EXTRACT (NC17):

I saw him changing at work the next morning – we kept spare uniforms in the branch and he’d spilled some beer on his waistcoat the night before. I remembered it happening. We’d stayed on in the office after everyone had gone, then we brought in some bottles and drank and laughed and touched each other up until we were close to desperate to fuck. I swung my leg over the arm of his chair and planted my ass on his lap – that’s when some of his beer got splashed on his clothes, Didn’t matter to me, I was intending to take them off very soon. I took his face in my hands, staring at those astonishing, heavy-lidded blue eyes and pushed my mouth on to his.

We hadn’t left the branch until long after midnight. This morning, I shivered and groaned, blaming my disorientation on a head thick with lack of sleep and excess sexual exercise.

“You've been working out?” I asked.

He'd never shown any interest in the gym before, but as he stripped to his shirt in the small staff room, I examined the changes in his body more clearly. We'd kept most of the lights off last night – I’d fumbled with his creased shirt and the open fly of his starched, pinstripe trousers, scrabbling for the flesh underneath. I hadn’t bothered with much foreplay - for me, the ends had justified the hurried means. But now, looking more closely, I could see his shoulders had thickened out - some of the smaller jackets would be too tight on him. There was a sharply defined shape of abs down his torso: I recalled the clenching of muscles under my hands; a tight belly under the waist of his trousers.

My pulse quickened, despite the early hour, an uneasy combination of remembered excitement and sudden nervousness. It had been a damned good night, a quick, frenetic hour of hand and blow jobs, followed by some fierce, dirty fucking. It had left me gasping for air when I came for yet another time, and moaning rather more loudly than I usually liked. But it had also left me worrying that the whole damned thing about dating would come up again, despite him seeming just as keen on a fast, desperate shag rather than love's young dream. Even though he never mentioned anything beyond asking me to go faster, to pump him harder...

Maybe the nagging worry was just a symptom of feeling well and truly fucked. Vic had certainly been a damned sight more aggressive than before he left town. He was watching me. The look was as intense as ever, although different through those new eyes. And the way he looked at me was thrilling, gazing hungrily at me down that slim, straight nose...

“Have you had a nose job too?” I blurted out. Hell, had I taken my eyes off his crotch at any time last night? I seemed to have been missing some important observations.

He grinned. I couldn't help it, my gaze slipped down to his mouth and stayed there. Fuck observations! Memories were far better – erotic memories of how that mouth had suckled at my neck, threatening to leave hickies on top of hickies. How that mouth had laughed and pouted against my briefs, dampening the cotton, tracing around the shape of my straining cock. How those full lips had sucked me down to the balls and drawn every last damned drop out of me, skilful and greedy, like it hadn't been me who'd given him his first lesson in that particular management skill...

I stared at those lips. Guys didn't have those injections, did they? Only vain, deranged women did. The Vic who used to work with us had a thin, ungenerous mouth. But the Vic we now worked for - this one, here in front of me this morning - this one who'd last night pushed me on to my belly on the floor of the showroom and rimmed me until I wept with frustration and begged him to do me back, hard - had a mouth framed by thick, delicious lips. I knew the size of them, because I'd nipped and bitten them and slid my tongue in between them. I was still staring when he left the staff room. He was whistling softly.

The room was warm enough – the heating always goes on, the first of October, without fail. Even so, goose bumps trickled from the back of my neck, all the way down my spine.


Clare London, Author
Writing… Man to Man 

http://www.darkpearldiva.com
http://www.myspace.com/clarelondon
http://claredivatoo.livejournal.com/