Guilty Pleasure Page 4

  He pulls up my skirt and pulls my knickers to the side and I mount him, right there on the desk, his elegant hands on my arse as I put my knees either side of his hips. The desk is cold and hard and bloody uncomfortable and I don’t care, because the head of his big cock is shoving against me. I grip his shoulders, get my balance, and then I lower myself down. I sit on his cock, burying it deep inside me, so deep it makes me gasp, and there’s a pause while we both look at each other.

  And then we start to fuck.

  I’m rocking on him and he’s holding me steady, keeping me grounded as I find the rhythm, needing him deep and fast and hard, needing this slow but knowing it can’t be. His hands slide up from my backside, over my back, and he buries his face in my neck as we screw right there on the desk.

  He’s breathing fast and hard, and he’s holding me so tight and so close, and I knock over a half-empty cup of coffee with my knee, but we both ignore it. The liquid rushes over the edge, dripping onto the floor, but we don’t stop. God, he’s good. He’s long and thick and hard, and I feel so tight around him, and I’ve never had sex like this before, without a condom, and fuck, Mother Nature knew what she was doing when she invented this.

  He’s hot and I’m so wet and slippery. The friction is delicious. I shove a hand between us and push down on my clit and I can feel myself starting to come, my orgasm swirling round me like a storm cloud, wrapping me up in its darkness. I close my eyes and slide my other hand round the nape of his neck.

  ‘Tasha,’ he says. ‘Tasha.’

  He says something else as well, but I don’t hear it because I’m coming, I’m coming, an explosive climax that is fast and wicked, like all the pleasure was trapped inside me and it just detonated. I ride him hard as his hands slide down to my hips, as he keeps me moving, as he slams me down against him and his face twists, and he shudders, and I lift my hand to his face and stroke back the hair that has fallen over his cheek as he empties his cock inside me.

  We open our eyes and look at each other, and then we take in the aftermath. ‘Shit,’ I say, scrambling off him. I pull down my skirt and press my hands to my cheeks as he gets to his feet and puts himself back together. Apparently, somewhere along the road I messed up his hair and his tie. There are papers on the floor and the carpet is soggy with coffee. At least the smell of it covers up the smell of sex.

  He moves closer to me, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief and gently wipes around my mouth. I see the smudges of dark pink on it when he hands it to me, and I know that my power lipstick is pretty much a wreck. ‘Go,’ he says, turning me to the door and pushing me towards it. ‘Go!’

  I stumble out of the room, back along the corridor and back into the meeting. A few people glance up at me as I stagger towards my seat. Mr Thomas is still droning on. It’s hard to keep a smile from my face, but I know I have to. I sit in my chair, fix my gaze on the map up on the whiteboard and try to look fascinated as Ethan’s semen slowly slides out of my body. It feels like a caress.

  I pick up my phone, holding it under the table as I shakily type in the words. I’m wet from you.

  Do you like it?

  Yes.

  The map changes to photographs of other shopping centres, in London, Paris. I try to focus, but it’s damn near impossible. My phone vibrates in my hand, and I check it immediately.

  Will you come home with me tonight?

  My breathing quickens. My pulse kicks. I thought the other messages shocked me, but they were nothing compared to this.

  It’s only sex, Tasha, I tell myself, as I stare at the presentation and try to force my brain to process what Mr Thomas is saying. Working on a project like this would be an amazing boost for my CV. It would put me one step closer to setting up my own company. It’s going to take every minute I have, every bit of energy.

  But I’m lonely.

  I look down at my phone. I pull in some air. And then I reply.

  Yes.

  Chapter Five

  After the meeting, I clean myself up in the toilet, reapply my power lipstick and run damp fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. I lean forward, checking my reflection in the mirror. There’s a faint bruise on the side of my neck.

  Bloody Ethan Hall has given me a love bite. The evil bastard. I turn my head, examine it more closely, then pull my compact out of my bag and try to conceal it. It doesn’t work, and I just end up smudging makeup on the collar of my blouse.

