The past few weeks I have been able to clear my desk at the office and for the first time since I hit the ground running at TOL, I am ahead of myself and even managing to do some forward planning and think about streamlining and reorganizing. What has caused this easing off of my schedule, do I hear you ask? Simple.

The boss has been away and for periods of time even completely incommunicado. And, of course, with my typical contrariness instead of being a time for me to rejoice and revel in the end of my round the clock devotion to all things TOL, I was like the chief mourner at a funeral.

Friends have been jumping on this opportunity for me to join them on nights' out or to come round for dinner and a natter - but I have been crying off. He might call and I might miss it. Sure, he has my mobile number but if I go out I might not hear it or will have to switch it off or the batteries might run our or the reception might be poor....Do I sound neurotic? Surely not.

Then there is the constant dread. This operation is not some meet and greet clients' junket but a really dangerous stunt; he wouldn't let anyone else touch it. That really gave me the heebie jeebies. I didn't say anything, naturally. I'm not allowed to have an opinion or I get that face he puts on. He reminds me subtly that I am just the girl he sleeps with - not his wife or partner or anyone with a claim on him. Not that he ever would be so cruel as to say that. Terry isn't like that. But you know what his look means.

So I say nothing, keep my head down and treat it like business, just ensuring that his travel arrangements are as comfortable as possible, all the paperwork and essentials are up to his rigorous standards and he has enough shirts, his suits are picked up from the dry cleaners' - I even dashed out at the last minute and bought him a whole stack of underwear and socks - just so he would have everything fresh and new while he was away. I also made his last night as memorable as I could in the vain hope that no one but me ever gets the benefit of him in his new underwear but I don't hold out much hope of that.

We have this understanding, you see. He said that it was better if we just regard this as a sort of open relationship, see other people from time to time, date when he's in town, keep it all very quiet so that (heaven forbid!) people won't start  thinking we're a couple, which for some reason is forbidden. He said he has this sort of relationship with an American woman and he kind of lives with her when he is in the States (which frankly is rarely these days so she must be a pretty tolerant sort of woman). He also has some sort of other 'friendships' about which he was even vaguer but it seems that there are some other women that he occasionally sees when they give him a call. Plus there is the ONE - he, naturally, never speaks of her but any halfwit could work out that he is actually in love with someone who left him. I can see he still broods over her. There are times I find him staring out of the office window into space, or sitting at the desk fingering a snap of her that he still keeps on his pin board. I don't know her name but she is gorgeous and thin and looks like some kind of fashion plate. So as a result of this complex web of relationships with women, we have this understanding.

I'm not sure quite where I became a signatory to this understanding. But Terry is the sort of bloke who tells you what you are going to think and if you know what's good for you, you just accept it. My friends say I am making a doormat of myself, that this bloke has me where he wants me, that I will never win him by becoming his slave, that if the other woman turns up, I will be history. But they don't know Terry. If they did, they would realize two salient facts.

 1. I am too much in love to be able to change my behaviour one iota, as pathetic as it might seem.

 2. Half of Terry is more than ten times what any other man could ever give me. Even if I have the sense to see that this is not the ideal grounds to a lasting partnership. I would still rather have this for now than never have known the joy he gives me.

 

He calls whenever he can. Not just office stuff, although that is usually the excuse for most of his contacts. But not all. When he calls at night, he is looking for something else. Not sex -although God knows we have plenty of phone sex, for which I am eternally grateful. If he calls me late night then he must be alone and for at least one night, I don't fall to sleep imagining him and some other woman who is prettier, cleverer, more sophisticated and elegant than me.

He was in Italy last month and I know he visited a woman called Heather. The number came up on the digital display when he called from her place. I wasn't sure whether to be mad or satisfied. He was at her house but he still called me to see was I fine, had I remembered to keep the safety lock on the door (he worries about the area I live, it is pretty shitty. A girl was raped just a street away recently on her way back from work) He was so sweet, told me he missed me, wanted to know all about what I'd been up to, even sounded a bit suspicious when I mentioned going to a club with some mates the following weekend as if he was concerned that I might get hit on - was he perhaps a little jealous that I might pick up someone for the night in this 'open relationship' of ours?

