Consenting Adults Read online

  Consenting Adults

  by J. Lea López

  Copyright 2013 by J. Lea López

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Consenting Adults

  The Haricot Verts

  The Reluctant Exhibitionist

  The Adventures of Sasquatch

  Between the Lines

  About J. Lea López

  Free preview of Sorry's Not Enough

  Introduction

  Yes.

  Those three little letters can mean so many different things. They can be a question or an answer, a command or a request. When spoken, they have the power to seduce and reassure. When left silent, they can break hearts or shatter dreams.

  I also happen to think yes is one of the sexiest words in the English language. The following five stories explore the implications of unspoken desires, as well as the possibilities that await when we say what we really want and make yes the most important word—whether it's said to a lover, or a friend, or even ourselves.

  Consenting Adults

  Sasha cradled the wine glass in her upturned hand, the delicate stem nestled between her ring and pinky fingers, her thumb caressing a nervous arc across the bowl. After nearly ten years in retail where “holiday party” usually meant “lunch in the break room,” this catered after hours shindig was a little overwhelming. Especially since she'd only been a legal intern for a few months.

  She sipped the sweet Moscato and walked slowly through the room in search of a friendly smile to give her an in, an excuse to insinuate herself into some conversation. Networking and being social had been a challenge for her in the world of retail politics, too, but it was more than just that aspect that fueled her desire to go back to school a few years ago. Even if a client didn't ooze gratitude, she knew she'd be making a positive impact on the world around her with this career change. No one needed a $400 Michael Kors bag. Not everyone needed a lawyer, either, but meeting that need was more fulfilling to Sasha than convincing someone to part with their hard earned cash in the name of blind consumerism and brand recognition.

  Bitter? Maybe a little. Though in her experience, even the bubbliest people in retail had a streak of disdain just beneath the surface.

  A few smiles and nods greeted her as she made her way across the banquet hall, but nothing solid enough to warrant stopping and injecting herself into already lively discussions. So she kept moving. At the worst, she could stop at the hors d'oeuvres table across the way as if that had been her intention all along and not look like a wandering fool. Which was how she felt. Thank god for the wine, which gave her nervous hands something to focus on.

  Finally, her work crush, Malcolm Dane, came to her rescue with a smile and a small wave. She headed in his direction, holding tight to her glass. If she rubbed her thumb on the same spot for much longer, the glass might wear thin and shatter. Malcolm was only a few years older than Sasha. Of course, he hadn't wandered off into the black hole of retail fashion like she had, so while she was a thirty-something intern, he was on the fast track to becoming a partner.

  She had been prone to what she called “work crushes” since her first job in high school. They were innocent little things, these crushes. It was inevitable. Spending so many hours a week with the same group of people, there's an attachment that develops. Not necessarily romantic, although Malcolm was cute. Really, really cute. In fact, there were quite a few attractive people in the office, and their appeal only grew when she got to see their passion and intellect at work. That was sexier than any bright smile or chocolate brown eyes.

  Well... almost.

  Malcolm raised his glass and Sasha raised hers in turn.

  “If I had known there were such great company parties waiting for me in the legal field, I would've dumped retail a long time ago,” she said.

  “Well, we're happy to have you now.” He clinked his glass against hers, then drank.

  He tipped his head back, draining his glass, and Sasha admired the hard line of his jaw, the soft line of his throat. His Adam's apple rose and fell with each swallow. She licked her lips, sweet with the wine that also warmed her cheeks. As he finished his drink, Malcolm motioned across the room.

  “You'd think an office full of lawyers would know better.”

  Somehow she'd missed the mistletoe hanging near the tree when she'd canvassed the room earlier. Probably because everyone was sober then. There were a few people who'd clearly indulged a little too much already, even though the night was young. She watched as Jake, the cute mailroom guy, locked lips with an office assistant.

  “Do they have that every year?” she asked.

  “Three or four now.”

  “And no sexual harassment cases the Monday after?”

  “I guess not. A few pissed off wives, though.” He gave her a smile that seemed to say something more, but she couldn't figure out what.

  She envied mailroom Jake a little. A bit of inebriated action with a work crush that one or both of you might very well forget by morning didn't sound too bad. She returned Malcolm's smile and wondered if he could read the something more in her expression.

  He jumped like someone had pinched him.

  “Sorry.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. The smile that brightened his face moments ago faded. “It's a client. Excuse me for one minute. But don't go anywhere, please. I'll be back.”

  She liked that he said please. With a sigh, she turned back to watch the action under the mistletoe. Some people avoided more passionate displays; others took full advantage of the opportunity to release their pent up sexual energy under the guise of innocent holiday fun. After a few minutes, Malcolm was still missing in action and Sasha was beginning to feel conspicuous standing there all alone with her empty glass. It wouldn't hurt to wander over to the refreshment tables.

