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mqverick · 2 months

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come undone || ˚୨୧⋆.

“Chill, is it something real?

Or the magic I’m feeding off your fingers”

──────────────────────

You hated the pretentious celebratory gatherings that Bendini, Lambert and Locke threw every time they enrolled a new lawyer into their tightly controlled firm. The poor new guy? You’d heard from mouth to mouth that his name was Mitch McDeere and Nina felt the urge to let all the girls know that he was some hot piece of ass.

You looked around, fiddling with the glass of wine that you held delicately around your fingers as you cautiously took a sip, noticing that once again, your husband was too busy flirting with the secretary newbies that looked innocently at him through their glasses, twirling strands of hair and giggling every now and then at something that you were certain could never be funny enough to be considered as a joke, because your husband did not have the slightest sense of humor in him.

The ticks of the clock across the wall were echoing in your head, your head dizzy from the chatter and fake laughter of the Firm’s members.

You hated every single one of them.

“Fine, you want to leave then be my fucking guest!” you heard a guy yell, probably from the next room and you silently approached the door, peeking carefully through the hole in the lock. There was a man rubbing the sides of his forehead in exhaustion and another woman — tall with dark ginger hair and brown eyes, which seemed to be equally frustrated.

They were mumbling now, cutting you out of their conversation as you tried to read the man’s lips. They were pretty. Pink and slightly wet, you guessed from the wine, glowing under the dim lighting of the room as he took the bottom one between his teeth and leaned over on the table behind him, dismissing the other woman, who stormed outside swiftly, almost hitting you with the way she so aggressively pushed the door.

You never considered yourself to be the meddling type of person, but the distressed look on the guy’s face had worried you just a tad, plus he looked like he could use some company. With a light grip, you turned the handle and entered the room, closing the door behind you as you looked at him without any emotion. The sound seemed to catch him off guard and he glanced at you as if he’d just opened some sort of mystery portal.

“Hi,” you uttered lowly.

“Hey,” his voice came out more like a hesitant whisper, as if he was scared to talk to you. “Sorry, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Just seemed like you could use someone to talk to after all that yelling,” you replied indifferently, chuckling to yourself when he cursed under his breath at your words.

“Shit — were we being too loud?”

“Not to the others. They’re too busy floating over their own heads to notice. Was that your girlfriend you were arguing with?” you asked curiously.

“Wife. I’m sorry, I don’t really see how that interests you, though.”

“Mm, scared she’s going to come back and see you talking to me, I get it. I’m just here to keep you some company…” you trailed off, waiting for him to reveal his name.

“Mitch. Mitch McDeere.”

Oh, so that was Mitch. He looked precisely how you’d imagined he would; handsome, powerful, a little bit like a polite jerk. His eyes were a truly mesmerizing shade of green that gleamed under the lights, matching the beauty of his lips. His hair was unusually gorgeous as well, falling off on top of his forehead in a non forced way. Suddenly, you realized you couldn’t really blame Nina after all.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Everyone’s excited that you’re here, says that you’re a groundbreaking deal for the Firm.”

Mitch smirked proudly.

“Yeah? Did you follow me in here?”

You crossed your legs and pretended to think for a second. “Would you like the idea of that?”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Why are you so sure that I have one?”

“For the short period I’ve been in here, I haven’t seen you working anywhere and you’re too pretty to not be taken, so I’m guessing that you’re one of the wives. ‘Cause apparently there’s a no bachelors policy in this firm,” Mitch flirted, taking a few steps closer to you as he fixed a hand through his thick hair, looking deeply in your eyes.

“You’re good at guessing. You should do it for a living.” He snickered at your comment and allowed himself to admire your long, tan legs that were covered by the black stockings you wore.

“You haven’t told me your name yet,” Mitch left the unspoken question hang in the air, looking at you through his long lashes, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really see how that interests you,” you mocked him, repeating the same words he did earlier as the heel of your covered foot nudged his ankle playfully. You traced the outline of your lips with the thin glass of wine you were holding, wetting it just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob. You tilted your head flirtatiously and gifted him a small smile, which he mirrored.

“Would you be kind enough to provide me with the information of why you’re not by your husband’s side right now, then?” Mitch tried again, pursing his lips as he tried to contain himself, resisting the urge to screw up everything.

“New chicks. You get bored with the same person everywhere around you, eventually.”

He pretended to be offended and shocked by your statement, placing a hand over his hammering heart as he inaudibly gasped.

“See now, I would never do anything even near that, considering that the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on gave me a chance in the first place. He sounds like a first class idiot.”