This is a different kind of trip this time though. This is an extraction. An ongoing and long-term hostage situation has entered its final stages and the senior management has deemed that the drawn out and protracted negotiations were never going to result in the safe return of the victim. It was time to take the ultimate risk and countenance the rare issue of an aggressive rescue. For this, senior management refused to pass the buck to one of their operatives and would only 'go in' if they were at the helm. For senior management read Terry and Dino. They would not take chances with the lives of their staff and reserved the right to override others and take the definitive action themselves. I suspect this was for a variety of reasons. They are great bosses and never play games with the safety of those who work for them as I know previous employers had done with them. They never ask a man to do what they are not prepared to do themselves. They are also perfectionists and arrogant enough not to trust anyone but themselves to get the job done right. But at the back of it all, I think they are bored at times and actually enjoy the adrenalin rush of extreme danger too much not to want the big jobs for themselves. I heard Terry refer to it on the phone as 'fun'. That aspect of his psyche terrifies me.

He rang on the eve of departure but he was fairly uncommunicative and brusque; something about wiring some funds to his bank to cover a large payment to some guy called Jack that they had employed and a formal -'I'll be out of range for a few days. Hold the fort, will ya?' He sounded tense and distracted and I suppose that would account for the fact that he didn't say anything personal - or perhaps it was because he was with other people. He wouldn't want Dino to suspect about us.

That would be really shocking, now, wouldn't it?

It went well. Dino called in yesterday to say that everyone was fine although Terry was being stitched up. I panicked a bit then but he assured me it was just a gash in his thigh. Well, if that was all it was, why didn't he contact me himself later? Two days' later, today, there was to be a big review meeting in London; Dino called and said they would try to make it but Deacon could chair it if they didn't get back in time. 'Can I leave that with you, baby?' Dino said. Yeah sure, Mr. O'Leary. I am after all just an employee. Here to see to your every need.

And did someone stitch up Terry's mouth while they were at it?

I didn't say that, of course. I just thought it.

TOL London. Conference Room. 9 a.m.

"Boss sends his apologies. Gonna try conference call and if not we run the video. They want a full update. Paula, honey, can you set that up? And thought we had ordered coffee and pastries....can you see what happened to them?" Jon Deacon gave me his usual sleazy once over. He gets on my nerves. I just don't know what they see in him. He's next in line after Terry in the London office and although I believe he's got a great track record as a negotiator, he's about as obvious as boil on the end of your nose when it comes to women. He's married with a couple of kids and a very nice wife but is into anything in skirts that he can get. Plus he has that way with him that lets you know he thinks there are two kinds of women in the world. The pretty ones who are good for nothing but sex and the ugly ones who have to be good at their jobs because they can't get a man. I bloody hate him. He treats me like a waitress.

But I just nodded and jumped up, aware that every bloody eye in the room (apart from the two other women there) followed my departing rear. I know I started out playing on my looks but since I've really settled here, I'm enjoying proving that I am actually more than tits and arse and a plaything for men. Terry never makes me feel like that.

Well, only when we're alone and I want to be a plaything. But at the office he keeps a respectful distance and always treats me as if I were a valued and equal staff member. Muttering to myself about the overactive libidos of K and R men in general, I pushed the door hard and sailed through ---- to walk straight into Dino and Terry.

"Everyone settled? Good, let's make a start...." Terry rubbed his hands together and grinned at me. "Any chance of some coffee and something to eat?"

My mouth fell open and for a second I thought I was going to cry or scream or fling my arms around him but I managed to keep control and just sort of squeaked before running off to organize breakfast. My heart was pounding and I know I was flushed. Michelle, one of the secretaries, asked me was I all right. She thought I looked like I had a temperature.

I think I did. 

So the meeting progressed. A steady stream of recently wrapped up cases were dealt with, the men responsible coming in to deliver their definitive reports in the usual terse, military fashion that they all favoured. I sat back and listened - or pretended to anyway. In fact while I appeared to be taking notes and supplying figures when asked, I was actually just staring at Terry. He looked good, so much better than I had expected. He had been limping slightly, favouring on leg more than the other and I could see from time to time he sort of winced and adjusted his position in the chair, but apart from that he did look really well. Relaxed. On his game. Easy.

Once or twice he caught my eye and smiled over, winked or raised his cup. No one noticed - but I didn't miss it. I ran my hands through my hair and threw back my shoulders. I had on a fairly formal grey suit but I unfastened the jacket button; the fine cotton blouse beneath was tight and revealed the pale outline of my lacy bra. I saw his eyes drop to my nipples and how the tip of his tongue peeked from the side of his mouth.

Reaching over, I helped myself to a pastry and tore off a corner, letting the sweet bread linger on my lips, licking the syrupy topping idly as I listened to a rather dry report of a successful recovery in East Pakistan. Terry's eyes flickered to me and I sucked it in, licking my lips and pouting. He swallowed hard and adjusted his seat some more.

"Paula? Do we have the latest from Colombia? I can't find the folder here..." Terry asked. I stood up and reached over the desk. My breasts fell forward and spilled over the edge of the balcony bra. Several eyes looked but there was only one pair I was interested in. I saw the flicker of a smile on his lips.

