He couldn't possibly be banishing her again! "What?" Brad tossed Hope's clothes over her belly. "I said, go home." He hoisted from the bed and wandered to the computer, his hardness still evident even though a ring of wetness circled the front of his pants. So she'd had an effect. "Don't you want me?" Part of Hope was mortified that she could ask such a thing of a man, but she cared though she desperately wanted not to.Brad jutted his erection toward her. "I came--during your little finger show. Now I've got work to do." Hope lifted her clothing to her chin. She was so vulnerable, so exposed. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" He pulled his eyes away from the computer screen. "Are you kidding me? You treat me like the hired help--which we both need to remember, I am--and then you come crawling around when you wanna come. You know nothing about life or working for everything. This paper is due tomorrow; it's a quarter of my grade. My professor is a shit and won't accept an oral one on tape so I have to try and type the goddamn thing when it takes me a half-hour to type my name." Hope felt a stab of sympathy. "I know about your dyslexia. One of your employment references told me when I called." Brad shook his head and adjusted the monitor. "Sweet." School had always come easily to her. Seeing Brad standing there in front of his computer looking so spent made her genuinely sad. He'd called all of the shots so far--made all of the rules. Maybe it was time she made a few of her own. "Isn't there someone who could help pull it together for you?" He glared at her. "Thirty bucks an hour? I live on damn bologna now." She'd looked at him so many times these last few months--seen every crease in his face, every line his smile made. He was a charmer her grandmother would say. Happy-go-lucky, Doris commented. But Brad was human tonight--maybe a bit angry--but human. Hope threw her clothes to the floor. She leaned over and placed her palm on the damp mound of his erection that was slightly smaller now. "Let me help you." His hand covered hers for a moment then he gently lifted it away. "Don't." "Why not?" Her eyes pleaded. She wanted to do this. Needed to in fact. "Because I'm not sure who I'll be with you," he whispered. "You'll be Brad." Hope tugged on the string of his sweatpants. His eyes closed as she eased them down. His cock jutted out and she instantly gasped. "Surprise." Brad's smile returned. Her hand flew to her mouth. It was long--the longest she'd ever seen--and thick in girth. But the most startling part was the heavy sheath of skin that enrobed it. Only the wet, strained tip looked at all familiar. "You're not--" "Circumcised." "You're not circumcised?" Brad glanced down and then met her eyes. "It doesn't appear so." She felt so rude, but so fascinated. "I'm sorry, I've just never--" Brad took her hand and placed it over the shaft. "Pretty common in Wisconsin. We need the extra warmth."He was hard in her palm, but more cushioned than the others she'd felt. She took a moment just to acquaint herself with the different sensation. It bucked when she petted and squeezed. "I'm sorry that I was startled." Brad closed his eyes as she massaged a bit more seriously. "It's okay. It happens a lot." Her hand stopped. Just the thought of another woman pleasuring him left her cold. The ripe jealousy that rippled through felt as foreign as his member in her hand. She forced herself to regroup. "Tell me, Brad." She quickened the rhythm. "What kind of a lover are you?" His eyes remained closed and his head fell back. A tiny smile came to his lips. "I don't know. I don't poll my partners afterward." For that he earned a little squeeze. His eyes shot open. "Do uncircumcised cocks find pleasure in a woman's mouth?" He grasped her face as she continued her stroking. She'd gentled the movements now, lovingly sliding her fist around him. He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue leading the way with that hedonistic rhythm of mock intercourse. "Yes," he whispered against her lips. "They find pleasure inside of mouths." "Good." Hope moved back. "Because I just have to taste this." She balanced on her knees and took him into her mouth. It was extraordinary--the velvety texture that enveloped granite. Just for kicks, she let her tongue dance around the tip. She could taste the salty metal of his earlier ejaculation. "Mmm," she murmured and lapped to get it all. "Oh, baby," Brad moaned and sucked in his breath. She experimented and fit her tongue into the spot where the foreskin rippled before it attached. Brad shouted out and she knew she'd hit gold. She teased with flicking and the tiniest bit of suction. Her hand found his ball sack and fondled the two heavy