A Few Desks Away

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2016-05-22

I’m struggling to focus - minimizing another handful of nonsense websites and pulling back up the statements I ‘m supposed to be editing. My computer’s glow is a window of white in the increasingly dark 25th floor. Shut up and get it done, I tell myself, drawing a deep breath and straightening up in the rolling chair. There’s no manacle on my leg, no bars on the doors, but this office has always had a way of making me feel captive all the same. Rows of empty desks and bouncing screensavers sit beneath the ticking clock, whose longest hand waves in leisurely, torturous circles. A few rows over, the scrape of Jenna’s chair against the carpet breaks the still air.
“You want a drink?” she says over her shoulder, headed toward the break room. Her green jacket stops just above her waistline and I find myself watching her hips rock under her cotton dress as she walks. Beneath it, I can see the faint outline of her underwear, an arc starting high on her hips and disappearing in the middle of her grey cotton curves.
“Sure,” I call back, turning my eyes back to the screen. It’s not a huge company, and even thought we only sit a few rows apart, I wouldn’t say I know much about Jenna. You can make small talk with someone everyday and still know nothing about them. I guess there were a few things - I remember introducing meeting her boyfriend at the holiday party, the retention project she was leading that completely bombed, and I remember seeing her out on Houston St. , but don’t know if she ever saw me. I hardly recognized her then. She was dressed in tight jeans and a red top, leaning on a lamppost, face buried in her phone outside some dive bar.

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“I thought you might be the type - no beer left,” she says, setting a high ball glass at the corner of my desk.
“That looks like the end of productivity,” I reply, dragging it over to watch three fingers of whiskey roll and lap against its sides. The pour she gave herself is just as generous, I could see.
“Cut the shit,” she laughs, jabbing a finger at the chat windows and pages peaking from behind the documents I’d been staring blankly at. “Those a project you’re working on?”
I stopped doing any actual work an hour ago, but somehow I was still in that chair, going through the motions. She saw right through it – maybe because she was doing the same thing.
“You should report me,” I say, taking a slow sip. I try not to pull a face as it burns down my throat. “Rough day?”
“No more than any other,” she says, retreating to her desk. Her fingers clatter on the keyboard for a moment before she looks up again. “And you?”
I shrug, falling back into the chair and letting my eyes wander over her features. The computer illuminates her features in the darkness– her thick, dark hair falling over her shoulders and a single, unruly curl dangling in her eyes. I’ve seen her lose her cool only a handful of times, when those brown eyes sharpen and her orderly white teeth clamp down to keep her mouth from saying things she might regret. I don’t blame her. Really, it makes me like her more.

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“What are you working on?” she asks after a few minutes.
I drop my eyes, afraid to be caught watching her.
“Other than this?” I hold my empty glass up. “You keeping up?”
I hear the ice cubes slosh as she drains the rest of hers. She holds the glass aloft, waving it at me. “Your turn. ”
“Yea, fine,” I mumble, making my way to the break room to find the whiskey sitting on the countertop beside the fridge. Matching the height of the first round, I frown at how much of the bottle is already gone. This might be a painful morning.
“Ice, please. ”
Startled by sound of her voice in the doorway, I nearly drop it.
“A bit jumpy, aren’t you?” she leans over my shoulder, the very edge of her body resting against mine. “It’s been a long day,” she adds, topping off both glasses.
We both rest back against the counter, looking up at the plain, round clock.

It’s 10pm, and we’ll both be back through the doors at 7.

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“You still seeing?…” she asks.
“Sarah? Not anymore, no. You still with, uh, Ben?”
“Brad,” she corrects me. “Ex-Brad. ”
“Well cheers,” she finally says aloud, leaning towards me. “To freedom…or something like that. ”
“Something like that,” I echo.
Back in the main room, we sit in silence again. The whiskey has settled in, like a warm blanket, and I’m actually getting a few things done, but I can’t help stealing glances up to see if she’s looking back at me too.
“Sounds like you’re still pretending to work,” she calls over.
“More than you. ”
A few seconds later, I feel her over my left shoulder, the smell of her perfume and whiskey washing over me.
“What are you working on,” she says, nudging me to the side. She leans over the keyboard, rolling the mouse between pages, and I inch back in until her hips are nearly hovering over me. What is she looking for?
“Last edit made 8:23pm,” she laughs, glancing back at me.

