Well Played Ch. 03

HARPER

Kate hovered by the reception desk and then strode towards me like a hologram split: once my best friend, now my arse nemesis.

She was wearing heels with ankle straps; patent black stilettos made for puncturing the egos of impudent males. These were the kind of shoes that most women wouldn't wear to the office. These were the kind of shoes that scraped across Rory's back for God knows how long before I walked in on them that night.

Her suit was a deep, damson purple, like the bites she'd left on his belly that one time. He told me they were injuries from his fencing class. (Ben told me this was my own fault for dating a guy who "pranced about with a sword like a French fry.")

I still get an acidic lump in my throat when she walks past my open door; it's like she's coming to slap me all over again. The citrusy musk of Clinique Happy hits me first -- the perfume we shared as room-mates; the one I'd never spot on Rory -- and then I'm braced for the heat of her palm across my face. Don't you call me a fucking whore. It's not my fault that he wants me. Maybe if you paid more attention to him...

Joanna, my line manager, took pity on me after that grim Thursday. She moved me on to Ben's team...and the rest, as they say, is history.

"So how's your pitch going?" Kate hovered in the doorway. There were few things of mine she chose not to trespass on but fortunately, my office was one of them.

Not that it stopped her from striking behind enemy lines.

"Good." I tried to look normal. Perky, even. "We're done, actually."

I was rewarded with a frosty nod and pursed, lined lips like a mockery of kissing.

"I'd wish you luck, but...you'll probably need more than that."

"Whereas you could stand to lose a few in the back." Appearing from nowhere, Nathan craned his neck and made a pantomime of checking out Kate's arse -- pained wince and all. I'd never seen her plucked brows sail so fast towards her hairline.

"Cunt," she hissed, shoving past him.

"No thanks, sweetie. But it's a lovely offer!" He waved theatrically as she tottered away. "So what crawled up her arse and died?"

"She...um..." I was blushing so hard that my brain went vacant. "We don't get on so well."

"Oh, I know that. I've heard all about...stuff." He closed the door behind him -- gulp -- and perched on the edge of my desk. "Why does she feel the need to rub it in? It's not the first time I've seen her do it, either. Evil bitch."

"I think your last two words pretty much answer the question," I managed.

Oh, he smelled good today: fresh and delectable. Almost minty.

"You don't have to put up with it, you know. You could speak to HR."

The smile caught my lips, and the tug of war spread them in a delighted crescent.

"Or apparently, Mr Ironside will save me from her evil clutches by making disparaging comments about her bum." I knew how much Kate would obsess over that, too -- I wasted years telling her she wasn't fat, her legs didn't look short in that dress, her shoulders were definitely not manly...

"She was asking for a low blow." He nudged my arm and I nearly dropped my coffee. "Speaking of which..."

Feign innocence! If it's possible while staring at that mouth -- the one that did those things to me --

I blinked at him.

"Hmm?"

Either it just got darker at half eight in the morning or Nathan was a bit flush in the cheeks.

"How many times?"

"How many...?" I put the coffee down before adrenaline shook a spillage.

"You know." He threw the door a glance, as if he needed to be sure we were really alone. "How many times...after Saturday...have you...?"

"Thought about it?" The collar of my shirt felt stiff beneath my fingers. "Um...a couple of times."

He chuckled, low and gravelly.

"I'm not talking about thoughts, Harper. I want to know how many times you...played...thinking about me."

Oh Christ. Did he really just ask me that?

My blood bubbled a million magic eight-balls, and they all brought a wobbly yes to the surface.

Nathan brushed a thumb beneath my hot chin.

"No need to be embarrassed," he said.

Unlikely, said the eight-balls.

"You can't just go around asking people things like that. I mean --"

"Three times." He folded his arms, eyes bright and playful. "The second time was probably the best, though." Now he was suppressing an impish grin. "And the messiest."

I think a part of me actually preferred sparring with Kate.

"Nathan!"

"What?" There were those teeth, white and immaculate, playing over his full bottom lip. "I thought you liked our games."

"I do, but --" But! Erm. But...? "But it was just a kiss --"

"What it was isn't the point though, is it? It's what it wasn't."

"That's true." I leant back in my chair; the air was cooler there. Safer. "But I...three times?"