You hummed, impressed by how quickly you’d managed to charm him under your spell. His wife was long forgotten — you’d figured — so, probably, it’d be naive to ask him why she’d abandoned him with such anger and rush only a few moments ago. Nevertheless, you opted to do so, genuinely searching for more information about him and the stability of his marriage.

“What about you? Why did your wife leave?”

Mitch huffed, suddenly brought back into reality. The heaviness of his wedding ring on his finger felt unbearable at that point. “She’s, um… she wanted to leave, I wanted to stay. Go figure, I guess. She’s very strong minded about her decisions and that’s honestly one of the things I admire the most about her, but sometimes she drives me over the edge. It’s as if she prays every night for me to not find a stable work.”

“Oh.”

Their marriage didn’t seem to be in the honeymoon phase you’d imagined it would be. Maybe you could give it a try, push it a little further, test how far he’d go just on that one night. The chances of meeting him again were high — you were the wife of one of the lawyers, after all — you could just pretend to pay visits in order to leave him food, but your real intentions would be associated with Mitch.

How had it even gotten like that? You’d known the man for less than twenty-four hours, yet your mind had been consumed with the mesmerising colour of his glowing eyes and pretty pink lips. You wondered how they’d feel against yours, all soft, swollen and wet. Wondered if you would be able to taste the red wine on his tongue, chase the thin saliva string that would form after you’d pull away just to bite on his lip and pull it between your teeth. You weren’t even tipsy, but that seemed to play no groundbreaking role for the pooling heat that formed in between your legs as you squeezed your thighs together, letting your pinky finger graze the side of his knee.

As a lawyer, it was embarrassing for Mitch to admit to himself that he’d never felt so tongue tied before, so unable to use words in the right order. You got him weak just by being around him, your lingering fragrance stroking his nostrils tenderly as it wrapped him in a chokehold. You smelled unbelievably delicious, your dazzling choice of clothes showing off your body — God, what was he even supposed to do, how was he supposed to feel? It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Abby, his wife, had left. He knew he was making a terrible mistake by keep talking to you, but it wasn’t like he was able to do anything else.

Your inviting, big pupils were pulling him in, giving him no other option but to stare deeply at them, try to figure out more about you, get lost in your beauty. Mitch felt paralysed and useless. He’d barely even realised that he’d been leaning in unintentionally, itching achingly towards your lips.

“Abby,” he spoke out loud as a reminder to himself that his wife was still very much relevant.

“Right,” you dismissed disappointedly and got up from your seat on the desk, fixing your ridden up skirt while he stared, dazed by your movements.

“You’re going?”

“Husband might be looking for me and you’ve got Abby. I’ll see you around, pretty boy.” You left the indirect message linger in the atmosphere, along with the smell of your perfume as Mitch collapsed on the floor, mentally cursing himself. Not long after you left him, he abandoned the party that was more of a gathering, unable to take you off his mind as he drove back to the new home that the Firm had gifted him as a welcome abroad present. He noticed that Abby’s car was gone.

Didn’t even question it.

The living room was dark as he entered, heavy footsteps dragging across the carpet-covered floor. Hearsay, his dog, ran up to him excitedly. Mitch crouched down to pet him, smiling half-heartedly as the dog tickled his earlobe with his tongue. Abby was nowhere to be found.

Great, he thought, just great. She’d probably driven off to her parents as a warning of letting him know that when they fought earlier, she’d been dead serious about her opinion on his newfound job in the Firm. Mitch groaned as he got back up on his feet, throwing his black coat carelessly on the couch and getting out of his asphyxiating shoes. He unfastened the suspenders from the front, letting them fall over his shirt as his trousers now hung loosely around his hips. He also loosened his tie on his way to the bathroom. There was a small mirror over the sink that Mitch was scared to look into. His reflection seemed more like a ghost instead of an actual living person; bloodshot, exhausted eyes with bags under them, hair sticking on his forehead, nose pink from the cold. He looked almost dead.

The blanket weighed more than usual when Mitch got under it, lying alone in the bed, shivering. The worst part was that he didn’t even miss his wife. The only reason why he felt so crushingly lonely was because you couldn’t seem to be anywhere near him and it was killing him. How fucked was he — brain rotted by the short-lived ten minutes you spent with him in his office.

Hearsay jumped on the covers, fluffing the space that Abby usually took on the bed as he let out an exhale, resting his chin on Mitch’s stomach.

“What’s up boy? Feeling alone too?” he asked the dog, without expecting a response. “You know, I met someone unreal tonight. I think my mind’s playing games with me, because there’s just no way someone like her actually exists…” Mitch trailed off, reminiscing about your eyes.

