Indecent...Proposal

by Jane O'Reilly

  ‘Who should I have asked, then?’ I yell right back at him. ‘You?’

  Silence drops. Scott’s chest heaves. He stands there; staring at me, then shoves his hands back in his pockets. ‘Yes,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Maybe you should have asked me.’

  Chapter Three

  I go home shortly after that. I tried to dance, but I couldn’t. I tried to drink more champagne but I couldn’t do that either, and the thick slabs of wedding cake that had been laid out on all the tables just made me feel sick. Paul and Victoria disappeared shortly after I got back to the reception, after I’d left Scott standing in the corridor. I hadn’t said anything else to him. I had simply turned around and walked away, and he had let me.

  Now it’s Monday, and I’m back at work. I’ve spent the morning dealing with paperwork and answerphone messages, and now I have to show some bloke around various flats in town. One of the things I like about working at the Estate Agents is that I’m not tied to my desk, but right now I’d give anything to be locked in the office with a cup of tea, browsing shoes on the internet.

  Especially given that the bloke has turned out to be Lucas. I fix on a smile and try to be professional, but that lasts about five minutes. I don’t seem to have the energy to maintain it, especially not when he’s flattering me with that slow smile. It’s almost a relief to have some distraction from my constant thoughts of Scott.

  ‘So,’ Lucas says. ‘Got anything good to show me?’

  ‘That depends what you’re looking for.’ I unlock the door to flat number one, a first-floor two-bed in a new build complex behind the library. I push it open, and we walk into the smell of new carpets and fresh paint.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘But I’ll know it when I see it.’

  ‘A man who likes to keep his options open. I approve.’

  I show him the living room, the kitchen. Everything is neutral and bland, completely inoffensive. There isn’t much furniture either, as the owners are abroad and most of it is in storage. ‘Nice,’ he says.

  ‘If by nice you mean boring, then I agree with you.’

  Then we find ourselves in the bedroom, staring at an expanse of mattress. There aren’t any sheets, and the curtains are thin voile that does nothing to block out the light.

  ‘You know,’ Lucas says, ‘if you did have anything good to show me, this might be the time.’

  I glance across at him. His hair is untidy, and he’s wearing a V-neck sweater with a striped shirt underneath. There’s a definite sexiness to him, a scruffy, I-don’t-give-a-damn edge. He’s a couple of years younger than me, I reckon. Eager. Easy. Perfect for my first post-Paul and Victoria fling. He’s practically drooling already, and I haven’t even started flirting with him yet, not really. I lower myself onto the edge of the mattress, and unfasten the front of my suit jacket. My pencil skirt keeps my knees together for now. ‘What do you want to see?’

  ‘Your pussy,’ he says. ‘It was dark last time. I didn’t get a good look at it.’

  The hot ache between my legs cranks up a notch. It has been annoying me all day. If I’m honest, it has been annoying me ever since I caught Scott Smithson staring at my tits. ‘You like looking at pussy?’ I ask, as I ease the hem of my skirt up to mid-thigh, flashing the lace edge of my hold-ups. I never wear tights. Probably because my bras are all a miracle of modern engineering, so I overcompensate elsewhere.

  ‘Looking,’ Lucas says. ‘Touching. Tasting. All the usual things.’

  I ease my skirt higher. He doesn’t move from his position in the doorway. ‘What else do you like?’

  ‘Women who know what they want.’

  ‘You mean slutty women,’ I say. It doesn’t offend me. I’m used to it. Something about the combination of blonde hair, big boobs and high heels makes people think I’m easy. I don’t have a problem with that. I’ve never bought into the idea that it’s wrong for women to chase sex, to want it, that we’re somehow dirty if we want lots of sex with lots of different people and we don’t need it to mean anything.

  It’s just sex.

  ‘No.’ He gives me that nervous smile again, and this time I notice he’s got dimples. I’ll do a lot for dimples. ‘Not at all.’

  I move my legs apart, lean back on my hands and let him look. My knickers are sheer and hide nothing. ‘Like what you see?’ I lift a finger to my mouth and toy with it, let my tongue slide over it then suck it deep, like it’s a little cock.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. His hand is drifting in the direction of his groin, and right at that moment I am absolutely not missing Paul, or Victoria. I am thinking about Scott Smithson, though. About the way he looked at me, with my dress round my waist. About the way he said that I could have asked him.

