I Like My Coffee Black by Mila York


I Like My Coffee Black

No, it wasn’t love. If anything at all, it was an addiction; maddening, exhilarating, yet very much an addiction.

No doubt, I will survive. I will get through this sickening withdrawal, and the day will come when I walk into the office and don’t expect to see Zack sitting at my desk, teasing me for being five minutes late.

I’ve always been five minutes late to work, every single day of the five years at QOL Advertising. Now, I will have to start coming on time, just to get over the memory of him, standing from behind the desk in his always neat but affordable-looking suit, taking my designer blazer off, and handing me a cup of coffee, no cream or sugar.

“I read somewhere that people who like their coffee black are more likely to be psychopaths,” he threw in casually on his second day of work, broadcasting a most naive smile, not showing any signs of distress or anxiety of a typical intern.

It was then that I opened my eyes in shocked surprise and looked at him for the first time. Of course, I’ve looked at him before, but I didn’t really see him. I didn’t feel anything when Zack greeted me on his first day: he was just another intern, coming through the ever revolving doors of the firm.

He was taller than average, pleasant to look at, with a broad smile on his boyish face – that was all that I noted to myself while shaking his hand. Was his palm warm or cold? Was his handshake firm or sluggish? – I simply don’t remember, because it didn’t matter.

He was just another dandy boy, who’d take my efforts to teach him for granted, who’d waste my precious time and be gone in six weeks. So I hardly thought of him as a handsome young man – or even a human being for that matter – just another bullet point in my job description.

He spent much of his first week listening, asking questions when necessary, demonstrating his desire to learn but not coming off as too eager. Unlike most interns these days, he had his cell on silent at all times, safely tucked into his pants pocket.

That back pocket on his ass… It drew my attention more than once, and I’m ashamed to admit it. How could I even let myself be attracted to him, subordinate, a decade younger than me?

It was him who put the idea in my head, as-a-matter-of-factly, as always, over a friendly lunch. Yes, we became friends. He didn’t have boundaries and managed to cross mine. With him, I’ve let myself be too friendly too soon.

“I used to date a woman who was a decade older, he said in a leveled voice, unwrapping his Philly Cheesesteak sandwich – “but you wouldn’t approve of my choice.”

“Why?” I asked simply, not thinking anything into the statement then – “because she was that much older than you?”

“No, because she was my boss.”

“You both could have lost your jobs over that,” I muttered, finding nothing else to say.

“Wouldn’t have been a big deal” – he gave me a sly grin, rubbing his chin in amusement – “it was a Summer gig anyway; I was a Summer camp team leader, and she was the lead counselor.”

Silly me, how could I be so stupid as to swallow that bait? Oh no, he wasn’t testing my moral principles. He was very expertly appealing to my sense of self-perception: I was an older – read more experienced – woman, with some level of control over him.

Was it then that I looked at his ring finger? Of course, there was no wedding band on it – he was too young to be married – but there was a little scar right under the knuckle, which ignited my imagination and paved the road for temptation.

As I watched his big-knuckled hand moving away from his clean-shaven face and toward his mauve shirt, undoing the collar, I kept musing how he might have got that scar. Was he careless with some sort of tool? Was it an accidental glass break? Was there a lot of blood?

Suddenly, I pictured a sexy looking lead counselor, taking his bloody hand into hers, pressing the white gauze firmly to the cut, assuring him that it was not too deep and would heal nicely.

She was probably wearing shorter than appropriate denim shorts, her boobs somewhat covered by a low neckline T-shirt but pushed up all the way to the chin, some sickly-sweet antiperspirant mixing up with her sweat and making him dizzy.

Maybe, they were a little buzzed. It is so easy to underestimate the effect of a single beer in the heat of a summer night.

Did he kiss her first? No, he’s too good to make that mistake. He probably just stood there, silently, impersonating innocence itself, letting her get ensnared by the enticing proximity of his sweaty body. And she was sure to cave in.

