He knew where he wasn't welcome. He should, by now.
Five years before Mind Fuck . . .
There had been drinks at the bar, and with the meal, and at the club. Toreth had also borrowed a handful of assorted fun from a friend in the pharmacy and that had mixed very pleasantly into the course of the evening.
On the way back to his flat, he'd stopped off to buy a bottle of something bubbly and expensive. Sara deserved it. Exceeding the limits of a damage waiver was a serious charge, about the most serious that only resulted in dismissal from I&I and not anything more penal. It had been all the more serious because the complainant had been rich enough to afford a whole circus of trained attack lawyers.
Sara had fixed it for him. When he'd asked her how she'd found out that Justice was backing the complainant, she'd just shushed him, and said, "We admins have our little secrets as well, you know."
I&I higher-ups, who'd been quite happy to hand feed him to the dogs when it looked like a quick route out of the situation, had jumped smartly when their own empires were threatened. The help he'd been desperate for had rolled out overnight and the complaint withdrawn within a few days.
All thanks to Sara and, strangest of all, she hadn't wanted anything in return. She hadn't even told him she was behind it. Chevril had found out from
his
admin and congratulated Toreth. Sara had shrugged off Toreth's thanks and said she'd do it for any of her friends.
For once in his life someone had done him a favour without even a hint of strings attached, and it was a strange feeling.
Now he lay on the sofa in the flat that he never invited anyone back to, wishing he'd tidied up, and listening to her talking. She was out of sight, by the window.
"'S a nice flat," she said.
"It's a tip."
"Yeah, but it's cosy. Anyway, it's no more of a tip than mine. Maybe a bit more. Yeah. A bit. But it's nice. Near work. Mine's miles away. You can practic — practically fall out of bed and into the office."
She leaned over the back of the sofa, then further over, and then she slid down onto him. Luckily, her glass was empty. He caught her automatically, and she ended up on top of him, her thighs astride his. She leaned on his chest and gazed into his face with drunken friendliness. Her stomach pressed down warmly on his cock, which responded enthusiastically.
He took the glass from her and put it on the table.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello. Mmm . . . you're comfy." She wriggled into him and looked at him again, expectantly.
He should have taken the opportunity to kiss her, but he found himself hesitating. She'd worked for him for two years, now, and she'd never showed any desire to do this before. In fact, over the first few months she'd turned down his advances firmly and consistently until he'd given up. He strongly suspected this U-turn was due more to the particular combination of drugs and alcohol than to any new appreciation of his charms.
He should have made a better note of what he'd given her.
Still, he felt an uncharacteristic need to clarify the situation. Simple and direct was best.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Do this?" She blinked at him. "'M not doing
anything
. Know why? 'Cause you're my boss. And I don't screw at work. It's messy." She giggled. "Well, 's always messy. Different mess. Though not with you. Wouldn't be a mess, 'cause I love you."
Why did she have to go and spoil it? "Don't be silly."
"It's not
silly
." She inched closer, her eyes crossing slightly. "It's why I saved your arse with Tillotson and everyone. 'Cause you're my friend and I love you."
He could have thrown her off easily, of course. But he didn't. Her breath, sweet with alcohol, smelled of something distantly remembered. Pomegranates, part of his brain supplied, while the rest of it wondered what the hell he was going to do. Left to its own devices, his body was getting on with business as usual and somehow he had ended up with his arms round her, pulling her down against him. Small, soft breasts against his chest, and her hips moving gently against him.
"Sara — "
"Shh," she said, and kissed him, wetly, wonderfully.
She might not even remember, whispered a treacherous but distinctly convincing voice. Even if she does, where's the harm? Fuck her. She wants it. You want it. What the hell's the problem?
The problem was . . . the problem was that it was Sara. Even though he was far from sober himself, he still knew full well that she didn't really want to do it. She'd hate him in the morning, if she did remember, and while that was no novelty in general, he discovered suddenly and quite unexpectedly that he didn't want Sara to hate him under any circumstances. Especially not now, when she'd put herself on the line for him. Suppose she applied for a transfer? Or left I&I entirely?
