Chapter 3

Tuesday started out pretty normally. Aaron settled in and managed to concentrate, putting aside the incident of the day before, and he managed to discover the basis of the interface error that he'd been looking for. Marion's masturbation session of the night before had been oddly satisfying, so she was clear-headed and focused, dispatching her work in an efficient manner that had Dom nodding in approval and relief. Everything went pretty normally until Marion came back at five o'clock, and started cleaning the glass doors on the third floor. There were four, equally spaced along the circumference of the open atrium whose ceiling spanned all three floors - and one of them led to IT. The first three went fairly quickly, but Marion found herself lingering over the fourth, hoping for a glimpse of Aaron - Mr. Morgenthaler. Suddenly, they were on a first name basis? Marion shook her head, chiding herself; the only place they were on a first name basis was between her ears...

Aaron glanced up at the mirror he'd placed the day before, and froze. Marion was there, cleaning the glass door! He shook himself. So what? He was making a fool of himself; there was no way she would be interested in the likes of him! Hell, she was probably married! After all, she was only cleaning the door - that was something she did regularly! But five minutes later, she was still there, wiping and spraying - but looking toward Aaron's cube! It just didn't make sense! Was she upset? Was she going to complain - claim he'd exposed himself to her deliberately? Or, was it something else?

Marion finished her thirteenth cleaning of the glass door, and collected her cart. Was he still there? How could she tell without tipping her hand? She knew that he generally stayed after five, so it wouldn't be unusual to find him there... She muscled her cart through the door and wheeled it toward the kitchenette that occupied a niche along the radial hallway, providing coffee, a microwave, sink, and materials to make tea. Time to clean the sink and coffee pot...

Aaron had to know what she was up to. Obviously, she wanted to speak to him, at least - and whether it was to berate him or to apologize, or... something else, he couldn't just sit there and let the opportunity pass. It was time to make some tea! Yeah, that was it! He'd make a cup, making himself available for whatever she had on her mind...

Marion parked her cart and collected her spray cleaner, going to work on the microwave. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned to look up the aisle, and Oh, God! It was him! Guiltily, she redirected her eyes on her work, but she was wiping already clean surfaces as Aaron arrived and squatted to collect a stack of paper cups from the lower cabinet.

She continued to concentrate on the microwave as he stepped left, sliding between her and the cart. Instead of continuing on, however, in a flash of insanity he decided to stand behind her, leaning over her left shoulder and brushing her arm as he reached for a tea bag. His murmured, "Sorry!" rang insincere in both their ears, especially as he made a production of remaining where he was while opening the packet and fishing out the tea bag. Marion stepped to her right and began to work on the coffee pot, and Aaron stepped in on her left, angling for the hot water spigot on the coffeemaker - and dead in Marion's way when she turned to empty a half-full carafe in the sink to his left. He stepped back allowing her to pass, but the cart behind him offered an excuse to crowd her, and he took it. He stepped back in and began filling the cup, an action that was nowhere near finished when Marion turned to replace the carafe, so he merely stepped back and raised his arms, allowing her to squeak past under them.

Marion was shaking like a leaf - obviously, Mr. Morgenthaler was toying with her! What did he know? What did he suspect? Certainly, he was acting unusually aggressive! She went to work on the second coffee carafe.

Aaron, the excuse of the teacup filling having expired when it became full, stepped to the right and collected some sugar packets. He was frankly amazed at himself; if Marion didn't have a sexual harassment complaint after yesterday, he'd just provided her with one! And she'd said nothing, despite the fact that she'd made it clear with her gasp that she knew he was messing with her! What did it all mean? Aaron made a production of opening his usual three sugars and dumping them into the cup, then squatting to retrieve a plastic teaspoon from the same cabinet where he had previously collected the cup (a fine piece of inefficiency, that!) mumbled, "Thanks," and wandered slowly off, his excuse for being there clearly exhausted.

