Chapter 1
Lucy awoke, torn from her dreamless, almost comatose, slumber by the harsh timbre of her alarm signalling the early start of another day. She was sprawled on her front in the centre of a decadent king size bed that she had shared, until some months prior, with Mark, her boyfriend of the preceding three years. The room was shrouded in the dawn darkness with a glimmer of light from beneath the utilitarian blinds in her newly rented, sterile apartment casting shadows across the non-descript floor and plain white walls. She was temporarily disorientated – the bed was familiar but the surroundings were jarringly unexpected save for the ornate mirror that too seemed wholly out of place in the room. She had anticipated opening her eyes to the fawn-coloured velvet curtains of her London home and the lovingly chosen wall colour, the aptly named ‘nude glow’ by Dulux. Whilst really just a warm white, at the time it had felt like a portentous choice, enveloping their bedroom in a seductive hue in anticipation of the paint’s name reflecting what was to happen beneath their crisp white sheets.
She remembered how excited she had been to move in together in the run-up to Christmas that year and the delight she’d felt at receiving Mark’s gift to her. Although since he hadn’t been there when she’d unwrapped it, her faithful best friend, Rachel, had hovered at her side for the grand reveal. Lucy cast her mind back, picturing the scene.
With nervous anticipation and Rachel watching on, she expectantly removed the festive-coloured ribbon that encircled the cream cardboard box. Lucy opened the lid and carefully folded back the tissue paper, hoping to find beautiful lace lingerie or perhaps a delicate negligee nestled therein. Rachel craned forward, sharing the anticipation.
“Oh, they’re sheets.” And, recovering herself and imbuing her tone with what she considered a more appropriate level of excitement, “How lovely. Silly of me really. I had visions of Mark traipsing around a lingerie shop searching for an exquisite one piece or sensual bra and knickers set. The box was so beautifully presented too.” Aware it sounded like she was over-compensating, she continued, “I guess I imagined that sort of retailer would offer a gift wrap service at this time of year. Given we’re moving in together soon though, sheets are a far more sensible decision and romantic in their own way.”
The indignant retort of her best friend, Rachel, reverberated around her head.
“I’m sorry, lovely, but I have to disagree. A gift should be something precious, a treat, something you wouldn’t necessarily be able to justify buying for yourself. Had he bought you scandalous lingerie, you’d know he’d have thought about you because he’d have been obliged to take the time to surreptitiously trawl your existing underwear to check your size. Then, he’d have had to overcome any discomfort he might feel at entering such an overtly feminine shop. I can almost picture him weaving his way amongst the displays of sexy garments, fending off the enthusiastic shop assistants as they encouraged him to speak effusively of his girlfriend or wife, her curves, her desires, her sensuality and hence the style of underwear you’d both derive pleasure from him purchasing. Instead, he’s just bought some sheets.”
“I know it’s not as romantic as lingerie but sheets are still thoughtful,” Lucy responded, ever keen to defend Mark. “It will be nice to have crisp new sheets on our bed when we move in together.”
Undeterred, Rachel was characteristically vocal in expressing her opinion on the subject. “Sheets are a necessity. I know you’ll argue underwear is too and that, if great quality underwear is special, nice sheets should be viewed the same way. I don’t agree though.” Blunt as ever, she continued, “To successfully buy appropriate sheets, Mark just needed to manage to purchase ones to fit the size of your mattress. Lingerie is a far more individual purchase, one that necessitates you as the recipient thereof being at the forefront of Mark’s mind. Besides, it’s misleading and anti-climactic to simply put bed linen into such a beautiful box commandeered for the purpose and to save on the effort of wrapping the gift properly.”
Although somewhat deflated, Lucy couldn’t challenge her friend’s logic. Moreover, Rachel’s frank honesty and forthrightness were two key attributes that had endeared her to Lucy in the first place. She could always trust Rachel to deliver her genuine opinion and Lucy recognised that the ferocity of Rachel’s indignation was ultimately an indirect demonstration of her loyalty to Lucy. This was something else Lucy appreciated given Rachel was faithfully at her side and Mark was elsewhere.
Apparently perceiving Lucy’s shoulders slump in disappointment, Rachel attempted to soften her message announcing, “It’s pants!” She giggled her distinctive husky laugh as she pointed at the contents of the box and then continued, “Actually, it’s not pants, which is precisely why it’s pants.”
Despite herself, Lucy guffawed too. In addition to always being able to trust each other to be honest, their shared enthusiasm for lame jokes and poor puns helped solidify the bedrock of their friendship. Buoyed by Rachel’s feeble attempt to boost her morale, Lucy found herself giggling along with Rachel’s individual and infectious, almost sultry, laughter.
“Whilst it’s undeniable that you’re exceptionally witty,” Lucy uttered with a hint of amused sarcasm in her voice, mouth and cheeks aching from laughter. “Maybe Egyptian cotton sheets are his way of showing his desire to make a home together. Maybe we’re on the same page,” she countered, sounding more serious albeit with the conviction in her voice fading as she regarded Rachel’s frown.
