immediately finding the place inside that quickened her blood. She shifted her stance, allowing him in, her breath catching as he pressed harder and pinched her nipple sharply. She shoved his pants down his thighs now, his cock in her hand, working. She squeezed, jerked roughly, drawing close to him as she moved her other hand to his throat.

Greg tried to match her, almost equaled, with rough, knowing caresses. He squeezed her breast, first one, then the other, hard nipples caught between his fingers, teasing, pinching. He tried to free himself, twisting, but she fought him, restraining. Her hand tightened on his throat. She felt his pulse in her fingertips, moving with him, ahead of him as he leaned forward. Joyce moved away, held him back while still working her hand on his cock with short, hard strokes. He reached for her, straining now for breath as his fingers slid out of her, moving to break her hold on his throat. She let go of him, then, and slapped him. Harder than before this time, he stumbled, legs caught in his pants. He caught himself, falling sideways to the floor, sprawling, rolling onto his back. Joyce laughed, one sharp, high note before she stepped over him, straddled him.

"What the fu-" He began, tasting blood again, face burning from the assault, interrupted as she clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, Greg." She said, reaching beneath her, taking his cock in her hand again, guiding him. She arched her back down, tilting her hips and slid down his length. His protests ceased as she rode him, her knees sliding on the tile. Quickly now, hands pressing into his chest, she lifted herself up, drawing him out, and then back. He reached for her, hands on her hips, pulling her back down, but Joyce dictated her own pace, moving his hands away, began rubbing herself. She shifted, a small moan escaping when she got him where she wanted him inside her, and she increased her pace, drawing near already. Greg lifted his hips, raising himself up into her, pushing, straining.

"Stop!" She said, grinding into him now, crushing her hips down into his, fingers rubbing her clit, eyes shut. Greg started to protest, but he was drowned out as Joyce moaned, sighed through clenched teeth, still sliding onto him with staccato rhythm as she came. Joyce leaned over him, her hair falling over his face. She sank his length into her, and sighed. Satisfied. Greg moved to resume, reaching for her hips to guide her, but Joyce let loose a sharp exclamation, rose up. She stood then, pushing off of him, leaving Greg on the floor, looking up at her.

"What the hell?" He asked, incredulous, frustrated. Joyce arched her eyebrows, looking down at his still hard cock, and stepped away as he sat up. Mouth agape, he watched as she disappeared down the hallway.

She reappeared a moment later, wrapped in a robe, smiling, sighing dramatically. Greg remained on the floor, bottom lip bloodied and swollen, torn shirt still halfway on, missing buttons. His pants were around his knees, shoes still on. He looked up at her, expectant, petulant.

"What?" She asked, giggling now as tried to pull his pants up while still on the floor, failed, and stood up.

"You know what. Just like that? Done?" He asked, his voice rising in pitch, irritation seeping out.

"Yes. I'm finished. Thanks. That was just what I needed." Joyce replied, brushing her hair off her shoulders and tying it back.

"But I'm not done!" Greg cried, hands out, palms up on either side of his erect penis, gesticulating toward her.

"So?" She inquired, walking him past him, toward the kitchen now.

"So?! You're not going to do anything about it?" He asked, outraged, cheated. Joyce looked back over her shoulder at him, at his erection, grinning.

"Make me." She said.