Office Perks (22 page)

More important was the question of whether I wanted to. Charles King was fairly attractive, if a bit old for me, and not entirely my type. I'd enjoyed his openness, and would have sucked his cock if he'd demanded it, but he was just a bit too arrogant. Yet I'd coped easily with Richard Drake. I'd coped with the mad lesbian Hilary Chalmers, sort of. Why not Charles King?

There's a big, big difference between Watford and Inagua. For a start, I could pronounce Watford. There was a good train service to Kilburn too. I'd be in Inagua for a whole week, just the two of us together and no escape. Yet if it did work it would be a wonderful break, and with uni in September perhaps my last chance for a decent holiday in several years. Certainly I wouldn't be able to afford it as a student, and maybe the offer would never come again?

At the very least it made sense to let him shag me first. That way I'd find out in good time if he expected to tie me up, or bugger me, or dress me as a French maid and spank my bottom,
à la
Hilary Chalmers. It was a bit mercenary of me, maybe, but it made sense. No doubt after a little fashion show with my new clothes he'd be well up for it.

I was thinking about it all the way to Oxford Circus, but had quickly lost myself in a shopping frenzy, the second in a few days, and both courtesy of older, rich types desperate to get into my knickers. For all my pride I had to admit to the temptation because, just a few weeks before, the idea of spending a hundred quid on a bikini that barely covered my embarrassment would have seemed outrageous. I bought two, one green, one blue, and tops and shorts and sandals, and a new bag,
and a huge picture hat I could only possibly have worn on a sun-drenched beach.

Having just slightly overspent his money, and treated myself to lunch at Fortnum and Mason, no less, I made my way back, still undecided. Once again I had to go through the routine of receptionist, Andrew Miller and security lift before being admitted to the presence of Charles King and, once again, he was seated in his armchair smoking a cigar. I had to work.

‘Do you actually do any work, or do you just have minions rushing around?' I asked him.

He gave a low chuckle.

‘Oh yes, I work. I direct, which is my job. While you've been off shopping I've arranged the sale of the Centrans building, where you were working, at a tidy profit I might add, maybe seven million, once the final figures are in. Oh yes, I work.'

‘Oh, right. Anyway, I've got some great gear, beach stuff mainly. Look at this hat!'

I took it out, posing in it as if for a photographer. He watched, puffing on his cigar with a small, indulgent smile on his face.

‘And sandals, sun cream, beach towel, stuff, stuff, stuff . . . and these great bikinis. They're
La Madeleine,
I hope you don't mind? Because there's no change.'

‘I didn't expect any.'

‘Good.'

He had to ask me to try one on. He was sure to ask me to try one on. He knocked out the tip of his cigar into an ashtray.

‘You know we'll be in the middle of the hurricane season, don't you?'

‘Oh. No I didn't.'

‘Don't worry. One's just gone through, and we'll be clear. Assuming you're coming, that is?'

‘I'm still not sure.'

He merely shrugged, very casual. I'd expected him to make a move, after the way he'd boldly informed me he wanted to fuck me, and as I straightened up with the two bikinis I was feeling rather at a loss.

‘Do you like them?'

‘Absolutely. One of the best designers, I always think.'

So much for subtlety.

‘Don't you want to see it on?'

‘Of course, on the beach below my villa. Here in London you're fine just as you are.'

I smiled, still unsure of myself. To all intents and purposes I'd offered to strip, and he'd turned me down. Yet he wanted to ‘fuck my little round arse'. He was still talking.

‘I wonder if you realise just how beautiful you are, Lucy? When you look at yourself in a mirror, what do you see?'

‘Myself. Do you mean naked?'

‘Not necessarily. I'll tell you what you see. You see your own perception of yourself and, far be it for me to claim to know what that is, beyond the obvious; the red of your hair, the delicacy of your face, the physical lines of your body. What you don't see, but I do, is how you look out on the world. There's a fire in you, of real determination and pride, but underneath that there's a touch of insecurity. To a man like me that combination is hard to resist.'

