chair creaks under our combined weight. "Nothing is stopping you now."
I rock my hips against him. His eyes flick to the envelope on the table and return to a point on my neck. He's holding me loosely, just to steady me. I want him to grab me, do me, wild and crazy.
I lean forward and bite his neck, making him grunt. He digs his fingers into my side like he's about to push me off. But I won't have that, can't.
"Stop biting, Gail," he orders.
"Stop talking, Scott," I counter.
I slide my hips back and forth a little. But he's not doing anything back, not reacting.
I stand up abruptly, knocking into the table, overturning the can. Beer froths as it covers the envelope. Scott curses and yanks it away, wiping it on his shirt. Then he pulls out a stack of money, all hundreds and fifties, and inspects them for damage.
"Was it payday today?" I ask stupidly. There's too much money there, more than he could make in a year gardening.
He tosses the money into one of the open cardboard boxes by the wall. A dark shadow rests across his eyes again, but it's not for me. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Gail."
I decide not to. I can't care. The money and whatever bothers him about it makes Scott too real, and I need him to be only the gardener from my fantasy.
I untie my raincoat and pull it open, showing him what I'm wearing underneath. "You're right. I couldn't care less about any of that."
His chest heaves, his nipples erect under his shirt that's a size or two too small. But he just stares at me, doesn't touch.
"What do you want from me, Gail?"
"How much more plain can I make it, you dumb shit?" I hiss. I don't know why I insulted him; it just came out. A scene of predators roaming the forest in deep winter stretches in his eyes. This is what I want.
He stands up so fast the back of his chair knocks into the wall. His fingers dig painfully into my butt as he yanks me toward him. I lean forward and bite down on his lower lip, feeling the little bumps slide off the edges of my teeth. "Fuck me," I mumble into his lips.
He grabs my neck with his free hand and squeezes. I bite down harder.
His hands meet around my throat. I sigh and let go of his lip, leaning back into his hands. But he doesn't squeeze, instead he kisses me gently on the lips, barely touching. Not what I want. I don't want love. I want sex.
I bring my fist into his stomach; right where his pecks end and his six pack begins. I hit just hard enough to make him gasp, as hard as I can really. His stomach is a wall.
"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss, forestalling any argument from him. "I don't want to make love to the help. I want you to fuck me. Then I'll leave, and no one will ever know I was even here."
I feel him tense, his coiled biceps transferring tension to my neck.
"I didn't come here for sweet kisses, so let's stop pretending!" I say, unable to stop talking now, and jab him again, harder this time. "This isn't love. And never will be."
He turns me, still clutching my neck and slams me into the table. "Whatever you want, Gail."
With one hand still around my throat, he pushes me down onto the table, his eyes black. Blood rushes to my head, and my heart races, beating against his thumb.
He yanks down my panties with his free hand and forces my legs apart with his elbow. But as he pries me open, his touch is gentle, as soft as a breath. It's a caress, nothing more. His grip on my throat loosens, and I buck my hips up into his hand, demanding more than this caress.
"Don't slow down now," I growl, jabbing my stiletto into his hip.
He pinches me down there and slides his finger in. I gasp, but I'm wet enough. I push down, scratching my heel against his leg to get his pants down.
"I can't believe—" he starts, but I slam my heel hard into his leg.
"Shut up and fuck me already! Or can't you?" The words are coming from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I never knew existed.
He pulls his pants down and slams