My Secret Life

She thinks of herself as a woman, not a lady. Not a girl. But that’s what he calls her sometimes, and though she loves it when he says her name in that low voice, edging sharp and hard onto a moan, she also loves it when he calls her his girl. She’s not, of course, and never will be. Maybe that’s why it hits her so hard in her heart.

This last time, she’d gladly suck him until he comes down her throat, swallow the taste of him, feel him pulse and shudder on her tongue, but he has other ideas. His fingers pull her hair until her face tips up. He’s still smiling. He pulls her to her feet – their kisses still haven’t become burdened by familiarity. They never will. His hands roam her back, her front, him naked, she clothed. He moves into the family room and the couch.

She’s straddling him in a minute, their mouths locked tight, his hands now under her dress. Laughter interrupts their kisses when she shifts and moves to help him get her panties off. When he opens the buttons at the front of her dress and puts his mouth on her breasts, she can no longer laugh. She can barely even sigh, because again she’s forgotten how to breathe.

She wants this to last and can’t make it. Her body’s got an agenda that has nothing to do with what’s in her head or heart. She lifts up so he can push inside her all the way, so deep. He fills her. She settles onto him, her forehead to his, her hands cupping his face. Her knees grip his sides and press the back of the couch.

For a long, long moment neither of them moves. Then he murmurs something. Her name, a plea, encouragement. Something low and hoarse and full of need. His voice turns her volcanic. Liquid lava, molten. Her mouth finds his. He whispers into her, breathes for her since she’s still unable.

He puts a hand on her hip while the other slides between them to centre on her clit. Just right. Perfect.

They move together at the same time. Time goes thick and slow, a dripping of syrup, of honey. She grips the back of the couch with one hand, his shoulder with the other. They are cheek to cheek, the pleasure too intense for kisses. Fucking’s all they can manage. Slow, slow, she moves on his cock, his hand pressing her clit. Her fingers dig deep into his bare skin. Mouth open, her teeth press the side of his neck. When she bites, just a little, he fucks into her hard enough to make her gasp.

I love fucking you.

Yes. Please. Harder. Fuck me.

This feels so good. You feel so good.

Yes. Just like that.

The words come, and she comes with a quiver and a cry, her face pushed against the side of his neck. He knows just how to ease off the pressure on her clit. She pushes herself onto her knees and he keeps moving inside her, not stopping, faster now. And faster. He grips her harder when he comes, his cock so deep inside her they’ve become one person, just for now. Just this moment, this endless, eternal moment that has become everything. Until there is nothing left.

She cups his face in her hands. She kisses his mouth. They stay locked together for another minute or so, but the moment’s passed. She doesn’t want to, but she has to move. She has to go. People are waiting for her, and she’s lost the ability to hide behind her smile.

He catches her by the wrist just before she steps out the front door. Pulls her back, just one step. ‘You can stay. I mean … just for a while.’

She does, for just a while, because although this has ended, she’s still not ready for it to be over. If only time was still like syrup she thinks when finally she leaves him with one last kiss. Another hug. No promises of course, that’s never been their thing.

That’s their goodbye.

It’s easy as anything to delete her email address, her instant message account, to unfriend and unfollow and disconnect. To make herself invisible to him. It’s so easy it breaks her.

He calls her, once.

She doesn’t answer.

And eventually, she remembers how to breathe.

Women’s Studies

Kim Dean

‘You look tired, Ms Lang. Long night?’

Tressa looked up from her iPad to her driver. As always, Marco’s eyes weren’t on the road. They were dark in the rear-view mirror and on her. ‘Not too bad. I just needed to get ready for this meeting with Professor Walton.’

Marco shook his head. ‘You work too hard, boss lady. You should have other things keeping you up at night.’

His gaze flicked down, and she felt it on her thighs where her skirt had ridden too high. She shifted her iPad to cover her bare skin. It didn’t matter what the man said to her, there always seemed to be sexual undertones. Still, he was right. She’d worked double-time to get her promotion, but now that she was the first female VP at Catharsis Pharmaceuticals, she had to work even harder to prove she deserved the job. The long hours left little time for things such as a personal life, men, or even flirtation.

‘This meeting is important,’ she said with a sigh. ‘With our budget tightening, I’m trying to determine if we should continue funding the professor’s research.’

‘What’s he study?’

Marco’s gaze had slid up to her chest, and Tressa suddenly felt as if the silk tank was cut too low. Her cleavage warmed, and she murmured an answer as she tugged at her suit jacket.

‘What was that?’

‘Women.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Professor Walton is a leading expert in Women’s Studies.’

The grin on Marco’s face nearly filled the mirror. ‘A man after my own heart.’

‘Not like that,’ she snapped. ‘He’s researching the effects of gender and social inequalities on health care.’

As far as she could tell, anyway. It was one reason why she’d taken the time for a personal visit. With as much money as her company had delegated towards the professor’s research, she’d been having trouble tracking down the actual study protocols and results.

Marco winked. ‘Believe me, beautiful boss. With men, it’s always like that.’ Slowing, he pulled over to the kerb and parked. ‘Here we are.’

They’d already arrived at the university. Tressa hurried to collect her things but her driver rounded the car before she could exit on her own. He opened the door and took her briefcase. When he extended his other hand, she took it. The clasp was warm and firm, somehow more intimate than a handshake with other men.

The intimacy increased by ten-fold when she stretched her foot to the kerb. The skirt that was already riding too high crept up to her hip. Marco let out a low hum when a sliver of her white panties was exposed. She scrambled out of the car, stood and yanked down the material.

He smiled at her. ‘Have a good meeting.’

He tucked her briefcase in her hand and she turned away, feeling far from professional. How did he do that to her? With just a look and a touch? She felt his stare on her ass with every step she took and by the time she made it inside the Women’s Studies building, she was a warm, flustered mess.

Smoothing her hair, she searched for her composure before knocking at Office 248.

‘Come in.’

She was in control again when she opened the door. ‘Dr Walton?’

‘Ms Lang.’ The professor stood and shook her hand. His touch was firm but cool. He was a thin, erudite man, the opposite of Marco in nearly every way. ‘Welcome. We’re excited to have someone from Catharsis visit the lab.’

Her nod was non-committal. He wouldn’t be excited if he knew the reason behind her visit. ‘I’m interested to see your research.’

‘Wonderful.’ The professor adjusted his glasses. ‘We’ve been doing some innovative things with the funding your company has provided. So far, the results have been very enlightening. If you’ll come this way …’

Intrigued, she followed as he led her to his lab. Would she finally get some answers? The door was locked. She watched as he put in a complicated code and verified it with a thumbprint sensor. As far as security went, he got top marks. Stepping aside, he let her enter. Tressa looked around with curiosity. The space was cramped. Books and manuals took up one entire wall, while equipment and tools were scattered everywhere else.

‘This is an important area of work that has been largely ignored,’ the professor said. ‘We believe that women will benefit greatly from the results.’

Tressa wasn’t familiar with the devices, but she wasn’t a physician or a scientist. Her background was in business. ‘I’m sorry, but what area would that be?’

The professor’s head cocked and his brow furrowed. ‘Why, orgasmic manipulation, of course.’

Orgasmic … The words slowly took meaning in her head, but he couldn’t be talking about …