  As soon as she had a mouthful of shrimp cocktail, a deep voice sounded from behind her.

  “Ms. Carlson. Very happy you could join us this evening.”

  She whirled around, pressing a napkin to her lips, to face Edwin Cathcart, one of the founding partners of the firm. She almost choked on the shrimp when she saw his attire. His ample physique and silver hair had always reminded her a little bit of Santa Claus, but the beard he'd been growing for several weeks sealed the deal. The red Santa suit didn't hurt, either.

  “Santa—I mean, Mr. Cathcart. I’m happy to be here. Having a wonderful time.”

  He snagged two fresh glasses of wine from a passing waiter and handed her one. “Having an equally wonderful time working for us, I hope?”

  “Yes, very much.” They chatted for a few minutes, then Mr. Cathcart extended his hand.

  “You wouldn't deny old Father Christmas a dance, would you?”

  He wasn't drunk, and had been nothing but friendly and polite, so she took his hand. He was surprisingly light on his feet, and a more than competent dancer. Halfway through the song, he drew her a little closer. Her pulse quickened. She didn't know what to expect next.

  “I don't want to rush things, Ms. Carlson, but the word around the office is that you are tenacious and hard working.”

  She let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She blamed Malcolm for planting thoughts of mistletoe and inappropriate advances in her mind.

  “In fact, you've been doing some of the best work we've seen from any of our interns in a long time. It's early yet, and I can't make any guarantees, but I certainly hope you'll consider us after you've graduated.”

  Sasha couldn't believ
e her ears. Between her own rushing blood and the music that was now fading, she wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.

  “I—yes. Yes, I would like that very much,” she managed to stammer.

  “Wonderful. Why don't you come see me first thing Monday and we'll talk about our options.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He bid her goodnight and she turned around in a daze. Merry Christmas to her! It wasn't a job offer, but it was close.

  “There you are. I thought I told you not to move.”

  She grinned at Malcolm and his smile widened in response.

  “When the boss wants to dance, you dance.”

  “It can't just be the old man's dancing that has you grinning like a fool.”

  She relayed the brief conversation, trying her best not to sound too much like a schoolgirl who'd just been asked out by the hottest guy on the football team.

  “That's fantastic news,” Malcolm said. “And good to know the boss hears us when we say things. You'd be a real asset to the office.”

  She was sure she blushed.

  “Well let's have it, you two. Don't stand there all night staring at each other.”

  Sasha turned toward the male voice. Jake, and the pretty assistant he'd been kissing just minutes ago.

  “We all did it. Your turn,” the young woman said.

  Sasha didn't know what they were talking about. Malcolm cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him.

  “It seems we've come across the mistletoe,” he said, motioning to the sprig of greenery hanging a few feet above their heads.

  “I see.”

  He trailed his fingertips over her arm. “I'd hate to end up in a report on the human resources desk come Monday.”

  “It's only sexual harassment if it's unwanted contact.” And she wouldn't mind a bit of contact with him at all. “Not if we're two consenting adults.”

  “Would it be okay if I kissed you, then?”

  Sasha's breath caught low in her belly. “Yes. Quite.”

  He cupped her chin, tilting it up to meet his lips. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the gentle pressure of his mouth against hers.

  What on earth had she done to get on Santa's extra special nice list this year? Whatever it was, she would try to replicate it next year.

  He pulled away too soon. She stepped closer and stared up into his eyes.

  “That was nice,” she said. It was more than nice, but she didn't want to sound overeager.

  “I agree. Can we do it again?”

  Something about the way he asked tickled the base of her spine and flooded her face with warmth. She nodded.

  This time he slid his hand to the back of her neck, supporting her against the force of his kiss. Still gentle, but more urgent. His tongue slipped past her lips and he tasted every inch of her mouth. She wanted to open up and consume him completely, but the weight of several pairs of eyes kept her desire in check. Just before she thought she might pass out, he broke the connection and she gulped in a breath. They stood there a few more seconds, bodies pressed together, mouths only a whisper apart.

  “Well okay.” Jake's voice broke the spell. “That's how you do it.”

  Sasha laughed nervously and swiped her thumb across Malcolm's bottom lip to wipe away a lipstick smudge. He raked his fingers through her hair, sending a pleasant chill over her scalp, before pulling away and nodding toward the bar.

  “Another drink?” He offered his elbow, which Sasha gladly accepted.

  Once they were far enough away that their coworkers lost interest, she squeezed his arm.

  “I don't really want another drink,” she said. His mouth was the only thing she wanted on hers. How she could still walk in her high heels was beyond her. Her knees were weak.

  Malcolm changed direction and led her through a side door into a deserted hallway.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  His question caught her off guard. She thought it was pretty obvious what she had in mind. She thought he was on the same page, but maybe not. He didn't move to kiss her again.