"I think it must be on the other pile..." I said, walked round the table and took up a position next to him, bending over the table and stretching until I found the file I was looking for. I could feel his eyes on my bum. As I straightened and handed it to him with a 'Here you go, Mr. Thorne' I felt more than his eyes. His fingertips had edged under the hem of my skirt and brushed the skin of my inner thighs. It was so erotic in that conference room with a table full of people all completely unaware of what was actually passing between us.

Or that my knickers were already dripping.

The report backs went on until after midday when we took a potty break and I slipped out to make sure lunch was set out in the anteroom. They always do everything properly on such occasions and I had ordered from Terry's favourite Italian restaurant: a groaning table of antipasti, salads, pastas, and desserts, all washed down with Verdicchio and Chianti Classico.

Terry chatted amiably with everyone but kept me in his sights; we did not speak, of course, in case that would have been too obvious. Over coffee, he gave a subtle tilt of his head so I excused myself, saying I needed to freshen up, and made my way towards the ladies' room. Out in the corridor, I changed direction and ducked into his office.

Seconds later, he joined me. We were in each other's arms as if drawn by some magnetic force and against the heavy oak door, he kissed me, running his hands down tracing the outline of my body as he explored my mouth. "Oh God, Terry... why didn't you call?"

He sighed and dipped to kiss me again before pulling away and answering, his voice husky and deep. "Complicated. Needed to see you. Phone useless..." he gasped out.

"I was so scared...you were hurt...."

"Just my leg...show you later...coupla stitches..." He slipped his hand into the opening of my blouse and massaged my breast. I moaned softly. I could feel his hard on pressing against my lower stomach.

"I want you so much...so much I want to tell you...." he murmured into my ear.

"Not...here....we've got to get back..." I protested vainly. He groaned and pulled away, running his hand through his hair and pacing up and down, breathing slowly.

I sank onto a chair and fastened up my blouse, straightening my skirt and rearranging my hair.

"We get out of here as soon as we can. I'll meet you at your place. No more now. Not here. Christ, I've gotta wash my face..." He disappeared into his restroom; I slipped back out and made my own visit at last to the ladies. Re-did the face. Prepared to enter the arena again.

The afternoon session was forward policy planning and if the morning had been tedious then this was infinitely worse. It would have been boring at the best of times but in the mood I was in with damp knickers and my heart racing, every second we had to be in the same room without touching seemed to raise the barometer. I could feel heat rolling off him in waves and wondered if my arousal was as evident to other men there as it was to him.

I knew he was thinking about me even when he wasn't looking my way. I watched his hand holding a pen and doodling idly. What was he drawing? He is a rather clever cartoonist and I imagined it was some erotic version of me. He calls me SuperCass when he's being silly and draws this sort of voluptuous X-woman version of me in a sprayed on leather cat suit bringing him coffee accompanied by comments like: "Miss Cassidy, oral relief to go. It's been awhile..."

"Miss Cassidy? Just see to this will you?" I jumped at the sound of his voice. Terry was holding out a folded sheet of paper. I stumbled from my chair rather ungainly, took the offered note, opened it and blushed all colours. It was exactly what I had imagined - except a whole lot cruder. SuperCass was splayed out on the conference table with her large breasts spilling out of the unzipped suit. The caption read: Miss Cassidy reacquaints Mr. Thorne with two major global issues...

"I expect a full debrief later," he snapped with a preoccupied look on his face as I choked to try and stop laughing.

"Yes, Sir," I stammered and left the room for a short while to compose myself, sticking the lurid cartoon into my jacket pocket, still laughing at his cheek. I picked up my mobile and dialed his number. It rang a few times and then he answered.

"Wouldn't you like to know what I'd like to be doing now?" He cleared his throat but didn't reply.

"I would like to be on my knees underneath the table with your hard cock in my mouth. I can almost imagine how it tastes...Mmmmmm....or would you prefer me to rub it between my naked breasts...bet you're hard just imagining that....go on, admit it....you are sitting there with a giant hard on and trying to act so cool..."

"Thank you for the reminder. I'd love to come. Appreciate the offer..." He hung up and left me grinning. You just can't put him off his stride.

Back in my place, I chanced a glance at him and he gave me his steady intense stare, as cocky as you please. I love him in this mode. I just knew he was going to be like a force of nature when we got alone. His tongue was resting on his upper lip and he dropped his hand to his lap then shot me a direct glance and rolled his eyes. I rolled mine back and opened my mouth, drawing my hand down my neck to my breast and pulling at my blouse as if I was very hot and fanning myself. His nostrils flared but he turned away.

