Oliver
Iwalk back to my desk, amused when Lissa closes the bathroom door behind her to clean up, as if I
haven’t seen everything she has to offer already.
It’s not as if the image of her washing my cum off of her chest is going to shock me.
I have a few shirts I ke ep for when I’m meeting a client after work, and I go to the filing cabinet at the
side of the room and pull one out.
I’m just placing it on the chair in front of my desk when there’s a loud knock on the door. I look up,
startled, glancing at the bathroom and wondering if Lissa heard that, my chest tightening.
“Heath? You there?” “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Please please please don’t walk out of my
bathroom in your underwear, Lissa.
A throb of anxiety runs through me as I go to the door, hoping the office doesn’t smell like sex. I turn
the lock as slowly and silently as I can.
Moving back, I check my appearance as quickly as I can and then go to stand beside my desk, picking
up a letter on the surface, pretending to read it.
“Come in!” I call, loud enough that I hope Lissa hears me. The handle compresses, and Warren Sutcliffe
walks in. His coppery hair is slicked back against his head to hide his bald spot, his long, crooked nose
bright red from allergies. His eyes search the room with interest as he closes the door behind him.
Is that an accusation in his gaze, or am I getting paranoid?
His eyes run down the length of me in a very deliberate way, and I resist the urge to check I haven’t
stained my pants. I already checked them three times, but it’s pretty dark in here.
I raise my voice again. “What can I do for you?” I ask, taking a seat as he saunters around the room,
looking at the bookshelves.
Warren’s office is at the other end of the hallway and the polar opposite of mine. Unlike most lawyers I
know, he enjoys a minimalist approach to things and doesn’t have any books to speak of. His office looks
like the kind of place a serial killer would enjoy, white walls and harsh lighting.
I hate the way it feels, and I make any excuse to avoid having to go and see him if I can.
“Have you actually read all of these?” Warren asks, as if he isn’t looking at books we all read as junior
lawyers.
“Yes,” I say stiffly, aware that I shouldn’t humor him, but I want him out of my office as quickly as
possible. “They’re mandatory.”
“You’re kind of uptight, you know that?” he says, twisting with a little grin on his face.
I look up at him. “Yes, I’m aware,” I say without inflection, and he chuckles.
“I just wanted to come by and see how you’re doing. I haven’t seen you in a while. Congrats on the
Reynolds case, by the way, I know that has to be a big-ticket item for the EP race. We’re neck and neck,
apparently,” he says, turning to face me, “or so I hear.”
“And who did you hear that from?” I ask, my voice carefully level. “Oh, a lot of people. But Burt and I
went out last weekend with the fam, so it’s pretty much all he talked about. He thinks very highly of you.”
I have never, in all my years with this firm, heard anyone called Thomas Burton “Burt”.
This guy is such a pretentious dick. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” I say. There’s a soft clink from the
bathroom, and I stiffen visibly, but Warren seems too wrapped up in himself to notice.
“Look, I don’t want this to be a head-on competition,” he continues. “I know I’m ancient compared to
you, but we’re pretty evenly matched in terms of knowledge and talent.”
You wish, asshole.
I incline my head, preferring not to speak, my whole body on edge. If Lissa comes out of the bathroom
now, I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do so I lean forward, ke eping him distracted for as long as
possible.
“Did Burton offer Reynolds to you?” I ask, my fingers tightening around the pen in my hand. It’s one
my mother gave me, a really nice fountain pen to go with my collection, and it creaks in my grip.
“No. He knows I’m full on with the Harrington case right now,” Sutcliffe says, picking up one of the
bronze ornaments and examining it.
A pulsing headache has started, and it’s throbbing at my temples. This is blatant favoritism at its worst,
and it makes me see red.
Harrington’s is a money pit of a case that has been rumbling on for years, and after speaking to one of
the senior partners, I learned it isn’t taking any of his time because Warren has delegated everything to his
junior team.
I lay the pen carefully down beside me before I snap it in two. “Anyway, I wanted to invite you to lunch
next week,” Warren continues. “There’s no reason we have to be enemies, is there? We’re both grown men,
even if some of us are a little longer in the tooth than others,” he says with a grin. “When are you going to
settle down, anyway? Are you seeing anyone special?”
No, but there’s a half-naked someone ten feet from you that gave me the best head of my life just now.
“Not at the moment, no.” “Shame,” he says, smirking at me. “My wife has a great friend who’s single if
you’re interested.”
“I appreciate the thought, Warren. I’ll think about it.” “You do that,” he says, his eyes lingering on my
face as I think about the rumors that Warren wasn’t exclusively into women when he was younger. “You’re
a handsome dude, Heath. You should really own it more.”
“Uh... thanks?” I say with thinly veiled contempt. He cackles cheerfully to himself, saluting me as he
turns around and heads out of the office again.
I breathe out slowly for several seconds, then rise and close and lock the door again. I head to the hidden
bathroom door and knock. Lissa opens it, looking terrified, her bra on full display since she has no buttons
on her shirt, thanks to me.
“Sorry about that, Warren Sutcliffe thinks closed doors don’t apply to him.”
“Did he hear me? I dropped my ring.” “No. It’s alright. He doesn’t focus on anyone but himself.” Her
hair is perfect, as is her makeup, and exc ept for her shirt, you’d never know what just happened.
“Here,” I say, handing her my spare shirt. “You can wear this home.” She looks at me, a little smile on
her face, and then she laughs. What the hell? It’s my fault her shirt is ruined, but at least I’m trying to fix the
problem.
“What?” I ask, a note of irritation in my voice. Then Lissa unravels the thing, and I can see why she’s so
amused. It’s as big as a bed sheet against her tiny body.
“I’m not sure this is going to fit me, Mr. Heath.” “Oliver,” I insist, glancing at the clock. “Well, between
five and six, I’m Oliver, probably best to ke ep Mr. Heath the rest of the time.”
She nods, holding the shirt out in front of her. “Sorry, that’s more of a dress on you,” I murmur, and she
laughs even harder. “Let me see if I have something else.”
“Um, would it be okay if you went outside and grabbed my bag from under my desk? I have a gym shirt
in there; I can change into that instead.”
“Of course,” I say quickly, feeling like an idiot for offering the shirt at all.
Once I have her bag, I bring it back into the office, but she doesn’t bother going into the bathroom,
stripping off the buttonless shirt in front of me, and tugging on the new one. It fits like a glove, and I clear
my throat as her breasts form beautiful curves beneath it.
“Are you alright?” I ask as she hands the shirt back to me. “Yes, I’m good, are you?” I raise my
eyebrows. How long has it been since someone other than my mother asked me that?
“I’m fine,” I say, “I’m sure you want to get home.” She nods, checking her watch as a hint of alarm
blooms over her face. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She leaves in that same silent way of hers, and there’s no sound as she gathers her things and heads out
the door.
I lean against my desk, staring at the space she just occupied, unsure why I feel so off-kilter today. I
enjoyed the sex just as I did yesterday, but there’s something... more about Lissa. She gives herself up so
completely, as if she’s letting go for the first time.
I’m regretting my decision to make this just an hour at the end of the day. A blow job like that would be
a fantastic way to start the morning. At lunch, I could go down on her while she flutters those beautiful
eyelashes at me.
Christ, Oliver, get a grip. We’ve had fun, she’s easy to be with and willing to do as I say. And absolutely
fucking gorgeous. That’s all I could hope for. I don’t want to get carried away, and I certainly don’t want to
get to know her. That would just make things complicated.
I pick up the shirt, carefully folding it back and r eplacing it in the drawer.
Things are just as they should be. Ordered and controlled.