Yours, Forever, page 13
"Is that all you got?" Her voice is low and breathy.
I set my jaw and spank that glorious ass again, knowing that I don't have the self-control to keep my dick in my pants for much longer. She yelps and moans with every slap of my hand. Each of her cheeks glows a tortured pink to match that fucking dress. My cock is harder than steel and I need to be in her, now.
Shoving my pants to the floor, I line up the head of my cock to her sopping pussy. With barely a nudge, she welcomes me into her delicious heat. My eyes roll back in my head and I nearly erupt with a primal moan.
"Fuck me, Dustin, please fuck me, please," she babbles and sways her hips.
I latch onto her like a barnacle. I can't control the rhythm of my thrusts; I can't control myself. I can't control anything. Brooke is mine—all mine—and I'm claiming her like some kind of caveman.
And she loves it.
Brooke
My heart is pounding, and my breaths can't come fast enough. Dustin fucks into me like it's his last act as a living man, like he can't get enough of me. And fuck, I can't get enough of him. I've never felt his cock this hard before. I roll my hips in time with his frantic thrusts, chasing my own orgasm—it can't be far.
"Is this what you wanted, baby?" Dustin grunts into the back of my neck, leaning over me, pushing me harder into the sink. "Is this what you were asking for?"
"God, yes—please, fuck, please don't stop. Please, I need it, I need you." I don't even know what I'm saying. Stars flitter around my vision. All of my senses are completely focused on Dustin and what he does to me. The rough drag of his cock in and out of me, the steady pressure of his hands on my hips, the labored breaths puffing out between groans and masculine grunts.
It's heaven. Who knew Dustin—safe, sensible, intellectual Dustin—had this in him?
Molten lava builds in my core, and my muscles begin to tense up. I'm close. Very close. Dustin is, too, based on the way his thrusts become more erratic and feral. Bolts of pleasure race down my spine. I can't control the sounds coming out of my mouth. Nothing matters in this moment but me and Dustin.
"Are you ready for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth.
"Yes, fuck yes, give it all to me—"
"Oh, my god! What is—Brooke? Mr. Sanders?"
I whip my head around to find Nora staring at us, mouth agape, eyes bugging out of her head. I can't stop the orgasm from crashing through my body and frying every synapse in my mind. I can't stop the moan from spilling from my lips. I can't stop the shiver that comes from feeling Dustin's hot cum flooding my pussy. I can't stop. He can't stop.
The head of Human Resources watches in horror. The blood drains from my face and collects somewhere near the Mariana Trench, I'm sure. Dustin sucks in a terrified gasp as he wrenches his cock free and dives for his pants.
I'm frozen.
I'm frozen in what is possibly the worst position: bent over the sink, my dress hiked up above my waist, angled slightly towards the doorway. The doorway that Nora is standing in. The doorway that leads to the rest of the company.
"I thought the door was locked," Dustin whispers in a panic.
"I… I…." I can't talk. I can't make words come out of my mouth, only disjointed sounds. My pulse races in my ears. My fight-or-flight reflex is telling me to sprint away, get away, get out, but we're on a goddamn boat.
There's nowhere to go. There's no way to spin this. My flesh feels too cold and too hot at the same time. Fear and dread grip my guts like an iron vice.
Dustin's hand finds mine, and he gently pulls me up from my bent-over-and-fuckable position. I look over at him, and he gives me a tight smile. My mouth is suddenly as dry as the Sahara. Am I dying? Can someone die of mortification? Is this what it feels like?
"Do not move," Nora hisses and slams the door shut.
"Oh my god, what's happening? What's she gonna do? Holy fuck, Dustin, what's she going to do?" I shove my hands straight down at my sides, gripping the skirt of my dress like it might save me.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Panic flashes across his face, and it makes me even more scared. Before I can ask anything else or beg for god to strike me down where I stand, Nora shoves open the door again. She's got two cruise employees in tow. They're rather bored-looking men. Is this kind of thing normal for them?
"Please follow us," one of the men asks, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
"Where are we going? What are you going to do to us? What's happening?" I babble on and on. Dustin lays a comforting hand on my shoulder as we follow Nora and the men.
