Floor Time (15 page)

"I like my choice," he said, his voice soft, still looking into her eyes.

"So," Sara broke the moment before she let herself get caught up. "Now that you have put "plan a wedding" on my to-do list, can we please get back to my presentation dilemma," she gestured to the back of the building. Craig opened the door for her leading to their work area. "You should know," he said following her back. "I have seven nieces and they will all want to be flower girls." Craig leaned on her cubicle entrance as she sat, trying to calm her breathing. She had work to do, and noticed she'd missed two calls and three texts. Mr. Office Popularity needed to let her get back to it. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs while giving him a pained look.

"Well you should know I have to figure out a way to have my brother be maid of honor," she stated. "And he hates kids so keep them away from him."

She spun back around and faced her computer screen, loving the sound of his laughter and the friendly hand he placed on her shoulder. When he rolled his chair closer so he could study the screen with her, she caught a whiff of something on him, underneath the subtle scene of cologne. Unable to place it she flinched as he leaned in to punch a few keys, bringing up exactly the information she needed. His arm brushed her breasts, but she let it go.

"Wow." She stared at the screen now populated with the data and charts she had been struggling for an hour to create. Craig leaned back, his long arms behind his head. Sara drank in the sight of his wrinkled button down, navy blue trousers, blonde hair falling over one eye. Her heart sped back up.

"Yeah, I rock," he said, never taking his eyes from hers. Sara knew at that moment if he had reached out for her, she would have kissed him. An odd feeling. Not like the raw chemical response that Jack's presence elicited. More like a comfortable moment when you suddenly decide an old friend would make a great lover. Craig merely sat, observing her, not coming any closer. Sara broke the connection when something occurred to her that she'd been meaning to ask him.

"How does an adorable Southern boy like you end up in our little Midwestern paradise anyways?"

Craig crossed his legs knee to ankle. Sara tried very hard not to observe how it stretched the fabric of his wrinkled trousers over his crotch.

"Oh, you know, the usual, father takes a promotion with large automotive company, moves family consisting of one angry seventeen year old boy because all of the other sons are in college," he looked up at the ceiling. Sara stayed quiet.

"After I graduated he had a massive heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor, apparently," Sara put a hand over her mouth but Craig sat up, the look in his eyes somehow precluding any sympathetic commentary.

"So, I came back here to help my mom, because all my brothers had lives involving other people. I found a band to play in, sold motorcycles a while, got my real estate license, enrolled in some classes at the U and hopefully next year can get back to school full time…maybe…haven't decided yet really," he grinned, reminding Sara how very adorable he was. Her brain did a quick calculation.

"How old are you anyway?"

Craig raised one eyebrow. "Old enough to drink."

"Well, thank God for that. Wouldn't want anyone to take me for a cougar. Now, about this wedding…"

A clatter of activity in the main hallway broke the moment. Several of their male colleagues walked by.

"Hey Sara, Craig," Rick called out. Sara winced. She'd actually gone out with him once. He'd been all over her from the beginning of their date like a damn octopus.

"Yo, Taylor," a voice called out. "You win that golf outing last night?"

"Nah," Rick stopped to the left of her cubicle opening. "That bastard Gordon swooped in at the last minute and snagged it."

Sara looked up at the mention of Jack's name, aware of Craig's intense stare.

The two men stood sipping their coffee beyond where Sara and Craig sat.

"Jesus, did you see that chick on his arm?"

"Yeah, what else is new? Gordon has the best tux, gets the best prices on the auction shit and has a frigging super model for a date." She shut her eyes.    The other man laughed. Both were successful, as was required of this highly visible office and neither a slouch in the looks department. But, Jack Gordon operated on a completely different plane. Having spent a few years building a successful law practice, he'd seemingly pitched it all in to go "where the money was" selling real estate. Proficient in all aspects, including high-end commercial and with a builder's license to boot, he had been their top seller for nearly ten years, and sold almost five-hundred-million dollars' worth of land, houses, offices and retail space last year alone.

"Yeah, that fucker," the other man said, clapping his colleague on the back. "He was pretty lit by the end though, she was sort of holding him up, didn't look too happy about it either."

"Well the guy never turns it off, you know?"

"Yep, the phone was never out of his hand. I saw him at one point in the hallway back towards the head, leaning on the wall, and told him his date was looking for him. He shushed me up, like he was hiding from her."

Sara gritted her teeth remembering the series of explicit sex texts she'd exchanged with the man in question last night. She laced her fingers together and held them tight. As if sensing her distress in some cosmic universe, Jack sent her a text then, causing her phone to rattle across her desk. She looked at it, then for some reason up at Craig, who shrugged his shoulders and walked out of her cubicle. Sara watched as her phone buzzed its way onto the floor.                                

By the end of the day, she had worked herself into a frenzy of anxiety and distress. The man was nearly as good at making himself scarce as he was at showing up at inopportune moments. While New Sara yearned for his eyes, lips and hands, she kept rallying her inner Old Sara to remind herself that he was an egocentric, womanizing asshole and her brother was right. She owed it to herself to get as far as possible from him, stop all this nonsense; it was messing with her head. He could not be the answer. No matter the tiny voice that kept insisting that he could be, if she'd let him.

He had certainly proven to be a valuable advisor lately with her more difficult transactions. She'd find herself faced with some dilemma and would automatically text or call Jack to get his perspective. The fact that she hadn't given him any indication she wanted anything from him beyond his body and so had no place to complain drifted through her thoughts. He would offer advice, a laugh, top it with a pornographic suggestion or two then sign off.

