The New Hire Down the Hall Knew My Name Before HR Did novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Supply Room
In the supply room Renee takes his mouth between her legs and then his cock against the shelves, silent because the cleaning cart is in the hall. He leaves a first mark on her collarbone where her blouse covers it.
Two minutes after the stairwell, I pulled him through the supply room door by his lanyard.
The cleaning cart was somewhere down the hall, and I could hear its wheels, and I did not care.
The supply room was a closet by the copiers with steel shelves on three walls and a stack of copy-paper cartons under the one light.
I hit the switch, and the dark came down.
"Quiet," I said against his mouth. "Whatever happens, you're quiet."
"I'm very quiet."
"I mean it," I said.
"I know you do," he said.
He kissed me as if he had waited all day.
His mouth was warm and sure, and his hands were big enough to hold both sides of my face at once.
I walked him backward into the shelves, and a ream of paper fell off and hit the floor.
We both froze.
The cart's wheels went by the door, and a radio played something with a steel guitar, and then it went on down the hall.
He laughed, silently, into my hair.
I felt it in my ribs.
"Sit," he said, and he guided me back onto a carton of copy paper.
"Don't give me orders."
"Please sit."
I sat, and I hated how fast I did it.
The carton was cold through my skirt.
He went down on one knee on the concrete in front of me, and then the other.
He was so tall that even kneeling his eyes were nearly level with my chest.
He put his hands on my knees.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
"Don't you dare."
He smiled, and the crooked nose made it a lopsided smile that I felt low in my stomach.
He slid both hands up under my skirt, over the tops of my thighs, and pushed it to my waist.
I had worn the gray cotton underwear, because I had gotten dressed that morning for a day of roof claims.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and said, "Lift."
I lifted, and he drew them down and off over my shoes, and put them in his pocket.
"Give those back."
"No, ma'am."
"I said not to call me that," I said.
"You said not to call you ma'am in front of anybody." He pushed my knees apart. "There's nobody here."
Then he put his mouth on me.
I had told myself I would stay in charge of this, and that lasted about as long as his first slow lick.
He started at the bottom and went up in one long flat stroke of his tongue.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
The wet heat of it hit me everywhere.
He did it again, slower, and his hands tightened on my thighs and held them open.
He did not hurry.
He licked around my clit in small tight circles and then sucked it between his lips, and my back came off the shelves.
I got my own hand over my mouth.
I pushed my palm hard against my teeth.
The cart came back.
The wheels rattled up to the supply room door and stopped.
A woman's voice, tired and close, said something to somebody about a mop.
Kyle did not stop.
He looked up at me from between my legs, his blue eyes steady.
He slid two fingers into me and curled them against the front wall.
My hips jerked.
He kept his eyes on mine and fucked me with his fingers, slow and deep, and sucked my clit with his whole mouth.
I thought: I cannot make a sound.
Not one.
The woman laughed at something, and the cart moved off.
I let the breath out through my nose and my whole body shook.
"Good," he whispered against me. "Stay quiet for me."
"Kyle."
"You can say it in your head."
I came with my own hand clamped over my mouth and my other hand fisted in his short hair.
It started in my thighs and tightened in my belly, a hard clenching pulse around his fingers.
My heels dug into his back.
I made a high muffled sound into my palm that I could not stop, and he sucked harder.
It broke again, and I felt every muscle in my legs let go.
For a minute I couldn't see.
When I could, he was still kneeling there, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.
He looked so pleased with himself that I wanted to slap him and kiss him in the same motion.
I pulled him up by the lanyard instead.
"My turn," I said.
"I'd like that. But the cart is coming back."
"Then we do it fast."
His breath went out of him.
I stood on legs that were not working, and I got his belt open and his zipper down, and my hand closed around him.
He was thick and hot and so hard that he jumped in my palm.
He made a low sound in his throat, and I put my other hand over his mouth.
"Quiet," I said.
His eyes closed.
I stroked him twice, slowly, and a bead of wet came up at the tip, and I thumbed it over the head.
"Please," he said into my hand.
"Please what?"
"Please, Renee."
It was the first time he had said it as a person says a name, and not as a title.
I should have stopped him.
Instead I turned around and put my hands on the steel shelf at the height of my chest.
I pushed my skirt up over my hips and looked at him over my shoulder.
"Don't make me wait," I said.
He came up behind me and his hand went to my hip, and the other went flat over my mouth.
His palm smelled of soap and pencil shavings.
He fit the head of his cock against me and rubbed it through the slick, up and down, and I pushed back against him.
"Look at you," he whispered at my ear. "You're soaked."
I bit his hand, lightly.
He pushed in.
It was a long, slow stretch, and he was bigger than I had thought.
I took all of him with a shudder that went right up my spine.
When he was all the way in he stopped, and held there, and pressed his forehead against the back of my head.
"God," he breathed. "You feel like you've been waiting for me."
I had.
I had been waiting nine hours.
He pulled out halfway and thrust back in, and the shelf rang against the wall.
The ream of paper on top of the stack slid.
He caught it one-handed, without leaving me.
"Careful," I whispered into his palm.
"Then hold still for me."
He drove into me, steady and deep, with his hand on my hip pulling me back onto him on every stroke.
Each one reached the place his fingers had found.
I pushed back, and he gave it to me harder.
The slap of it was so loud in the little room that I thought the whole floor would hear.
Somewhere past the door, the cart's wheels began again.
He did not slow down.
He went on fucking me against the shelves, one hand over my mouth and one on my hip.
The crew passed in the hall.
I came again, hard and fast, biting down on his fingers.
He shook behind me.
"Renee," he said, ragged. "Renee, I can't."
"Then don't."
He pushed in deep, once, twice.
I felt him go rigid and pulse, hot and heavy inside me.
His mouth was open against the back of my neck and his whole body was locked.
He did not make a sound.
He shook, and I felt his breath stutter on my skin.
I thought it was the most obedient thing a man had ever done for me.
We stayed there, bent over the shelf, until the radio had faded out of the hall.
He turned me around and held me against the front of his shirt.
His heart was going hard under my cheek.
"I don't do this," I said into the cloth.
"I know."
"I don't. Not at work. Not ever again."
"I know," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "I'm very quiet."
I laughed against his chest, helplessly, and then I felt his hand slide inside my blouse collar.
"Hold still," he said.
He undid the top two buttons.
He bent his head and set his mouth on my collarbone, just inside the line of the cloth, and sucked.
It hurt, in a sweet, specific way.
I gripped his shoulders and let him, and felt it deepen, and felt my knees go soft again.
When he lifted his mouth, the skin there was hot and tight.
"What did you do?" I said.
"Nothing that shows."
He took my underwear out of his pocket and handed it over without a word.
I put it on and found my shoes, and straightened my skirt in the dark.
Then I buttoned my blouse to the throat, and put my thumb to my collarbone, and found the mark.
It sat exactly where my collar sat.
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