Nora whirls around and narrows her eyes at us. "Remove your hand, Mr. Sanders. You're going to the brig. Both of you."
"This boat has a brig?" Dustin mumbles under his breath.
"Yeah, it's usually where we put the folks who get a little too drunk. Open bar and all that," the other man replies.
Oh, my god, we're going to boat jail.
My heart threatens to beat a hole into my chest. The brig is… weird. It's small rooms with benches attached to the wall, not unlike drunk tank jail cells on TV. The boat employees—shipmates?—generously supplied me with a trash can and asked me to please aim any vomit there. I guess I did look pretty pale. And sweaty. Come to think of it, I am fairly nauseous.
I slump down to the floor and try to hang my head between my knees. This is bad. This is really bad. Nora separated us. She's having what sounds like a very heated discussion with Dustin, and my anxiety kicks into overdrive as I wait for my turn.
"… abuse of power! You're a director!" Nora shrieks down the hall. I can't hear what Dustin says in response, if anything. "Do NOT speak to her!"
Icy dread clenches my guts. My heart sinks to the bottom of my heels. Don't speak to me? Why? What?
A door slams down the hall, and Nora's heels click against the metal floor. The door to my room (cell?) swings open. Nora stares down at me with heaving breaths and a red face. Her signature slicked-back bun has come undone, and tendrils of her auburn hair hang around her face.
"Brooke. You are not to have any contact with that man until you are given approval. There will be a full internal investigation. You are officially on leave." She lets out an angry huff. "Do not return to work until we tell you to. Do not sign into any company devices. Do not access any company accounts. Did you take your laptop home for the weekend?"
"… yes," I manage to squeak out.
"An IT employee will pick it up from you. Is your home address on file up-to-date?"
I can't verbally respond. I just nod as my eyes fill with the sting of hot tears. Come to think of it, my whole face feels hot. And my body. My lungs can't get enough air—my stomach clenches and launch myself at the trash can.
All of the fancy dinner—and drinks—comes right back up. The acrid sting of bile burns my nose and throat. I let out a pitiful groan, which quickly turns into another retch.
Nora steps back with a disgusted look on her face. "Brooke, are you drunk? How much did you have?"
"Two," I manage to respond between heaves. "Only two. Not—hurk—drunk."
"Ugh," Nora huffs. "I'm getting ahead of myself—I'll be right back. Don't… just stay there, okay?"
The only answer I can give is another horrible dry heave. God. What a horrendous fucking night this has turned out to be. On the list of things I never want to do in front of work people, puking into a trash can is pretty high. So is getting caught fucking Dustin. But here I am, puking my guts up, sobbing uncontrollably, after getting railed to within an inch of my life.
Seriously, fuck my life.
"Brooke?" Dustin's voice echoes down the hall.
"Yeah?"
"I'm so sorry."
Another flood of tears drench my cheeks. No, Dustin, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I got you wrapped up in my dumpster fire of a life. If I hadn't teased him—if I hadn't drunkenly called him over to Janine's, if I hadn't poured my life grievances into his lap, we wouldn't be in this mess. We'd have a professional, if icy, relationship.
The thought squeezes my guts, and I double over the trash can again.
"Oh, god." The door opens again, and my boss, Kelly, rushes over to me. "Oh, sweetie. Here, I brought you some ice water, can you drink it? What happened?"
"Don't answer that," Nora snaps. She files back into the room with not only Kelly but fucking Travis. The CEO—or rather, outgoing CEO—of DropTop.
"Fuuuuuuck," I groan and tilt my head back, willing the tears to stop flowing so goddamn freely.
"Why can't she answer me, Nor? What's going on?" Kelly wrings her hands and looks back and forth between myself and the group.
"There's going to be an investigation, and I do not want anything she says to taint the outcome."
"Jesus, what'd she do?" Travis chuckles. "Steal office supplies? C'mon, Brooke. If you really needed printer paper that bad, you could just ask me."
"Urgh."
This is the worst day of my life. This is worse than finding out Calvin cheated on me with… however many people. This is worse than when Huey threw up on my clothes literally thirty seconds before I had to leave. This is worse than literally anything I can think of. Ever.
