Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Helly loved art her entire life. As a child she would spend her time scribbling on any piece of paper she could find. Eventually her father put his foot down, calling the habit pure frolic, a thing of childish folly. Creative arts that didn't include physically disciplining oneself were beneath the Eagan family. Art was something to be admired and a job delegated to those in the social strata below them. Helly was permitted ballet and swimming but every other second of her time had to be fully committed to studying the teachings of Kier and the inner workings of industry. Still she continued drawing in secret, sketching on napkins and stolen scraps of  paper. For her fifteenth birthday, she was brave enough to purchase a small Moleskine notebook she could stash at the very back of her bookshelf. 

Clothing became the only outlet for her to express these burgeoning creative desires. The Eagans had strict guidelines regarding what colors and fabrications they could wear, but she took full advantage of what little wiggle room in silhouette and construction were available to her. She sought out the finest fabrics, the most impeccable tailoring, the sharpest lines. She accessorized boldly and often, something permitted solely to display their status. She yearned for more; Bright colors and bold prints, strange textures and interesting proportions. 

But she couldn't risk her father's wrath. She experienced plenty of it already. Jame Eagan would punish her for anything seen as odd or untoward, something that happened fairly often with her fiery personality no matter how much she tried to suppress it. As the years wore on and she grew into herself, the box she was born in became too stifling to continue existing in, and his punishments too severe to endure any longer. So she took out as much cash as she could from as many accounts as she had access to and ran off into the night. Helena Eagan vanished and Helly Riggs was born. 

She moved to New York City, where it was easy to disappear into the crowd of millions. Lumon's presence was far less prominent there than in Kier's self named hometown. She stopped straightening her hair and pulling it into harsh updos. Instead she cut it short, leaving it curly and free instead. She wore all sorts of loud outfits with clashing patterns and bold colors, propriety be damned. She lived in the cheapest shoebox apartment she could find and took in the scraggly, crying stray that lived in the back alley. She rode the subway an hour and a half each way to attend fashion school, using the novel form of transportation to explore her new home until she knew the city by heart. She worked at a cafe on the weekends and began clumsily making friends with her classmates, the very first friends she ever had. She couldn't be honest about who she really was: a runaway heiress whose mysterious disappearance was chalked up to 'poor health'. But still they knew her better than anyone else ever had. 

Years passed without any major inconvenience besides the typical growing pains of learning to be self sufficient and finding one's place in the world. It seemed as though her father had accepted that she wanted no part of the Eagan legacy or Lumon itself. Or maybe he just gave up on finding her. It was entirely possible they did find her and he decided she simply wasn't worth the trouble. Honestly, Helena didn't mind as long as they left her alone. 

Helly liked being alone, proving to herself that she didn't need anyone else to accomplish her goals. She graduated school on her own and debtless, thanks to extra hours at the cafe and some well placed investments. She worked her way up in the industry, starting as a lowly design assistant making color cards and sorting samples. For years she’d worked hard and earned herself the role of creative director with her very own team. She was comfortable. She felt at home. 

So of course that's when Mark is hired. He's the new sales person for the brands she works on, and everyone at the office loves him. Everyone except Helly. He's earnest, quick to offer a smile, amazing at kissing up. He has her boss and coworkers and all the buyers positively charmed. But none of that charm is for Helly. For her there are only snarky asides and obnoxiously knowing glances, as if he can see straight through her carefully constructed confidence. Most annoyingly, he has a tendency to agree with whatever the buyer wants, even if it's too expensive or their factories can't execute it or it creates ten times more work for her design team.

To add insult to injury, Mark came highly recommended by Irving, one of their graphic artists. Helly considers Irv a good friend, something of a father figure, and she cannot for the life of her figure out why he recommended Mark to work there. Irv just tells Helly to give it time, that Mark is ‘good people’, just excitable. He's been through a lot, recently, and needed this win. Well, Helly doesn't care what Mark's been through nor does she want him to win anything, particularly not at the expense of herself. In fact, she would be perfectly fine with him losing. 

Helly holds onto the knowledge that this honeymoon period Mark is experiencing can't last forever. Everyone is the favorite when they first start. Helly was once the golden child herself. But once the dust settles and the excitement of a shiny new person wears off, everyone will see what Helly already can: Mark isn't so special. He's cocky and self assured to the detriment of everyone else. 

She has restrained herself from confronting him with all her specific issues outright. The way he consistently creates extra work for her team without working with her on solutions the way his predecessors would. The way she gets sarcastic comments flung her way when everyone else gets kind, polite, agreeable ones. This isn't to say that they haven't fought about it. They do fight semi-often, to the point where her team knows to leave her office and shut the door behind them when he makes an appearance. Just as he does now, lingering in her doorway with his hair cropped short and his suit pressed like the world's most boring corporate cog in the machine. 

"Your buyer isn't getting one hundred percent silk," Helly grumbles, already knowing what he's here for.

"It's what they asked for. And they're your buyer, too, you know."

"I don't care. At the price point they want, all they can afford is a poly blend at most."

Mark frowns. "That isn't going to work."

