Chapter Text
Margaret Hale stepped into the elevator and blinked wearily at her phone screen.
8:02 PM.
The elevator doors started to slide shut, and she rested her head against the cool metal wall of the chamber, sighing wistfully as she imagined the nice stout beer and frozen potpie that awaited her at the finish-line tonight.
These thoughts were rudely interrupted by a thump, a soft, lilted curse, and then a well-polished shoe lodged itself between the elevator doors just as they prepared to shut.
She had been certain that she was the only one left in the building…aside from, perhaps, the custodians doing their nightly duties.
She jolted, fumbling in her purse with one hand to locate the pepper spray keychain that her best friend Bessy had gifted her, true to her infinitely overprotective nature, while the other hand reached out to the buttons on the panel.
The doors slowly opened, revealing a tall, haggard-looking man, resplendent in a knee-length black woolen coat and a rather impressive 5 o’clock shadow. Margaret recognized him at once and couldn’t stifle the frustrated groan that broke loose.
John Thornton.
He panted as he stepped into the elevator. He pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Margaret asked, too shocked and exhausted to don her usual mask around this man.
“I was finishing up some work,” he huffed in his Darkshire accent. “You too, I presume?”
She grumbled under her breath as the doors closed with a distant creak, and the elevator hummed to life, beginning its descent to the ground floor.
“Burning the midnight oil. Quite impressive, Thornton,” Margaret remarked cheekily, straightening herself.
“Well, unfortunately as a manager these things sometimes happen.”
“I’m sure I would have first-hand knowledge if only you hadn’t snatched that promotion from my hands,” she grumbled. “I don’t know what Higgins was thinking. You’ve never even managed people before – you’ve only ever been in charge of machines.”
John rolled his eyes. “I have managed groups of workers who, yes, worked very closely with machinery, Miss Hale. I apologize that you appear to disapprove of me so vehemently.”
“I’ve been with this company for 5 years,” she informed him. “I’ve risen to where I’m at now through hard work and dedication – you’ve been here barely 2 years, and you waltz into the role! I’ve seen your Linkedin profile.”
“And yet somehow I was deemed the better man for the role,” he mused under his breath, eager for this discussion to be over. Ordinarily, he'd be tripping over himself trying to win a nice word from Margaret, but after the long day he had suffered, he had no patience left to spare.
John liked Margaret Hale – for one, she was beautiful, spirited, and devoted to their company.
She had been with the company a few years longer than he had, and they had worked as department equals – and despite the ever-present tension between them, the two had always worked together efficiently. Margaret handled the human aspects of projects, and John managed the more technical bits, as he was best suited.
But ugh, the tension. It had always felt like they were working towards the same thing, but somehow Margaret seemed to view it as a sort of competition, always at odds with him. To be honest, he had never met a more frustrating woman in his entire life.
Margaret turned, bristling at his usage of the word ‘man’.
“Do you know what I think, Mr. Thornton?”
“No, nor do I care at the moment, but I have a feeling that you’re going to tell me anyway.” He rolled his eyes upward, staring at the ceiling and feeling slightly concerned at the evident water damage that he had never noticed before now. He’d bring this up to the custodial supervisor come Monday morning.
“I think –”
There was a loud screeching sound, followed by a rough tremor as the elevator came to a jerky halt.
The doors did not open.
Silence fell between them, before Margaret cleared her throat and asked, “What was that?”
“It seems to have stopped,” John observed wisely.
“It- It shouldn’t just STOP out of nowhere – oh, no…”
She stepped forward and banged on the doors cautiously, as if they might fling open and send a flurry of bats flying into her face. Nothing happened. She kicked them this time, forgetting the soft-toed flats that offered little protection against hard steel doors. She let out a loud noise of frustration, balling her hands into fists.
“Will you stop doing that? You’ll only succeed in harming yourself,” he said, wearily.
The lights on the elevator panel flickered a few times before growing dim.
“…What do we do?” she asked.
The overhead lights cut off, plunging them into darkness.
“Shit!” she cursed.
“Calm down – We just need to call maintenance.”
“It’s after-hours, though. And what could they possibly do? Throw us a mop bucket?”
“There should be a technician on-call, or somebody," he said wearily. "There should be a phone number. Here – can you turn on the flashlight on your phone?”
Margaret reached into her purse and withdrew her phone, tapping a few times until the LED flash broke through the dark.