He couldn't do it.
Shouldn't
do it, rather, because he most definitely could and if he didn't stop himself in the next minute or two, he was going to.
"Sara, don't." Another mild objection, which wouldn't be any more use than the last one. So tempting to let her stay there.
"Shush."
She kissed him again, one hand cupping his face — elbow wedged uncomfortably in his ribs — and the other hand sliding down him. Then she was groping him, the kiss fading away as she concentrated fiercely on the fastening of his trousers. Pissed as she was, she'd manage it before long.
He really ought to . . . move. Soon.
Then she succeeded, and her hand slipped inside. He had a nasty moment, imagining her fingernails as he'd last seen them, long and blood red. Then her fingers closed gently round his cock and he forgot about sharp nails, and about the ridiculous idea that he wasn't going to do this.
Let instinct and long practice take over. He ran his fingers through her hair, tilting her head for a more careful, thorough kiss. She kissed him back, still stroking his cock, gentle caresses making him want a firmer grip.
He slid his other hand up her thigh, stopped at the top and slipped his fingers round the scanty fabric of her knickers. Tracing their edge around her hip, he discovered that they seemed to consist entirely of lace. He'd always wondered, but before now he'd never fucked anyone he'd felt like asking . . .
"Are those comfortable?"
She lifted her head. "Comfortable?"
"There's not much to them."
"Yeah, they are. Not cheap, but comfy. Because they're not cheap. Soft lace. See?"
She took her hand away from his cock, put it over his and guided him further round, further down.
"I see," he said seriously. "Very nice."
She giggled, then drew her breath in sharply as he stroked his fingers along between her legs, exploring the territory.
"
Very
nice," he said.
Not to mention very wet. Wetter than was justified by a few minutes' groping and a couple of kisses.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" he murmured into her ear. One finger slipped into her, stroking, as he began to rub her with his palm, small circles — gently to start with, gauging her reaction.
She let out a long breath and, on the end of it, said, "All evening."
"You've been thinking about me fucking you all evening?"
She nodded, her hair brushing his face. "Yes."
"Before that?"
She giggled again, a brief, cut-off hiccup. "Sometimes."
He slipped another finger into her, pressing harder with the heel of his hand. No complaints so far.
"Tell me about it."
"No."
He started to take his hand away, and she grabbed his wrist with gratifying speed, pushing him back down into her.
"Tell you what," he said. "I'll keep going if you tell me what you were thinking about me. And when."
She hesitated for a moment longer, then let go of his wrist. "'kay. Remember when you took me to play squash and I was rubbish?"
"Yes." He shifted his arm, getting more comfortable, and settled into a rhythm.
"Mmm. Up a bit. Harder. Yes — that's right."
"And?"
"And, okay, anyway, apart from the fact that I'm just
so
pathetic at sport, I kept missing the ball 'cause I was looking at you in those incredible shorts."
He smiled, flattered. "Go on."
"That's it. Just you in shorts. Nice body." She ran her hand down his chest. "Very nice body."
"Do you really want me to stop?"
"No, I . . . oh, all right, no. That wasn't it." She hesitated again, long pauses between the sentences, but he let her take her time because he knew she wouldn't stop.
"By the time we finished I was so hot. God, I wanted you. And I don't screw at work, told you that already. But if you'd asked . . . just then I'd have let you do me right there on the court. With the whole Division watching if they'd been there. Glass box. I'd have done it. I wanted you that much.
That much
."
She squeezed around him, his fingers suddenly gliding slick against tight muscle.
"And?" he prompted when she relaxed.
"And, anyway, it was late so there was no one else there. In the changing rooms. Empty. Just me. Being so fucking hot for you. So I had a shower, hot shower. And I did what you're doing right now."
She fell silent again, her breath coming in whimpers. He speeded up, feeling an ache starting in his arm but knowing it wouldn't matter now. He kissed her ear lightly, felt her shiver. "Come on. Tell me the end."