  I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want thinking about him to turn me on, but it does. I force myself to focus on Lucas, who is watching me with a growing hunger in his eyes and cupping his cock through the fabric of his trousers. ‘Naughty boy,’ I tell him, moving my knees a bit further apart. ‘Naughty, naughty boy, playing with your cock.’

  He wraps his fingers around the base of his erection, and I like it. I like it a lot. ‘Maybe you should punish me,’ he says, a little shyly.

  I can’t imagine Scott ever asking for that. He’d have to admit he was wrong first, and that would never happen. I beckon Lucas closer, closer. I wonder what Scott would think if he could see me now, sat on a bed that’s not mine in a flat I don’t own with my legs spread for a man I barely know. Oh, he’d be so angry, but he’d be hot, too, just like he was back at the hotel.

  An image of Scott stripping off his bow tie flashes into my mind, bringing with it an immediate rush of heat to my cunt, a heat that can only be soothed with one thing. ‘On your knees,’ I tell Lucas, who immediately obeys. I ease my fingers under the gusset of my thong and pull it to the side. Lucas looks at me, dark eyes burning under half-lowered lids. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I ask. ‘Lick it!’

  He exhales slowly, sets his hands to my thighs, and then he lowers his mouth to my pussy and starts to suck. His tongue is firm and hot, and I am just starting to feel my way into the stroke of it when my phone starts to chirp and vibrate in my pocket. I take it out, check the screen, more out of habit than anything else. I don’t recognise the number, which means that it’s work. All calls to the office are being redirected to me.

  I glance down at Lucas, who is still busy between my thighs. I should answer it. I’m supposed to be working, not fucking. And it will only take a minute, anyway. ‘Greenway Estate Agents, Amber speaking.’

  Lucas pauses. He makes a noise that sounds a bit like a laugh, and then he gets back to work. I prop my feet on his shoulders. I like the way my heels look, resting against the darkness of his sweater, my legs spread wide, his dark head between my legs. He’s watching me as I take the call, and the whole situation takes on a new, erotic dimension. A tongue in my cunt and a customer on the phone, how very delicious. What would Scott think of this? Would he get that same flush in his cheeks, I wonder, that same desperate hunger in his eyes?

  ‘Amber,’ says the man on the other end of the line.

  My skin goes tight at the sound of that familiar voice. No. It can’t be. It just can’t be. ‘Scott.’ I try to get air. ‘How did you get my number?’ Stupid question. All he had to do was ring the office number, which is on the internet and in the phonebook.

  ‘Ellie gave it to me.’

  Ellie being his sister and my sort of best friend. ‘Oh,’ I say, only half as an answer, half because Lucas has just discovered the entrance to my vagina, and the feel of his hot, wet tongue fucking into me takes me by surprise.

  ‘I thought we should talk,’ Scott says. ‘About what happened the other night.’

  ‘Talk?’ Apparently I can’t say more than one word at a time. Fuck me; Lucas is good with his tongue. I squirm back on the bed as he slides his tongue inside me, then moves higher, finding my clit and teasing it with his teeth.

  ‘Yes,’ Sc
ott continues. He sounds irritated, as if he’s angry that he’s having this conversation with me. ‘I’m not happy with the way things were left.’

  ‘Right,’ I manage, as Lucas brings his fingers into play. I lie back on the bed, because sitting upright and talking are beyond me now. Two fingers. No, three. Fuck.

  ‘Things were said.’ Scott’s voice is deep, rough. How come I never noticed that before? It rubs over me like a calloused hand, scraping at sensitive parts of me, and I close my eyes, the sensory overload too much.

  ‘Yes.’ That’s more to Scott than to Lucas, but Lucas seems to think it’s for him, as he starts to finger me a little deeper. I close my eyes, my back arching against the bed. I have Lucas between my thighs, his mouth hot and skilled, Scott’s voice in my ear, and my mind is doing all sorts of crazy things. ‘Oh, god,’ I mutter, imagining that Scott isn’t at the other end of the phone, that he’s here, that it’s his mouth on my pussy, that he’s saying filthy things to me in that voice. Things like spread your legs wider, Amber and I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week. I dig the fingers of my free hand into Lucas’s hair, keeping his mouth on me as my climax rolls ever closer. ‘Yes,’ I say, into the phone. ‘Oh, god, I want that.’