"It was deserving of more, but a man's gotta eat." He smiled. "Go on, Harp. I know you did."

Sometimes, I want to stick a pencil through his hand just to punish the arrogance -- but then that's partly because I want his blood on my desk. Something that's been inside him, on something that's mine. The way he teases me, I'm never a hundred percent sure that his agenda is sex; there's an edge to it, as if the chase is what fuels him. Borrowed time and borrowed desire.

Maybe that was why I found the courage to look him in the eye at that moment -- I'd spent too long these past few months being scared.

"Yesterday afternoon," I said softly.

His pupils swelled until there was barely a slither of green to suck round them. Outlook good, whispered the eight-balls.

"Just once...?"

"Once, but...I'm a girl, so..."

"Oh." The pleasure softened his face but hardened everything else about him; squared shoulders, stiff elbows, skin pulled over his knuckles like it was stretched on a rack. Those fists rubbed together absently. "I have to get to work, but I want another little sparring match."

I pressed a cheek -- still warmed by the froth of bravery -- into my palm.

"You do?"

"I'll send you an email. Be sure to read it. All of it." He got to his feet and scraped chestnut hair from his eyes. "I'll catch you later, sensei. Behave yourself."

Oh...reply hazy. Try again later.

****

Within an hour, I was sitting in a meeting with two turds from the FHM marketing department who only listened when Ben spoke.

"We're concentrating quite heavily on fashion this quarter," said Turd Number One. He had a wet, rubbery mouth and a neck that swelled from his collar like bad sausage. "If we're going to place a spirit then it needs to be a young, sophisticated brand."

"But something our audience has heard of." Turd Number Two jabbed a finger at my cleavage (he meant my face, I'm sure, but then he'd been talking to my breasts for the past twenty minutes). "Nothing especially...foreign."

Ben took a sip of water.

"Absolut has a multi-faceted image. It's classic, but there's an edge to it. Something just a little bit dark. If you're doing a work-wear feature then it'd be a profitable pairing; it conjures images of smart bars after the office..."

My iPhone vibrated on my lap. I opened the email with a light tap of my finger and tried to glance down inconspicuously.

Sent by: Nathan.Ironside

To: Harper.Reid

Subject: The first time...

I want to tell you about the first time I got off yesterday, and how I thought about you for every stroke.

Christ. I was going to need new knickers by lunchtime. I glanced up; Ben was showing the turds some artwork. Thank God they weren't interested in me in the first place...

I started not long after I got in, when I could still taste you after that kiss. Lying in my bed, naked, the way I thought you would be too...I haven't been so hard in months. Since I'd just felt your mouth for the first time, you can imagine what I was thinking about.

"Is that spray-on latex?" said Turd Number Two, cocking an eyebrow.

"It is. Suits her, doesn't it?" Ben passed them another storyboard.

"She's...quite something..."

I thought about you sucking me, Harper. How I'd peel that sheet away from those gorgeously stiff nipples and have you rub them all over my cock. You'd be on your knees, of course. You're the perfect height...I worked that out the first day I saw you.

"I like the colours you've used there," said Turd Number One. "Very this-season. Our readers are getting more adept at noticing things like that."

Ben rolled his eyes at me -- yeah, right -- and I stifled a giggle.

I bet you've got a tight little throat. Made for fucking. Your tongue was so warm and smooth when I kissed you, like it's just the right shape for lapping the underside of my cock. I won't lie...when I started to pump my fist up and down, that was what got me even harder -- you on your knees like a proper cock tease while I stroked those nipples. You moaning while you tried to swallow me, your hips bucking as I pulled on them.

I very nearly whimpered as I read that last line.

I bet you want to know what I'd be saying. That's it, mmm, that's the right spot. Suck me like that. Just like that. Good girl. I bet you're getting so wet for me, I can't wait to taste it...

Oh, he was right there. I've never had such an, erm, productive meeting.

"Harper?"

I snapped up.

"Hmm?"

"What's the name of that photographer? The woman who did these shots." Ben passed me the case folder. The plastic cover was cool beneath my thumbs.

"Oh. Let me check." Flick, flick. "Jess Appleby."

Turd Number Two clicked his fingers and pointed at my chest again.

"Yes. Yes. She did the Highstreet Honeys calendar with us in '09."

