Page 62 of Little Miss Fortune

‘I... I am not that...’

‘You are, Fuko. I have tried to ignore it, to write it off as noticing a positive character trait in a coworker. But the more we talked and the more time I spent with you, the more I felt like I was the biggest loser on this earth, wasting my limited time not even asking you out. Like, for example, a man left his wallet on the Tube, and you ran after him, missing the train.’

‘What? When was that?’ I ignore the first part of his declaration completely, because my mouth is dry. All the moisture went into my brain to create a fog over my thoughts, to cloud my judgement.

‘Weeks ago. You were late to the office. I expected you to tell me about the wallet and how that made you miss your train, and I would have said, ‘I know, I saw it first-hand’, but you didn’t. You just sent me a message to say that someone was sitting in your spot.’

‘Someone was sitting in my spot.’

‘It’s hot-desking, Fuko. You can pick any seat you want! But that’s what I mean. You do these small acts of kindness, even when they don’t benefit you in any way. Even if no one is there to witness them.’

‘That’s literally not a big deal.’ I feel as if I am shouting through a blockade.

‘Well, it was to me.’ He is shouting too. ‘And I think it was a big deal then, because I was trying to find reasons not to hurt Alexandra, to continue a relationship that I thought would satisfy everyone, but everywhere I looked I saw you. I couldn’t stop feeling like I had made a horrible mistake. And we got stuck in the lift, and I found out about the essay, and I just knew that I had been trying so hard not to hurt anyone and doing the thing that was expected of me instead of pursuing what I actually wanted. You.’

The feeling of someone angrily professing their feelings to you, as both of you are mildly tipsy, is completely indescribable. On one hand, my ego is completely stroked and fed; on the other, I feel like a glass vase that has been balancing on the edge of the table has finally been nudged too far and is flying towards the ground at a speed above 9.8 metres per second. Either there was a stronger gravitational pull, or the push created more force. Or it’s because the vase existed in a vacuum. But I have a theory that might answer why the glass has shattered all over the floor like a grenade.

There is no more resistance. I lost my job, my friends are angry with me, and I have disappointed my family. I have kissed him once when I was sober and restrained, and I am now so drunk (I lied about the mildly tipsy thing) that there is nothing stopping me.

When my lips parted his, I opened my eyes for a moment to see a look of complete shock on Toby’s face that melted into closed-eye pleasure as my tongue tasted the smokiness of the whiskey. A deep moan escaped from him, clashing with my shallow breaths. I took his glasses off and placed them on the side table, expecting to return to the couch and the same level of mellow enjoyment.

But something happens when our faces meet again. I lean in for another kiss but am frozen in place by the way his hair falls on his face, the way his eyes look at me, and the way his neck tenses as if me not touching him causes immense pain. He is beautiful.

I push him onto the floor, his back against the foot of the couch, and straddle his legs. The ache within me is growing. I unbutton his shirt, licking his neck as more of his skin is revealed. He wants to be in charge right now, I can see it. He wants to rip my clothes off and fuck me with his name on my lips.

And normally, I would let him. But the freckles on his shoulders are sweet like brown sugar. If I can have even a minute longer just to taste him before he snaps. He groans and stiffens as I grind on him. I worry the time of me toying with him is running out.

‘Where are your condoms?’ I whisper.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls an XXL one out of his wallet. Classy. I knew he wouldn’t be the type to get annoyed about wanting it raw. Good.

I unzip his trousers and slide on the carpet. His dick is pink and veiny, and fucking hell, I hope that’s fully erect. I get the condom size now. I free it from its packaging with my teeth. The tip of the rubber goes in my mouth, and then my hand helps to slide it from the tip down the shaft of his cock. His hand covers his face in another hungry moan.

I enjoy hearing him, seeing his body tense every time my tongue assists my hand and mouth with gliding up and down. The muscles of his body ripple after I try to deep throat him, which is when I know my time is up.

He guides me up by my chin and pulls my shirt off me. His hand feels around for a clasp on my bra, but it’s one of those T-shirt bras without hooks. Confusion flies across his face. I giggle and take it over my head for him. For a moment, he takes me in, planting soft kisses on my cheek, but each kiss grows hungrier and more forceful, as he undoes my trousers and pulls all the fabric off my lower half.

His tongue teases my nipple. His chill hand glides up my thigh. My hands dig into his shoulders to steady myself at the burning his path leaves on my skin. I feel a moan coming on when he reaches between my legs.

‘You’re so wet.’ He chuckles in my ear as his fingers circle around.

I wish I had something witty in me, something other than a needy grunt, as my body bends into his, begging to be closer to him.

And he just won’t. He ignores my hips waving into him, my starved groan into his neck.

His fingers are slow, wandering everywhere with the flare of an explorer. Toby’s gaze is playful and unwavering, as if he is taking every breath and moan in. A conductor of the symphony. He is waiting for something to happen; his own erect cock is not clouding his judgement and goals the way my desires have overridden mine.

‘Please, Toby,’ I whimper.

‘Tell me what you want.’ His voice tickles my ear, sending shivers down my back.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

Fuck. It usually works with men. His body is completely steady; the corner of his lip is upturned. He’s looked at me with the same mocking smile before, at meetings, during report writing, never when his fingers were an inch from being in me. If he wants me to lose my mind, he is doing a good job.

I am not great at dirty talk or stating what I want in bed, which I have a feeling he suspects. But god, I want this so badly right now I will do anything.