He had a restless night, barely got any sleep at all.

Abby hadn’t contacted him in any way. Avery was driving him insane. And as for you… it’d been the longest eleven hours of his life until he finally caught you strolling down the corridors of the Firm, most likely looking for your husband.

Mitch’s breath was caught in his throat when his eyes locked on you, immediately forgetting all of the work he still had to finish. He hurried to catch you, almost tripping over a plant that stood next to the wall right outside of his office. You were yanked by him in the storage room, almost yelping out loud for help, but he placed his palm over your mouth to prevent you from doing anything stupid that could’ve given him away.

“Fuck’s sake — Mitch?! Is that you?” you whispered-yelled, fixing your hair as you removed his hand from your mouth.

“Hey,” he simply replied, as though he hadn’t just given you the fright of your life. “Thought I’d never see you again or something, I-I had to…”

“Had to what?”

“…Had to talk to you, I guess.”

You tried to hide the satisfied smirk from him, biting down on your bottom lip instead. He looked and sounded absolutely breathless, it was sending you over the edge. Neither of you knew how to continue, what to say next.

“Made up with your wife yet?” you opted for, hoping that no jealousy had surfaced in the question you just so shamelessly dropped.

“No, uh… I think she might want nothing to do with me for a while, I’m sort of used to it, it’s fine honestly. What about you, what brings you here?”

“See, unlike you, I’m an exceptional spouse,” you replied sarcastically, proudly waving a brown paper bag in front of his eyes with a note stuck on it. Mitch grabbed the little yellow piece of paper and read it out loud, all while trying to remain calm around your presence. His eyebrows furrowed at the ‘with love’ note. He balled it and slipped it into his pocket, instantly regretting how he’d just given himself away — easy like that.

“Cooked lunch for the guy who looks at chicks?”

“Hm, fine, I might’ve exaggerated only a little. I actually just brought him a sandwich that expired two days ago. He doesn’t have to know, though, it looks just fine and I doubt that work will allow him the time to check the date.”

Mitch chuckled in amusement, ogling you as the tight space of the room forced the two of you to squeeze closer and closer. He looked like a starving man, it was ridiculous to him how he was brought back into his teenage years, like seeing Abby walking down the halls with her friends for the first time all over again.

“I’ve… I have to finish my papers,” he exclaimed, all flustered and unable to make eye contact with you as he pushed himself through some discarded brooms and walked outside of the closet as if nothing had even happened.

The next time you saw him was shortly afterwards the rushed encounter in the storage room. Two partners from the Firm, Kozinski and Hodge, had died tragically in a car accident, according to Lamar. Your husband had been good friends with them, so you couldn’t miss the funeral, practically being forced to be there.

While the ceremonial speech was going, you searched for Mitch in the crowd, knowing that he’d be there. And you were right; he was standing in the back with who you remembered was the woman that had stormed out the same night you met him — Abby, his wife. She was tightly pressed against his side, one of his arms lazily draped around her waist as she rested her head against his chin. You looked at them zealously, subconsciously leaning more into your husband’s embrace, as if you wanted Mitch to look back at you and endure the same feelings you were going through in that moment.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that you’d been staring holes into his head for at least five minutes. He knew you weren’t fond of the way he held Abby around him, the jealousy in your eyes saying more than words ever could. He brought his lips down on his wife’s bright ginger hair, his eyes fixated upon your own while kissing her.

It turned you on; how much he teased you.

He was fully kissing her square on the mouth though, not anything too deep or hot, just a long-lasting peck, but his gaze was still locked on you. What was he even doing? Wouldn’t Abby notice?

“Babe, I need to go give my condolences to some of the partners, I’ll be right back,” your husband whispered in your ear as he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, abandoning you once again just to give attention to the crying ladies without a man’s arm to rest against. He really thought you were that stupid, didn’t he. You’d stopped beating up yourself for his naivety a long time ago.

Out of the blue, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You jerked away from it in overdramatic shock, but relaxed when you realised it was just Mitch. Nevertheless, you felt uneasy by the fact that he was meeting you in the middle of a public place, where everybody could see how pink your cheeks had turned just because of the warmth his hand provided on your arm for the short second he touched you. You were about to speak when he put this index finger over his lips, signalling you to not utter the slightest word. His nose was just as reddish as your cheeks had grown to his presence. His hand wrapped around yours, like a ghost touch as you urgently followed him in a place, hiding behind a melancholic dead tree.