I drew my eyes from him too and forced myself to concentrate again. Dino was sitting a few places along facing me and I caught him smiling rather knowingly over at me. I wondered what his expression meant.

He's an interesting one, is Dino. I'm not sure I've quite figured him out yet. On the surface he's a smart arse with a cocky savvy for the ladies and a pretty crude turn of phrase that for some reason he gets away with. There is, beneath the bravado, a non- threatening side to him that women sense. He's no Jon Deacon, that's for sure. I get the impression Mr. O'Leary actually really likes women for more than just their vital statistics and that he also is an excellent reader of human behaviour. He just chooses to mask that with an irreverent front. One thing is abundantly clear to me. Terry has a great respect and love for him and it seems to be reciprocated. I have always wondered what draws these two very different men to be such close friends.

My mind was drifting again. But at least this time it hadn't been on Terry and how much I wanted to jump him. You'd think all he was to me was a sex object. He isn't. Well, he is. But he isn't.

Now that's about as clear as mud, isn't it? But you know how women are. We want to shag 'em blind, wrap 'em up and nag them to death. All at the same time. Come to think of it, Terry is like that with me. I mean, he's always fussing about me and telling me what's good for me - and he does rather take bonking to an art form. Are we at the end of the day just as irrational as each other - but in a different way?

Am I beginning to sound like Carrie in Sex and The City?

Which makes me think of Terry again. Mr. Big. Is that why she calls him that, too?

I wish I could stop thinking about Terry's cock. The more I try, the more I can't. I'm scared to pick up a pen in case I absentmindedly doodle a rather large erect penis on my note pad. Wouldn't be the first time.

"Did we get the returns from..." Dino's voice managed to pierce my lurid dream world and I started to speak, flustered, not sure what returns he was talking about. "Honey...I was talking to Fiona. Different department..." There was a slight frisson of restrained amusement around the table at my stuttering outburst. I blushed bright red and wished the ground would open up and swallow me.

Then I saw Terry looking at me and smiling. It was a really gentle smile, guaranteed to give confidence to even the most clumsy of idiots. It was sort of indulgent and dreamy, as if he knew I'd been thinking of him and it made him happy even if I had just put my foot in it and made it obvious I wasn't listening at an important meeting of the executive.

"Terry...is there an answer coming...? I mean we've only been here six hours..." Dino's sardonic comment jolted a response from Terry who had been oblivious to whatever he had been asked (Don't ask me, I wasn't listening either) while we had been locking eyes. Of course he has quicker wits than I do...

"Sorry. Trouble with the hearing aid. Run it past me again."

He doesn't even blink an eye or get embarrassed. I wish I could react in that cool way he has, instead of acting like a complete ditz.

No one tittered at him. Dino just raised an eyebrow and gave him this inscrutable look, to which Terry smirked smugly, and then he repeated the question, this time getting a crisp and informative summation delivered in Terry's succinct style. I love the way he talks with that deep resonant voice which puts you at ease right away and makes you think he could do just about anything. I love the definite way he phrases things, his laid back Australian accent tamed by a precise British intonation, his expressive hand gestures that are both masculine and elegant at the same time. Let's face it. I love him. Period. Hopelessly.

The meeting drew to a close and began breaking off into social chit chat as people gathered their papers, loaded their attaché cases or shut down laptops.

"Okay folks..." Dino stood up and announced. "Let's adjourn to the Cat and Canary and loosen up. Drinks are on the boss. Terry, I mean," he smiled sweetly over.

"No can do, boys and girls. I've got to rest my leg and...antibiotics. Off the booze at the moment..."

"Get you a chair for your leg. And you could drink orange juice...." Dino added.

"I need to go lie down. Orange juice? I'm an Australian. Please don't insult me...Have fun, boys and girls. Thanks for the hard work..." And with that he hoisted himself up and swung out of the board room without so much as a backwards glance.

I decided to simply make myself scarce and stuffed papers into files, gathered them up into my arms and slunk out. No one would notice me in the crowd. Dashing to my office, I deposited the files, threw on my coat and picked up my bag to get to the lifts before the whole gang of them did.

"Hey, Paula...you coming then?" Fiona popped her head round the door. "Should be a good night. The boss is in a party mood..."

"Well, er....I ...can't. I have to....feed the cat....and wash my hair...and...call my Mum...and..."

"It's a Friday night. No one calls their Mum on a Friday night!" She laughed.

"Sorry....I have to run..." And I barged past her. By then the whole party were queuing at the lift so I ducked down the stairs and ran the seventeen floors to the exit, nearly dying in the process.

