They haven't actually provided me with a job description yet. Everyone says you should insist right from the word go that you have one or they will take you for a ride. This is true. This is quite a ride. I work for TOL Risk International and I have the title of PA to the CEO. Sounds good, doesn't it? It's even better than good. The CEO is Terry Thorne.

Somewhere in my wicked childhood, I must have done something good...

"You keep polishing that, it will fall off, love..." Terry's voice startled me as I was rubbing down the brass plate outside my office. Or rather the anteroom to his office. That's how close I am day-to-day. Everyone has to go through me to get him - even the secretaries. It is the job from Heaven and it is mine. So, I think the little matter of a job description can be waived at the moment, don't you?

"What have I got?" he asked as he strode past me and took off his jacket. He likes to get comfortable in the office. Jacket off, tie discarded, sleeves rolled up, a few buttons of his shirt undone. I have even seen him kick his shoes off under the desk from time to time.

"Vid-conference at ten and the Russian military attaché wants a lunch meeting...."

"You do the lunch...he needs to be reminded of the amount owing on the last jaunt. Once he clears the account, we can talk. Somehow I think that will come better from you than me. I might just ram his face in the soup...not the best bargaining chip..."

"I thought you were the expert at negotiations, Mr. Thorne," I grinned as I handed him a stack of mail. He groaned at the pile and muttered something under his breath before turning on his cocky smile. "...Not where unpaid bills are concerned...no patience with that, love. Prefer the 'grab him by his neck and bang his head against the wall' method. Plus...you look better than me in a tight skirt...and he's a dirty- minded bastard...."

"You sound like the KGB in the old days. Would you send a woman out to do a man's job?"

"Any day...now scram and let me answer this pile of shit...unless you fancy doing them for me....just say yes to the invitations and we'll fight for them  ...I want you at the US embassy ball with me...purely business of course, love...charge the frock....pass the applications to some other bugger - I am not doing any more interviews this month...new clients to Steve in Business Development...and the rest, work out yourself....what the fuck do I pay you for? Any chance of a cup of tea?"

I know what you're thinking....what are you - his slave? No, but I wouldn't mind being. 

I have this fantasy of being his sex slave. It is extremely lurid, lewd, embarrassingly puerile and completely un-PC. But it keeps me warm at nights.

"With or without a chocolate biscuit?" I replied. 

He gave me his cheeky face, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. "I'm sweet enough, Cass. As you know...oh, I need some flights booking. Check my diary...I'm away next week...bring me in the location reports...has that dick Brennan been in touch? Get him on the line...."

When Terry is in the office, my life is a whirlwind of activity from morning until night. He works at this incredible pace, managing to throw a number of balls in the air at the same time, make split-second decisions and never forget anything, even if he pretends to be in the dark about something - he never actually is.

When Terry is not in the office, he is still on the phone nonstop and forever emailing or IMing. I still hardly get the time to go to the toilet. I sit there grinding my teeth wondering if I have 'mug' written all over my forehead. But just as I am thinking - I have to have a break! I have to tell him that I cannot keep going at this manic pace! I have to have a life of my own! - he will so something so unexpectedly lovely that I am again ready to throw myself at his feet and worship at the shrine.

Like the day when this enormous bouquet of flowers was delivered with the note: 

 

 

I am putty in his hands. Or rather, I wish I was. But he is too nice a bloke to take advantage of me in that way. We have worked late into the night, got drunk together after work a few times, done a few business trips and shared lots of fairly intimate dinners but he has never made a move towards me that wasn't perfectly honourable. I think I expected too much when he gave me the job. I was still in that frame of mind from my previous existence where men made sure that the woman working at their side was also in their bed at night providing a whole different kind of service.

I think he is seeing someone anyway. I know there is an American woman who calls him and he has made a few short trips to see her recently. But he doesn't seem to have much time for a real private life. His schedule is nightmarish though. One moment he is on a business trip, the next he has to fly out on a case and then when he is back he has mountains of catch up. He seems to fill his life up with work. I often wonder if he is lonely when he gets home at night even if that is rarely much before bedtime - and he is always at work early when in town.

