When Dream Met Desire

I wheezed out a laugh I didn't really feel and sent him back to the warehouse. Once he was gone I stared at my laptop screen until I was certain I no longer needed to punch something.

I buried myself in work, flattening my thoughts and feelings and conflicts beneath every sheet of paper I scanned and each new tab on my browser. It had been like this for most of the week. Tomorrow would be Friday, exactly one week after we touched down from the debacles in Spain, and I was dreading the notion of spending the weekend with no blessed distractions. I'd call up my girls, but they'd all want to know how work was going, and that was the last thing I wanted to get into.

I cracked open a new pack of painkillers and washed two down with the dregs of my last coffee. The strong, heady sweetness of it made me tip back my head and smile. I made my coffee the way my mum used to make it for me, with brown sugar and the spoon in to keep it stirred. Even cold it was like a warm tea cozy crocheted around good memories.

A drop of it slithered over the lip of the SportsDirect mug, which was an occupational hazard for crockery that large. Everything in our kitchen was an eyesore, but with staff that ate like horses and rarely cleaned up after themselves, cheap and industrial was the only way to go. I licked up the side to chase the trail and laughed at the face my sister would make if she could see me now.

The ceramic met the coaster on my desk with a thud - and I looked up to find heavy obsidian eyes staring back at me.

My heart skidded in my chest. Sam's gaze was wide and dark, glinting with ominous intent. He was perfectly still behind his office window.

I hated my pulse for jumping; hated my skin for feeling too tight, shrinking back from him, and the way I had to grit my teeth to flatten my trembling fingers against the table. I hated my brain for choosing this moment to suddenly tumble into crystal clarity, filtering every single thought in my head into a kaleidoscope of pristine moments.

The thunderstorm. The driveway. The crimson-coloured walls of Sam's curving staircase. The lace curtains fluttering over the windowsill, and the noise of the crackling hearth as I warmed up by his fire.

Since the events of the night we'd landed, I'd avoided him like the plague. Evaded him the way I'd slipped out of the rich, grooved grasp of his hands and soaked myself splashing through puddles as I'd ran for the train. And as much as I kept out of his way, I couldn't halt what haunted me under the cover of darkness, rising from my bones and replaying in my mind as I waited for dawn.

Calloused fingers - laboured breaths - lips that were as warm as they were rough. The taste of cigarettes and cinnamon gum and the decadent weight of his tongue as he claimed me.

I got up quickly and shut the door, turning the string on my blinds until I could no longer see him. Ignored the squeezing of my ribs and the quickening in my core; the ever-present temptation of letting those eyes fulfil their promise of setting my body on fire.

A choking sob accompanied me as I sagged against my sideboard. Because my carelessness had robbed me of my perfect dream, and what was left of it now were shattered pieces, writhing in a pit of burgeoning desire.

--

It's a bad idea to fall in love with your boss. That much goes without saying.

It's an especially bad idea to fall in love with your boss if he's a poorly-disguised psychopath with an amygdala the size of a peanut.

I don't know how it happened. I honestly couldn't tell you. I'd done fairly well in school, so I wasn't lacking in mental capacity, and now that I was older I could safely say Sam was the furthest thing from my type.

Sure, I had a self-destructive streak, so I'd done the whole cold and distant thing before. I preferred emotionally unavailable over needy golden retriever boys with their wagging tails and boundless energy. But I also liked my men not too tall, not too pretty, easy to read and with the kind of muscle definition that could crush a can of coke between their shoulder blades. Simple and straightforward.

My ex from a few years back was a perfect amalgamation of all these qualities, with the added bonus that he could keep up with my deadpan humour and wasn't afraid to bully me back. Shaun and I had ended quite messily when the pressures of a monogamous lifestyle became too much for him, but we still messaged on birthdays and had plus-oned for each other a couple of times. More importantly, he knew my body well enough to never leave me hanging.

Turns out the only thing men can do consistently is be a fucking disappointment.

I was working late in the office tonight - which was fine with me. I could play my music nice and loud without being judged for having wider taste than 'dubstep', get balls deep into some new agreements, then go home and use my newly-charging vibe to bring myself to a well-deserved, thoroughly satisfying orgasm. It was the best plan I'd had in ages.