"Well then you can take it up with costing and sourcing, because this is not falling on my shoulders again. And that much direct embroidery? What the hell were you thinking?"

He flashes her a wide smile, his canines glinting. "I'm thinking that our genius design team will be able to work something out."

Helly scoffs and reaches for the corded phone on her desk. "Forget this, I'm calling Harmony-"

He puts his hand over hers, stilling it before she can pick up the phone. "Come on, do we really have to go crying to mommy about everything?"

"I should call HR about this right now."

He smirks. "For touching your hand?"

"You're restraining me."

Mark snorts a laugh, "As if you couldn't stop me in a second if you really wanted to."

"What are you here for, anyway?"

"Checking in on that denim capsule collection for fall."

"Well I don't have that information for you right now. Schedule a meeting."

"It's always a meeting with you-"

"Well I don't like interacting with you without supervision," she replies, voice dripping with sickeningly sweet sarcasm and meaning every word. 

"So Cobel has to babysit us now?"

"Yes, otherwise I'm going to jump out one of these windows. A seven story fall is preferable to whatever this is supposed to be." 

He rolls his eyes but leans forward, amused by her antics. "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

It's then Helly realizes his hand is still on hers and she snatches it away as if she's been stung. She stands up suddenly, not liking the way he looms over her when she's seated at her desk. At least the laminated wood is still between them, a protective barrier strewn with printouts and rulers and swatches of fabric and tiny Pantone chips. 

She directs her attention to her computer monitor where she has real work to attend to. "What the hell is your problem with me?"

He hesitates at this, taken off guard by her candor. "I don't have a problem with you."

"Yes, you clearly do, because no one else gets this attitude. No one else has all these roadblocks thrown in front of them all the fucking time."

"Maybe I just know you can handle it."

"You don't know me at all."

"So you can't handle it, then?"

Helly feels herself flush and blames it on her fury. The first rule in this industry is to cover your ass. Speak carefully and politically because your words can and will be used against you. She knows better by now than to insinuate that any issues are because of her own abilities. 

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down before she says anything else so stupid. "No. My team can handle anything you throw at us. But we shouldn't have to fix your mistakes."

Mark raises his eyebrows, "Oh, my mistakes? I'm just giving the buyer what they want."

"Well sometimes the buyer needs to know they can't have everything they want. Not without coughing it up."

"And they are. Thanks to me we’re selling 25% more units than the last two years combined."

"Which means jack shit if we can't get the products they want in stores."

"You'll figure it out," he says, smug smirk on his weird little lips that annoy the hell out of her.

She doesn't reply, lest this turn into a screaming match that will have Harmony pulling them both into her office for another dressing down about civil behavior in the workplace. Helly likes Cobel, more or less. She can be strange and strict but she's good at what she does. Helly doesn't always like her boss's decisions, but she comes around to them eventually. For just about everything besides Mark. 

Mark smiles at her sneer and turns to leave. "One hundred percent silk," he repeats on his way out the door.

"Shove it up your ass," Helly grumbles in return. She knows he hears it because he chuckles before closing the door behind him. She lays her head on the desk and resists the urge to scream.

Chapter Text

Helly is in her office late at night, back hunched as she stares at her dual monitors. She moves sketches around on Adobe Illustrator, tweaking details and changing colors while flipping through a Pantone book. Mark promised their buyers a whole new capsule collection by the middle of next week, so now she has to rush to design it.

The rest of her team went home hours ago now. She wasn't going to let them waste their Friday night just because she had to. That's the price of being the boss now, she gets the big bucks in return for staying far too late at the office when everyone else is already beginning their weekend. Helly has always been a hard worker, is proud of that fact, but it does fucking suck that she has to be here. She wants nothing more than to go home to her poor little cat and eat too many cookies before passing out in front of her tv. But now, thanks to Mark's hard work , she'll probably be working through the weekend. She could kill him. 

So of course he shows up somehow, despite the late hour and the fact that everyone else in the office left ages ago. He appears in her doorway, leaning his shoulder against it casually in a way that irritates her immediately. His usual suit jacket has been removed, his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened and his first two buttons undone. He's more unkempt than she usually sees him and she tries not to think that it makes him look less like a total dork. He's not attractive, she reminds herself forcefully, he's weird. His hair is too long on top, his nose too big, and his mouth too small. Not that she's looking at his mouth or the way his five o'clock shadow is darker than she's ever seen it, defining his jaw and cheekbones. 

Helly realizes she's staring and her eyes snap back to her monitor pointedly. She grumbles, "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Working."

Helly scoffs. Her eyes flicker to the corner of her screen, checking the time. "You're never here this late.",

"Maybe you just don't see me."

"Don't need to see you. I'd hear you."

Mark laughs at this, and a ripple of anger runs through her, though something suspiciously like pride runs underneath it. Helly leans back from her computer, wincing when her back cracks. She was in that position for way too long.

"You're definitely not old enough for your bones to be making that sound."

"You'd know," she bristles, because a decade plus in age difference is the only high ground she has right now. "It's your fault anyway. I could be home right now."

"What, home at eleven on a friday? You don't have any crazy parties to attend? Hot dates to see?"

