Free Breaking Leila by Lucy V. Morgan

against the desk as
the impact pushed me along, and we knocked over folders, files,
clouds of paper. I moaned into his mouth as he alternated kisses
with ragged breaths, watching wide-eyed as he lifted my arms and
pinned them over my head.
    How much of
this was a normal girl supposed to take? Good job I didn’t have to
walk home...Jesus.
    “Charlie,” I
whimpered, “you’re so big…so big it’s hurting me…please…” I said it
so naively. I didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear the
words.
    He made a sharp
thrust and started to moan my name.
    The room
blurred in rapid dissolves–the way he ground into me, how I
throbbed inside, his rapid breath. Then he collapsed over me,
utterly spent.
    We lay like
that for a few minutes. I loved the feel of his weight on top of
me–I lay surrendered and delightfully sore. He lapped at my neck
like a school boy, sleepy-eyed with sated pleasure.
    “Do you think
the cab will still be outside?” he asked.
    I laughed. “I
doubt it.”
    “I’ll call
another in a moment.” He lifted himself on his arms and pulled out
of me, wandering over to the bin. I sat up to watch him, loving the
way his firm ass cheeks peeked out from beneath his shirt. When he
turned back, his erection still led the way.
    “Look at you.
I’ve always dreamed of having a naked girl on my desk.”
    I wrapped my
legs around him as we kissed, my heels scraping over his bare
calves.
    “I’m a lucky
man. Thank you.”
    “Thank you,
too.”
    His cock nudged
between my crushed lips and we sighed together.
    “I’d take you
again, I would,” he murmured, “but your parents will kill me if I
don’t have you home soon.”
    We dressed
together, Charlie fastening my bra and zipping up my dress. Later,
I noticed him leaving empty-handed.
    “Didn’t you
need something from the cabinet?” I said.
    He smirked at
me. “I got what I came for.”
    And so did
I.
    Charlie taught
me the difference between education and corruption–how sweet it
felt to teeter on the jagged line between. We never had a
relationship in any agreed sense, and all I wanted was the odd
fistful of his time. Maybe I loved the adrenaline more than him.
Maybe, even then, I was different.
    Now I scrolled through the late night filth we’d exchanged
during my degree, the photographs he sent me from his trips to
Bruges and Brussels. The website of our original hotel suite had
been the first bookmark on every new laptop, and I still darted
back to peer at the crisp covers on   that   bed. In stories for little
girls, we throw white sheets over ghosts. Funny, how the place he
violated me so beautifully was dressed as the same. I’d been so
self-conscious with his mouth on my inner thighs that I trembled
before the shadows that watched us.
    Two years ago,
I opened his final email and the last shreds of heat seeped away.
He was about to marry a woman from work and he was trying to be a
good boy. There was disappointment–of course I’d miss him. But
there was confusion, too, that he could fall so easily into a mould
that we broke without trying...and a tiny echo of hope that I might
learn to behave myself and have the things normal girls have: one
man, a white dress, satisfied parents.
    The thought
never bore any fruit, though. I was still broken glass.
    Charlie’s
parting gift was my reference for Bach and Dagier. He had been my
mentor in law as much as the bedroom, and I valued his faith in me
most of all. There had been Ladarna clients who shared his name,
and I closed my eyes and murmured until my throat went hoarse. No,
it wasn’t the same…but the first cut, as they say, is the deepest,
and I wasn’t in the position to tell them not to lick my
wounds.
    * * * *
    The water
poured down in glistening sheets. It was bittersweet, showering
away my wreck of a Friday and the stickiness of recreating Charlie.
I scowled at the realization that the only caress I would receive
today was from soap.
    I hadn’t been
out on a Saturday night in