by Penny Henry
“What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
“Where did you learn that, Michael?
“I lived with an older woman for a while.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-six.”
“How old are you, Michael, twenty-two, twenty three?”
“I’m nineteen. I’m told I’m very mature for my age.”
Imogen gave a wry smile and turned to find the pad that Michael had dropped on the desk. She signed it quickly before turning back to face him. He had a silly grin on his face. He had been watching her lean across the desk and his youthful penis was thickening. Imogen walked close and dropped her hand to encircle him and rub along the shaft. “Oh, the joys of being young.” Her expert strokes raised him to full strength while they looked in each other’s faces. She twisted away to walk towards the armchair and kneel on it. A glance across her shoulder told her that Michael didn’t need instructions. She dropped her head as he poked the end against her drenched lips. This time there was no cautious approach. He drove inside her in one smooth lunge that had Imogen’s hands reaching for the top of the armchair. His fingers curled into her hips and she arched her back as deep, long strokes were pumped into her in a steady rhythm. She thrust back against him as she came in a shuddering orgasm and bit the cloth on the back of the chair. Michael held still for a moment before continuing his measured tempo. He was taking a long time to cum and Imogen was racked with flooding orgasms. The easy in and out slides grew faster, Imogen tore at the fabric of the chair with her teeth. His fingers dug into her flesh as he grunted loudly. Then he slowed down, circling his groin against her in the last dredges of pleasure. Imogen was breathing hard and sweating. They stayed like that as they both recovered and Michael’s thickness slipped out of her. She squirmed round in the seat to look at him. He was wearing a victorious smile that made Imogen giggle. “Wow,” she said. “And she left you?”
Michael grinned. “I couldn’t keep it in my trousers.”
Imogen pulled herself upright and heaved herself out of the chair. “I don’t suppose there’s anymore left in the tank?” she flicked his limp penis with a finger - she had two years to make up for. They both looked down at his wilted member.
“Give me half an hour.”
Imogen patted his cheek. “You are a cheeky boy, Michael. Go on, get dressed and don’t forget your pad.”
They both dressed and Imogen walked him to the door. “Goodbye, Michael.”
“What’s your name?”
“It’s… it’s Rachel.” It was the first name that came into her mind.
He winked and walked away. She heard his bike start up and checked round the office before setting the alarm and stepping through the door. She breathed in the cool evening air. She was feeling fresh and invigorated.
At eight o'clock that evening Imogen turned her car into the light of the underground car park and neatly parked by a black Porsche she had never seen before. Not that it mattered. The one area the contractors had got right was the parking spaces below the luxury block. She had a reserved space and had never been without a spot to park.
Thursday was normally her networking night but tonight she would be on the computer again. Tomorrow she would be in a meeting to discuss the future of the website. Like every other big company, Sblig maintained a global presence on the Internet. The website hadn’t been revamped for a while. Imogen had decided to take a look for herself. She had a few ideas of her own. The ability to update the website from the office was urgently needed. Things moved at such a pace these days that there wasn’t time for an outside agency to be involved. The internet wasn’t a concern for Imogen. It was e-mailing she had a problem with. The website was recording a massive number of hits and that was the way that she wanted to keep it. Rose had delegated the up-dating to Imogen with the help of the tech-guy that she hadn’t yet met. Downloading music from the site was an absolute priority. iTunes was taking the lion’s share. Sblig Records needed to catch up fast.
She stepped from her car before reaching back inside to find the ground coffee and glass jug that she had dispatched an office junior to buy. She picked up her briefcase and cradled the coffee jug and coffee against her chest, pushing the door with her knee and pressing the remote to lock the car. She clutched her keys in her hand and re-arranged the load in her arms. She hadn't given a second look to the Porsche parked next to her car. She was rudely reminded of its presence in an ear-splitting second. The blare of the horn in the confined space was enough to cause her to jump and almost drop the precious glass jug. She spun round with sparks shooting from her eyes.
"Sorry!" Gable looked up from the open door.
Imogen's angry words caught in her throat as Gable unwound from the driver’s seat. The car was obviously a snug fit for his rangy frame. He was wearing jeans and a military-style shirt unbuttoned on his chest. Imogen melted in the face of Gable's grin of apology. The annoying events of last night were suddenly forgotten. His glittering blue eyes lifted her breast and took her breath away. The fast-running blood in her veins raised its pace and hammered behind her ears. He was almost too good looking. Then she scolded herself for being so shallow,
"Oh, it’s you, Gable." She fought to remain in control. "Hi. I didn't realize."
"My fault again. I caught the horn with my elbow as I was getting out. I should have taken the key out first."
Imogen ran her eyes across the shiny bodywork. "Nice car. Is it yours or have you borrowed it?"