I hummed along with Taylor as she crooned about how badly she wanted to kiss Stephen, stretched, then hopped off to the kitchen to boil the final kettle of the day. Marta, the cleaner, was off this week, so I decided to load the dishwasher as well.

I was wiping down the visibly grimy counter when a drawl came from the doorway.

"You know we have a cleaner for that, right?" Sam ducked into the kitchen, taking in the scene with a mix of amusement and confusion. "So you're not buckling under the workload of five different people?"

I grimaced. I'd had a bit of a meltdown this week. July was nearly over - it had been three weeks since the whole whoops-almost-had-sex-with-my-boss fiasco, and in that time, Sam's brother Tal had stopped by for an impromptu check on our profits, the toilets had flooded twice, and the warehouse lackeys had achieved astonishing heights in the art of taking the mick. I was over it. Having declared (screamed) that no one would be getting paid until they deigned to finally fill out their timesheets, I'd locked myself in my office and taken a migraine nap under the desk.

Sam's rescue pup, Luna, had snuggled with me for support, and eventually I'd found the strength to address my Very Loud Outburst via company-wide email. But they'd still done the eggshell shuffle around me for a good few days.

"I didn't know you had it in you," Sam had said, grinning when I'd attempted a stiff and taciturn apology. "Get out of here. Suits me not having to pay the bastards."

Now, however, his smirk was palpable, only widening as I bristled.

"I gave Marta the week off," I explained reluctantly. "She's sick. Besides, as long as your monkeys behave themselves, we should be in the all-clear."

"It's your circus too." He pulled two mugs out of the cupboard - his matt black monstrosity emerging from the top shelf where he hid it from the others - and I held back a tired groan. "You write the law around here, not me."

"They only answer to you."

He hummed something noncommittal - pleased, I think - and dug a spoon out of the drawer. "Where's your sugar?"

"Behind the coffee tin."

We made our drinks in silence, borrowing each other's space and moving in magnetic circles. When he was done he dropped his spoon in my mug and rested his back against the counter. I poured in my soy milk, dismissing the eyes looking on with shameless curiosity.

Inside, I was burning. His scent clung to his jacket and t-shirt, all man and musk and roguish cologne, and it caged me in a foolish prison of my own making. He was wearing his hair down today, and I noticed, transfixed, the way coiled over his ears in thick, raven-coloured curls. Even now I itched to thread my fingers through them, to rake my nails over his scalp - grab hold of a gorgeous, generous handful and pull.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. It had been a long three weeks.

That vibrator suddenly seemed very, very far away.

"You're thinking hard about something." He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered over my cheekbone and the top of my ear, and I shivered.

"I'm not."

He ignored me completely. I took a tentative sip, and his index finger traced along the soft shell of my lobe.

"Don't you think you should tell me?" he murmured. "Might even make you feel better."

I let out a shrill little laugh. "I think not. Listen - I have some paperwork to finish and -"

"Paperwork can wait. Right now I'm talking to you."

He managed to make a silky demand sound so much like a punch to the throat. I nodded, swallowing thickly.

"Okay."

A frustrated sigh billowed out of him. "Still won't say nothing, huh?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"You're still avoiding me." A flash of something appeared in his eyes. "I want to know why. It's not like I've done anything to you; that would require us interacting."

"Don't be silly." Irritation was a great form of defence. I managed to paste a frown onto my face even as he furrowed his brows. "Why would I - no. Everything's fine."

"You must think me pretty dense." He regarded me intently over his mug. "Boyfriend trouble? Someone break your heart?"

I snorted. "Leave me alone, Sam."

His hand wrapped around me in an instant, tethering me before I could move. "So I'm onto something."

I couldn't bring myself to blink, let alone respond. His fingers dug into my arm and he smiled.

"C'mon, Jeida. You can tell me."

I shook my head. This was close. Way too close. My brain was cowering under deafening warning sirens.

A revelation seemed to hit him, and that smile took on a wolfish gleam. "Oh - it's like that, is it?" He tugged me in conspiratorially, breath fanning over my cheek. "Some fucking romantic's not giving you what you want?"

