Cally's War

James Stewart stood in front of the glass of his beach picture, trying to get enough of a reflection to make sure his hair was all right. He sure hadn’t been this excited about coming in to work on a Saturday night in a long time. But then, he wasn’t here to work.

In the silence of the empty headquarters office, he could hear the swish of the front door. The bag in her arms puzzled him briefly, until he remembered that she was supposed to bring dinner. He should have been hungry, but he’d never felt less like eating in his life. Well, not food, anyway. He grinned broadly as she came in and put the bag down on the front desk.

He reached for her and pulled her against him, one hand pressed into the small of her back, and the other buried in her hair. Her belly was pressed tight against his, her breasts squashed but still soft against his chest. He wanted to screw her now. Right now.

He tried to pull her back towards his office, or hers, but she wouldn’t go, laughing teasingly.

“Why not right here?” She patted the top of the desk, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Or here…” She slid off the edge of the desk and fell back into the chair, spinning in it and laughing.

He quirked an eyebrow skeptically, imagining how far he’d have to bend his knees for that to work. But she was ahead of him. That, or she’d read his mind, pressing the button that activated the chair’s hydraulics, raising it to its limit.

As she unsealed the front seam of her silks and shrugged them off her shoulders, he reconsidered. Perhaps it was workable after all. Especially once she lifted her knees and gripped, taking a lot of the weight off his knees. As the rhythm of sex took him over, the brush of her nipples against his chest making him fight for every bit of the control needed to make it last, he promised himself that he’d never question her assessment of what was physically possible again.

After they fixed Anders’ philodendron, which had somehow gotten dislodged from its terra cotta pot, they ate dinner in Sinda’s office. He didn’t know where she’d come up with an old-fashioned picnic of cold fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, and chocolate chip cookies, but it sure was good. Especially the ice-cold genuine Milwaukee beer, which must have cost her a small fortune.

Afterward, she seduced him — not that he resisted, of course — on the slimy sonofabitch’s desk. He had to admit he appreciated the irony.