Page 10 of Cascade

“Holy fuck, Opal!” My arms flail in surprise and I upset a stack of papers on my desk. They flutter to the floor as she settles down onto my lap, fully seated on my rock-hard dick. She plants her hands on my shoulders and starts to move up and down, her sweater and layers bunching up at her waist, giving me a view of her round ass over her shoulder.

This is…”this is so fucking hot,” I pant. She bites my shoulder.

“Less talking. More coming.” She grabs my hand and pulls it back to her breast. I remember last time, how hard she came when I tweaked her nipples and I grin. Fully awake now, I accept that this is really happening and start to work on my performance.

With one hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, I thrust up and off the desk seat so my pelvis hits her just so, so she gets that blissful friction on her clit.

Opal starts moaning and her hair shakes loose from its messy bun. I fight the urge to tug on it.Not this time, Arch. Next time.Instead, I focus on her nipples as I listen to her moan. I wonder if she’s even aware of the sounds she’s making as her head drops back. She’s mewling like a baby jaguar, and I’m into it, grunting with effort as I slam this gorgeous woman in my desk chair.

I’m probably going to have to move to a new office because this one is ruined for me if I ever want to focus again. I work on sealing this experience into my memory, already eager to revisit this for solo time.

Opal tosses out a hand to steady herself and another stack of papers goes flying. It’s raining receipts and I don’t give any hint of a shit, focusing on the wet glide of my dick sliding in and out of Opal’s body.

“That’s it,” she screams. “Yes, Archer, yes now. Now!” I feel her orgasm approaching in waves, pulsating around me. This is ordinarily where I start to think of fishing or mathematical formulas, anything to prolong the experience til my lady friend gets her desserts.

“Come, Archer,” she pants, slapping my chest. “Come.” She grabs my face with two hands, twisting her hips and grinding down onto my cock. Her eyes are wild and sparking with something she won’t share. My mouth falls open and as she leans in to kiss me, her tongue connects with mine just as I erupt inside her.

I feel the pulsing release of hot liquid spurt inside Opal as she squeezes and writhes for just a minute longer. Then, just as suddenly, she stands up.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and laughs. “Whew,” she whistles. “I needed that.”

I can’t catch my breath, can’t move from where I sit, and I’m helpless as she pulls her pants back on and slinks out the door without a word or a look back over her shoulder.

“What in the fuck just happened?” I mutter into the empty room.

CHAPTER TEN

Opal

I WAKE UP utterly refreshed, if a bit sore and puzzled. I really have no idea what’s come over me lately, but there’s no denying the positive impact Archer Crawford is having on my life this week. After a steamy shower, I grab a hot coffee and sink down next to Oscar’s sofa in the sun. The May air is still chilly in the mornings, but the sun streaming through the window feels warm. Safe.

Oscar allows me to scratch his chin, a rarity I enjoy as he starts to purr. “Did I disturb you last night, friend?” His eyes open and he gestures, as if instructing me to keep scratching. I oblige.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” I say, giving some prolonged finger wriggles before standing to prepare his breakfast. I carefully pour the dry food into his antique glass pedestal dish. I don’t even bother to roll my eyes at myself anymore. I’m fully aware that my cat is a diva. “I might be losing my mind,” I whisper as he strolls over, daintily pecking at the food.

He raises his head and gives me a glare, and I remember that he doesn’t like it when I watch him eat. “Sorry, sorry,” I mutter. I give the cat his privacy while I pack my lunch. Today is a short day—I’m in the office for clinic appointments for a few hours, and then I’m free to…well. I should have an idea for that free time, but the truth is I do not.

I catch my thoughts drifting to Archer’s office again and shout, “No!” I cannot allow myself to become lost in this, whatever it is. Me, demanding a stranger take him home for sex within hours of meeting each other. I don’t even like to say the word fuck, but there’s no other way to describe what we did that night. Or the second time.

I wince a bit, remembering how bossy I was, demanding that Archer use my body the way I commanded. And then I just walked right on out of there! What is wrong with me? I shake my head and, noting that Oscar has finished his food and returned to lounge on his sofa, I rinse his dish and bid him farewell.

He shakes his tail at me and stares at a bird in the tree out the window. He has adapted quite nicely to our new home.

When I get to the office, I feel a rush of joy when I see the name of my first patient. Abigail Crawford, Indigo’s friend, is coming in for a pre-pregnancy consult. I smile, remembering how she’d confessed into her tea that she and her husband were thinking about trying. I shut off the overhead lights and open the blinds to let in the sun just as the office door swings open.

“Knock, knock,” Abigail says, tapping the door frame lightly. I open my mouth to greet her when a man—I’m assuming her husband—barges into the room with a clip board.

“I’d like to use this time efficiently,” he says, flipping over a page. “Let’s begin by discussing the optimal folic acid intake for my wife to prepare her body for conception.”

“Oooh kayyy,” I whistle. “First of all, hi! I’m Opal.”

The man looks up from his clipboard, scowling. “We’re not doing honorific titles? I’m told you attended an Ivy League school for midwifery?”

Abigail squeezes his arm. “This is Hunter. You can please, please call me Abigail like always. Babe,” she says, squeezing again. “I told you. She caught Indigo’s baby!” This seems to relax him slightly, and he flips another page on his clip board.

I hold up my hand. “How about if I talk for a bit, and if you still have questions, I promise to answer them all at the end. Does that feel like a good plan?”

I don’t give Hunter time to start up again, but I first explain to them that even though I’ve met Abigail socially, her privacy is held to a high standard in here. “In other words,” she says, grinning, “You’re not going to go blabbing to Mary Pat that we’re trying?”

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