“Won’t your wife be getting off soon?” Monica planted her palm firmly in the center of Steve’s chest.  “From work, I mean,” she added flatly.  Who the hell was she kidding? Please.  If the 120 underwhelming seconds she just experienced were any indication, unless Steve’s wife was getting the high hard one elsewhere, work was about the only time she got off. “Besides, I need to get back to work.” 

          “It’s Thursday.”  He retrieved a key from his shirt pocket, waving it at Monica.  “Shop closes early, remember?”

          Slowly, he took a step forward.  He bit back a smile when she held her ground and did not back up.  He wanted her again, on the desk like before.  Just remembering the feel of her legs wrapped about his waist, the way she moaned and how her body shuddered as his mouth and tongue danced along her throat, how she made a noise deep in the back of her throat as he swept her panties aside...  Fuck that.  There was no way in hell he was going back to his office with his dick this hard and jack off at his desk.  Not when there was perfectly good pussy within reach.

    “And there’s still work to be done,” she reminded him, gazing up at him.  “Those cakes and pies aren’t gonna bake themselves...”

          “The only pie I wanna taste of is right in front of me.” He reached out to graze her chiseled cheek, only to have her draw back.  He was hungry to savor the feel of her flesh against his again.  “So…it’s like that?” Steve grinned, leaning in to steal a kiss.

          “Yes.” Monica pressed her palm harder, a subtle attempt to ward off any further attempts.  “It’s like that.”

          Pensively cupping his chin, Steve made a rude noise, pausing as if he had a smart retort on the tip of his tongue then taking in Monica’s Try-me-motherfucker-please look, thought better. 

          “Fine.  See ya again next week,” he nodded.  “Maybe,” he called out over his shoulder, “I’ll come early so we can actually go over the books like we’re supposed to,” he laughed.

          “Yeah, and maybe I’ll actually cum next time,” Monica shot back, “like I’m supposed to, Steven!”

          The rattling of the windows as the shop’s door slammed behind him made Steve’s displeasure known.  Not that Monica cared. She found herself giving in to the urge to smile as she imagined the look on his face when she called him Steven. Thanks to Tyrell, she knew the reaction by heart: first, for just the briefest of seconds, his grin would falter, followed by the involuntary twitching of his jaw; the twitching sometimes could last for up to a minute.  It was a thing of beauty. Tyrell once mentioned to her in passing how his cousin hated being called that; only his wife called him Steven, much to his chagrin–and Ty’s amusement.  Monica knew although her husband loved his cousin, Steve could be a royal ass at times and it was those times Tyrell took perverse delight in knowing the discomfort his cousin endured at the unwitting hands of his wife, Hannah.

          The pretty blue-eyed redhead hailed from a family where neither nicknames nor speaking using contractions were heard of; they were living, breathing examples of perfect etiquette.  Chances were, Tyrell told Monica, Hannah had no idea of the endless ribbing her husband endured during his childhood for “acting white” and “talking proper.”  Monica actually liked Hannah.  So did Tyrell; in fact it was he who introduced the future husband and wife. 

 ~*~

  Oh twice as much ain't twice as good
And can't sustain like a one half could
It's wanting more
That's gonna send me to my knees

  ~*~

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