The Deep End

As gorgeous as his dick was, it was her own fingers on either side of her sex that took her all the way. Grace hung her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. Her breath caught in a hiccup at the back of her throat and she rode that sensation of her pussy being stuffed as her clit pulsed.

‘I’m coming,’ she hissed and opened her eyes to his flushed and leering face. ‘Just hold off a few more … oh, fuck … just a little more …’

She bucked up as it hit her, riding fast through her explosive climax. He went deep one last time and her finger stilled over her clit as her sex squeezed around his length. This sensation of being utterly soaked with pleasure as his cock twitched inside held her suspended, heedless of the warning pangs from the muscles in her thighs and stomach that she had been contorted, nearly bent in half, in her lover’s climax.

With the ringing in her ears subsiding, Grace came back to life and shook herself until he released her and sagged back at his end of the sofa. One need sated, she was parched with the next immediate need and hobbled to her feet. From Caroway’s mini-fridge she pulled out a bottle of water and drank down half before offering it to the Breton-Craig man.

At first he looked at her like he didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there, but, just as she had, he shook it off and took the bottle from her. His gaze never left her as he drained the bottle, and Grace delved into the credenza behind Caroway’s desk.

His expression was amused as she laid out her emergency kit – moist towelettes, a small hairbrush and a secondary stash of make-up in her day colours, and a plastic zipper bag with extra panties. Caroway never went into his credenza; he wasn’t the type to look for something when he could call Grace and get her to do it, and so her stash was safe.

He pulled off the condom and dropped it into the wastebasket on top of her discarded wipes. ‘I was just making dirty talk, but you weren’t kidding. You do this a lot.’

There wasn’t any judgement in his tone, and so she chuckled as she wiped herself clean. ‘I’ve probably fucked more men here than I have in my own bed, but it’s not like I do this every day. I have my moments, and I told you I work long hours. Some weeks I live at my desk. I have to get laid when the opportunity presents itself’

‘And your bed, is it nearby?’

Grace perched on the edge of the desk and opened her compact in front of her. The damage wasn’t too bad. She looked fucked, but it was fixable.

She glanced at him. Her clit was still sensitive, but she was already cooling with the end of their fun. ‘You’re leaving on the red-eye.’

‘I don’t have to.’

Her gaze on her reflection, she started to powder her face. ‘Yes, you do, and I’ll be here half the night with no time for a second round. This has been great, but I’m afraid it’s not meant to be.’

As she lined her lips, he zipped himself up and moved on to the mirror by the door. From the corner of her eye she saw him fussing to put his hair back in place.

She knew what was coming out of his mouth next. There was always an excited tension that filled the room in the moments before the words, before that inevitable question surfaced.

‘Have you ever seen him?’

She pursed her lips, blew herself a kiss, then snapped the compact shut. ‘Seen who?’

‘Taureau.’

‘He doesn’t work in the office.’

‘I just thought he might, since we’re so close to his compound.’

Grace chuckled and went to work on smoothing out her suit. No stains. Perfect. ‘I don’t think it’s a compound. I think it’s just a house, and it’s not close. It’s ten hours between Toronto and Saguenay. Saying he’s that close is like saying Newfoundland is just a few doors down.’

‘He’s supposed to be in on our call this afternoon. Will I see him?’

‘No, you won’t. He’s like the Wizard of Oz. You’ll hear his voice but that’s all you’ll get.’

‘Is it true that woman cut half his face off and he wears a mask?’

‘Seriously, do you think a man with his money would be hiding out in the wilds of Quebec with no face like some third-rate Phantom of the Opera? He’s probably had it fixed, and besides, if you’d read the story, you’d know she didn’t cut his face off. She just sliced him up.’

‘They say he had her killed.’

She was starting to get irritated with the direction the conversation was veering. She’d had it dozens of times: every newcomer to the office thought, given Caroway’s position as president and her proximity as Caroway’s assistant, that she had seen the legendary Jacques Alain Taureau. She had no details to give them, and yet they persisted in gleefully throwing all these myths at her for her to confirm or refute, even after she had explained her ignorance.

She strode across the room to nudge him aside from the mirror, then went to work on her hair. ‘Unless he developed the power to give her breast cancer, I’m pretty sure he didn’t kill her.’

He leaned against the accent table beneath the mirror and grinned. ‘You’re defensive about him.’

‘I’m not defensive about anyone. I just hate repeating facts you can pluck off of the Internet.’ She pulled her blonde hair free of pins, and threw him an apologetic look as she ran a brush through the tangle. ‘Yes, Taureau is messed up. No, I’m not a part of his inner circle. When he’s involved in a call, I don’t even take minutes. If you want any more details from that, there’s a documentary online you can look at, but for now I suggest you stop thinking of him as a legend and start thinking of him as a colleague you need to impress. He doesn’t like stammering idiots, and I’ve seen a few walk out of the boardroom looking like they got a wedgie from the schoolyard bully.’