“Wanted to see you,” Mitch breathed lowly as he let a visible puff of air hit your face with warmth through the freezing atmosphere around you.

“That excuse is getting old,” you mumbled back.

“What do you want me to say, then?” You didn’t respond, frankly, because you didn’t know if the question he asked you even had an answer. “You look beautiful. Have I told you that already?”

“You have not.”

“Well, you do. It’s a double fucking funeral and all I can think about is how stunning you look amongst all the other dull people that have attended.”

“Is your wife one of them?”

You knew you were pushing it with the sarcastic remarks, but Mitch never seemed to get any defensive whenever Abby slid into the rude parts of your conversations. That alone should’ve been a massive warning for him to run as fast and far away from you as possible — yet he couldn’t.

“I can’t — fuck. I don’t even know what to say whenever you’re around, you take all my Harvard Law courses’ privileges away from me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that… I don’t know.”

Mitch felt fragile, vulnerable. He’d never been more breathless around a woman before, or any person, for that matter. He moved closer, hands shoved into his coat’s large pockets, leaning in. He pulled away before his breath could even hit your face, instantly regretting his actions.

“What are you—” Mitch shut you up, burying his head into your thick hair as he closed his eyes, letting himself breathe into your perfume. His freezing cheek rubbed against yours, eyes fluttering shut as his body pressed flushed over yours, covered by at least three layers of clothes.

“Who the fuck are you, huh?” he murmured against your hair, his hands shyly shaking as he placed them on your hips. You hummed and tugged at his wrists, unsure whether you wanted to remove them from touching you, or press them firmer into your coat, even under it, until you could finally get to feel how his fingertips would be like while grazing the goosebumps he gave you every time he had that look. It wasn’t even like you’d met him for more than two times. You didn’t know anything about him, not even the basics and the same could be said about him.

“Oh, Mitch, come on. Really? At a funeral? You want to fuck me in a fucking funeral, which may I remind you, your wife is also attending?” you teased, not allowing yourself to give away how weak he had you feeling under the slightest touch of his hands on your clothed body.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

“But you do? You get to bend me over against this very tree at the risk of some old shit from the Firm catching you — or worse, Abby catching you? You have some sort of dirty fantasy, Mitch?”

“Don’t say my name,” he ordered with a hoarse voice, pulling away from you as if you were made out of acid, as if he’d only just realized how much damage you were doing to him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” you repeated the question and he nodded, shoving his hands back into his pockets. You scoffed with a suggestive chuckle. “You want to know what exactly? My name, how old I am? Because I don’t think that excites you, Mitch. I think you like that you know so little of me, it turns you on, because it’s something you haven’t grown accustomed to. No, Abby… she’s quite predictable, isn’t she? High school sweethearts, I assume. Stole your heart and then a few years later you realize how much of a big mistake you made by marrying her at such an immature age.”

“You don’t know anything about me and my life.”

“But I do. See, I’ve got you figured out already. What, are you going to say to me that I’m wrong? Well, go on, be my guest. You know that I’m right. She doesn’t really let you fuck her at home, does she? Look at you, so young, constantly turned on…” you slowly took a few steps forward, coming dangerously close to his lips as the hot puffs of air both of you breathed under the worsening weather, “…she’s playing no attention to you.”

Mitch didn’t know what was happening, his brain preoccupied with too many things all at once. Before he could say anything to you — deny every accusation about his failing marriage — you were gone with the wind and he was standing there like a complete idiot, until he noticed Abby coming back to look for him with the corner of his eye.

Later that night, she finally felt like doing something spontaneous in bed besides reading her book, but Mitch didn’t even consider participating. Instead, he rolled off to his side, pretending to be asleep as he thought of the way you’d touched and confronted him earlier.

───

He admitted to himself that he was a lost cause only a couple of weeks later. You kept passing by or outside of his office, mostly as an excuse to tease and mess with his head, and he wasn’t having any of it. You’d been on his mind every second of the day, even while studying for the bar exams that were critical for his career. Fail and you can kiss goodbye the BMW, they’d said.

But how could he possibly concentrate every time he caught side of your long legs, delicately dressed in black opaque stockings, your thighs squeezed into short pencil shirts that had his hand itching not to move from his desk. Mitch was a dead man. He was also only twenty-five with a very unsatisfied high sex drive that Abby couldn’t fulfill to take advantage of late at night.

No, instead, he had to live with his sad fantasies.

Fantasies about what he wanted to do to you, how he’d kiss you for the first time, tangle his fingers into your hair, help your hands down his pants, feel your sexy legs that drove him crazy.