Lucy continued, "Aw, you know we’re both of the view that you can never truly understand a relationship from outside it regardless of how close you are to the couple in question…and you’re the closest of friends to me,” Lucy added as a sweetener.
Rachel’s expression seemed to soften although Lucy inferred this to be more as a result of her statement around the strength of their friendship than because she was successfully challenging Rachel’s perception of Mark. On that front, she imagined her friend could not be swayed. In fact, Mark seemed to be a subject that they always needed to agree to disagree on. Regardless, Lucy inwardly drew a whispering reassurance from her personal adage on the difficulty of understanding others’ relationships.
Willing her alarm to have sounded out of turn, she still wanted to believe the cool pressed bed linen she now lay wrapped in had been Mark’s understated way of conveying his own carnal aspirations for their future. In hindsight, though, she had been naïve. They had both embarked on their liaison hastily and it had developed so quickly thereafter. At the time, she had foolishly thought their pairing would be perpetuated throughout their lives. For him, however, it had only been lust that had at least temporarily governed their progression to a relationship.
When they had first met, his fervour for her had been palpable. Beyond destiny, she didn’t believe in a greater being or awareness, but recalled how mistakenly smug she in turn had felt in her belief that she might have found her ‘one’ and that the inescapable fire that burnt within him would rage indefinitely. Back then, she had never even been able to contemplate that this inferno might reduce to glowing embers. In fact, lying in what had been their bed, she had to mentally concede that now - when considering their relationship as analogous to a fire - the early smouldering passion had in time disintegrated to ashes. For her, the transition had been imperceptible. Worse yet, she hadn’t even been aware of the metamorphosis in his sentiment or, now the rose-tinted glasses had been removed, whether Mark had ever actually been that into her. Perhaps he had instead simply enjoyed the predictable convenience of being in a relationship as that ensured his basest needs, food and sex, were tended to and left him free to pursue whatever or whoever else he desired the rest of the time.
During that initial honeymoon period, though, his carnal desires had seemed insatiable.
She in turn had obediently kept the sheets on a near constant rotation. Their smooth sensuality had served as another enticing coital stimulant encouraging her to acquiesce to his advances. For her, when freshly laid on the sumptuous mattress, the linen had added to the alluring draw of their ornate four poster. In the painful moments of honest clarity she had since afforded herself, she acknowledged she had had a habit of romanticising their relationship, viewing it like the plot from one of her favourite romance novels. At the time, she had consequently felt that they were both finding themselves catapulted under the covers at the smallest provocation.
In the months since his departure, it had gradually dawned on her that it had been more orchestrated on his part than she had discerned. It hadn’t been a mutually spontaneous compulsion but a convenient way for him to access his daily sexual and egotistical fix on demand. He’d had a willing and submissive servant at home whom he had readily and consistently manipulated to his own ends. In her defence, he had been her first proper love and everyone had always said that love was blind. A childhood of simplified love stories and fairy tales had conditioned her to believe this. She’d been completely overawed by him, the attention, his charisma, his expensive clothing and organised appearance. This had, in turn, further fuelled his testosterone-induced pursuit of sexual gratification with her. Somewhere along the lines, this fast-paced affair had progressed into – presumably – a more stable, long-term arrangement for him and a deeply meaningful relationship for her.
With a languorous movement, she shifted and rolled onto her back, surveying the room through sleep-filled eyes. In the half light, she could just about discern her solitary supine form in the reflection of the imposing gilded mirror mounted on the wall opposite. Why on earth did I bring you from London? she idly wondered. You’re just another gaudy reminder of everything I want to leave behind.
Willing that fleeting transition between sleep and wakefulness to remain with her so she could for a few moments longer inhabit that hazy dream world where the distinction between fantasy and reality could be blurred, her thoughts betrayed her. Her subconscious still seemed to forget their relationship hadn’t been as genuine as she had thought. Despite herself, she often reminisced on the countless mornings she had awoken over the preceding years to see their intertwined limbs reposed amongst strewn sheets and discarded underwear. Where Lucy had perceived those snapshots romantically and preserved them in her mind’s eye accordingly, Rachel would have no doubt argued Mark would instead have just been admiring himself therein. To Rachel’s acute annoyance and credit, she had always felt Mark’s impression of himself was inflated and couldn’t understand why Lucy had failed to see this.
Now, some years down the line since receiving Mark’s questionable gift, she readily agreed with Rachel that she would have preferred a form-hugging, lacy underwear set from Agent Provocateur or similar. In fact, she’d have chosen something, anything, to make her feel sexy and sultry over the sheets she now lay amongst. It’s a pretty damning reflection on Mark that he could fail to notice I’m into lingerie. Perhaps it’s always been more for my own benefit than those around me but he should have known I like and have always liked matching underwear. She had tried so hard to hold his interest, contriving to ensure the underwear she wore flattered her physique by revealing just enough in its bold colours to complement her pale, toned appearance.
