Trapped
Incomplete request I recieved💗 ilysm, i’m specifically ending this at a point where I can do a part 2 should I ever get my ass around to it.
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The small dusty space you found yourself cornered in was far from ideal. The tight area stunk of spilled liquor and sweat-drenched men. The temptation to plug your nose in order to block out the scents was strong, but you were too busy banging on the sturdy, wooden door in front of you. Your palms were quickly reddening as you hammered them repeatedly against the block of wood, disregarding any and all restraint.
“Are you going to help me?” Your heavy puff of air told your boss that you were getting more and more agitated by the second.
“Right,” The bearded bloke in the corner straightened for only half a second before slouching once more against the wall and busying himself with his previous task — picking at his dirt ridden fingernails. “You’ve got it, pet, what fucking help am I gonna be, crowding you and hitting the door just as fucking noisily? We’re far from the lads, ain’t we? Nobody fucking hears you, yeah, not right now, but they’ll come fucking looking for me in no time. I am the boss, right?” His hands extended, as if ushering to his almighty self. He briefly looked toward you when the piercing heat from your unwavering gaze called his attention.
“Unbelievable.” You murmured before taking a small step back. The closet was tiny. Every time you twisted, your elbow hit the wall or a stray object that was perched on a shelf — and if it wasn’t something then it was someone and that someone didn’t take too kindly to the way you stumbled into his bubble of personal space.
Currently, you had your back pressed against the door you’d just been banging on. It was rough against your back, catching on the material of your dress. Your eyes moved from your boss, to the floor, and then back to him again. Your toes were inches from his, impossible to move elsewhere because of the clutter that lined the interior. How hard was it to clean this room out? It seemed like this was just the junk stash and you found it completely out of ordinary that the pair of you had managed to get locked away inside. You lifted your palms to your face and hid your expression from the man. You felt so.. seen.
Alfie noticed the tension and he expected it.
A week ago.
Alfie brushed his thumb along the cold sheet of glass that bordered his office wall. The window was stained with a blur of fog, murky and fuzzy making it hard for him to see anything in the street below. He lifted his hand to his face and lazily pulled at the soft strands that coated his chin, tugging and caressing them absentmindedly as he busied himself with anything except for work. He deserved a break every now and then too. A hot breath of air left his lips and wafted over the cold glass before vanishing as quickly as it had come. The man twisted away from the window and set off back toward his desk, but because of the new placement of your workspace, he tumbled right into the much smaller desk that you’d been given. His thigh rammed against the sharp corner, something which ordinarily would’ve pulled a string of curses from his lips, but when the desk shook, a thin piece of paper managed to slip free from its hidden position and fall willingly through the air to land beside the toe of his boot. He peered down at the thin sheet, ignoring the throbbing pain from the forming bruise and red, irritated patch of skin on his leg. He scrutinized the blurry words before slowly hunching over to grasp ahold of the corner of the page, lifting it from the dusty floorboards. His thumb moved along the soft paper, blue eyes drinking in every smudged letter on the initially blank sheet.
Privacy.
His brain warned him clearly. But temptation gripped every crevice of his brain and body, keeping him rooted in place. He read it once. Twice. He’d already overstepped, he couldn’t go back now. And seeing the words, *those words*, were enough for him to forget what was morally correct. He subconsciously moved toward his desk. The heavy thump of his loud boots accompanied the loud pump of his anxious heart as he made his way toward the sturdy, oak. Perching on the corner, he barely breathed.
Your handwriting was so satisfying. A swift swoop here and there, curves and circles and near perfect cursive. His touch grazed the borders, tender, as if it were you he was touching instead of a mere note. This was definitely an invasion of privacy, but the longer he read, the harder he found it to put the thing down. It was all about you and your feelings and the fact that you very much so felt something strong for him — your boss.
