‘Where is my picture?’ She’s clicking frantically through the folder, trying to find it. ‘Where the fuck is my picture, Ellie?’
I have to face the truth of it, then. ‘I didn’t get it,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
She twists round in her chair, and hits me with a question I really don’t want to answer. ‘Why not?’
I can’t tell her. I don’t really know what is going on between Tom and me, but I know that it’s our secret. It’s precious and delicious and ours, and I’m not ready to share it with anyone. I don’t know if I ever will be. ‘I messed up,’ I confess. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’
I’ve not kept anything secret from Amber in years, not since we were at school and she sat next to me in detention and let me copy her answers. She’s the only person who knows that I can’t really read. If it wasn’t for her, I’d never have passed a single exam.
‘You didn’t get it?’ She shoots out of the chair and starts to pace. Then she turns to me. ‘I want you to get Tom back in here,’ she says. ‘I’m going to show the pair of them that they can’t treat me like this.’ Her eyes flash fire, and her mouth is set hard. This is Amber spoiling for a fight, and I know better than to get in her way.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Come back tomorrow, after closing. I’ll get you what you need.’
I tidy up the studio, bleach the toilet, flick the feather duster around, all the usual things. I’m in the process of setting the alarm and locking the door when Tom shows up.
‘I couldn’t wait,’ he says, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, his hands hidden inside the pockets of his flasher mac. Although he’s as neat as always, there is something about him that’s oddly dishevelled.
I have never been so pleased to see him in my entire life. Something inside me softens at the sight of him, as other parts heat and tighten. The whole situation with Amber has left me feeling shaken, disturbed, as if I’m missing something that’s right there in front of me.
Tom Hunt makes me want to not care. He’s so deliciously distracting, my entire body clamouring for him, as if he hasn’t already made me come today. When I think about it though, he didn’t make me come. He just happened to be in the room when I did.OK, yes, he contributed to it, and the orgasm I had probably wouldn’t have been quite so intense without him, but he owes me.
And I want him. I’ve had enough of being teased, of being tempted. I want to touch him, like he let me touch him in the delicatessen earlier, only this time I want no clothes in the way, no interruptions. When I’m in that moment with him, I forget who I am.
It’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to being myself.
I turn back to open the door, but he stops me. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Not here.’
‘Please,’ I say, but he just shakes his head and smiles at me. It’s a shy smile, an almost smile. A nervous smile.
‘Come home with me,’ he says.
So I do.
He lives in a narrow terrace near the train station, about ten minutes’ walk from the studio, and he walks fast. The only reason I can keep up is because he carries my bags for me. Not my handbag, obviously, but my laptop and iPad and camera.
Not only can he walk really fast, he can talk at the same time. I find out that he bought the house because it’s close to the boxing gym he uses, and he hopes I don’t mind, but he’s only decorated half of it. I just about manage to nod at the right moments. I’m a mess of nerves and anticipation. I was fine with the whole idea of having sex with him when he turned up at the studio, but delaying things like this, bringing me back to his house has added a whole new layer of intimacy to everything.
This is making it real. I’m not sure I can handle real, although I want him so badly that I’m not sure I can walk away either. Then he pushes open a gate and pushes me gently up a sloping path towards a black front door and panic sets in. I turn to him. ‘Are you sure…’
He puts his mouth on mine before I can say the rest of it. Before I can talk him or me out of this. The kiss is hot, hard, and fiercely intimate. He tastes of coffee and sweetness, and his tongue moves against mine with a desperate urgency. He grips my hips, fingers digging into flesh through the soft fall of my skirt.
He’s never kissed me before. All the things that we’ve done, and this is the first time we’ve kissed. It shocks me. And before I can even think what I’m doing, I’ve dropped my bag and dug my fingers into that neat hair and I’m kissing him back. His hands are all over me as I shove my tongue into his mouth and let out a low, dirty moan. He feels so hard against me, not just his erection, but his mouth and that muscle-packed body, and it turns me into a soft, quivering wreck.
Lifting his head, he watches me for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and takes out his keys. ‘I’ve been wondering about that.’