The next hour was torture. I had to walk to the Tube, fight my way on, stand up all the way, pressed up against this creep who kept rubbing himself along my thigh until I stood on his toe with my stiletto and hissed: "You're not the only one with a hard weapon..."

By the time I exited, it was raining and I had forgotten my umbrella so I reached the flat looking like a drowned rat. Terry was parked outside in his car reading the newspaper; he must have forgotten his key. There was a moment when I felt a twinge of annoyance. Why had he driven home in style while I had been forced to slum it with the rest of the workers? Was he so ashamed of being seen with me? I hardly ever even went to his apartment. I had never met any of his friends. If he took me out anywhere that he might meet someone he knew, it was always a business function and I was introduced as his PA. I forced down the bitter sense of how small a part I would ever have in his life, and put on my happy face. At least I would have him tonight. That was some consolation.

"Hey, you're all wet! I waited for you but you must have sneaked past. Come here..." he took off his overcoat and held it over my head as we crossed to the main door. I looked up at him. He'd waited for me. It might not seem much to other people but to me it said a lot. Well, more than he had ever really said before anyway.

He took my hand as we walked up the stairs to my floor. There's no elevator in my place of residence. At the door, he took the keys from my fumbling fingers and deftly opened the lock. I don't think I could have done it. I was trembling by then and it wasn't the cold wet clothes. Just being near to him made me weak with longing and all sorts of unfulfilled desires.

I closed the door and shucked off my wet things, kicking away my shoes. He took off his jacket and shook himself out; his hair was wet and dripping down the back of his neck; he swept his hand through it. My bedraggled hair hung in clumps round my face. I must have looked a fright.

"Paula?" He just looked at me.

"Terry?" I felt suddenly shy.

Then he took a step forward and just picked me up, holding me to him and sighing deeply as he crushed me against his body, his head buried in my neck. I clung to him, unsure what was happening. I had expected sex. This was something else.

"Terry?"

"It's so good to hold you...I missed you....so much..."

I held my breath. He had never made a remark quite like that before. Not in that voice that seemed desperate and more than a little needy.

"I missed you too. I always do. I worry about you....you got hurt..."

"S'nothing. Just a scratch. Everything's all right now. I'm here with you again..."

Then he kissed me as though he had been dying of thirst and I was the fountain. He's a wonderful lover but this was the first time I really felt his whole self in his kiss. Nothing held back. I don't know how I held it together; it was like being hit by a tornado.

That kiss opened the floodgates. I dragged on his tie, ripping it from his neck, pulled open his shirt and ran my hands over his chest. He hoisted me against the door, leaning his weight to his left, sparing his right leg and had at me.

"Terry....your leg!"

"Easier....I can't do it lying down....not like this..." He ripped open my blouse and raised me higher to suckle on my nipples through the lace; I dragged my bra down to give him access, the low purr in his throat telling me how the sight of me displayed wantonly like this did it for him. My arms circled his broad neck and I kissed his hair as he licked and laved my breasts.

"Can't wait..." he muttered and I heard the unmistakable sound of a metal zipper. He pushed my skirt out of the way and simply tore off my panties. "Help me..." he gasped.

"Terry! Ever heard of foreplay?" I giggled.

"What the fuck we been doing since nine this morning?" he grunted back "Come on...! Put it in...I'm dying here..."

I reached down and took the hard thick penis and struggled to slide it into me as he kissed at my neck and throat. I was wet, had been all day really, clit throbbing and frantic, just completely wild for him. We were like two animals in heat. I felt the warm hardness slick through me, he thrust, missed, I cried out, he shushed me and we tried again. This time he felt the entry and without his usual care he just pushed straight in with a rumbling moan. Jesus, he's big. I groaned and threw my head back; it hit the door. I don't think either of us cared....

The Cat and Canary 6.30 pm

"If he'd thrown her over the table and stuck it in there and then it wouldn't have been any more obvious...." Jon Deacon laughed as he passed over a round of beer. "She's been giving it up for him for months...every body knows...who do they think they're kidding?"

"I love the way she calls him Mr. Thorne and then gives him that doe eyed look and he goes all glassy eyed at the sight of her...it's pretty romantic really..." Michelle observed.

"They're on the phone all day when he's away. I swear he doesn't even take a leak without telling her..." Kay on reception added.

"...And he sends her flowers and presents and she pretends she's got this other boyfriend. Like we haven't seen the card when it was brought into the front desk? Thanks for last night, baby ....T, or some such soppy message..." Fiona giggled.

