Business and pleasure rarely mix.
She’s far too innocent for me, despite those tempting whisky eyes.
She’s young. And I’m a dirty old perve.
I need to stop looking at her arse.
And her tits.
A quick shag and my thoughts around her will be less pornographic. And a quick shag will all it’ll be that first time, given that I’m a month out of practise. As she bends over to stroke Louis’s rat that is actually a dog, I decide this needs to happen sooner rather than later. Before I start abusing myself because that is a rare looking arse. Round and full. The kind a man could grab happy handfuls of while she bounces on his dick, tits lush and full, bouncing along with the rest of her.
‘Would you like to show the way?’ she asks in that soft voice of hers.
Darlin’, I’d like to show you all the ways. The long and the hard. The sweet and the slow. The ways that have you bent over the back of the sofa or your back flush against the shower wall. I shake my head, dislodging the images of all that dark hair spread out across my pillow, her skin all flushed, and her mouth open in a soft ‘O’. One hand pinching her pink nipple, the other wrapped tight in my hair as, buried between her legs, I’d bring her to the brink of orgasm without letting her go.
‘Mr Adams?’
Her soft voice breaks into my perverted reverie. Her young, soft voice. How old is she, anyway? Too young for you, my mind sings. Her age was mentioned in the folder with her details. It began with the number two, I’m sure.
Anything south of twenty-five is no good for you.
Any person who works for you is out of bounds, too.
‘The room.’ I rub my hand down my face, hoping to God she doesn’t look any lower than my shoulders just now. ‘You’ll want to see your room. Down the hall.’ I gesture ahead, hoping she takes the hint, and she does, turning and pulling her wee case behind her. Belatedly, it occurs to me I should’ve taken it from her but then decide against it. She might look down and see my hard-on and realise how depraved I am.
‘Second door down.’ My tone is gruff as I realise she’ll be in the room next to me.
‘Oh, this is lovely,’ she says over her shoulder as she pushes the door wide.
‘It’s a little small,’ I say, my eyes flicking around the room. The smallest of the three rooms was, until a month ago, my home office. I’d had the furniture moved out to bring in the bed from the second bedroom, making that bedroom Louis’s. Fuck, where will my parents stay when they travel down? I’ll have to figure that out later. Later, when she’s not bent over at the waist, smelling the blossoms of a potted plant on the windowsill.
Fuck, that arse. It’s a thing of beauty.
Also, I’d fuck that arse, given half a chance.
‘My mother must’ve brought that.’ I shove my hands into my pockets and keep my feet planted firmly on the wooden floor of the hallway. ‘I’m surprised it’s still alive.’ I hadn’t realised it was there. It can’t have seen water in a couple of weeks. If I can barely keep a plant alive, how am I expected to successfully raise a child?
‘Well, I’m glad it is. It’s beautiful,’ she says, turning back to me. Making her way to the other side of the bed, she lifts her case onto it.
‘I’ll, er, leave you to get settled, then?’
‘Thank you.’ There aren’t many people in the world who use that less than a throwaway line, yet she looks like she truly means it.
‘My room is the first we passed. To the other side of yours is Louis’s room. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, right next to a wee laundry room.’
‘Louis is next door, bathroom at the end of the hall, and I should knock on the wall if I need anything.’ As the smile slides from her face, I can’t help but chuckle. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it—’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I respond, the pressure in my chest lessened somehow. ‘I’ll let you get on.’
Reluctantly, I take myself someplace else. Someplace else to do something else than the lovely Ella.
9
Ella
When I worked in Paris, my family lived in a grand old Haussmann apartment in the 8th Arrondissement. Large, airy rooms, parquet flooring, and marble fireplaces. Beautiful. My room was at one end of the apartment, almost removed from the living areas, which meant, when the family was together, my presence was unobtrusive. Not that I was made to feel less, but sometimes, I just wanted to be by myself. Anyway, the style and size of the apartment made that okay. Not so in this apartment. It’s not a small space by London standards, so maybe it’s just him.