His cheeks had gone hot a long time ago. Though he was entirely composed. The usually cold room felt like it had been doused in gasoline and then lit with the stick of a match. Lugging the paper away from his eyesight, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, he shoved himself off of his desk and moved back toward your area. Lifting one of the books you had stacked high in a pile, he did his best to place the paper back in a secretive place. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.. not exactly, so this was just a guessing game. And a poor one at that.
The door behind him opened and before he could retreat, he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A sharp gasp left your lips, a sound of worry and plea. He could tell right away that this note was not meant to ever be read by him and she was humiliated to see that he had. Guilt surged, filled him in milliseconds.
“What is that?” Your voice cut into his raging thoughts.
“Nothing.” He growled, like he could defend your secret. “The paper, yeah, it just fucking fell. Wasn’t doing nothing, right, pet, just fucking putting the damn thing back.” He glanced in your direction, eyes glazed over. He was trying to mask his reaction. You straightened.
“Don’t lie to me, Alfie.” You whispered breathily. “Did you read it?”
He didn’t hesitate. Why would he? Lying to her wouldn’t benefit him. “Look, pet, it wasn’t fucking intentional — I wasn’t going through your things, right, just happened to hit your desk and the paper,” He barely had time to usher toward the thing before you curled into yourself. He felt the tension before he saw it. You were stiff, unmoving, and he could see your eyes growing increasingly watery. “I..” He couldn’t make excuses. How difficult would it have been for him to hunch over, grab the damn thing, and set it back on your desk? Apparently impossible. There was no time for him to even explain himself.. or comment on your feelings before Ollie had opened the door, mouth moving faster than he could conjure the words and the moment was gone.
But not the tension. Not the friction your little secret and his snooping eyes had conjured.
Present
That weight still hadn’t sizzled out. You’d been exposed without asking to be, and worse it hadn’t come from your lips and he hadn’t been given the chance to respond.
“I refuse to believe you can’t get us out of here.” Your quiet voice was enough to pull Alfie out of his wondering thoughts. He shifted stiffly before straightening. Your back was toward him again as you brushed your fingertips along the length of the door, searching for a weak point. Pushing once and then twice, you moaned out in agitation. Alfie sighed quietly before extending his arm. His fingertips were hot against your arm, but the contrast of his cold silver rings made you shiver before looking over your shoulder toward him. He knew how you felt for him. He knew how deep and strong the feelings you held for him were.. and it left you feeling vulnerable. Nevertheless, you kept a strong face, one that looked rather careless when he was touching you. Internally, you thought you might implode.
“Right, pet, shall I shout at the top of my fucking lungs in hopes of my voice being louder than the fucking machinery upstairs?” He hulked forward. His boots scuffed the ground audibly, hands withdrawing from your body before sliding along the length of his own forearms so he could roll his sleeves up. It was getting hotter and hotter with each passing moment in the tight space and he was getting uncomfortable from the claustrophobic closet.
His proximity was the least of your concerns. You didn’t actually think he was capable of aiding you in your escape. He had a point. Nobody could hear you, and the door wasn’t going to budge. You were damn near close to just sinking down to the floor and waiting like he’d said. But your stomach twisted with fury at being trapped.
You unknowingly shifted in front of him. Your foot retreated back a step, trying to get a better look at the door. Alfie stepped forward, ready to lend a helping hand finally. Your body hit his hard enough to make him grunt. He growled, grabbed your hip and straightened himself behind you, keeping you steady. The heat in the small space tripled, his fingers flexing against your dress before he closed his eyes and took a small step back.
“Right, get out of the way then before I damn near crush you.” He grunted, his fingers sliding around to your lower back, steering you aside. You maneuvered silently, the press of his body against your own staining your memory regardless of whether you tried to forget or not. You turned, hand bracing against his arm as you pushed past.
He wasn’t moving. Not at first. Rigid, strong. His arms hung at his sides, his breaths quiet. He was collecting himself. The warm press of your soft body against his had been enough to make his body react. He clenched his jaw and took a step forward, annoyingly turned on because he could still feel the indent of you molded against him.