eggs. Her college roommate had advised Hope to always check out their testicles first--the bigger ones held more and lasted longer. Brad would certainly pass the test. Hope removed her mouth and he groaned in protest. "Sorry." She gently nudged his sack, but it barely moved as the nuggets pressed up close to his body. "I want to know what kind of a lover you are, Brad. Please show me." He flopped back onto the mattress, his meaty, uncircumcised cock stood upright like a homing device. "You'd better think good and hard about that request. I'm a little ornery tonight." Hope swiped her tongue over the dripping tip. His cock gave a hungry quiver. "I've already decided," she purred. Brad studied her for a long, painful moment and then he lunged. He lifted Hope by her hips and positioned her body on top of his. Then he literally speared her. She straddled him as the room swirled from the foreign invasion of at least ten thick inches of manhood impaling her. A startled cry left her throat, but he was merciless. He hadn't even taken the time to put on a condom. Brad manually directed her pelvis and drove into her with fury. She kept up with him, savoring the unbelievable pleasure of losing control. He filled every spot. This position provided the deepest form of penetration Hope could imagine and no one had ever come close to penetrating like this before. She came alive as she rode him, feeling the pressure of his foreskin-covered cock up to her naval. She bounced on the slick log, squirmed and bucked. She would settle for nothing less than a mind-blowing orgasm. "Christ, you're good," he moaned as his hips thrust mightily, driving himself deeper. "You're so tight. Like a virgin." Hope allowed her head to fall back and her nipples to jut forward. Brad took the signal and reached up to flick the tips. Her pussy gobbled even more of the heavenly rod. "I've never had anything even close to this size inside of me before." "So you are like a virgin then. A virgin to me." "Yes," she moaned. "Yes, yes." "I wish I had popped your cherry." His flicking of her tender nipples increased. "Oh, me too." Hope quickened her pace. "Did you like it? Did you like doing it the first time?" She didn't want to talk, didn't want to think of that useless time. She just wanted to feel. But Brad was unrelenting. "Did you like it or did it hurt?" She tried to block out the words and let in only the feeling, but Brad increased the rhythm of his pumping as he waited for her answer. "It hurt," she managed to say. "Because I was dry. I wasn't ready. Not because he was big. Nothing like this." "Oh, baby." Brad returned his hands to her pelvis, taking more of what he wanted, spearing her core, searing her flesh. "I'm going to come. Is this a good time of the month because I'll pull out if it isn't?" She couldn't imagine him leaving her. Couldn't imagine the loss she'd feel if he dislodged and left her empty. "Oh, my. Oh, gosh." She twirled and danced on top of his glorious, huge, enrobed erection. Brad grasped her face in his hands. "Hope, don't. Listen to me. I'm close. Is this an okay time?" She tried to remember. Tried to calculate. Yes, it was fine. Thank heaven, it was fine. "Yes, yes, yes--" Her last word was uttered on the wings of an orgasm that parted seas and burst through clouds. Had she died before this moment, she would certainly have died unfulfilled. When it ended she wanted to fall to his chest and pant and cry, but Brad's strong arms propped her up, suspending and bracing as he jutted with a final piercing thrust. He rolled his head on the pillow and blew. Hope could actually feel the geyser of his spurting come fill her core. His wail was deep and primitive and she noticed the light in the adjoining row house flip on. Brad's arms loosened then and Hope fell on top of his heaving chest, his heart racing like a train through the night. She snuggled close and stroked his skin, petting until he crashed into sleep. Hope lay there for an hour, just listening to the rhythm of Brad's breathing. He was in the deepest realms of sleep. His cock had shrunk and slipped out of her. She'd rolled down and worried that perhaps he'd wake up, but he just continued his deep slumber. She studied him as he slept--studied the fascinating cock that didn't look terribly intimidating in its flaccid state. It had transformed into something that was almost cuddly and reminded her of a sausage pig-in-a-blanket--one of her favorite childhood treats. The image made her smile. It was difficult to believe that the satiny column of flesh could turn into the brutal and relentless weapon that had impaled her so deliciously. She traced his flat nipples with feathery strokes, continued down his arm to his hand and paused at the scar on his