When clothed, the garments she wore belied her nubile body. Beneath her outfits, the beautiful knickers and lacy bras sculpted and accentuated her shape. However, having never felt she possessed much natural style, she took her external inspiration from Rachel. Rachel was forthright, empowered and gave the impression of being a maneater. Lucy toned this down somewhat with her own look, working hard to project a subtle sophistication that downplayed her femininity in order to more readily cultivate the aspiring businesswoman image she wished to convey. She erred more towards secretary than sexpert whilst the persona her beloved Rachel chose to present sat at the other end of the spectrum.
She cast her mind back to the first day of the first assignment she and Rachel had worked on together. Her lips curled into a smile at the recollection.
Lucy arrived at work that morning to be met by Rachel. Rachel was taller than Lucy’s diminutive 5 foot 3 but was equally pale skinned albeit freckled and with flame-red hair. That first day, Lucy’s initial impression was that Rachel looked like a power-dressing dominatrix. In stilettoed lace-up black leather boots, Rachel seemed to tower over Lucy. Rachel wore these below a dress that appeared to be moulded to her curves, like she’d sewn herself into it sometime between waking up and embarking on her commute. Lucy was struck by the sensuality of the beautiful woman, her perfectly manicured hand outstretched in greeting. Rachel projected confidence, her head held high and shoulders back. Her defiance in eschewing the conventional work attire suggested she likely also had the fiery personality often associated with such red hair.
As they stepped into the ladies’ toilet on their tour of the office, Rachel said, “I’m delighted to have another female here.” Signalling her body, she continued, “You seemed, by the way, to do a double take at my outfit. I like to dress for myself rather than conform. I’m aiming for a sultry business chic and, as an added bonus, my clothes seem to deter our male colleagues. Well, at least I hope it’s my clothes that scare them off and not my personality.” She giggled out a laugh that Lucy was sure she would in time find infectious. “Either way, it's a good thing given I’ve never yet met anyone who compared to my ex from uni. I wouldn’t want my outfit to give you the wrong impression, though. I’m genuinely excited that we’re going to be working together. Technically, you’ll be reporting to me. Yay!” she said, somehow managing an understated clap of her hands to convey her enthusiasm whilst maintaining an aura of elegance that Lucy could never hope to aspire to.
That first evening after work, they headed to a local and pretentious city wine bar. Lucy already hoped they would become friends as she watched Rachel weave between the suit-clad men murmuring about the body to their wine, the effect of it on their palettes and more. Sidestepping them all and ignoring their salacious looks, she sauntered up to the bar and loudly and unabashedly asked for, “A pink grapefruit gin and tonic for me please and one for my friend.” Her live for the moment, no fucks given attitude, immediately endeared her to Lucy, who realised she felt a sense of pride at being labelled this head-turning, fiery haired woman’s friend.
Once they’d settled in with their drinks, Rachel piped up, “So, you’ve survived your first day. Congratulations and, rest assured, you did great! I hope you found everyone to be reasonably nice too. I mean, every workplace has a ‘Wheelbarrow’ and a ‘Blister’ but, for the most part, everyone’s pretty decent.”
“Sorry, a wheelbarrow and a blister?” Lucy queried, baffled by the apparently incongruous terms.
“Ha,” said Rachel. “A private joke I haven’t yet shared. I like giving people one-word nicknames, although I often keep those names to myself. Our work environment can be stressful and involved. Having private monikers for people reminds me not to take things too seriously. The guy in the cubicle nearest the window, for example, I think of him as ‘Wheelbarrow’ because he only works when he’s pushed. And then ‘Blister’, at least in theory, sits opposite him, although I’m not sure he was at his desk when I was showing you around. That just confirms my nickname for him is apt.” She giggled huskily. “He’s ‘Blister’ because he only ever appears when the work is done.”
Lucy, catching on, began to laugh too and soon they both had tears streaming down their faces.
“Now we’re out of the office, perhaps you could reveal something more personal about yourself,” Rachel uttered, appearing to recover first and seizing the opportunity to segue into a new topic. “Let’s call it an ice breaker,” she beamed, looking mischievous.
Lucy had skipped lunch because she’d been too nervous to enquire as to when, where and for how long people break for food. As a result, her first few sips of gin and tonic had made her instantly tipsy. Before she managed to stop herself, she heard her own giggly response, like some out of body experience, utter, “My nickname is Juicy Lucy.”
Rachel erupted into more, genuine laughter.
“Eek, I’m so sorry. I’ve overshared,” Lucy hastily added, conscious her cheeks must be turning crimson as she felt the heat flush her face. “It’s not what it seems. I like fruit and juice. That you ordered something with grapefruit in it feels like a positive omen.”
