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Jimmy’s listening to Francis's remarks on document review. Really. He is. It's all important stuff.
The thing is, he’s really good at multitasking, because he’s also listening to the sounds of Kim. The scritch of her blazer against her shirt, the scratch of her pen against the paper. The light, quick inhalations and exhalations that he’s close enough to hear in fine-tuned detail.
Their chairs are so close together, the width of two pillows on a bed.
He knows that she’s sometimes tasked with setting up the conference room for these meetings (a job too menial for her, but that's Howard Hamlin for you). Still...it’s too much to hope that this seating arrangement was her brainchild.
Or…is it?
Does she actually like him that much?
His breath catches in his throat; he nearly growls with sheer want.
He can feel her warmth. Her hand is on her neck, tracing the spot where he kissed her incessantly that first night — the night of the tequila and the lies and the truth. And he can feel that, too, almost as though it’s his neck she’s tending to.
Really. He’s paying attention.
And then…
Oh. Yes. Crap. Guh.
Her ankle makes contact with his. It’s gentle enough that he doesn’t flinch, not bodily, although his stomach lurches and he now knows that the placement of his information booklet was 100% Kim’s handiwork. His leg darts against hers, and she snakes her foot around the back of his heel, down to the inside of his arch. He lets his loafer dangle loosely, and she digs into the sole of his foot with the toe of her shoe.
Jesus, it feels like he’s getting fucked.
His dick half-rises, prodding insistently at the front of his slacks. Ever so subtly, his eyes travel over to Kim. There is zero indication on her face as to what’s happening. His eyes flick to her notes: they’re impeccable. She’s writing everything down in perfect shorthand.
She adjusts herself in the chair, pulling it in closer to the table, and he becomes aware that her left hand is no longer at her neck, but resting somewhere out of sight. It becomes like a sea monster beneath the depths; he’s scanning the waves for it, waiting for it to resurface.
But it doesn’t.
It lands on his thigh.
Fuck, oh, fuck, he is fucked.
Nothing drastic happens at first, besides the burgeoning stiffening of his cock. Then, after a solid minute, she drums her fingers delicately against his thigh.
It’s a question.
The answer is yes, of course, but what kind of yes is apparently up to him.
She turns her palm upwards, and his own hand drifts down to draw a circle in the middle.
The question: you, or me?
Oh god, how tempting it would be to let her get him off: to try to keep it together, he’s almost certain he could do it… How impressed she’d be at his control…
But maybe it’s better if he demonstrates this particular kind of restraint. It’s not like fingering Kim’s pussy isn’t bliss for him anyway.
So he lets his fingers walk along her arm, and then settle on her own thigh. Her breath quickens and she allows herself three deft caresses of his clothed cock before bringing her hand back up to the table; it wouldn’t be wise for two of their four hands to be MIA from the conference table.
Her legs part ever so slightly.
Did she…she didn’t…she couldn’t have…would she?
He dips his fingers low and nudges at her skirt, scrunching it up. He feels the telltale heat and dampness of an unrestricted cunt. She’s not wearing underwear.
Crafty, crafty Kim.
She nods sagely at the droning legalese that steadily marches into their eardrums, furrowing her brow as she underlines something in her notes. No one would know that at this very moment, two of Jimmy’s fingers have come to rest on her labia, massaging it, scissoring themselves just so, so that they can urge the lips apart and tease slick folds within.
Holy fucking jesus fuck shit.
She’s so fucking wet.
He’s now ragingly hard and regretting that he didn’t let her jerk him off. But no, who’s he kidding… Jesus, he wouldn’t be able to survive that. They’re only barely gonna be able to get away with this. Usually, he’d say he’s a better actor than Kim is. But under these particular circumstances…
Yeah, he wouldn't exactly be able to act if his dick was getting worked by Kim’s skillful hands.
So he explores her gratefully, deliciously. It’s so wonderfully transgressive, feeling her sensitive walls responding to his touch and fluttering around his fingers...when all the while, the Latin phrases and finer points of Rule 23(a) swirl around the conference room. Jimmy’s gaze is laser-focused on Francis, but his peripheral vision is hard at work, glimpsing what he can of Kim’s face and body language.
He changes his angle slightly; she shifts her shoulders.
He experiments with depth and speed: holding the heel of his hand against her thigh, keeping his fingers all the way inside, plunging them rapidly as he feels around for that spot she likes. She blinks five times in sync with his thrusts, then takes a long blink to snap out of rhythm with him. She's gotta keep herself grounded.
He finds the spot and hovers there, assertively pressing into it and undulating his fingertips in waves against its marble-smoothness. She takes one breath that’s fuller than the rest.
“Kim, do you have the research on the questions surrounding the adequacy requirement?” Francis asks.
Oh god, no, she can’t, don’t make her talk…
Jimmy glances at her, and she confirms it with a purse of her lips and a plea in her eyes: Help.
You got it, Kim.