Terry always seems happy enough but I am getting used to reading him. There are times when I catch him unawares, just staring out of the window of the office lost in thought, or notice a passing expression of melancholy on his face. And then there are his eyes. They cannot conceal much. He might be full of smart talk and professional patter but his eyes reveal a different story. I wonder who she is and why she left him. Or did he leave her? I am sure there is a woman in this somewhere. Sometimes I get the impression that he wants to talk and that something is on the tip of his tongue but he chases it away and makes some clever comment instead.

Or am I just fooling myself?

He has been away in North Africa recently on a rather trying case. I don't get much of the details of the real action. That isn't my brief at all. I could tell you where and who and what was the outcome but he would never divulge the inside story. Either the material is confidential, unpleasant or just hard to talk about - but whatever it is, he writes his definitive report and that is all I see. It is always characteristically bloodless and bland - you know it is hiding a mountain of detail-  absolutely nothing like the man I know he is inside.

It was late that afternoon when I was back from a particularly trying lunch with a man who must be the human equivalent of an octopus and trying to catch up on the last of the mail that Terry had foisted on me. I didn't hear him open the door until he cleared his throat. I think he had been watching me for sometime but I couldn't be sure.

"How did it go?"

"Go?" I lifted my head, saw him and blushed. I'm not sure why.

"Lunch. He wasn't a problem, was he?"

I shook my head. My hair had come loose from its clip and was tumbling across my face. I brushed it behind my ear in annoyance. "He authorized the payment. I just got the fax..."

"Great...good work...thanks for taking him on..." We had one of those moments when he seemed about to say something else but almost immediately closed down.

I looked at him standing there leaning on the door. As ever he was dressed well, fine cotton shirt, perfectly pressed even if it was worn with a lazy carelessness. The suit he was wearing probably cost the earth but he didn't seem to choose clothes for the prestige of their label - he wore what he felt was required and it was as simple as that. I wondered if he ever just did what he wanted himself and what that would be if he allowed it. Actually when I looked at him closely he looked tired despite his fit and healthy image - there were dark circles under his eyes and a sense of resignation about him.

I don't know why I said it or from where I found the courage but suddenly I opened my mouth and out it came. "Would you like to come to my place for a meal tonight? Chill out with a bottle of cheap plonk and a soppy DVD?"

His expression immediately changed; his head shot up and I could see the cogs in his brain clicking over. What was this about? Was she trying to make a pass? How do I let her down gently?

But his answer didn't sound like that.

"Do you know how long it is since I have had a night like that?"

I shook my head. "No. How long?"

He shrugged. "No idea. That's how long. Why?"

"Why?"

"Why have you asked me?" I should have known that Terry Thorne wouldn't play games. If he wanted to know something he would simply ask up front. Games were for the day job.

I didn't really know how to answer his question, so I just took a leaf from his book instead. I tried direct and honest. "You look like you're tired. I thought you might like a night in and someone to look after you for a change."

He gave me an amused look, his hands in his pocket and his shoulder resting on the door frame. "You're good at that, aren't you, Cass? Looking after people. Not sure I'm used to being looked after."

"Then maybe that's what you need for a change? Seven thirty. My place. Bring a bottle. And wear something casual. You do have ordinary clothes, I presume?"

Even then I imagined he would wriggle out of it, remember an appointment, plead another pressing engagement. But he didn't. He just smiled broadly, stood away from the door and saluted. "Yes, ma'am. You can check behind my ears when I've arrived to make sure I washed properly---"

 

 

As soon as his office door had closed, I started to panic. What should I cook? I mean this guy eats out at top restaurants and virtually lives in five star hotels. How can I compete with that? That panicked me for a while so I rang a good friend of mine, Olivia, who is now married and a Mum and very sensible. She does, however, like to live vicariously through me from the safety of her wedded bliss and the adventures of Terry Thorne are her favorite topic of gossip.

"Lib...help me!"

