Vodka On Ice
The light tap on the door startled both of them. "Sir, are you free?" one of his subordinates asked, trying the knob, wondering why the door was locked. "I just need a moment."
"Just a minute," he answered sternly, clearly frustrated at the interruption. I'm going to kill him!
"Put your coat back on." he swore as he pushed Sacha toward his private bathroom and then landed two quick hard swats on her naked butt.
She yelped and he grinned. "Wait in here. I won't be long."
Sacha locked the bathroom door behind her, slipped the coat on and zipped it up. Ohgodohgodohgod! He was so hard - his chest felt so good, his arms were... his... ohgod, he was so hard. What am I going to do? I can't stay in here forever. I can't... what am I going to do?
The adrenaline rush made her nervous. She shivered. This was not part of the plan. And suddenly, she was impatient. Tapping her toe, she looked around. Not bad for a private bathroom. Nice size. What's in here?
Opening the medicine cabinet, she poked around. Razor, extra blades, shaving cream, toothpaste, deodorant, aspirin. Condoms? Why does he need condoms in the office? She chuckled, suddenly relaxed. Must have been a Boy Scout.
The conversation on the other side of the door was getting heated. She heard Skovetz's "No!" several times and the other man's voice, "Yes, sir. No, sir. Sorry, sir." And then, there was silence. Listening intently, Sacha was sure they were no longer in the office. Carefully and quietly, she unlocked the bathroom door and cracked it open. Nothing, no sound. She opened the door wider; the office was empty.
Now's my chance. Less than a minute later, she was safely locked in the maintenance supply closet and with a great deal of haste, she tugged her coat and mask off and pulled her clothes on. Exiting into the parallel corridor, she leisurely walked to the elevator, pushed the down button and waited.
It was sheer will power that allowed her to maintain a neutral expression when the elevator doors opened. Nick Skovetz stood there, waiting to exit. He held the door open for her as she entered and she murmured a barely audible "thank you."
He was halfway down the hall when it dawned on him that she looked familiar. Where have I seen her before? Then he remembered. She lives in my building. That's where I've seen her. Wonder what she was doing here?
He locked his office door behind him, the woman in the elevator quickly forgotten. Tapping on the bathroom door, he called out. "Sacha? You can come out now. We're alone."
Hearing no response, he turned the knob. Empty! She's gone! "Son of a bitch!" he snapped. "Now I have to wait till she shows up again!"
*If* she shows up his conscience snorted.
"She'll show. I know she will."
She hummed all the way home, her lips curved into a happy smile. "That man can kiss. Yes, indeed. He can kiss!"
He swatted you, too. Think he can spank you as well? her conscience nudged.
"Oh my *god!* He *did* give me a couple of swats... He wouldn't dare!"
Nick lay back on his couch, his eyes unfocused, his finger aimlessly clicking the TV remote. Christ, she was soft and sweet in my arms. Her mouth... sweet. Silk, like silk... smooth, soft. Sacha, sweet Sacha. He tossed the remote across the room and swore. Son of a bitch! If we hadn't been interrupted, I could have... He sighed heavily. I would have, too, damn it! Next time.
You sure there's going to be a next time, old man? The thought sprang out of nowhere.
"Yes, damn sure!" he muttered. "Very damn sure! That woman has teased me to the point that I... She needs a good, hard spanking in the worst possible way and I am going to deliver it!"
Two weeks later
Sacha was frustrated, nervous and on edge. Things were not going according to her plan. She wanted to see that hunky Mr. Skovetz again, and feel his lips on hers. She had marveled at the softness of those lips and the taste of his tongue in her mouth. She wanted to taste it again. She wanted to tease him with her body and make the big guy hot for her and she wanted his burly arms around her again.
Quickly, she entered the maintenance closet, stripped to the bare essentials, and slipped her coat on. Mask in hand, she stepped into Skovetz's outer office, prepared to slip it on over her face and hair. Taking a deep breath, she put the mask in place and tapped lightly on his office door. She paused a few seconds, turned the knob, and entered his office. He was nowhere in sight. No jacket hanging over a chair; no briefcase in sight. His desk was orderly, files stacked neatly. She could see his terminal was shut down.
