“Time to put on your big girl pants and join the real world, Alex,” Braden said, smirking at me with unrestrained amusement. “I’ll be sure not to tell the partners at Haverford and McGill about all the times I wiped the floor with your ass during our classroom debates.” I narrowed my eyes as I turned to look at him, trying to ignore his barely-tamed waves of his dirty blond hair, or the way his strong jaw and smirking lips made me want to kiss his face off.
“*Alexandra*,” I said automatically, ignoring his dig. It was just another day, and another taunt from Braden Haverford III, my law school classmate and the perennial thorn in my side. I tossed my long chestnut-colored hair over my shoulder as I took in the view from the commencement stage where we were seated. Exactly how was I going to deal with this rich, arrogant dickhead when we joined the same law firm after graduation? And his father’s law firm, no less?
I usually tried to be the bigger person around Braden and ignore how he seemed to take particular delight in antagonizing me. I really did.
But today was special. We were graduating. He needed to shut his dumb trap.
“Or maybe once we begin to work together, we could reminisce about why we’re up here on this commencement stage instead of over there with the rest of our class, couldn’t we Braden?” I offered, ignoring the buzzing of the stage’s microphones. “We are celebrating our distinguished academic achievements. And there are no winners and losers in academics. Oh wait…” I bit back a laugh as the smug smile slid right off Braden’s face. His metallic folding chair creaked in protest as he stiffened, and his face hardened.
“Yeah, congratulations on achieving a GPA that was one tenth of one percent higher than mine, big whoop,” he muttered, a scowl curling his lips.
“It kills you, doesn’t it,” I said, leaning sideways so I could whisper in his ear. “You can’t flirt or fuck your way into the valedictorian spot. I earned it fair and square.”
“Whatever,” he replied, ignoring me in favor of his phone. At least he had the decency to not deny that he exploited his looks and wealth to regularly get what he wanted.
*Ha*, I thought. Hopefully that will shut him up for a while.
I would never admit it to Braden, but our competition and oneupmanship throughout law school had always pushed me to be my best. We both planned to go into litigation and had been in the same classes; ergo were always on each others’ heels. Hidden underneath his Bro demeanor was a surprising intellect that left most everyone else in the dust. He tried to play down his enthusiasm and love for our legal studies under his cool kid demeanor, but I saw right through it. Unfortunately for me in his case, intelligence was a huge turn-on. That’s probably why I let him get away with being such a shitbag. I *almost* liked bantering with him. *Almost*.
It was embarrassing to admit how much time I spent thinking about him. In class, I just leaned back and enjoyed the view. He was eye candy at its finest: athletic and toned, and effortlessly confident in his body. Combine those male model looks, plus his clever legal briefs and arguments, and I was one click short of desperate to get into his *actual* briefs. Sometimes he said erudite things in class that caught me off guard, and I had to fight to keep my hands to myself. I regularly pondered exactly how quickly I could make him come if I got down on my knees in front of him.
I settled back into my chair, fanning my face as I shifted uncomfortably in my hot velvet and black graduation gown. The afternoon was warm and humid, and I was parched from the heat. But that wasn’t why my cheeks were red. Thank goodness no one could read my mind.
“Feeling uncomfortable, Alex? Ready for this ceremony to be over?” Braden asked, looking out over the audience. “Do you have any vacation plans before we start work? Oh wait… I forgot. You have all those student loans so you must be starting work right away.” He looked at me with a spark of mischief in his eyes, clearly wondering if this new line of assault would get a rise out of me.
I swore under my breath in response. Somehow he always knew how to hit me where it hurt the most. Also, damn rich kid. He had no idea what it was like to lose sleep because you were worried about not being able to pay your bills. I found myself unable to come up with anything better than calling him a dick and vowing to ignore everything else he said for the rest of the day. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. After all, it’s bad form to strangle a classmate at commencement.
Braden inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair, and the polyester of his black graduation gown rustled as he knit his hands behind his head. Self-congratulatory satisfaction crept onto his face. He knew he’d scored a direct hit. “Yes, I know, I’ve been accused being a dick before,” he said with a snicker. “Maybe I’ll do some reflecting on my behavior during the next four weeks in the Caribbean. The yacht is a great place to think.”
“At what point exactly do you plan to start paying your own way and no longer taking handouts from Daddy Moneybags?” I responded, my voice tight with anger. So much for ignoring him.