Little did she know at the time that their friendship had been sealed there and then in that upmarket wine bar. Lucy had also given her new friend ammunition on which to base her feeble jesting for years to come. In return, Rachel had brought Lucy into her circle of trust and shared all her amusing one-word monikers for their mutual colleagues. Although they helped brighten the work environment, Lucy considered Rachel’s use of the nicknames to be more representative of her frankness and surety of her convictions. For Mark, she had unflatteringly chosen ‘Dick’ and had resolutely and steadfastly referred to him as such whenever he was out of earshot and possibly sometimes within it too.
Nonetheless, when Lucy and Mark had originally met through work, Rachel’s protestations and critical nickname had fallen on deaf ears. Technically, Rachel had met him first as she had been the one to pitch the services of the consultancy business she and Lucy worked for to the firm at which Mark was an executive director. She had then handed the reins to Lucy who had been chosen for the role because she’d been billed as highly intelligent, academically accomplished but self-deprecating.
Lucy had been engaged through the Project Change Consortium by an independently owned firm of financial advisors. In leveraging Mark’s firm’s accumulated experience, reputation and infrastructure, they’d hoped to provide an investment management service to their more affluent clients.
Admittedly, at one time, she had found the incessant pitches and strategy meetings to secure access to his firm’s asset management expertise and platforms interminably protracted and tedious. In her role, she hadn’t had any meaningful influence over the content of the discussions nor had she been able to shape the negotiations. Instead, she had organised the meetings, assessed how to implement whatever Mark and the other executives had agreed on and then created the business strategy to pursue their vision.
Those early reunions had felt like a form of commercial purgatory.
To Lucy’s great delight and acute surprise though, Mark had apparently immediately sensed that - if he were ever to witness her disrobed - he would find what was concealed beneath her clothes more desirable than her understated attempt at sartorial elegance implied. He had cornered her on a spontaneous night out after a late-finishing meeting and revealed that, “Although the clothes you wear hint at a straight body, I fantasise that they shroud small but perfectly formed pert breasts.”
His evocative words were seared into her mind. Conspiratorially, he'd conceded, “Whenever I’m in your presence, I can’t help but allow myself to indulge in such sexually provocative musings. I can enliven any dull boardroom meeting by envisaging the trim of your blouse shifting to reveal your silken cleavage or by picturing your herringbone grey pencil skirt riding up your thighs under the firm masculine touch of my accomplished fingers.”
Looking back, and in the context of what had since happened, his behaviour had been forward, inappropriate, and imperceptibly predatory. It was also cringeworthy that he’d referred to himself as having accomplished fingers. At the time, she had however revelled in the words he’d used and their resemblance to the text she’d expect to see dancing across the page of one of her favourite romance novels. Whilst inaudible to their peers, who had been casually conversing and shifting around them, his stream of explicit reveries had instantaneously permeated her being, making her blush and glow from the inside out. Looking back, she realised everything he’d said had sounded rehearsed rather than spontaneous.
She now couldn’t remember whether his words had more powerfully triggered her emotions or the tingling pleasurable warmth that came with being around someone you had just realised you were attracted to. Amplified by how taboo any form of workplace relationship was considered to be and the tone he’d consequently used, she had immediately become hooked, desiring his attention.
Despite wanting to remain coy and demure, right then, it had dawned on her that if he were to try to initiate a physical relationship between them, she would be cowed and inevitably submit to his advances. So striking was that realisation that she’d known she would be prepared to keep any relationship between them a secret from their peers or indeed accept the consequences of succumbing to him. Haplessly, this must have been obvious to Mark too who’d taken it as his cue to pursue her relentlessly. He had given her his full attention, showering her in compliments, and she had been so flattered that she’d been powerless to resist.
Over the subsequent weeks, even though it had subjugated her sense of professionalism, she had sought ever more trivial justification to participate in the ongoing meetings with his firm. She knew that, as one of the key directors, he would be in attendance and she enjoyed the tantalising torment of his presence. To err in his favour, perhaps he too had at least for a period of time misinterpreted his pent-up desire for her as an indication of their deeper connection. She still willed this to be the case, as to believe otherwise would mean accepting that she was in fact a glaringly poor judge of character and had jeopardised her career for no sound reason.
Mark’s hushed and breathy revelation on that first night out had piqued her interest and she recalled the first meeting thereafter at which his demeanour towards her in the office had subtly begun to shift.
Aware of her responsibility for ensuring the meetings’ success, as normal, Lucy was first to arrive in the room. She laid out a presentation pack at each seat around the boardroom table. She double checked the sideboard was laden with platters of pastries, fruit and assorted biscuits alongside urns of tea and coffee, a milk jug, stirrers and teaspoons. In her experience, the meetings could last hours and the discussions always appeared to go more smoothly and be more positive if everyone was fed and watered.
Once comfortable that the room was setup appropriately, she adopted her customary seat broadly halfway down the table’s length. It was a neutral position, neither head nor bottom of the table and in earshot of everyone, which was useful given she was tasked with taking the minutes.