"Alright, now that we have two witnesses, Brooke?" Nora claps her hands together, making me wince from the sudden noise. "Brooke, you are officially on leave pending investigation. You are not to have any contact with Dustin Sanders. You are not to utilize or access any company devices, servers, accounts, or personnel—with the exception of myself, Travis, and Kelly. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," I grunt.
Kelly shoves the cup of water at me and gives me a concerned look. "Please, honey. Drink this. It'll help."
Somehow, I really don't think it will.
Janine, who I just remembered I put down as my emergency contact, bounces nervously on the balls of her feet as I disembark the ship. Nora and Kelly flank me on either side, and I just feel numb. Maybe I'm dehydrated from puking up everything I've eaten and drank for the past ten years; I don't know.
"Oh, thank fuck. I thought you were dead!" Janine shrieks and nearly tackles me.
"Please, no loud noises," I whisper and scrunch my eyes shut.
"What happened? Why is she like this? What's going on?" Janine whirls on Nora and Kelly.
"I apologize for the inconvenience—" Nora starts.
"Nora, let me handle this," Kelly interjects. "Brooke has had a bit of a rough night. Can you make sure she gets home safely? Maybe to a doctor tomorrow, if the vomiting doesn't stop? Maybe the ER?"
"Yeah, of course. Wait—vomiting? Girl, do not puke in the car. I'm borrowing it from my cousin, and he'll literally kill me."
"Heard," I grunt. "What's going to happen with my team? What are you going to tell them?"
"Nothing, for now. We'll say you're taking a leave of absence, and any outstanding questions or concerns can be addressed with Kelly directly," Nora says. She sounds so rehearsed. Like she's been in this situation a million times. A far cry more professional than when she was yelling at Dustin in the brig, actually.
I guess we really fucked up. I mean, I know we did. But if we got Nora—Miss Prim and Proper Human Resources—to yell like that? God, we fucked up bad.
Janine shuffles me to the car—a trashed-out sedan, don't ask me what it's called, it's red—and shoves fast food wrappers from the passenger seat onto the floorboards. I silently plop into the (slightly sticky) seat and numbly buckle myself in. She keeps starting questions, then shaking her head as we crawl along the city streets to her apartment.
What have I done? What have we done? Don't talk to him? What are they going to do, bug my phone?
I shiver in my seat. I don't know if they'd find out, but I'm nervous to test the theory. This is my job—both of our jobs—on the line. Shit.
Dustin
Nervous tension buzzes through my veins. My bones are replaced with vibrated rods. Cold sweat gathers on the back of my neck, and I need to get out. But no, I'm still in the fucking brig, shaking my leg to the beat of my racing heart.
The ship's been docked again for a while. I think it has, anyway. I can't feel the gentle sway of movement anymore. I swipe my hands down my face and let out a sigh. The anxiety doesn't abate.
Fuck. I've always been so careful. Work-life boundaries have always been my thing. I follow the rules. I play the game. I do my job to the best of my abilities.
I came to New York—to DropTop—with the intention to onboard the latest Atmosphere acquisition. But it was always doomed, wasn't it? From the instant I saw Brooke at that stupid tourist shop (sorry, Janine), I was fucked. Even when she was at my throat, I couldn't deny the animalistic attraction between us. And I may be an idiot, but god, I'm a happy idiot.
Now, if only I can keep my job and Brooke's.
"Mr. Sanders?" Nora raps her knuckles against the metal door, shaking me from my thoughts. "It's time to go."
Stumbling to my feet, I only give her a curt nod before confidently walking down the hall towards the stairs.
"Wrong way, Mr. Sanders."
Shit. I about-face and walk again—with slightly less confidence—to the corrugated metal stairs. At the top, Kenton St. Clair (the bastard) stands waiting with Travis Bellardi.
"Dustin… Sanders, you said? Well, I wish I was meeting you under more pleasant circumstances, eh?" Kenton chuckles. "Though I did introduce you. I think I did a pretty good job, wouldn't you say? Well, that's neither here nor there. I understand you've had a bit of an, ah, indiscretion with a DropTop employee."
"Uh. Yes." A mortified flush runs down my neck.