He was so on the money I had to shove him to get away. When he started laughing, I saw red.

"You are such a fucking prick!" I spat, furious. "What gives you the right?? What happens in my personal life is absolutely NONE of your business!!"

"Oh, when it's got me staying after hours to look over my manager's sloppy work, I think it becomes my business."

My nostrils flared. It was embarrassing that he'd noticed. Yes, I'd been a little... distracted, lately; it was the whole reason I'd reached out to Shaun in the first place, but fuck him. A sexy selfie with a killer bit of sideboob should have indicated I was in need of a serious romp, not some half-hearted speech about getting back together.

Incidentally, he'd chosen to deliver it at the worst possible time - halfway through unbuttoning my jeans and nipping my stomach senseless.

Now, I was enraged, on the verge of lunacy, and very, very horny. And I had a sociopathic moron grinning back at me.

Sam stood, rising like a jungle cat to his full, indomitable height, and I instinctively took a step away from him.

"You know, if you had just stayed with me, that night, this wouldn't be happening." His voice dropped, and he managed to look indifferent - almost resigned - as he stalked me towards the table. "You didn't have to run. We could have worked things out."

My thighs hit the side of the table and I held onto it for support. "I didn't want to sleep with you."

"Neither did I," he said scornfully. He chased it with a sardonic laugh. "I just wanted to talk."

His hands wrapped around my waist as he waited for me to look at him. I tilted my face up, terrified.

"Sam," I pleaded quietly.

Fingers travelled up my body to graze the swell of my breasts - caress the skin of my collarbone, press into the column of my throat. He felt me shudder beneath him and groaned.

"God damn you," he whispered, before pressing his mouth to mine.

My feet barely scraped the floor, scrabbling to push me higher as I caved to his touch and moulded to his lips, letting the fight seep out of me with surprising velocity. But then I knew I would. There was something about the way Sam moved, the way Sam moved with me - soft, yet insistent, and so ultimately intentional - that I was absolute putty in his hands. He was no gentleman, but he was that good that I could almost convince myself he was.

I chased his air, drew myself deeper with each of his moans so that I was the one pulling us closer, clutching the lapels of his shirt and slanting my mouth until our teeth clicked, until his grunts were mine and my gasps were his and our tongues were slipping, sliding, fumbling over each other in an unspeakable dance that left me breathless. And still I was totally unable to stop.

Sam was the one who pulled away. Hand at my neck, the other on the table, and a storm in his eyes that promised to strip me from my soul.

"Get on the table," he rasped.

There were no more sirens. Just a faint ringing in my ears and the beating of my heart, pounding out a rhythm that signalled my imminent demise.

I did as he demanded, scooching back across the heavy glass until I had no more purchase, never leaving the heat of his glare. He took me in for a moment, dragging that gaze across every inch of my body - the hollow of my throat, the rise of my heaving chest, small slivers of my stomach now visible from my untucked, rumpled shirt. Setting fires that would linger long after he was gone.

He kissed me once more - long, lazy, lascivious - and then popped the button on my jeans.

My eyes widened.

"Sam, not here."

He unzipped me with seamless fluidity, the zipper squeaking in muffled defeat. "Then where?"

I didn't have an answer to that.

He glanced back up at me, every bit the dark, delicious dream I'd ruined in a crimson hallway. Burning eyes and scorching intensity and a picture-perfect smile too good to be true. It twitched in his triumph.

My heart squeezed, and then it soared; two fingers darted over my panty-clad mound to trace the swell of my lips. I groaned, loudly.

"That's what I was looking for," he snarled. My pussy lips fluttered under his fingertips and he traced my cleft again and again, stoking the heat at my centre until it wept white-hot and liquid against his velvet ministrations.

I writhed, blinking blinding light from the corners of my vision and gaping up at the ceiling. He grabbed one of my hips and manoeuvred me to the edge of the table, resting his heavy hand on my thigh as he used it to spread me wider.