"What is it now?" she teased. "Terry got a girlfriend and broken your heart?"

"No. Much worse than that!"

"He got married?"

"NO!"

"You just found out he's gay?"

"NO!!! He's coming to my flat for dinner."

"Why is that worse than him having another girlfriend? Hasn't that been the opening scene of your fantasy life since you met him?"

"Well, yes, I suppose it has but it is worse because now it's going to happen and I don't know what to do."

"Cook him something edible. Get him drunk. Into his pants. Hey, presto. Fantasy becomes reality. What's so difficult about that?"

"You are absolutely no help. First -what should I cook? He is a real gourmet, I think. I mean he goes everywhere. He eats out every night. How can I cook for a man like that?"

"Simple. Give him what he never gets. Lancashire hot pot. Chili con carne. Spaghetti Bolognese. Frigging beans on toast. Who cares? He will love it. Comfort food. Apple pie and custard. Men just die for that. It reminds them of their Mums --- "

"Mums? I want to shag him not breastfeed him!"

"It's all the same to them. So- you cook him a plain dinner. Get him tanked up. On the couch. DVD with a lot of sex in it. They are very visual. They see something then they think about it. Do not let him watch sport. Not unless you want to sit there alone all night while he has an orgasm over some try or goal---"

"Are you sure this will work, Lib?"

"Dead sure. How do you think I got Chris? Ultimately you get them by their bellies before you touch their balls. Then it is lifetime commitment."

"Not sure your Chris and Terry Thorne are quite the same species but I will give it a whirl. Hey - what should I wear?"

"Hmm? He's pretty classy? Then dress down. No make up - well, when I say no makeup, I don't mean no make up, of course. But none as far as he will be aware. Loose pants - something light and filmy and easy to get off. No bra. Lycra top. You've great tits. Let him get an unrestricted view. Bare feet. Hair down. Look young and appealing. He hasn't got a chance."

"Lib - you are so good for my ego. I just hope you're right. Wish me luck---?"

 

 

I slipped out of work early and raided Sainsbury's. I went for the basics. Irish stew like my Grandma used to make it with barley and lamb chops. Mashed potatoes. Apple pie and custard. I bought those. I'm a working girl and don't have time for pastry. Dashed home. Got the stew on. Set out a romantic table with a casual flower arrangement. Not too posh. Bath and a 'here's hoping' shave and primp of all the bits I most wanted him to discover. Then I dressed in a pair of white linen wide pants that, in the right light, are fairly see-through. On the top I wore a flimsy voile blouse. Just a touch of makeup. Loads of perfume in all the right places - a light flowery smell that was not too overpowering. Bare feet with a few silver toe rings. No underwear. All or nothing tonight.

Checked the food. You can't ruin a stew, thank God. Mashed the potatoes with lashings of butter and cream. Kept them warm. Popped the pie in the microwave to heat up later.  Opened a bottle of wine and drank two glasses. Unwise but totally unavoidable.

Seven thirty.

Bell rings. 

God, he's on time!

 

 

"Hi Terry," I gulped. He looked great. Leather jacket - one of those distressed old battered ones that are just so sexy. V-necked black sweater, revealing just a slight hint of chest hair. Blue jeans, worn in all the right places. Rugged boots. Hint of stubble. Fresh 'just out of the shower' smelling aftershave. Pure unadulterated man.

"So, I found you. This is for you. Thanks for the invitation." He held out a bottle of a vintage red wine and an elegant posy of flowers. Not excessive. Not too romantic. Just right for a casual date at a woman's home. He was a past master at giving the right signals.

"Come in. It's not much but it's mine---" I led him into my small apartment and felt conscious of how simple it must be to a man like him used to opulent hotels and designer pads. I observed him looking around and the IKEA design Scandinavian 'knock it up' yourself non-style. I wondered what he thought about it all. He made no comment.

"You want to give me your jacket?" He took it off and handed it to me. The inner silk lining was warm in my hands and the thought of his body heat passing to me made me flustered. I flushed red, mumbled something about him taking a seat and rushed to the closet, fiddling with a hanger and trying to talk myself mentally into calmness. I mustn't blow this now by acting like a silly girl.

