‘I was in the bank and he was there,’ she says. ‘I was feeling thoroughly hacked off and sorry for myself, and we got to talking, and I started wondering what he hides under that suit. He’s quite gorgeous, you know.’
Yes, I know. ‘I don’t see why you had to drag me in-to it,’ I say. ‘You know how important it is to me to keep that side of the business private.’
‘Oh, get real,’ she says. ‘You’ve photographed half the town doing things that would make a whore blush. Everyone knows.’
‘No, they don’t,’ I tell her sharply. ‘I’m extremely discreet.’
‘You told me.’
‘That’s different,’ I say. ‘I told you in confidence. It was supposed to be a secret.’
‘Well,’ she says, ‘now three people know it instead of two. Big deal. It’s hardly the end of the world. And I’m sick of people keeping secrets. Why can’t everyone just be honest?’
She’s pissed off with me now, I can tell. She thinks I’m dragging this out unnecessarily, and maybe I am, but the bottom line is that I told her something in confidence and she betrayed my trust and she did it so easily. And between showing Tom and Victoria that photo and then Tom making me come and then making himself come, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Yesterday morning, my life was calm and predictable. Today, it seems like anything is possible, and I don’t know how on earth to handle that. That’s why I’m on the phone to Amber, instead of printing out the three million shots of bridesmaids dressed in aubergine that I need to have ready by this afternoon. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘What?’
‘Do you think Tom Hunt is… Do you think he’s a bit odd?
‘Extremely,’ she says. ‘He’s also extremely fucking sexy. Are my pictures done yet? I know you said Wednesday, but I need them now. Apparently they’re having an engagement party next week. Catering, the works. I can’t bear it, Ellie. I just can’t.’ Her voice breaks. ‘I need those pictures.’
‘They’re not ready,’ I say, my heart giving an anxious little thump. ‘Look, I’ll have them ready for you tomorrow. I promise.’
‘Can I at least come round and look at them?’ She’s sobbing now. Her voice is rough and broken, and it claws at me. ‘Please? You can take a break for lunch, can’t you?’
I should come clean, I should tell her that I don’t have the picture, but I can’t. It’s ridiculous, I know. There are plenty of other good shots. But they’re good, not amazing, and she specifically asked for that one and I’m too embarrassed to tell her I don’t have it. Because she’ll ask me why not, and I’m not ready to answer that question. And I’ve let her down. She’d be disappointed in me, and I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that either. ‘It’s…it’s not a good time.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m up to my armpits in work,’ I tell her, which is sort of the truth. I am up to my armpits in work. I’m just not doing it. ‘I’m sorry, Amber. Really, I am.’
‘Shit.’ She chokes back another sob. Whoever this guy was, she was obviously into him more than she’d let on. I’ve never seen her like this before, so angry and desperate.
‘I’ll make sure they’re done for Wednesday, OK?’
‘You promise,’ she says.
‘I promise.’
That gives me three days to sort this out. I tell myself it’s long enough. I’ll think of something.
‘I have to admit,’ she says then, with a pained sort of laugh, ‘Tom Hunt surprised me. I mean, I always wondered, you know?’
I can tell that for the moment at least, her attention has shifted away from her ex, and I’m determined to keep it that way. ‘You did?’
‘Oh, yeah. When I’ve seen him in town, he always looks like he’d faint if he saw a bra strap. But it’s the quiet ones you have to look out for. They’re the filthy fuckers.’
‘I’m quiet,’ I say, remembering that I said that before, the last time we had this conversation.
‘Exactly,’ she replies. ‘Which is why you’re our resident pornographer.’
I cringe when she says that word. It makes me think of creepy men buying copies of Razzle. ‘Erotic photographer,’ I correct her. ‘There’s a difference.’
‘Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Easy for you to say. You have no shame.’
‘No.’ She laughs, but there is no humour in it. ‘And look where it got me. Dumped for some other woman. And he isn’t just shagging someone else, oh no. It’s love. He’s getting married.’