Marion had watched Aaron sidelong through the entire procedure - the neat movements, the tea he selected, (Earl Grey, huh?), the slight grimace as he went for the spoon, the unconscious cleanup as he dispensed with the empty packets in the big can in her cart, rather than the small trashcan beside him. She counted the sugar packets, filing away the number with the tea brand. Why was this so interesting? Because a little domestic activity would spice up her fantasy? So she could dream of standing in the kitchen, nude, waiting for the water to boil, his cup and spoon on a tray with the sugar bowl and his favorite teabags, ready for her to deliver to his hand?

Aaron sat in his cube, idly playing with the tea. He hadn't really wanted it - in fact, he had to go to the bathroom! It was six-thirty; he'd deliberately sat through the evening cleaning, and now the delay and his excitement were working on him. With one possible exception, his colleagues had gone home already - thank God his little charade had gone unwitnessed! Shaking his head at his foolhardiness, he sighed and rose, headed for the door.

Marion, cleaning the sink mechanically, froze. As Aaron disappeared through the door, Marion realized that she knew two things beyond doubt: One, his tea was untouched, and two, he was headed for the Men's Room! Tossing her paper towel into the trash can in her cart, she dashed to his cube and peered in. Sure enough, the cup sat there steaming, still completely full! Dashing back to her cart, she collected a roll of toilet paper and made a beeline for the Men's Room! She had no plan - just an imperative to be there when he turned around...

Aaron knew who was standing there when he heard the door fly open and the three quick, light steps - and his cock began to swell even before he turned his head to confirm it. Marion stood there with the roll of toilet paper in her hand, waiting, watching him. Aaron suddenly knew EXACTLY what she wanted, and turned to face her directly, his erection visibly extending itself from his Dockers. Marion's eyes shifted from his to the bar of hot flesh as it rose and thickened, and she watched it, fascinated, as it attained full size. Then she just stood there, staring, willing him to... what? Wave her closer? Tell her to get down on her knees and take it into her mouth? Order her to bend over and drop her pants? She realized that if he asked, she would do any of those things, without hesitation; she was on fire! But he just stood there...

Aaron sensed her thought process as though he was telepathic. The urge to snap his fingers and point to the floor before him was almost irresistible - but something told him that this was neither the time nor the place, and he held himself in check.

The moment stretched itself to the breaking point - and beyond. Marion dropped her eyes, blushed, mumbled, "I - I..." and ran from the room. Outside, in the corridor, she staggered to the railing and once again stared sightlessly at the marble flooring three levels below while her mind ran in circles. He hadn't wanted her! Okay, his cock had, but his brain wasn't along for the ride! God, how embarrassing! She was going to have to quit, move to another team and another contract - she couldn't stay here after THIS! She stood there, trembling with fear and need - and embarrassment. But then a pair of large, gentle hands settled on her hips, and a deep voice rumbled in her right ear, "I think maybe we should talk, don't you?"

Marion turned wide eyes on Aaron's. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she nodded, dumbly. Aaron's lips quirked, and he slid forward - and a hot shaft wedged itself between the cheeks of Marion's ass! Her eyes closed and her pussy did this clench - and then it was soaking wet! She could feel her panty gusset go damp! And the hands moved, sliding upward along her ribs until gentle fingers enclosed the spikes of her stiffened nipples through her blouse. Marion leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing, and Aaron continued, "Have you had dinner?"

This time, her voice worked, "No."

"Good," Aaron approved. "When do you get off?"

"Nine."

"I'll wait, then. Come to me when you're ready." It was a dismissal, but his beard and his lips tickled her neck as he stepped back and slid his hands to her armpits, bringing her back to the vertical. "I'll see you at nine." He stepped away, and walked off without looking back.

Marion swayed there, trying to temper the rush of joy she felt with a splash of common sense. In a moment, she collected that ridiculous roll of toilet paper and followed him back to IT to finish cleaning the kitchenette and collect her cart. She lingered as she passed his cube; there was a rustle, and he stood there, eyeing her. There was something in his gaze that was proprietary... Marion ducked her head and moved on, smiling.

Aaron sat in his cube, staring at the wall. Slowly, a grin stole across his face, growing more and more until he was grinning from ear to ear. His hands twitched, remembering the feel of a pair of stiff, spiky nipples - and knowing that they would feel them again!