"Wouldn't mind, but I was in there first...he gave me a fucking bollocking for trying it on with a potential member of staff. Told me 'fixing an interview with a woman merely to get laid was a pathetic abuse of my authority'. So he gives her a job and spends the next six months shagging the stuffing out of her? He talks about abuse of authority?" Oliver Chambers whined.

"Yeah, but you're a wanker, Olly. He's not. God, he is so gorgeous....I don't blame her. I'd whip my knickers off for him anytime he said the word..." Michelle murmured, dreamy eyed.

"She's the first, you know. I've never known him go near a colleague - or a client. He's really strict about stuff like that." Fiona remarked.

"I once heard he had this real thing with one client. Nearly cost him..." Deacon broke in. "He's a bit of a hopeless romantic I was told. But this thing with Miss Cassidy is more like it. A little bit on the side whenever he feels like it and no need to make a song and dance out of it. Let's face it...who wouldn't want to get in her knickers?"

"Jon...that is really nasty...she's a nice girl...you are such a tosser..." Fiona threw at him in disgust.

"Don't worry. Your virtue's safe, Fi. No one wants to get in yours..."he retorted.

"...I wouldn't let Terry Thorne hear you talk like that about Paula ...or any woman in our employ, Jon..." Dino stood behind him and placed a hand amicably on his back. "And if I hear you make comments like that again, you might be looking for a new boss to insult..." But he moved on with a smile, sitting down at the table. "However, I have to say the performance of my good friend and the beautiful Miss Cassidy was bordering on the farcical today. I believe he is now resting his leg. On his back. I wonder who is on his front? Could it be the winsome Paula? Who, as we know, has to feed her pussy...or was it the other way round...? Place your bets....it's 18: 42 hours...you think we've given them long enough to interruptus their coitus...?"

He pulled out his cell and hit dial. "This should be fun....."

"....Oh God----Terry---Oh--- God----TERRY! OH GOD...!!" My head was beating in time to his hard thrusts as he rammed me against the door.

"AWWW FUCK!!!" He groaned. I stopped, wondered if he had come too soon, realised that he hadn't and saw that he was fumbling in his pocket.

"What?"

"Phone. Vibrate," He muttered darkly.

"Leave it," I almost screamed.

He snapped it open. "What the fuck you want?" He must have seen Dino's name on the display. Terry leaned against the door and I could hear the conversation; that's how close we were. He put a finger to his lips.

"Just remembered something....real important...."

"Oh yeah? Don't keep me waiting....I can hardly stand the excitement...."

"Message...for Paula...."

"Huh?"

"It's okay...no need to put her on....she can hear...I recognise the panting..." I opened my mouth in shock.

He knew?

"What the fuck are you going on about, you extremely unfunny little bastard?" Terry was losing his temper. "Go find a fuck of your own...." Oh great, Terry, as good as admitting it!

"Got ya....by the way...the gang wants to say hi...and we want to know - has Paula's pussy been seen to yet?"

I heard the roars of laughter in the background. Terry closed the phone and tossed it over his shoulder. "Oh crap....the whole fucking world knows....Jesus Christ!" he moaned.

"How?" I gasped.

"Dunno. Don't care. Just ...oh.... yessss.....!" he grunted as he thrust hard again and began to recover his rhythm. "Don't....give...a ....fuck....."

It wasn't the moment for me to analyse the deeper motivation of his sudden lack of concern about the office knowing about us. He just drove into me, right on target- and I think I howled as I came; I know he did.

There we were, Terry with one good leg staggering backwards as he sagged in the aftermath, falling heavily onto a chair with me still wrapped round him. I must have slithered down his body as he slumped because he howled again - this time in pain. My thigh had landed on his bandage. "Fucking hell...." he muttered through gritted teeth.

At that I jumped off him and surveyed the damage. We looked ludicrous. He was sitting there in nothing but a shirt, still hanging off his shoulders, his pants and shorts were round his ankles and he was still wearing his shoes and socks. My blouse was open, my bra around my waist and my skirt on my hips. I giggled as I straightened my clothes, rooted in my handbag and found a tissue to mop up. He just leaned back against the wall and dripped over my upholstery.

"We need to talk," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

"Talk?"

"Yeah, talk." He pulled off his shoes and socks and shrugged off the shirt, limping into the bathroom, taking a leak and then washing his cock quite without embarrassment. I realised then that he had never done anything quite like that before. We might have had sex in every way known to mankind and then some but there had been a sort of discreet distance in other ways. We never shared the bathroom (apart from sex in the shower sort of thing) or any other intimacy a couple might have. So this unselfconscious moment surprised me; it was yet another trigger that suggested there had been a shifting of ground between us.

