A/N: This one-shot is written for AgoodWITCH, who generously bought it during the FGB auctions. She wanted a hot elevator scene between two apparent strangers who just happen to be Bella and Edward.
My eternal thanks to ladyeire72 for always, always pre-reading the story to make sure the lemons are satisfactory. I love your willingness to always take one for the team.
I own nothing except my filthy brain. Everything else is Stephenie Meyers'.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I quickly throw my keys and lunch into my oversized Steve Madden bag and run out the door, hoping I haven't forgotten anything. Under these circumstances, I'd be unwilling to run back and get it.
I dash down the hallway as quietly as I can, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I run. Right before I turn the corner, I stop and take a deep breath.
Slowly, I walk around the corner, as if I'm not running late. I need to maintain the façade, at all costs.
He's still there!
Oh thank god. I didn't miss him after all!
Standing in front of the elevator with "Elevator Man" (I always think of him as "EM" in my head) is the highlight of my day. I know how pathetic that sounds, but it's the god's honest truth.
I take him in, stealthily, of course. He wears an impeccably tailored suit every day. I think I once saw him in casual clothes, but I can't be certain about that. He features in my daydreams so regularly, it's sometimes hard to discern between reality and fantasy. His shirts are always perfectly pressed, even at the end of the day. His cufflinks vary from day to day, obviously, but they are always a kind of personal statement. My favorite ones are the silver music notes. His shoes, always shiny and scuff-free, look like new. The only variation I ever really see are in his ties. They are always colorful and eclectic, but never garish. Just enough left of center to pique the interest. It's as if he's trying to say, "I wear boring suits daily, but that's not really who I am." In my imagination, he's wildly creative, but caught in a conservative job that he dislikes.
Yes, in my imagination. I've never actually spoken to this beautiful man who has an apartment at the end of the hall on my floor. For the past two years, Monday through Friday, we wait for the elevator together. Going up, going down, a few minutes every day, we share joint space. He always glances at me when I arrive at the elevator, and gives me a small, subtle nod. Not friendly enough to say hello, but also not cold enough to ignore me all together. This being New York City, it would be completely normal for him to ignore me, so I'm rather grateful for his small nod.
It's a black suit today, and goddamn, he looks fine. I mentioned that these suits are perfectly tailored, right? His black wingtips encase his big feet. They don't look clownishly large, but rather elegant and sleek. Not for the first time in my life, I wonder if the old adage about foot size being related to penis size has any truth to it. If so, Elevator Man has something going on.
Oh, lord, does he have something going on.
Today's tie is deep green, covered in stamps. It's like he chose it purposefully to highlight his beautiful eyes. He rarely looks at me directly, but I still notice them every time he gives me my nod.
Elevator Man is tall and lean. Not skinny, just lean, like he's fit. I don't really know if he's fit, because I never get to see his body when he isn't wearing a suit, but in my mind, he has rippling muscles inside that power shirt. He has this incredible mop of hair that appears to be untameable. I've never seen it look anywhere close to neat. That isn't a bad thing, however. It looks like he just rolled out of bed. With someone else. He makes matters worse (or better, depending upon your perspective) by running his fingers through it, nervously. I can always tell when he is particularly stressed out, because his hands go straight for the hair.
His jaw line is wonderfully angular, and his lips are somewhat thin, the bottom fuller than the top. I've also imagined, in my regular daydreams, how kissable those lips are. My conclusion is always that they must be highly functional in the kissing arena.
Since it's summertime, he has been taking off his suit coat on his way home, so I get a luscious view of his backside. Let me tell you, it is sublime. It makes up for all those winter months, when he wears an overcoat, hiding everything from my view.
This morning, something is different. I don't just get a nod—I get a raised eyebrow, while he glances at me from the side.
What's that for?
"In a hurry?" I could swear he has a slight, crooked grin on his face. A look of bemusement.
"What? Oh. Um, no, not really," I say with such panache I'm sure to win him over instantly.
I cringe inwardly at myself, rolling my eyes at my own patheticness.
Yes, I am aware that isn't a word, but this is my conscience, thank you very much.
His grin gets a little bigger, and he shakes his head lightly.
If seeing my Elevator Man is the highlight of my day, watching the slight grin bloom on his face is the fucking highlight of my month. I cannot imagine what it is about this morning that caused him to react any differently than usual.