  Closing my compact, I drop it back into my handbag, try to clean the mess up with tissue. It’s funny, really. The men come strolling in with black eyes from rugby and it’s seen as some sort of badge of honour. They would never think of trying to hide them. I’ve got a faint mark on my neck and I’m panicking about it. Okay, I got the mark by shagging a work colleague on someone else’s desk when we were both supposed to be in a meeting, but that’s beside the point.

  I exit the loos and make my way back to my office, and pretend to look busy until half past two, when Mr Donovan turns up for his appointment. I set him up with tea and biscuits, then I spread the plans out on the table and talk him through all the changes. I’m on total autopilot.

  If I’m being honest, I’m getting a bit fed up with him now. I’m tired of changing things and then changing them back again, but he’s an important client and I know I’ve got to humour him, however long it takes, but seriously. It’s a barn conversion, not Buckingham Palace, even if his budget makes my eyes water. ‘I really think we’ve nailed it this time,’ I say. ‘It will create a really practical living space that still makes a big impact, and the proportions are perfect.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Donovan says. ‘They certainly are.’

  And then he gives me a look, a slow, lascivious look that slides down over my body and back up again. It makes my skin crawl but I pretend I haven’t noticed, because really, what else can I do? I can’t tell him not to look at me like that, because all he has to do is deny it, and then I look like a hysterical female.

  I’ve had too many meetings with him that have overrun, and I’m not staying late tonight. I’m just not. I’m going home with Ethan. I’m going to spend the whole weekend fucking him, and it’s going to be amazing, and absolutely nothing is going to get in the way of that.

  Mr Donovan still says nothing. He’s looking at me strangely, and I can’t work out why. I check my watch. Ten to five. Ten more minutes until I can clock off. I turn back to the plans and focus on them, pointing out the new windows I’ve added, knowing full well that he’ll ring back tomorrow and ask me to remove them.

  And then he leans in. ‘We make a good team, don’t you think, Tasha?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ I smile, even though the alarm bells are ringing.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time we considered pushing things forward on a personal level.’

  No. Absolutely not. No. ‘I…er….’ But before I can get the words out, he’s making a move on me. One sweaty paw is grabbing at my bum, and he’s trying to stick his tongue down my throat. Fuck. Fucking fuck. I sort of shove backwards, but the table is in the way. I could knee him in the groin. I should knee him in the groin. But right at the last second, I lose my nerve, and I sort of duck away from him instead, shaken and confused and if I’m honest, a bit scared. ‘Mr Donovan,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.’

  ‘Then why are you wearing that skirt?’ he says, gesturing to it, his voice angry. ‘And the makeup, and the heels?’

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I stand there, staring at him, as he shakes his head and strides out of my office, closing the door smartly behind him. I walk over to my desk then I pull my compact out of my bag and check my appearance. Power lipstick is in place, the bruise on my neck isn’t too obvious. Then I check a little lower, and realise that the top buttons of my blouse are undone, and I’m flashing quite a lot of cleavage and quite a lot of nude lace bra.

  Shit. I fumble myself back together, shrink down into my chair. I want to go home. I want to
go home and wash and not think about what just happened. Gradually, the office empties, as I play around with my email and try to calm myself down. I hadn’t flirted with him, had I? I hadn’t given him any signals to make him think that I was interested? I think about it so much that I can’t work out what’s real and what’s not, until I hear the door to Ethan’s office open. I don’t move. I don’t know how this is going to play out. Then my phone buzzes, and I snatch it up. It’s from Ethan.

  Meet me outside.

  I tidy my desk, lock my drawers, grab my bag and make my way downstairs. I feel strange, dizzy almost, and all I want is for him to take me away from this. I want to feel his hands on my skin and his cock in my cunt. I want him to remind me of the difference between willing and unwilling, between wanted and unwanted, between invited and uninvited.

  I need to prove to myself that I didn’t somehow lead Mr Donovan on. I don’t think I did, but the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure. I mean, I masturbate in the office. I had sex in the office this morning, dirty, slutty, crazy sex. Maybe a woman who does that is asking for it, I don’t know.

  I know that when Ethan stands alongside me, I feel better. We don’t touch, he doesn’t take my hand, we barely even acknowledge each other, but I feel better.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘Yes.’

  He turns, starts walking in the direction of the train station. I slowly follow him, not sure if we should be walking together. I mean, it’s one thing to risk getting caught shagging in the office, quite another to walk along the street together. But god, I want to hold his hand right now. I follow him a bit further, and we’re almost at the train station when I realise that I don’t know where he lives.

  I speed up, stop him before he can pass through the barrier. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To mine,’ he says, his brow creasing. ‘I hope.’

  ‘Where is yours?’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘A couple of minutes from Highbury and Islington.’

  That’s only one tube stop before mine. ‘I had no idea you lived so close to me,’ I say.

  ‘I did,’ he says, and he gives me a sort of smile, then we fumble for our tickets and pass through the barrier and make our way to the platform. It’s busy, so we walk towards the end. We stand there in silence, until the train arrives, and we both get on, find seats. It feels so illicit, so naughty, even though we’re barely acknowledging each other. I smooth my skirt, rummage in my bag for my book, take it out and pretend to read.

  Ethan finds a discarded newspaper and pretends to read that, but I know that he isn’t, because every time I sneak a glance at him over the top of my book, I catch him looking at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wish I could ask him, but the train is crowded. And then we stop, and a heavily pregnant woman gets on. I can see her looking around, trying to catch the eye of someone in a seat, trying to build up the courage to ask them to move, and I’m about to offer her my seat when Ethan beats me to it.

  He moves out of the carriage and stands by the doors, and something inside me breaks open and try as I might, I can’t put it back together. I get to my feet and make my way over to where he is. I slide a hand inside his jacket, over the fine cotton of his pristine white shirt, and rest my face against his shoulder. Neither of us says anything.

  The train jolts to a stop and we get off, find our way to the tube. It’s even more crowded, people squashed in. It’s impossible to get space. I move forwards as far as I can, grab a rail and hold on.

  And then Ethan stands behind me, so close behind me that the curve of my arse fits perfectly against him. He reaches one hand up to grab the overhead rail, and leans into me full weight as the train starts to move. He’s long and warm and fuck, I think he’s got an erection.

  I look at the commuters, with their phones in their hands and their downcast gazes, and I give my bum an experimental little wiggle as a shiver of excitement rushes through me. We’re stuck in this packed carriage, and he’s got a hard on, and no-one knows but me. He leans forward, put his mouth close to my ear. The train is loud, everyone making a concerted effort to ignore everyone else.

  ‘I could lift your skirt,’ he says. ‘I could do it slowly, just at the back, and I could get my cock out and I could slide it inside you and fuck you right here and no-one would know.’

  I make a strange, excited sound. The woman sat in the seat closest to me jerks her head up and looks at me, but I’m beyond caring.

  ‘Would you come if I did that?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  I’m nearly coming just thinking about it. I squirm back against him, rubbing against his groin with my arse, feeling that thick length press in between my bum cheeks. I can hear his breathing getting rougher, and I know that he’s aroused.

  ‘You like this, don’t you?’ I ask him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The fact that we might get caught.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I like it too,’ I tell him, feeling a little braver. I adjust the position of my bag on my shoulder and my grip on the rail, then I let my free hand hang loose against my hip. I let it hang there for precious seconds, as we thunder down a tunnel, and as the train jerks to a halt at the next station and people shove on and off, I slide my hand round my back and get a firm hold of his cock.

  Both of us simultaneously shudder with pleasure. The doors slide shut and we set off again. Only one more stop. One more. I turn to face him as we rush through another tunnel, and invite him in. ‘Tomorrow,’ I say, ‘we’re going to ride these trains during the rush. We’re going to ride them and ride them and I’m going to touch you until you come all over my hand, like the dirty fucker you are.’