left one which ran from the underside of his thumb to his wrist. She couldn't remember ever looking at another person with such interest. Every single thing she found captivated her. He captivated her. He was such an enigma, such a mystery--gregarious and easygoing with the Milton's employees, playful and coy when he flirted, dark and relentless during sex. But there was a vulnerability there that she found fascinating--a vulnerability that made him both complex and alluring. Hope lifted and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight and he'd said he had a paper due tomorrow that was a quarter of his grade. Then they'd had sex. Hope snatched a tee shirt that was thrown over the folding desk chair. She pulled it on and sat down. The cold metal startled her bare bottom and she could feel a puddle of their combined juices leak out. She'd blot it up later. She adjusted the computer monitor and glanced around. A small, hand-held tape recorder sat nearby. Hope lowered the volume control and flicked it on. Brad's mellifluous voice made her heart do a tiny flip as he spoke about precedents and litigation. Hope scrolled down and edited the paragraph he'd managed to come up with before she'd distracted him. Then she began to type the words he recited. She typed and typed and learned as Brad told her of justice and truth. Brad opened his eyes to the hazy light of morning. He lay nude, sprawled across his mattress on his stomach with a light blanket tucked around him. He remembered, sort of. He remembered mind-boggling sex with his uptight boss and he was getting hard again just thinking of it. He glanced at the clock. Shit! Six-ten! He had that goddamned paper to type! It would never get done now. Why the hell hadn't he been able to control himself? Why the hell had he taken Ms. Ice Princess Hope Milton like one of his father's bulls covering a heifer? Brad lurched up and then heard a soft, "Good morning." He turned to see Hope seated in front of his computer wearing his battered Packers tee shirt and a smile. He squinted and tried to make sense. "Would you like some coffee? I was just going to get dressed and run down to the corner to get some," she said. "What?" "Coffee. I could get some donuts or bagels too." She sat in his flimsy folding chair--Indian-style--her hair disheveled as hell and her face scratched from the five o'clock shadow he'd brushed against it so many times. He'd never seen anything he wanted more. But, Christ, he had paper due in ninety minutes. Hell, he had no choice now but to spring for another thirty bucks in hopes that the library lady could do something to help. Then he'd have to grovel--use his mid-Western charm--and talk the professor into an extension. It wasn't going to be easy. "Why are you still here?" He tried like hell not to notice that she was naked under that tee shirt. "I felt bad for…distracting you last night. Here." Hope turned the screen toward him. "I typed it for you." Brad threw down the sweatpants he'd intended to put back on and glanced at the screen. He walked to the keyboard and hit 'Ctrl' and 'End' at the same time. Sure enough, every word of every note he'd recorded was there. Hope lifted a stack of about fifty pages to show him. "I saved it to disc and printed it too. Boy, your printer's loud--good thing you were out like a light." She was smiling--friendly, charming, beautiful. "You typed the whole thing?" "Um Hmm. I got a little tired about three so I dozed a bit and then got up and ran the spell check. It's a very interesting subject matter. I must admit, I never realized that the mentally retarded had so many civil liberties threatened so regularly." She was so surprising. She could be such a bitch--God, he knew that. Part of the reason he'd been so harsh last night was because he wanted her to know--wanted her to pay for moving him in ways he wasn't sure he wanted to be moved. But she'd taken him--all of him--deeper and rougher than anyone ever had before. And now here she sat, tired herself, but determined to type a paper that would've taken him the whole night and he still probably wouldn't have finished. Hope Milton was puzzling. Brad glanced at the stack she offered. She'd even paginated and made perfect margins. "It just lacks a title." Her heavy lashes fluttered before she looked down. Embarrassed maybe? After the things they'd done and said she had a right to be. But he didn't want her to feel embarrassed, he didn't want her to feel ashamed. "Thank you." "I should go." She flicked off the printer. Brad had no idea where the need came from, but he reached out and stroked her hair. She turned to him, her eyes wide and confused. He lowered to his knees, gently lifted the bottom of the shirt and exposed her