Back in the lounge, I found him flicking through my CD collection. "May I?" he asked, indicating a choice. I nodded. He put on a surprising one.

"Joe Cocker? The Ultimate Collection?"

"Yeah...nobody sings it like Joe..." he replied with a grin and then pressed play.

 

 

The raw blues riffs boomed out into the room- he had turned up the volume. I hadn't expected him to go for this kind of music somehow. I don't know what I had expected him to go for really. But the earthy sound and the pounding beat, the raucous horn section and the gruff tones of the singer was not part of the smooth image I had of this man.

But it was another reason to lust after him.

He extended a hand. "I can't listen to this without moving. Come on. Wanna dance?"

Was it Christmas already?

He pulled on my hand and jerked me against him, holding me just close enough for discomfort but not close enough to be threatening. I could feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his large hands circling mine. Up close he smelt even better with that indefinable male scent mixed in with his cologne. He moved easily, sexily, his hips grinding, his deep voice whispering the lyrics provocatively into my ear as he steered me round.

 

 

I decided not to work it out. I had wanted to see what he would do if he was allowed to simply choose for himself. And that's what he was doing. Having fun. So I decided to have it with him. Rolling my hips closer, I let his eager lead take me away and we tripped all over my small lounge, hamming it up for all it was worth. The rough, gravely tones of Cocker's gritty voice were about as sexy as the man in my arms. What a combination.

 

 

We broke apart from the bump and grind when the final bars ended. We were both laughing. "I thought you were supposed to end an evening with dancing - not begin it!" I grinned.

He lowered his lashes in an incredibly sexy expression and growled: "Depends what kind of dancing you mean, love---"

I swallowed hard and excused myself to start dinner. He threw himself down in a chair and flicked on the TV.

In the kitchen I opened him a beer, called him over to the hatch and passed it over to him. "Smells great.  Smells like food. You have no idea how long it is since I ate any of that---"

"What do you mean? You dieting or something?"

He laughed. "Hardly. I mean - I eat such fake shit most of the time. All this crap that passes for nourishment that's served in expensive restaurants. I keep thinking I should go to a supermarket and buy some food to cook but I'm lazy and not very skilled. Plus I never have the time, so it's easier to buy out. Eat out. At least there are other people there---"

He made a joke of it, but he fingered his bottle of beer and looked down. I felt so sad for him, as much for the admission as to the fact of the loneliness that lay behind it. But I realized even that little chink of light meant something. He had let me see a bit of what was inside. He trusted me. Perhaps my infatuation with him was not just a one-sided crush. Did he like me too?

"If you're ready. I can serve now---"

"Let me open the wine...got a corkscrew?" I passed one over and he did the honours while I served the food. It was kind of homely. It gave me a little glow inside me. He caught my glance and smiled over. I think he felt it too.

He loved the meal. Asked for seconds of everything. Told me it was the best meal he had eaten in years. Olivia was right. This is the food men really want to eat.  It seemed to open him up. I have never seen him so relaxed and natural. We moved with coffee and brandy to the couch and I put on a DVD. I had thought long and hard about this. I wanted something he would watch but that wasn't too difficult to follow. It had to have a fair amount of sex in it but not be too girly romantic.

I decided on an old favourite of mine Bull Durham. Sport and sex combined plus it is funny, witty and also throws together an unlikely pair at the end for a fabulous sexual marathon to the tune of the old classic "Sixty Minute Man"

Terry had never seen the film but he liked it immediately. It had all the prerequisites: sport, humour, intelligent script and Susan Sarandon. It appears to work for most men. He was no different. So we snuggled down and watched it and it sort of happened that I curled up on his chest and it sort of happened that his arm that had been on the back of the chair fell onto me and his fingers began playing with my hair.