He said nothing as she stabbed and poked her hair back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck, but once she finished he reached out and ran a slender finger where her blouse split open just above her tits.

‘You could change your mind, you know. I just thought you might like me to finish what I started, and I have to say I’d love to see if your mouth sucks as good as your pussy.’

His words had the effect she was sure he intended. Just once she would have liked a little more than an hour or two. She would have liked to get to know one of these men who passed through the office. When the Breton-Craig team moved on, she’d go home and pour herself a glass of wine, have a long hot bath, spend a little quality time with the contents of her nightstand and wait until the next opportunity like this presented itself.

She stepped away from him and began collecting her things from Caroway’s desk. Once everything was in place and she had tied the garbage bag with the discarded condom in it, she glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Less than ten minutes. You’d better get going. Caroway will be coming back any second now and if you’re late you’ll miss the meeting. The doors are locked as soon as Taureau comes online.’

He went to the sofa and picked up his jacket. ‘Anything else I need to know about Taureau?’

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a wry smile. ‘Keep it short and don’t fuck up.’

She didn’t even know the name of the man from Philadelphia, she realised as she returned to her desk. Dan or Brent or something that clicked off the tongue during an introduction. Whatever his name was, he was smooth enough and he could talk. As long as he didn’t go long-winded, she had no doubt that the acquisition of Breton-Craig would be a done deal by the time the meeting was over, another financial notch on Taureau’s belt.

The clock read three minutes after two. She was tempted to take a stroll down the hall to see if anyone had taken too long to shake the piss off their dick and was locked out.

She’d long ago stopped questioning Taureau’s methods. From what Caroway and others had told her, the owner of Taureau-Werner Inc. came off as barely tolerant during every one of these meetings. If he was bored, he made it known. If he thought an idea or an opinion was stupid, he was quick to shred the offender.

Every so often in the office, there would be nostalgic talk about the days of the old man, Shane Werner, and his charm. Not many were alive who could remember the grandfather who had turned a small regional bus company into a conglomerate of airlines, hotels, restaurants and airport shops. Those who had worked for Werner, like Caroway, shook their heads and puzzled at how Shane had left the business to the grandson who was reportedly a mental case after his girlfriend tried to kill him.

Once the wild playboy, at the age of twenty-four Jacques had been attacked by his drug-addled lover. She slit his throat and carved up his face before turning the knife on herself. It was said that Jacques Alain Taureau wasn’t fit for the position of CEO. The torch should have been passed on to Jacques’s father, Dominic, who had earned himself a Senate seat after twenty years in politics, and was the polished type you would expect to excel in business.

And yet Taureau had done well in the decade since his grandfather’s death, in spite of the Howard Hughes mythology surrounding him. Since Grace had begun working for Taureau-Werner seven years ago, he’d acquired three smaller airlines and absorbed a chain of luxury hotels.

Breton-Craig didn’t own luxury hotels. They owned roadside motels across the Midwestern United States. The idea behind this merger was to revamp the brand and add a restaurant to each property. Breton-Craig would do the work while Taureau-Werner put in the capital and reaped the rewards.

She knew Caroway wasn’t entirely on board with this deal. He liked the shine of Taureau-Werner. He thought adding motor inns would tarnish the company’s reputation. Grace suspected that he had either kept his mouth shut about that or been put in his place by Taureau, and that once the money started coming in he’d shut his mouth for good.

Though Grace had put on a good front for the man from Breton-Craig, she had been left exhausted by their bout of fucking. It had burned off the tension that kept her alert, and the thought of having to stick around until after dark made her want to slip back into Caroway’s office and take a nap.

She settled for a half-hour coffee run and sent the phone to voicemail. One large coffee and something sugary would keep her going until she was able to head home.

* * *

‘It’s crazy,’ her mother said, and Grace leaned over the speaker and mouthed along to the next words. ‘Worse than crazy.’

With every call to her mother, Grace heard that expression at least four times. She couldn’t remember that phrase ever passing over Edwina’s lips when these conversations were face to face.

In fact, she didn’t recall, when her mother lived in town, talking this much about the weather, her cousin Martha’s hospital visits, her stepfather’s diabetes or people she’d never met. Before the move to Florida, they’d meet for tea and sandwiches on Sunday, or Grace would pop out for a long lunch so they could browse for nail polish at the mall. The conversation was light and Grace enjoyed the company.