“Ouch, that hurts Alex,” Braden said, mocking me. “Why are you always so angry?” He leaned sideways, tilting his head toward me until he could whisper without the possibility of anyone else hearing us. “You’re wound up so tight… I think maybe you need some *release*. The kind you can’t get by yourself.” He gave me a pointed look, never breaking eye contact. I felt naked under his gaze, and hoped he didn’t notice that his words had sent a shiver down my spine. For a second I was lost in his eyes, the beautiful brown depths framed by dark lashes.
*Snap out of it*, Alexandra, whispered a voice in my head.
Braden waited for a response that didn’t come, at least not verbally. I scrunched my eyes shut and hoped he didn’t notice the pink blush creeping over my cheeks.
It was futile. He laughed. “Nice try, but it’s written all over your face, Alex,” he continued, ogling me as he leaned closer. My body responded to his presence and to his clean, masculine scent, roaring to life underneath my gown. I had a strange desire to lick his dark blond stubble. “You know I’d be happy to take care of you,” he murmured. “All you have to do is say ‘yes’ and we can get naked. Work off some of your aggression.”
“*Fuck. Off,*” I replied, stomping semi-dramatically on the creaky wooden floor of the stage. I tried to regain some modicum of composure, and willed my heart rate to slow down. I wasn’t about to be another notch on his bedpost. “You may be used to getting whatever you want, but you don’t get this,” I said, gesturing to myself. “Keep dreaming. Go jerk off.”
Braden laughed. “Oh, no jerking off needed. Several of my special lady friends will be coming on the yacht trip with me. And I mean ‘coming’ in the literal sense.” He winked at me.
I rolled my eyes and pivoted away from him, crossing my legs and arms, closing myself off. My attraction to Braden, and the way my body responded to his very presence, vexed me to no end. Why couldn’t I find a nice, wholesome man? Someone who enjoyed behaving like a normal human being rather than a petulant twat, who asked me how my day was and who wanted to have boring missionary sex once a week…. *wait, what?* I groaned in dismay a little too loudly at this thought, and Braden glanced over at me with a smirk. I responded by scratching the side of my face closest to him with my middle finger.
Thankfully, our interaction was cut short when we were called to the front of the stage to receive our academic honors. The warm early summer wind whipped my graduation gown around my legs as I walked to the podium. Braden was all smiles and grace as we accepted the honors. Smooth fucker. After the ceremony he disappeared into the crowd, and I sighed in relief, knowing that I’d have at least four weeks at our law firm without ~~imagining getting naked and fucking on my desk~~ seeing him in the office.
The weeks passed quickly as I settled into life in Big Law. Braden’s father was head of the firm, and he was well-known as a formidable litigator. Rumor had it that he had made opposing counsel cry more than once. The firm’s unofficial motto was *Bury Those Motherfuckers*. It was a good place to learn, but working there required long hours and constant vigilance. I spent more time than I cared to admit drinking tepid, bitter coffee in the dimly-lit break room and creating dinners out of snack-sized packages of chips from the vending machine. But it was all worth it, and with each successive paycheck, I felt more confident that I wouldn’t still be paying off my student loans in the afterlife.
It wasn’t all legal briefs and depositions, though. The party Haverford and McGill threw for incoming summer and first-year associates was extravagant by any account, but particularly so after so many years on a tight budget during both college and law school. The oppressive June heat barely dampened the merriment. I marveled at the tables piled high with fancy appetizers that I couldn’t even name; crispy, bite-sized pastries and charcuterie platters galore. And the alcohol was top shelf; nothing but the best.
Between finals, graduation, and adjusting to working 80-hour work weeks, it had been the most stressful period of my life. I was so down to relax and mingle. A little alcoholic indulgence was exactly what I needed. “Make me something sweet,” I told the bartender over the din of my colleagues’ conversations. “I don’t normally drink, so I don’t know what I like.” He winked and got to work.
The drink he handed me was in a large glass, and was a mesmerizing cascade of pink, orange, and yellow. It had tiny pieces of pineapple and marachino cherries on a cocktail stick and a paper umbrella, and I was delighted. A little too delighted, in fact. The alcohol brought on the full-on giggles, and a cheerful red flush to my cheeks. Everyone around me was charmed by my witty presence and fabulous jokes. Another drink appeared in my hand, the tinkle of ice cubes music to my ears. After that, another! Why not? Life was grand!