For the next two hours, Aaron worked steadily, more in an effort to burn the time than anything else. At eight forty five, he started shutting down and packing up, preparing for his departure. Nine o'clock came and went, and he began to wonder if Marion had regained her sanity - or just chickened out - but at ten after, he heard the door open, and she presented herself at the entrance to his cube, wearing a light jacket and clutching a purse.

Aaron stood, pretending that he'd been waiting patiently and had had no concerns about her coming, collected his hat and his laptop and waved to her to precede him. They took the back stairs - not because they were hiding, but because both of them always did; neither gave it conscious thought. When they were outside, Aaron asked, "Where is your car?"

"Over there," Marion husked, waving. Aaron nodded approval; they'd both parked in the same area of the lot. He waved her forward, following her to her slightly dated Buick. Waving at a nearby Pontiac, he announced, "That's mine. Why don't you follow me? We'll go to McGinty's, over on Third."

Marion nodded and unlocked the car with shaking hands. The intervening two hours had been agonizing - would he REALLY be there at nine? Did he really want her? Did she really want him? What kind of insanity was she getting herself into? Did she care? Aaron - she could think of him as Aaron now, couldn't she? - kept surprising her - but perhaps no more than she surprised herself... As they entered the main drag, she fished her phone out of her purse and called home. "Twy?"

"Mom?"

"Honey, I'm... going to dinner with someone. Can you take care of yourself tonight?" Twyla usually awaited her mother, having dinner when she got off. Many times, she cooked it, too. "You haven't cooked anything, have you?"

"No." There was an embarrassed chuckle. "Mickey and I..."

Marion didn't want to know. "Well, make him take you out, or something, then! He's got it too easy with you! Tell him I said so!"

There was a giggle, a murmured conversation, and more hilarity. "He says he knows. He looks pretty smug, too! Maybe we'll go somewhere expensive! Can't have him thinking I'm cheap!" A loud male demurral sounded in the background, and Marion smiled; Mickey was SUCH a jewel!

"All right," Marion continued. "I... may be late. Don't wait up! And one to a bed - it's a school night!"

Twyla held the phone away from her staring at it like it had grown horns. What was this? Momma, out late? On a Tuesday? "Do you want to talk about this?" she queried.

"Um, not until there is something to say," Marion replied cautiously. "I'll... tell you later, if it proves worth it."

That did it - there was a MAN involved, no doubt about it. Twyla nodded to herself. "I'll expect to hear an interesting tale!" she chuckled.

"Well, I'll try to provide one!" Marion replied, thinking, 'And I hope it won't be fiction... ' as she hung up.

The pair parked in the public lot behind the restaurant and entered via the back entrance. The waitress showed them to a booth, and took drink orders, leaving them with the menus to peruse. Mostly, however, they perused each other, both wondering what they'd gotten themselves into. Marion eyed Aaron furtively; he wasn't really big, except perhaps by comparison to her - maybe six feet. He wasn't fat, and his movements were graceful. She wondered vaguely why he wasn't married - IF he wasn't married - he didn't seem to have any obvious problems...

Aaron eyed his catch. Seated across a restaurant table, she bore a much closer inspection than he'd ever essayed before. His hands remembered a firm, tight body with small, flat breasts - but with solid, rubbery spikes atop them, almost an inch long! Marion was... compact. Yeah, that was it. 'She should have been a gymnast, ' he mused. Her hands were almost as big as his, but narrower, smoother. The slim fingers appeared to be strong, however, the nails clipped to a no-nonsense length and painted with a none too exotic shade of dark red that implied that she painted them because it was expected in a woman, not because she really thought it important. The shyness she was projecting at the moment was at odds with her usual candor, furtive while appearing downcast. He realized that she was doing the same assessment he was. He hoped he'd passed - although the major pointage seemed to have been garnered earlier in the evening and the day before...

The waitress returned with their drinks - both had considered it safer to order iced tea rather than something alcoholic - and asked the ritual "Are you ready to order?" prompting both of them to realize that they had squandered the traditional timeframe. "Um, better give us another moment," Aaron hazarded. Marion nodded, watching Aaron, rather than the waitress. The woman turned away, and Aaron added diffidently, "I guess we'd better get serious about it - don't want to piss Flossie off..."