“Alright, now just shine it on that panel,” John instructed, and she obeyed (probably the first time in their acquaintance that she hadn’t pushed back on anything he said).
“What if we press that red button?” Margaret asked, pointing.
“Try it,” he said with a shrug.
She hesitantly pressed the button, and nothing happened.
“The power must be out throughout the building,” John noted, rubbing his chin. “Shine it a little to the right – there has to be a phone number or something.”
“Okay, I’ll read it off to you if you type it in your phone… Okay, 1-800…” she continued to rattle off the digits as he dialed them in his phone.
“Got it. Right, I’m calling them now.”
“I really hope you get service in here,” she whispered, turning the flash off and hugging her sides.
It took a few beats before the line began to ring, and both Margaret and John let out a sigh of relief.
“Yes, hello? Hi. Erm, I’m afraid that we’re trapped in one of your elevators…We’re at Marlborough Inc. in Milton. I think the power must have gone out. The elevator’s stopped, with two of us stuck inside…”
Margaret’s mind raced, only faintly aware of the conversation, though she marveled at Mr. Thornton’s ability to speak calmly at a time like this. She was loathe to ascribe any positive attribute to him, but had to admit that she found herself, at the moment, incapable of possessing the same amount of level-headedness.
“Is someone going to be able to retrieve us?” he asked, his voice gaining an edge. “No – no, it is just me and a young woman, but we have no food or water, so ideally the sooner the better.”
Margaret opened her mouth, then thought better of speaking, and shut it. Thankfully, she had a 16 oz bottle of water tucked away in her purse.
“Right. Okay, so you’ll alert the fire department, then? … Okay. Thanks. Yep. Appreciate it.”
He lowered the phone from his ear and tapped the screen to end the call with a heavy sigh.
Suddenly more interested in saving battery life, she turned off the flashlight and allowed darkness to swallow the elevator chamber.
“Well?” she asked, archly.
“They’ll contact the fire department, figure out who’s available, and then they’ll get back to us,” he told her.
“So, we’re stuck like this,” she surmised, grumbling.
“Just for now. Keep up your courage a little longer, Miss Hale. I doubt it will be too long.”
“’Keep up my courage’? I’m not afraid,” she informed him, balking. “Just, frustrated. I – I had plans this evening.” He didn’t need to know just how pathetic said plans were.
He clicked his tongue, and she heard fabric slide against the metal, as he slid his back down the walls and sat in a heap on the floor. He removed his woolen coat and folded it, stuffing it next to him.
“I didn’t charge up my phone all the way,” Margaret said, biting the inside of her cheek. “Can we take turns using the flashlight to keep it bright in here?”
“Sure thing,” he replied with another sigh, this one wearier and bone tired. “I’ll take over for now. I had mine plugged in at my desk.” With that, he tapped the screen, brought up the flashlight, and laid the phone upside down so that the beam of light shone up from the ground.
“I don’t suppose they gave you any sort of time estimate?” Margaret hesitantly brought herself down to sit as well.
“Nope.” He rested his arms atop his bent knees. “I apologize, but it seems we may be stuck here for a while.”
“Lovely,” she muttered, letting her head roll back and thump against the wall.
They lapsed into a mutual, miserable silence, before John Thornton spoke up, after clearing his throat.
“So, erm, plans, eh? What sort of plans?”
Margaret blinked and turned towards him, observing his half-lit profile. “I dunno … just, plans.” She shrugged her shoulder. While she certainly didn’t have formal plans – at least, not unless the Marie Callendar potpie and alcohol counted, something about John Thornton’s sudden interest in her plans made her feel the need to play it coy.
“A date?” He turned towards her. She refused to look at him to read his expression, and his voice, annoyingly enough, gave no hints either.
A blush spilled across her cheeks, and she snapped her head forward, digging her nails into her thighs, rending her tights. “No,” she said, elongating the word. “Not a date. Just… personal stuff.” She clamped her eyes shut. Great. That just made her sound pathetic now. It didn’t help that she hadn’t been on a proper date in well over a year.
John shifted beside her, making a soft grunt in acknowledgment. “Well, regardless, I’m sorry your plans have been disrupted by this…turn of events.”
“No need for you to apologize,” she gritted under her breath before adding softly, “It’s just my luck.” She plucked at her skirt, twisting it between her fingers absently.
He grunted once more, and then continued – seemingly keen on keeping the conversation flowing. “And so… your current role here? Are you enjoying it?” He shifted and tugged at his tie.
