Yours, Forever, page 4
Ding.
Right on cue, an email notification pops up. Dustin has adjusted the meeting time to… ten minutes from now. Shit. I mean, good. Maybe I'll get out of here at a reasonable time. Hell, maybe it'll be just the perfect time when peak traffic has faded but before the frequency slows down. Yeah, this could be good.
Pop-pop.
Oh, goody. IT got him set up with Slack. His stupid little anonymous icon flashes into view at the top of my DM list. I guess he doesn't care enough to add a photo. Is that good or bad? I can't tell.
Conf room B.
Yes, obviously. I can read the meeting invitation.
k.
"Ugh!" I scoff to the empty room and try to quell the simmering irritation. Thanks to him, I haven't gotten any work done today. Andrea's pull requests sit unmonitored somewhere in my browser tabs. Felicity's meeting notes with the UI Design are in my inbox, but I just can't bring myself to look at them, either.
The only thing I've done today is send silly videos to Janine. Her laugh emoji reactions taunt me. Even though nothing was planned, I figured I'd ask her to come over, and we could drink ourselves half-blind. But that's not happening tonight—not with Dickbag Dustin trampling all over my work-life balance.
I watch the clock tick over to five-thirty. Dustin's meeting reminder pops up in the corner of my screen with a happy little ding. I think he can stand to wait a little bit, especially considering he only deigned to inform me of this meeting approximately nine hours ago. And on a Friday? Positively absurd.
Pop-pop.
ETA?
I leave him on read. I'll wait until five-thirty-five before taking a leisurely stroll to the conference room. Maybe check out the kitchen, plunder some snacks. Something crunchy. He always hated when people crunch loudly. A wicked grin spreads across my face, and I decide that's exactly what I'll do.
Gently closing my laptop, I pop up from my desk and nearly skip to the kitchen. I know there are always a few bags of pre-popped popcorn in the vending machine. White cheddar ought to do the trick. With a devilish grin, I drop in enough quarters for three bags.
Armed with my crunchy snacks, I take a winding path around all the desks and tables before finally stopping in front of Conference Room B. There Dustin sits, his cheeks flushed red with annoyance as he looks up from his computer.
"Took you long enough." He shakes his head.
"It's a big office. I got lost," I giggle with a shrug.
He heaves a sigh. "So, you're really going to do this?"
"Do what?" I ask innocently.
Dustin scratches at his beard absentmindedly and mutters something that sounds like that answers that. "Thank you for joining me, Ms. Dunne. I do apologize for the late notice. Unfortunately, duty calls and Atmosphere requires my FE R&D report before beginning of business Monday."
"Coolio," I reply and plop into an open chair. The bag of white cheddar popcorn crinkles obnoxiously as I tear it open and rustle around for a good, crunchy handful. "What do you need from me?"
His eyes narrow as he watches me shove the handful into my mouth. "A full detail of the languages your team codes in, as well as the names of the repositories you use. Are any of them open-source? Proprietary? A mix of both?"
"Sure, mix of both. MIT licensing on the open-source." I take another massive bite and loudly suck my teeth. "Mm. Good popcorn. Want some?"
"God, no." He shudders. "Do you have a list of your repositories? Libraries?"
"Not on me, no. I can tell you we're pretty focused on Python, though. Andrea does masterful work with some JavaScript." I lift the bag to my lips and pour the last handful into my mouth. A few crumbs escape and land on my chest. "Woops, popcorn on deck."
"Fucking unbelievable," he mumbles under his breath. His fingers fly over the keyboard of his computer, and I swear, each tap of the key is louder and more aggressive.
I have to admit, he's still pretty cute. Especially when he's pissed off. He was always so even-keeled in high school. Safe. Quiet. Kind of boring. Although, I'd never say that to him back then… until I did. Yeah, I was a dumb kid. And I definitely shouldn't have called him boring in my Dear John letter. Seeing this side of him? All uptight and professional, but absolutely fuming?
Maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe not. Who's to say?
"What's unbelievable, Dusty?" I grin like a shark.
