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“Morning,” Deborah chirped as Jackson entered the office. There wasn’t a hint of discomfort or embarrassment in her voice; she hid it well. She hadn’t looked forward to facing him after something she had labelled ‘the incident’. There was no denying she’d thought about it, but also knew it wasn’t her most sensible hour.

“You look perky this morning,” he ventured, it was loaded yet awkward.

She needed to shut this down quickly. If this conversation needed to happen, now wasn’t the time.

“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t…”

Before she went any further he jumped in.

“So, I was wondering if you fancied going for a drink, or a bite to eat…later.”

He stood in front of her desk, eyes fixed on his hands that he was wringing, looking like a naughty boy about to be scolded by a terrifying school mistress.

“Jackson, we’ll talk about this later,” her eyes and index finger indicating to his left. “Mr. Rutherford is here.”

An elderly man with thick glasses and wispy, white hair sprang to his feet with surprising ease and lightness.

“About my pigeons…”

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes at Deborah. She buried herself in the papers on her desk, a clear statement she had no intention of involving herself in this.

“Yes well, I’m working on it, Mr. Rutherford. I’ll review my notes and give you a ring about it tomorrow.” He was already ushering the man in the direction of the door.

“It’s just you said that the last time I spoke to you and I’m very worried about my birds, Mr. Brodie, they’re champion homing pigeons and they’ve never not come home before. They’ve been missing a week now.”

“Maybe they just got lost, eh?”

Deborah knew she shouldn’t but couldn’t hold in a smirk. Mr. Rutherford looked flustered while Jackson still gently steered him towards the door.

“Nonsense, they’ve been stolen, or sabotaged. The police aren’t interested, and I need you to find them. They’re my pride and joy. Since my Brenda passed, well they’re all I’ve got.”

A trace of guilt flashed across Jackson’s face.

“I’ll be in touch tomorrow, I promise.”

Mr. Rutherford nodded, and Jackson closed the door, blowing out a puff of air in relief. Deborah tried to look busy as he hovered in front of her desk.

“So,” he announced his presence with a hopeful grin, “dinner?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Well, I thought it might be nice.” Her eyebrow shot up. “And what with what happened the other night, I dunno I thought you might want to…”

If he didn’t look so self-conscious, and though she didn’t want to admit it, bloody adorable, she might have told him off more sternly.

“It’s really not necessary, Jackson, you’re not obliged to make an honest woman out of me, though your sense of chivalry is occasionally one of your more admirable qualities,” she said carrying on with her filing, a godsend allowing her to avoid eye contact.

“That’s not a no,” he replied.

Her face said otherwise, as she finally looked up at him.

“Well should we at least talk about it?”

Deborah set the pile of papers down on the desk and considered her response carefully, she could see the silence was killing him as he shuffled in front of her.

“You can say it. Yes. We had sex on your desk. No, I’m not expecting a bunch of flowers and a nice dinner to avoid workplace unpleasantness.”

“I thought you might fancy…seconds.”

“Seconds?” she snapped. “For God’s sake, no wonder you’re eternally single, with lines like that.”

He was wounded.

“So, you didn’t have a good time then, because that was you. You started it.” His tone was accusing, and he had subconsciously pointed at both the scene of events then at her as he spoke.

“I didn’t say I didn’t…have a good time. Don’t put words in my mouth because I never said that.”

“But,” he pressed.

“It’s not a good idea is it?”

His sad puppy dog eyes were pulling at her heart strings, demanding she at least tried to be tactful, in danger of making her relent.

“Listen,” her voice softened, “you are, it was lovely, but let’s face it you’re a train wreck, literally, you get hit by trains. I work for you. I don’t think repeating it would do either of us any good.”

He was spared by the ringing of the phone. ‘I’m not here,’ he said, just as she picked it up.

She scowled at him.

“Yes, I’ll just see if he’s available,” she told the voice on the line.

His insistently shaking head was met with her irritated gestures, but by the time she had managed to scribble down the number he was almost out of the door.

“I’m so pleased you can afford to walk away from paid work. Where are you going?” Frustration and annoyance were unhidden in her raised voice.