It wasn’t until she told him to take his shirt off that he intended to do so. And then he did it slowly, grasping the collar of his polo and pulling his head through first, then his arms. Of course, she lurched forward too quickly. She didn’t have time to think. She didn’t want to take the time to think. She didn’t care about the million reasons she had not to do it.

She closed her eyes the moment he pinned her to the wall and offered her tongue eagerly the moment he forced his mouth onto hers. For a brief second, shame cut through her foggy mind as his nimble fingers touched her down there, but she nipped that useless feeling in the bud, twirling in delight.

No he didn’t push her down onto the squeaky bed, and there was no table to bend her over. He fucked her right there, from behind, pressing her blood stained hands to the shabby wall.

“Ski accident.” He reached over for the napkin.

“I’m sorry?” I snapped out of my head-trip.

“The scar on my hand? I got it in a ski accident,” he said, giving me that lewd smile, as if he knew exactly what had just happened in my mind.

I saw that same smile on his face when I touched him for the first time. He was trying to upload his presentation to the company portal when a pop-up window asked for my credentials. As I rose slowly from my chair, I expected him to get up and move out of the way. Of course, he didn’t do that. He kept his hands on the keyboard, so I had no choice but to touch him or redefine boundaries by asking him to move.

So I leaned in, my left elbow grazing his arm, my pinky touching the scar above that knuckle. I blushed, not because of that harmless physical contact, but at the realization of my arousal.

It must have been the intensity of cascalone and bergamot in his cologne that made me feel that way. I wanted him to raise the stakes. I imagined him freeing his hand and touching my thigh, under the stretch twill skirt… I might have even rocked my hips a little. The file finished loading, and I had no choice but to go back to my desk, feeling like an idiot, with unsatisfied yearning between my legs.

The craving was so intense that I had to go to the bathroom and stick my hand under my skirt, into my panties. I wished I were in my bedroom, with my luscious silicone friend, so I could safely and freely indulge in the eye-crossing pleasure. But I wasn’t, and I had to settle for a thirty-five-second rushed release.

That day, I couldn’t stop thinking about him even after work. I gobbled up my take-out dinner while proofreading his presentation, took a long shower, and slipped into my bed, completely naked. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the scent of his cologne while rolling a condom over my battery operated friend.

I bought a three-pack on my way home thinking that I wouldn’t have sex with Zack without proper protection, and I wanted the experience to feel as real as possible. I teased myself a little, rubbing the vibrator over my clit in circular motions, then shoved it inside in a sudden and forceful motion, opening my knees wide, yielding to the imaginary pressure of his hips.

The muscles inside clenched around the stiff shaft and I felt my back arching. I shoved it in even further, to the point of uncomfortable, and imagined him whispering into my ear, “Damn, you are so tight.”

I am pathetic. I can’t stop thinking about him even though it’s been twelve weeks since he accepted that job offer with our biggest competitor and moved on. A formal handshake and a polite thank-you was all I got in return. I feel betrayed. And it’s not the fact that he jumped ship that makes me grind my teeth. It is the ease with which he said goodbye, the resolution with which he turned around and walked away.

I don’t even know what it is that I miss. It’s not his body, for I haven’t known the feeling of his body against mine.

Is it his presence in the office? The sound of his voice? Or maybe, it’s that elation that I felt catching his coy glance on my ass. Oh yes, I have done it at least a dozen times, I have assumed that sexy butt-in-the-air pose while pretending to look for something in the file cabinet in front of his desk. And he knew damn well what it was that I was really looking for.

I am pathetic.

This morning on my way to work, I saw an ABT delivery truck stuck at a traffic light. The guy behind the wheel was hot, and young, and reminded me of Zack. So I couldn’t help but stare at him until the traffic light turned green and the truck took off, the note on the side of it laughing in my face, “your satisfaction is our goal.”

I am pathetic.

I’m stuck in my office at nine-thirty on a Friday night, on a freaking Valentine’s day night, simply because I have nothing better to do. No one else, just me and the solitary desk lamp in the twilight of the empty building.