She doesn't understand what he's doing now. If he's making fun of her then it's a step too far. They never hit on things that aren't superficial or specifically constrained to their work environment. For example, Helly wants to ask how the hell his wife puts up with him at least once a day but restrains out of the goodness of her heart and the sanctity of the workplace.

"Maybe," she says even though she knows she wouldn't be doing either of those things. She had her fun back when she'd first tasted freedom, but she found dating around and partying not very fulfilling in the long run. "But I have to finish this fucking capsule for you."

"For the buyer."

"You're the one who sold it to her."

Mark crosses the threshold to her office slowly, his head tilting. "You know it's a good thing to have more business, right?"

Helly rolls her eyes. Obviously she knows that. "More business is great, but if we don't have the capacity-"

"But we do," he comes closer until he's perched on her desk as if he has any right to her space. Helly would much rather have the desk between them, some sort of barrier that reaffirms her power in the situation. She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing, but he makes no move to retreat despite her icy glare. "You always pull it off. I know you can handle it." 

It's a compliment, an earnest one, and Helly doesn't quite know what to do with that. Not from him. She snaps out of the shock by relying on the ever present anger at his audacity, the way her and her team have been stretched too thin since the day he started. 

"It's not about handling it. Of course I can fucking handle it, even if it means spending my entire weekend making it happen." Helly tries not to let her voice raise, to speak strongly and sternly instead of hysterically. "But it should matter to you that we are overwhelmed. My team is stressed out. And it is not a reflection on their abilities, it is a reflection on you and your complete disregard for our time. It may take three seconds for you to promise buyers the fucking moon, but it takes us hours to lasso it!"

Mark blinks at her, eyebrow raised at her outburst. "You do realize we aren't exactly saving the world here, right?"

That's it. Now she's well and truly pissed. This may not be life saving work. It may not be the same as being a fireman or a politician or the CEO of a multibillion dollar medical manufacturing dynasty but it's hers and she loves it. 

Helly stands, getting in his face, her hands coming down hard on the desk at either side of him as she retorts. "Well excuse me for taking my work seriously! I swear, its like you don't care about anything besides making my life as hard as fucking possible. It's like you want me stuck here all the time thinking about how annoying and idiotic you are."

Mark simply smirks in the face of her ire. "Spend a lot of time thinking about me, do you?"

She laughs meanly, leaning closer, "You wish. Why don't you go fuck yourself, Ma- Mph!"

His lips cut her off, pressed against hers suddenly, insistent and surprisingly soft and not at all what she expected. Not at all something she should like. She should push him away, slap him across the face for having the nerve to assume she'd ever let him get away with this, then report him to HR for assaulting her. Except she doesn't do any of that. Instead she kisses back, leaning into it, pressing her lips harder against his. 

It surprises him and he pulls back with a small gasp, wide brown eyes searching hers, confused and intense and a little scared. Helly is still so heated and now that heat is turning into a different kind entirely, one that's simmering between her legs as much as it is between her teeth. How dare he do this to her only to try and back out. She surges forward and their mouths collide together again.

It's an evolution of their constant bickering, her lips battling for dominance, her tongue infiltrating his mouth before he gets the chance to enter hers. He tastes like alcohol and it's a surprise to find he was drinking while he worked late at the office. She wonders if it's routine for him to get tipsy at his own desk while she toils away at hers. It's something she could use against him, except she'd have to make up some story about walking in on him mid swig or seeing the bottle out on his desk. She couldn't exactly tell HR she found out because his tonsils tasted like whiskey.

One of her hands finds its way into his hair, annoyingly soft and full, while the other has landed on his thigh, her nails biting through the fabric. It's not cheap, but it's not very nice either, and she knows that if she tried she could put runs and pulls in the fabric that he wouldn't be able to fix. But his wife would surely notice, so instead of doing that she tightens her fist in his hair, trying to make it hurt but Mark just groans into her mouth. His hands slide down to her hips to pull her closer.

Helly slots between his legs, leaning more fully against him, but it’s not close enough. She acts before she thinks when she puts her knee on the desk beside him, using the arm around his shoulder to leverage herself as she climbs him like a tree. Swatches and printouts wrinkle under her knees and surely she’ll find Pantone chips stuck to her later, but she couldn’t care less. She settles heavily in his lap and despite his muffled sound of surprise his hands settle on her thighs. They slide under the sparkly knit boucle of her skirt, black fabric bunched around her hips and allowing her to grind against him. She moans into his mouth when she feels him already hard and pressing against her. 

Part of her is mortified to be doing this with him of all people, but it’s been a long time since she’s indulged. It was always too daunting to bring anyone too close, to let them know her true identity and the weight of her past. She had her 'ho era' as the youngest on her team so eloquently calls it, but those meaningless flings are too exhausting for her these days. For longer than she'd like to admit it's just been herself and her vibrator. She tries to blame the desperation with which she grinds against him on that. The frantic way she moves to unbuckle his belt, to reach inside, hand wiggling under his briefs to wrap around him. It’s rough, clumsy, but his breath stutters anyway and his fingers dig into the muscle of her thighs. Not one to be outdone, Mark's hands move to the front of her shirt. He tugs at the buttons of her cropped, forest green button up roughly and Helly pulls back sharply. 

“If you rip one of these buttons off I swear to fucking god,” she threatens.

“What, scared I’ll ruin your Prada?”

That tone is enough to reignite the fury that had almost wholly been swallowed up by need. She practically growls at him, “It’s Gucci, asshole.”

Mark’s eyes twinkle and he leans in to suck her neck as if he can’t help himself, as if her insults and chiding only egg him on further, and she wonders if maybe they do. 

“Jesus Christ, you fucking like it,” she lobbies the accusation as he unbuttons her top more intentionally. “You want me to be mean to you. Is that what all this is? Pulling my pigtails like we’re children? Some sick way for you to get your rocks off at my expense?”

“You like it,” he insists against her skin.

Every part of her wants to deny it. But as much as she loves her job, nothing has been more exhilarating than fighting with him, maneuvering around him, not just meeting his challenges but overcoming them. She finds herself looking out for him not just with trepidation but with excitement. She's almost disappointed when he's not in a meeting to trade barbs with. And now she is in his lap, her hand on his leaking cock, so any protest otherwise wouldn’t be very convincing. 

It fucking infuriates her and she has half a mind to get off of him, leave him hard and aching and wanting while she goes home to take care of her own arousal with a vibrator, or maybe some stranger off an app. Forget staying at the office a single second longer just to work on his project, he can try finishing it himself and see how easy it is. But he successfully gets her top open at the same second she has the thought, moaning at the sight of her bare before him and the sound shoots straight to her core. 

“Fuck,” he croaks, staring at her chest like it’s the only pair of breasts he's ever seen.

She’s suddenly incredibly happy that this top is loose enough and her tits small enough that she could get away with going braless. He doesn't ask before leaning back in, wrapping his lips around a nipple and she whines, tossing her head back. He kneads at the opposite side, his palm warm and wide and covering the entire thing. She can feel his wedding ring, simple and smooth, and wonders why the hell he’s doing this with her in the office and not at home with his wife. She’s seen the picture on his desk and knows that she’s drop dead gorgeous. Way out of his league. A professor for some unknown reason when she could easily be a model instead. Now, though, it's all starting to make sense. This is how he locked down such a beautiful woman, by being really fucking good at this. 

Helly has never been known for her patience and Mark seems like he’d be happy to suckle at her for ages. The anger that was beginning to melt away again, despite her best efforts at remembering who he is, reignites at the very idea of him teasing her. She pulls him out of his pants and his lips leave her with a lewd pop and a groan. Her other hand reaches down, pulling her panties aside and sliding onto him in one swift motion. She is, embarrassingly, wet enough that he goes in easily with no discomfort, despite the length of time it’s been since anyone has been inside her. It helps that he’s not overly big, average at best, but it’s still enough to fill her up so satisfyingly.  

She can tell he wasn’t expecting it because he doesn’t have time to bite back his moan. It rings out in her ear and she almost doesn’t recognize her own harmonizing with it. She lifts herself off him just slightly before sinking back down, his hips thrusting to meet hers. Just like that, the dam opens. Mark kisses her, all teeth and tongue as they grind together. Her arms wrap around him and his head ducks as he drags kisses down her jaw, her neck, back to her breasts. Helly almost laughs - definitely a boob guy, then. 

Her entire body throbs with pleasure from his lips wrapped around her nipple to his cock, hard and so good as it drags against her walls. She can’t believe they’re doing this. Mark's teeth scrape over her nipple and she yelps. It’s unexpectedly good. It’s less good when he bites the hard nub. She jolts, her hips losing their rhythm. She tugs his hair hard, pulling him off of her and tilting his head back. She wants it to hurt, and she uses enough force that it must, but the stupid jerk obviously likes it. He barely bites back a moan, his eyes heavy lidded and lit up the way they are whenever she tosses a particularly clever insult at him.

“You did that on purpose,” she spits and he just grins, canines on display. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Whoever you want me to be,” he chokes back as she resumes the movement of her hips just to watch him struggle to complete the sentence. “Whatever you want- Fuck, Helly-“

He can’t continue, but Helly can’t listen anymore anyways. His hands are back at her hips, pulling her down against him with force and thrusting up harder when he notices her beginning to falter. She doesn’t need the help, she still swims every morning before work - a habit she could never quite break - and it's made her strong. Strong enough to fuck him like this for much longer than she plans on fucking him right now. He’s just as eager as she is if not more so and the assistance almost reads as thoughtful. Almost. It’s much easier to read it as undermining her profound capability to take care of herself. But it also feels so fucking good, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure up her spine, the warmth spreading under her skin and building so deliciously, enveloping her from the inside out. 

She drops a hand between them, fingers reaching for her clit and enhancing every sensation ten fold. Fuck, she’s not going to last, and she doesn’t want to. She chases her orgasm like it’s a race, a sprint not a marathon, her eyes fluttering closed to focus on that instead of Mark’s warm brown eyes fixed on her or the way his small, pretty mouth is swollen from her kisses, his high cheekbones flush with exertion. But the image sticks behind her eyes and somehow the knowledge that it’s him makes it better instead of worse, has the orgasm building faster and higher than she expected. 