He’d found out your name, eventually, but only because he asked poor, unsuspecting Avery about it during lunch one day, in complete secrecy and confidentiality during their trip.

Nevertheless, he’d found out stuff about the Firm on that very vacation, which caused him to spend more nights at his office until late, investigating. Abby was not thrilled, but he couldn’t care less.

Neither did you care at all about your husband, who was seated right in front of you in his office, checking some papers. You’d come again just to play with Mitch’s remaining patience, thinking that you had it in yourself to bare another boring, one-sided conversation with your husband, but you were proven otherwise, seeing as he barely even acknowledged your presence.

“You know this new guy, McDeere?” the question was dropped out of the blue, having you pretending to be indifferent. Your palm was supporting your cheek as you looked around the room, knowing that your husband didn’t even turn to look at you when you asked about another man — especially Mitch. He simply nodded, not caring enough to respond. “What do you think of him? Avery and Lamar seem to be impressed.”

“Don’t know, seems like a tough worker, has got potential to go places, I guess. Haven’t had an opportunity to talk to him, but everyone admires how seriously he’s taken his job. Oh speaking of, Locke wanted me to pass him some papers. Think you can be a dear and stroll by his office?”

So eager to get you out of his face, he wasn’t even hiding it. You snatched the papers out of his hand and left without a world, tugging the black skirt you wore upper around your waist, just so you could see the satisfying panic in Mitch’s face.

“Nina, is Mr. McDeere in his office? I’d like to—”

The words got caught in your throat as you saw Abby walking out, this time calmly and with no sight of anger on her face. You didn’t know what specifically made your stomach turn upside down at the realization that she might’ve come there just to see her working husband, whom see so little got the chance to have at home. That was what married couples did, anyway. You cleared your throat and hesitantly knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

There he was, face buried into paperwork, his coat taken off. He was just in a white shirt and maroon suspenders, that in your opinion, made him look gorgeous, besides them mostly being a clothing item option for much older gentleman. The clicks from your high heels hitting against the marble floor echoed in the small of his office as you closed the door and tried to swallow the fact that it hadn’t even been a minute since you saw Abby leaving. Your eyes unintentionally scanned him from head to toe; was his hair messy, did he breathe normally, face flushed and sweaty?

None of the above. Nevertheless, your lips betrayed your mind as they spoke the question that your logic didn’t dare to even let you think.

“Finally fucked your wife, Mitch?”

He looked up from the rather large binder he had in his hands, eyes fixed on you as if you’d just offended him. “How’s that any of your business?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly know. Perhaps you told her about the way you approached me at the funeral less than a week ago — or am I mistaken and you’re back in love with her?”

You didn’t know where all the spite and bitterness in your voice were coming from. You wandered back and forth in the room for a second, opting to ignore how intently he was staring at you, only because you knew that it needed just one glance from him to have you weak in the knees. Exactly like the way he looked at you back at the funeral.

“Well, again, not that it’s any of your concern, but she just came by to say to me that she needs to go to her parents, run some tests for her mother. You seem to be awfully upset, though.” Mitch’s tone was cool and sharp, he was annoyed.

“Mm, so you didn’t fuck her then.” The last bit of his observation was spiraling into your brain, yet you decided not to give out any rights and just chose to saw ignorance. The saliva in your mouth was almost dry, making it harder and harder for you to swallow, throat clenching tightly as you gently rubbed it with your index fingers.

“I don’t think I’m in a place to get criticism by someone who hasn’t been fucked either in a long period of time. ‘Cause, I mean, come on, who do you think you’re fooling?”

You felt sweat form in the back of your head, why had it gotten so hot all of sudden? “Locke wants you to have these papers,” you changed the subject, avoiding to talk about your marriage. You handed him the folder and stood in front of him with crossed arms, as if you expected something.

“You can go, now, I’m very busy,” he dismissed.

“Busy fisting yourself under the desk while everyone else thinks you’re so fucking hardworking?” you pushed, voice firm.

“I think your husband needs you.”

“And I think that your wife needs you.”

Mitch closed the binder rather abruptly and loud as he glared right into your soul. “Go back home.”

“To do what? Cook him some nice, warm dinner? Clean the house? Run him a hot bath? Is that what Abby does for you when you return home?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, just get out of here!” he yelled, instantly regretting it, because of Nina outside. He hoped she wouldn’t ask any questions. Then, he turned back to look at you, his bottom lip trembling slightly from the anger as you looked at him with matching frustration, eyes burning. His hands had formed into fists and he slammed them on his desk as you stormed out of his office. You made him lose control over everything, as it seemed. He wasn’t used to being around such a strong and dominant personality, secretly adored the way you always had a comeback for everything, insulting him, making him feel worthless and unimportant, whereas everyone else kept praising him for all the little things he did. He liked being challenged.