"No. Yes. All right. Yes. I mas . . . I masturbated in the shower, thinking about you. And I came, thinking about you screwing me. Against the tiles. Under the water." She drew in a deep breath as he kept kissing, breathing into her ear. "And that's all there was, that's everything, I promise. I came, thinking about you. Like I'm going to . . . please, keep it going . . . keep it, oh . . . "
That had done it. She went over the edge, words trailing off into a long, soft moan into his neck. He pushed his fingers into her, relishing the strong muscles spasming. Oh, but that was going to feel good around his cock, if she let him fuck her.
When she stilled, he slipped his fingers out of her and wiped them on the nearest bit of fabric — they were so close together he couldn't really tell to whom it belonged.
"Sara?"
"Mmm." She lifted her head, and even though her face was shadowed he could see how wide her pupils were. If he was counting favours, then he owed the I&I pharmacy a large one. Lucky that they'd never find out. "What?"
"Better than the shower?"
She laughed throatily. "Oh, yes." She kissed him a few times, running her hand through his hair. "
Definitely
better." She kissed her way away from his mouth, down to his shoulder, and nibbled gently, unfastening his shirt to get at his chest.
He was wondering how to phrase a polite request for her to skip the preliminaries and move on to something more active when she nudged his thigh with her knee, pushing him sideways. He eased his hip away from the back of the sofa so that she could move further up his body, her soaking knickers brushing up along his cock. He reached down, but she pushed his hands away.
"I'll do it."
It would've been a great deal easier if she'd taken her knickers off. But he didn't want to risk them getting too far apart and giving her a chance to remember properly that she didn't fuck at work.
The idea made him uneasy. So, not really wanting to, he gave it one more try — more insurance for the morning than anything.
"Sara, are you sure — "
She leaned down, kissed him, and knelt up again. "'course I'm sure." Her hand enclosed his cock again, positioning him, and then she stopped, looking down at him, abruptly serious.
"Are
you
sure?"
He blinked at her. "God, yes.
Quite
sure."
In some strange way, he wasn't. But the tiny whisper of doubt lasted barely another three seconds, until she came down onto him slowly, and he groaned out loud.
Wet heat engulfed him, and he only realised he'd closed his eyes when he opened them to find her looking down at him, still wide-eyed and solemn.
She tilted her head. "Good?"
"Not . . . at all bad."
She rocked against him, pressing down. "Know what I want?"
He shook his head.
"I want to come again. With you inside me."
"I was inside you before."
"Not like that." She squeezed tight around him. "Like this. Filling me."
No complaints from down here. "If you like."
"I like. 'S different. Feels different. You wouldn't . . . oh, of course you would. Or you might. Is it different?"
He smiled up at her. "Is what different?"
"Coming." She was starting to breathe faster again, rubbing against him harder. "Coming with a man screwing you, instead of coming without."
"Yes, it is."
She nodded, her eyes closing. "Thought it would be."
Normally talking during sex bored him, but with Sara it was . . . sweet. Charming. A variant on her usual funny, dirty, undemanding conversation, with the delightful addition of fucking her. Or, as it happened, her fucking him.
He unfastened her blouse, then slipped it back over her shoulders. Coordinating underwear, of course. He'd always loved her skin colour, and now the beautiful honey tones set off the white lace. He'd heard the opinion expressed at I&I, always well out of Sara's hearing, that she'd be more attractive with bigger tits. Obviously expressed by people who hadn't enjoyed this angle, he thought smugly. He stroked his palms over the soft lace and softer skin, cupping her breasts as she pressed forwards.
It wasn't getting anywhere productive from his point of view, but he didn't mind. It felt very nice, and he had an incredible view of her above him. Sara the perfect admin, flushed, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her breathing turning into the whimpers he'd heard before.
He reached up, brushing her lips with his fingers and she opened her mouth wider, closing her lips around them, sucking hard. The sensation ran like wildfire down his arm and spine, straight into his groin, making him moan. She ran her tongue across his fingertips, back and forth.