"You!" He leaps out of his chair and stalks towards me. "You're unbelievable, Brooke! I told you, I told you I'm only here to coordinate tech stack integrations. You are the one making this difficult."
Oh my god, he's so close to me. We haven't been this close in years—well, except for when he barreled into me yesterday and pulled me down to the floor with him. My heart flutters, and I internally command that bitch to calm the fuck down. His chestnut brown hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his fingers through it all day. And his stupid thick beard has just a hint of lightened brown. And he still has that strong nose I always loved to run a finger over.
Of course he does—people don't usually lose their noses. That's dumb of me. I beg my stupid heart and brain to focus on being mad instead of appreciating the rugged beauty of my high school sweetheart, and I almost win.
His warm hand lands on my hip, and I feel his fingers grip into my flesh.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I whisper.
Dustin opens his mouth, then closes it, and my breath catches in my throat. Before I can shove him away, his mouth lands on mine with desperation. Hunger. Power. His beard is softer than it looks and I melt into his kiss. All rationality exits my brain. Sorry, Brooke isn't home right now.
His hands feel like vices around my hips as he pulls me even closer. Fuck, it feels so good. I wanna crawl under his skin and root around. My tongue flicks his, and he groans into our kiss. The sound makes little tingles explode in my mind and race down my nerves, culminating between my legs.
Fuck. I'm in trouble.
Dustin
I'm an idiot. I'm a bonafide idiot. Here I am, passionately making out with my ex-girlfriend, in the office. All of the college-educated intelligence in my brain is screaming at me to pull away, to apologize, to run down the four flights of stairs, and never show my face at DropTop again.
But my brain isn't in charge right now. No, teenage me is screaming bloody murder in my mind, telling me to grab onto her and never let go. I have to say, he's making excellent points. And every synapse in my body short-circuits when Brooke slides her hands around my waist and wiggles herself onto the trendy, post-modern conference table.
I hate her. I hate everything she does to me. I hate the way she crunched on that fucking popcorn. I hate the way she pokes and prods at every button I have. I hate the way she cornered me in the elevator. I hate the way she yelled at me over a goddamn cupcake.
And god, I want to show her just how badly I hate her.
Brooke's hand slides over my hip and grabs at my belt, trying to unfasten the buckle. My cock leaps to attention at the speed of a much younger man—I really think my teenage self is at the helm here, and I'm only along for the ride. But it's me that grunts in annoyance at her sensible corporate attire. There are too many layers.
Every ounce of feminism leaves my body as I wrench the beige pants from her hips and drop them to the floor. "No pants. Not allowed."
"Oh yeah?" Brooke heaves out a panting breath. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"This." I rip my own pants free and line up the head of my cock to her soaked panties. Oh, my god, they're so wet. A darker patch blooms from her lips, just barely covering her pussy. The pale pink fabric is the only barrier between us. "Do you want this, Brooke?"
"Fuck yes, I do," she grunts. Her hips flex on the table as she grinds against me. Another groan rumbles in my throat.
"Turn the fuck over, then," I command. She lets out a whine but follows my order. Oh, yes. I could get used to this.
Yanking her panties down to her knees, I slap her ass once and relish in the high-pitched yelp that comes shortly after. My handprint pinkens her jiggly ass cheek, and I smile to myself. With one hand on her hip and the other fisting my cock, I notch the head to her sopping wet entrance. I slap her ass again and bury myself deep. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the pleasure washes over me.
"Oh, fuck," she whispers. A shiver runs down my spine.
"Say it again," I growl.
"Oh, fuck," Brooke whines. "Fuck, Dustin, fuck."
"That's right, baby girl," I murmur. Pulling my hips back, I savor every inch of her wet heat. "You love this, don't you?"
"Yes, fucking hell, yes, I love this—god!" Brooke moans and writhes on my cock as I piston into her over and over again. She feels like a dream. She's a dream—a nightmare. She's my living nightmare, and I need her so bad. I didn't even know I needed her.