Loneliness… I feel loneliness in my room… I wish I had someone waiting for me, yearning and longing, getting stiff in his pants in anticipation of a steamy night. Forget the flowers, forget the dinner, and screw the teddy bear, really, just the masculine body heavy with need.

I stand up, trying to ease the stiffness in my shoulders when suddenly a very familiar baritone nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

“I didn’t have a slightest doubt that I’d find you in the office, even on a beautiful rainy night like this. You know, for the hours that you put in, you are grossly underpaid.”

I lean over my table, feeling faint, goosebumps covering my back. That voice alone makes me shiver, and those dark brown eyes that see far too much about me almost make me sick to my stomach.

“Za…Zack? How did you get in here?” I have to control my voice. How has he come in without me noticing? Is it really him or have I started hallucinating because of long hours and sleepless nights?

“John let me in. I was hoping he’d be the one on duty tonight.”

“One day he’ll get in trouble,” I say coldly, taking a paper off my desk and heading over to the file cabinet. This is a perfect excuse to break the eye contact and regain my self-control. Damn it! I must look like an idiot, the way I turned my back on him!

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with helping an old pal out” – he laughs, rocking in his chair – “you know, you work too much, and you worry too much.”

Holding off on turning around, I stay bent over, aimlessly shuffling through the papers. Why did he come here? I wonder if he is staring at my ass…

My hands start trembling as I hear his confident footsteps behind my back.

“I think we both know that you don’t need to file your grocery list with the legal documents,” he says smirking, taking the paper out of my hands and placing it on the desk.

Oh yes, it is him and he caught me red-handed! I blush, at a loss for words.

He kneels and leisurely picks up the pen that’s rolled off the table just a moment ago, his gaze pausing on my knees and meeting my eyes. This lewd smile on his face, the way the night lights sneak in through the windows and reflect off his moist lips, the intensity of cascalone and bergamot in his cologne – it all makes me suffocate.

Why, why does he have to smell so good and so… male?

“It’s a crime to be alone on a night like this,” he whispers in my ear, and I see the awareness of my thoughts on his face. If it is possible to pass out from an overwhelming intimacy, I must say I am pretty close. My hands are still shaking, my knees are weak, and I have nothing close by to lean on. Nothing, but him…

“Are you cold?” he asks, having noticed that I’m trembling, and I see that same smile I’ve seen so many times. What is he doing? I let out a long sigh.

“I… I have plans for tonight,” I blurt out in some sort of stupor. I have absolutely no plans for tonight, or any night for that matter! Damn it! Why did I say that?!

“That’s a bummer” – he steps back, and I see disappointment on his face – “I was hoping to take you out for a drink.”

“I have half an hour,” I say too quickly, fearing that I’ve blown my chance already. A chance at what? I wonder at the same time. Do I really need to subject myself to the same torture all over again? Wouldn’t it be a lot smarter to just quit cold turkey and not go for another fix?

“Frankie’s across the street?” he asks, gallantly helping me into my coat, his hands pausing on my shoulders for a tad longer than needed. What is he doing? I let out another long sigh and grab my purse.

“Sure,” I try to keep my tone measured, feeling excited and apprehensive at the same time.

Frankie’s is good, Frankie’s is familiar territory, and going out of my comfort zone is the last thing I need right now. Another plus, it’s a bar and deli type of place, so it won’t feel awkward on a night like this.

A big minus, there’s that busty bartender working on Friday nights who uses every opportunity to stick her hooters into Zack’s face. Honestly, I am not lacking in that department myself, but I don’t put it out there like she does, and I don’t throw myself at random guys like twenty-some year olds do.

Gosh, I sound like a grumpy dowager! The truth is I envy her. Samantha – I think that is her name – exhibits this uninhibitedness that I’m lacking. The ease with which she flirts with guys – it is no more difficult for her than popping a bottle open.

How many times have I caught men’s eyes on her curvy body, simple black T-shirt perfectly framing her bust, pink or red lace bra propping her cleavage up? And although I personally think it’s a sign of bad taste when a woman’s bra juts out for everybody to see, it hasn’t failed to draw Zack’s attention.