A few times he mentioned a line that he enjoyed or made a comment but we didn't really talk much. I opened a box of chocolates and fed him some. He let me, just smiling as I popped one in. But when Annie asked Crash what did he believe in and he came out with those immortal lines:

 

 

...there was a sort of moment that hovered between us. He smiled slowly, arched an eyebrow in my direction and murmured: "Couldn't have put it better myself..."

I just sighed and nestled closer into the warm muscular strength of his body and tried not to think just how near my pussy was to his cock. I wondered if ideas like that ever ran through the mind of a man like Terry Thorne.

But when the film ended, the line that Terry particularly commented on was this one: This is a very simple game; you throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes, you win. Sometimes, you lose. Sometimes, it rains. He said that was the best damn explanation for life he'd ever heard. I nodded. But he hadn't finished. "They forgot one line...'and sometimes, just sometimes, the sun shines all day'..."

He kissed me then. It just sort of happened. I don't remember thinking "He's going to kiss me any minute now..." One minute we were just sitting there and the next he had tilted my face up and leaned down to touch my lips. At first he was tentative, soft and close-mouthed, but as I relaxed, sighed and opened my lips, he pushed further and what began as a little touch became one of those 'long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.'

I thought I would die of pleasure. I could hardly breathe, both from his constant kisses and the very excitement that his sudden move brought me - my heart was leaping in my chest. One hand cupped my face but his other eased down my neck, skimmed my breast with just a slight pressure, smoothed over my belly and down my thigh. He didn't disturb my clothing but he wanted to touch me, that much was clear.

We were both sighing, little bursts of air and sound and half uttered words. His lips moved to my neck and then my ear, nibbling and licking, before returning back to kiss my lips again. I slipped my arms around his shoulders and caressed the back of his neck tenderly, ruffling up the neat hairline.

"I don't know where this is leading..." he muttered into my ear. "You're driving me crazy, Cass...I shouldn't be doing this..."

"Why? Why shouldn't you?" I whispered. "What's wrong with kissing?"

He smiled. "I think this is getting to be more than kissing...if I stay here much longer then this is going to get out of hand."

"Then let it...do you want it to?"

"Of course I do. I've been wanting this since the day I met you--- but Cass, it isn't as simple as that. There are a lot of things you don't know about me---."

"Like? What do I need to know? I want you to make love to me. I like you very much."

Terry broke away and laid his head back on the chair. "I'm not what you need. I---I haven't got it in me to have a proper relationship with a woman any more. I don't want the complications of love in my life."

"We were talking of having sex not getting married. Don't take it so seriously, Terry."

"I take everything seriously. It's the way I am. Anyway, we work together. That's a recipe for disaster---."

"Are you going to regret this in the morning?" I asked him bluntly.

He laughed. "For Christ's sake, love, I'm a bit passed that---."

"Then let's not worry about Monday at the office. The worst thing that we'll have to face is that we know what each other looks like naked and they do say that's the best way to think of your boss anyway as it is a great leveller---"

I never finished. He kissed me again and swung me up into his arms. "Where is it?" he murmured. I guessed he meant the bedroom. I pointed out the door, he kicked it open dramatically and carried me in. Placing me on the bed, he said: "Bathroom? I need a pee." We both laughed at the erotic moment spoiled by the mundane. I told him where it was, he was back quickly. I said I had better go too and I slipped out to do the necessary and to take a moment to calm myself, have another quick wash and spray of perfume and then I returned to the room.

Terry had turn down the light, leaving just the two small lamps. He had kicked off his boots and socks and was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. I almost wondered whether I should just let him sleep; maybe that was what he needed most. But his eyes snapped open and he rolled onto one elbow. "Come here---lie down with me!"

I lay there on my back as he leaned over me. Measured length for length I realized just how big he was and trembled at the thought of what this experience would feel like. He watched me affectionately, his left hand tracing a pattern on my body as he let his fingers wander. I looked up at him, scared that he might suspect just how much I adored him. I thought if he knew, it would frighten him away. He didn't want a relationship. He didn't want complications. He just wanted some healthy sex with a nice girl that he fancied. What's wrong with that?