He stepped around you, too fast, too rushed. His boot hit the shelf and it came forward without hesitation. Alfie had barely any time to blink before the metal fell against the wall and lessened the space they’d initially had. You let out a cry of surprise, followed by a groan of disbelief. “Mr. Solomons!” You seethed in panic. He was standing too close now, so close. He had no choice, one boot lifted to perch on the fallen shelf while the other planted comfortably against the floor.
The clutter in the closet near tripled and now you were really trapped. Trapped not only in this tight ass space, but trapped with a man that you were livid at. Your body was forced to settle against his. He shifted for several moments, tried to get leverage and move items that blocked his path to space, but barely anything budged. He let out a defeated sound and slumped uncomfortably against the shelf, wiggling now and then to try and get his arms free without knocking into you.
Beads of sweat formed lightly along the expanse of your forehead. You reached up in annoyance, wiping at your skin with the back of your hand. You tried to inch to the side, tried to step forward and give him a little more room. Every movement made you brush against one another. You refused to give up, refused to accept that you’d be stuck in here for who knew how many hours.
“Pet.” Alfie ground out. You didn’t respond, you merely hunched forward and wrapped your fingers around the bottom of the shelf, tugging in hopes it would loosen. “Pet..” he tried again, more warning present in his tone but you were careless as to what he had to say. You continued to squirm, wiggle, and fidget in front — on — him. It was only when he set his thick fingers on the curve of your waist that you stilled. “S’ a bit uncomfortable, yeah, all your fidgeting.”
You tipped your head in the slightest, the confusion in your eyes fading into realization. You straightened out of instinct, apologetic and alarmed that you’d been brushing against him and hadn’t even realized. Not to that extent. The motion of your body, angling upright, momentarily applied further pressure to the front of his crotch. Your entire face felt instantly hot and your pink lips parted to speak.
The words didn’t form, didn’t flee. The sight of Alfie was enough to render her silent. He looked somewhat shy, averting his gaze like he felt guilty for being any amount of aroused. He shuffled his feet in an attempt to draw your attention away from the space between his legs. You swallowed hard, blinked, and then tore your eyes away. You blames your dress, it was too thick for you to even notice what you’d been doing. After a few moments of shyly wringing your hands in the sides of your blue dress, you sucked in a quiet breath.
“That easy?” You whispered breathily in attempt to add some amount of comedic relief to the suffocating space. The corner of his lips twitched before he shook his head and gently nudged your form forward. You didn’t go very far for there wasn’t anywhere else to go.
“Right, careful, yeah. You were fucking rubbing against me — intentionally it seemed.” His eyes twitched, challenging you. He could make you just as uncomfortable — whilst still holding on to that playfulness.
“It wasn’t intentional.” You murmured in the small space. Your breaths hot and frustrated.
“Whatever you say, temptress.” The want to bring up the note he’d read, regarding your feelings to him, was strong but he didn’t want you feeling stressed or on the spot, especially when there was enough of that.
“What’s that suppose to mean?” You narrowed your eyes and turned to face him with an impatience. You heard the little dip in his voice, the accusation. There was a moment of hesitation, as if he was pondering just how far this little game could go before one of you would take something too serious. Nevertheless, he played on.
“It means I think you’d love to see me all hot and fucking bothered, wouldn’t you?” He uttered hoarsely.
Your eyes snapped up to his own. “I think I’m already seeing that, Mr. Solomons.” The subtle eye-drop to his crotch made him straighten.
“I’m hardly bothered, yeah, just a little fucking..” He made an attempt to step back in the slightest, but he hit the wall immediately. There was absolutely no room.
“Stiff?” You almost giggled. Folding your arms over your chest slowly, you ran your tongue along your lips before nodding mockingly.
The man placed his hands on his hips, rings almost visible even in the dim lighting that fell on the pair of you. His eyes ran along your features before he slowly leaned forward, neck and head being the only thing that neared you, the rest of his body remained slouched against the wall. “Let us not forget, right, that I fucking read that pretty little note of yours, yeah, i fuckin’ did, so I think, if anything, you should be thankful you’ve got me right where you want me, yeah, instead of running your pretty little mouth? Unless you’ve got something you’re willing to confess?”