But, as expected, he’d screwed up again.

───

You were in the car with your husband, ready to finally go back home. It’d gotten just ten minutes before midnight and the only three people remaining in the Firm were you, him and Mitch. He’d given Mitch the keys, entrusted him to lock after he was done with work, as all sorts of variations about what Mitch would do alone in such a huge building crossed your mind. The poor man was just working his ass off, yet your twisted brain pictured him jerking off under his desk, just like you’d accused him for only a few moments earlier. Just the thought was enough to get you going, all warm and wet as you eventually managed to get your husband to make out with you for less than five minutes in his office, right after you left Mitch’s office from the fight.

“I need to go back to the building, I think that I left my coat at my office,” your husband spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts as you stopped mid-chewing on your fingernail.

“No need to get up, I’ll go fetch it real quick.”

Real quick was just a saying, you laughed a little in your head, knowing exactly why you’d offered to go back inside. You were sure that Mitch was still there, beating himself up over the bar exam. Your suspicions were right, your eyes caught him biting on the cap of his yellow Bic pen, fingers toying with the thin skeleton of his brown glasses.

Those were a new accessory, you noticed, thighs subconsciously squeezing between your asphyxiating skirt at the sight of him. You thought he looked gorgeous; with or without them. But you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to yourself that you wanted to walk into his office and fuck the anxiety out of his system — glasses stay on.

For a brief moment, you contemplated whether speaking to him was a good idea, but your cold stance prevented you from doing so, heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest as you walked hurriedly into your husband’s office to get his coat, so many words bubbling up in your throat and dying there the very same moment as your stilettos hit the floor with anger. The image of Mitch was still getting you high as you took a deep inhale, entering the car and hoping you didn’t look as shaken as you felt. Your husband’s ignorance was on your side that night, for once.

At home, he didn’t even care to talk you to. He plopped into your shared bed, sinking under the covers and announcing aloof (and half asleep) that the following day he had to leave early for a business trip that Lambert had planned for him. You sighed, turning the page of your book as the sound echoed into the room — as if it was empty. You couldn’t even say much, didn’t feel curious. You knew that whenever he had to go on one of those so called businesses trips, his only concern was how to enchant the tropical women under his charm, cheat on you repeatedly and then return just to crash in bed all night long, forcing you to a restless slumber because of his inconvenient snoring. You could seize the opportunity to approach Mitch, you thought during reading the seventh chapter. He’d told you that Abby was gone, so that meant no obstacles in the way.

But he was pissed at you.

Except…

Except he really wasn’t. The following day came and since you had no husband to pay a visit to in the Firm, you’d chosen to stay at the comfort of your house, getting warm under the covers while reading your book, watching TV and… thinking about Mitch in the most inappropriate ways.

He’d been worried, disappointed too, but mostly worried, because he’d grown accustomed to you passing by his office every day. You weren’t there that day, though, no sight of you. No sight of your husband either — but he couldn’t really see himself concerned about the last bit. He’d asked both Avery and Nina about your disappearance, hoping that he didn’t come off as too urgent, that they were moronic enough to wave off the way his voice was a tad squeakier than usual. Mitch felt like he’d fucked up big time. Mostly because he blamed his own self for your lack of presence in the Firm; thought that he’d been to direct with you the other night, too strong-worded.

“Fuck,” he cursed breathlessly, shoving the stack of binders off his desk as he fell back into the chair. He should’ve been missing Abby for being away again, he should’ve felt guilty that she had gone to her parents for once more as a warning that his own disinterest in her had caused, but no, instead he was restlessly crashing his soul about a woman that he barely knew, that had such a strong chokehold around him. Mitch felt unsure.

He was also very oblivious, even though that was a rare occurrence. He’d missed the way Nina, his assistant, had a knowing smirk growing in her face as he stupidly asked her for the third time that day if she knew your whereabouts. Of course, you and Nina had a history. She’d been your husband’s secretary for ages before Mitch came, was very fond of the way you treated her and considered you like one of her closest friends.

The house felt just as empty as it felt whenever your husband existed in it. The corridors were cold against your feet as you walked into the bedroom, having just taken a steaming shower. You sat by the end of the bed as you spread a coconut body lotion on your legs, mind preoccupied with a certain lawyer that had recently become the bane of your thoughts. You hummed as the chilly cream made contact with your legs, wondering how Mitch would be looking at you if he was in the room. It was no secret that he appreciated long, tan legs, after all.