‘Why bother?'

His smile grew broader and he shifted in his chair.

‘So bold, yet so young. Now an older woman, she would either slap my face and walk out, or come to me, but you, you're unpredictable.'

I shrugged, dropped the bikinis back into their bag and walked towards him. He may have actually thought
I was going to slap his face, because I swear he flinched as I reached him, but his arm came around me as I curled myself into his lap.

‘Come on, then.'

My hand had gone to his chest, but I didn't linger, moving down to his trousers and rubbing over the expensive suit material. I wasn't ready, not quite, but as I undid his zip and pulled his cock free, catching the male scent, I knew I soon would be. He let me do it, sitting back and smoking his cigar as I brought him gently to erection, stroking and teasing at his cock until it had grown in my hand. As I did it he was holding me, his hand around my waist, then higher, to tickle the nape of my neck and send shivers down my spine.

I'd been going to wank him off and fantasise a little, the way Bobbie liked, to see what he said when he was about to come. A clever idea, I thought, but with his fingers teasing the sensitive skin behind my ears and the feel of his cock in my hand, my little scheme was quickly giving way to raw lust. He was soon hard, and he had a nice cock, a really proud one, curving up from his belly, rock hard and a good size too. As his fingers began to move down my spine I gave in, bending down to take him in my mouth, sucking and licking at his erection as the heat in my pussy picked up.

He never said a word, still smoking and watching me suck him as he teased me, his hands finding my bottom only when I was thoroughly ready. I moved a little, letting him get at me. My skirt had been lifted, rucked up to show my knickers: hardly sophisticated, not even very dignified, but I no longer cared. Still sucking, I quickly opened his trousers and pulled his balls free, treating myself to a lick before climbing up, onto his lap.

His hands closed on my hips, taking a firm grip and turning me, to let him see my bottom. I pushed it out,
eager to show off, stroking my breasts as he held me, his cock pushing to the gusset of my knickers, ready to do its stuff. His thumbs pushed into my waistband and my knickers were being eased down, very slowly, in full appreciation of my arse as I was stripped.

Bare, I settled down onto him, teasing my breasts as I wriggled my bottom onto his hard cock. There was something very rude about my naked flesh against his tailored suit. He took hold once more, lifting me under my bum, his cock head now in my crease and against my cunt, and then in me. I couldn't help but sigh in pleasure as I was filled with cock, and I was immediately wiggling and gyrating against him, revelling in the feel of him inside me. He gripped my hips, bring my wild squirming under control, to let me know I was being fucked, firm and steady, by a man in control. My bare bottom was in his lap. I was getting fucked, just the way he'd wanted.

As I rode his cock I quickly stripped, tugging the buttons of my blouse open and flipping up my bra to get my breasts bare. He immediately took them in hand, squeezing them and teasing my nipples until I was moaning and working my sex on his cock. A hand came lower, onto my pussy, and I was being masturbated as we fucked, my thighs wide, my knickers taut between them, his fingers rubbing in my crease.

It was so dirty and wrong to be doing this in his office. I loved the fact that I had impressed him to this extent; had made this powerful man hard in his pants for me. I thought about him thinking about me, having fantasies over me and wanking off to porn mags. But now it was real. He was getting what he wanted, and that turned me on – the fact that I was pleasing him. Making him stiff and about to shoot his load. With this thought, I came, crying out in ecstasy as I writhed on him, my
pussy full of his cock, my breasts bouncing wildly to the motion of my fucking, my bottom squirming against him. He groaned, his grip tightened and I knew this was the moment. As he let go, he leant over to whisper in my ear, ‘You dirty little tart, Lucy. You're going to get a lot more of that, my darling.' I was in a state of bliss, my scheming completely forgotten.

I didn't promise to go to Inagua, despite an unexpectedly nice fucking. He didn't press the point, contenting himself with telling me he was leaving on the Friday and would appreciate an answer reasonably soon so that he could, if necessary, invite somebody else. That was at least honest, which was a refreshing change after having to play games with Niall. It was also irritating, because I genuinely wasn't sure what I should do.

