Testing

It was routine now. Something sparked the conversation. She would drop an innuendo; he would catch it immediately and extend the thought. She always followed the logical extension of that thought, and they would spend the next hour dancing around the fringes of forbidden thoughts in a wordplay that only the two of them could master.

Then the conversation would drift further, and she would become acutely aware of non-verbal cues. The blonde hairs on his arm would tickle her arm as he pointed out key parts of the document. His aftershave would drift to her nose as he read over her shoulder. His blue eyes, lit with some unspoken thoughts, would catch hers in the middle of a discussion; her mouth could continue talking while her mind went elsewhere. All the while, she would feel that tingle low in her groin, and wonder how she would relieve things this night in the privacy of her home.

Then, it would expand to direct contact. Sometimes, the contact came in the form of a casual neck massage. Acceptable social contact, even though she could feel more behind it. Sometimes, it was something silly, like reenacting a dance move, or that childish wrestling you did when you were nine and liked someone. Sometimes, like tonight, it was more of a dare. They would find themselves, standing face to face, daring each other to test the boundaries of personal space, challenging to see if one of them would make the first move. Neither of them ever did. She had a vivid memory of almost . . . a moment of watching is face come closer, seeing his lips part, a flash of teeth, finding her own lips parting almost involuntarily . . . and then both pulling away from it.

So here they stood, now, toe to toe. Her nipples were hard, her breathing irregular, the moisture between her legs unmistakable. She could see the flush on his neck. He was probably hard; she didn’t dare look. He was so close she could feel the heat of his face, smell the mint on his breath, feel him breathe against her. They didn’t touch, but moved, as if they might kiss, their faces moving in, tilting . . . But neither breached that last few centimeters. After what seemed like forever, they pulled apart, reluctantly, both obviously aroused.

One of them would then deliver the next standard line. “We should get going.” And they would pack up in silent frustration, turn off the lights, and head out. They would walk to their cars, stand reluctantly, talk some more, stare at each other, and then he would laughingly say “we could go back in right now.” It was her turn to act like she would take him up on the offer, and then put her things in the car. Then he would say “Really, we could.” Normally, this was her cue to slip behind the wheel of her car, and head out.

Tonight, she decided to test him. She dropped her soft briefcase on the seat, then closed the door, still standing outside the car. She turned and looked meaningfully at him, then walked back toward the office. She didn’t look back, but heard the soft soles of his shoes in the parking lot. “Hey,” he said, catching up with her, touching her arm. She didn’t look back as she fumbled for the key card to the locked building. She scanned the card, and the door unlocked. She held it open and looked back at him, open invitation in her eyes. “Coming?” she asked.

He looked at her, uncertain of how far she would go. He reached out to grab her arm; she let him hold it for a second, then pulled away. Her fingers trailed down his arm deliberately, catching his fingers before she dropped contact, and then she turned to head into the dark recesses of the office. She heard him follow, and she kept her eyes straight ahead on the door to their office suite. She pushed the door open with a soft click, walking further into the room. He was right behind her. She didn‘t look back until he was fully inside, then she turned and quickly shut the door. The lights were off, but the small window to the hall cast light inside.

She stood toe to toe again with him. Same position. Same distance. Although this time, she closed those last few centimeters. Her lips barely touched his; she could feel his part beneath hers. Their tongues reached out in unison, testing each other tentatively, exploring. She didn‘t realize she was holding her breath until it escaped in a hiss between kisses. Her body leaned forward, until it made contact with him. They stepped backwards in slow unison, until his back was against the door itself and she straddled his leg. She could feel his heart hammering away against her chest and his arousal against her hip. As his tongue became braver, challenging her mouth, she pressed her hips into his, and he responded without hesitation. She pulled back for a moment, looking into his liquid blue eyes, letting him see how many times she’d wanted this. They kissed, harder now, his tongue reaching for hers, drawing it into his mouth where she could feel his perfect teeth and taste the gum on his breath. Still kissing, she reached out and caught both of his hands, interlocking her fingers with his. He squeezed her hands hard, powerfully, giving her an indication of the restraint he exercised. She responded by grinding her hips into him more forcefully.

Hard as it was to do, she pulled away. His face was flushed, making his blue eyes luminous, even in the faint light. His chest heaved; his khakis did little to hide his arousal. He watched her as she ran a hand across her neck, down over her breasts, her nipples poking through the fabric of her sweater, across her stomach, and between her legs, pressing her hand against her own arousal. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth as if to speak. She placed her other hand against his mouth, feeling his full lips, parted slightly, moist on the inside of his lips.

She spoke. “We should get going?” It was deliberately formed as a question.