Gable shrugged. "No, it’s mine. I needed something to get around in while I'm in town." He pressed the remote locking and slipped the fob into his pocket before standing in front of Imogen and trapping her in a steady gaze. "Actually, I was hoping to bump into you, Imogen." He noticed the load she was carrying. "Hmm, I see you’ve got a new coffee jug. Maybe I'll get to try it soon?" He cocked a questioning eyebrow.
Imogen smiled, resisting the inner temptation to bodily drag Gable to the elevator and into her apartment. "We'll have to wait and see, won’t we?" Yeah, that sounded cool. She drew a breath. "Did you say you were looking for me?" Her blood had slowed to a torrent and she could hear her voice above the roar.
"I was just wondering if you were available." He instantly realized the poor phrasing of his words. He blushed awkwardly. "What I meant to say was, are you free tonight? I thought we could take in a show or maybe go for a meal. I was hoping you’d let me make up for last night."
Imogen had entirely missed Gable's clumsy sentence. She was hanging on his every word. "Oh, Gable—" She was torn between making an excuse and avoiding hurting his feelings. "I'm so sorry but I've got to work tonight."
To Imogen's amazement, Gable's face dropped in disappointment. His confidence appeared to evaporate. Imogen imagined that Gable had been hurt worse than she realized. And she had just rejected him. She reproached herself for her quick answer before considering the courage it must have taken for Gable to ask her out. She thought fast. "Look, I've got an idea. Why don't you come round to my place?" She nodded to indicate her load. "Like you said, I've got the coffee jug and the coffee. I have to spend some time on the Internet but it won't take me all night. What do you think?"
Gable's features began to reform into the handsome countenance that disturbed her senses. His smile opened up again. "That would be great. In fact it sounds like fun. I'll bring a bottle of red with me, if that's okay with you."
"You bring the wine. I'll order pizza." Imogen’s eyes lit up and her heart leapt to see the change in Gable's demeanor. He was once again the suave man about town.
"Would nine o’clock be good for you?” he asked.
"I’ll look forward to it. Maybe you’ve got some ideas that I can steal.” She smiled a winning smile and spun away to walk towards the elevator. Gable hung back, apparently needing to collect something from his Porsche.
"See you later, Gable," she called. "Oh, by the way, I think you'll find my purse buried in your sofa somewhere." She didn't mention th
e subject of his absence from the penthouse. It was none of her business.
"I'll bring it with me tonight.”
Imogen felt his eyes on her back and swayed her hips a little more than necessary. She knew she had great legs. A little encouragement to Gable's battered libido wouldn't go amiss. By the time she had entered the elevator and turned to press the button, Gable’s eyes had left her curvaceous rear. He was reaching into the back of his car and gathering up some paperwork. She hoped he had more control of his files and folders than had his butter-fingered brother. And, speaking of Roger, she hadn't noticed his car in the car park. The poor man was working overtime again. She wondered if he was in for another late night. She promised herself to take pains to avoid him on his way to work in the morning. The doors slid shut and Imogen considered things had worked out rather well. She had put last night behind her and knew she would have to tread carefully where Gable's bruised ego was concerned. The image he projected was of a self-assured and worldly man. Imogen knew that Gable’s manner could change in a second. Whatever pain he had suffered had damaged his confidence to such a degree that she guessed he doubted his own masculinity. She would do everything she could to help him through his loss of confidence. She swore to herself that she would never ask the reason why.
By eight forty-five Imogen had showered and changed. She hadn’t lingered in the shower or allowed her thoughts to turn to Michael. It had been a necessary act - straight forward, uncomplicated sex with a virile nineteen-year-old stud. She almost gave herself a high-five. Her shivers of anticipation had started when she stood naked in the bedroom deciding what to wear. She had settled on leggings and a long loose top. She had been on a high since sailing into the apartment. Now she was agonizing over whether to wear a bra. She didn't usually bother at home, but she was equally anxious not to be too much in Gable's face. A chance would be a fine thing, she had told herself with a grin. In the end she had decided on a thin cotton bra and quickly dressed. Then she had switched on the coffee machine and booted up the computer while the coffee dripped into the jug. Now she was perched in front of the computer waiting for Gable to knock.