My tension eases a little as we step outside and get swallowed by the foggy drizzle. The car headlights reflecting off the wet, grey asphalt and the smell of spring dampness – it doesn’t feel like February at all. My nostrils flare a little as I inhale his scent mixed in with the tiny water droplets suspended in the air.

I don’t know if it’s the weather, or his smell, or the whole love is in the air night, but I close my eyes and imagine Zack stopping me in the middle of the street and pressing a minty kiss onto my chapped lips. Yes, I have noticed him discretely popping an Altoid into his mouth as we were leaving the office. I blush and clutch my purse even harder.

We cross the street and approach the neon pink letters flashing in the bar window, a logical choice of color on a night like this indeed. Zack pulls on the heavy wooden door, and the smell of close air filled with alcohol and sweat insults my nose.

I hesitantly set my foot inside and wince, either at a sudden change of atmosphere or at the sight of Samantha wearing a pink tiered mesh ruffle skirt and cupid wings. Damn it, I can’t compete with that!

A quick glance around and I suddenly realize that there are plenty of lovebirds, laughing and having loud conversations, drunk with alcohol, or love, or both. This is quite different from the quiet and formal atmosphere of a business dinner that I was hoping for. The realization makes me flinch.

“Let’s take those two seats?” Zack gestures to the two distant bar stools in the corner, having noticed my uneasiness. I nod yes and follow his lead, forfeiting our usual spot at the front.

The moment Zack sits his perfect ass on the padded leather top, Samantha slides two coasters in our direction, flashing her ample bosom in his face.

“What can I get for you two?” she asks almost purring, stealing a quick glance at me and returning her catlike green eyes to him.

“Port for you as usual?” Zack momentarily directs his glance to me, a big grin adorning his gleeful face. Seriously, what is it with guys and boobs? A fat bonus wouldn’t bring the same amount of joy to their faces!

I nod yes, my lips pursed.

“Port wine for the lady and a Canadian Club for me.”

“Straight up, on the rocks, or with a twist?” She winks at him.

“On the rocks.” He gives her a devilish smirk and finally turns over to me. “So, putting in long hours?”

I take my port wine and empty half of the glass in one gulp. It takes me a moment to suppress a bout of jealousy. Why has he come here? Why has he asked me out? Is it simply because he felt obligated after everything I’ve done for him?

“It’s always busy in the beginning of the year.” I finally find my voice. “But I’m sure you know that because judging by your outfit you are coming straight from work yourself.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busting my ass for the new boss lately.”

“Is she deserving of all your efforts?” I ask half-jokingly, another jolt of jealousy already pricking my conscience.

“He is a total asshole, but I’m learning a lot.” Zack smiles, rolling the ice cubes in his glass using his index finger. “How’s your new intern? Is he as handsome as I am?”

“He is practically an Abercrombie and Fitch model,” I say biting on my pinky, alcohol slowly but surely untying my tongue.

“That good looking, huh?” Zack slides the empty glass across the counter, using a universal hand motion to order a refill on my drink. I should really slow down on that. I don’t trust myself around him when I’m sober, and god only knows what I’ll do if I’m not.

“Yeah, that good looking, and just as dumb.” My voice is already louder than it should be.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad” – he laughs out loud – “it took you a while to warm up to me too.”

“Who says I’ve warmed up to you?” I tease him in return. “You just have thick skin and go full speed ahead no matter what.”

But ultimately, he is right. I try my best to keep the distance, for work and leisure don’t mix well in my mind, or – to be precise – didn’t mix well in my mind before I met him. Damn it, what is it about him that makes me lose my head?

“How’s your personal life?” I ask matter-of-factly, almost through my second drink. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nah, I barely have time to sleep, let alone have a relationship. You?”

“As a matter of fact, there is a guy that I really like.” I avert my eyes, blushing, tracing the rim of the glass with my index finger.

“Do tell.” He tries to keep the conversation light, but his voice hardens with an emotion I cannot quite define. Could it be jealousy that I sense? Could he be into me?

“What do you wanna know?” I look up at him again, biting on my lip.