Given his seniority, no one would challenge Mark’s choice if he were to position himself at the head but, to her surprised glee, as the attendees began to file in, he pulled out the black leather-backed chair next to hers and sat down. He sat upright but casually, feet planted wide apart beneath the table. The overtly masculine stance meant his trouser-clad legs persistently brushed against the smooth finish of her tights.
As normal, the minutiae of the respective firms’ commercial dealings did little to enthuse her. She was more interested in monitoring Mark’s body language and movements, seeking subtle affirmations of the tension between them. She struggled not to zone in and out of the discussion as a result, more focussed on her own physical reaction to his presence than the meeting itself despite her responsibility for documenting its content.
“This will aid us in identifying additional synergies within both entities’ client bases, enabling both sides to increase wallet share,” a suited, self-important man further up the table was saying.
Lucy abhorred the arrogance but accepted it was a necessary evil as the various egos jostled for superiority in the newly evolving business’ hierarchy. Listening to the largely male attendees’ attempts to outdo each other with boardroom vernacular, she longed for a more straight-talking work environment.
Mark spoke up, commanding their attention and interrupting the tedium of the conversation, to announce, “Right, it’s mid-morning. Let’s put a pin in that and take a comfort break here for fifteen minutes. Tea, coffee and snacks are available as normal. Please help yourselves. And my thanks to Lucy for putting on the spread.”
Lucy was stunned that Mark had recognised her involvement in front of the assembled crowd, loudly crediting her efforts as the executives jostled for access to the food-laden sideboard. That’s a first! She glowed inside at the attention. Feeling awkward at what felt like everyone’s fleeting scrutiny, she hovered. Trying to appear unaffected, she stood impassive but not convinced she wasn’t flushed in the face at the flattery. Her every sense was in fact accentuated, trying to track Mark as he worked the room.
When he approached the refreshments, he poured a tea. He appeared to take very deliberate care over it and then turned to her and said, “Here’s a tea.” And, under his breath murmured, “Specially for you” as he leant in to place the white utilitarian cup and saucer in her hands.
Although the drink itself was unwanted, her every sense felt amplified as she allowed her fingers to almost imperceptibly caress his when receiving it from him. In understated acknowledgement, he deftly placed a lingering proprietary hand to her lower back to again guide her to her seat.
To others, it had no doubt just been another insignificant pastoral act. For her, every fleeting touch had felt electric. Rachel, in turn, had subsequently seethed over a shared lunch at such interactions between them.
“He seems wholly oblivious to your preference for juice over tea. He’s either unfailingly ignorant of your wants and tastes or, worse, he chooses to ignore them.”
“But he specifically singles me out to pour me a drink. I think it’s his way of privately conveying that I’m significant to him.”
Ever keen to give him the benefit of the doubt, Lucy continued, “Besides, maybe he is actually aware I’d prefer juice but gives me tea to disguise that he knows me better than he should. Perhaps he’s trying to honour my desire to keep our relationship a secret. This way everyone around us hopefully just sees a fleeting trivial interaction between company director and change manager.”
Rachel commented scathingly, “It feels wrong that, despite persistently overlooking or ignoring your preferences, his actions should be interpreted in a positive light. You and I both know he’s pouring you a drink you won’t enjoy drinking and yet everyone else views this action as him being approachable and inclusive as he tries to demonstrate he values and empowers his subordinates. If anyone else were to pour someone a drink, regardless of their respective seniority, they’d at least have the courtesy to first enquire which drink they’d like. Dick!”
Lucy could kick herself for not having foreseen how things would end nor indeed for having heeded Rachel’s view. After all, had Lucy taken pause to consider Mark’s motivation more at the time, she would quickly have identified herself as being the only logical one on whom he could acceptably bestow this behaviour. The remaining women in the respective teams were significantly older than she was or married or too dour or simply unapproachable by virtue of their seniority within either firm. In retrospect, he hadn’t been seeking an equal – a power coupling with someone of equivalent seniority – but someone who, by virtue of their comparative youth would defer to his dominance and massage his ego accordingly.
As she now semi-dozed in her bed, she recalled how she had at least ultimately been successful in achieving her brief with the productive talks and subsequent merger, culminating in a firm-wide reception at a private art gallery in the city centre.
The venue was carefully selected by an Events Organiser Lucy approached. It was intended to be the embodiment of this newly merged business’ sophisticated brand and high-end offering. The gallery was minimalist, all angular lines and sterile expanses with polished Carrara marble floors and clinical white walls. The artwork displayed was pretentious and modern; canvasses of bold shapes or spattered flecks of paint interspersed with the occasional abstract sculpture of something unrecognisable to all but their creators.