It took two to communicate. She knew and they were getting to be experts at dancing around emotion and cutting right to the real estate…or the physical. Sara was even getting used to the constant ache in her gut when she went longer than a couple of days without any contact with him. Now, knowing he had been with some "supermodel" of a woman last night. She clenched her eyes shut at the desk.

Oh crap, Sara, get a grip. He doesn't owe you anything
.
You don't know what you want anyway. How is that fair to him? Maybe you should focus on that instead.

She rushed out of the office and made it home by six. Changing into running gear, and strapping her iPod to her arm felt like positive steps, drowning out the constant buzz of what Jack was doing right then, and with whom. The comforting strains of her warm up reggae filled her ears. She dashed down the steps and stretched her hamstrings on the small front lawn, bending at the waist, legs spread wide. The realization that she was not alone as she slowly stood didn't really surprise her. It seemed perfectly natural to meet Jack's eyes as he hopped out of his car, dressed for exercise, his smile wide at the sight of her ass up in the air. 

"Done with your sissy stretching yet?" He smacked her rear before taking off down the sidewalk. As she rolled her eyes and began to follow him, Sara let herself be pissed all over again at him for invading the one area of her life where she could be alone, pushing her body, forcing herself to go further. She would not let him turn this into some sort of race. But the natural competitor in her got revved at the sight of him, far out in front.

On his heels for the first two miles, the soundtrack of her favorite heavy rock music pounding in her ears propelled her faster. Sara got up and over the wall she always hit at three miles and overtook him. The humid August evening held a hint of fall. The sweat poured off her but she felt strong -- and utterly beyond caring where Jack was.

As she turned a corner, headed back west and around the local high school campus Sara sensed Jack's presence very near. She heard his breathing, which seemed annoyingly calm for a guy who'd semi-sprinted for a couple of miles behind her. The thought broke her concentration and her stride, and he overtook her.

He touched her shoulder as they approached Pioneer Woods, the area of the campus that was wooded and hilly, with cross-country trails threaded through it. She slowed and followed him as he crossed the fields onto the trails. They were near her six-mile mental barrier and still had to get back home. Traipsing around on cross-country paths didn't sound like a good plan.

But, she would not let him beat her, not at this. He seemed at ease with his body's running rhythm, a mere sheen of sweat across his brow, as if he could carry on for a marathon's length. The indie rock music blaring in her ears provided her a bit of extra boost so she matched his pace, and entered the cool shaded forest.

She'd run those very paths during her four years of cross-country practices. After completing the first mile and a half, he started slowing. She drafted him, grateful for the respite. Her heart pounded and her legs already wobbled. 

Jack glanced back, slowed more and then stopped, which made her run right past him. She slowed, her breathing labored, arms flapping then turned. Jack stood in the middle of the path, hands on hips, chest heaving with exertion. Sara tried to square her reaction to his sudden halt and her own body's adrenaline rush from the punishing run and his amazing physical presence. Without preamble, Jack crossed the few feet between them, reached out and yanked her close, his mouth on hers. The kiss spoke volumes -- punishing and intoxicating.

He walked her backwards, still kissing her, pushing her off the trail. Sara tasted salt, tried not to collapse in his arms. When she started to remove the ear buds from her ears, he stopped her.

"No," he motioned for her to keep them in and let the music play.

He reached around and grabbed her ass, pulled her roughly against his body. Their tongues tangled, and Sara heated up, familiar zinging sensations shot through her, as Jack possessed her with his mouth. His aggression acted as an extreme aphrodisiac, and she met him halfway, fisting her hands in his damp hair.

Jack worked them into a semi-secluded glen off the main trail and propped himself up against a giant tree trunk. His wicked smile nearly undid her as he released her hair from its holder, burying his hands in it, making her tilt her head back.

Jack grasped the exposed skin of her neck with his lips and teeth, forced a thigh between her legs. Licking sweat, biting down on her jugular, tugging on her hair, he seemed to find every trigger she had by intuition.

She gasped when he picked her up, wrapped both legs around his waist, and pressed against his erection, let her visceral need for him take over. The music pounded in her ears, his hands and mouth all over her, she started to move against him, pressing her needy flesh against the rock hard cock still confined by his shorts. She shut her brain down before it warned her about making out in public with him again. Her eyes popped open. Jack's sapphire blues sparkled, dark with lust.

This is absolutely crazy.

She forced herself to slide down his body. He turned them, leaned her against a large tree, one with a notch between two trunks, which allowed her to keep her clit pressed against his upper thigh. He shoved her sports bra up, and rolled a rock hard nipple between his fingers, making her groan, closing off the clamor of warning taking hold in her brain.

His lips reached hers again, his tongue probed in and out, in an unmistakable rhythm. He shoved his leg farther between hers, giving her the contact she needed. She shuddered as her engorged clit rubbed against his hard thigh, faster and faster.

"Don't come yet Sara. You know the rules." That voice, low, commanding and sure, made her shudder. "I'll tell you when."

She gasped as he shoved some combination of fingers inside her, reaching up high, letting his thumb press against her clit. He teased, pulling out then back in, fucking her, as he sucked one nipple then the other to hard, sensitive points. Sara thought if she looked at herself right now, she'd be glowing. When he had her, had his hands and lips on her, forcing pure energy through her nerve endings, it proved breathtaking, and addictive. "Oh Jack, Please." She fisted her hands in his damp hair, shoved her hips against his hand. "May I?" He grinned up at her, licked his lips and covered her mouth and her pleas for release.