  Lucas adds another finger, and I can’t help myself. I moan. It’s pornstar-esque, even by my standards. On the other end of the phone, Scott stops talking. He knows, I think to myself, biting down on my bottom lip. He knows. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t end the call. ‘He’s got his mouth on my pussy,’ I say into the phone, knowing that Scott can hear me. ‘Fuck, it’s so good.’ I squirm against the mattress. ‘I’m so horny and wet right now. I really need to come. Is that okay, Scott? Is it OK if I come?’

  A silence stretches out, dark and heavy.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please, Scott, say it’sOK.’

  I get more silence, tense and erotic, as the soft flick of Lucas’s tongue drives me ever closer to the edge. I can’t get over how naughty this is, how wrong, how delicious. Perfect Scott Smithson is listening to me come. I wonder if it’s making him hard, if he’s wanking himself off on the other end of the line, then imagine him doing exactly that. ‘Oh, god,’ I say, unable to hold back now. ‘I’m coming, Scott. I’m coming. I can’t stop myself.’

  My climax rushes through me, hard and uncontrollable, and I arch my back and dig my heels into the mattress as Lucas works me at that same unrelenting pace. I’d almost forgotten he was there; I was so lost in my fantasy of Scott Smithson getting off whilst listening to me.

  I come back to the world slowly, to a smiling Lucas and a sense that I have just done something more wicked than anything else I’ve done before.

  ‘You’re even more outrageous than I realised,’ Lucas says, as his hands slide their way over my thighs, lingering on the lace at the top of my hold-ups. ‘Is there anything you won’t do?’

  I make my way to upright, shake back my hair. ‘Not much.’ I glance at my phone. Call ended, says the screen in neon pink text.

  Not much at all.

  Chapter Four

  I show Lucas around a few more flats. The last one is on the top floor of what was once an imposing Victorian family home. The bedroom has a wide bay window that overlooks the street. Lucas walks around it, as I sit on the windowsill and try to ignore my damp underwear. ‘I’ll take it,’ he says, a couple of minutes later.

  Job done. Five minutes after that, he’s got a slack grin on his face and I’ve got a mouthful of spunk, so I guess you could say that job is done too. I refuse to let myself think about what Scott Smithson would say if I offered to give him a blowjob, so my brain fixates on Paul and Victoria instead. They’re on their honeymoon in the Seychelles now, doing what honeymooners do.

  Paul had been my lover first. The relationship had been exciting, secretive. Estate Agents have keys for plenty of empty houses. For months, our entire relationship was conducted behind other people’s front doors, and I loved it. It made me feel special, wanted, wicked. Then Victoria joined the agency. And Paul started sleeping with her too, only I didn’t know about it. Then he fell in love with her. The sex he’d been having with me was nothing more than that. Sex. But it turned out that Victoria had a thing for blondes with big tits. And it turned out that I got a kick out of Paul watching me tangle with her.

  So for six wicked months, the three of us played together. But it’s over now, it has to be, and what I need is a distraction, a new way to play. Lucas is definitely game, I know that, but as I look at him, I can’t shake the feeling that I need something else. Something not quite so…easy.

  Scott Smithson isn’t easy. He doesn’t even like me. And I know it’s nothing more than my ego talking, but god, the thought that he might be attracted to me excites me beyond belief. And that’s what has me locking up the office twenty minutes early and making my way over to the gym. I swipe my card through the reader, push my way into the changing room and swap my office gear for Lycra and Nikes. Usually I do a class, something high intensity and women only. I don’t mind men watching me bounce and sweat, but I’d rather they were handpicked and weren’t doing it publicly. That’s the problem with being blonde and top-heavy. Men think it gives them the right to stare, even the bald, fat ones who are old enough to be my dad.

  I shove my stuff into a locker, take the key and take a moment to check my hair in the mirror. It gets a pass. Then iPod in hand, I make my way out to the main room of the gym, the one that houses all the running and rowing machines. It’s five-thirty, and the place is already busy.