The telephone unexpectedly rang in the living room, interrupting your train of dirty scenarios, causing you to jump a little, startled by the sound. You sighed in annoyance and dragged your feet lazily across the room, yawning as you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Miss. It’s Nina Huff, from Mr. McDeere’s office. I hope I did the right thing and call you,” the older woman spoke from the other line. Nina? Why was Nina calling you in the first place, you wondered, brain not functioning fully.

“Anything happened, Nina?”

“Mr. McDeere has been asking about you. I mean, where you are, of course. I thought that it might tickle your interest to know.”

You took a moment, taken aback by her statement. It wasn’t as though you didn’t know that Mitch would question your sudden absence, but you certainly did not expect him to go around asking others in the Firm about you. The information made your heart melt just a little, eyes softening for a second as you pictured the worry in his eyes; not the one from you not having visited, but the one from being paralysingly terrified of anyone figuring out his feelings.

“Thanks for letting me know, Nina,” you replied kindly to the woman as you removed the phone from your ear with a smile on your face that was wide enough to have your stretched lips hurting.

───

The rain was pouring outside, windows foggy as Mitch found himself buried in paperwork once again. He was determined to become the youngest partner; he’d convinced himself, yet his body stood obstacle to achieving the goal, seeing as every inch and cell of him was covered in anticipation; where were you? Had he hurt you?

Voices from the fight still played non stop inside his head, overanalyzing his tone and choice of words. You were pissed at him, he’d concluded. He was livid at you as well, his mind wanted to believe. No — he didn’t care. He needed a glass of the old, cheap cognac that the Firm offered. He poured the drink into an expensive, patterned glass and brought it to his lips, inhaling the scent of the alcohol before slithering it down his throat. It burnt; matched perfectly with the confusion of his feelings, the incapability of handling such a simple situation by just clearing things out. He thought he was hallucinating when he suddenly noticed you leaning against the doorframe, dressed in all black with your usual signature pencil skirt showing off your legs just the way he’d been thinking about only a few minutes ago.

“I’ve heard that you missed me,” you mumbled seductively, tilting your head with a playful grin spreading against your lips as you scanned his every move and reaction. He seemed intact.

“From who, shall I ask?” he asked, fingers wrapping securely around the glass of cognac he was holding, looking at you with no emotion. He needed to conceal exactly how desperate he’d been to see you all day, hide back the leaps of his beating heart as your appearance started to feel more and more real to him — maybe not a hallucination after all.

“None of your concern.”

“Hm. Either way, your resources have been mistaken. I’ve been particularly busy all day.”

You didn’t believe a thing of the bullshit he gave you, but decided to play along to his game regardless. He wanted a tough time? That was what he’d get, then, you decided. You brought yourself dangerously closer to him, head leaning down as you pretended to smell the alcoholic beverage he was holding, hand wrapping around his own as you wrapped your lips around the base of the glass and took a sip, eyes fixated on his dilated, bright green ones.

“Busy turning your knuckles white by jerking off again? My god, this Abby woman needs to return home and give you some attention already,” you teased, taking notes of how his breath instantly hitched at the mention of his wife’s name. It went beyond you how she had a husband like Mitch at home and didn’t fuck his brains out every passing second of the day. You were even jealous that she got to call him her own, that the stupid ring decorating her finger was a symbol of his love for her and how he’d promised to be with her in sickness and health. You hated promises, always thought they were the most pretentious thing in the world. Out of seven billion people in the planet, you reckoned that maybe a humble 5% could keep a promise. “And how disappointing… Drinking at work, McDeere? It hasn’t even been a month since you got a job here.”

Mitch slammed the glass on his desk, grasping your wrist and firmly squeezing the pads of his fingers around it as he dragged you out of his office without warning and in swift movements.

“I want to show you something,” was the only explanation he gave. You reached the library, one of your personally favourite rooms of the Firm. It was always so dark, even with the lights on, no windows in it as thousands of books that were stacked in the shelves garnished the walls. There was also a huge, long table with small antique lamps right in the middle, the table that Mitch had sat on during his first day at work, feeling like he owned the place. It was his favourite part of the Firm, as well, loved how silent it was. How he could get lost in his thoughts in there.

He gave you a look that you couldn’t really read, something between ‘I regret where this is going already’ and ‘it’s now or never’. Your mind was buzzing, heart clenching into your rib cage as Mitch rushed to the door, twisting the key and locking it. The sound echoed in the entire room, covering the sharp inhale that he took, right before approaching you again, hands unable to find a place to stay steady in.

