The Position 3

The Position

Vol. 3

Izzy Mason

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
 

Copyright © 2015 by Izzy Mason

All rights reserved.
 

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
 

The Position

Vol. 3

Chapter One

It’s dark inside the room and it smells of bleach. There’s a janitor’s mop in the corner and several Parisian-style patio chairs stacked up alongside it.
 

Lazarus pushes me against a wall and thrusts his body roughly against me. His firm, hot, gorgeous body, is taut with sinew and muscle. With desire. To feel the length of his hard member against me sends an instant flash bomb of heat to my core. Every nerve in my body explodes like the Fourth of July. Adrenaline and lusty hormones rage inside me. It’s a powerful, explosive alchemy. My breaths are so fast and ragged, I’m afraid I might hyperventilate.
Is this really happening?
 

Lazarus’s always perfect, runway model hair is mussed up and crazy, the way it gets when brutalized by his nervous, restless hands. His breath is hot on my neck and his heart pounds wildly against my chest.
 

He raises his face and his eyes meet mine. They’re smoky and dark. Possessive. He doesn’t say anything. His lips hover just above mine, like he knows how badly I want him and is punishing me by holding them back. His erotic, musky cologne is everywhere.

“A kid?” he growls into my ear. “Is that what you want? A kid like that? You think he has a fucking clue…?”
 

A clue about what?
I want to shout at him.
What is it exactly that you think you know so well?
But my panting breaths won’t let me speak. I want to curse at him, but my mind feels useless and warped. Who am I kidding? Lazarus has me wrapped around his finger. My lips tremble, yet I’m not cold. All I can do is shake my head.
No. No. No. No.
I tip my face up to him, desperate to taste his lips. But he’s not giving up that easily.
 
Lazarus will never kiss me.

 
His frantic hands push up under my blouse and slide over my lace-clad breasts. He groans into my neck as his fingers explore the exposed soft skin above the bra. They trace the shape of my cleavage, then dip inside, seeking out the hard, impatient nipples.
 

I gasp and moan his name, pressing desperately against him, frantic, on fire. “Please… Oh, God, please, yes… Lazarus…”
 

My desperation seems to trigger something inside him. Like a ravenous animal on fresh meat, Lazarus shoves my blouse up to my neck and yanks the bra up over my swollen, aching breasts, letting them tumble free.
 

He grunts with pleasure at the sight. His mouth instantly falls on them, voracious, almost wild.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God… oh yes, oh yes…

His hands knead and squeeze my breasts as his tongue flicks over my nipples, sending lightening bolts through me.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
His hot, wet tongue tastes every inch of them, circling the nipples and then sliding under the hidden flesh beneath. My skin is all raw nerves and electric wires. My breaths are so heavy and loud it makes my head dizzy and light. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. The pressure at my core mounts until I think I’m going crazy. I feel a slight pain, like a burning on my skin, as Lazarus sucks hard and bites into the soft flesh of my right breast, and I cry out with bliss.

I feel faint. The blood seems to race through my body, pulsating everywhere. Setting fires. Before I can begin to get my bearings, Lazarus has fallen to his knees and pushed my skirt up so that it bunches around my waist. He presses his nose against the black lace panties and inhales deeply. I gasp. His breath is hot against the most secret part of me. When his face is low, between my thighs, my legs open to him.
 

“Oh, God!” I gasp, not caring who hears. What is he going to do? My mind is spinning out of control, unable to think or do anything at all. There’s a vague sense of shame about what I’m letting him do. But I’m helpless to stop it. As he slides my panties down to my knees, I’m shaking so badly I’m afraid I’ll collapse.
 

I close my eyes and wait. The anticipation is so acute that when I feel his hot tongue against my throbbing labia, I let out an amazed sound, between a gasp and a laugh. And then he begins to move his tongue. Slow strokes, hot and wet, along the engorged flesh. The pleasure is so overwhelming, my knees buckle and I collapse.
 

Lazarus catches me and eases my body to the floor. And then his mouth is on me again, licking and kissing, making everything slippery, wet, and on the verge of combustion. I don’t even register the sounds coming out of me. They are distant and foreign, eclipsed by the overpowering sensations. My pelvis rocks up and back as if on its own, aching for release. I reach my hands over my head and press against the wall to keep myself from grabbing and pulling at Lazarus’s hair in ecstasy.
 

The flat of his tongue presses and slides over what feels like the epicenter of it all—a tightly coiled bundle of nerves that sends epic bolts of pleasure all through me. He senses it and begins to quicken the movements of his tongue; presses harder as he strokes it over the secret nub. Then he suckles it gently, teasing with the tip of his tongue. The pressure mounts, the pleasure grows. It’s the sweetest, most mind-blowing thing I’ve ever known. I want it last forever, but I cannot bear it. Something is coming closer, closing in. And then it happens. A final, shattering release unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life. With a breathless, silent scream I convulse into a series of spasms that clench and pulsate deep inside me, leaving me shuddering and gasping for air.
 

When my senses finally return, I realize that Lazarus has pulled my panties into place and lowered the hem of my skirt again. My eyes swim in the darkness and I’m still too weak to move. My whole body is vibrating. I can hear Lazarus shuffling around in the darkness. Then the sound of the door opening and closing again. Immediately, the room feels empty and cold. Lazarus has gone without a word.
 

I carefully get to my feet, staggering slightly with dizziness. With shaky hands, I pull the lace bra over my breasts and try to smooth out my clothes with my hands. Then I slip out of the closet and into the bathroom again. There’s an older woman washing her hands at the sink. She barely looks at me.
 

