‘There is nothing to tell,’ he says. ‘I misbehaved, and you punished me.’
Why is he saying these things? Why am I reacting to them? Why can’t I just be my usual professional self? For one long, awful moment I wonder if he knows that I am the person who has been slipping notes through his letterbox, but then I dismiss that thought. He couldn’t possibly know. I’ve been discreet. I’ve been careful. And it makes sense that a man who is willing to stand in his window and masturbate would be equally as risqué in other parts of his life. ‘Well, it’s done now,’ I say. ‘You should get back to work.’
‘Thank you, Ms French.’
With that, he heads back in the direction of the offices, back to the computer he’s supposed to have been working on for the past hour. I head back to my desk and my work, back to emails and phone calls and letters and coffee. I tell myself that the situation has been dealt with. He’s clearly just a bit over-sexed, that’s all. I’d have a word with my boss, but then there’s the issue of the stationery cupboard lock-in, so it’s probably best to let the matter rest.
But my brain won’t let it rest, and by half past five I am completely behind schedule. I am swamped with emails, there are several phone calls I have yet to return and we have run out of biscuits, mostly because I cannot stop eating them. It is a relief to turn off my computer, pick up my handbag and coat and head home, even though I have so much left to do. I will come in early in the morning, I decide, and finish it then.
I say goodbye to the staff as I tidy my desk and pretend that everything is completely under control. It’s only a little lie – by tomorrow, I will be on top of everything again. Today has been a peculiar day, that’s all. Meeting my neighbour in the flesh has shaken me up more than I am willing to admit, and I need a little time to pull myself together, to calm myself down.
It is only as I am about to leave that I realise that Lucas is still here. I should probably stay behind, make sure he does actually leave at some point, and doesn’t steal the computers he’s supposed to be working on, but my skin is greasy with exhaustion and I don’t think I can hack spending any time alone in the building with him. It feels too dangerous, too detrimental to my already fragile emotional state.
I pull a notepad and pen from my drawer and scribble a quick list of instructions. The cleaners will lock up and set the alarm when they’ve finished, but I still need to make sure that he knows the procedure for the evening.
I find him in the office at the very end of the corridor. He looks up as I knock briefly and then walk into the room, those dark, dark eyes making my skin tingle. It was OK when he was far away, on the other side of the window, nothing more than a fantasy, but he is too close and too real now, and I don’t like the things I feel when we are in the same room. I place the note on the desk top and slide it towards him.
‘Everyone has gone home,’ I say. ‘I assume you’re staying late.’
He reaches out, touches the tips of his fingers to the edge of the note and pulls it closer, then glances down at it. His hair is messed where I assume he’s been running his hands through it, and he’s unfastened another button on his shirt, revealing more of that beautiful tanned skin.
‘Not too late,’ he says, lifting his gaze back to me. His eyes fix onto mine and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. ‘I have to be home by nine.’
‘Why nine?’ I hear myself ask. I hear the tremor in my voice, too. He always performs for me at nine.
‘I have something to do,’ he says. His voice is low, and there is something odd about the way he is watching me, as if he’s looking for something. ‘You see, there’s this woman lives in the flat opposite mine. She sent me a note this morning, asking me to do something for her, and I don’t want to disappoint.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my voice barely a whisper. He can’t possibly know that it’s me. I’ve been so careful. He doesn’t know. He can’t. ‘Well, you better crack on then.’
‘Don’t you want to know what she asked me to do?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘It’s something very wicked,’ he says. ‘Completely indecent.’
My hands are shaking. My heart is about ready to kick its way out of my chest, and my nipples are tight, hard knots inside my bra. ‘Stop it,’ I tell him. ‘Stop it right now.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He picks up the note, looks at it again. ‘You’re in charge. But I guess you already know that.’
I don’t feel in charge. I feel dangerously close to being completely out of control, to ordering him to bend me over the desk and fuck me deep and hard until the hot ache between my thighs is satisfied.
‘It’s my job,’ I tell him. ‘Turn off the light when you leave.’
And with that, I turn on my heel and march out of the room, before he makes me say something I’ll regret.
Later that evening, I sit on the edge of my bed in the dark, waiting for him to appear. I don’t know if I want him to or not. Today frightened me. Seeing him in my office, talking to him, being so close to him was terrifying, and those things he said to me as I was leaving… It feels like I have been given a warning. It’s been a fun ride, Meredith, but it’s time to get off. He could have been saying those things because he knew it was me, but then again, he could have been saying them to make me squirm, to get his own back because I locked him in the stationery cupboard and left him there for over an hour.
I don’t know if I have the nerve to watch him again, not after today. But if he doesn’t appear, that might mean that he knows it is me, and if that’s the case, I need to know. Time ticks on, past nine p.m. and closer to ten, and my anxiety rises and the urge to go over there and ask him exactly what the hell he’s playing at becomes almost unbearable. And then, at half past ten, the lights go on in his flat. He moves into the middle of his bedroom, rubs his hands through his hair, making what was already less than tame into a dark, wild mess. Then he moves over to the window. He rests an arm against the frame, leaning forwards, looking down at the street. Then he straightens up, snaps his gaze to my window and starts to undress.
The jumper goes first, then the shirt, each button worked free with an infuriating lack of haste. He stands there for a moment, letting me drink in his shape, his perfect lines, his small dark nipples and the ripple of muscle in his belly.
Then his hands move to his trousers, work the belt, work the zip. He eases them down over his hips, then slowly pushes his boxers down to meet them.
I am at my window before I’ve even realised that I’ve moved, my hands pressed to the cold barrier of glass as he stands there and simply lets me look. His cock is hard but he makes no move to touch himself, to give me the satisfaction I crave.
He stares at me for a long, terrifying moment. And then he yanks the curtains closed.
CARINA™
ISBN: 978 1 472 08400 2
Indecent…Proposal
Copyright © 2014 Jane O’Reilly
Published in Great Britain (2014)
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