Margaret laughed mirthlessly, a short huffing sound. “I’m good at my job,” she told him. “So yes, I suppose I am enjoying it.”
“I’ve heard quite a lot about your work ethic,” John said with a sigh, his fingers drumming against the floor surface. “You’re well respected, and highly regarded here.”
She twisted her lips, a flush of heat crawling up her neck. “My job brings me a great deal of satisfaction,” she said gently. “Though, I’ve always aimed for something higher, where I can make more of a difference.”
“Hence, applying for the manager position?”
She could feel his eyes on her.
“Right,” she said shortly. “But alas, I obviously didn’t pass muster. I’ll probably be stuck in this role for the rest of my days with Marlborough.”
A beat of silence. He gently kicked out one of his legs, and she noted how he was so long-legged that his foot brushed against the surface of the opposite wall, near where the elevator doors began.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve heard talk, they might make another managerial position, doing much the same that I do.” He exhaled heavily, looking up at the ceiling and wincing at the LED glow. “Higgins thinks I should have help.”
She grimaced. The idea of another managerial role becoming available made her heart flutter, but the idea of it being created as almost an afterthought rankled her. Surely, if she had taken Thornton’s role, and the idea to create a twin manager position arose, she might not have minded.
“Why? Too much work for you?” she jabbed, eager to find an opening where she could.
He chuckled softly. “Too much work for anyone,” he corrected her. “Judging from what I’ve heard and seen of you, though, I think you’d do well for the job. I think we would work well together.”
Her cheeks burned.
Her and John Thornton, working together… side by side...
Thoughts lazily danced in her head, images of swapping reports and easy smiles, and having him lean over her shoulder and point at lines on a page, his low rumbling voice directing her attention to important matters. She shook her head, paused, then shook it again, suddenly uncaring that he was in her vicinity.
“Do you really think so?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a hard-ass, not sure how well I’d cope with that.”
Thornton chuckled. “Aye, I’ll not dispute that. I’m a bit hard, and I’ve got a temper. It’s not a surprise for anyone to hear that. But perhaps I could use having a softer touch around.”
At that, Margaret couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “A ‘softer’ touch?”
He groaned. “I didn’t mean anything like that,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve heard you’re quite personable, and, as I’m sure you’re well aware – hard-ass that I am – I’m not quite so friendly myself. You could help with that.”
Margaret pursed her lips and considered it. “If it came open, then perhaps I might look into applying,” she said at last.
“Great,” John said, and it was clear to her that he was smiling, which made her roll her eyes.
What was it about him? Sure, there was the bad blood about the fact that he had been deemed the better candidate during the hiring process for the managerial role. That was one thing – the other thing was the fact that from the day he stepped foot in Marlborough, Inc., she had found herself distracted by him, recognized it, and sought to temper and avoid said distraction.
She wasn’t sure what the source of the distraction was. Maybe it was his deep voice, sometimes soft and rumbling, other times loud and commanding as if he were shouting across a mill-yard of all places. Perhaps it was his dark brow, and sharply sculpted aquiline nose that drew her attention to his face, where she’d least like to be focused.
It also might be the way that he would brush past her desk, flashing her what she knew to be a rare smile, his pointed canines gleaming as they peeked out below his lips. She frequently scowled at him in response and spun in her chair, turning away.
The morning smiles continued regardless – she could feel them, and she had loathed them, wanted to throw them back in his face, wanted to respond with a blackened glare, but she could not muster up the nerve to meet his gaze.
And now they were stuck together, for the time being, which could stretch out and become an hour, two hours, who knows.
“I’m sorry, it might become quite warm in here,” he advised her, pushing his shirtsleeves up his arm.
She blinked and swallowed tightly. She shrugged out of her office cardigan. “It’s all right,” she said.
The two sat in borderline companionable silence for another few minutes, and Margaret pulled up her phone, seeing a text flash across the screen from Bessy Higgins.
‘Woman!! Did you watch the Youtube video I sent you earlier? I swear to GOD, you’ll love it! *skull emoji* *sunglasses emoji* *eggplant emoji*’
Her lips curled into a smile, and unaware of herself, a soft chuckle echoed in her corner of the elevator.
“What’s so funny?”
She clamped her lips shut.
John shuffled ever so slightly closer. “Is it a meme? I’m fond of them if you wouldn’t mind sharing.”