I don’t want Amber to be miserable. I want her to do what she needs to do to get over the boyfriend-who-got-engaged-to-someone-else and go back to being happy Amber.
And there is only one person who can help me with that.
I’ve never turned up at the Accountancy office without an appointment before. It’s not procedure. The receptionist stares at me for a full minute, her forehead creased as if she’s trying to work out what she’s supposed to do in this situation. I stare at her too. She’s new here, but she’s got the same neat look that they all do. Smooth hair, French manicure, nude heels.
‘I need to see Mr Hunt,’ I say for the second time, adjusting the strap of my bag, which I’ve loaded up with my camera and iPad. ‘It’s an emergency.’
‘What sort of emergency?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What sort of emergency?’ she asks again. She’s managed to fix her smile in place, though her eyes are hard. There’s a slight gap between her front teeth, and she’s wearing a very pretty necklace, a slender gold chain with a twisted knot that sits against her throat. Her back is poker straight, a dancer’s posture.
She’s a guard dog in heels, and I’m tired of being barked at. I’m tired of running away, of being afraid. I came here to see Tom, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. ‘I need to see Mr Hunt,’ I say slowly. ‘It’s important’ My gaze travels over the front of her blouse, which is cream and covered with tiny black hearts.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she says, setting down her pen and not sounding sorry at all. ‘But it’s company policy. All visitors must have an appointment. I can make one for you, if you like.’
I feel suddenly very hot. My spine is tingling. I need to see Tom and I need to see him now. I adjust the position of my bag, then I lean in. ‘I don’t want an appointment.’ I say quietly. ‘I pay a lot of money for the services this company provides.’ That’s not quite true. One of the reasons I chose this firm was because my brother works here and he got me a discount. But she doesn’t need to know that. ‘I have a problem, and I need to see Mr Hunt, and I need to see him now.’ My voice gets louder with every word. I’m almost shouting. I’m definitely being difficult.
Her long, dark eyelashes flutter, and she drops her pen. ‘I’ll let Mr Hunt know you’re here,’ she mutters. ‘You can go through. He’s not with anyone at the moment.’
I straighten up, nod my thanks. ‘Thank you.’
‘Let me know if there is anything else I can help you with,’ she says, as I turn to walk away.
‘I will,’ I say. The rush of power is overwhelming. What is it they say? With great power comes great responsibility? I’ve felt the responsibility before, but I’ve never felt the power. As I move away from the desk and make my way down the corridor towards Tom’s office, that rush stays with me, and I like it.
I knock on his door, wait for a response. The air in the corridor is perfectly chilled, but it’s stifling. I knock again, harder, wanting to be on the other side of that door.
My heart is beating faster now¸ too fast. All I can think about is Tom. I have only been standing here for a few seconds, but it seems like hours, and I suddenly realise that I’m not here for Amber.
I’m here for me.
To hell with it all. I grab the door handle, twist it and push the door open, putting myself on the other side of it as quickly as I can. I kick it shut behind me, then lean back against it, breathing hard. I close my eyes. The room smells l
ike him. It makes my knees buckle.
‘Ellie.’ His voice wanders over me, slow and sensual.
‘Tom,’ I say quickly, breathlessly. ‘I…’
‘I didn’t know you had an appointment today.’ A second voice interrupts me before I can finish. I jerk up, away from the door, open my eyes and want to throw up. ‘Scott!’ My twin brother. Born five minutes before me, born perfect. Letters don’t spin and flip when he looks at them.
‘And do you always walk into an office without waiting to be invited in?’ he asks, getting out of his chair and moving towards the door. His face is red, and he’s got his hands tucked in his trouser pockets, a sure sign that an explosion is imminent.
I should be afraid, but instead, I’m defiant. I’m tired of being ashamed, of being scared. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got private business to discuss with Mr Hunt.’
Scott stares at me. This is new territory for him, I know. It’s new territory for me, too. I wait for him to argue, to make a scene. ‘Fine,’ he says. He walks to the door and I step neatly to one side. The door closes with an audible click.