Absolutely nothing, except I knew that in the end this man would break my heart. But you simply can't stop yourself. Life has only so much to offer and you simply have to reach out and sample it even if in the end you know it will only make you feel worse. That night I couldn't let him go. I didn't want to. I simply wanted to let him do as he liked for once - the thing he rarely ever does.

That's when he reached for me, covered me with his bulk and ran his knee between my thighs. I felt him tangle his fingers in my hair as he kissed me and then free them to slip one large palm under the little top I was wearing and cup one of my breasts. In that he was like other men, squeezing and tweaking as he moaned softly in my ear.

I dared to touch him, letting one hand slip beneath the soft cashmere of his jumper and stroke the warm naked flesh of his back beneath. I became braver and dropped my right hand to savour the bulge of his genitals through the soft denim. I had noticed the large swell even as he had arrived; now he was even bigger, hard and pressing against the zip.

That's when we both went a little mad. It was like some signal had been given for all at once we began to pull at each other's clothing. I dragged the jumper over his head as he paused to help me shrug it away. Scrabbling down, I opened his jeans; he gave a grateful sigh as we both eased them off. He was naked beneath and I gasped at the sight of this cock that I had so often dreamed of. Magnificent, solid, thick, perfectly formed and impressively hard. He was hairy but not gross. Just manly and virile.

"You OK with this, baby? It's still not too late to change your mind..." I smiled and bent to kiss the tip of his penis.

"You leave now and I will die of unfulfilled lust---!" I giggled. 

He pulled me on top of him and stripped me with little ceremony. "I want you naked. I want to feel your flesh on mine," he groaned. When he realized I was not wearing underwear either, he chuckled.

"Guess we were both hoping to get lucky tonight." I was amazed. Terry Thorne had been wishing to get laid but not sure if I would let him in. The man who seemed to have all the answers was sometimes a little unsure himself. What an incredible thought!

He laid me back, naked as I was and looked at me. "You are one beautiful girl, Cass...you have wonderful breasts ---" he kissed each nipple tenderly and then licked and suckled until I could hardly stand it anymore. My leg slipped between his thighs to massage his groin with my knee. I had to have contact with him.

"Terry---I need more----I'm so wet----please---" He groaned even deeper at my words, running his hand down past my neatly shaved strip of hair and slicking through the wet cream.

"You safe? Want me to use something? On the pill?" He muttered as he explored me, one finger entering me and then another. I grasped his cock and jerked it for him. We were both still talking words -  only just. Each phrase we said was punctuated by deep moans and groans.

"No, shots. Depro. I'm OK..." I replied.

"You want me to rubber up? If you're worried about---"

"NO! I'm not worried about you. Please, I want you to---I want to feel you---"

At that he just growled and went for it. With a toss, as if my body was just a feather, he had me on the bed beneath him, dragging my leg until I was positioned just right from him and then hoisting one leg around his waist. For a moment, he paused looking at us both in that intimate position, my legs splayed and revealing everything to his gaze and he offering himself to me. And then he sank down and pushed gently into me, giving me time to welcome him in bit by bit. I have never been so filled by any man nor felt so overwhelmed by the sheer strength of a man's body.

He was quiet as he hilted, grinding against me a while, letting me adjust as his head hung down and he nuzzled on my neck. His fingers caressed my nipple, a little more urgently now, pinching more than tweaking the hard peaks. I don't think he could stand it much more for he began to thrust, first slow and then building in momentum. Every time he pounded into me, he let out a low involuntary grunt and I gasped on a higher wilder note. He was so strong that I felt like a rag doll in his embrace.

I knew he was near but he wanted me to come first. I felt his fingers slip between our bodies and he eased away a little as he found that part where we were joined hair to hair and then uncovered my tiny nub. I cried out when he slicked it with moisture from my own body and then began to tease it. It was more pleasure than I could stand especially as he was whispering crude suggestions in my ear about what he wanted to do to me and how much he wanted to fuck me, come all over me, taste every part of me. The sort of things that men and women say when they are so excited that they forget their normal reserve and just let their passion have its head.

I came: a blistering, blinding rush of sensation, screamed his name and he groaned again as my pussy contracted tight against his cock. He lost it then. He just thrust harder and harder until the friction of his skin against my squeezing creamy walls made him cry out and he sputtered his own warm milky juice deep within me.

"Too fast---" he muttered, sinking down as he reached his oblivion but still taking care not to hurt me. He held himself off me as he rocked his thick cock back and forth, still impressively hard, wincing slightly at the sensation it was bringing to his tenderness as I whimpered at the effect it was having on me.

"I have to come out---," he told me softly. I moaned and begged him to stay a while longer. He grinned and said it was impossible; his now softening cock slid out on a gush of fluid. He reached for the tissues by the bed and grabbed a handful, cleaning me up and then wiping himself down before slumping back on the pillow. He reached out and dragged me onto his body. "Stay close---!" he muttered and I was more than glad to nuzzle in his warm embrace.

We didn't say much for a while, just stroked each other and listened to the sound of the breathing of the body next to us. I thought he might fall asleep, aware how tired he must have been especially after such an active sexual encounter. But he was awake and suddenly turned onto his side to draw me into the curve of his body.

"I don't know where this can go, Cass. I'm going to be honest with you. I don't want a one night stand - it isn't my scene - and I want to see you again. I want to sleep with you again. But I'm not a very regular kind of guy. You know my lifestyle. Can you live with that? For now?"

I rolled to face him and smiled up at his face now riven with a frown. "I just want to be near you when I can. For now. I really care about you, Terry. You're the best man I've ever known---"

He shushed me with a finger to my lips. "Let's see if you still say that six months down the line, hey? There's a lot of things I haven't told you about my life. Things that are pretty weird and I'm not sure I can share with you yet---"

"Other women?" I asked hesitantly

"Not really. There are a few women in my life but I won't be seeing them if I'm with you. I wouldn't do that to you. There's no one that I love anymore. Or least the one that I do love doesn't love me, I'm afraid---"

I couldn't imagine what kind of woman could have let him down in this way. I already hated her, whoever she was. For hurting him. And for stopping him from loving me.

"I don't care about the past. I'm now. I'm the future---," I told him.

"We carry our past everywhere with us. It isn't as simple as that, Cass. You are so young. I don't want to hurt you or take advantage---."

"I'm old enough. And if you stop this now I'm already hurt. You've been honest with me. I'll be honest with you. I think I'm in love with you. And I am going to make you fall in love with me---."

He grinned at that. "Well, you are welcome to try. It's what I need. I just don't think it's on the cards for a man like me."

I kissed him then and we rolled over and over still full of the new sensation of sexual discovery. He was amazing that night, making love to me again before he slept, this time slow and deep, taking his time. We fell asleep wrapped together in an exhausted slumber.

 

 

The next morning, he woke me with a kiss. We showered and made crazy love, laughing and tickling each other, squeezing shampoo in most unexpected places and generally goofing about.

We found that we had forgotten to wash the dishes the night before so he got stuck in and helped me while I made breakfast and we chatted easily. We both knew everything had changed now but made the decision to keep this quiet. No one at the office was to know - and we didn't ever arrive or leave together. I rather liked the idea of our little secret. Terry Thorne my secret lover. Olivia would love that one!

He left me mid-morning. He had a plane to catch. I wouldn't see him for a couple of weeks but he promised he would call me every day. I reminded him he always did. He grinned and said that this call would be different. It would involve heavy breathing and some extremely crude suggestions. I told him I would put it on conference and let the whole typing pool get their kicks. That made him laugh. It's good to hear his laughter.

And then he was gone and I was alone again and only the sheets that still smelt of us were left to remind me of what had happened that night.

 

 

Back to work on Monday. I'm just a working girl. Haven't even got a job description for my career - or my love life either. Don't know where I stand with the man I adore. 

I'll just have to content myself with this thought then: 

 

 

Back  |  Site Map  |  Fiction  |  Updates  |  Links  |  Submissions  |  Contact  |  Message Board

 

  Site Meter