“No,” she said sharply, wincing. Anything to keep him from scooting closer. She continued, more gently, “It’s my friend, Bessy Higgins.”
“Bessy Higgins?” he repeated, obviously surprised.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “She’s my best friend.”
“Isn’t that Higgins’ daughter?”
“Yup, the one and only. Well – aside from her sister, Mary,” Margaret said with a small laugh.
“Right,” he said, relaxing back into his respective corner. “I’ve heard her mentioned but can’t say I’ve met her before.”
Margaret hummed in acknowledgment, pretending to find the frayed ends of her skirt more worthy of her attention.
“So, how long have you two been friends?”
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and shrugged. “We met sometime during college.” She turned away, eyes widening.
What on earth was he chatting so much for?
John Thornton wasn’t the type to ‘chat’.
She had never seen him make small talk with any other employee. At most, she had seen him provide firm yet softly spoken orders to his subordinates, and speak in his clear, deep voice during meetings with new findings and updates on his team’s progress on ongoing projects. He never spoke with ordinary people, at least, not that she had witnessed.
A flashback to earlier that day when he passed by her desk, usual smile in place, and greeted her with a “Miss Hale” and she had promptly pretended he hadn’t existed.
She paled as she realized, rather belatedly, that every time he passed by her desk, he greeted her warmly with that bright, gleaming smile - so cheerful that it almost pissed her off as much as it made her heart flutter. Each time, she had a convenient reason to ignore him or grumble something ornery in response.
Another lapse into silence, this one lasting beyond 5 minutes.
They each shifted restlessly in their respective corners, fully aware of the foot of distance between them.
And that was when Margaret's ringtone started to play.
Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up?
Margaret flinched.
John jolted but seemed to relax into a stance of abject confusion.
Come here rude boy, boy, is you big enough?
Take it, take it, (Yeah) baby, baby (yeah)
Take it, take it, (Yeah) love me, love me (yeah)
Margaret covered her face with her hands and let her phone fall to the floor between her thighs, buzzing louder against the flat surface.
“Are you going to get that?” John asked earnestly.
“I-I…I don’t think so,” she squeaked, staring at the ‘missed call’ notification popping up on her phone. “If I let it go, she’ll eventually give up.” She nudged the device with her foot, as if bidding it to take a vow of silence.
As the last part of the refrain warbled through the phone speakers, Mr. Thornton spoke up again.
“Let me guess, the illustrious Bessy Higgins?” His voice cracked with a bit back laugh.
Margaret’s cheeks felt like they were burning to the touch.
30 peaceful seconds transpired before Margaret’s phone lit up again.
She groaned and smacked her head against the wall.
“Can you – I’m sorry, but, could you please excuse me? She’s obviously not going to stop calling until I …”
John waved at her in dismissal, but she could catch a dimple in her peripheral.
“Of course,” he urged.
Margaret tapped the ‘answer’ button, grinding out a harsh, “What?”
“Margaret! What the hell are you up to? I’ve been calling and texting you. What’s going on?” Bessy’s voice rang through the speaker, a bit too loudly for Margaret’s care.
She pressed the ‘volume down’ button a couple of times, casting a wary glance in the seemingly oblivious Mr. Thornton’s direction and cleared her throat. “Yes, well. I’ve been busy.”
“Busy! You? Well, ain’t that a first. So, what has you so busy now?”
A few beats of silence, and then Margaret sighed in defeat.
“Well, to be honest with you, I’m trapped in an elevator.”
Bessy shrieked. “You! Trapped? Oh God!... Wait, is this for real? Did you press all the buttons on the panel to make sure?”
“I know how an elevator works, Bessy!” Margaret bit, hearing Mr. Thornton laugh into the crook of his arm beside her.
“We called some maintenance company – they’re going to get some fire fighters to come in and free us,” she said, giving a definitive sniff.
“’We’?”
Margaret’s heart hammered against her chest, and she fisted her right hand, smacking her head none too gently.
Shit.
“Yes, ‘we’.”
“Well, who’s ‘we’ then? I surely wasn’t there.”
“Me and – and Mr. Thornton,” she lowered her voice as she spoke his name.
A loud whoop nearly broke the speaker, and Margaret pulled the phone away from her ear, flinching when she realized that it was perfectly audible to John Thornton as well.
“Mr. THORNTON?!” Bessy’s voice shrieked. “Mr. Tall Dark and Moody?!”