I trailed in after him, took a quick shower and wrapped myself in my robe. When I got into the bedroom, he was lying naked on the bed smoking, fingering the edges of his bandage. What an image!

"Does it hurt?" I asked as I sat down by him.

"Not much. Needs changing. Got some fresh dressings in my carry on."

"Do you want me to do it?"

He looked at me. "It's pretty gross. You up for it?"

"Sure. Got my Girl Guides' First Aid badge..." I grinned. I eased the edges away. "Didn't they shave your leg? This is going to rip the hair out..."

"Just do it. Stop tinkering with it. One good hard yank..." he replied in a rather irritable way. He has never talked to me like that before. Like I am his girlfriend and have annoyed him. Normal griping, you know?

I found the dressings and the wipes, some antibiotic cream and his tablets in a small case in his luggage. In the bathroom, I got some hot water and the razor. I would shave the area so that next time wouldn't be so painful.

Back at the bed he lay back and let me at it. The dressing was large, covering a wide area from just below his groin to half way down his thigh. "I thought you said a couple of stitches," I asked as I raised the edge of the plaster and got my nails under.

"Thirty or forty," he replied. "No big deal..." I ripped hard and he yelped as I hauled out a fist full of short and curly leg hair. "Fuck....!" he moaned.

The dressing was still stuck to the wound itself which was absolutely horrible - a long jagged cut which looked ripe for infection despite the neat and carefully executed line of stitches. I closed my eyes and ripped the last bit of the soiled bandage - but this time he made not a sound. Yet I know it must have hurt as the trickle of fresh blood that oozed out demonstrated. So typical of him. Whining about his hair being pulled out but inured to the pain of a real injury. How like a boy!

"Ewwwww...it's disgusting! How did you do it?"

"Boat hook. Don't ask..." he muttered tetchily. I cleaned it up, and smeared the cream on it widely enough to prevent it sticking later. Then I took an antiseptic wipe and sterilised the outer area before inserting a fresh blade into my Venus Divine lady shave and gently removing the remaining hair.

He sat up at that, rested on his elbows. "What are you doing? Get that away from my bollocks!"

"Terry- I'm just removing the hair so it doesn't stick next time. Don't be a fuss pot."

He covered his balls with his hand. "Just be careful..." I looked up at him to find him smiling ruefully. "I get nervous when I see dangerous objects near my dick wielded by women. Reminds me of when I once got my widgy caught in my zip..."

"Your widgy?" I giggled at the baby expression.

"Stop laughing! Your hand's shaking. Yeah...widgy...what's wrong with that? My Mum called it that. I was about seven at the time. Running around in my shorts without my skivs."

"What happened?"

"I cried. A lot. My Mum flapped about. My Dad went white. My sister - she suggested her nail scissors. Think I fainted then. Had to go to hospital. It was very humiliating. My sister said I was going to be a Jew. I cried even more then because she said I had to wear a skull cap. And I couldn't play footie on a Saturday..."

"Terry. That is mental."

"Yeah...so was my family. Explains a lot, hey?" He chuckled. "You finished yet? Want to give me a Brazilian? Shave my balls like two boiled eggs..."

"Never seen wrinkly boiled eggs. Terry. But no. I prefer you as you are. Hairy and rugged. With a manly scar down your thigh!" I shivered in pleasure. He flicked my nose.

"Come up here. Time to talk. Serious." I cuddled up and lay my head on his chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. "I came to a few decisions while I was away. About you and me. I met a few old friends...."

"Who's Heather? Is she the skinny bitch who dumped you?" It was out of my mouth before I realised it. I was too lulled, obviously. Danger, danger, Paula! You do not insult the ex-girlfriend. I wanted to bite my tongue off.

Terry lay back at that and laughed. "Skinny bitch?" he sniffed. "No. That would be Uma. How the fuck you work all that out?"

"Picture on your office wall. You're always looking at it," I answered, playing with the hair on his chest and pointedly not looking at him.

"Am I?" he sighed. "You should be in the field. You bloody notice everything. Actually Heather is Max's girl."

I sat bolt upright. "Max? MAX? You mean our Max? You mean Max the Invincible?"

"Invincible?" he echoed.

"God yeah....he's like a...I mean...you can't imagine him having a woman. Well, you can imagine him having a woman. Like throwing her against a wall and just having it away all macho-like..."

"Like me, you mean?" he grinned. I swatted his arm.

"But a girlfriend? Like they go on dates? And he buys her flowers? And wonders if he should make a move or just kiss on the first night..."

"Paula. He's a bloke. Just like anyone else."

"But he's such a MAN!!!!"