The elevator dings, and the doors open before us. As always, Elevator Man holds the door open for me, and steps inside only once I am firmly in place. My job responsibility in the shared elevator experience is to push the "L" button, closely followed by the "CLOSE DOOR" button. Apparently, we have an egalitarian relationship. I like that about him. A gentleman who will hold the door, but won't hold me back for being an independent woman. All in all, a very satisfying division of labor.
We reach the lobby, and once the doors open, Elevator Man swiftly holds them for me once again.
"Thank you," I say, always remembering my manners.
"You're very welcome," he replies, simply. I'm stunned.
His usual reply is a gentle nod of the head. I rarely get to hear his voice, and it is like molten chocolate—yummy, desirable, and you just want to enrobe yourself in it. Actually, I want to disrobe myself in it, but I digress.
His preferred means of communication is via text. He forever has his iPhone in his palm, typing away. His ringtones and beeps and whistles are all classical music. For his mother, Puccini. For his father, Beethoven. His secretary, Bach. His sister, Mozart. His BFF, Patsy Cline. The one I hate the most is Wagner. "The Ride of the Valkyries." It's the person he says "I love you" to, and I choose to ignore it whenever I hear it.
I know all this, because these people have, invariably, called him, and at one point in time or another, he's answered. More often than not, however, he lets the phone ring. Whenever he lets the Wagner go unanswered, it is a gold star day.
I'm not originally from New York, so much of its ways and wiles are still new to me. I grew up in a tiny, depressing, rainy town called Forks, Washington. I came here to live with my gran, who was getting older and needed the extra help. In return, she paid for me to study massage therapy at the Swedish Institute. I now work in an exclusive spa where Gran used to get her hair done. Eighteen months ago, as she was walking out the door after her weekly hair appointment, she dropped dead of a massive heart attack. It was a sad event for me, because I was her only grandchild; we had an especially deep bond. When she was gone, I simply couldn't bring myself to leave. I love my job, the people with whom I work, the pace of the city. If I couldn't be with Gran, at least I could continue to be in her world; it made me feel closer to her.
Naturally, my parents encouraged me to return home after she died, but I was adamant. There was nothing for me in Forks except gloomy rain and economic depression. Since Gran left the apartment to my mom, they finally relented, letting me take over being the caretaker of the space. They decided I should stay put, so I did.
I nearly always walk to work, because it is great exercise, and I love to see the city spring to life in front of me. The people watching is incredible and one of the best parts of living in New York City. It has to be the people watching capital of the world.
I put in 8- to 10-hour days at the spa, gently massaging the backsides of New York's rich and famous. The tips are phenomenal, and because I am an extraordinarily good listener, I'm always in high demand. It's amazing how much people like to talk about themselves while they're getting a massage. I just add in a few Mmm-hmms and Oh, I sees, and suddenly, I'm a therapist. Works fine for me.
Lost in my thoughts on my way home from work, I don't see it coming until I'm on top of it. Or, rather, on top of him. Elevator Man has just exited from a taxi when I accidentally tackle him, ending up with us in a tangled mess on the sidewalk.
I really shouldn't walk around with my earbuds in. Jesus.
I quickly pull out my earbud and apologize profusely, only to find that EM is laughing. Like, deep-chortles-from-the-depths-of-his-belly laughing. I think it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I scramble to my feet, blushing.
"It's fine," he says, still laughing.
We walk toward our building, shoulder to shoulder, and he's shaking his head while his laughter dies down. The minute I hear the Wagner ringtone sound, I feel myself tense up.
Come on, really? The day that I get a raised eyebrow, a slight grin, AND a "you're very welcome," then become tangled in his hot body and hear his beautiful laugh, it's gonna be ruined by Wagner? That's just not fair. And I don't fucking care if life isn't fair, it should be where Elevator Man is concerned.
The Wagner goes unanswered, and I catch myself grinning just a little bit. As we stand next to each other in front of the elevator, I notice that it is seems to be moving more slowly than usual. I'm grateful, and actually a little thrilled, to have a few extra moments with Elevator Man on this most auspicious of days.
Wagner rings again, and, once again, goes unanswered. My mind goes to places where epic screaming matches have taken place, just moments before in the cab, and they had a bloody, gruesome break up right before I ended up tangled together with EM.
I notice that I'm a sweaty mess from my walk home. My forehead is damp, and I fan myself with my shirt.