On the tube home I was still trying to work it out, and even tossed a coin, at the exact moment the train went over some points, so that I dropped it and was forced to grovel on the floor to get it back. It had caught in a groove on the floor. I got off at Kilburn Park, intent on a quiet drink in the Duchess, a tatty, old-fashioned pub just down the road from Father Jessop's parochial house. I chose it because none of my friends would be there and I wanted to work things out for myself, but I'd no sooner got to the bar that somebody called my name – Todd Byrne.

He was sitting on his own, a pint in his hand, his shirt two buttons undone, his legs splayed carelessly apart to show an impressive bulge in his work-worn trousers, a bugle I had rather enjoyed twice before. Setting my thoughts of Inagua aside for the time being, I went to join him, cradling my whiskey as I spoke.

‘How's it going? You're definitely OK with the job then?'

‘Oh yes, he'd not do that to me, not Father Jessop. Known me too long.'

‘He did it to me.'

‘He can't fathom women, that one. Makes him uncomfortable.'

‘Yes? I thought he was jealous.'

‘Perhaps that too. But you've been doing all right for yourself? That's a powerful lot of shopping you've got there, for sure.'

‘Oh, yes. Getting sacked was the best thing that's ever happened to me! I should thank you, I suppose.'

‘You can thank me anytime you happen to be passing, Lucy Doyle!'

He laughed and went on as I found myself smiling and blushing ever so slightly.

‘I'm not serious. You're with that fellow Niall Flynn? You're to be married, I hear?'

His words were like a sting.

‘You hear wrong. I've been seeing Niall, yes, but I've no plans for marriage!'

‘Is that the way of it, then?'

‘It is, and if I've a mind to pay you a visit, I will!'

He took a thoughtful swallow of his pint. I was seething, and I had to know.

‘Who told you me and Niall were getting married?'

‘Davy Miles, if I remember right.'

‘The barman at Gogarty's?'

‘That's the fellow.'

His smile hid laughter, and I could just imagine what else Davy Miles had told him. I sighed. My phone went. Todd went back to his pint as I answered.

‘Hello? Yes. Aaron. No! And I don't care how big it is! Jesus, give me a break will you.'

I'd cut the connection, and the last sentence was addressed to empty air. Todd was looking puzzled as I
quickly turned the phone off, but he kept his thoughts to himself. I drained my whiskey, wondering why life had to be so complicated. Todd spoke again.

‘So, if you've a mind, you'd be very welcome?'

It was an invitation, and I very nearly accepted. My mood wasn't right, but if I had not been expected home for my tea I'd have gone for it anyway, perhaps after a few more drinks. As it was, I stood up, made a polite apology and stepped around the table to kiss him, full on mouth, just to show I really meant it, which was the exact moment Niall's father and elder brother chose to walk into the bar.

31 August, 6.05 p.m. – following a hasty departure from the Duchess, Lucy Doyle decides she is going to Inagua.

WHAT I SHOULD
have done was stand my ground. Easy to say.

Not so easy to do. Besides, I could hardly point out to Mr Flynn that since I had actively participated in allowing his son to shag two of my friends it was only fair that I be allowed to snog who I pleased without criticism. He wouldn't have understood.

On the Wednesday morning I made a hasty exit from the house, keen to postpone the inevitable confrontation with Niall. I was still at the KMC headquarters, which presumably meant a day, or part of a day, with Charles King, and with any luck the rest of it shopping.

He was in Edinburgh, leaving me at a loose end. Knowing that Leanne was still slaving away in the cube farm, and that the others were all working too, I felt it was only fair I do something other than loll around in Charles King's penthouse. Andrew Miller was more than a little surprised by my attitude, but gave me a work station and something to do, justifying sets of figures, which I suspected was a pointless task as there were no mistakes.

It kept me busy, though, along with surfing the net for info on Inagua, which turned out to be one of the remotest islands of the Caribbean. I also passed on my
acceptance of his offer to Charles King, and during the course of the day I received three texts: