Guilty Pleasure (3 page)

‘Leaving early tonight, Tasha?’ Cal asks me. God, he’s an arrogant bastard. He’s good at his job though, I have to give him that. Clients love him, particularly the women.

‘No,’ I reply.

‘We’re going for a drink,’ Ethan tells me, his voice gentle. ‘Do you want to come with us?’

And because he asks, and because of the way he asks, I find myself nodding. ‘Okay.’ I have to act like everything is normal, like nothing happened earlier. If the men are going to the pub for a drink after work, that’s what I have to do too. Everyone knows that just as much work goes on over a pint as it does in the office. A sudden anxiety scratches at me, wondering how many of these informal meetings I’ve missed when I’ve been in the office.

Cal leads the way, hands tucked in his pockets, long legs swinging at a casual pace. The pavement is narrow, and I’m forced to fall behind. Ethan brings up the rear. I can feel him behind me, feel the prickle of his gaze on my back and I want to look at him, but I don’t. I want to know what he’s thinking. We reach the pub and Cal pushes the door open and steps inside. He holds the door for me, and I put my hand to it, but when he lets go it’s heavier than I expect and it swings back on me. Then Ethan is there.

He puts his hand against the door, just above my head, but he doesn’t push it open. I’m stood on the step and he is stood on the pavement, and he’s slouching slightly, and I can’t seem to breathe as our gazes lock and he looks down at me. And his mouth, it’s just there. It’s just right there, and no-one can see, and there’s a moment, and I take it.

I lean forwards and touch my mouth to his.

Electricity arcs though my body like a jolt from a power socket and I jerk back. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’ I set my shoulder to the door and shove it open and march into the pub, clutching my bag tightly. Cal is at the bar, and I make my way towards him.

‘What do She-Devils drink?’ he asks me. ‘I was thinking babies’ blood, but I’m not sure they have that here.’

‘I’ll have tonic and lime,’ I say. I reach for my purse and pull out a tenner before he can stop me. ‘My round.’

Two pints and the tonic and lime are plonked on the bar in front of us. When Ethan reaches across to take his drink, his cuff skates across my arm, but I hold it together. I have to act normal, act like this is okay, act like I’m not aching with lust simply from breathing the same air as him.

We find a table at the far end of the pub, next to the quiz machines, and sit down. The two of them talk about a client they saw today, about the football, about some party that Cal is throwing at his house at the weekend, and then he gets up and goes over to play on the quiz machine, leaving me with Ethan.

I don’t know what to say. We’re not friends. We work together. We sit in awkward silence for a long moment, as I try not to watch his hands and not to think about them on me, but the heat inside me is growing. And the reason that the heat inside me is growing is because Ethan’s thigh is touching mine. There isn’t much room at the table, so we are sat close together on the hard bench seat, and a moment ago he moved slightly, and bingo, bodily contact. He’s sipping his pint, saying nothing, not even looking at me. But I have to put a stop to this. I have to make him understand.

‘About what happened earlier,’ I say.

‘Yes.’

‘It shouldn’t have happened.

‘No.’

‘But it did happen,’ I continue, ‘and I think we need to decide what we’re going to do about it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you ever talk in words of more than one syllable?’

‘Occasionally.’

God, he’s infuriating. Now I’m cross as well as horny, and I don’t like it. I pick up my glass, and I’m about to take a drink, just to stop myself from talking before I say something I’ll regret, when he leans in a little closer.

‘What do you want to do about it, Tasha?’

I want to do it again. I want to do it again, and I want to do more. I want to do all sorts of filthy things with him. ‘We work together,’ I say sharply, all too aware that only a few minutes ago, I lost control of myself and kissed him.

‘I see.’

‘I’m not sure that you do.’

‘Then please, enlighten me.’

‘I liked what we did today.’ I have to stop for a moment, struggle to catch my breath. ‘But you have to see that we can’t do it again. What if we…’

‘What if we what?’

‘What if we got caught?’

He turns his head then, and I see a gleam of something in those water-blue eyes, something dangerous, something I know I should walk away from. ‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘What if we did?’

‘We…’ I say, and then I stop. I stop because his hand is sliding over my thigh, and because I like it. I stop because he’s found my hand, and he’s pulling it towards him, pressing it down on his own leg. He covers my hand with his, hard and firm, and then he lets go.

I don’t move my hand away.

This is wrong. I know this is wrong. We work together, and I don’t have time to get tangled up with this right now, and the last thing I need is some sordid office affair. They always end badly for the women involved, everyone knows that.

But his thigh is so solid and warm beneath my hand, and his hand is wandering, drawing soft circles on my leg, moving higher, closer, making me throb and ache and squirm, and Cal is only a few feet away, and I’m thinking about what would happen if he glanced across, and saw Ethan groping me under the table.

I could lose everything.

I swallow hard as I think about that, as I think about losing everything I have worked so hard for, my career hanging in tatters, my reputation destroyed, because it’s always the woman who loses everything in these situations, who gets branded a tart and a slut, who is forced to crawl away in shame.

And I’m thinking about how horny and wicked and exciting it was, sucking his cock in his office earlier. How everything I did alone in my office pales in comparison. About how, for the first time in as long as I can remember, work is not the main thing on my mind.

Ethan’s hand is at the top of my thigh now. ‘What are you thinking?’ he whispers.

‘I’m thinking that I underestimated you,’ I say.

‘In what way?’

‘You don’t look like a pervert.’

‘Appearances can be deceiving,’ he says. ‘Because neither do you.’

‘I wish that I was wearing a skirt,’ I reply.

‘Why?’

I lift my drink, sip a little. ‘Because I really need your fingers inside me right now.’

Ethan lifts his pint, takes a long, slow pull. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his throat work, as I watch Cal playing on the quiz machine. A couple of girls have moved closer, and it doesn’t surprise me to see him quickly engage them in conversation. ‘I see.’

He moves his hand away, and my heart leaps up into my throat. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ I say quickly, panic rising inside me.

‘On the contrary,’ he says. ‘It’s exactly what you should have said.’ He sets down his pint and gets to his feet. He smoothes his tie and looks down at me. Everything he does is so careful, so considered. I’m constantly wondering what he’s going to do next, what he’s going to say. ‘I’m going back to the office for a bit,’ he says. ‘I have some work I need to finish.’ He moves away from the table, talks to Cal for a moment. Cal looks at Ethan, then looks over at me.

Then Ethan walks out of the pub. I don’t let myself watch him go. I play with my drink and I play with a beer mat and I ache and ache and ache. And then I get to my feet and walk over to Cal. ‘I’ve got to get going,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ One of the girls scowls at me.

Cal raises an eyebrow. ‘Not going back to the office, then?’

‘No. Why would I be going back to the office?’

‘To work,’ he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

‘I don’t work all the time,’ I say. ‘I do have a life.’

‘No you don’t.’ He lifts his pint and takes a pull on it, daring me to contradict him.

‘Whatever,’ I say. I shake my head, and then I turn and walk away, walk out of the pub. Outside, the street isn’t busy, but it isn’t quiet either. People are strolling together, talking, living their lives in the late afternoon sunshine, and as I watch them, it occurs to me that I’m never outside at this time. I’m always at my desk. And yes, maybe I do work a lot, but what choice do I have? I snatch a little more of that outside air, and then I turn on my heel and start to walk back towards the office. It doesn’t take me long to get there, not long at all, and I sprint up the stairs. Quickly, quickly.

Ethan is in his office, with the door open. I walk into mine, put my bag down in the usual place, take off my jacket and turn on my computer. I pull in some air. My entire body is hot with need, a feeling I can’t seem to shake.

I grip the back of my chair. Ethan is right there, only a few feet away, but I can’t seem to make myself go into his office, even though I desperately want to. I know what I came here for, and so does he, and when he gets to his feet and walks out of his office and into mine, I know that we are about to cross a line.

‘It’s only wrong if we get caught,’ he whispers, as he nuzzles my hair back and touches his mouth to the nape of my neck. His hot, wicked mouth. I grip the back of my chair even tighter, my nails digging into the leather. He isn’t touching me anywhere else, his hands hidden inside his trouser pockets. He’s taken off his jacket, and I can see the outline of his body through the close fit of his pristine white shirt, the curve of a white vest underneath.

I’m in trouble, here. I’m in a whole lot of trouble. He slides his hands out of his pockets, those long-fingered, talented hands that create such beautiful buildings, and places them on my hips, moving his lean body in behind me. We stand like that for a moment, both fully clothed, the thick ridge of his erection pressing lightly against the curve of my bum.

If someone caught us now, we could still make it look like nothing. But it isn’t nothing. When his hands slide up and his fingers catch the edge of my blouse and pull it free from the waistband of my trousers, it’s so much more than that. He rests his hands on the dip of my waist, and I can feel the heat of him, the warmth of his touch. It sends a shiver of anticipation through me, making it hard to breathe. And then he finds the zip on the side and slowly, carefully eases it down. My trousers drop to the floor, cold air rushing over my skin.

If someone walked in now, there would be no way to make this look like nothing. If someone walked in now, they would see Ethan on his knees behind me, slowly pulling my knickers down over the curve of my bum. They would see me arching my back and closing my eyes as his fingers gently trace the opening of my cunt. His breath caresses the skin of my bare, exposed arse, then he bites down on my left bum cheek, hard enough to make me squirm. And then he puts his hands on my bum, spreads me wide, and tastes me, lingering, exploring, making it hard for me to breathe and even harder for me to think.

‘Tasha,’ he says softly, as he lifts his head and his thumbs slide in, in. ‘You’re so very lovely.’ He rubs his cheek against the back of my thigh, and I can feel the faint graze of stubble. ‘I would like to eat you out slowly. I would like to put my tongue inside you and taste you until you beg me to make you come. I would like to fuck you long and slow and hard. But we don’t have time for that. We need to make this quick, do you understand?’

He’s breathing quickly, and I can tell he’s excited, and I realise that this is the most I’ve ever heard him talk, and fuck, the sound of his voice turns me on. ‘Yes,’ I say, my voice quivering.

‘Just imagine what would happen if we were caught fucking in the office,’ he says, as his fingers continue to work me, one thumb sliding in and out of my cunt, the other sliding forwards to flick over my swollen, sensitive clit. ‘Can you imagine that, Tasha? Can you?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Then you better be quick,’ he says. ‘Because you don’t want to get caught like this, with your pussy exposed as I fuck you with my hand.’

‘No.’

He slides his thumb slowly out of me, and I can feel my body clench, trying to hold onto him. ‘Would you like that?’ he asks. ‘Would you like me to fuck you with my hand?’

‘I…I don’t know,’ I reply, not sure what he means. I’m finding it hard to hold onto reality, with the way he’s stroking my clit, slowly, deliberately, just firmly enough.

‘Hurry up and decide, Tasha,’ he says.

So I say the only thing I can. ‘Yes.’

He slides a finger inside me, stroking, stroking, slowly, slowly, then another, then another, and I shift my legs further apart, opening myself up to him. He’s still stroking my clit, that gentle, precious swirl of contact that is pushing me to the edge of sanity. We shouldn’t be doing this, we both know we shouldn’t, but I don’t think I could stop now even if I tried. He slides another finger inside me, and I’m tight around him, so tight. ‘Relax,’ he says. ‘Breathe.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

‘I don’t think I know how,’ I tell him, and I can feel my voice catch in my throat as I realise how true that is. It’s been so fucking long since I did either that I don’t know if I even remember how. But I have to. I have to. I grip the back of the chair as tight as I can, force down the tears that are burning at the back of my throat, and force myself to focus on taking air into my body, matching the slow thrust of his fingers into my wet cunt, and suddenly I find the rhythm, and my hips are bucking against him.

‘Easy,’ he says. ‘Easy.’ And then he takes his fingers away from my clit, and a moment later he leans over me and sets a beautiful silver cufflink on my desk, and I wonder what he’s doing, and I realise that he’s rolling back his shirtsleeve, and I don’t know what to think about that, until I feel him ease all his fingers inside me, and then slowly, slowly, his fingers curve and I feel the shocking push of his fist.

‘Fucking hell,’ I say, and my hips buck some more, and then he touches my clit again and then I can do nothing, nothing but breathe. He fills me with his hand, fucks me with it, and the sensation is so intense that I am completely lost to it.

‘Hurry, Tasha,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to get caught with my hand in your pussy, do you?’