“Yes,” Quinn replies emphatically. She must see the dubious expression only face.
“Don’t look so surprised. It’s the twenty first century, and women are far more forthcoming about they want nowadays. You won’t be the firs woman to think about having such a relationship with your boss, or any man for that matter, and I can assure you that you won’t be the last. So what are you so worried about?”
“That my mother was right every time she call me a whore,” I reply quietly. Quinn scoffs, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth. “That’s rich,” she says around the food in her mouth. After swallowing, she continues, “Just because you want a relationship like this with Kyler, doesn’t make you a whore. It just means you’re confident enough to ask for what you want.”
“But how do I know if this is something I want?”
“You won’t know unless you try, and like I said, if you start to feel more, then you can walk away before it gets too hard.”
The waiter comes back to our table one last time, and Quinn pays the bill. I follow her out into the midday sun, and we fall into step with the pedestrian traffic heading back toward the Knight Media building. I’m quiet for most of the walk back, lost in my own thoughts, but then Quinn stops me just outside the lobby. She pulls me into a hug.
“Cass, for once in your life, stop worrying about the little things, and just go with what you want.
If it’s having crazy, unattached monkey sex with your boss, then don’t be afraid to tell him that. You’re a strong, gorgeous, independent woman, and I can guarantee that you hold the power here, so don’t be afraid to admit that this is something you want.”
I give her a weak smile. “Thanks, Quinny. Girls night out this weekend?” “You bet your ass, sister!”
I laugh, feeling somewhat relieved and lighter, after my talk with Quinn. She hooks her arm through mine and we walk into the elevators. When I make it back to my office, I close the door and flop down onto the sofa. I laugh at myself, thinking about how ridiculous it sounds to negotiate a ‘fling’ with Kyler. But, how ridiculous is it really?
We’ll simply be setting boundaries, and determining what we want and don’t want, to eliminate any exaggerated expectations that may arise. When I think about it - as if I’ve been able to stop thinking about it - would it be so bad to get ‘involved’ with Kyler? Maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe I’m looking for an excuse not to do this, because deep down, I’m terrified of what it will mean. Then again, why does it have to mean anything?
~ Kyler ~
After spending most of the day stuck in meetings and on conference calls, the idea of being able to kick back, drink a beer and watch some sports is enticing. My apartment is quiet when I walk in, and I’m slightly disappointed that Cassey isn’t home. It’s already eight p.m. Thinking that she’s probably working late, I change into a pair of gym shorts, and decide to leave my shirt off. The city is hot during the summer months, and it’s a welcomed reprieve when the cool air conditioned air hits my skin.
I take out some of Cassey’s left over lasagna from the night before and heat it up before heading over to my leather sofa with a beer in hand. I switch the television on, flicking through all the sports channels and stopping on a the highlights reel.
It’s an hour later when the click of the front door alerts me that Cassey is home.
I stay seated, and when she heads toward the guest bedroom without giving me a glance, I know she hasn’t seen me yet. She returns a little while later, her hair piled up in a messy bun on top of her head, and her feet bare. She pads across the hardwood floors, and opens the fridge. When she takes out a beer, my eyebrows lift in surprise, and I watch how she pops the bottle cap on my marble countertop. She takes a long swig, the longest I’ve ever seen a woman take, and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Damn. This woman is a puzzle, and sexy as sin. The best part is she has no fucking idea. “Rough day?” I ask, making her jump and squeal. The beer bottle slips out of her hand, but not before it dispels half it’s liquid content on her red shirt. I chuckle, and her eyes thin into slits.
“You scared me,” she says, rest her hand over her heart. “And now I’m covered in beer.”
She bends to pick up the bottle, which fortunately didn’t break, and I lean to the side, catching a glimpse of her gorgeous tits in a red lace bra. Fuck, she’s going to be the death of me for sure. My cock practically nods in agreement. Cassey rights herself, examining her wet shirt, and I stifle a laugh at the ridiculous wet spot on her chest. If only it were a white shirt, I muse to myself. Cassey’s eyes lift, and I don’t miss the way they linger on my chest. I decide to make it interesting, and lean back against the couch, stretching my arms over my head.
“You think it’s funny?” she asks, fighting a smile of her own.
“No,” I lie, shaking my head. “I think it’s hilarious.”
She huffs. “It’s your fault, Kyler. I wouldn’t have dropped it had you not scared me half to death.” A hint of her Southern accent comes through at the end, and I wish she would talk that way more often. It’s cute.
“No way,” I laugh. “You’re clumsy! That’s not my fault.”
“I’m not clumsy,” she retorts with a pout.
I laugh at her again, and this time it pisses her off.
“I’ll show you funny,” she mumbles.
I’m about to look back at the television when Cassey starts unbuttoning her shirt. I watch her watching me, unbuttoning each button one at a time until they’re all undone. She drops her shirt to the floor, and slowly walks over to me. I look up at her as she comes to standstill next to me, unable to look away. When her hands start pushing her tight shirt up her legs to her hips, I shift to readjust my growing erection. Satisfied with the position of her skirt, Cassey lifts a leg and climbs on the sofa, sliding one leg over my lap so that she’s straddling me.
“Is it still funny, Mr. Knight?” Cassey taunts. I swallow hard and lick my lips, drawing her attention to my mouth.
I shake my head no and her mouth lifts into a sexy, mischievous little grin. “What are you doing?” I ask. My voice is husky, and rough, and I can’t remember the last time a woman did that to me.
“We’re negotiating,” Cassey replies. Her hands slide from shoulders to my chest and she rubs her thumbs over my nipples. The look on her face is excitement, laced with curiosity, like she’s experiencing this for the first time. “What are we negotiating?” I ask, mesmerized by the feel of her soft hands touching my skin.
“Your…” she pauses, thinking about something. “Proposal.”
My mind drifts back to our little rendezvous in her office this morning, and what it is that I offered her. Sex with no strings.
“Yeah?” I lean forward and give her neck a soft nip with my teeth, licking the spot to soothe any residual sting.
Her pulse quickens and I feel her thighs clench on either side of mine. Her fingers thread into my hair, and she yanks my head back to that I can look at her. Hmmm. She’s feisty.
“What about my proposal needs negotiating? Did something I said, or did seem unclear to you at all, Ms. Emerson?”