Neither of you had brought up the letter filled with your feelings, so the second that he did, you went rigid like he’d slapped you. The room felt as if it were an oven and you were on fire.
Clearing your throat noisily, you closed your eyes for a second, grateful for the dim lighting because you felt at least a little hidden. “Alfie.. you weren’t suppose to read that.” You told him softly. “And the fact that you did..”
“It fell.” He murmured. “I didn’t rummage through your fucking things, right, I wasn’t invading your privacy intentionally, pet, yeah, see, I was looking out the fucking window then, clumsy fucker I am, hit your desk and it fell.” He moved his hands around in visible circles, gesturing with every word that left his lips before he lifted his hand to the back of his neck, lazily rubbing the skin that resided there. It was a nervous gesture. You shifted slowly, eyes curiously flickering between his own.
“So? You picked it up and accidentally read it?” You shook your head.
“No. I picked it up and upon glancing.. I saw my fucking name and it made me curious, right, was just..” He didn’t know how to defend himself. He supposed he was still in the wrong. “I didn’t mean to go through your things.”
You nodded once. “Get us out of this closet and I’ll forgive you.” You whispered before turning away from the much larger man.
Alfie wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to get the two of you out. “Pet.. have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying.” He paused. “I can’t just fucking beat the wall with my fist and shout, right, nobody will hear me. We just have to be fucking patient.” He grumbled before shaking his head. His hand discreetly slid to the front of his trousers, adjusting the restraining waistband.
Getting out of here would take time. Time that neither of you wanted to be stuck in. Too many things were left unsaid, too many questions unasked and unanswered.
It felt like an eternity that the silence stretched. Alfie would move every now and then, his hand bracing against her - mindful not to nudge or push too much.
“Can I ask you something?” His husky voice sounded so much rougher when he whispered. A shiver raced along your spine, something you weren’t use to feeling and found almost impossible to cover up. A light nod of your head was all he received in response. “If you’ve got all these fucking feelings, right, bubbling inside you and eating away at you.. why haven’t you said anything?” Alfie sounded so out of character, quietly making inquiries, almost as if he were too afraid to ask.
You were defensive, at first. Then you calmed before your mouth could respond. What was the point in hiding how you felt now anyway — he already knew, he just didn’t have the details.
“I didn’t think it appropriate to feel the way I do about you.” You told him almost inaudibly. Your focus was still on the rusted, cracked, but impossibly strong door.
“Because of the age difference?” He murmured, fingertips gliding along the block of wood you’d just touched. A small snort left your nose before you shook your head and tipped your head to the side to see him better.
“An age gap is the least of my worries, Mr. Solomons, I actually like the fact that you’re older.” The longer you spoke, the more you shied away, but he didn’t let you get too far. “You’re my boss. Didn’t peg you for the ‘sleep with my assistant’ type.” You confessed before brushing your fingers through your hair. “So I kept my distance.” You shrugged.
Alfie almost smiled, but just barely managed to bite back the involuntary twitch that formed at the corners of his mouth. “Now, I never fucking asked you to do that, did I?” He pressed, his hand shifting until he grabbed your elbow firmly and turned you around to face him. “Never once said I’d never date an employee.”
His eyes were dark as they searched the entirety of your face, drinking in details and imprinting them in his memory. He squinted, narrowed his eyes as his fingers lifted, brushing along the front of your throat. “You looked far too fucking pleased, yeah, to see me *riled*.” His tone was accusing as he stepped in closer.
You didn’t flinch under the proximity or his words. How long could you lie to yourself and pretend like this wasn’t exactly what you wanted? Your fingertips lifted, shaking only faintly as they brushed along the sleeves of his white shirt. You’d envisioned this thousands of times. But the real thing would never be like what you’d pictured. It would be so much more.