God, I hope I don't smell. I don't want to be stuck in an elevator with him and find out I stink!
This is the longest wait for the elevator we've ever had, and I'm kind of enjoying it, even though I'm preoccupied with the possibility of bad body odor.
Wagner stops my smell musings. I hear Elevator Man grumble, looking at his phone. He powers it down, chuckles to himself, and put the phone back in his pocket.
The elevator bell dings, startling us both a little bit, and he holds the door for me. I press the button for our floor, and a few moments after the elevator starts to move, the lights flicker on and off. I hear him gasp. When it starts up again, we both exhale audibly, and turn to look at each other with chagrin on our faces.
Our relief is short-lived. Moments later, the lights go dark, the elevator screeches, hitches, and then stops, clanking to a halt. I try not to let myself panic.
"Fuck!" I hear him exclaim.
"I'm sure it will be back on any second."
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right."
We both stand awkwardly, facing the front door, as if the elevator is going to deposit us to our floor in mere moments. This lasts for a few minutes, and then we both start to get exasperated. There is only a small sliver of light shining through the gap in the elevator doors, but it is barely enough to make out vague shapes.
"Do you think we should try to call someone?"
I reach out in front of me to feel for a phone on the panel of buttons. In all the time I've lived here, I've been so preoccupied with EM that I've never taken the time to notice. It's odd, really, because I'm the kind of person who always notices where the fire exits are in a theatre, or how many rows of seats rest between my own and the exit row on an airplane. My hands tell me what I suspect I already knew, somehow; there isn't any phone in the elevator. Our apartment building must be too old.
He pulls out his phone and fires it up.
As long as no Wagner starts playing…
"Shit, no signal. It figures." He runs his fingers through his hair, so I know he's feeling uncomfortable.
I have no idea what to do. This is awkward beyond belief, and the worst part is that I have no idea how quickly this issue will be resolved.
I'm damp with perspiration, and I can feel my bangs sticking to my forehead. I take a moment to sniff my pits, because I'm really fucking worried that I stink. No, they're fine. Thank god.
I have no idea how long we've been standing in the dark, in silence, because even if I had a watch on, I couldn't see it.
While there may be no electricity in this elevator, there is no mistaking the current of energy that is passing between my body and his. It's as if the darkness has magnified the energy tenfold. Believe me, I know these things—I touch bodies for a living. I'm not into all the new age bullshit my mother loves—crystals, auras, numerology—but energy is another matter. Some people simply feel different under your hands. Elevator Man is definitely one of those people. It's like the air is crackling with his energy, and I haven't even touched him yet. I wonder if he notices it, too.
I exhale loudly, with the intent of blowing some air over my sweaty face. I also fan my shirt to stir up a little breeze. A hot, dark, stalled elevator isn't exactly comfortable in the middle of summer.
"It's wicked hot today, not a day to get stuck in an elevator. No Tazo?"
How the fuck does he know what I drink in the summertime?
"Uh, no, no Tazo today. I forgot it at home this morning."
"Yes, you did appear to be in a rush when I saw you."
"What do you mean? I walked around the corner!"
"I heard you running before that."
I blush, and am grateful he cannot see my response.
"Are you blushing?"
"How the hell do—?"
"You always blush whenever I catch you watching me."
"I don't watch you!"
"Just like you don't run to catch the elevator?" He clearly has a smile on his face, based on his tone.
"I was in a hurry," I say adamantly.
I don't know why I'm trying to deny this. My attraction for him in plainly obvious. He caught on to it right away.
"It's all right, Miss; you don't need to be embarrassed. I'll have you know that I look for your huge, brown, Mary Poppins bag to appear around the corner every morning. It's the first indication I get that you are on your way, aside from hearing your footsteps. Sometimes, I let the elevator go if you haven't arrived yet," he admits, sheepishly.
"You do?" I reply, with a smaller voice than I intended.
Now that we've let our masks tumble to the floor, the darkness seems to have contributed to our boldness.
"It might not seem like it, but I pay attention to these things. Small things, but they add up to be big things that describe who you are."
"I know all your ringtones. It makes me smile inside whenever you screen them. I silently guess whether or not you're going to answer when your mother calls."
"I'm that predictable, huh? I just think texting is more efficient. I know I will say things exactly the way I mean to say them if I write it."
"I hate the Wagner piece, just so you know. He was an idiotic asshole."