I put my bag on the floor and then I put my gaze on Tom. He is sat behind his desk, looking exactly as he always does. Beige suit, neatly combed hair, perfectly knotted tie. Except that his eyes are hot, and the hands he puts on top of the desk aren’t quite steady. ‘Scott’s having a hard time at the moment,’ he says. ‘He massively underestimated a tax bill. The client isn’t happy. Neither is the boss.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Scott? Really?’ I can’t imagine my perfect brother doing anything so messy, so wrong.
‘Things are difficult for him right now,’ Tom adds. He leans back in his chair and unfastens his jacket. ‘So what can I do for you, Ellie?’
I stare at him and fidget. Then I go ahead and blurt it out. ‘Have you ever had sex in your office?’
He makes me wait for his answer, my imagination running riot. And then it’s not even an answer. ‘Lock the door,’ he says, ‘and I’ll tell you.’
Chapter Six
The weird awkwardness is right there between us, only this time it’s tempered with an almost instant arousal. I want you, I think as I look at him. You’re weird and strange and you dress like a pervert and god, I want you. But I don’t say it out loud. ‘So have you?’
‘Not yet,’ he says, as he shrugs out of his jacket. ‘The opportunity has never presented itself.’
‘It hasn’t?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I’ve wanked myself off in here a few times though.’
Oh, god. I walk quickly towards the chair nearest to me and collapse into it, setting my bag down on the floor by my feet. Mutually assured destruction, I remind myself, as I glance around his office. It looks exactly the same as it always has, and yet something is different. ‘I want to have sex with you in your office,’ I say, rushing the words out. ‘I want to have lots of sex with you. I want to do all the things that everyone else is doing.’
He gets out of his seat and walks around to my side of the desk. ‘You’ll have to be more specific,’ he says. ‘What sort of sex are you talking about?’
‘The indecent kind.’ I’m so hot now even my hair is sweating. ‘Please, just…I want to have sex with you.’ It takes everything I have to get those words out, and my heart races. I bite into my lip. What if he asks for those other words, like he did yesterday? I don’t know if I can say them.
But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out and grabs my right breast. He doesn’t stroke, or fondle. He grabs, his big hand covering that curve of flesh. My nipple pushes itself against his palm, like a hard little nut, straining to get into his fingers. He moves his hand away, but he does it slowly, his fingers pressing together to form a tight pinch that holds my nipple in that place between pleasure and pain for a second that’s not nearly long enough.
‘Show me your tits,’ he says then, his voice rough. ‘I didn’t see them yesterday. I want to see them.’
I’m wearing a white cotton vest today, with a pale blue sweater over the top. It’s hardly easy access. And then there’s my bra. Not to mention my nerves, which are horrific. ‘I’m not Amber,’ I say, as I set shaking hands to the hem of my sweater.
‘Like I told you yesterday,’ he says, ‘Amber doesn’t make me hard.’ And then his hands are under my clothes. He touches my stomach, touches my breast through my bra and then works his hand underneath it until his hand is covering my soft, sensitive flesh.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he says, searching my face as he plays with my breast. He isn’t gentle, he’s rough, and I like it. I like it so much.
‘I can’t,’ I say, closing my eyes as he locks his thumb and forefinger around my nipple and tortures it. ‘Please, Tom. Don’t make me say it.’ I open my eyes and glance down at my bag.
‘In here?’ he says, unfastening the zip with his free hand. He touches the camera case, and I shake my head. His fingers settle on my iPad. Then he takes it out and turns it on.
‘Password?’
‘No.’
He clicks into the folder, just as I did yesterday. ‘Purple,’ I say, digging my teeth into my lip. ‘Pick the purple.’
But he doesn’t pick the purple. He picks the green. A shot fills the screen, and he looks at it for a moment, then he pulls my clothes out of the way and fills his mouth with my breast.