“Three things you like about him.” He finally gives me his undivided attention.

“Ok” – I pause for a moment – “he is determined… funny… and has a really nice ass.” Yep, it is official, I am drunk. Drunkity drunk!

“Sounds like you are really into him.” Zack puts down his empty glass, a note of disappointment ringing in his voice. Jealousy? Is he really jealous?

“You have no idea,” I whisper having leaned in. “Oops.” I lose my balance for a second and have to put my hands onto his thighs in order to steady myself. His pupils widen as he grabs me by the shoulders. I close my eyes and inhale his aroma, fighting the urge to press my lips onto his.

He’s breathing heavily, and I get wet at the thought of him following me into the bathroom, closing the door and pinning my body to the wallpapered panel. I think about his left hand sliding under my skirt and imagine my fingers undoing his pants first, then my own blouse and bra, presenting him with a marvelous view of hard nipples.

“Another Canadian Club?” I almost fall off the chair at the sound of Samantha’s voice.

“No thanks, I’m driving,” he says, letting go of my shoulders.

“You don’t tell your bartender you’re driving after you’ve downed a couple drinks.” She takes the empty glass out of his hand, her fingers momentarily grazing his.

“Not a couple, Sam, just one.” Zack flashes his signature grin at her. “I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

“Only if you promise” she gives him a beguiling smile. “I would have hated it if something happened to you.”

Well, I don’t know if it’s the Cupid wings or alcohol that’s powering my imagination, but I can almost see the angels of love flying around them.

“Another port for you?” Zack turns over to me.

“Actually, I was about to leave; my ride is here,” I lie, looking down at my phone, pretending to have received a message.

“The guy that you are really into?” He asks with a somewhat sad smile on his face. Somewhat sad smile? Really? I should stop this! I should stop thinking something into nothing!

Yes, I want him to be into me, I want him to be sad about me leaving. I want him to ask me to spend the night with him. But that’s the one thing that’s definitely not going to happen! So I should just grab my freaking coat and walk out that door!

“Exactly,” I utter, grabbing my purse. As always, Zack stands up and gallantly helps me into my coat.

“Lucky bastard,” he whispers into my ear, giving me a hug.

“Goodbye, Zack,” I whisper back, squeezing his broad shoulders as hard as I can.

The moment I step my foot outside, I regret my hasty decision. The foggy drizzle has turned into nasty rain, and the wind is a little too refreshing for my taste. I prop up the collar of my coat and start walking to avoid looking like an idiot. The bar windows are treacherously big and provide a wonderful view of the block, so I need to at least turn the corner to be out of Zack’s view. I can only hope I’ll get an Uber fast.

Fifteen minutes? You must be kidding! I stare at my phone in disbelief. I’m already soaked to the bone and feel like crying. Desperate for a ride, I hit uberPool option. Two minutes! Better! Two minutes is not that long, I try to cheer myself up, fighting the gruelling thoughts. It’s not me, she is just out there, and she’s his age. I can’t compete with that!

I’ve always liked who I was, I’ve always felt proud of my accomplishments, and I’ve never been at war with my own body. But something about this moment makes me wish I were someone else, someone younger, more careless, and a lot more audacious. I close my eyes in a futile attempt to reconcile my feelings, but the only thing that manages to take the burden off my mind is my chilled through feet.

By the time a white Chevy Malibu pulls up to pick me up, I am already shivering. Without a moment’s hesitation I open the door and flop on the rear seat.

“Who would have thought it would be raining in Chicago in February!”

It takes me a moment to realize who’s sitting next to me, rubbing his chin in amusement.

“Got stood up?” Zack can’t get a smirk off his face.

“You can say that.” I give him reason to understand that I’m happy to see him, even though I feel like an idiot. “Didn’t you say you were driving tonight?” I try to deflect.

“I guess I did, didn’t I?” He flashes his signature grin at me.

“Things haven’t worked out with Sam?” I ask cautiously.

“Nah, she’s not my type,” he says touching my hand with the tips of his fingers. “You should come over for a cup of coffee, I know exactly how you like it.”