"Well, the woman behind the ringtone is an idiotic asshole, which is why I chose it."
"Oh!" I say, pleased with the unexpected revelation. "You screened her calls twice tonight, then turned off your phone."
"It makes me happy when you ignore the Wagner."
"Well, I'm just glad I don't hear the New Kids on The Block ringtone anymore. It pissed me off every time I heard it, to be honest."
I can tell I'm blushing again. "But I broke up with Jake more than two years ago!"
I simply can't believe he remembered that little detail. It isn't like I even talked to Jake very often. I broke things off when I left to live with my gran. I knew I wouldn't be home soon, and had no interest in a long-term relationship.
"Yeah, well, I told you I didn't care for the ringtone," he says, defensively.
I suddenly feel lightheaded. My body starts to sway, and I accidentally bump into Elevator Man's shoulder. He is instantly alarmed.
"Are you all right, Miss?"
"I think I need to sit down. I feel kind of woozy. It must be the heat."
I step backward, with my hands behind me, feeling for the back wall. When I find it, I sit down, and lean back. I take a deep breath in and out, and feel better.
"Fucking elevator," he grumbles. "Do you mind if I sit next to you?"
I can't resist the urge to tease him. "Are you sure you want to? After all, you don't even know my first name. I could have very evil intentions, you know. I could have rigged this to happen."
He chuckles, and once again, I am struck by the beauty of his voice, his laugh. Any sound from him is melodic.
"I'm pretty sure I could defend myself if it came down to that."
"My name is Bella," I tell him, suddenly feeling shy, exposed.
"Bella. That's so unique. It's like your parents knew…"
"Like they knew what?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
"Like they knew how beautiful you would become."
I scoff. "Hardly! I was named Isabella after my great-grandmother. It's a family name."
"Well, whatever the origins of your name may be, it's still true."
"Thank you, Elevator Man. I don't know your name, either."
"Well, I needed a name for you. I see you twice a day, after all."
"You know, I probably see you more regularly than anyone else I know, and I don't even know you."
Now it's my turn to giggle. Impulsively, I reach out, feeling for his arm. When our skin makes contact, the air sparks with static electricity. We both gasp. I continue patting his arm until I find his hand. I gently grasp it, as if we are shaking hands.
"Elevator Man, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. After all this time, it's only right that we should introduce ourselves, however inauspicious the circumstances."
"Bella, my name is Edward. I'm very pleased to finally make your acquaintance as well."
"Yes?" I notice a hint of expectation in his voice.
"Oh, I just wanted to say it. It sounds so noble."
"Well, remember that the most recent King Edward abdicated his throne for the woman he loved, and the name became somewhat less noble."
I giggle again. I think I like Edward, the man, as much as I like looking at his pretty features.
"Actually, giving up a kingdom for the woman he loved? I don't think anything could be more romantic or precious."
"Well, yes, there is that aspect of it."
We sit in silence for a moment, and I imagine what his face would look like if I could see it. Pensive, probably. Maybe even a furrowed brow. As much as this could be awkward, I feel strangely calm and relaxed in his presence.
"Is Chinese food your favorite, or is it just easiest?"
"It seems like I always see you with Chinese take out containers on Fridays."
"Oh! Well, yes, I do love it. I'm a total slut for sweet and sour chicken with pork fried rice."
"Oh, god, verbal filter fail! That's what my friends call each other, just for fun."
"Hmm. So, what if I bring you some sweet and sour chicken, Bella?"
The tone of his voice is all innuendo and lust. I want to cut it with a knife and eat it.
I decide to continue with the slut theory, just to egg him on.
"I'm afraid that can only be answered should you actually appear in front of me with said takeout. My response varies, depending on how slutty I feel."
"Careful… I just might want to test that theory out, you know."
"Except for Wagner," I reply, somewhat dejectedly.
He sighs deeply. "Wagner has been out of my life for a long time, Miss Bella."
"But you still love her."
"Yes, but it's complicated."
"I'm sure I can keep up."
"All right. You know Patsy Cline?"
"Your ringtone, or the real deal?"
"Patsy Cline is my best friend."
"I'm following so far."
"Well, Wagner is married to Patsy Cline."
"But you still love her?"
"Oh no, I never loved her."
"But you always say that you do…"
"Not like that. I love her because she makes my best friend happy. I would also love to strangle her, because she is so high maintenance and it annoys me that she plays my friend so easily. He's very easy going and is always at her beck and call."