secret. Her killer legs instinctively parted. Hope's eyes held his, the coolness of them blurred and watery now as he slid his index finger into her core. Softly he stroked her, pulling the finger out, hearing her tiny moan and then sliding it back in again. She was still so wet, so dripping, and he knew the gallons of cum he'd pumped inside of her last night was responsible. Her eyes closed and he treated her to a tender gentle rhythm--just one finger soothing, stroking. He hadn't kissed her last night. Not in that most private of places. Brad hitched her toward the edge of the folding chair. A tiny gasp of surprise fluttered from her as he bent and set to work lapping at her musky opening. He tasted himself, but it blended with enough of her own juice that he rather enjoyed it. He feasted and Hope's hands found his hair. It was still so new to her and the parts that weren't completely new were obviously so different. She was innocent, inexperienced--and he'd treated her like a whore. He'd been so mad, so freaking mad. He hadn't been able to stop himself. But she deserved tenderness in this gauzy and nebulous first light of day. Her bitchiness hid something. Brad was certain when she purred like a content feline as he licked. Her bitchiness hid a sensitive underbelly that was terrified of being hurt. And he wouldn't hurt her now. He lifted Hope from the chair. Her arms wrapped around him and she clung to his neck. He lowered her to the mattress, but she still held tight--trusting even though she most likely expected the hot, hard ride of the night before. Brad unfastened her arms and lifted his shirt that she wore to reveal her decadent, shapely form. She allowed him to pull it off and Brad felt horrible when he saw her nipples--pink, swollen and raw. He'd forced that--forced her to scratch and tease her body. Then he'd done it too as he took her--twisting hard and tugging on the ripe buds that were intended to nourish a child.Brad gently pulled one into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, trying desperately to restore some of the suppleness he'd robbed it of. His gentle licks caused her to release a tiny mewling sound and he turned his attention to the other one. He was rock hard, but the ride wouldn't be. This was going to be lovely and soft and gentle. He'd fill her still--fill her to the point of bursting--but he'd give instead of take. Give her all--every inch, every drop. Hope spread her legs wide in invitation and Brad slid inside. Her head rolled back against the pillow and he saw her hands clench the sheet on either side to prepare for the assault. "No, I'm not going to fuck you this time, Hope." Her eyes flew open. "I'm going to make love to you." He started his journey--slow, musical, soft. She matched his rhythm almost immediately, her moans fluttering near his ear. "Ahh, ahh, ahh." "Oh yeah, yeah, that's it, baby," Brad murmured. Hope's hips swirled in a circle as her ripe pussy milked his cock. She came then, with eyes locked to his and a single tear escaping. Brad followed, an equally pleasurable, but far gentler assent. "Hope," he breathed. And that's all he had, Hope. Hope the woman and hope for another day. "Don't you look like the cat who swallowed the canary," Doris said when Hope passed the courtesy desk. There was no denying the radiance. She'd seen it herself when she glanced in the mirror after her shower. The raspberry suit she'd chosen only enhanced the glow. She'd made it back to her apartment in a heavy late winter rain, cleaned up and still got to work with five minutes to spare. "I'm in a good mood." Hope gave the roll of gift-wrap that was close to unraveling a little adjustment. "How did it go with Mr. Jordan last night?" Hope stopped before she reached the elevator. She'd all but forgotten about Donald Jordan, forgotten about 'The Garden Room' even. "I'm not sure, but hopefully it went well." "Still no permit?" Hope sighed. She didn't want reality right now. That didn't happen to her often--the cornerstones of her life were reality and responsibility. "I'm going to a charity dinner with him on Saturday. Hopefully I'll get lucky." Doris shrugged and threw a bow she'd been fondling back into the bin before she made her way back to the sales floor. Hope placed her palm over her stomach. Would she still have the guts to sleep with Donald Jordan if that's what it came to? She stepped onto the elevator and stabbed the number three. The Garden Room would separate her from the other General Managers who'd come before. It would give Milton's an edge and, of course, that's all she wanted. Out of frustration Hope pushed the button once again, though the elevator had already begun its journey. Thankfully she was alone. "All right," she