  I feel the weight of several male stares, but I shake them off and focus on my target. Scott Smithson is already on a treadmill. The one next to his is empty and I dart towards it, but I’m not quick enough. A leggy brunette thrusts her water bottle in the holder, jumps her feet onto the sides. She thumbs the buttons and is quickly into a run that makes me wince.

  She catches my gaze in the mirror, slides a sideways glance at Scott, then catches my eye again and gives an almost imperceptible smirk. Bitch. The bloke on the other side of Scott is sweating, liquid dripping from the end of his nose, his vest sticking to his hairy back. Eww. But as I always tell myself, go big or go home. So I saunter up to the sweaty bloke, fix on a smile and tuck my hair behind my ears. The dashboard on his treadmill says he’s been hogging it for the past forty-five minutes, and the sign on the wall clearly says users are allowed a maximum of thirty.

  ‘You must be so fit!’ I say. ‘I can’t imagine anyone running for forty-five minutes. I can barely manage ten.’

  I can see him considering whether to ignore me or not. Then his gaze falls on my cleavage. ‘You have to learn to pace yourself,’ he says between gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Could you show me how to do that? How to pick the right pace?’

  He hesitates, then slows the machine to a crawl. His hands drop to his hips as sweat drips all over the machine. Then he stops, steps down, gestures for me to get on. I hop up, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab a couple of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall.

  ‘We’ll start you off slowly,’ he says. He reaches across, but I wave him away.

  ‘I’ve got this,’ I say. I thumb the on switch, steadily increase the pace until I’m running at a comfortable jog. Just because I don’t use the stuff in here often doesn’t mean that I can’t use it. I might be blonde, but I’m not stupid.

  The man stills, then realises he’s been had and walks off, muttering something rude under his breath. I flick him the bird in the mirror, but he’s too busy being pissed off to notice. And then I turn my attention to Scott.

  His gaze is focused straight ahead as he runs at a steady pace, arms pumping. White wires trail from his ears to the dark band that circles one of his impressively cut biceps. I can see the woman on the other treadmill desperately trying to catch his attention. A spark of jealousy flares up inside me.

  I’ll show her how to make him look. I thumb the speed button on my treadmi
ll until my feet are pounding the machine. I can feel all the muscles in my body starting to burn, and my sports bra starting to lose its fight against the weight of my breasts.

  That gets his attention. A surreptitious slide of his gaze across the mirror, quickly whipped away when he realises I’ve noticed. I keep running. My heart is pumping a strong, steady rhythm, and I feel fit and alive. But oh god, the bounce. With each step, my breasts fight the tight confines of my bra. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going.

  I’m starting to wonder why I came here, why I’m doing this to myself. It’s not as if I need Scott Smithson. If I want to play, I’ve got Lucas for that. He’s more than capable and more than willing, and he won’t list all my flaws when we’re done.

  And if I wanted a workout, there is a great class at seven. Usually I’m on my way into it just as Scott is on his way out. He gets to see me with my make-up still in place, my gym clothes fresh. I get to see him sweaty and exhausted as he heads off to shower. It has always made me feel superior, and I realise that I needed that to help me deal with him.

  I’m not feeling superior now. I’m still running, keeping my pace, but my mouth is open and I’m breathing loud and hard. My face is red and my armpits are soggy, and there’s no escaping the pain in my breasts. It takes me a heartbeat to decide that I’ve had enough. I drop the speed to a walk, trying to at least make my exit look dignified and intentional, and not like defeat.

  I fight the urge to hook an arm under my breasts and hold them steady, then I think oh, fuck it and do it anyway. It’s not like I have much dignity left now. It’s then that I realise Scott is staring at me. He’s still running, still pounding out the beat to whatever music is blasting through his headphones, and he’s staring at me with the same raw hunger that I saw back in the hotel, when he caught me with Lucas.

  I stumble, nearly losing my footing on the treadmill. The brunette sniggers, and that finishes me off. I’m sweaty and sore, and I don’t know why I came here. It’s too confusing, too much for me right now. I slam the red button that stops the machine, climb off it with shaking legs, then head to the changing rooms as fast as dignity will allow. I empty out my locker without bothering to shower – I can do that when I get home – then push my way to the exit with my kit bag slung over my shoulder and my heels in my hand.