Page 7 of Taste

“Perhaps you can tell that to Ben’s face, since he’s downstairs picking up the slack with his arm in a sling and five stitches in his thumb?” Mark had murder in his eyes, and I didn’t blame him one bit. I was out of control, and it was all his fault.

“I’ll be sure to send him a get-well-soon card. I look forward to your accident report. I’m confident your equipment inspections were up to scratch.”

“They were,” he said lowly in a voice that was now full of venom. “And you, Mr Christensen, can go fuck yourself.”

“Totally”—I laughed—“because I surely wouldn’t give you that honour.”

“Let’s be honest.” He paused to gaze at me, fire trembling in his veins as his neck stretched out. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth.”

“That feeling is mutual, Mr Quinton.” I smiled. Winked.

“Aww, boys, come on. Kiss and make up.” Eleanor. The bitch.

“I love all the drama.” Seth. He could stuff that promotion up his arse.

“The drama?” And Tom Karki could go fuck himself too, alongside his affair with Priya in the bookings office and his heavily pregnant wife at home.

“You know,Finley,” Mark said. I needed to get out of here. Fast. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

“You know,Mark Godfrey Melchior Quinton?” He flinched. Aha! He didn’t know I knew. Of course I did. It was my bloody job to know. “You can dream all you want, but that, whatever it is you have in mind, willneverhappen.”

I got up, muttering something—I don’t recall what exactly—about the place turning into a childcare centre. Throwing my tray on the stewarding rack, I walked off with everyone’s laughter trailing behind me, except Quinton, who’d gone surprisingly quiet, stuffing overcooked ravioli into his mouth like it was his last meal.

“What the hell did the two of you ever do to each other?” I heard Eleanor ask as I walked out the door. I didn’t wait to hear Quinton’s reply. Instead, I skulked down to the men’s changing rooms and locked myself in a cubicle. Washed my face and stood there leaning on the sink, looking myself in the eye in the mirror and wondering what the hell had happened to my life. How had I sunk so low I was chucking juvenile tantrums in the staff dining room in front of colleagues? Why did I let him rile me up like this? It was one thing to question his management proposals in meetings, another to belittle him in front of my staff.

I should have been a professional role model and dealt with his out-of-line language in a supportive and friendly manner. I should encourage cooperation between departments, and perhaps make an appointment with Quinton to hash out a plan to promote our in-house F&B. We were severely neglecting corporate policy by refusing to work together. Or notrefusing; we had simply silently agreed not to.

It had to end. This childish imaginary feud we had going on should have been axed and buried weeks ago. He needed bringing down a peg or two. No. Webothneeded an ego check.

Maybe I should talk to him. Sit him down and hash it all out, once and for all. We could pretend that little kissing…whatever…incident had never happened. I could work out a way to accept his inability to conform, his constant sexual innuendos and unprofessional charms. I could perhaps bend my rules a tiny little bit to accommodate some of his annoying personality. I could possibly forget all of this and start over. It was a tall order, but I would give it my best shot if he would.

Decision made, the words were all prepared in my head, and I was half ready to go seek him out and lay it all on the table, but when I stepped out of the toilet cubicle, he was waiting for me, leaning casually against the row of sinks with his arms crossed over his frilly shirt.

He glared at me.

I laughed in his face.

He took one step towards me.

I knew I shouldn’t take the bait, but something came over me, and I saw red and… And…

I lunged at him, grabbing his head behind his neck, and took his mouth with mine. Pressed our lips together with such force I actually scared myself a little. I bit at his bottom lip and jabbed my tongue so far down his throat he gagged. Not that he seemed to mind, as his hands were fisting my hair, tugging to the point of discomfort, and it made my dick swell harder than my suit trousers were tailored for.

He moaned into my mouth, and his hands fell, spanning the fabric covering my hips, his fingers moving up under my jacket in clumsy grasps at my shirt as his tongue pressed in between my lips.

I should have stopped it there. I should have pushed him away. I was better than this.

I didn’t. Because I was an idiot. Because I think I wanted it. Because I think I always had.

I let him walk me back inside the cubicle and slam the lock shut behind us. I tugged desperately at his belt, groaning loudly when he yanked my shirt from my waistband at the same time as I ripped his shirt open.

“Fuck, Christensen,” he hissed as he came up for breath, his forehead against mine, our noses touching. Our breaths mingled as I gave his jeans a firm tug. His briefs came down in the same movement, my nails scratching his skin with the force. He whimpered into my mouth. I silenced him in another assault on his lips.

I couldn’t stop myself, and he made no attempt to pull away.

He slammed me against the opposite wall and pressed his chest against mine, his traitorous goddamn lips kissing down my neck and his fingers working the remaining buttons on my shirt as his trail of kisses moved down towards my groin. Warm. Soft. Perfect. Irrationally making my body relax into a state I barely recognised.

“I want to taste you,” I whispered in a voice that didn’t sound anything like my own. My head was full of static, my thoughts too jumbled to make sense. I was lost in my head, and I no longer knew what the hell was going on.

---