Helly shatters with a cry and her walls fluttering has him crashing down with her. He comes hot and hard inside of her, burying his head and his drawn out groan in the crook of her neck. The tension has finally broken and all that’s left is the two of them. Mark and Helly. Holding each other close and panting into the dry office air. They stay there, his lips pressed to her skin, her chin hooked over his shoulder. Her hand drops from his hair and smooths down his back instead, light blue dress shirt now damp from sweat. 

Her cheeks burn furiously when she notices her office door is still wide open. Anyone could have seen them and then they both would’ve been well and truly fucked in a far worse way, though this is pretty bad all on its own. If it weren’t so late on a Friday, thanks to a project assigned by him-

Reality settles in and the anger returns, disgust along with it. She’s never fucked a married man before. She’s never fucked anyone she worked with. She’s certainly never fucked at her place of business. She climbs off him, wrenching out of his arms. He slides out of her uncomfortably as she goes and she ignores the way he jumps and hisses.  

She turns away from him, buttoning her top back up as calm and collected as possible, despite the fury and discomfort and nerves returning full force, causing her hands to shake. She straightens her skirt, slips back into the penny loafer that fell off. She risks a glance at Mark and finds that he’s made no move to put himself back together. He looks entirely debauched, his hair wild from her pulling, shirt rumpled and pulled loose from his waistband, his dick still sticking out of his pants, slowly softening and glistening from their combined pleasure. Oh god, she let him fucking come inside her. 

Helly's heart skips a beat in the bad way and she clears her throat, looking away. She grabs her laptop, shoving it into her tote bag roughly. 

“Helly…” he starts, but she ignores him.

She runs a hand through her hair, hoping whatever state it’s in can be excused by humidity and a long, hard day's work. Not that the doorman would ever say anything about it to her, they're buds by now, and the streets of New York have seen far stranger than a walk of shame. But she still knows the real reason behind it all and it fills her with dread. 

“Helly,” he says it stronger now as she throws her bag over her shoulder, walking around the desk and towards the door. 

“I’ll see you on Monday,” she grits out, not looking back at him as she leaves.

“Come on-“

“No,” she says firmly, final. "Just... No."

She stops for just a moment before the threshold of the door, risking a brief glance at Mark over her shoulder. He actually has the gall to look hurt, as if she were the one who started all this, as if she was the one with a committed spouse waiting for her back home. 

“This didn’t happen. And it will never happen again.” 

His jaw snaps shut, brows drawn, but he doesn’t reply. Good. There’s nothing he could say to make what just happened okay. Helly turns and walks out of the door, leaving Mark and all the horrible confusing feelings he inspires behind. 

Chapter Text

Helly resists for a week before it happens again. 

She could've lasted longer. In fact, she'd done a fairly good job avoiding being around him alone so far. But she just had to stay late tonight, putting the final touches on the line as she set up the showroom for the big buyer meeting the next day. Everyone else on her team was dismissed an hour earlier - she'd rather have them back refreshed bright and early in the morning for the inevitable pre-meeting rush. 

Someone clears their throat behind her and she jumps. The sample hanging from the plastic hanger in her hand clatters to the ground.

"Jesus," she presses her hand to her chest, heart thumping through the ribbed fabric of her top. She groans when she notices who it is. Of course he would be here late tonight, too.

"Sorry," Mark apologizes as he walks further into the showroom. To her surprise he sounds like he actually means it, nerves fraying at his edges.

Helly glowers. "We should put a bell on you." 

Mark chuckles and she rolls her eyes, bending to pick up her fallen sample. Mark beats her to it, leaning down to grab it first, his fingers brushing hers. It's electric for a split second and makes her recoil as if she's been burned. Their eyes lock as they straighten up, her sample firmly in his grasp.

While they never really touched before their encounter the week before, the space between them now feels overtly intentional. As if they're magnetically repelled just as they'd been magnetically attracted. Hovering just outside each other's personal bubble and then some. So even just this light touch, such a brief moment, is overwhelming. Helly's lucky she didn't gasp.

She doesn't want to admit that it's different being around him now. Especially how it isn't really any different at all. Mark is still infuriating and demanding and doesn't know what he's doing. They still throw thinly veiled insults at each other whenever the chance arises. But, now that she knows the anger and annoyance is more like thrill and excitement - flirting - it feels wrong. Which only makes her angrier because it's all the same as normal, except it's not, and it's tormenting her. She wishes everything could just go back to the way it was before him.

Helly wonders if he thinks about it. She hates that she still does. It's bad enough that she has to admit to herself that she's liked him for a lot longer than a week, her pride taking a hit in the process, but now she also has to acknowledge the reasons why. She can at least admit that he is objectively handsome - if a bit odd-looking - and that maybe her initial judgements were overtly harsh. Sometimes he can be kind of funny when he isn't pulling her pigtails, which is exactly what all of this head-butting really is, and she always sends it back like the stupid fucking child she is. 