NO! He wasn't there. She slumped against the door, the frustration evident in her posture. Finally, she stood, removed the mask and went back to the closet to change into her street clothes. Unhappy at not being able to see him, Sacha left the building, disappointment etched on her pretty face.
She had been primed, ready to surprise him, ready to strip for him, ready to kiss him, to touch him, to... Damn! Damn! Damn!
Well, Ms. Sacha, her conscience prodded. What's next on the agenda?
No Mr. Skovetz. May as well get something to eat.
Not in the mood. I need comfort food. How about spaghetti and meatballs with lots of garlic bread?
Works for me.
Rush hour traffic conspired against her plans of a hot meal and a stress free evening. By the time she reached Plaza Towers, her food was cold, and she was developing a headache. Pulling into her assigned parking space, she gathered her things and headed for the elevator.
Supper's probably stone cold. Have to nuke it. Hate to reheat it. Never tastes as good.
She pushed the call button with her elbow and looked up, watching the numbers descend as the elevator car came down to the garage. Her hands and arms were full; the strap of her handbag over one shoulder, the gym bag carrying her "stripper's coat" dangling from her hand. She carried her dinner in the other hand, and today's Washington Post under her arm.
When the doors opened, she stepped in and punched the number for her floor, but just as the doors were closing, she heard a deep voice call out.
"Hold the elevator."
He reached the doors as they were closing and stuck his arm through the crack just as Sacha elbowed the "open door" button. His thrusting hand bumped her shoulder hard, making her lose her balance, and she fell against the back of the car. Her dinner went flying in the opposite direction, the contents spilling inside the plastic bag.
"Are you all right," the deep voice asked. "Did you hurt yourself?"
She couldn't speak. Her eyes grew wide when she looked up at the man in front of her. It wasn't that the fall had knocked the wind out of her lungs, it was the man holding his hand out to help her up.
Nicolas Sergei Skovetz, 17th floor, Plaza Towers, and Assistant Chairman of Security, Ltd, in charge of Criminal Investigations, and my god! I keep forgetting how big this man is...
"Are you all right?" he asked again, his baritone voice washing over her, making her heart beat faster.
"Yes, thank you," she murmured softly, her voice a little shaky. "Just startled for a moment."
"Let me help you up," he slid his arm under hers and lifted her to her feet. Looking into her face, he liked what he saw.
"You sure you're okay?" He peered into her dark gray eyes, assessing her, judging her facial expression, weighing his thoughts, his mood pensive. She reminds me of someone...
"Yes, yes. I'm sure," her breath a little unsteady, his closeness making her nervous.
Releasing her arm, he spotted the plastic bag, grimacing. "Looks like I've ruined your supper. I'd like to make up for that. It's the least I can do."
She thought his smile could light the whole building, or at the very least, charm the pants off of her... not that she was wearing any.
"How about I take you out to dinner?"
"Dinner?" she asked, just a little dazed to be with him under these circumstances. Her eyes focused on his lips, remembering... and unsure if she was making any sense. "Oh, that's not necessary. Thank you."
"I think it *is* necessary. I insist," he was still smiling, turning the charm up a few notches. "What floor are you on? You do live here, don't you?"
She barely nodded.
"You can drop your things off and freshen up. I'll..." He put his hand out, taking hers. "The name's Skovetz. Nick Skovetz. I live on the 17th floor."
I know. "Sa... El... Ella Brody. I'm on the 15th."
"Nice to know you Ella Brody," his mouth curved up at her nervousness. "I know it's last minute, but you will have dinner with me, won't you, Ms. Brody?"
"I... um... I don't know. I..."
"I assure you I'm perfectly respectable," he grinned suddenly. "Would you like a list of references?"
Sacha laughed. Is this the same man who was such a grump when I first met him... until I stripped for him?
Yes! Her conscience reminded. And he's the same man who kissed you and touched you and made you hotter than a...