"Well, obviously, that's against policy. And I'm afraid you're being put on unpaid leave." He offers me what I'd consider to be an inappropriately timed smile. "We will, of course, reimburse you for your departing airfare."
"Departing airfare?" I mumble.
"Well, yes. You can't expect we'd allow you to stay in the company apartment, do you?" He laughs. "Oh, heavens, no. We'll need that for your replacement."
"Replacement?"
"The acquisition is moving forward as planned. You will no longer be DropTop's Onboarding Director, though. The exact replacement is to be decided. Uh, Nora? What was it we decided on, regarding Mr. Sanders here and the DropTop employee?" Kenton St. Clair turns over to Nora, who smiles simpering at the CEO.
"That they will have absolutely no contact until the investigation is complete. She is on paid leave until the investigation concludes, at which time her role will be decided. You see, we really must discover if he promised any special treatment to her or her team in exchange for, uh, favors. Quid pro quo, as it were." Nora looks over at me with disgust.
"Hey, what? No! No quid pro quo! I… I love Brooke. I always have." The words spill from my mouth before I even knew they were coming. Shit. I mean, I'd told her, but I hadn't told anyone else. Not even Alicia.
Nora's eyes nearly bug out of her head. "Always? Do you mean to say you orchestrated your presence here to… to… sexually harass a woman?"
"Oh, my god! No! What? That's insane!" I throw my hands up and stare stupidly at Kenton and Travis. "I hadn't even seen her in years; we dated in high school and college—"
"Okay, that's enough." Kenton holds up a hand, and for some weird reason, it silences me. He may be a pompous ass of a CEO, but he can work a crowd. Even when the crowd is just us four. "I may not be a practicing lawyer anymore, and I've certainly never been your lawyer, but I would highly suggest you stop talking."
Oh, fuck. Holy shit, do I need a lawyer?
Kenton St. Clair didn't come back to the apartment with me to watch me pack up. That'd be absurd. He had his security team do it, which felt all the more embarrassing. They silently watched me pack everything into my wheeled suitcase. They silently watched me purchase my airfare. They requested that I email the invoice to a specific accounts payable email, and I got the notification that I'd be reimbursed mere moments later.
Who knew corporate America could be so efficient?
Considering I didn't have anywhere else to go, and the flight I got was only a few hours later, they dropped me off at LaGuardia with silent nods. So, here I sit in Terminal B, with nothing to keep my attention but my phone and the millions of thoughts racing through my head. I pick at the limp salad I picked up from one of those grab-and-go kiosks directly outside of security. A wrinkled tomato bursts between my teeth, and I cringe at the decidedly off texture.
I don't know if I still have a job. I can't talk to Brooke, or I know I won't have a job. I don't know what happens next. Financially, I'll be okay—assuming I can find another job in the next two years. Shit, I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe Atmosphere will take my profession of love into consideration, and I'll go back to Onboarding Directing in a few short weeks.
Maybe Brooke and I will be okay. Maybe. Who knows?
Eyeing my phone, it's definitely too late to call Alicia. My thumb hovers over Brooke's contact info. I want to call her so bad. I want to tell her it'll be alright, no matter what happens. I want to ask her to come see me in Chicago. I want to sleep in her cramped bedroom in Brooklyn. I want to scratch Huey behind the ears and under the chin, just the way he likes it.
Will I ever get that chance again?
Heaving out a defeated sigh, I click my phone off and stare out the massive windows. I watch the patterns in the blinking lights on the runway. They flash in threes. I love her. I love her. I love her. My constant sighs morph into distressed groans. I hate this. I hate this feeling. I hate not knowing.
I adore a plan. I spend hours making airtight plans in all parts of my life, but when Brooke waltzed right in and smashed my careful goals to pieces? I loved her for it. I still love her for it. She's always been absolutely fearless, and I so badly wish I had a little of her bravery right now. If I could just talk to her, everything would be okay.
I desperately want everything to be okay. It will be, or that's what I try to convince myself as I while away the hours in this fucking airport. The plane to Chicago rolls up to the gate, and I gather my things. I can only bring myself to tightly smile at the flight crew once they allow us to board and settle into our seats for this red-eye flight.
