Secret Santa (Part 2)
Two days later, Nora stood at the entrance to her office building feeling like a slutty Cinderella about to enter the ball and change her life. She walked through the doors, her strappy, four-inch heels clacking loud enough to echo in the sterile halls. They weren’t meant for this atmosphere. Nothing about her that night belonged in the office where typically dreams went to die. And tonight hers were on the verge of coming true.
It was the ultimate mind fuck.
The forced air swirled around her, warm and opposite the frigid winter wind she’d just escaped. She wiggled out of her worn weather-proof coat and tucked it behind a giant potted ficus tree in the lobby. She couldn’t be dressed as she was, hoping for what she hoped for, and show up with a decade-old coat. It would definitely pollute the magic. The only object she took with her was her gift for David, wrapped in the same silver paper she’d salvaged from his present to her. It was a sketch she’d done of him framed for his desk. Better than the lottery tickets that, up until receiving his third gift, she’d landed on.
Once inside the elevator, Christmas music rang out over the speakers. She found herself humming along, not minding the festive melodies as much as she had earlier that week. When her gaze met her reflection in the mirror though, she didn’t notice anything else.
She, Nora-from-the-fourth-floor, was unrecognizable. She turned sideways, appreciating every angle of the new version of herself. Her hair draped long and straight to the middle of her back, shimmering in the dull fluorescent light. The icicle necklace hung perfectly between her cleavage, the deep-V of the dress a stunning frame of both.
And the rest of the dress. She’d never felt so exposed, so seen, and to be honest, so sexy as she did in the jet-black satin that hugged her curves like a second skin, showing off her toned back with only a thin metal chain across her shoulders. The rest of her skin to the dimples on her lower back, was bare.
Good lord, this definitely sends a message.
The bell announcing she’d arrived at her floor sounded loud in her head. When the doors opened, and she faced every person she saw from eight to five during the week now in red and green ensembles, rosy cheeks from pregaming before the party, her throat went dry. She hadn’t considered walking into the room in the dress and seeing them. David had been the only thing on her mind, and she almost didn’t step out into the crowd until a hand reached in, extended towards her.
Glancing up, she saw the chiseled jaw, the wavy dark hair of circa 1980s Christopher Reeves, the charcoal gray suit attached to the hand.
His blue-gray eyes were darker than normal, like a storm raged behind them. She grasped his hand for dear life and let him lead her from the safety and anonymity of the elevator. He let go of her hand then, and slid his along the small of her back. He rested it at the vertex where her skin met the fabric, his pinky finger sliding beneath the silk and teasing the top of her panty line.
Heat and moisture flooded the sensitive area between her thighs and she commended Past Nora for deciding to wear underwear at all. Her breasts filled with lust when, keeping his hand in place, David leaned down and whispered in her ear, his breath warm and wet, like her sex.
“This dress is made for you. You look incredible, Nora. Like a movie star and dessert in one stunning package.”
Her throat seized, went dry, and she bit her bottom lip that trembled with his mouth this close to hers.
“Thank you. For the gifts, as well. They’re… they’re beautiful.”
David bent further until his lips were separated from hers only by a thin sheen of stale, office air. “You’re welcome. And I should be thanking you. For saying yes to me tonight. I was so nervous you wouldn’t.”
He was nervous? The office hunk, the one she’d pined after for years, was nervous she wouldn’t like him?
With that admission, he closed the last fraction of a centimeter and pressed his lips to hers. The rest of the office slipped away as his hand cupped the base of her skull, fingers wound in her hair. His other hand rested still on her back, but now three of his fingers slid down inside the fabric, locked around her lace thong panties. Her mouth parted as his tongue ran along her bottom lip, taking it between his teeth to nibble on. She moaned against him, the taste of bourbon and peppermint swirling inside her greedy mouth. She let her tongue find his, tangling with it, her breasts aching with want. She clenched her legs together, afraid her own lust would come cascading down between them, giving her away too quickly.
Jesus, this man knew how to kiss. And he was using those skills on her. It was heady, intoxicating. Too much more and she’d be light-headed and need to sit down. Too much more and they’d probably be asked to leave.
Before she could make a move either way, though, he pulled back as Martin clinked his rocks glass. The cheap gesture announced the start of Martin’s annual half-slurred speech where he waxed poetic about what was really just a mundane office that crunched numbers. Normally, Nora found it comical, but now, her skin on fire where David touched her, she wanted Martin to be swallowed whole by the earth so she could get on with her night, see where the kiss that still sat heavy on her lips might lead.
David led her by the small of her back to the edge of the crowd, where no one was behind them. On the way, they garnered a few looks from jealous third-floor women and men from the tenth who wouldn’t stop staring at Nora’s breasts, but Nora couldn’t have cared less. She had David’s attention and that was all that mattered.
As Martin droned on, Nora’s nerves frayed. David’s fingers had wandered further south, his hand now submerged in the fabric. He trailed the thin lace of her thong with his pointer finger, finally dipping between it and her skin right between her ass and now-soaking center that throbbed with lust.
Nora could barely breathe, barely hear, barely feel anything beyond the pulsing that radiated from the epicenter he created inside her as the tip of a rogue finger entered her, pulled towards her clit.
She gasped, now thankful for the music, the chatter around them that masked her breathy gasp of pleasure.
And then, just like that, his finger slid from her, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake. His hand slipped from her dress, and like a ghost who’d been nothing more than a fucking hot figment of her overactive imagination, his presence behind her evaporated. She felt exposed, too much skin on display for a man who’d vanished like he was never there, her skin aching now in his absence.
The roar of applause rang out over her, reminding her of where she was, what she was doing in that dress in the first place. She clapped absently for the end of Martin’s speech as he left the makeshift podium, three fingers of whiskey in hand.
Finally mustering the courage to look behind her, Nora saw a sliver of light coming from the office last on the right. David’s. His words in the last card floated up from her desire-fogged subconscious.
Your final present will be in my office on the desk. Come find it after the toast from Martin.