I can feel her get closer and closer to orgasm, based on how her pussy is squeezing the life out of my cock. Every muscle in her body tenses up. Not yet. It's too soon. I slow the pace, and she balls her hands up into fists against the table.
"No!" Brooke wails. "No, I'm so close—please!"
"Hmm." I consider her request for a moment, just a split second, before shaking my head. "Request denied."
"Fuck you, asshole," she spits and thrusts her juicy ass towards me. God, I want to take a bite out of it. But I lean back and allow her to fuck herself on my cock.
It's a beautiful sight, truth be told: Brooke bouncing on my cock, my handprints red and angry on her ass cheek. Her ponytail has loosened, and the wild waves of her hair spill out around her shoulders.
"Still think I'm boring?" I ask and thrust a hand forward, gripping her ponytail. I gently pull her head back and revel in the sharp gasp she lets out. Grinding my hips against her ass, I lean forward, nearly folding myself in half to softly bite against the soft skin of her shoulder. "Need more excitement?"
"You remember that?" she asks, just above a whisper.
"Of course I do. 'Sorry, Dustin, we've had fun. But I need more excitement in my life.' Isn't that what you said?" I slam my cock back into her greedy pussy as hard as I can. "Isn't it?"
"I'm sorry! I was stupid—god, please don't stop—I was an idiot, okay? I'm still a fucking idiot, just… don't you dare stop!" Brooke moans and arches her back.
Oh no. Oh, god. That move. The one that drove me insane in sophomore year of college, when we met up for spring break. The move where she clenches her pelvic muscles and shoves her ass into the air, arching her back like the world's best yogi. Brooke obviously still knows how to irritate me to no end, but she also remembers how to drive me absolutely wild for her. My hips have a mind of their own as I fuck her face-first into the table.
Her moans increase in pitch and frequency, and I can feel her getting close again. Fuck it, so am I. I don't have the ability to stop myself even if I wanted to. A primal roar builds in the pit of my stomach as I get closer and closer. Seconds before my own climax, Brooke detonates, and we tumble over the edge together.
Everything is heaven. I love this. I love the way she feels. I love the way she smells. I love the way her pussy fits around my cock in just the perfect way. She takes every drop of my cum like the good girl I know she is—
"Holy shit," I gasp, gently pulling my cock from the ecstasy that is Brooke's cunt. "Are you on birth control?"
Brooke pants and moans against the table, limp-noodle limbs splayed out. Our release drips from her beautiful pussy onto the very expensive (I assume) wood. If I were more in my right mind, I would be panicking. But I'm not. Everything feels just right.
"I'm a divorced woman in my thirties, Dustin," she finally responds after catching her breath. "Of course, I'm on birth control."
"Oh, right." I think for a beat. "Um, sorry to hear about the divorce."
"Don't do that," she snaps. I watch in a daze as she quickly dresses herself and shakes out her hair before sweeping it back into a ponytail. "Don't. Just because you fucked me sideways doesn't mean you get to talk feelings with me."
My composure snaps back into my body. "Right. Of course. This was a mistake—"
"No, don't do that either!" She cuts me off and points a finger into my face. "This wasn't a mistake, but it was a one-time thing. Just to get it out of our systems. No feelings. And never again."
"Certainly. No feelings, never again." I try to hold back a grin. "It's out of our systems, and we'll never speak of this again."
"That's the spirit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to my prior engagement." Brooke looks me up and down. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I could swear her eyes soften for a microsecond. "Good night, Dustin."
"Good night, Ms. Dunne."
Oh no. Oh no. What have I done?
I pace back and forth in the company apartment, stammering to myself and shaking the tension from my hands. What have I done? I fucked Brooke—a coworker!—in the office. I fucked her on the conference table. Oh, my god, my career is over. The instant the security team reviews the nightly footage—
"Oh no," I gasp. My heart sinks to the floor, and I'm sure it lands somewhere in the NYC sewers. What if the building security was watching the whole time? What if they've already reported us—reported me? I'm not her boss but I am several levels above her in the org chart. This is definitely against policies.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
I jump out of my skin as my phone rings—it has to be my boss, this is it, this is the call—and I can't look at the screen. Relying on muscle memory, I slide the bar to answer and bring the phone up to my ear with shaking hands.