For the pretentious amongst them, the work was sublime, powerful, emotive and appealed to their subconscious. For the others, it was regarded as something a child could have created and hence they surveyed it with casual indifference, an inconsequential feature adorning the walls of the background setting. Regardless of the extent of their interest in art, the majority simply appeared focussed on becoming inebriated with their peers. Partly in an unconvincing attempt to conceal their intentions from their superiors, the attendees fanned out over the gallery’s various levels and mezzanines, which were punctuated by brushed steel guide ropes in place of more conventional rails and banisters. Music radiated inoffensively from the ceiling-recessed speakers and white shirted waiters flitted around the throng of suited professionals serving ingeniously presented hot and cold canapés.
Lucy was acutely aware of Mark’s presence, trying to track his gradual progression around the room as he moved between groups of his employees, pausing to greet and congratulate as he went. Despite appearing wholly engaged in his conversations with his colleagues, he sporadically caught her eye in a way that was indiscernible to all others around him. On one such occasion, his commanding gaze signalled for her to move back toward the cavernous entrance foyer.
Flushing at the memory, she recalled having feigned nonchalance as she weaved through her increasingly intoxicated peers to the atrium as bidden.
One wall of the atrium was dominated by the floor to ceiling glass façade of the gallery which looked out onto a dusky square populated with commuters bustling towards the train stations and car parks to begin their early evening journey home. Overshadowed by the glass façade and at one side of the foyer was the now unmanned coat room. She was confused by Mark’s intentions until she noticed an unobtrusive doorway on the opposite wall. It was frameless, built flush to the wall and only given away by its discreetly protruding handle.
Mark meanwhile weaved a determined but circuitous route to the foyer, cutting through the crowd to materialise unobserved at her side. Casual but purposeful, he moved beyond her towards the doorway with the barely visible surround silhouetted into the white wall. With a self-assured movement, he opened the door, noiselessly motioned for her to step through and then followed her into the impersonal space beyond. He confidently pressed the door closed behind them and twisted the thumb-turn lock to preclude any inadvertent interlopers from interrupting them.
She laughed to herself. At the time, this had all felt dangerously spontaneous but, knowing Mark as she now did, in reality he had probably scoped out the venue beforehand in order to orchestrate their rendezvous in this space.
The door opened into an equally sterile marble-floored and white-walled study, the prestigious curator’s own office space. Apparently incapable of exercising any further self-restraint, Mark took a step toward her, reducing the distance between them to just inches. He barely paused to seek out her approval with a salacious look and, on seeing what he presumably perceived to be consent in her eyes, leant his body against hers. Surprised at this assertive movement, she found herself tantalisingly pinned with the wall behind her and his muscular form unabashedly erect in front. Her back was pressed hard against the smooth cool surface and she felt paralysed in position by the expectant mood. His sexual dominance overawed her. Suppressing her reservations and motivated by her misplaced desire to please him, she felt emboldened. She threw caution and reason to the wind to demonstrate to him that she was worthy of and merited his primordial attention.
From their clothed encounters up to that point, she already recognised that his physique was better than that of your average desk-based employee although perhaps not as impressive as his ego implied. He was fit, stronger than Lucy but with the definition of his muscle obscured by a fleshy layer that hinted at his sedentary job. Regardless, he easily lifted her off the ground and rested her backside, like some deviant mannequin, on his contoured forearms. He moved his uncalloused hand, more accustomed to typing on a keyboard than any manual labour, down between her legs and pulled her knickers to one side, grazing the skin of her upper thigh in his fervent haste. In the same well-rehearsed movement, a condom materialised in his other hand, he unzipped and dropped his dark tailored suit trousers to just below his buttocks, lifted his crisp designer shirt, rolled the condom down his length and, aligning his hips with hers, thrust himself hard inside her. With one finger looped through her knickers to ensure he had unimpeded access to her interior, the rest of his large hand grasped and clenched at her rear, pulling and clawing her towards him in time with his own momentum. Ardently arching away and then driving himself back into her, he shifted her weight as if she were a mere doll, lowering her sufficiently to ensure his cock was pushed deep inside. Her backside smarted as she involuntarily slapped down on his thighs with his every frenzied thrust. The single-minded focus with which he had pursued her translated into an equally focussed pursuit of his own pleasure, for which she was along for the ride. He made no attempt to make her feel at ease, alluring or desired, beyond demonstrating that he possessed a pressing physical urge that needed to be satiated. He was instead determined that the limited time available to them be dedicated to achieving his release.
With her legs pinned round his waist by his vice-like grip and her arms draped over his shoulders, she tried to steady herself. She was powerless to resist him and, at the time, didn’t think she wanted to. Her pelvic muscles throbbed uncomfortably as, groin to groin, he moved them in a mechanical, orchestrated unison to his personal rhythm. He sometimes interrupted their pulsing energy to slowly withdraw and then penetrate her hard and fast again and again. He sought his own pleasure with vigorous determination.