“What are you doing?” you asked, even though you’d already gotten a blurry idea. Mitch was dragging you by the hand again, and before you knew it, you were pressed against the table, until he quickly let go of you to sit on the chair. You glanced at him without speaking, admiring how he managed to pull off the dark circles under his eyes like some sort of expensive accessory.

“Where were you all day?”

“Missed me?”

“No,” his reply was quick and certain. Almost as though he hadn’t been picturing himself bending you over in every corner of the Firm, placing his hands on your outer thighs and caressing the curves, before gently stripping that fucking skirt that you wore and knew drove him mad. You innocently walked up to him, sitting on top of the table and crossing your legs as you reached for his arm, running your fingers up and down the length of it. Mitch was looking at you like he would burst if you kept touching him, explode into a million pieces, completely disappear.

His eyes fluttered shut when you uncrossed your legs, the skirt riding up on your thighs as you gave him a revealing view of your black lace underwear that he’d been dying to take off since the day he met you. He shook his head and sank it into his hands, not knowing whether he wanted to go on with this. That was mostly why he’d locked the door; because he didn’t trust himself enough to not run out and never deal with the consequences of his actions. But he wanted you, wanted you more than he’d ever wanted any other woman before, and he needed to know if you felt the same way about him as well. It drove him out of control, made the logic in his system vanish into thin air — and Mitch loved every second.

“They don’t have to find out, you know,” you suggested softly, moving just an inch closer. The distance was seemingly still there, torturing the two of you the more you invaded each other’s personal space. Distance that made him afraid of what would happen in case the adrenaline in his veins challenged him just the right amount. They don’t have to find out. A nervous feeling wrecked his stomach, feeling weak the more he looked at you. Mitch wanted you, he wanted every inch of you, every curve, every patch of skin under his fingertips. His heart felt as though it would flip, hammer out of his chest and kill him — and he honestly wished that something similar could happen and get him out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, come on, Mitch,” you watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, feeling a familiar warmth pool between your legs. Everything about your movements, the place you’d chosen to sit and even your unsteady breath was giving him a hard, really hard, time to focus, to remember his own name. Fuck it.

There was silence for a moment, allowing the rain from outside to be heard as both of you stood in the middle of an empty, dark room, contemplating. You recrossed your legs and began toying with the end of his maroon, striped tie, not caring how sweaty it made him; the way your thin, long fingers made small circles on top of it suggestively, rubbing the material softly.

Run for your life, Mitch thought, but his mouth spoke before his logic could. “You’ve never left my mind once ever since you talked to me.”

His words had you melting. “Then do something about it.” Run, run, run, run. It’s not too late. His chin started to tilt towards yours, lips parted.

“I want to know what it feels like,” he whispered. Mitch was going to kiss you, and it was so wrong, and so was how badly your wanted him to… But he pulled away abruptly, before you could even realise what was happening. You sighed in frustration, missing the way he stood, paralysed.

“You’re so fucking scared.”

Excuse me? Mitch cocked his head to the side, still dizzy from your magnifying perfume.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of doing what your heart tells you to do. What your dick tells you to do. You want to kiss me so bad, but you can’t, because you’re scared that miss goody-two-shoes will find out and do what exactly? Divorce you? You’re better off without her, in any case.” Before you could finish every other thing that you wanted to say, you were suddenly thrown back into the table, wrists trapped and pinned over your head as his shaky hands held them down forcefully. There he was.

“I can kiss you any time and any way I want,” he ordered with a hoarse voice, his breath hitting against your plumped mouth as his eyes stared into your glowing ones. You wanted to smile; you’d officially pushed all of his buttons down, you’d made him weak to the core. Mitch was at your complete mercy, had you wanted him.

“Then do it.”

And without a second thought, he did. His stomach pressed against your as he heaved over you, kissing you feverishly. Your hands escaped from his grasp and you locked them around his neck, kissing him back, showing him how it was meant to be. You could feel his thumping heart against your own hammering one, knowing that he enjoyed this just as much as you did, that he’d been thinking about it for as long as you did.

His tongue slid over your teeth, teasing the roof of your mouth as his shaky body mercilessly enhanced the friction between your burning desires. Neither you nor Mitch had ever experienced such a kiss, such an agony and carnal need for each other. So many unspoken feelings and confessions hung in the air as you tried to express them through a simple kiss.

No one will ever know.

FIN.

for my favourite person @honeymvnt 𝜗𝜚

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