Bab 13: CHAPTER 13
I recovered control and seized command, starting to direct her hips. She was on top, and we had never attempted it this way before. I had to acknowledge, reluctantly, how well our bodies complemented one another. I firmly grabbed her legs and tucked them around my waist, my hands on her hips. My ability to enter her was increased by the shift in posture, and I buried my face in her neck to suppress any audible moans.
The excitement of the prospect of being caught was amplified by the sounds of voices coming and going from the neighboring changing rooms as they surrounded us. She stifled a groan and her head cocked back as her spine arched. She was biting her lip innocently, and it was driving me crazy. I caught myself looking over her shoulder once again since I was so entranced by how we looked in the mirror. In my whole life, I had never seen anything so sexy.
Our tongues danced together in time with the beat of our hips as she yanked at my hair, leading my lips back to hers. I leaned down and murmured into her lips, "You look amazing above me. You need to see something, so turn around. She was facing toward the mirror when I raised her. She gently lowered onto me, her back on my chest.
She gasped, "Oh, God." As her head leaned back into my shoulder, she let out a heavy exhalation. I wasn't sure whether it was the feeling that I was inside of her or the alluring reflection in the mirror. It may have been both.
I pulled her head back up by roughly pulling at her hair. I glared at her in the glass, "No, I want you to look right there," and hissed into her ear. I want you to observe. Additionally, I want you to keep in mind who put you in this situation while you're feeling sore the following day.
She begged him to "stop talking," yet her trembling body showed how much she enjoyed every word. Her hands wandered behind her and up her body till they were entangled in my hair.
I probed every crevice of her body and gave the backs of her shoulders savage licks. I was able to watch my captivating movements in and out of her in the mirror. I fought the want to keep these images in my head, but I could tell it was a sight I would never forget. I reached down with one hand to tickle her clit.
Oh sh*t, she murmured. "Please."
The ceiling fan over my bed had eighty-three vents, twenty-nine screws, five blades, and four lights. My drained muscles taunted me as I rolled onto my side, acting as a stinging reminder of my failure to get any rest.
I want you to observe. And I want you to keep in mind who did it to you when you're hurt the following day.
Not in jest, he said.
My hand subconsciously moved to my chest, tweaking my nipple carelessly under the material of my tank top. I closed my eyes and imagined his touch fusing with the memories as my own hands melded with them. I could clearly see his long, graceful fingers caressing the back of my breasts, his thumbs brushing against my nipples, and his palms enveloping me. Damn it. I kicked a pillow off my bed and sighed in frustration. I was well aware of where this line of reasoning was going. For the previous three nights, this had been a nightly habit that needed to end. I huffed resolutely as I turned onto my stomach and clenched my eyes shut in an effort to induce sleep. as if it ever did.
The day from about a year and a half ago stayed crystal clear in my thoughts. On that day, Elliott, my mentor and former employer, summoned me to his office for a meeting. While I was still in college, I began working at RMG as a junior assistant, and when my mother died away, Elliott took me under his wing. He wasn't precisely a father figure, but he loved me very much and often asked me to dinner at his house to make sure I was okay emotionally. He had always promised me that I may come and go as I pleased. On that particular morning, however, his tone when he contacted my office was unusually stiff, and it made me feel uneasy.
He revealed in his office that Robertt, his youngest son, had resided in Paris for the last six years while working as a marketing executive for L'Oréal. In six months, Robert would take over as chief operating officer of Ramirez Media after finally returning home. Elliott was aware of my one-year pursuit of a business degree and my lookout for internship chances to get useful practical experience. Robert Ramirez, the youngest Mr. Ramirez, would be delighted to have me on his team, he requested that I finish my master's internship at RMG.
Elliott gave me a document that would be sent to the whole firm the next week announcing Robertt Ramirez's upcoming arrival as I was returning to my office.
Wow. As I took a quick look at the article, it was the only thing that was going through my head. Product marketing executive VP at L'Oréal in Paris. The famous Crain's "Forty Under 40" list included the youngest candidate ever, who received several Wall Street Journal citations. A dual MBA with a concentration in corporate finance and international business from the NYU-Stern School of Business and HEC Paris, graduating summa cum laude. And he accomplished all of this before turning thirty. It was breathtaking.
I remembered what Elliott had said. Extremely motivated. If ever I heard an understatement, it was it.
Robertt's brother Henry had remarked that Robertt didn't exactly share his carefree disposition, but he reassured me that there was no need for alarm. Don't worry, Emily; he may be a little strict and too thorough at times. You can take the odd bite from him. You two are going to work well together. I mean, come on," he murmured as he hugged me tightly. Why wouldn't he love you?
When Robert Ramirez's arrival became closer, I had to confess that I had a little bit of a crush on him. I was really nervous about working with him, but I couldn't help but be inspired by his amazing accomplishments at such a young age. Additionally, it didn't hurt to check his photo online; suffice it to say that he was attractive. Prior to his arrival, we had exchanged emails, and although he appeared to be kind enough, he never presented himself in an overtly friendly manner.
On the big day, Robertt was due to show up after the afternoon board meeting, when he would get a formal introduction. I had the whole day to build myself up into a panic attack. Thankfully, my close friend Sara came over to chat with me. We took my seat and spoke for more than an hour on the virtues of the Clerks flicks, laughing so hard that tears ran down my cheeks.
I was so engrossed in our discussion that I missed Sara's quick tensing when the outside office door opened. I was also unaware that someone had come up behind me and was standing there. I ignored Sara's quick hand motion over her neck, which was an urgent request for me to stop talking, and I carried on giggling foolishly.
Since I obviously am a fool.
Holding onto my sides, I managed to continue, "And then she goes, 'Fuck, I had to take an order from a guy I hooked up with after junior prom.'" Then he adds, "Yeah, I've attended to your brother as well.
I was overcome by yet another wave of laughing, which sent me reeling backward until I hit something warm and sturdy.
I was embarrassed to discover, after turning around, that I had just rubbed my behind on my new boss' thigh.
"Mr. Ramirez," I shouted, having seen him in his pictures. I'm very sorry.
He made no attempt to seem amused with his look.
Sara got to her feet and held out her hand to try and ease the tension. Finally getting to meet you is a delight. The assistant to Henry is me, Sara Dillon.
My new boss raised one perfectly arched eyebrow and gave her a quick look without returning the gesture. Do you not mean "Mr. Ramirez"?
Sara watched him, clearly agitated, and her hand slowly lowered. She couldn't speak because of something about his commanding presence.
She stammered, "Well... we have a fairly casual atmosphere here," after gathering herself. We all know one other by first names. Emily here is your helper.
He gave me a nod while doing so. Mr. Brown. Please refer to me as Mr. Ramirez. I'll be expecting you in my office in five minutes to talk about appropriate workplace behavior. He spoke with a severe tone, curtly nodding to Sara as he did so. The term "Miss Dillon."
He briefly turned to look at me before turning on his heel and walking towards his new office. The first of his famed door smashes reverberated across the hallway as I stared in fear.
"What an idiot!" Sara grunted when her teeth were tightened.
"A handsome scoundrel," I said.
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