  He exhales slowly, closes his eyes for a moment, a flush striping those razor-sharp cheekbones as I discreetly stroke the length of his erection, then slide my hand lower and hold his balls. ‘Keep that up,’ he mutters, ‘and I’m going to come now.’

  ‘You’re going to make a wet, sticky mess inside your suit trousers,’ I say, as the train starts to slow. We’re heading into the next station, our station.

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  ‘Like you made a wet, sticky mess inside my cunt this morning.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had to sit in that meeting with your come leaking out of me,’ I whisper. ‘I had to sit there and pretend that it wasn’t, so that no-one would know.’ The train is slowing, slowing, and I’m stroking his cock again, feeling how hot and hard he is against my palm, knowing how wrong this is, knowing that any minute now, someone is going to grab my shoulder and tell us to get off the train before we get arrested. ‘And do you know what the best part about it was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I liked it.’

  The train has stopped and the doors are opening, and I’m squeezing his cock, and we can either get off now or we can carry on, and I can carry on squeezing until he comes right there in his pants. For a moment I’m not sure which it’s going to be, and I don’t think Ethan is either, then the electronic beep starts up to warn everyone that the doors are about to close.

  Ethan grabs my hand and tugs me onto the platform.

  We stand there, together, as people push past us, complaining that we’re stood in the way, then within a few seconds the train has moved on and the platform is quiet. ‘Tasha,’ he says. ‘Oh, god, Tasha. You wonderful girl.’

  And then he kisses me.

  At first I think the platform has disappeared from beneath my feet, but then I realise that he’s got his hands on my backside and he’s lifted me right onto my tiptoes because he’s so damn tall and even in heels I’m not quite there. Ethan is not one of those men who claims to be 6’1 when really they’re 5’11.

  His mouth is hot on mine and the first tentative thrust of his tongue is electrifying. He tastes so sweet and he kisses me so slowly and I think I sigh. He lowers me slowly until my heels touch the ground, and I wonder what happened to the man who bent me over a desk and filled my
cunt with his hand, and the man who let me ride him the way I did this morning, and then I look up and he’s right there. ‘Is it far to your place?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘Not far.’

  ‘I’d like to see it.’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiles at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

  He turns, and we head towards the exit. Outside, London smells as it always does, and the sun is shining, and Ethan Hall just kissed me on the tube platform right there where anyone could see.

  For some inexplicable reason, that excites me far more than it should. He leads me to his front door, which is glossy black, and takes me inside his house, which steals my breath. ‘Wow,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  I’d heard rumours that he came from one of the big firms in the City, from a six-figure pay packet, and looking around this place, I can believe it. It’s gorgeous. Big, expansive rooms, high ceilings, a garden. There isn’t much in the way of furniture, a sofa and a TV and an Xbox in the living room, a shelf stacked ceiling-high with horror novels. I stand in the middle of the room and look around. ‘I do hope you’ve got a bed,’ I say.

  ‘I have a bed,’ he replies. ‘Would you like to see it?’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I say, my mind spinning back to this afternoon, to Mr Donovan and his wandering hands, ‘but I’d really like a shower.’

  ‘Of course,’ he says. He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over his arm. ‘Do you mind if I watch?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think that I do.’

  Chapter Six

  He leads me upstairs, through a bedroom which does, as promised, contain a bed. There’s a half-empty coffee cup on the floor next to it, though not a lot else. It doesn’t even have curtains. The whole house seems a bit like that, as if he’s not really living here, it’s just somewhere to sleep.

  He shows me through into a bathroom with expensive white fittings and glossy tiles, the sort that you can see your reflection in. There’s a huge walk-in shower, and his and hers sinks. A few toiletries sit neatly next to one of them –– razor, soap, aftershave. I imagine him in here, leaning over the sink as he slowly strokes the razor over his chin. A shiver of erotic excitement runs through me.