Free Indecent...Desires by Jane O'Reilly

when I walk into the office he’s working in.
    â€˜Turn off the computer,’ I say. ‘It’s time to go home.’
    â€˜Oh,’ he says. ‘Home?’ He leans back in his chair, his fingers linked together, and gives me a look that could set the walls on fire. How did he learn to do that, I wonder? How does he know that staring at me that way, with those dark, dark eyes hooded by heavy lids, with his mouth creasing in that way that makes his dimples pop, sends lust barrelling though me, making my breasts heavy and my pussy wet?
    â€˜Yes,’ I say. ‘Home.’
    He is out of his chair like a shot, packing away discs and various bits of hardware. I don’t have the faintest clue what any of it is for, but I’ve heard the other staff singing his praises. Apparently the new software he’s installed is fantastic, and has simplified their job tremendously.
    Lucas slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and follows me out of the office. When we get to the exit he holds the door for me and, as I walk through it, I feel my excitement expand inside me, filling every inch of my body. I am taking this beautiful man home with me. He is going to do whatever I ask of him for the next two days. There is no anxiety, no fear that I am going to say or do the wrong thing, that I will go too far.
    We walk back to our street in silence, not needing to fill the space with pointless small talk. And somewhere along the way, he slips his hand into mine. His fingers circle mine, deliciously firm and strong, and his thumb strokes over the back of my hand in a soft, relentless rhythm. It is tender and gentle, and when I glance across at him, he smiles at me.
    And I smile back.
    When we get to our street, he starts in the direction of his building, but I stop him with a look. ‘My flat,’ I say.
    He raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’
    â€˜Yes,’ I say. ‘Absolutely.’
    I don’t know how he knows that the top floor of that building has been my private sanctuary since my divorce, that I’ve never let anyone up there. That I needed a space that was entirely my own, somewhere to hide and eat caramel crunch ice cream and rebuild my shattered self-esteem. And I can see now that it was shattered. Smashed into a million pieces, and those pieces kicked in all directions, so that I had no choice but to rebuild myself from scratch.
    To rebuild myself into someone new, someone of my own choosing. I can never be the person I was before. And thanks to Lucas Brady, I finally understand that I don’t need to be. He follows me up the stairs, follows me through my door when I open it. He doesn’t say a word.
    Until I take him into the kitchen. I unfasten my skirt and let it slide to the floor. I’m wearing French knickers today, soft and glamorous, and the seamed stockings that have been hiding in the back of my drawer for what seems like forever. I take off my knickers, exposing the pale skin of my bum to his gaze. I walk over to the freezer and open it, bending over to retrieve what I want, making sure to linger, my legs slightly parted.
    He makes a rough, hungry sound and I smile to myself, knowing that he’s seeing exactly what I want him to see. I spent my lunch break yesterday at the beauty salon, as he’s just discovered.
    I set the tub of ice cream on the work top, grab a spoon, pop the lid. My first taste of that creamy, cold sweetness covers my tongue and slides down my throat, and I don’t think it has ever tasted so wonderful. At least, not until I glance back at Lucas over my shoulder. He is watching me in silence, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder, his hands twisted into the strap. His knuckles are white, showing the effort that it is taking for him to keep his hands where they are and not put them somewhere else.
    â€˜Take off your clothes,’ I tell him. Then I go back to eating my ice cream. I savour it slowly, not wanting to