We’re adults. We should be able to look and touch and taste and suck and—Fuck. This is getting out of hand. I’m a scientist. I am only moved by data and facts, by hypotheses and conclusions. Lust is for the weak and dumb. What I need to do is go for a run and clear my head. I have some pent-up adrenaline that hasn’t been worked out properly. When was the last time I exercised? This morning? That was hours ago. All that sitting in a chair has resulted in the atrophy of my self-discipline. Sex is for losers. Science is for winners. I take a deep breath, glad that my priorities are once again in order. The elevator dings just as a breathless Kayla arrives by my side. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips are glistening, as if she licked them. I gulp. My brain synapses are misfiring, and suddenly, I’m not in the department waiting for the elevator but I’m in the office, leaning against my desk. She’s on her knees. Her pink lips are parted, and my dick is shuttling in and out. I swallow a groan. When the elevator doors slide open, I jump forward to escape. She starts to join me, but I shove out a hand to stop her.
“I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her lips part in surprise, which is probably the worst image for me to see before the elevator doors close. I’m going to have to run a marathon to wipe that vision out of my head.
The elevator cab jolts, and the doors part. Kayla’s gorgeous face sports a serious frown. “Did you just close the elevator doors on me?”
She steps onto the cab and jabs the parking button. “If you don’t want to go out to eat, that’s fine, but I can ride the elevator with you, can’t I?” Under her breath she mutters something about how she’s starting to understand the rumors.
“What rumors?”
Her eyebrow goes up. “You don’t know? The ones about how you’re difficult and irascible and how everyone felt sorry that I was assigned to you.”
Assigned to me. I like how that sounds as if I’ve got full ownership over her. I don’t, but it’d be nice to put a collar around her neck that says Property of Nathan Amherst, Ph.D. It’d be a velvet-lined one. I wouldn’t want her delicate neck to get scratched or abraded. If she did get a sore spot, I’d suck the bruise away. Or maybe I’d add more bruises. Her skin might look all the more delectable with an assortment of marks on it.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Hmm?” I wasn’t paying attention, so I backtrack in my memory bank. What did she say? That the rumors about me are that I’m an asshole? “That sounds about right.”
A perplexed expression creates her brow at my admission. I could’ve lied and said I was Santa Claus, but I don’t think she would’ve bought that. Maybe I should give her some explanation. Although what I’m not sure. I’m a dick because all I care about is my research. People generally interfere with that. She’s a scientist in training. I think she would understand. “Look, I—“ My words are abruptly cut off when the lights in the elevator flicker off and then back on. There’s a loud screech of metal scraping against metal. The car shakes, and an ominous groan echoes overhead.
“Oh my God, what is happening?” she gasps.
“Hold on.” I slap one hand against the side of the elevator car and reach out to her with another. The rules against no touching don’t apply in these circumstances. The car picks up speed, moving faster and faster. Kayla stumbles into my arms right when the car lurches to a stop. I clasp her tight, her soft breasts mashing against my hard chest. The car creaks and then jolts again, driving us both against the wall.
Just as I’m about to say we’ll be fine, the lights cut off, plunging us into darkness. Kayla tries to climb up my torso.
“I got you.” I rub a soothing hand down her back. Under my palm I can feel her tremble. She’s scared.
“What’s going on?”
“The elevator’s malfunctioning, but we’re likely close to the parking garage level, and after that there’s only one more floor, so if we drop it’s only two stories and the worst that can happen is maybe a broken leg.”
“Only a broken leg?” Kayla’s voice is high-pitched and frightened.
“A sprain then,” I lie. Ordinarily, I’m a facts only kind of man, but the falsehood slips off the tongue easily. As long as it makes Kayla feel better, I could write papers about how the sky is green and the grass is blue.
“I need to get out of here.” She struggles out of my arms. I let her go, and she races to the closed doors. “I can’t be in here. I can’t breathe in here.” Her fists strike impotently against the heavy metal. “Help us. Help! There’s someone stuck in here,” she yells.