Margaret went to flash a quick apologetic glance in Mr. Thornton’s direction, but he didn’t appear to be paying attention, thumbs tapping and scrolling absently on his own phone, flashlight dimmed slightly though it projected outward in the darkness. She bit her lip and suppressed a groan.
“I – May I remind you, I’m not alone, and it’s a bloody elevator,” she ground out. “I’ll text you, if you’d like.”
“Oh, no, no – I want to have a front row seat!” Bessy said with another ear-shattering whoop. Honestly, Margaret wondered why God had decided to bless her with such healthy lungs.
“Alright, enough, you!” Margaret snapped.
“In all seriousness – are you two alright? Do you have any food or water?” Ahh, there was the overprotective Bessy she knew and loved.
“May I?” John asked, reaching out a hand and fluttering his fingers. “I’ll set her to rights.”
Squirming in her seat and wishing she could disappear into a crack, Margaret thrust the phone into his hands with a quick “sure”.
“Bessy?” he asked, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Yeah, hi. John Thornton. Yup – well, I wouldn’t say that I’m her Mr. Thornton, but yes.” He flashed Margaret a befuddled expression, to which she shrugged wildly, feeling her ears start to burn in mortification.
Margaret could hear the distant warble of Bessy’s voice, launching into a spiel.
“No, right. Well – no water, no food. But Miss Hale and I are secure, very much safe and sound. I promise you.”
Bessy’s voice continued to carry beyond the phone speaker, though her tone was slightly more placated.
“No, no I promise you – I won’t…no…we’re seated on opposite sides of the…wait, what?!”
Margaret leaned over and snatched her phone back, prying Mr. Thornton’s fingers away. “BESSY!” she snarled into the phone.
“Whaaaat? I’m just trying to help you out! You’ve had the hots for him from day 1. What a perfect setting for you guys to, y’know, come together? Beatles-style? Hey, if you’re REALLY lucky, you could actually—"
At this, Margaret lowered the phone and emphatically ended the call with a hard tap, then a couple of extra taps for good measure.
The silence between her and Mr. Thornton was thick, and she was praying to God that he didn’t voice any new opinions about Bessy Higgins. He laid his phone back down on the elevator floor, blinding LED flash creating a column of light between them.
“She seems like a nice girl,” he said after a moment, forcefully clearing his throat.
“Yeah, I, uh, suppose she grows on you,” Margaret replied with a forced laugh.
“Did I hear her call me, ‘tall dark and moody’?”
She drew her brow together, wincing. “Yeah, it’s, uh…” She reached up to massage her temples. “I dunno, it’s just a nickname she came up with for you.” Well, technically a nickname that Margaret had come up with.
“I hope I don’t come across as actually moody,” he replied, raising his eyebrows as he pondered the moniker. “I’d like to think that I’m at least passably pleasant.” He turned and flashed her a winning grin, one that made her insides churn.
Margaret drew her knees to her chest and winced. “No, of course not,” she told him. “Well – I mean, sometimes. You don’t seem to smile very much, you know.”
Half-expecting him to be insulted, she was surprised when she heard him chuckle.
“No, I suppose I don’t. I’m quite serious when it comes to work.” His fingers drummed against the elevator wall.
“You should smile more,” she said, impulsively, and wanted to smack herself across the face as soon as the words had left her mouth.
His eyes searched her face, and he hummed in response. “I’d best make more of an effort, then.”
Oh, heaven above.
How much more could she take – of being so close to him, having him being so chatty with her, and now she had gone and mentioned his smile. Him and his rolled-up sleeves and his distracting smile and the way he was so insufferably nice to her, even when she treated him with disdain at every turn.
She could almost kiss him for it.
True to what he had said earlier, it was gradually heating up in the cramped elevator. Remembering her bottle of water, she spoke up a few minutes later.
“So, I’ve actually got a bit of water, if you’re thirsty – but I’m afraid we’ll have to share.” She winced, giving a half-chuckle as she added, “Don’t worry, I don’t backwash, promise.”
“Are you sure?” John asked, edging the slightest bit closer. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be stuck here. I’d hate to take from you.”
She imagined Bessy’s response to such a comment – ‘TAKE ANYTHING! TAKE ME!’ – and shook her head, both to dispel the mental image and to reassure him. “No, not at all.” She withdrew the water bottle from her purse and passed it to him. “We should probably stay hydrated.”