Terry grunted. "Well, that is who Heather is."

"Why were you calling from her place?"

"This the third degree? You need a bare light bulb? Anyway. How do you know about Heather?"

I pulled a face. "Her name came up on the display. It did not say Max. It said Heather."

"OK Jane Bond...I was staying at her place for a few days."

"Where was Max?"

"I said her place not his."

I fell silent then. "Max would kill you if he knew."

"He knew. It wasn't like that. Heather and I are friends. Knew each other before he knew her."

"Ex-lovers?"

He made a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah. Before."

I remembered something. "Where's Max from? I heard him talking on the phone one day. It wasn't any language I recognized. It sounded like Italian without the accent. More guttural."

Terry looked at me. "Mars. He's a Martian. I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Honestly...it was you who said serious!" I rolled my eyes.

He slipped onto his good side and pulled me close, nuzzling my ear. "Serious? OK. It was Latin. Max is a Roman general from the second century AD..."

"Oh right....now I know you're having me on. Terry! Come on...don't talk crap."

"Actually, I wasn't," he said quietly and I knew by his voice that this was real. He was about to tell me something quite amazing.

"I need to tell you about something that I got involved in a few years back. It will sound pretty crazy but it is true. I want you to know it all. Every bit. If you're going to take me on, that is..."

"Take you on? What do you mean?" I asked him, hardly daring to breathe. Something was different. Or was I simply making my dream come true in my head?

"Paula. I know I said I wasn't in the market for love. But you told me you were still going to try. What if I said you'd changed my mind? Would you believe me if I told you I'm ready to be a real man for you, not just some casual lay?" I could see he was embarrassed, not a man to find such admissions easy. He looked at the ceiling and ran his fingers through my hair. "I've been a shit to you and you deserve better. I didn't even know my own mind until I met her again. She made me see..."

"You met her? The..."

"Skinny bitch? She is rather on the thin side. But she isn't a bitch. She's a beautiful woman and I love her. But not in the way that threatens us. She's just someone I could have made it with but didn't. No fault. Just didn't work out for us. I had to see her to know it was finally over. Can you understand that?"

I thought about it. To be honest, it hurt even though I knew he was being fair with me. "Not sure. She tells you there's no chance, so you just come back to me?"

He shook his head. "No. I looked at her and despite all she means to me, I realized that you are my future. She's my past. I want out of the old and into the new. Paula, I think I'm in love with you and I didn't even know until then. How come I'm such a fuckwit at love?"

All I heard was 'in love with you'. After that it's a total blur. I just started crying and blubbed all over him. I knew it was a completely stupid thing to do but I couldn't help it. It felt like this knot of tension inside me had rolled away all in one moment and he was actually saying the words that had only existed before in my dreams. The best thing was he didn't make fun of me or anything. He just held me tight and rocked me like a baby. He even called me 'his baby'. I wondered if you could die of happiness.

And then he told me the story of where he had come from and what had happened to all of them. It took a long time. I made a pot of tea and we took numerous wee wee breaks but I let him talk and it all poured out.

Did I find it hard to believe?

I don't think I did. If I can believe the impossible, if I can believe that Terry Thorne loves me, then the saga of a group of celluloid characters who become real and live in a harem or some such thing is easy peasy.

It's as simple as this. He tells me the truth. He always did. Sometimes the truth hurts. Sometimes it doesn't make much sense. 

And sometimes, it sets you free.

I lay in his arms and we just made out. Kissed and touched and smiled and made eyes at each other and were completely and utterly like two kids with their hands in the world's best cookie jar.

He murmured into my ear. "I want to make love to you. But I don't think I can manage with this leg..."

I sat up. Well, he was all ready in one sense but I could see that leaning weight on his leg would be impossible. "Me on top?" I suggested helpfully.

"No. You'd be resting on my thigh and I can't thrust upwards..."

"You saying I've got a big bum?"

"No, I'm saying you've got a bum. Pretty fine one too..." he laughed obscenely, stroking said buttocks suggestively. It gave me an idea.

"I know! If I put my mouth here...and you put your mouth here..." I straddled him rather crudely. "That way only your upper body is engaged ...head to groin...just don't squirm so much....keep your leg relaxed...and you get a good view. Always heard men were visual....OH GOD!!!"

It worked. Looks like we'll be getting acquainted with that particular angle for the rest of the weekend. He didn't complain much. Well, he did say... "Oh God! Christ! Fuck!! Unghhhhhh!!!!", rather a lot, but it was sort of exclamatory fashion rather than protest.

But he did rest up his leg.

And spend the weekend on his back.

I spent mine in Paradise.

With extended foreplay.