But if it weren't for his wife, then maybe-

The thoughts aren't worth thinking because he does have a wife. A beautiful, out of his league wife who is probably a lovely woman. Even if she isn’t, she doesn’t deserve to have her husband sneaking around behind her back while he's at work. So Helly can't think about it or dwell on it or imagine it because it never should've happened at all. And it can certainly never happen again. No matter how many times a day she has to stop herself from staring at her desk and remembering how good it felt to be with him.

"Late night?" he asks as he hands the sample over, the silk dress shimmering between them. 

"Yes." She takes it from him quickly, careful to grab it from the far side of the hanger where there's no further risk of skin to skin contact. "No thanks to you."

Mark frowns. "Hey, I didn't do this."

Thank God he's so efficient at pissing her off. The anger distracts from their almost-moment, and Helly goes back to fiddling with the wire grid on the wall, placing the sample back in its place. "You're the one who schedules the meetings. You're the one who only gave us three days in advance to prepare."

"This is when they were available. I have to give the buyer what they want. It was too good an opportunity to pass up."

She scoffs, turning back to him. "Sure, you're always giving them what they want."

Mark smirks, volleying back, "I could give you what you want."

Helly freezes. A week ago she would've snapped back that she wanted a salesman with a brain between his ears. But this week his words carry a whole new meaning. She recovers with an audible gulp, turning away from him once more to fiddle with samples that are already impeccably placed. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Why not?"

"You know why not." She sighs, frustrated. "Because its not fucking happening. Nothing fucking happened."

"Yeah, sure… That's why you've been staring at me all week."

She spins on her heels, indignant. "I have not."

"Uh, yeah, you have," he replies easily, the annoying smile back in place. 

Helly blushes despite herself. She knows her gaze has lingered more than she should’ve allowed, noticing all the little things she liked about him that she ignored before. The crooked slant to his nose, the arch of his eyebrows, the way his ears stick out just a little too much. 

"It's just because I hate you so much,” she insists. “I'm daydreaming about stabbing you to death."

"Le petit mort, maybe."

It shocks a laugh out of her that she doesn't quite stop in time. Mark's eyes light up and Helly groans, her fists clenched by her sides. "Stop it!"

"Come on, Helly." He takes a step closer, encroaching on her personal space. "I know you've been thinking about it." His smile loses some of its smarm, growing sheepish instead. "I know I have."

"No. Not at all," she denies, looking away. But she feels her cheeks flush as the memory of his hands on her flashes through her mind and she knows it gives her away. "Fuck you," she spits for good measure, a desperate attempt to convince him that it hasn't been on her mind since the second he came inside her. 

"You could."

It makes her blood boil that he won't just go along with the act. That he won't leave her be so she can resist this temptation. She doesn't need any of this drama in her life, no matter how good it feels. It isn't fair that she's come so far, escaped from so much, only to end up with an asshole like him on her heels. It's been so long since anyone showed interest in a way that piqued her own - why did it have to be someone so unavailable fucking annoying?

Helly doesn't know how to verbalize this, and even if she did, it is all far too vulnerable. Instead, before she knows what she’s doing, she steps forward and shoves him. 

Mark's chest is solid and warm under her palms, however brief the contact is. She used enough force that his hips collide with the large table that takes up the center of the showroom. It looks like it'll leave a bruise, his hands coming back to brace himself against the wooden surface as he winces. Good. She hopes it leaves a mark. But the thrill of bruising him is nothing compared to the look on his face - the way his smile drops, eyes going wide in a way that makes him look much younger. 

Immediately he makes himself a little smaller, disarming her as best he can. His eyes dart from her face down her body, taking in her furious form. "Okay," he starts slowly when it's clear Helly is waiting for him to make the next move. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, okay? I thought we were just having fun-"

Something about the sincerity in his voice, the way he cowers before her now, the way he folds the moment he knows she's serious, has a heat that has nothing to do with anger rising inside her. The dichotomy of this earnest version of him combined with the inflammatory Mark she knows is enough for the thin thread of resistance to snap. Helly surges forward, grabbing him from the silk tie around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

She whimpers the moment her lips are back on his, but he releases a similar one in response and she can't find it in herself to be embarrassed. She might be eager, but so is he, his hands already gripping her waist and pulling her closer. He opens his mouth readily for her tongue, licking against her with equal fervor. It's messy and uncoordinated and fuck if it doesn't feel so fucking good. 

Helly leans up on her toes to press herself closer, bending a knee to prop it on the table, ready to climb him like a tree just as she had in her office last week. She wants to sit on his lap again, to feel him hard through his poly blend slacks, to show him that she is the one in charge, not him. 

But Mark has other ideas. As soon as she has a knee up, he's flipping her, the air leaving her lungs in a shocked whoosh before her back even hits the table. Her hands land on his shoulders, trying to push her off of him, but his lips find her neck and despite her brain insisting that she's supposed to be on top, her body cries out that it feels really good to let this happen. To be taken care of. To let him press his body into hers, encasing her in the scent of copy paper and musky cologne and the whiskey he must pour the second the clock strikes six. 

Mark's hands slide up her sides, cupping her breasts, and she arches into his grasp with a shaky sigh of relief. His palms are so warm, covering her so completely as they squeeze in appreciation. But evidently it's not enough for him, his fingers immediately going to the golden buttons at the front of her top. There are four on the short placket, but only three are functional, and it's barely enough to reveal her sternum. Helly chuckles when Mark groans in frustration, pulling at the stretchy knit fabric and realizing that he won't be able to expose any more of her this way. 

"Fuck, you couldn't wear a button down?" He complains as he changes his plan of attack, instead pulling the fabric out from underneath her long, pleated pleather skirt. 

"I don't dress for you," she bites back.

"Could've fooled me," he snarks, hands crawling underneath her top. "You always look so beautiful. Like a very expensive present for me to unwrap." 

Mark pinches her nipples and she gasps a moan, cutting off any reply she might've had ready. He grins, canines flashing, and she thinks how badly she'd like him to bite her with those. But it's far too humiliating to ask for that, so she pulls him down with a growl, biting his lip instead. He groans into her mouth and she wraps her legs around his hips, drawing them flush with her own. The flowy skirt rides up her thighs easily, pooling around her hips, and all that's keeping her bare pussy from rutting against his zipper are her thin cotton panties. She can still feel him through his slacks, hard and aching as he grinds into her. The friction is incredible, and she moans when a throbbing pleasure shoots up her spine.

One of Mark's hands, unfairly large, strokes the outside of her thigh. His fingers hook underneath the waistband of her panties and start pulling them down. She helps him, unwrapping her legs from around his hips just long enough to kick them off. They get caught around her Louboutin loafers and she settles for freeing one of her ankles before her legs are around him once more. 

As Mark pushes her thin sweater up and over her breasts, she works on the button at the front of his slacks, unzipping him as quickly as she can. His lips wrap around a nipple, tongue swirling around it while he sucks, and her hands stutter as she whines low in her throat. Competitive as always, she reaches into his briefs and wraps her hand around his cock. Mark pops off of her with a gasp, eyes finding hers as she squeezes. His brow furrows with it, nearly wincing as she pulls him free of his restraints. She pulls him closer by the dick, rubbing the leaking tip of him through her wet folds. She bites her lip, head tipping back as he brushes against her clit. 

"Fuck, Helly," he moans and she can feel him shaking with restraint. "Please," he begs, and God if he doesn't sound so good pleading for her.

"Ask again," she murmurs, only just disguising the need in her own voice with playful teasing.

"Please, Helly," he gasps, "please let me fuck you. Jesus, I can't stop thinking about it. I need it again, please let me have it again."

The degree of Mark’s desperation startles her. Well, there's the answer to whether or not the memory of their first time has haunted him the way it haunts her. 

"You've thought about it?" she probes anyway, continuing to rub him against her wetness.

"Yes," he chokes out. "All the time."

"You've jerked off over it?" He nods. "Thought about me while you're lying next to your wife at night?" He nods again, a choked sound escaping from between his lips. "You're really fucked up, you know that?"

"Yeah," he says, nearly laughing. "Yeah, I know. Now please-"

Mark doesn't finish his sentence, instead he's biting back a moan as she finally presses him against her entrance. Her pussy practically sucks him in and he falls into her effortlessly, like he was made to be there. Helly sighs in relief, her arms flying around his shoulders when he bottoms out. Her hips jump and her knees squeeze him in a brief pulse, urging him to move. Move he does, thrusting into her shallowly, slowly, as if reluctant to move very far from her at all. It’s nice, but Helly doesn’t want soft and slow. That’s not who they are, and if he insists on being on top, then he better get with the program.

“Harder,” she demands, voice tight and wanting. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Mark doesn’t need to be asked twice. The next slam of his hips into hers has her seeing stars. He nearly pulls all the way out before repeating the motion and her fingers clench in the fabric of his blazer. Helly can’t help moaning at the sweet drag of him inside her. 

She knows she should be quieter, unable to completely forget exactly where they are. This might even be worse than riding him on the desk in her private office down the hall. The showroom is centrally located with two doors, both wide open, and while she’s pretty sure they’re the last two people in the office, she doesn’t know it definitively. But the idea of stopping to find privacy is untenable. She settles for muffling her eager moans in his mouth or against the skin of his neck and hoping everyone else had the good sense to head home at a reasonable hour. 

Mark’s not much better than her, desperate little whimpers echoing in her ears, rough groans caught in his throat. Selfishly, Helly delights in making him lose his composure, doing everything she can to make it even worse. Her fist tangles in his hair, unfairly soft, and pulls hard the way she now knows he likes. The moan he fails to suppress has her grinning in satisfaction. 

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he complains breathlessly. 

“Shut up,” she snaps, well aware that it’s what he wants. He likes her mean and she’s more than happy to deliver. 

Mark laughs out of amusement and disbelief, pointy little canines flashing between his lips, reminding her again how badly she wants them on her. Helly isn’t stupid - she knows she can’t leave any lasting marks on him no matter how much she might want to. But there’s no good reason why he can’t leave any on her. She drags him down by his hair, head tilting to bare the skin of her neck to him. He understands what she’s asking for and immediately suctions his lips to her jugular, kissing and nipping dutifully. 