"So why is she always calling you?" I ask, confused.
"To whine about my friend and ask me for help in getting him to see reason."
"You put up with that nonsense?"
"Um, no, actually, I don't. You do remember that I turned off my phone, right?"
"Oh, right. I forgot about that part."
We sit again in comfortable silence. I have a strong urge to reach out and hold his hand. I'm not sure why.
"What color is your cat?"
"What?" That was completely out from left field. How does he know about Scots, my sweet, loveable orange tabby?
I have to admit, that one freaked me out a little bit—I've never once mentioned having a cat.
"Your cat. I assume that's why you haul 40 lb. boxes of kitty litter up to your apartment every month."
He noticed that?
Hmm…He knows what I like for takeout. He noticed that I have a cat. He knows my ringtones. How is this possible? This gorgeous man noticed me. I am all astonishment.
"Edward, how did you know all of these details? We've never even talked before today."
"It's like I said before, I simply noticed the little things."
"But why would they matter? I'm just your plain, boring old neighbor."
"I'm not sure I would ever call you plain or boring."
Suddenly, the elevator lurches a bit, and we both gasp. Instinctively, I reach for his knee and grasp it with my hand. In an instant, his hand covers mine. As quickly as it started, the noise is over, and we return to silence.
It's at that moment when it occurs to me that we are trapped in the dark of the elevator, perspiration tickling my skin, and we have no idea how long this will last. It has to be just as uncomfortable for Edward. I note of the fact that our hands are still clamped together over his knee.
I listen to our breathing, noticing that it is picking up.
Something about being in the darkness emboldens me. It's easier to make a move if you can't visibly see the other person's reactions, or the inevitable rejection. Without giving it a second thought, I feel around his chest, looking for his tie. When my fingers find what they are seeking, I grab hold and yank Edward closer to me. I can feel his breath on my cheek, so I know he is close enough. Keeping one hand on the tie, I place the other on his face, helping guide me to where I want to be. Impulsively, I place my lips over his.
I'm not sure what I expected. Edward is a beautiful, talented, obviously successful man. I'm merely a massage therapist who happens to be his neighbor. The minute our lips collide, however, none of this matters anymore. In fact, most rational thought eludes me. There's something magical about the way we feel together, and I never want it to stop. Instinctively, I open my mouth, and feel his tongue play with mine.
Before I have a chance to think about what we're doing, he grabs my hips and pulls me over to straddle him. He's deliciously hard underneath me, and I press myself into his hardness without even thinking.
He places his hands behind my head, holding me steady and close to him as he kisses me in earnest. He stops frequently to nibble on my lip or tongue, causing both of us to moan into each other's mouths. I've never been kissed like this before, and it is making me wildly excited. When I picture his pretty face in my head, imagining what he looks like as he kisses me, it only adds fuel to my fire.
I feel his hands on my hips, and they grasp me firmly, forcing me to still myself. It dawns on me that I've been grinding away on his crotch while enjoying his delicious kisses, not even aware of my own body's movements in response to him.
Oh god, I've been indecently writhing around on top of him, and I wasn't even trying!
"I'm so sor—" I start, but my mouth is instantly covered by his sweet, reassuring lips.
"Shh, it's just that the positioning was bad—there's nothing wrong," he reassures me.
"Oh," I answer, understanding his motivation.
He lifts me up slightly in order to rearrange himself. He sighs in relief.
"I'm sorry I attacked you," I say, with notable embarrassment in my voice.
"I'm not!" He laughs. "I was moments from doing the same thing."
I feel my cheeks flush in response to his words, and I'm grateful for the lack of light.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'll let you take the lead this time."
"Gladly! I cannot imagine a better way to pass the time in a stalled elevator."
Our lips meet again, starting out more slowly, as if they simply want to revel in the pleasure of being joined together.
His hands shift from my hips to my bum, pulling me in towards his erection. Everything about this moment—his soft lips, his firm hands, his hard cock—stirs my senses. I am suddenly disappointed that my eyes are deprived of seeing the look on his face when he is aroused.
I break apart from his lips to gather my breath.
"It's been so long since I've had a kiss, and I've never had one that amazing, to be honest."
"How long has it been?"
"Well, I broke up with Jake before I moved here… that means it's been more than two years."
"It's been more than three years for me."