“Thank you, Miss Hale,” he said softly, accepting the water bottle and unscrewing the cap. He tilted it up and took a long sip, and she couldn’t help but watch as his lips wrapped around the opening, the way his throat flexed as he swallowed, and she began to think she had gone completely mad.
He replaced the cap and handed the bottle back to her with a grateful smile before looking down, pushing his sleeves up higher and exposing more of his toned forearms.
Crap, crap, crap.
She glanced at her phone screen; close to an hour had passed so far. Surely, they wouldn’t be left waiting for too much longer.
Strangely enough, though her stomach was starting to voice its discontent, she found that being alone with John Thornton wasn’t too bad.
She peered over at his corner and saw him slumped against his corner of the elevator, staring up at the ceiling. He was wringing his hands absently in his lap.
Her brow scrunched in mild confusion, and she turned to face him bodily.
“Miss Hale,” he began, sensing her attention.
He drew in a sharp breath. “Miss Hale, there is something I need to confess to you--”
“You can call me ‘Margaret’, you know,” she interjected. “It’s not as if we’re perfect strangers, especially after this debacle.” She lifted her hand to gesture to their surroundings.
“No, I suppose not.” She caught the gleam of his tongue darting out and swiping over his lower lip. He paused, brow furrowed, lips opening and closing slightly before he turned towards her rather abruptly.
“Margaret, I’m glad that you don’t have a date tonight.” The words tumbled out quickly, reminding her of the time she opened her closet door and an avalanche of shoes had landed upon her, leaving her momentarily stunned.
Her eyes widened fractionally. “You are?” she asked.
“I must confess – damn workplace propriety – you’ve caught my eye, and I can’t help but hope that, perhaps…” He reached up and dragged his hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “Shit. I’m terrible at this sort of thing.”
She moved without thinking, shuffling closer to him across the elevator floor, dimly wondering when it had last been mopped or properly cleaned, but right now, she felt instinct taking control.
“Perhaps what?”
He artfully avoided her gaze, but she could see the shadow of his jaw twitching. “Nothing. It’s stupid. Blame it on this debacle.” He mimicked her earlier gesture. “And a lack of sleep. Please pretend I never said anything.”
Silence fell around them, but she could practically hear her blood rushing in her ears.
“You know, you piss me off more than any other man, you and that damn accent,” she said softly, glancing down at her hands rubbing the hem of her skirt raw. “I don’t know if I can stand you.”
He jerked back as if he had been slapped, and lowered his head defeatedly.
“And I can’t focus when you’re near me. I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly,” she continued, glancing up at the ceiling as if assistance would tumble down readily.
He raised his head, eyeing her warily.
She made a hasty decision.
It happened in a whirlwind. She launched herself at him, and what had been intended as a quick passionate embrace became an awkward tangle, leaving him grunting in pain. Her lips narrowly missed his, landing somewhere on his scruffy chin.
They remained that way, briefly frozen, and she cursed the poor lighting and her own exuberance.
His arms encircled her, holding her against him. She heard him exhale in a rush, felt his pulse hammering beneath her palm on his chest.
And then it began.
He drew her closer, shifting so that his mouth slanted over hers, as one hand slid higher, toying with the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck.
She felt herself melt in the embrace, felt her brain begin to turn to liquid before a spark led her to snag his shoulders and hoist herself against him awkwardly. Her lips worked against his, slightly fumbling at first, teeth bumping, but soon they gained a rhythm that accelerated quickly and heatedly.
She climbed into his lap, straddling him, holding his face in her hands and allowing all the pent-up frustration and quiet admiration to work its way out as she moaned quietly.
One hand seized her hip before boldly venturing further, giving her bum a slow, gentle squeeze. Before she could make a sound of protest, his tongue traced her lower lip.
Her lips parted for him, and the tips of their tongues met, tentatively at first, before she felt a streak of wickedness and suckled his, causing him to raise his hips, pressing an obvious stiffness against her, and groaning into her mouth.
Forgotten was the elevator, the lateness of the hour, and even the pertinent fact that they were in fact trapped and at the mercy of rescuers.
Their snogging continued, growing more frenzied before a loud wrenching sound came from outside the chamber.
The elevator doors were forced open, and a shaft of fluorescent light spilled in.
Margaret jumped away from John’s lap, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth in flustered agitation.
“Hey! You guys all right down there?” A voice called.
She avoided looking at the man she had just been aggressively snogging and was alarmed by the fervor in his voice as he answered with a booming, “Yes!”
TBC?