Nature called and I floated on air in the direction of the ladies’ room, touching the cool wall with one hand to steady me. And there he was, a beacon in the dim light of the hallway. Braden. He looked delicious in his grey slacks, a button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves. That dapper dynamo had returned from his yacht vacation, and drunk, happy, carefree me decided it was time to bury the fork. The ratchet? No, the hatchet? That’s it, the hatchet. Water under the bridge, we were colleagues now. This evening was *magical*, after all. We deserved a fresh start, and I was going to kick things off with a well-deserved compliment. He deserved to know exactly how dreamy he was. Then we’d have magical sex and it would all be perfect.
“*Braden*,” I cooed, swishing my way up to him. “Handsome, *handsome* Braden.” His mouth dropped open and he eyed my hands as they crept up his chest and squeezed his pectoral muscles. “You work out, don’t you,” I murmured, running my fingers back down his chest and then around to his backside. His muscular bubble butt felt firm and delicious beneath my greedy palms.
“Mmmm,” he groaned, his voice rich and mellow as he leaned back against the wall. He bent over to set his empty glass on the ground, wobbling slightly as he did so. It tipped over and rolled away from us, making a cheerful *clink clink* noise as it crossed the tile floor. Braden’s lids were heavy and I delighted in his glazed expression when his face came back up to meet mine. He was enraptured by the magic of the evening, just as I was. “What’s up, Alex?” he murmured sweetly.
“Alexandra, *lover*,” I whispered, slapping the wall behind him for emphasis. “Don’t call me *Alex*. I forgive you though, because I’ve had my eye on you, *Braden.”* I grabbed handfuls of his shirt to stop my wobble from turning into a tumble. “And I think you’ve had your eyes on my eyes, er, my eyeballs, er, your eyes on my booty, right? Haven’t you, you naughty boy?” I spanked his ass lightly, then looped my arms around his neck. The short hair at the base of his neck tickled my fingertips as I held onto him. He was very adept at this standing upright business, and that was quite convenient at the moment. “I saw you staring at me in class more than once. Watching my ass as I walked out the door? Were you just playing it cool, teasing me and being a dick instead of telling me you wanted to smash?” I giggled as I realized my voice was echoing a little too loudly down in the long, narrow hallway we were in.
“Guilty as charged, counselor,” he coughed, holding his hands up in surrender. He returned my smile with a boozy and lopsided one of his own, then slid his hands around my hips and rested them on my lower back. They were too high, and too far away from where I wanted them.
“Well, it’s time we got to know each other in the biblical sense, don’t you think?” I murmured, my voice wobbly with drink. “I’d like to get into your legal briefs. And you can get into my legal panties.”
“*Mmmmm*, *yes*,” he replied, tilting his head back and closing his eyes slowly. “This idea is… I like legal panties, no need to consult the Constitution for that law!” he slurred.
I whirled around, or more likely, stumbled in a semi-circular direction, then grabbed him by the tie and yanked him into a nearby janitor’s closet with me.
Once we were in the closet, I wrenched up my skirt and yanked down my panties, kicking over a bucket and sending several spray bottles of blue cleaning fluid sprawling around our feet. It was a party foul in the name of love, it couldn’t be helped. Braden watched me intently, and his hand slipped down his chest and then lower, so he could squeeze his cock over his pants. He was rock hard and his bulge made my mouth water. My desire for him overcame me. I had to have him. I had to feel him in my mouth, to tongue his hot skin and feel his dick pulse as his salty cum hit the back of my throat. I wanted his moans, his hands in my hair. I was dizzy with lust for him.
My knees hit the tile floor a little too hard, but I barely noticed. My clever hands helpfully unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants, and freed Braden’s majestic penis from the confines of his boxer briefs. It sprang up and whapped my cheek with a hearty smack, eliciting convulsive laughter from both of us. I wobbled sideways and knocked over a mop, sending it crashing into Braden’s head. He laughed uproariously as he punched the air, trying to get it away from him. I sighed in pleasure when his hands dropped back down and threaded through my hair.
The second his penis touched my lips, my stomach lurched. It occurred to me that that it might not be desire for him that was making me dizzy. The rush of adrenaline and my overindulgence on alcohol may have been a regrettable combination. Damp sweat began to collect on the back of my neck, and the ceiling began to spin. I tried to hold back the bile clawing its way up my throat, telling myself it was just nerves.
Alas, it wasn’t. With my panties around my knees, and the tip of Braden’s dick in my mouth, it started.
Projectile vomit. Warm, rank, and splattering everywhere. All over his pants, his dick, my face, my blouse, the floor. I couldn’t stop. I hurled up the contents of my stomach and possibly other important internal organs. The irony of making a huge mess in a janitor’s closet was not lost on me as I ping-ponged between horror and utter humiliation.
