Mark was honored that Andi had taken the shades off to chat as they stood in the parking lot after work. She didn't usually. Usually she chatted with them on, checking the guys out, or ignoring them, enjoying the edge they gave her. He wondered for a fleeting second if he should take her unilateral disarmament as a sign of disrespect, but then he reminded himself that he knew better.

With her shades off, Mark could see Andi's eyes, eyes as dark as the shades, as dark as her hair, as dark as the clip that held her hair primly and severely behind her, as dark as her suit, as small and darting and restless as her small, tan, restless body. He was captivated by her body, by her nervous little mannerisms, by her eyes. There was power and ambition in her eyes, power and ambition in her body, lust in her mind.

Andi's eyes gave the lust away, roaming over Mark's body as she spoke. He moved as gracefully as he could, as muscularly as he could, for he knew power impressed her. She possessed power, craved power, calculated power. He could see her mind calculating, knew the calculations, emphasized his physical power, his spiritual power, his sexual power, kept his intellect in check, not wanting to disrupt her, to throw her off, to perceive him as a threat.

Andi was responding, in the way she moved, the way she breathed, the way she stood, her little gestures, her parted lips, her darting hands, touching herself, very lightly. Not yet fully committed, but very, very close. Soon she would nibble on the earpiece of the shades, and Mark would know he had her.

Mark was eager, hard with anticipation, wanting to touch himself too. He knew so much, and the knowledge of his knowledge, the spiraling self-referentiality of the situation was almost out of control. He knew that being almost out of control was turning Andi on to her own power, but that being completely out of control would cost her respect, and being too much in control would cause her to recalculate. He wondered for a second if knowing would cost him, and decided the rush he was getting from it was worth the risk.

Before Andi, before this moment of truth in the office parking lot, Mark had once lived for not knowing, for the flirt and the first fuck, for the thrill of anticipation, for the wonderment, the questions, the answers, those little aha moments as he discovered how women undressed, what they wore beneath their business clothes, where they liked to be touched, how they kissed, what their breasts looked like at the moment of first release, what their hair looked like mussed, and their lipstick smeared, how they panted, how their hips were jointed, the positions they liked, how they tasted, and smelled, and the sounds they made before, during, and after, orgasm.

It had all started to go wrong with Shiela. Shiela was the wife of their boss, Craig. Mark had flirted with Shiela for years at Christmas parties, at company picnics, after lunchtime visits when she would emerge from Craig's office smiling, primping, and smoothing her clothes while winking at Mark lasciviously. She had arrived late at the office one night, late to pick up Craig for a party, or an anniversary dinner, almost wearing a little black dress and some very provocative jewelry. Mark had kissed her. Kissed Shiela. Kissed his boss's wife, kissed her for all the wrong reasons, pushing her back into a dark and empty office (Andi's office, fittingly enough), surprised at her passion and her clawing back, at the smell of her hair, the taste of her tongue, the urgency of unbuttoning, his overwhelming unspoken need to keep her from Craig's otherwise occupied office, the vision of what he had seen through Craig's haphazardly unlocked door completely eradicating and overpowering his usual joy of discovery, a vision that, to his horror, had stuck with him through every sexual encounter with every woman since.

Ah yes, the spiraling self-referentiality of it all. For it was Andi, this gorgeous little bitch who stood before Mark now in her tight dark suit, subconsciously playing with her shades and considering where he fit in her little power games, it was Andi who had been seated naked on the edge of Craig's desk, her fully clothed boss kneeling before her submissively, with his powerful head between her thighs, eagerly lapping her cunt as her small pointy dark-tipped breasts swayed, her head thrown back, her dark hair still bound, her suit neatly folded on the couch, only minutes before the anticipated arrival of Craig's loving wife.

Andi was nibbling on her earpiece, standing in the parking lot, staring at Mark. Nibbling the way she nibbled when she stared at Craig. Mark had her now. It was time to extract revenge.