Guilty Pleasure

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‘I’m not trying to make this difficult,’ he says. ‘I simply want to make sure we can move forward from it.’

‘What do you want from me?’ I hiss out the words, because I really want to shout them, but I can’t. ‘I did it, you caught me. Now you’re either going to make an issue of it, or you’re not. Which is it?’

‘That depends.’

‘Depends on what?’ I can feel my anxiety growing inside me, a black, oily thing, only it’s less like anxiety and more like rage, now. I’m tired of having to work myself into the ground in order to get ahead. I’m tired of not only having to work the same as the men, but having to outwork them.

‘On you,’ he says.

Oh, I get it. ‘I see.’ I shake my head. It figures. He is a man, after all. ‘You think because you caught me doing…because you caught me, I owe you? Name your price. Sex on the desk? Handjob? Blowjob?’ I straighten up, fold my arms. ‘I could have you for sexual harassment, you know.’ My anger is a big, hungry beast now, fuelling me as I stalk to the door. I let it fill me, don’t even try to fight it back, because it’s easier to put the blame on him than carry it all myself.

His voice stops me, pulls me up short. ‘A blowjob would be nice,’ he says.

I spin around. ‘What?’

A soft silence falls, and I stay very, very still. I don’t quite know what’s happening here, but there’s a sudden tension in the air, an electricity that I’ve never been aware of before.

‘Say that again,’ I order him.

He leans back in his chair with his hands resting loosely in his lap. ‘A blowjob would be nice,’ he says again. ‘If you feel it would help you move on.’

‘Help me?’

‘Yes.’

I open my mouth and prepare myself to launch a blistering refute, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t move from his chair, and I don’t move from my position by the door. And in the moment when I know I should say no, when I know I should storm out of his office, I do the opposite.

‘Someone might catch us,’ I say softly.

‘Yes,’ he replies. His voice is very quiet, very gentle. ‘They might.’

That thought sends a shiver of excitement crashing through me that is so strong it almost makes me gasp. When I thought about getting caught before, it wasn’t like this. It made me feel powerful, and reckless, and strong.

It didn’t turn me on.

I lift my hand, beckon him closer. He hesitates for a moment, then he gets up from his desk, walks over to me. We stand there, close but not touching, for a long moment. He smooths his tie, which is silver silk, and I fasten my suit jacket. I’ve never been this close to him before. He’s a lot taller than I realised, and his hair is shot with strands of gold mixed in amongst the red, and he’s got the faintest of freckles, and something about his mouth makes me weak.

I sink slowly to my knees. We still aren’t touching, but being in this position in front of him intensifies my excitement. He carefully unfastens his jacket, moving the sides apart to give me easy access to his belt. The buckle gives with a soft clink, and as I unfasten his trousers, my knuckles graze against the hard, warm wall of his lower belly. When I ease down the zip and realise that he isn’t wearing anything underneath, I nearly swallow my tongue.

When I see his cock, I think I definitely do.

Long and thick and so very, very hard, the slit at the end is already slippery and wet. I open my mouth, taste him. I wrap my fingers around the base, as far as they will go, and squeeze until I can feel his pulse against my fingers, and then I lower my head and open my mouth around his dick.

‘Hurry,’ he says, his voice low and rough. ‘Hurry. We might get caught.’

Yes. Yes we might. With a slow twist of my hand, I work my mouth slowly down the length of his lovely cock, taking him as deep into my mouth as I can and holding him there. I slide back along his length, right to the tip, swirl my tongue around the swollen head and through that slit at the end.

I should rush. I should work him hard and fast, get him off, but I don’t want to. I want to savour this, to take my time, because I don’t think I’ve ever had my mouth round a cock as stunning as this one. And because with every passing second, the chance that someone might walk in and see us increases, and the thought of it sends a rush of hot, wet heat flooding into my cunt.

The other staff are just on the other side of the door. I can hear the sounds of their chatter, the clatter of keyboards and the thud of footsteps as people move around, doing what they’re supposed to be doing.

I suck to the end of his cock again, find the sensitive spot just below the head and slowly work it, looking up at him as I do so. I don’t expect to find him watching, and the jolt of those water blue eyes goes right through me. His mouth is slightly open, and he licks his bottom lip, and fuck, he’s hard. He slides a hand into my hair, gentle at first, then he gets a good grip and I realise what he wants.

He reaches out and presses his other hand against the door, holding it closed, and then he pulls my head forwards, pushing his cock deep into my mouth. A rock of his hips, and he pulls back. ‘Hurry,’ he says softly, eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed. ‘We don’t want to get caught, Tasha.’

No, we don’t. But I think he likes the fact that we might.

He fucks back into my mouth again. ‘Suck harder,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to get caught with my cock in your mouth, do you?’

I try to shake my head, but my mouth is too full of cock to manage it properly. I’m right up on my knees now, both hands wrapped around the thick base of his erection as he sets the pace, sets the rhythm, makes sure I don’t slow, I don’t falter. And things are getting sloppy now, and it’s getting harder and harder to stay quiet, and I want so much to shove a hand inside my knickers and finger myself.

He smells of soap and sex and the fur around the base of his cock is red, too, and I can’t even begin to describe how much it fascinates me. He’s pulled his shirt up a little, and I can see the faint blue veins that trace under the skin of his belly, the dip of his bellybutton, the lean play of muscle under the skin.

‘Fuck, I think I need to come,’ he says.

And then someone knocks on the door.

I nearly lose my rhythm, but he doesn’t let me. I grip him tighter, suck him harder, deeper, as he closes his eyes. ‘Just a minute,’ he calls. He almost manages to make his voice sound normal.

Hurry, Tasha, hurry. He’s breathing fast now, and so am I. Fuck, what are we doing? We should stop, only I can’t stop, because he’s coming. He’s coming right in my mouth in thick, hot spurts, more and more, and fuck, it’s hot.

But there isn’t time to think about it, to do anything more than swallow and wipe a hand across my mouth as I push to my feet and shove my hands back through my hair and watch as he hastily fastens his trousers and tucks his shirt back into them and smooths his tie.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I as he opens the door and I walk out, still dazed. I bump my way past Cal Bailey, who grins at me in that cheeky way of his as he strolls into Ethan’s office.

I stagger back to my desk, barely able to focus, drop into my chair and sit there, staring at my screensaver and wondering what the hell just happened.

Ethan Hall happened, that’s what. All over my tongue.

Chapter Three (#ulink_5951ae64-66d7-51e1-8181-dc99b85e74f2)

Somehow, I manage to make it to the end of the day, though I’m not sure I’ve been particularly productive. I’ve answered three emails from Mr Donovan and drunk far too much coffee, and I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about Ethan. It’s suddenly occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about him, apart from the fact that he’s got a beautiful cock. Everything I think I know I’ve basically assumed, which isn’t the same as knowing at all.

Realising this makes me feel strange and confused, as if I’ve stepped into an alternate reality where everything is familiar and yet everything is strange at the same time. It gets to six and everyone starts to leave, and for the first time in months, I shut off my computer and get my bag and leave too. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll be in that chair in his office, desperately trying to masturbate away the tingling ache that I’ve had between my thighs all bloody day. And I don’t want to do that. All of a sudden, what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks feels wrong, and I can’t work out why.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I bump straight into Ethan and Cal. Shit. Shit. Talk about bad timing. I think about ignoring them and going straight home, but there’s no way to do that without looking rude, and anyway, they’re both looking at me with obvious curiosity.

‘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.