Once it slowed to a trickle down my chin, I slumped back on my heels, head in hands. A clump of hair was stuck to my cheek with vomit.
“Hey,” Braden said. “Are you… are you ok? Oh my God…”
And then he started to laugh. Full-on, belly laughs. He bent over, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up straight anymore, devastated by mirth. He grabbed the mop to steady himself, and its long, ropey head dug into my calf.
My humiliation was complete. I couldn’t think, couldn’t look at him, and couldn’t believe what had just happened. The beautiful golden sheen that the alcohol poured all over reality had evaporated. My senses returned and I wondered how and why I found myself in this small, dark closet that smelled like bleach and old towels.
So I did what any reasonable, cowardly first-year associate would do after barfing all over the son of the owner of the law firm she was just hired into: I didn’t look at him. I pulled up my panties and ran, shoving my skirt back down over my ass as I pushed past him and through the door. It crashed closed behind me, no doubt alerting everyone in the building to the location. I escaped via the emergency exit, setting off alarms left and right, and disappeared into the night.
If Braden was any kind of gentleman, he would have avoided me like the plague for the rest of eternity. He didn’t, though. When he wasn’t flirting with literally every woman at the firm, or bragging about his dumb sports car to his law bros, he took great pleasure in reminding me of *The Incident*. He alluded to it on a weekly basis. He used any excuse he could find to talk to me, cornering me in the stale air of the conference rooms, or breaking the solemn quiet of the law library with scathing whispers. A hushed warning to “watch out for the alcohol,” at company events. “Helpfully” pointing out the emergency exit when we traveled to unfamiliar locations for work. When he realized I wasn’t taking the bait, he shifted to other subjects designed to get a rise out of me. Mentioning an afternoon spent golfing with the partners when I hadn’t been invited, because obviously women don’t like golf. Bragging every time he got assigned to an interesting case, and I didn’t.
I wasn’t about to rock the boat by punching the founder’s son in his stupid, smug, impossibly handsome face. So I did my best to ignore him. But truth be told, it grated on me. I tried not to spend any time thinking about why he derived such satisfaction from antagonizing me, figuring I spent quite enough energy already imagining kneeing him in the nuts.
“Thank goodness it’s almost Friday,” I thought as my phone crashed back into its handset late one afternoon. I had been dealing with a particularly irritating client all day, and every last bit of my patience was gone. The white glare of my computer screen was burning into my fatigued eyes, and all I wanted to do was close them. Unfortunately for me, my bunny slippers and a nap on the couch would have to wait a couple of hours. Our firm had just won a complicated multi-year case with a huge payday, and the partners were throwing an impromptu celebration after work. Making an appearance was not optional. One drink and then I was off, I promised myself.
“Watch out for that stuff, it’s lethal,” Braden whispered over my shoulder as the alcoholic punch slid down my throat. The flimsy plastic cup creaked in my hand as I squeezed it in a death qrip. Would there would be repercussions for dumping the rest of my drink on his head if I could make it look like an accident?
“We wouldn’t want a repeat of our firm’s last big party, right Alex?” Braden continued. I turned to face him and got an eyeful of his smirk and the mischievous glint in his brown eyes. He looked chiseled and annoyingly handsome, as usual. That five o’clock stubble was really doing it for me, and I imagined running my fingertips over it. To be followed by punch dumping on his head, obviously.
I couldn’t risk it, talking to him. I was one drink in and talking to him would just make me want to drink more. “Don’t call me Alex,” I grumped. Then I set my drink down at the nearest cocktail table and walked away, heels clicking loudly against the floor, furiously hoping he wouldn’t follow me.
He caught up to me in a quiet hallway that led to one of the building’s side exits. “Where are you heading off to in such a rush, Alex? C’mon… stay and have some fun.” He crossed his arms and squared his chest, as if daring me. “I know I’ve said it before, but you look like you could *really* use a little fun,” he added, eyes lecherous as they slid down my body.
That shit was inappropriate in so many ways. It was one thing to do it in law school, but quite another to do it at work, especially when his father was the head of the firm. It was textbook sexual harassment ten ways till Sunday. I didn’t have any patience left after the day I’d had. I took a deep breath to give myself a chance to cool off before reacting. It didn’t help. I took another.
And then I snapped.
I had fucking *had it* with that guy. He needed some boundaries. I got on my tiptoes and grabbed a cloth handful of his tie, winding it tightly around my fist, so I could yank his face down to mine. I may have been petite, but I grew up wrestling with three brothers. I was much stronger than I looked.