"I thought about you like this." Sam's voice was aggressive in its confession, bringing his ragged words to my ear. "Aching and needy for me. I thought of you bucking and screaming in my bed after you pushed me away. Digging your fingers into me, leaving marks I could count in the mirror." His fingers slid over to the edge of my underwear, grazing frill and bone and hot, hot skin. "I knew you had to come back."

He scooped at the lace and then suddenly he was in. No barriers, no scheming, sadistic foreplay - just bare fingers probing my gushing, quaking gash. I cried in immediate retaliation; a guttural, primal noise that was far too loud for this little room.

"I didn't have to do anything." I seethed at him through clenched teeth, clutching onto the strains of my sanity even as he picked me apart. "I was never - going - to come back."

Words took a back seat as his thumb flicked at my hood, brushing over my clitoris in a generous warning. My entrance gave way, and suddenly there was silence. Sam slid his middle finger into me, stroking my front wall and crooning against my ear.

"You were," he whispered. His hand moved to support my lower back, simultaneously lifting me up and holding me in place. "You had to."

Then he added his index finger, and suddenly hell was empty all over again.

I held onto him, my only anchor amidst this roiling sea of rampant desire, drowning me in twisted fantasies that clung to me like tar. A cloak of darkest night and absolute delirium. Sam sawed at me, sharp and precise and meticulous down to the way he curved inside me like a scimitar and circled my clit like a bullseye.

He continued to whisper soft, savage nothings against my ear, growling fantasies of his own in a furious incantation - me pinned against his office door; on my back besides his fireplace; arse to the sky and howling as he fucked me on all fours, He wrenched me towards that precipice even as I fought to stay afloat.

Nose to my forehead, I felt Sam's chuckle against my face as I screwed my eyes shut.

"C'mon, Jei..." he pressed a kiss to my shoulder; a semblance of submission to the angel fumbling for control. "Give it up for me. Just this once." A murmur and a moan escaped me as his lips trailed up to my neck. "Please?"

Before I could answer, he hooked his fingers inside of me. And the waves cresting inside crumbled with an almighty crash.

It felt like I was screaming, but my lungs couldn't seem to work - they were in flames, just like the rest of me, ravaged and raw from the orgasm that ripped through me like a tsunami and left the skyline ablaze in its wake. It was an impossibility in its entirety - a bridge between disasters that could never touch or integrate, could neither destroy nor defy each other. And yet, my body was proof of the battleground.

Dream and desire, enraging and enslaving, goading each other in circles until they wiped each other out.

He stroked me through the aftershocks, prolonging my spiral back down to earth with cruel, cultivated prowess and a self-satisfied smirk. By the time sensation registered in my toes he was wiping his messy digits off on my jeans.

Shallow breaths trembled out of me as I rested a hand against my diaphragm. Sam zipped me up with no preamble, fixing my button and brushing a kiss across the bridge of my nose.

"What the hell was that?" I didn't sound as angry as I wanted to. I sounded royally and thoroughly mollified, like a mustang brought back from the brink.

After a beat of silence, he had the gall to raise an eyebrow. The black and bemused abyss of his eyes reflected my own confusion back at me.

"A favour."

I spluttered through my inhale. "You might need to read up on what's classified as a 'favour' if we ever have an external HR audit."

Despite himself, Sam cracked a smile. He looked far too calm and casual for a director who'd just defiled me on company property. Sighing, I shook my head.

"You want me to take care of that for you?" I jutted my chin at the sizeable erection straining against his jeans. "Seems only fair."

He glanced down at his growing bulge and barked out a laugh. "Now that would be a HR violation." He lifted me from the edge of the table and set me on my feet.

I frowned. "What?"

Sam's quiet gaze searched mine - stony serious and back to their usual impenetrable depths. "No," he said, simply. "I got everything I needed."

I opened my mouth to argue with him and he pressed a thumb against my lips.

"Lock up after yourself when you're done. I'm heading out."

He backed away from me, and then he left - wandering into the hall without so much as a curt goodbye. I sipped at my discarded coffee and stared out the kitchen window at the bleeding dusk, listening to him hum along to Taylor and quietly slurp his fingers clean.

--

Part 2 of this story, When Desire Bowed to Dream, will be up by the end of the month. Stay tuned!

And thank you for your support :)