"Really?" I say, sounding a bit incredulous. "That's hard to believe."
"Well, you're just so, um, hot," I reply, honestly.
"What about you? How have you not found a man in New York City?"
"Well, at first I lived with my gran, and it wasn't like I was keen to bring men home, you know? Plus, that's not my style. I lead a pretty quiet life."
"Why don't you live with her anymore? Did she move?"
I swallow hard, tears suddenly welling just below the surface. "No, she died about six months after I moved here. I wanted to stay, because I love the city. It reminds me of her."
"I grew up here, so I've never known anything else." His hands palm my ass lightly, while he runs the tip of his nose along my collarbone. Everywhere he touches me, my skin erupts in goose bumps. "Where did you live before?"
"I grew up in a tiny, rainy, depressing little town on the Olympic peninsula in Washington State—Forks."
"I guess I can see the appeal New York City must have for you, then. Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?"
"I'm a massage therapist. I attended the Swedish Institute, and I work in an upscale spa in Midtown."
"No wonder yours hands feel so incredible when you touch me."
"It's nothing compared to your hands running over my skin."
"I beg to differ."
"Dude, you didn't have to stop kissing in order to catch your breath."
"Well, I might not have been the first one to stop, but I used that moment to catch my breath nonetheless."
I take my hands and ghost them over is face, wanting to read his features even if I couldn't see them.
"Close your eyes," I command.
"Okay," he whispers in return.
I run my fingers over his long eyelashes, so soft and beautiful. It's criminal that a man should have such gorgeous eyes.
His nose is next, and I use my index finger to lightly run over it. He could be a marble statue, with a nose that perfect.
Using my thumbs, I brush my way across his cheeks, and take his earlobes gently, rubbing them between my thumbs and forefingers. This evokes a slight moan from him, which is unexpected. I'm secretly thrilled that my innocent investigation of his features has proven to be erotic, since that was unintended.
My fingertips grace along the back of his jaw, tracing the outline all the way to his chin. I notice that his breathing rate has increased, and I find myself wonderfully aroused by his responses to my simple gestures.
I know he is expecting me to run my fingers over his lips, but I decide that I cannot wait any longer, and place my mouth over his. Without intending it, I find myself seriously excited, and the kiss becomes more aggressive.
Thankfully, Edward takes the lead from me, deepening the kiss, until we are nothing more than a series of moans and heaving breathing.
Taking another moment to catch my breath, I lean over and whisper in his ear.
"Edward, I need you to take off your shirt."
Without a response, his hands quickly loosen his tie then unbutton his crisp white shirt. Despite my best attempts to wrinkle his shirt, its starch still feels crisp underneath my hands.
The minute it is open, he grabs my hand and places them on his hairy chest; in case I couldn't find them on my own in the darkness, I suppose. I'm certainly not going to argue with him over the matter.
Unexpectedly, he moves to the hem of my shirt, yanking it off me in one swift movement. His hands instantly move to my breasts.
"I've always fantasized about seeing your breasts. Every damn day. I swear, they wink at me from inside your shirt."
I hear my breath hitch in response to the feeling of his hands on me. He quickly skims around to my back, unclasping my bra. As it falls easily to the floor, the sensation of his talented hands on my exposed flesh causes my nipples to harden.
"Fuck," he growls out. "I've wanted to see these beauties forever, and the one chance I get, I'm blocked because there's no light."
"I'll make sure you see them again, Edward," I whisper.
His response is a swift pinch of my nipples, and my hips grind into him. I've never wanted sex more than in this very moment.
"Please, take them in your mouth for me."
His tongue circling around my peaks is unlike anything I've felt in my life. Elevator Man has an incredibly skilled mouth. I find myself whimpering in response to his attention.
"God, Bella, every time you make that noise I swear I'm going to come in my pants."
"That would be a total waste of a perfectly good orgasm. I can imagine better places for you to do than come than in your pants."
"Fuuuuuck!" he groans.
"Well, not only are you driving me mad, but also I have no condoms with me."
"When were you last tested?"
"I get tested annually. I haven't been with anyone since my last clean test."
"Me neither, and I'm on the pill."
Could it really be this simple? Having sex with my sex-on-a-stick neighbor? Right here, right now?
Apparently, yes, it is.
"Is it bad for me to say how much I want you?"