“Why are you always suck a *fucking asshole!?*” I growled in his ear. His eyes flashed; he was on high alert. A slow pink flush crept onto his cheeks, and he came alive with excitement.
“Why are you always so angry?” he retorted, cupping my chin and running a thumb over my bottom lip. “Is there anything you need? That I can help you with?” He stared at me, eyes heated, in an unspoken dare.
I pivoted on my heel and walked away. He followed.
“That’s right, Alex,” he said quietly, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “Walk away again.”
It was too much. I whirled around and shoved him against the wall. Well, I tried anyway. The man was solid muscle and my efforts were pretty futile. “My name is *Alexandra*,” I growled.
“‘Course it is,” he responded cryptically. “Thanks for the reminder, Alex.”
My brain wanted my hand to slap him, but unfortunately, my body had other ideas. I couldn’t seem to move my hands from his chest. I felt the broad expanse of muscles underneath my fingers, and the rapid beat of his heart underneath my right palm. Our new proximity gave me access to his intoxicating scent, clean and masculine and more potent than any drug.
It was over for me. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I grabbed a handful of Braden’s shirt and yanked him in the direction of the nearest door, which turned out to be another janitor’s closet.
Deja vu. Except that it wasn’t. We were both sober.
Braden’s step was quick behind me, and once we were inside the dimly-lit closet, we erupted in a tangle of limbs and groping hands.
“*Ahhhh*,” I cried out as his hands slid over my body. I pulled his face down to mine, and our kiss was nothing short of explosive. His warm lips and hot breath sent my pulse into overdrive, and I clawed at him, yanking his belt buckle open. His hands crept up underneath my skirt, but not quite far enough.
“Touch me,” I practically begged.
Not even a second later, warm, strong fingers slid underneath the top of my panties and down to my slippery folds. I arched against him as he found my clit. I began to mewl.
“Please,” I panted, squirming against him. “*Please*.”
“Please what?” he whispered in my ear, stroking me. My pussy throbbed and I writhed against him like a wild thing.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he panted. He briefly removed his hand so he could smell and taste his fingers. My scent drove him absolutely mad, and he growled with unrepentant abandon as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. I had barely begun protesting the loss of his fingers before they were back, stroking me into oblivion. The slick, wet sounds his fingers made as he touched me drove us further into a frenzy.
It was then that I noticed the movement of the hand that wasn’t between my legs. He was frantically jerking his cock, which was gloriously hard and leaking precum. I had to taste it. I brushed his hand away and swiped a fingertip full of his sticky precum, savoring his taste as it coated my tongue. He watched me do this and then kissed me with wild abandon, biting my lip. His dick was warm and rigid and it felt so right in my hand. He groaned when I squeezed him and panted desperately when my fingers circled around the sensitive nerve endings on the head.
But I was distracted. Braden’s fingers moved against me so skillfully that the tension soon became unbearable. I didn’t want it to end, so I held off as long as I could. But when he popped one of my breasts out of my bra and tongued my nipple, I knew it was over.
I exploded. I came and came and came. I squeezed and convulsed around his fingers, grunting and panting as I hung onto his shoulders for dear life. When my orgasm finally subsided, I flopped back against the wall, unable to move for fear of collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“That was so fucking hot,” Braden murmured, his hand still cupping me in between my legs. He began to kiss and suck at the soft skin on my neck, and gently took one of my hands and placed it on his dick.
Post-orgasm clarity really is a bitch sometimes. Months of overtime and mediocre orgasms with vibrators had conspired together, making me a horny stress ball. And now that my sexual needs had been addressed, I could think clearly. A small and petty part of me decided it was time to deliver a knockout punch.
“Thanks for the orgasm,” I said breathlessly, using a handful of Braden’s hair to pull his head back. “You don’t get one from me. Payback for all the times you’ve frustrated me.” I slid my panties back on and wrenched down my skirt, then gently pushed him out of the way. “Have a nice evening,” I told him as I turned to leave.
He looked at me, utterly dumbfounded, jaw hanging open. I opened the door to the janitor’s closet and left him inside, pants hanging lopsided down his thighs, dick in hand, utterly shocked. I had no idea how he’d get me back for leaving him like that, but I’m sure I’d find out soon enough.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ebg0j5/the_thin_line_between_love_and_hate_mf_tease
Chapter 2?
holy that was sooo hot!!! ?