said out loud. "Get yourself under control. Remember what's important and what's distraction. If you don't, you'll lose your focus, lose everything you've worked so hard for." Sex that surpassed all reason was one thing--one pleasurable thing that needed to be viewed as simply recreation. The human body was designed to require fulfillment occasionally and she was, despite some of her employees' opinions, human. Sex could take place casually and no one was any worse for the wear--that was perhaps the one and only lesson her father had taught her. He'd brought home enough insignificant women over the years to charm, woo, ply with fine champagne before he bedded her and sent her packing. Until he'd married his current wife, Priscilla, who was fifteen years his junior, the only time Hope and her grandparents ever saw him was when he had a lady to impress. Hope yawned and punched the button again as if that would make the contraption move faster. She was exhausted from her lack of sleep and the strenuous activity of the hours before, but she wasn't confused. She didn't want a relationship, certainly didn't want marriage, and most certainly didn't want a dyslexic law student who had every intention of heading back to Wisconsin after he graduated in May. Brad had been enjoyable and she would never forget that. Until him, sex had been mundane and disappointing; but now she knew for sure how wonderful, surprising, even kinky it could be. Though Hope had few friends, she would no longer feel so removed from the loop when she heard women whisper about their husbands and boyfriends. She had Brad to thank for that. The elevator stopped and Hope stepped off. "Good morning, Rose," she said as she paused at her desk to check for messages. "Good morning, Ms. Milton. Two messages this morning. One from Mr. Jordan." Rose handed Hope a piece of paper with, 'Confirming Saturday at 7:00', scrawled across it. "And, one from Brad Simon." Hope turned around before she reached her door. "Brad Simon from shoes?" Rose nodded and dangled a tiny envelope. "He's not on today, but he came by early and left this." Hope took the envelope as her heartbeat revved. The key was to appear nonchalant, not let Rose know anything was odd or wonderful or confusing. "Thank you," Hope said and opened her office door. Once inside, she slid a finger beneath the adhesive and pulled out an index card. Brad had painstakingly crafted the note. His printing was small and, though neat, it was quite evident that each letter had been formed individually with care, every line and curve an enormous effort. 'Just wanted to say thanks and that it was great. Because of my particular condition, I don't like rubbers very much. Maybe it would be a good idea if you tried to hook up with a diaphragm. Until next time, Brad.' Hope starred at the card for what must have been minutes. Until next time? She glanced out of her office window at the gray day. There wasn't going to be a next time. He had to know that. He had to. Had she given him the wrong impression? She'd never indicated that this was a relationship. It was just sex between two people who were attracted to one another. Just the fact that they were boss and employee was reason enough to ensure that it never happened again. Hope tucked the card into her purse and then placed the bag in her bottom drawer. She spun in her chair--something she never did--and glanced out the window again. Another man may have sent flowers with a, 'Thanks for last night,' but Brad was broke. And he was also considerate enough to know that flowers would only enhance curiosity. Instead, he took time before his class, drove across town--how she wasn't sure since his car was being repaired--and left a non-descript note before she'd arrived. She'd never been more touched. "Whoa," Hope said out loud, extending her palms and pushing from her desk. "This is not going to happen." She had a store to run, a restaurant to launch and a man she didn't care about to sleep with to ensure it all happened. Brad Simon was just a little fork in the well-paved road. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the puffy softness of her chair. It was too easy to recall everything he'd said, everything he'd done, everything he'd told her to do. She'd known then that he was poison, dynamite and any other destructive substance in existence. But he made her feel what she'd never felt before. Hope wasn't used to doubting herself. She'd always been steadfast and responsible in everything that had come her way. Knowing that, why the hell then did she find herself flipping her Rolodex file to the name of her gynecologist and scheduling an appointment for Thursday at three?

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