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“I just opened that one. ”
“I’m sure,” she adds. Reaching back, she sets her hands on the arms of my chair and lowers herself into my lap. Through my slacks and her cotton dress, I feel the warmth of her body. She wiggles side to side for a moment, making herself comfortable.
“Is this an audit? Finding what you’re looking for?” I ask, leaning around her.
“Haven’t yet,” she replies, propping her chin up on her palm.
She keeps pretending to talk about work, but I swear I feel the subtle rocking of her ass in my lap. I’m trying not to think too much about it, but she has to be able to feel me, rock hard, beneath her. Jenna sits up to strip off her jacket, tossing it to the side as leans forward again. The pale, freckled skin on her shoulders and back looks soft, but I don’t dare touch it.
“Anything else you’d like to look through – I don’t think you got it all?”
“Nothing else here,” she adds, leaning back against me. She lays her head on my shoulder and places her hands on mine, raising them to her chest. I crane my neck forward to kiss her, and she arches her back, tongue in my mouth.
“We’re still colleagues.

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I don’t want you to get any mixed messages,” she whispers in my ear. Grinding against me, she leaves my hands where they are and I feel her fingers start to work at my belt bucket. Her hand slips into my slacks, sliding down to the tip of my shaft, her fingertips playing over it.

She drags her fingertips up and down its length, squeezing gently.
“Right, of course,” I reply softly scooting back to give her hand more room to move. I lean forward, working her skirt up to her waist and slide my fingers up her thigh and in through the side of her underwear. There, I let them drag against her skin – over it, around it, but not inside.
“Now you’re just being cruel,” she murmurs.
I push my index finger down into her and pull it back up, turning slow, purposeful circles over her clit. As I start to move it a little faster, her body rocks with little, almost imperceptible shivers. Her hand abandons touching me and holds on to the chair to steady herself as she shudders harder. Faster – I turn my fingers faster and faster. Feeling her begin the climax under its pressure, I slow back down and let her frustration build.
“More rudeness,” she says, shoving me as she stands up. She kisses me hard and slides back between my legs, wrapping her fingers in my waistline on the way down.

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“Stand up,” Jenna commands, looking up at me. With a quick tug, she pulls the slacks to my knees and slides a hand around my shaft, guiding it to her soft lips. Her tongue dances around its head, watching my anticipation before she slides it into her mouth, working back and forth as she looks up at me. I watch her lips, one of her hands in rhythm with them, the other pulling me into her. Her mouth is warm and soft and I think for a brief second about where we are, but I’d give anything for her to not stop.
After a few minutes, she pulls back, still stroking as she runs a hand down my stomach. I pull her to her feet and kiss her again, turning her around to pull her dress up and press myself against her. One hand in her hair, I pull her closer and she plants her hands on the desk, matching my pressure. I feel one of her petite hands grab my shaft and guide it, pushing her panties to the side.
I slide in easily, sinking in until I can’t anymore, and I feel her knees grow unstable. Hands on her hips, I pull her ass back into me over and over again, her soft skin grinding against me and I can feel my shaft moving deep inside her.
“Harder,” she whispers.
I push harder, pulling her hips violently back into mine and playing my hands over her breasts as I pull her upright. Standing behind her, I push myself in slowly, one hand on her stomach and one wrapped in a handful of dress on her shoulder. Faster and faster, I slide in and out and her moans grow louder.

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If anyone at all is in this building, we’re fucked, but I don’t care.
“I’m gonna,” she gasps, planting her hands back on the desk. “I’m gonna - don’t stop. ”
I hurry up to match her, feeling her body tense under my hands. I grab a fistful of her hair again and pull her back, groaning aloud. I can’t wait anymore, but I think she’s there too.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers, gasping again. I was close before her orgasm started, but feeling her body tense and roll, my shaft all the way inside her, does the rest. Feeling it shoot off again and again, I hold her hips into mine until I’m completely empty. We stand there, motionless for a few seconds, while I’m still inside her. Then, I carefully pull back, slumping into the chair, my eyes still on her.
“I…” I start to say, hands struggling to collect my pants.
“You and I both,” she smiles, sliding her underwear back up and smoothing down her dress. “Let’s just… think of it as a little job perk. ”
“And tomorrow?”
“I’ll sit there,” she nodded to her desk down the row, “You’ll sit here, and no one else in this building will know you what happened five hours ago.

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” Jenna bends down to kiss me a final time. She stands over me, smiling, hands running through my hair.
“If you’re working late – maybe we’ll have another meeting,” she says.

.