Not knowing what to do, I slip into a stall and perch on the edge of the toilet, waiting for her to go so I can check myself in the mirror. My underwear is soaked and feels cold against my skin. The world outside of the utility closet seems stark and confusing. What the hell just happened? What does it mean? What does Lazarus want from me? I bury my face in my hands and try to hold on to the corporal bliss that is slipping away.
 

I’m aware of a vague ache on my right breast. I unbutton my blouse and push the lace aside to see. There’s the indentation of teeth and a dark purple mark on the pale flesh. I touch it with the tip of my finger, mystified. I know what it means, but it still doesn’t make sense. It means that Lazarus didn’t like seeing me with another guy.
 

Even though he fired me for falling in love with him and he’s engaged to another woman, Lazarus has marked me as his own.

Chapter Two

When I come back to the table, it’s pretty obvious that something weird has just happened. Hard as I try, I just can’t get my hair to go flat and normal again. My clothes are beyond wrinkled. My skin is so flushed, it looks like someone has dragged my face and neck over shag carpet. And no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to catch my breath.
 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Travis grumbles. “I was ready to send out the scuba squad, for God’s sake.”
 

“Sorry,” I say. “I got a call and…” I wave my hand at the air to fill in the blanks. I’m a terrible liar, so I leave it at that and try to focus on my food. But Travis narrows his eyes and stares at me.
 

“Call me crazy, but…it almost looks like you’ve just…”
 

The waiter arrives and Travis falls silent. “Would you like me to heat that for you?” the waiter asks me.
 

I blush and shake my head. I notice that his eyes keep flicking up to the window and I turn my head. Lazarus is back at the table, having a tense conversation with Celestina. She’s glaring at him and angrily gripping her phone. For a second I think she might throw it at him. Lazarus looks strangely serene. I see him gesturing. Explaining. And I can feel him struggling not to glance my way.
 

“Sorry,” the waiter says. “I’m having a fanboy moment. That’s Jude Lazarus. The famous architect? He’s just so brilliant. I’m a little star-struck.”
 

Travis whips his head around and looks at Lazarus through the window.
 

“That’s him?” he says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s Jude Lazarus? That guy?” He rolls his eyes at the waiter. “You’re star struck by an architect?”
 

The waiter shrugs. “Yeah. I majored in urban design and… Anyway…” He glances at Lazarus again and then gives Travis a stiff smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
 
With a polite nod, he excuses himself and walks away.
 

I sigh and take a long sip of water. “Okay,” I admit at last. “Lazarus is here. We were just talking.”

But Travis has a strange look on his face, as if everything were just sinking in. He looks through the window at Lazarus again. Takes in his gorgeous face, broad shoulders, strong body. Travis’s mouth opens and his hands ball into fists. He looks back at me, his eyes searching my face.
 

“You just fucked that guy in the bathroom.”
 

“Travis…” I begin.
 

But he holds up his hand to stop me. “Hey, it’s me. Remember me? I’m your pal Travis. You don’t bullshit me. I swear to God, Mickey, if you bullshit me…”
 

I bite my lip, knowing he’s right. It would be the first lie I’d told Travis and he’d never forgive me.
 

“Not the bathroom,” I say quietly.
 

Travis blinks at me. “Not the bathroom.”

“The janitor’s closet.”
 

Travis squints his eyes and flinches a bit, as if I’ve just turned a blinding spotlight on his face. He lets out a strange gasping laugh. “You fucked him in the janitor’s closet? Just now?”
 

Hearing his words makes me blush again. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. The beautiful heat inside my body is gone. Now I just feel cold and ashamed. Is that what I did? Fuck a guy in the janitor’s closet? Me? Mickey Clark? Does that count as fucking? What the hell is wrong with me? But then I flash to the moment itself. Lazarus’s crazed desire. His panting breaths. His possessiveness. The pleasure. Oh, my God. The pleasure. I shiver at the thought. Why should I feel ashamed? At this moment it feels like the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-changing experience of my life.
 

I lift my eyes and look squarely at Travis. “Okay. Yeah. I did. And you know what? It was awesome.”
 

Travis gapes at me, astounded. “Jesus! What the hell, Mickey? What’s happened to you? I don’t even know you anymore! Ever since you got your little makeover, you’ve…”

“Nothing’s
happened
to me,” I blurt out, annoyed. “You make it sound like I’ve turned into something horrible. I mean, I’m just trying to catch up to where everybody else has been for ages! You want me to live like a nun forever? Besides, how many times have you ditched me somewhere to go fuck a girl in a car or at a house party or whatever. Who the hell are you to judge me?”
 

My voice rises and a few people turn to look our way. Travis falls silent. He can’t argue with that. The elephant in the room is that he just dumped his girlfriend because he has feelings for me. But it’s not my fault that he came around too late.
 

“Mickey?”

The voice is nails-on-a-chalkboard familiar. I turn to find Pam, my mother’s only friend from back home leaning over the patio border. Short, fat, frizzy-blond-haired Pat, who likes her vodka freezer iced and on the rocks. It’s like I’m in a nightmare.
 

“Well, look at you! I hardly recognized you! I didn’t even know you were in Denver!”
 

It takes all my strength to force a smile. “Well, I am. Working. What are you doing here?”

She grins, showing off a pink lipstick smear across her front tooth. “Mary Kay convention. National!”