Repositioning her on just one arm, he used the other to tear at her shirt, hastily unbuttoning it to reveal her black lace balconette bra. He yanked downwards on the dainty, embroidered material. Exposing her small breasts, he manhandled them, alternately cupping them in his hand, then being overcome with his hunger to claim every inch of her for himself and so taking them in his mouth between gruff pants. He rolled his tongue around her pert pinkish nipples with his hoarse breath sending cloying eddies of hot humid air across her skin, followed immediately by goosebumps as the thin layer of his saliva and sheen of sweat he left behind evaporated. He pawed at her exposed chest and mauled at her waist with the span of his authoritative hands encompassing her hip. He nipped at her skin with his teeth and yanked at any clothing restricting his access. The preceding weeks of anticipation built to a crescendo inside him, culminating in this brazen, frantic consuming lust to command every inch of her unblemished body. Having him pounding into her over and over and with most of her weight bearing down on his, he dominated her and in that moment, the tone for the rest of their relationship was set.
Now languishing sleepily in bed, she recalled how she had so desperately tried to conjure a tingling sensation radiating from between her legs, had willed her heart to swell at the romance of their encounter rather than merely beat erratically in her chest as she’d snatched muffled gasps of air between his thrusts. She had wanted to find herself exhaling whimpers of masochistic ecstasy. In reality, had the music in the foyer paused, their peers would have discerned a muted but frenzied thudding as he’d pounded into her whilst she, in turn, had writhed and squirmed in her attempts to accommodate and satisfy him. He’d known how he had wanted the encounter to play out and she, submissive and obsequious, had clung on accordingly. Even now, almost four years down the line, she could feel the familiar traitorous warmth spreading from her core unbidden as she thought about that sterile room. Now though, like then, she knew the heat would dissipate in the same unsatisfying fashion.
Her sleepy thoughts took her back there again.
Already frenzied, his impaling thrusts gained further momentum. Grunting with the primal effort, he pulled and clawed at her rear, tugging her crotch towards his as he heaved and convulsed in gratification. He climaxed hard whilst gripping her yielding frame, muscles jerking and cock twitching deep within her as she consciously clamped around it, chastising herself for being too slow to respond in kind and to reach her own release.
Now, in what had once been their bed, she lay picturing them in that understated windowless room in her mind’s eye. Feeling almost like a spying voyeur, it struck her that perhaps his actions should have served as a warning. In hindsight, despite his perceived abandon in the throes of passion, when she had straightened her clothes afterwards, every single amorous bite or claw mark he had imprinted on her had been perfectly shrouded by her clothing. The apparent wanton abandon must, either consciously or unconsciously, have been more contrived than she had realised, as the network of lustful scratches and nibbling imprints halted at an invisible threshold. He had left all manner of little marks as evidence of his conquest but none that would be exposed if anyone had been to casually glance in her direction.
Where she had just inferred he hadn’t kissed her because he’d been so consumed by the desire to explore the rest of her body, perhaps there had been more to it than that. She had after all been able to depart the room with the minimal lipstick she wore and makeup still immaculate, as if freshly applied. She had returned to her increasingly rowdy peers as if nothing had happened when in fact she had felt flushed and very aware of the residual rawness between her legs. Reflecting on it in the present day, on the one hand, he’d wanted her to believe he had been caught off guard by this overwhelming desire to have her and that his actions had been entirely instinctive and unplanned. On the other, despite apparently being swept up in the moment, like a seasoned professional, he had produced a condom, rolled it down his length, lowered his clothing and plunged into her in one practised movement. He’d later argued he had been trying to be respectful to her, but now knowing his more cavalier approach to women generally, he’d probably more likely been just protecting himself as fleeting sexual encounters seemed to be his modus operandi.
She recalled how, whilst appearing visually serene to the unsuspecting eye, it had required a far more concerted effort on her part to regain her composure. In moments, however, he had been able to transition from an apparent state of frenzied enrapture with her to adopting an air of cool and collected professionalism. He’d departed the room shortly thereafter, shirt tucked in, suit straightened and with a cursory run of his hands through his hair. His expression an indecipherable mask as he had left her alone in the room, suggesting they stagger their exit.
Everything had changed thereafter. Having consummated their attraction to one another, albeit somewhat unsatisfyingly from her perspective, their clandestine encounters had become more frequent. He’d wooed her incessantly and, since she’d been unable to resist his attention, they’d fallen into a habit of departing soon after each other from work to head to her flat in Bermondsey. Within only ten minutes by taxi of the recently combined business’ headquarters at London Bridge, it had become a convenient bolthole.
Initially, Mark would stay only for a short period of time, long enough to charm her into bed and get his physical release but not so long as to encroach upon any other commitments he might have, nor curtail his personal or professional freedom. Without Lucy really noticing, this pattern of behaviour had become routine. On finishing work, she would head home, shower, and await his arrival; a kept woman grateful to have him in whatever form he chose. He, on the other hand, had retained his autonomy. He’d always been engaging when they were together; very present in the moment – like he was the sun shining only on her – and she’d told herself that that more than compensated for any periods when he was elsewhere.
