Page 36 of The Associate
But it never came. Instead, silence reigned. It stretched, thicker and more agonizing than any lecture. Samuel’s gaze darted to the digital floor display. The numbers changed with a torturous slowness.
Was the elevator broken?
Was time itself stretching this moment of exquisite dread into an eternity?
The hysterical thought bubbled up, threatening to spill out as a wild, inappropriate giggle. He choked it down, swallowing against a dry throat.
Get it together. Get a grip.
He let out a tiny, shaky sigh.
Then, he felt it.
Ashift. The air in the small space changed, growing denser, charged. A presence solidified behind him, close enough that Samuel felt the faint displacement of air against his back. His breath caught, cut off mid-inhale. His heart gave one hard, painful slam against his sternum.
The scent reached him first. Pine, crisp and clean, undercut by something darker, earthier; sandalwood or maybe vetiver. Gael’s cologne. In the office, it was a faint trace. Here, in this sealed box, it was overwhelming. It filled Samuel’s senses.
Then, warmth. A soft, damp heat bloomed against the shell of his right ear, followed by the faint, unmistakable sound of breath.
“You are late, Samuel.”
Samuel.
Spoken in that low, gravel-and-whiskey voice, so close it was a physical caress. The sound of it, in that mouth, in that tone, short-circuited something in Samuel’s brain.
His eyes slammed shut. A violent cascade of gooseflesh erupted across his skin, from his scalp down to the small of his back. His knees liquefied, a sudden, terrifying weakness that made him sway.
A pause. The warmth of the breath was the only thing in the universe.
“Do you think that is okay?”
The voice was closer. The heat of the exhalation slid from his ear to the ultrasensitive skin of his neck, just below his hairline.
Samuel felt his body lean back, a minuscule, involuntary surrender into that heat.
“No, Sir.” The words fell from his lips, a broken, breathless sigh. It wasn’t his voice. It was stripped raw, the voice of the boy in the shame chair, the boy who knew only how to obey.
He felt a new pressure. The firm bridge of a nose nudged into the side of his head, just above his temple, burying itself in hishair. A slow, deliberate inhale followed; a deep, savoring pull of air. The sound was obscenely loud in the stillness. He was beingscented. Like prey.
“Oh…”
The soft, ruined sound escaped his mouth before he could cage it.
Lips, now. So close they brushed against the fine hairs at his crown with the barest whisper of friction. The words were a low murmur vibrated into his very skull. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
And then, gone.
The heat, the pressure, the devastating proximity; it vanished as if it had been a fever dream. The elevator’s cheerfulpingwas a gunshot in the silence. Samuel jerked violently, his whole body spasming. The doors slid open to the hallway of the sixteenth floor.
Gael stepped past him. He didn’t glance back. His posture was relaxed, his steps measured as he walked away, turning the corner toward his office.
Samuel stood frozen, staring at the empty space where the man had been, long after the doors began to close. He stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the wall with a thump. His hand slapped blindly at the panel, hitting the‘STOP’button.
The elevator jarred to a halt with a sickening lurch. His legs gave out completely, and he slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
He sat there, slumped, lungs heaving for air that didn’t seem to reach them. He stared at the opposite wall, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. His skin was on fire, every nerve ending screaming where the breath had touched, where the nose had pressed, where the lips had…God.