Just the thought that Gable would soon be smiling at her door was enough to send a ripple of expectation scurrying through Imogen's stomach. She did her best to ignore the signals from her body and focused on the screen. She pulled up one music site after another. The curious thing was the lack of music on every opening page. In other words the sites were boring. Most of them were too many words and too little action. None of them were especially user-friendly. They were never going to compete with an iTunes website. Even iTunes was one-dimensional. The website was great for downloading - but there was a complete lack of the latest celebrity scandal or web-chats with the popular bands. Imogen wondered if anyone had bothered to ask the fans what they wanted to see. She rather doubted that boring company profiles were what drew the tweenies to log on. The fans were always chasing the latest rumor and who was dating who. The web site should be about music and gossip. The only good thing was that there was nothing to beat. The aim was to sell music, but it was also to sell the artists themselves. Excitement was the key word, and that was sadly lacking. She began to scribble key words on her pad: free downloads, celebrity chat, showbiz chat, instant prizes, concert tickets, horoscopes, make-up and interactive interviews - she was thinking of an on-line tweenie magazine. She missed the first rap on her door completely. The second knock was louder and did the trick. Imogen leapt to her feet, Gable! How could she have forgotten him? A third knock was on its way when Imogen tugged the door open.
"Gable, come in." Her eyes were shining and she was grinning mindlessly from the excitement of her ideas.
"Hey, Imogen. You look pleased to see me. That’s nice." He was leaning against the doorway, striking a model pose and swinging a bottle of red wine from one hand. In his other hand he held Imogen's missing purse. His vivid blue eyes twinkled with humor and a sexy smile drew his mouth into a heart-stopping curve. Imogen’s heart bounced off her ribcage and juddered into an uneven rhythm. Her eyes stared into his in a second of promise.
"I've been looking at our website and thinking of ways to improve it." It sounded a lame excuse to defend the mixture of excitement and nervousness that radiated from her face.
"Aah, that makes everything much clearer." He was gently mocking her. He walked with her into the lounge and eyed the computer screen. "It must be exciting stuff." He handed the wine to Imogen and looked at her with an amused twist to his smile. Then he remembered. "Your missing purse I believe."
She tossed the purse onto the table and stood the bottle next to it, bridling for an instant at his patronizing tone before deciding to let it go. "Thank you, Gable." She calmed herself down. “It's the potential that I find exciting.” She said it in a conversational tone, pointing to a chair at the dining table. “Grab a chair. Do you use the Internet much?" she asked politely.
Gable followed and adjusted the chair next to Imogen’s empty seat. “What are you looking at?" He avoided answering her question and took an interest in the screen. He seemed to be paying more attention to that than to his patient hostess.
Imogen quietly huffed and disappeared with the wine. She was back in under a minute. She ignored her vacant seat and stood behind him, resting her hands on the back of his chair. His hair was so glossy that it looked wet. She resisted the temptation to run her hands through the raven locks and contented herself with breathing in his warm male scent. "I'm looking for ways to improve the website." His masculine cologne was folding round Imogen's senses. “I’ve been researching the competition.”
"I don't suppose you have access to your website from here?"
"I thought you weren't into computers?"
"It’s not exactly computer programming, is it?" said Gable lightly. "We have to have something to amuse us when we're waiting around on a shoot. There's usually a laptop around that I can use to keep in touch with what's happening in the real world."
"I never thought of it like that." She supposed the beauty of the Internet was that anyone could log-on and find their way round without possessing any particular skills. That was what made it so appealing to Imogen's business sense.
"Too slow, too many words," Gable muttered absent-mindedly before raising his voice. "Surfers lose interest after a couple of seconds." He was navigating round the Sblig website and confirming Imogen's opinion. "You’d have lost them by now."
"That's exactly what I thought. I've been jotting down ideas to take to a meeting tomorrow. I think links to music downloads and celebrity chat would be a good idea. Samples of our latest releases would be great on the home page."
"I totally agree. You would kinda think that music on a record company site would be a priority. We live in a digital age. It’s a doddle for someone who knows what he’s doing.”
Imogen hesitated. She had a good idea of what the Internet was capable of but the technical side was outside her expertise. "What would you suggest?"
Gable screwed his face. “Well, it’s not really my thing but I suppose we could scribble down some ideas for you.”
Imogen leant over Gable's shoulder as they threw ideas around. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be working together and sharing their thoughts. She felt a wave of happiness sweep up from her toes to bathe her in a glow of contentment. Their cheeks were side by side as they switched between websites looking for gems of information that would boost the Sblig website’s popularity. Imogen sensed that if she turned her face a centimeter in his direction their mouths would meet in a dreamy exploratory kiss - or Gable would take fright and run for the door. She wasn't about to take the chance.
"I… I'll make some coffee." Her voice was cracked and throaty. A large bird was beating inside her breast and her throat was as dry as a sandbox. She pushed herself up from the back of Gable's chair and walked unsteadily to the kitchen. Gable hadn't moved a muscle.
By the time Imogen returned with a tray of coffee and
Highland shortbread, Gable was still flitting from window to window. “I think that’s about it. I can’t see anything else that would interest the kind of punter you’re interested in.”
“Thank you, Gable.” She found a space on the table in front of the sofa to fit the tray. “You’ve been a big help.”