Like hers, Mark’s role could be stressful and, although he would aim to get to the gym a couple of times a week to ease some of that tension, his preferred fix was a sexual one. Now, furnished with the knowledge of how their relationship had ended and the additional context this afforded her, Lucy could reflect that presumably the easiest, most socially acceptable and professionally least disruptive approach for Mark had been to select an attractive, lithe, younger and intelligent but pliable woman and, at least to her, appear to conform to her expectations of a relationship. In doing so, he’d satisfied his physical requirements of enjoying female company and, given Lucy was also committed to her career, she’d failed to notice his shortcomings and the absence of any real depth to their relationship. She had thought they were happy, inferring the apparently mechanical sex was more a reflection on her than him as he’d ultimately climaxed and consequently, she’d assumed, found her attractive. She had believed they were incrementally progressing as a couple towards a long-term commitment to each other and that her enjoyment of the physical validation of their mutual affection would improve as they became emotionally closer. Paradoxically, he had been maintaining the status quo, paying lip service to their interlaced future for as long as it had aligned with his own agenda and sexual proclivities.
Moreover, that first frenzied sexual encounter had set the pattern for their future love making. Mark had never put much emphasis on the romance or passion of it and had approached sex with little emotion. For him, it quenched a physical urge. He would shower her with compliments and attention until her resolve weakened and he had wooed her beneath the sheets only to thrust and pound away at her, positioning her limbs and tugging at her hair to ensure she was always staged optimally to help him reach his climax. At the time, she had unquestioningly accepted his justification that she had turned him on to such an extent that he couldn’t control himself. Since then, it had dawned on her that he in fact more likely had had little regard for her and her own sexual satisfaction. Once finished, the few moments where he would linger inside her and that she had perceived as tender, he had actually just been spent, using her body as a convenient resting place whilst he regrouped. Once ready, he would withdraw, peel off the condom, knot it and throw it away before giving her a peck on the forehead and making his excuses as he slid off the bed and into the shower, either readying himself to leave or to fall asleep. He would sometimes then seek out a repeat performance when his alarm would sound early the next morning in order to set himself up for the day. For the inconvenient few days of each month that her period would come, he would apparently entirely coincidentally have more external commitments than usual. Rather than use it as an opportunity to bring them closer in other ways, he’d just engineered it so as to minimise his time at home with her, dismissing his absence as a series of random circumstances until she would begin to doubt herself.
His actions had subsequently and starkly proven him to be cynical, chauvinistic and governed by an inherent machismo. One day, completely out of the blue, he’d trivialised the time they had spent together by announcing that,
“This isn’t working for me anymore. After three years, I’d expect to feel more for you than I do. If we were meant to have a future together, you’d somehow feel more significant to me.”
And, with that, he had effectively gathered up his belongings from Lucy’s apartment which, pitifully and tellingly, had fitted into an overnight bag and he had left, calling time on their relationship as he’d done so and brokering no further discussion. She hadn’t wanted a painful and protracted post-mortem of where it had gone wrong, if indeed it had ever been right in the first place, but a little sensitivity and consideration as to how she might feel and hence how to couch his explanation would have been a fair expectation after that length of time.
This had set the wheels in motion to alter her career path entirely, whilst leaving Mark to climb to stellar heights within the expanded firm. His ascent had been unsullied by the smear of having initiated a long-standing affair with a subordinate contractor. If anything, when it had all come to light, this had conversely garnered him more kudos amongst the largely male business stakeholders.
On reflection, Lucy acknowledged she had taken it both well and poorly. Despite the utter desolation, which had in time morphed into an anger at herself for not having read him and their relationship correctly, she had rallied, steeled herself and continued. She had remained at the merged company throughout. Outwardly at work, she’d maintained the same ethic, unbiased and objective oversight of the change management process as she had done before and during their relationship. If anything, she had immersed herself in the role even further and, despite some of the whispering she thought she’d perceived amongst the male executives, she had seen her contract through to its successful conclusion. Nonetheless, she had been grinning and bearing it, burying herself in the project with a solemn perseverance. It was with both relief and some trepidation that she had delivered all of the objectives she had been set and extricated herself from the contract. After dedicating almost four years to it, she had returned to the Project Change Consortium to be reallocated to another firm or industry. Throughout this period, she had made a compelling and persistent attempt to cast aside her emotions in deference to her career.
Mercifully, the Consortium had national reach and, when she had been nominated for a role somewhere near Birmingham, she had accepted it with limited further thought. A change of job, scenery, location and hence reality could only be a positive. Decision made, it had taken little effort to let her Bermondsey flat to a couple of City-based flat sharers, find an unfurnished rental apartment near Birmingham town centre and have a removal firm relocate her couple of items of furniture and other belongings. And so, here she was, waking up in what was exclusively now her bed in the Birmingham flat she had rented in her sole name and ready – albeit with a mix of emotions – to begin her first day in her new role.