‘Yes,’ I say faintly. ‘So have I.’ Although I’ve only just realised it.
He slots the key into the lock and turns it, but he doesn’t open the door. Oh, god, I was too much. Too forward. Too…
‘There’s something I want to say.’ He blushes. ‘About Amber.’
Here it comes. I feel a bit sick, to be honest, partly because I’m jealous as hell and because I’m terrified that I’m not going to measure up to Amber. In any way, shape or form.
‘When I came to the studio with her,’ he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, ‘I need you to understand something about that. I was having a crap day. She offered me a blowjob, and I was horny. I didn’t know, Ellie. I…didn’t know about…’ He gestures to the space between us. ‘This.’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ I say, but he touches my face and the words die away.
‘Yes I do.’
‘No,’ I say again, fighting the urge to turn my head and lick his hand. ‘I know what that’s like. I spend half my time fantasising about someone walking through the door and offering to lick me out, because I’m lonely and bored and horny, and I’ve just had to watch yet another besotted couple crawl all over each other.’
He doesn’t say anything. He drops his hand from my face and unlocks the door, then pushes it open. He has me through the door before I can even think to ask him what he’s doing, and when I can think to ask him, I can’t think at all, because he’s eating my pussy like it’s dessert. He got my knickers down as far as my knees before he bent me over the arm of the living room sofa and buried his face between my bum cheeks.
I grip the cushions until my knuckles go white and let out a long, slow moan. His big hands are on my arse, holding me steady, exposing me to him. I can’t see him. I can only feel. The slide of his tongue. The warmth of his hands. The heat of his breath and the scratch of his chin. He tastes every single part of me in a long, torturous journey that starts at the small of my back and ends at my clit. He lingers there, until my whole body has become a focused throb, centred at that point. ‘Tell me what you need, Ellie,’ he says, as my hands roam over the sofa, trying to find something to hang on to. It is huge and squishy, with that clean smell that I associate with him.
But I can’t find the words. It’s not even that I’m too scared to say them. I simply can’t find them. He moves away from me, leaving one hot hand on my hip to hold me in place. As if I could move, even if I wanted to. I turn my head enough to see him pulling my bags closer. He finds my iPad and pushes it into my hands. ‘Is it this?’
I need you. Just one more thing that I can’t say, as he sinks to his knees behind me again, and puts his wicked mouth back on my clit. Because I can’t say it, because I can’t look into his hot blue eyes and tell him everything, I turn on the iPad instead. My hands shake as I find the file that I want. He feels so damn amazing, licking me out, tasting me, and he looks so beautiful in the pictures I took of him, pleasuring himself. It feels like the ultimate in sexual decadence, having Tom Hunt on his knees with his face between my legs, pleasuring my body, as I pleasure my mind with my pictures of him.
Tom Hunt. On his knees. For me.
In a blinding flash, I feel a little piece of my heart break loose. I know that I’ve just given it to him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I should be more scared than I am, but it’s hard to focus on fear when you’re a heartbeat away from orgasm.
And when it crashes into me, it’s stupendous. My eyes go blind; I can’t hear anything but the thundering of blood in my ears. I don’t just feel it in my pussy, my clit. I feel it everywhere. He is everywhere. Then I realise that he’s scooped me up, that I am curled up on his knee and his arms are around me and when I kiss him, I can taste my climax on his mouth.
‘You were looking at me,’ he says, and then I realise that he has my iPad in his hand. ‘All those pictures to choose from, and you were looking at me.’ He stares at me, those blue eyes hot. ‘Did it turn you on, Ellie? Did you like looking at those pictures of me when I had my tongue in your pussy?’
I turn away from him and get my first proper glimpse of the inside of his house. I assume this is his living room. It’s not big, but it’s very tidy and very clean, which makes the dirty thing he just did to me over the arm of his slate-grey sofa seem even more outrageous. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the room is sterile and cold, but it isn’t, because it matches him perfectly, and he’s neither of those things. ‘Yes.’ I fidget with his cuff. ‘Did you?’
‘What?’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Fuck, yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve done, Ellie. I thought you knew that.’
I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that at all, and it’s too much for me. ‘What about all those horrible accounts meetings in your office?’ I say. ‘You can’t have enjoyed those. They were work. Who likes their work?’
‘You do,’ he says. ‘And I do.’
‘You like being an accountant?’
‘I like playing with numbers.’ He shrugs. ‘I like helping people out. It’s very satisfying. There’s always a right answer.’
‘I like taking photos of people fucking,’ I say, and the revelation shocks me so much I can’t breathe for a moment. I’ve never dared to admit that to myself, let alone anyone else.
‘I know.’ He grins at me, a boyish twist to his mouth that lights me up and turns me on. ‘I can tell.’
‘Oh.’ Now I feel like a pervert. A hot, squirmy pervert. My legs have gone trembly, my breasts are hot, and I’ve got this wet furnace between my legs, despite the fact that I came all over his face only a few minutes ago. ‘How?’
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he adjusts my position on his knee. I can’t help but notice how well his thighs fill out his trousers when he sits. ‘Is your camera in one of these bags?’
I point to the smaller one. ‘In there.’
‘I’d like…’ He hesitates. ‘I’d like to take some pictures. Of you. If that’sOK.’
This request takes me completely by surprise, but I’m on my feet and reaching for the bag before I can stop myself. I pause halfway there to deal with my knickers. I’d pull them back up, only it seems too complicated, so I wiggle them down to my feet and pull them off instead.
I crouch down by my bag, unzip it, ease out my pride and joy, my Canon, and then tuck my knickers into the empty space. I glance over at Tom. He’s sitting forward now, and he doesn’t look comfortable. In fact, he looks a whole lot like the Tom Hunt who sits behind his big, tidy desk and tuts when I hand over my account books. But that was the Tom Hunt I didn’t know anything about. The one I thought was uptight and weird, who made me have uncomfortable thoughts about sex when he wasn’t really the sort of person you should have sexual thoughts about. AndOK, he’s still uptight and weird, and I’m still as uncomfortable as hell having those thoughts, but now I know something more. I know he sits behind that desk and enjoys playing with numbers and thinking about fucking.
‘Are you hard?’ I ask him suddenly. I mean, I’m assuming he is. I just want to hear him say it. ‘Do you have an erection? Right now?’
He shifts in his seat. ‘Yes.’
I turn on the camera. It flickers into life, and I take a couple of random test shots to check the lighting. Tom’s hands, one side of his face. I capture his jaw, that neat, dark hair, those luscious pillow lips. He holds out his hand and I pass him the camera.
‘Point and click?’ he asks.
It hurts to hear everything I’ve worked for reduced to that, but he’s looking at me with such bright lust in his eyes that I ignore it. ‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘Point and click.’
‘Right then.’ He gets to his feet, a tight grip on my precious Canon. He pulls in a deep breath, and then lets it out. ‘Take off your top.’
I’m about to say no, to argue, but then he lifts the camera, hiding his eyes behind it. I can see only the lens, feel only the expectation. So I set my hands to the hem of my sweater and ease it off, over my head. Then I take off my vest. The shutter clicks. The sound goes through me like the buzz of a vibrator. My nipples harden as I stand there in my bra and my skirt and my shoes.
Nothing is fancy, or seductive. My clothes are pretty ugly, if I’m honest with myself. And my breasts aren’t exactly playboy standard. They barely make average. The only way I get cleavage is if I use my hands and squish everything up. But Tom is looking at them, at me, with this flush of hunger. ‘Take off your bra,’ he says. ‘I want to watch you play with your tits.’
I do as he asks. I take off my bra, drop it to the floor and rub my hands over those hard points, trying to make the ache easier to bear. It doesn’t work, so I pinch them instead, until they’re dark red and stinging. That helps.
The shutter clicks again, again.
‘Take off your skirt,’ he says, holding the camera in one hand, as the other drifts down to his belt. As I slide down the zip that runs against my hip, I hear the rattle of his buckle, the slide of leather against wool, the first little sigh of relief as he pushes his hand inside his pants and touches his cock.
My skirt drops to the floor, my breasts swinging forward as I reach down to pick it up. I bite into my lip as I straighten up, wondering what happens now? I can only see Tom and the glint of the lens and the slow, sure movement of his hand as he watches me strip and he touches himself.
And something occurs to me, something I’d never have dared to imagine before now. My throat is so dry it takes me a moment or two to get the words out. ‘When I came to your office,’ I ask, ‘and you were sat behind your desk, were you ever…’
‘Hard?’ His fingers hold the camera tightly, as he takes another shot.
‘Yes.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Oh.’ I pull in a great lungful of air, as I imagine him sat behind his fake wood desk, all suited and neat and proper, with his swollen cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. ‘God,’ I say. ‘That’s fucking brilliant.’
‘I like it when you say that.’ He lowers the camera, but his hand doesn’t stop stroking. ‘Say it again.’
‘Fuck.’
He groans.
‘Fuck,’ I say again, braver now. His hand is moving faster, his shoulders tight, the delicious slapping sound of his palm pressing against his erection making me catch my breath. I move in front of him. He watches me through half-lowered lids. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’ The ache between my legs is too much to bear. I will not be a spectator, not this time. I want him for myself. All of it. ‘You told me we were going to fuck,’ I tell him, dizzy with arousal and my own audacity. ‘Is it true?’
It feels like everything that has happened over the past few days has been leading up to this point. As if all of it was foreplay, stripping away my defences one by one. Each secret I’ve let out has made me a little more naked, a little more vulnerable. He reaches out a hand. I take it. His fingers close tight around mine as he gets to his feet. I don’t know what he wants. Maybe I’m too weird. Maybe I’m not weird enough. ‘Is it?’ I ask him again.
Then he puts a hand on my waist, pulls me against him, and pushes his mouth down against mine. It’s no
t a tidy, sweet kiss. It’s messy and wet and hot, and he puts his tongue in my mouth with such frustrated desperation that it almost blows my mind, and before I can think, I’ve got my arms around his neck and I’m kissing him back. And it’s almost like we’re fucking, with his tongue in my mouth and his cock rubbing against my belly, as we rock against each other.
It’s almost like this is more.
He breaks the kiss then. I’m panting, my back clammy with sweat. I’m cold. I reach for him again, but he grabs my wrist and stops me. ‘Yes,’ he says. Then he pulls me out of the living room, towards the stairs. We take them quickly, my heart pounding as he takes me into his bedroom.
I have just enough brain cells left to register the big bed with its dark covering, the shiny little alarm clock, the black and white photograph on the wall. And the huge, full-length mirror in the corner. I guess you need a big mirror to look as tidy as he usually does.
‘Get on the bed,’ he says, his voice rough. ‘On your hands and knees.’
I clamber onto it. There is something about being on all fours with my arse stuck up in the air that thrills me. It’s just so bloody rude. ‘You really are a pervert,’ I say, as he moves the mirror in front of me so that I can see myself in it. I can see him, too, as he moves behind me and starts to undress.
The cufflinks go, then the pale yellow tie. Then the shiny shoes and pleated trousers, the white boxer shorts. He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, and then moves out of sight. I turn my head, trying to see what he’s doing.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Keep looking in the mirror.’
I hear the snap of a condom and something inside me goes soft and tight and hot. I haven’t had a penis inside me in so long. I’ve certainly never had one as big as Tom Hunt’s inside me, and I can’t help wondering what it’s going to feel like.
Then he gets onto the bed behind me, filling the space in the mirror that isn’t taken up by me or the bed, and it’s no longer me, but us. The backs of my eyes get hot, and my vision blurs. I blink furiously. I am totally exposed to him, and to myself. I feel like I’ve been hiding for my entire life as I feel the thick head of his stiff penis slide over my wetness. He rubs against me until I’m rocking my hips and gasping, and then pushes inside me, big and hard and not nearly enough. He moves deep into me, then back. My knees tremble. The covers are blissfully rough against my nipples, and I dig one hand into the sheets, hold on tight, push the other between my legs and pinch my aching, throbbing clit.
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