Jimmy raises his left index finger off the table with as insouciant a manner as ever, cool as a cucumber. “I’ve got a related matter, actually.” He doesn’t: everything relevant is in Kim’s notes. But he can bullshit the spikes off a cactus any day, and he gives a stab at something that might be germane to the topic at hand. It's even true, miraculously.
“Yeah, so, in my outreach efforts, I’ve encountered a running theme in the clients’ questions about the process. And what they keep saying is…”
Once the words have started flowing, he’s good. His loquacity can run on autopilot.
Okay. What to do from here. The angle is not ideal, and he can’t do much about it, but he’s been reminded lately that Kim Wexler doesn’t need pounding as much as she needs artistry… and he can do that at any angle. So he keeps his two fingers right where they are and rocks them subtly but decisively against the little ridge he’s located inside her, while his thumb strokes the outside of her cunt lips and his pinky starts flicking her engorged clit back and forth. This seems almost too much for her, as her hips buck violently and involuntarily into his hand, which she disguises with an adjustment of her position on the chair.
The new position actually opens up a deeper avenue to him, and he’s able to piston his fingers in further, harder, and his pinky starts to flit of its own accord against her clit, making her hips tremble and her inner walls start to pulse erratically.
Fuck, she’s intoxicating, the way she feels, the layers of lush sweetness she has within herself, there’s always more of Kim to be discovered, and his dick twitches painfully as he feels a stream of precum leak out of him. Oh, she’s close, he can tell, he feels the line of tension ratchet up her core, she’s so close…
He’s still spouting bullshit that sounds really good, people are listening attentively, nodding along, and…oh, fuck, Kim is listening too, she’s staring straight at his lips as he talks, as he pulls legal matters out of his ass, and she’s biting her lip, chest rising and falling a bit too fast, and holy fuck, she likes me, she likes it when I talk, jesus, fuck, she…
With a final linguistic flourish, he pumps his hand in and out of her at the pace she needs, working her clit with finesse, stroking her lips, twisting his knuckles into the tightening of her walls and coaxing out a slow-spreading orgasm that makes her hips shudder and her thighs squeeze his wrist; he feels her knee shaking uncontrollably, everything under the table is a raucous mess even as her entire torso remains calm, even, and firmly professional. Liquid pools into his palm and he catches it, relishing the feeling.
She seizes up one last time — then fully releases.
Shit, he can’t give her the cool-down he wants to…he’s reached the limits of his stalling abilities…he’s got to let her get back to the initial question or it will become obvious that something is up…pun intended, ha... So he pulls his hand out and wipes it dry on the interior of his jacket, wondering if he’ll ever want to get it dry cleaned ever again (probably not), and resists giving his aching cock a rub as he brings his hand back up to the table.
He nods to Kim. “Hope that was relevant, Kim.” He puts his hand up to his mouth, resting his index finger on his lower lip. It smells like her; he wants to devour her.
She clears her throat. “Absolutely. Thanks, Jimmy. That actually quite nicely sets up the matter at hand, because…”
So it continues. She's perfect.
However long the rest of the meeting lasts, it’s ages too long, and he probably dies and is reincarnated as a horny jackrabbit before it finally comes to a close and they’re able to shuffle rapidly out of the room, Kim slightly ahead of him. With a quick, penetrating glance at his eyes, she heads off in the direction of her office. Jimmy makes only a perfunctory nod at lingering outside the conference room before he follows her, with his booklet strategically positioned in front of his pants.
She’s waiting for him right inside the door. They don’t even kiss, she just locks the door and shoves him up against it, hitching her leg over his arm and unzipping his fly. He’s inside her before he can take a full breath, but not before he can register how scandalously good his life is right now.
He takes a moment, as he slams his dick deep inside her, to capture her chin in his hand and stare into her eyes, fancying for a moment that he could be as debonair as the leading men in the classic movies they love to watch together. He rests his forehead against hers and bumps at her nose with his, brushes their lips together, pulls her close to him, fucks her desperately and completely, feels the mind-altering commotion of an approaching release, balls surging, thickly veined cock stuttering, and then his cum is shooting out of him in great spurts, drenching her insides, filling her as she gasps against his shoulder, letting out all the tension she had to hold in during the meeting.
He never wants it to end. Maybe it never will: maybe he can come forever like this, inside her; if he just keeps rutting and clutching her, kissing her jaw, he can keep spilling over and over, giving her everything he has.
He would. He’d give her…everything.
But it’s over. There’s nothing left, and he becomes furious with his body before he realizes how ridiculous that is.
She leans against his chest as she lets her leg slide down the side of his body, all the way to the ground.
“How long do you have until your phone call?” he asks, stroking her back, his cock still semi-hard inside her.
“Four and a half minutes.” She nestles herself into him. “Can we just...stay here, like this?”
And he has no objections.
He’s not sure how long it will be until she can leave her desk again, but he lingers in the parking lot. Just in case.
And just as he’s about to pack it in and drive away, she appears, darting her eyes around and clocking him in his car. She smiles and takes out her pack of cigarettes, and he joins her.
It’s a damn good cigarette.