"Thank you," she said, giving him a shy smile.
It was a short ride to the restaurant, conversation brief, restricted to Plaza Towers and the weather. Nick kept a gentle hand on the small of her back as he escorted her inside and allowed himself a moment of pleasure when he felt her shiver at his touch. He admired her ash brown hair spilling across her shoulders when he helped her remove her coat and wondered if it was as silky as it looked. When they were seated, he finally had his first complete look at her figure.
She felt her face warm under his frank gaze and the impetuous scamp in her provoked him. "Do you like what you see, Mr. Skovetz?
"Yes," he smiled at her, thinking he had heard that somewhere else. "I do." And he did.
Her ash brown hair and deep gray eyes weren't her only assets. Five feet, five inches, he guessed and probably 110-115 pounds. And an old-fashioned hourglass figure. Round on top and round on the bottom with a tiny waist. Perfect!
He ordered spring rolls for their appetizer, the cashew chicken dish, and beef with broccoli. She ordered shrimp in garlic sauce, with extra garlic, making him arch his brows. She laughed. He chuckled.
"Are we going to share?" his eyes twinkling as he asked.
"If you insist," she replied, suppressing a grin.
When the food arrived, they both dug in with gusto. Nick watched her, admiring her healthy appetite. He always hated when a woman picked at her food or orders salad when she knows she wants a steak.
Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she returned his gaze, concentrating on the intensity of his warm brown eyes. "Do you always stare when you're eating, Mr. Skovetz?
Something about her voice triggered his memory. Sacha? My little stripper? He narrowed his eyes, thinking. Height about right, figure is very similar, ash brown hair... that could have been the color of her... no, probably just sounds a little like her...
"What? Oh, sorry. Lost in thought for a moment." He helped himself to a fork full of her garlic shrimp and rice. "What do you do for a living, Ms. Brody?"
"Have you lived at the Plaza Towers long, Mr. Skovetz?" she asked, totally ignoring his question.
He snorted. "How long have *you* lived there, Ms. Brody?"
"Not long," she said evasively and smiled at him, her mouth full. "Please, my friends call me Ella."
He covered her hand with his, briefly. "Ella's a pretty name.
Do you sing?"
"Sing? No-o-o. What makes you think I might sing?"
"Ella Fitzgerald, one of my favorites."
Sacha rolled her eyes, making him laugh aloud.
"I guess you don't sing," he sounded despondent at the news and then ruined the effect by chuckling.
Sacha hoped she wasn't blushing. His deep, rich baritone was having a dizzying effect on her. Casting her eyes down, she concentrated on the meal, trying not to remember the last time they were together. The memory was still fresh. His warm breath and deep voice in her ear had sent shivers skating through her when he held her in his arms. Mmmm.
"What do you do, Mr. Skovetz?"
"Call me Nick."
"Nick, it is," she said softly, and briefly caressed his hand.
"What kind of work do you do, Nick?"
"I work for Security, Ltd," he answered, sampling more of her garlic shrimp.
"What do you do for them?" she continued, spearing a piece of beef from his plate in return. "Are you one of those security firms that break into people's houses and scare the beejeebees out of decent folk?" She used her fingers to pick some cashews out of his plate, and popped them into her mouth.
He almost stopped breathing while he watched her pink tongue deliberately lick those fingers. Time froze and his cock twitched at the sight of her tongue moving across her upper lip. Shifting in his seat, he swallowed a groan as it disappeared back into her mouth.
She looked up at him when he didn't answer her question. "Nick?"
He slid a finger under his shirt collar, feeling a little warm. "I'm not in the field. And for the record," he added just a little gruffly, "none of my people break into people's houses and scare decent folk."
"Do they scare indecent folk?" she asked flippantly.
"Ella..." his voice warned.
"Pushed a button, huh?" She watched his gaze narrow, and laughed at his fierce expression. "Sorry."
"Are you always so disrespectful, or are you just disrespectful of law enforcement?" he asked.
"Yes," she agreed.
Nick smiled, relaxing a little. "Do you know what happens to naughty little girls, Ella?"