I thought about fucking your mouth -- getting in deep, making you choke just a little bit. Pulling back and stroking your cheeks when you moaned in complaint. Such a good little cocksucker, Harper, aren't you? I know you will be. I know when I finally get you on your knees like this, you'll please me any damn way I want.

Oh, will I, now...?

I came all over my stomach -- buckets of it -- and I thought about my cum dripping down your chin, splattering on those pretty nipples. Wanted to lay you on your back and lick them clean -- really tease them with my tongue -- and then give you a long, hard kiss. Mmm. Would you like that?

"I said, would you like that?"

"What?" I spoke too sharply -- panic and arousal cracked my words.

Ben gave me a strange look.

"Would you like to have lunch with Mr Locker and Mr Fernandez? I'm busy, unfortunately -- you could take them around the corner to Chervil?"

My nod was the slow lilt of relief.

"I'll ring through and get a table booked."

Lunch with the turds. Well. I suppose at this rate, I'd need the conversational equivalent of a cold shower...

****

Now it's your turn, Nathan wrote. I sneaked off to the toilets as soon as the meeting ended and huddled in a stall to comply.

I'd never written anything like it before. There had been a few dirty texts here and there, love letters written inside my high school boyfriend's maths book (sorry you had to read that, Mrs Hipkins)...but nothing so intimate.

Nothing to a guy I'd never been intimate with, let alone deemed worthy of the secrets.

Still, he did call the email first times.

I started playing in the shower. Soapy hands stroking the nipples you like so much, then down my belly, in between my legs. I'd been wet and ready there since you kissed me.

This is a bad idea on work email, my brain warned. I'll delete it afterwards, I retorted.. The eight-balls said yes.

In my room, I towelled off and I was so sensitive -- it felt rough on my skin. Then I got into bed and trailed my fingers down to my...

What word am I meant to use? Crap. What's sexy? What doesn't sound like a biology textbook or a bad vampire sex novel?

...pussy. And my clit. I made little circles over it and thought about what it would be like to have you there, stroking for me. I even thought about what your cock would look like, how big it would be, how hard it would be against my thigh. I felt little ripples inside at the idea of you on top, stretching me.

The more I confessed to, the easier it got. It was almost cathartic. With every fork-tongued truth, I got just a bit wetter; what would his response be? Would he like reading this? Where would we go from here...?

And I wanted to have you there so badly so you could lick me. It's what I love most of all...a slow, massaging tongue on the insides of my thighs. Moving up to my clit. Having you suckle it and rub it and play with it until I yelp your name, over and over. When my orgasm started to build, I slowed down so it would take longer, still just toying with my clit...and then when it hit me, I thought about how I'd push a hand into your hair and pull, pull, pull. The same rhythm as my hips.

Do you like that?

I laid back against the stall, breathing deeply. The image of him between my legs had materialised as I typed, pixel by pixel; I was reluctant to let it disappear. It was just so...pretty. It was a moment or so before I pressed send.

A very dirty girl walked back to her office, her ankles wobbling on her sleek court heels.

In the corridor, I caught sight of Nathan through the glass walls of a board room; he sat broad-shouldered and smart-mannered at the end of a dark wood table as he nodded along with Joanna. I lingered for a moment -- I couldn't not -- and realised that he was paying more attention to his lap. To my email.

Then, he looked up and saw me. Sweat beaded between my breasts and mimicked the damp lower down.

Nathan bit his lip. I was still breathing as if his hand was in my knickers, not spread on the table to remind me just how far his fingers spanned. The faintest flicker of a grin stretched my cheeks before I hurried back to my office and collapsed into the chair; I had articles to approve before my lunch date with the turds.

A few minutes later, Nathan's reply landed in my inbox.

Fucking delicious, it said.

****

We'd been avoiding each other. It seemed appropriate; made the email notification tingle twice as hard along my spine. At the end of the first day, Nathan pointed out that I had an orgasm less than him to report on, and shouldn't I even things out? It was only fair...

Just before five PM, a list of instructions arrived in my inbox. I'd spent the day in underwear made of candyfloss and barbed wire, and I was damned if I wasn't following them as soon as I got chance.