I’m swamped by the sensation, as his mouth seems to pour heat into me. My breast swells against his mouth, and I arch my back and dig my fingers into his hair to hold him there. He bites, licks, sucks at me and I feel it everywhere. The faint scratch of his beard is rough against my skin when he moves his head so that he can take another look at the photo on the screen.
I can’t blame him for that. This picture is beautiful, probably one of the best I have ever taken. The colour is soft, shades of pink and peach, contrasting sharply with the black pinstriped suit and dark cropped hair of the woman in the forefront. She is on her knees, her face hidden between the creamy thighs of her naked girlfriend. Her back is arched, her eyes closed, their fingers entwined as she rides out her orgasm.
But there is more to this picture than the sex. There is love, and that makes it all the more erotic, somehow.
Tom moves his hands to my waist and lifts me out of the chair. He actually lifts me. I’ve never been manhandled like this before, and god, I like it. My sweater is pushed up, exposing both my breasts now, and he somehow manages to get my skirt up around my waist when he sets me down on the desk.
‘Touch yourself,’ he says. ‘Show me how you touch yourself.’
The request seems so lewd, so wicked. I grip the edge of the desk and shake my head, but I’m desperate to do as he asked. Then he opens his mouth over my breast again and works the already sensitive flesh. I can’t hold in the sound of pleasure, and he bites me when I let it out, forcing me to make it again, louder this time.
He puts a hand between my knees, pushes them apart, and I let him. He’s going to touch me, I think. He was so good at it yesterday. Anticipation surges through me. I need this. I need it to be here, and I need it to be now. I hook my fingers into my knickers and drag them down to my knees, then kick them off, sending my shoes flying. They hit the door with a rapid thump, and then fall to the floor.
The desktop is cold under my feet when I prop them on it. I’m fully exposed to him now. If he looks – and he does – he’ll see everything.
‘Ellie,’ he says roughly. ‘Fuck, Ellie. Do you know what you do to me?’
I don’t say anything. I sit there on top of his desk, panting, waiting for him to give me relief from the ache centred right there between my legs. ‘Touch me,’ I beg him. ‘Please.’
‘Where?’ he asks. His voice is still harsh but those blue eyes are shining.
The bastard. He is going to make me say it. And he has me so hot that I don’t have any choice. ‘My pussy,’ I say. ‘Touch my pussy.’
He rests one hand on top of my thigh, moves
his other hand between my legs, then slowly slides two fingers deep inside me. I clench tight around him, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.
Slowly, he begins to move those fingers back and forth inside me, and I think about his cock and how that would feel. Bigger, yes, harder, but I can’t imagine anything feeling better than this. His mouth on my breast was rough, desperate, but his fingers inside me are gentle, tender almost.
I don’t understand. I glance at him, but he’s not looking at my face any more, he’s looking down at his hand, so I look down at it too. I grip the edge of the desk more tightly, curl my body forwards to get a better view, and he groans as I tighten around him.
He’s wearing a white shirt, the kind with the proper cuffs, held together with plain silver cufflinks, and he’s pulled his sleeve up a little, exposing his wrist. His watch is masculine and chunky, and his fingers, when he pulls them out of me, are glossy. ‘You’re so wet,’ he says, his voice full of longing.
I don’t think I’ve ever sat in this office with him and not been wet, and I tell him that now. He closes his eyes for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. But then he opens them and starts to work me harder, twisting his fingers, curving them round to touch somewhere inside me that almost makes me scream. I bite down on my lip to hold it in.
Everything is so hot and swollen and aching, but I can’t come like this. I need more. ‘Touch my clit,’ I beg him. I’m beyond caring about what I’m saying now. The words don’t feel embarrassing, they feel right. ‘Please, Tom. Touch my clit.’
He smiles at me then. ‘Touch it yourself. Show me how you make yourself come.’
My first few strokes are tentative, uncertain, not because I don’t know how to do this, but because I’m almost afraid to let him see. ‘I’m scared,’ I admit, as he continues to torment me with the pressure of those thick fingers. He experimentally adds a third, and I almost implode, such is the pleasure.
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