"No, especially when I want you just as much. Or perhaps you failed to notice my raging erection that is nestled between your legs?"
I swivel my hips over said erection, letting him know I am well aware of its presence. "That would be hard to miss."
With one hand still cupping my breast, he finds my ear and whispers to me.
"I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. My I please have the honor of fucking you senseless?"
"Oh god…yes… please!"
I reach between us, fumbling for his fly, right at the same moment he arrives there. Our heads clunk together, and I see stars for a minute. We both start laughing.
"How about you tend to your pants, and I'll tend to mine?"
I don't even need to answer; I simply stand up and wiggle out of my pants as quickly as I can. I've never been so ready in my life although I'm slightly disappointed I won't be able to see his cock. I just know it is as beautiful as the rest of him.
I hear Edward stand up and feel his hands reaching out to me. He swiftly moves me towards the corner of the elevator, so my back is wedged into the corner. His hand skims down over my abdomen until it reaches what I presume it is looking for. He runs a fingertip over my slickness.
"Fuck, you're so wet!"
"It's your fault! You shouldn't be so fucking hot!"
"Me?" he says, his voice incredulous. "What about you? Teasing me every day and every night with your amazing body?"
I gasp as he slides he fingers inside of me.
"Consider this my payback for all that teasing," he growls out.
My voice answers him shakily. "You can pay me back any time. Just so you know."
He cups my ass, lifting me up, and I feel his cock poised to enter me. He plans to use the corner as leverage, and I'm all for that plan.
I suddenly feel him sink into me, and it is exquisite. There's absolutely nothing that can compare to the first thrust of a cock moving inside you, unless it is an orgasm itself. The ache, the desire, the wetness, all in preparation for that moment. It's pure, unadulterated bliss.
Suffice it to say, Edward's first thrusts leave anyone else's in the dust. Not being able to see him only adds to the intensity of the feeling. It's like I can focus more on him moving in me and it heightens all of my other responses. I find his mouth and revel in the feeling of having both his cock and his tongue in me at the same time.
I hear the metal paneling of the elevator wall buckle and groan in time with his movements in and out, a delicious emphasis. He slows down enough to shift his hands, moving my knees up higher, towards his chest. When he thrusts again, it's even deeper than it was before, and I hear myself scream in satisfaction.
"Fuck, Edward… I'm so close," I manage to choke out.
"Me, too. You feel so fucking amazing."
He's a good boy, and does as he's told. I didn't realize how badly I've needed to be fucked until now.
I'm just as surprised as he is when the lights flicker back on and the elevator starts to move.
Are you kidding me? Before we even have a chance to finish?
Apparently, I'm not the only one who is displeased.
"Fuck it," he says with conviction, sliding our joined bodies towards the control panel. I watch as he flicks the red "Emergency Stop" button. I look at him with a delighted grin, which he returns.
"What?" he says, knowingly. "Did you want me to stop?"
"Fuck no!" I say, somewhat breathlessly.
"I didn't think so."
"No words… just keep… fucking!"
"Well, all right then…"
It only takes a few more moments until my orgasm explodes, and I scream out his name. It's the most intense feeling I've ever experienced.
"Jesus," he swears, thrusting into me with slow, deep, deliberate movements. "Com…coming," he groans into my ear.
We're both throbbing with the end of our orgasms, deliciously spent. We pant into each other's shoulders.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to have a tame ride in this elevator again—you've spoiled it for me now, you know."
"As long as you promise to take the elevator with me, I'm okay with that," he replies cheekily, with a tantalizing grin blooming on his face.
He lets me down gently then takes his t-shirt to wipe me up. We both get dressed quickly, knowing that there are likely others wanting to get the elevator, too. He leans over and flicks off the emergency switch.
When the doors open at our floor, he looks over at me and gives me a sweet, gentle, lingering kiss. He places his arm on my lower back as he holds the door open for me.
Without thinking, I turn to the right, ready to walk to my apartment.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Um, to my apartment?"
"But then who will eat the Chinese take out I have delivered? You know I always go for Greek, so someone needs to take the sweet and sour chicken off my hands."
"Oh! Uh, well, I think I can help you there."
"That's more like it," he says, giving my ass a quick slap.
I squeal in response, grinning widely.
He leans into my neck and whispers in my ear, "The faster you get down to my place, the more spanks you will earn."
I whimper in return.
I take off in a brisk trot, with Edward hot in pursuit.