It had to be in the bathroom; nowhere else had a lockable door to shield my indiscretion, or the soft bubble of a frothing tap to cover the breath spewing likewise. I waited until Ben went out to kick-boxing, ran a hot bath full of scented oils and with one leg hooked over the rim, came very, very hard for Nathan Ironside.

Then I sent him an email and told him all about it.

****

Tuesday was excruciating. He was stuck in a pitch with some awful IT company; I spent the day hiding in my office, awaiting the little bell-sound notification that made me quiver the day before. I'd had nothing by four o'clock and was contemplating an early escape for a bucket of wine.

"What do you think?" I said to Caroline. "Could we get away with it?"

She stroked her tweed dress absently.

"Possibly...when Felicity's gone." She peered through my window at the manager's office door. "But she's still here. I'd bet she will be until Nathan's team are done with those phone app people..."

My face hit my hands with a dull thump.

"Ugh."

"Bad day?"

"Something like that." I rubbed my eyes.

"We could still go drinking," she offered. "There's a new cocktail bar behind Topshop that needs trying out."

"You know what? No. I'm not sinking to alcohol. I'm better than..." I gestured to my computer screen. "This."

"Work sucks, huh."

I pressed my lips together.

"Yep, it does."

It was cramped-in-the-tube o'clock when my iPhone went off and I knew it was him, knew it. I elbowed two disapproving businessmen on my attempt to fish it out of my bag.

Sorry for the wait, sensei. Fucking work. I'd like to thank you for the excruciating hard-on I've had since last night x

Reading his words public gave them a third dimension; the fizz of the private flashed in for all to see, just like the blood I'd longed to splatter on my desk. The way he wrote, I could hear him talking -- no text speak, no abbreviations. He didn't scrimp on a thing.

I'm surprised you can walk, I typed, grinning. His reply sounded a moment later:

Jesus, so am I! But you'll be a good girl for me tonight, won't you? Been thinking about it all day...ever had somebody listen while you played?

No, I hadn't. The mere thought turned my skin to a playground for goose pimples, even on the clammy train. But Ben was going out again, I'd have the flat to myself...and God, I wanted to hear his breath rush down the receiver and muffle in the abyss of static.

There's a first time for everything.

I pressed send.

****

T minus one hour until Nathan called, and Ben was still tarting himself up.

"Where the hell are you going, anyway?" I said.

He unbuttoned the third shirt he'd tried on that evening, snorting at himself in the mirror above the fireplace.

"A party."

"And is this Nicole going to be at the party...?"

I've never seen him go so pale, so quickly.

"Fuck. I hope not." He peeled the freshly ironed t-shirt off the hanger and wriggled into it. "Well...not exactly. But you know what I mean."

"Sure do." I'd been umming and ahhing over whether to confide in him about Nathan, but Ben was hardly in the mood to dish out advice. So I snuggled on the sofa with the laptop, flicked the TV on counted the minutes until his lift arrived.

"Fuck it. No."

"Ben, you look fine --"

"I look like a student!" He stomped back to his bedroom. The door slammed and I heard him cursing as he rattled through the wardrobe.

There was a festival on the TV and I turned it up to drown out Ben's ranting. The lead singer of some new rock band was kneeling on the stage, a mess of dark hair obscuring his double-handed grip of the microphone; his clothes clung in the places Ben wanted them to -- bulky shoulders, narrow hips. If there's one thing I'm a sucker for (besides spa treatments) then it's a bit of metal man-candy. Tortured and brooding does it for me every time.

A sizzle of nerves seared through me as I logged on to Facebook: Kate and Rory were having one of their painfully public spats. I know, I know -- I should have deleted them ages ago, but can you blame me for wanting to snoop? Ever since Rory swapped the picture of us from our hiking weekend in Wales to the smug one of him and Kate (in a seedy club somewhere, no doubt), I've checked his profile every day.

I was never that fussed when we were dating. Maybe I trusted him; maybe I just wasn't that interested. But when we shared a bed at night, when I could still smell him on the pillows as I got up in the morning...it never felt like I could learn anything new from a silly computer page.

How times change, huh.

Kate and Rory's bickering usually started with a snarky comment under a status update. Not having a gud day today L Kate's would say. Her shallow new friends all swarmed like bees beneath: wat's up hun? U ok sweetie? Bleugh. Thanks girls, she replied. Just had the mutha of rows. Men! Xx