The driver pulls over to the curb.

“You in?” Zack opens up his door, giving me little time for contemplation.

Exhausted by the constant fight with myself, I give in to the moment and get out of the car. A triumphant smile illuminates his face. He greets the doorman in the lobby and presses the elevator call button. The door opens immediately.

He says nothing as we ride up, but finds my hand and takes it into his. We’ve shaken hands a thousand times before, but this is the first time I truly feel the warmth of his fingers.

It is now that I notice that I’m shivering, either because I’m freezing or because of his touch – I don’t really know why anymore. I feel progressively dizzy and on the verge of passing out. Once inside, he takes my purse and helps me out of my drenched coat. Having taken my shoes off, I survey the surroundings. He must have just moved in: there’s hardly any furniture and lots of unpacked boxes stacked on each other.

“You are practically shaking” – he says putting my stuff away – “I think you need a hot shower.” He points to the door on the left. “I’ll make us coffee meanwhile.”

I nod yes and walk over to the bathroom, wondering if I am sober enough to make the decisions I won’t regret in the morning. I turn the shower knob all the way to hot and let the room get filled with the pleasant steam. With effort, I manage to unfasten the buttons on my blouse with my numb with cold fingers and finally succeed to pull the wet skirt down my hips.

I slowly roll down the stockings and take off my bra. I steal a glance at my body right before the mirror mists up. I’m not twenty-five anymore, but I’m not lacking beauty either, it’s just more defined, refined by an extra decade. I stand almost fully naked, a neat strip of dark hair showing through the wet lace panties; ironically I wore pink tonight. One by one, I take the pins out of my hair, letting the wet strands fall down onto my shoulders.

“I’m gonna leave some dry clothes for you to change into on…” Zack opens the door, wearing only his briefs, and freezes mid-sentence, a shirt and a towel almost falling out of his hands. He must have assumed I was already behind the curtain, as the water has been running for a while.

I don’t flinch or try to cover myself. Instead, I straighten my back and pull my hair away, letting his eyes bore into my hard nipples. My whole body is still covered with goose-bumps, but I’ve stopped trembling. It is in his hands now to realize my fantasies.

As if accepting the challenge, he doesn’t rush out of the room but allows himself to stare, taking in the view. I stand paralyzed, not knowing what to do. If I show any sign of embarrassment, he’ll walk out the door. So I slowly raise my right arm to my chest, cup my left breast, and squeeze the nipple between my index and middle fingers.

My whole face sets on fire, and I feel that pleasant tingling between my legs. I notice a slight twitch in the muscles of his jaw and a hint of a smile playing across his lips. He steps in and closes the door, as if giving me reassurance that he’s not running for the hills. He doesn’t come close, however, as if challenging me to proceed.

I cannot bare his provocative stare and close my eyes. The middle finger of my right hand touches my navel as I imagine him coming close and tugging on the waistband of my panties. What am I going to do if he just stands there and keeps watching? How long can I go on without his participation? My hands start trembling in the frenzy of anticipation.

How long is he going to continue this torture?

I hear the dull sound of something landing on the floor: he must have dropped the towel and the shirt that he was holding. A little more certain of my actions, I lower my hand, trace the strip of the curly hair with my still cold fingers, and touch my clit. This is when I feel the warmth of his palm over my hand and his heavy breathing on my neck.

I suddenly feel uninhibited, liberated by his closeness. He doesn’t slide his hand into my panties, but rather covers mine over the lace, his fingers sliding even further and reaching the hot, wet spot between my legs, my inner muscles already aching with need.

A content grin mars his face: he’s realized just how ready I am. A spark of shame cuts through my foggy mind, and I shift my glance to the dark-blue floor tiles. Damn it, his warmth on my body, it feels so good… As his other hand runs down my back, along my buttocks, I let go of my nipple and find the front of his briefs.

I slide my hand into the secret pocket and wrap around his already hard shaft. He lets out a heavy sigh of pleasure yet stops me, leaning in. “Now it’s your turn to obey,” he whispers in my ear, securing my wrists behind my back.

My hands clench into fists as I make an effort to suppress the desire to rebel. How is this relationship ever going to work out? I wonder for a moment, but my mutinous mind goes down in the storm of passion. This is when I feel his fingers pulling the lace strip of my thongs aside and sliding into the pulsing opening.

Ah… He gives me a moment to get used to the overwhelming sensation, then starts massaging my clit with the base of his palm while thrusting the fingers in and out.

It feels good, too good, too much and not enough at the same time. I want to feel him inside me, to wrap my legs around his hips, and feel the firmness of his ass against the skin of my calves. A moan of weariness escapes my mouth, and he swallows it with his lips. Oh yes, he knows exactly what I want but deliberately prolongs the torture, challenging me to fight the forthcoming climax.

Just as I’m about to give in to the intensifying pleasure, Zack sweeps me up and lands my hot ass on the cold edge of the console sink. Ah… He pulls my thighs apart and steps between them, freeing himself from his briefs. He grabs my hair and tugs it back. “Look at me,” he commands right before thrusting into me, burying deep. My head falls back, and I can’t contain a delirious moan.

This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for, his taking me rough, rewarding both of us with the agonizing pleasure, finally letting out months worth of suppressed craving and lust.

This elegant sink is probably not designed to endure our furious play, and he’s definitely not wearing a condom, but I am too delirious to worry about that. Thrusting in deeper and harder, he leans forward and steadies his hands against the mirror. The sensation of him so deep inside me ousts all air from my lungs, my pelvic muscles clenching rhythmically around his shaft.

Luckily for Zack, it doesn’t take me long to reach the climax, for my body is still spasming with the last waves of orgasm when he suddenly pulls out and starts erupting all over my thighs and belly, his almost painful groans rising above my moans of pleasure. I orgasm with his name on my tongue.

His head falls against my chest as we try to catch our breath. He finally raises his dark brown eyes to my flushed face, his hands resting around my thighs, and freezes in place, as if savoring the moment.

“I’m sure I’ve managed to warm you up” – he finally snaps out of his trance – “but it looks like now you have a whole different reason to take a shower,” he says somewhat apologetically, wiping himself off with a towel.

“Then close the door on your way out and make sure you have that coffee ready!” I issue an order with a smile on my face, somewhat anxious to get a little privacy. It’s been a while since I had any action, and I’ve never felt comfortable with the awkward silence right after sex. So I’m more than happy to take the shower alone.

“Yes, boss!” He grabs his briefs and heads out.

“Thank god I’m not your boss anymore!” I say jokingly, stepping my foot into the shower.

“Thank god you are not!” He teases from behind the door.

“Wait a minute” – I yell in surprise – “you are not supposed to agree with that! Was I really such a bad mentor?”

“You were a great mentor” – he sticks his head back into the bathroom – “with a strong work ethic. And that is why none of this would have happened if you still were.”

I take my time to enjoy the hot, thin jets of water and wash Zack’s sticky substance off my thighs and belly. I wonder if he’ll ask me to stay for the night? I wonder if I’ll be able to fall asleep on that falling-apart futon of his? I wonder if we are going to sleep at all if I agree to stay. I think about the kitchen countertop that is just the right height, and can’t stop my hands from running down to my clit again

He felt so good inside me, better than my silicone friend, and much better than my two fingers. Definitely on the kitchen countertop, that futon is not going to survive it…

By the time I come out of the shower, wearing only his shirt, I find a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting for me.

“A very special drink for a very special lady on a very special night,” he says with a sly grin on his face, sliding the cup closer to me. It is now that I notice the heart pattern drawn on the coffee foam. I find it somewhat cheesy, but it doesn’t fail to put a childish smile on my face. That’s right, Zack told me once he used to work as a barista for Intelligentsia Coffee.

“Very sweet” – I laugh, rotating the mug in my hands – “but have you forgotten that I like my coffee-”

“Black, no cream or sugar.” He hands me a cup of black coffee with a piece of biscuit on the side, just as I like it.

By Mila York

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