  Instead, he brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ears. The caress of his fingertips over her cheeks and around her ears released the shiver that had been building in her spine. A faint trace of music from the banquet room carried into the hallway.

  “How about a dance?” he asked.

  She nodded and allowed herself to be drawn close to his body. He fit her curves just so. His arm around her waist, her hip against his, palms pressed together. They swayed to their own rhythm. She nuzzled against the side of his neck, breathing in a faint spicy cologne. It was surreal. To be dancing to barely audible music, in an empty hallway, with her work crush. Who couldn't seem to get enough of her. He slid his hands up her back, over her arms. Brushed his lips across her neck and shoulder, but didn't kiss her. Combed his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.

  “Malcolm.” She wrapped her arms around his torso. “Please kiss me.”

  He backed her up against the wall and almost kissed her. Almost. His breath tickled her lips. What was this game he was playing?

  “Yes,” she urged. “Please.”

  He obliged with a barrage of intense kisses, bruising her lips and probing the recesses of her soul with his tongue. Never before had a “crush” left her so breathless. The wall was unyielding and as Malcolm pressed against her she had no choice but to push back to keep from being crushed. But even as she leveraged her body against his, she flattened her hands against his back, holding him close.

  The way his fingertips bit into the flesh of her hips, bunching up her skirt, sent a thrill through her whole body. They'd had little more contact than mouth to hungry mouth, but her entire body tingled with anticipation for his.

  A burst of raucous laughter from inside the ballroom broke the spell of lust long enough for Sasha to turn a cheek to his kisses.

  “Wait. Oh god, wait.” She drew a shaky breath.

  “I know, sorry. We're in the middle of the hall.” He blushed and laughed a little.

  “No, it's not that.” Maybe that was part of it. It probably should have been. “I'm an intern.” Malcolm had ticked all the right boxes for her from day one. But Mr. Cathcart had all but promised her a job. Was she about to throw that away?

  “I'm not your boss.” He stepped back and gave her space to breathe. “So we're still two consenting adults, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes?” He caught her around the waist and dipped her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, because I have a question.” He returned her to a standing position but kept his arm around her waist. “Would you think me too forward if I got us a room?”

  “I'd think you weren't forward enough if you didn't.” The calm, even tone of her voice belied the trembling anticipation in her stomach. “How about right now?”

  “Now who's being forward?” He grinned. “Do you want to grab your coat and purse? I'll head to the front desk.”

  Sasha combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed down her dress before re-entering the ballroom. No one glanced her way or paid any attention as she retrieved her coat and handbag, but she felt like there was a flashing signal above her head.

  First it was encouragement from the boss. And now it was Malcolm. Oh, Merry Christmas, indeed.

  Her cell phone beeped and she retrieved it from her coat pocket. A text from Malcolm. Room 526. Warmth flooded her face. She hurried back out into the hallway and turned toward the main hotel lobby.

  Do I need to be more forward? He seemed to be taking the lead, which she liked, and they seemed to be after the same thing. And yet he kept asking what she wanted. Is he not getting my signals loud and clear?

  She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. It couldn't have been a longer ride if it were twenty stories. Malcolm let her into the room. He'd removed his suit jacket and unfastened the top button of his shirt. The rest of the buttons
begged to be undone. Sasha dropped her coat and purse onto a chair.

  “You're sure this is...” Malcolm shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders without finishing the sentence.

  He looks as nervous as I feel. No, she wasn't nervous. Thrilled. But unsure how to behave. She didn't want to rush this. Nor did she want him to think she'd lost interest. She slipped off her heels.

  “I'm sure. Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “Are you going to keep asking for permission before you kiss me, or anything else?” She coaxed his hands out of his pockets and laced her fingers with his.

  “Yes I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you that much. Since the day you walked into the building for your first interview.”

  She bit her lip in an attempt to contain the excitement welling up in her chest. He'd been interested that long?

  “To the point that whenever you pass by my office door I find myself distracted for the next ten minutes. I want to kiss, and touch, and experience every last bit of you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “But no matter how much I want you, I know that I have no right to any part of you.”

  She didn't know what to say to that. But she knew she wanted him with the same intensity. He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip.

  “I want your mouth,” he whispered.

  She flicked her tongue over the tip of his finger. “I want yours.”

  He held her head in his hands and kissed her slowly. Not the greedy kisses from before. This time he was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring her. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, then stopped.

  “Can I take this off?” Her voice was too soft. She was unused to asking this way, but he deserved the same respect he was giving her.

  “I'd like that.” He nuzzled her neck, dotting feather-light kisses from her collar bone to her ear as she unbuttoned his shirt. He returned to her mouth again and again. The whole time, his hands never strayed from her face.