"Hello?"
"Unka Dusty!" Nova, my niece, shrieks into the phone.
Begging my heart to calm down before I have an infarction, I smile and let out a sigh of relief. "Hi, pumpkin. You sound happy."
There's a rustling noise, and I hear Orion wrestle with his younger sister for control of the phone. "Uncle Dusty! Did you get the soup in ear?"
"I sure did, buddy," I lie through my teeth and wince. "You wanted a… big ol' pile of dog doo-doo, right?"
"Nooooo!" Orion cackles. "Gross!"
"Oh, right, right. You wanted Central Park horse doo-doo."
"Yuuuuuuck!" Orion squeals into the phone. "Mama! Uncle Dusty is being weird!"
I hear my sister's muffled voice in the background as she expertly removes the phone from his undoubtedly sticky little hands. "Hey, Dustin."
"Hey, yourself. What are you doing letting these maniacs use your phone unattended?" I tease.
"Getting a moment's peace, though I can't say the same for you, huh?" Alicia chuckles. "How's the Big Apple?"
"It's… fine."
She hums thoughtfully. "One second. Hey, little goblins! I need you to find that wiffle ball if we're going to play after dinner, okay?"
A chorus of whines erupts on the other end of the call, but they quickly fade away. My sister lets out a sigh and I hear her thump up the carpeted stairs to her bedroom.
"Okay, what's really going on?" she asks.
Dammit. "Brooke is here."
She gasps. "Brooke? Like Brooke Brooke? You're kidding—what's she doing there?"
"She works for DropTop," I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm… overseeing the integration of their tech stack into Atmosphere. And she's an engineering manager."
"Wow, good for her," Alicia says. "Does that mean you have to, like, talk to her?"
"Yup," I huff out with a sigh. "Quite a bit, actually. She's very knowledgeable."
"Of course she is. She always was. But how are you feeling about all that?" Alicia gets straight to the point, as always. It used to drive our mother crazy. You could never get anything past my sister.
"Weird, but it's going to be fine. I'll do my job. She'll do hers. I'll leave after the four weeks is up, of course. Simple."
What I don't tell her is that this is anything but simple. It's complicated as fuck and getting worse by the minute. Even though Brooke said we'd never do… that… again. I believe her, too—never again. Just a one-time thing. A one-time thing that my dick won't let me stop thinking about.
"Well, keep your pants on." Alicia laughs, and I sputter.
"Wh—of course I will! What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I stammer into the phone, heart racing again.
"Oh, Dusty. You didn't." Shit.
"Didn't what?" Shit! How does she do that? She can't even see my face!
"If you're not ready to talk about it, that's fine. But if I can make a suggestion? Don't do it again." She sighs. "I gotta go, bud. Dinner calls. Love you."
"Love you, too," I grumble.
She's right. I really shouldn't. Brooke said we wouldn't. I said we wouldn't. So, why does it feel like another tryst is inevitable?
Brooke
Janine stares at me with her beautiful brown eyes practically bugging out of her head. She's sitting there, stunned, after I recounted every sordid detail of the conference table's defiling. It's probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in that room, to be honest, but I just feel so guilty. Even though I'm craving it again.
"Sorry, I think I went temporarily deaf. You did what?" Janine shrieks.
I cringe. "I… fucked my high school ex-boyfriend on the conference table?"
"Jesus God, Brooke! Go you!" Janine holds her hand up for a high five and I slap her palm, more out of habit than anything.
"I mean, no! Not go me! I can't—we can't do that again. We could both get fired. I could lose everything… again." I spin the wine bottle's twist-off cap and flick it away. There's no need for glasses tonight. Raising the cold bottle to my mouth, I chug down several gulps and grimace at the dry taste. "Ugh. What is this? It's not rosé."