It’s all so good, his lips at her neck and his hand on her breast and his cock filling her up. It’s obnoxious, actually, just how good it is. She'd been wondering if that first time was just a fluke, but somehow the second time is even better. Leagues ahead of the guys she’s fooled around with in the past. Better even than some of the girls. But it’s the knowledge that she’ll have a bruise to look at later, to remember that what’s happening is real, that brings her closer to the edge. 

His name slips from between her lips. “Mark.” A request to keep going, to finish her off. 

“You gonna come for me, Helly?” He lifts his head to watch her face, his eyebrows drawn in concentration and pleasure, gaze bordering on too intense.

Her eyes flutter closed and she nods, bottom lip bit firmly between her teeth. 

“Look at me,” he begs. “Please, I want to see.”

Her eyes open without her permission and lock on his. It’s too much, the look in his eyes too close to adoration, but she can’t look away. Can’t refuse this one demand. The way he licks his swollen lips at the sight of her makes her clench down around him, aching pleasure reverberating through her limbs. His thumb keeps swiping over her nipple and it feels so fucking amazing, she’s so close-

“Harder,” Helly demands, the desperation leaking into her voice and turning it into a plea.

Mark complies, hips snapping into hers so hard that she shifts back up the table. The very same one they'll both be seated at tomorrow for a solid half of the day, trying to charm their buyer into buying every last piece of the line and then some. She’ll have to wear a turtleneck to cover the hickey he’s given her, but maybe when the meeting's over she can roll it down just enough for him to see, just enough to tease. To see the realization and hunger he shouldn’t feel flash behind his eyes all because of her. 

And that’s what does it. The promise of more ridiculous, childish, idiotic antics between them has her tumbling over the edge. She clenches down around him, her walls fluttering as she comes hard, her back arching off the table and fingernails scrabbling against his back. He fucks her through it, but only just. By the time she starts to come down, he's spilling inside her with his own garbled cry of her name.

Helly lays there panting, struggling to catch her breath when his warmth still blooms inside her, the weight of him encompassing her so fully. It’s nearly crushing, though she wouldn't mind that. As the haze of lust begins to clear, the clarity of their situation settles back on her shoulders, and she thinks being crushed to death might just be what she deserves. 

Mark doesn't seem to be having the same crisis of conscience, despite the fact it's him with the wife waiting back home. Instead he's looking down at her, panting and droopy-eyed. He brushes her bangs to the side before cupping her cheek, moving back in to kiss her again. Helly's heart stutters in her chest, and for a split second, she basks in the attention before the panic sinks in. It's over. The deed is done. She can't prolong it with kisses and cuddles and sweet nothings. So her hand shoots up between them, palm placed firmly against his face to push him away before his lips can make contact. 

He splutters as he stands fully, slipping out of her as he stumbles back. She can feel his cum trickle out of her in his wake and sees his confused gaze catch between her legs. Helly's cheeks burn and she stands up herself, quickly righting her skirt and pulling her panties up before she makes a mess. The anger is returning, fury and embarrassment rising hot in her chest and behind her eyes as she buttons her top back up. The way he's looking at her like some sort of kicked puppy is only making things worse. She turns away so she doesn't have to see it anymore. 

Even if she can't see him, she can still feel his presence behind her, hear fabric shuffling and the zip of his pants as he puts himself back together. She tries to focus on smoothing her hair back into something presentable.

"I'm sorry if I shouldn't have... I can give you money for, um, for Plan B-"

Helly scoffs, rolling her eyes. "How gentlemanly to think about that now." 

She bought herself Plan B after the first time. And yeah, she'd rushed out before he could offer, but he certainly hadn't brought it up in the past four business days. "It's fine. I'm on the pill," she tells him truthfully. She is on the pill now. Not for him, of course, just in case. Just to be smart. At least that's what she tells herself.

"Oh," is all he says in reply. The silence settles heavy and awkward between them. 

Helly's heard enough anyways. She can't stand a single second more of this, not without starting another fight, and she knows now more than ever how poorly that will end. 

"It's fine," she says through gritted teeth, slamming her laptop shut and grabbing her purse as she strides toward the door. "I've got it covered, and this will never happen again."

"Sure," Mark says with faux nonchalance, sarcasm sneaking back into his voice. Clearly he doesn't believe her. Fair, considering Helly no longer believes it herself.

She turns to glare at him just as she reaches the door, ignoring how cute he looks with his cheeks flushed and his hair tousled by her fingers. "I'm serious."

"Fine. If you insist."

Though his face has taken on a forlorn quality she isn't familiar with, there's a twinkle in his eyes that makes her hesitate. Why won't he let this be? Let her be? 

"The showroom looks great, by the way." 

Helly turns away, fury rising within her again at the absolute nerve of him. "Fuck off, Mark."

"You got it," he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice even if she can't see it. The temptation to turn back and continue the back and forth is too strong, so instead she stalks out the door and to the lobby.

"Never happening again!" Helly shouts over her shoulder. 

She's not sure which one of them she's trying to convince.