“To look for bloody pigeons,” he shouted back as he slammed the door behind him.


Days had passed. There was no sign of him at the office, no answer on his phone. She’d left a ridiculous number of voicemails. Details of jobs and phone numbers at first, but finally curt instructions to call back. The space between them had been a relief at first and it wasn’t unusual for him to go AWOL, but she was starting to worry a little.

Finally, he stumbled into the office, head down.

“At least you’re still alive.” She was stopped from going any further by the trickle of blood running down from his brow, the reddened eye socket that was already on its way to turning black and blue and the split lip. “Just about, anyway,” she sighed.

Jackson said nothing and retreated to his office. He was slumped in his chair by the time Deborah appeared with a sugary cup of tea and a first aid kit. He looked up at her sheepishly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. What was it this time?”

“Pigeons,” he said expressionlessly. “Never did I imagine in my wildest dreams; pigeon fanciers would be this bloody aggressive.”

A muted chuckle spread across her face.

“It’s not funny.”

“It is a bit.”

His face softened, and he laughed. Even he could concede it sounded ridiculous out loud. She was leaning against the edge of the desk and he tried desperately not to imagine the last time she was there, when he was touching her, when she was moaning out his name and coming for his fingers, his cock. It was torture, but he did his best to push it aside. It was clear in his mind where he stood.

Deborah leant across and dabbed at the cut on his head with a ball of soaked cotton wool. The sting of the Dettol made him wince.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said, still tenderly cleaning the cut with care. Tracing her thumb under his eye, she frowned. “That eye’s going to come up beautifully.”

“It bloody hurts.”

“Well try not to have one of those faces people want to hit.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing,” she said dropping her gaze. Embarrassment showed.

“Deborah, listen…” his fingers lightly brushed over hers and her breath hitched a little.

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

“I feel like shit,” he looked into her eyes, “I just want to…”

“Someone to make you feel better?”

“Yes. No, I just…” he was stumbling over his words. Deborah watched him struggle to explain himself. Even bloodied and bruised his face was beautiful.

“Ok.” She said bluntly and made her way purposefully towards the door.

He sighed and sunk his face into his hands. “Women,” he muttered to himself.

Jackson’s ears pricked up at the sound of the lock rattling and clicking shut. She came back. He said nothing, but looked confused.

“Do you want me to make you feel better, or not?” It was less of a question and more a statement of intent. The tone had shifted in an instant.

He swallowed and nodded as she pushed his chair back and sunk to her knees. Inhaling deeply as she ran her hands over his thighs, he looked down at her. She was stunning. It wasn’t that he’d never noticed her, he just never thought she would ever look at him that way. Making sense of women was something he’d given up on a long time ago.  

“Any better?” she asked wickedly, licking her lips. Truthfully the memory of him fucking her was still very much alive. A tight knot was forming in the pit of her stomach; a sign of the barely controlled want she had done her best to repress and failed miserably. Knowing what she shouldn’t be doing and sticking to it was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. Her cunt twitched at the thought of the way his fingers had twisted into her. She was already damp, the way she had demanded he tore off her knickers excited her more. Holding his gaze, she put her finger to her lips and sucked it seductively.

“Getting there,” he gulped.

“Shall we get there a little faster?” she said tugging at his trousers, her sense of urgency matched by the thumping need mounting between her legs.

He lifted himself up in his seat to help ease down his trousers and underwear, freeing his already hard cock. She eyed it wantonly, stopping only to look up at him and tease out the anticipation. He was open mouthed: his eyes burned with lust.

“Oh fucking hell,” forced its way out of his mouth as she gave a long, languid lick along the length of his cock with the flat of her tongue, paying careful attention to the sensitive head. As she repeated the action, his head fell back, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. A smirk of satisfaction fought at the corner of her mouth. Spurred on by a surge of power, at an equally leisurely pace, she wrapped her lips around him took him into her mouth, deep then almost withdrawing.

Watching him squirm for more only intensified her own ache. Pulling away again, this time his fingers wound into her curls, silently urging her to take it all the way in. The tensing of his thighs tempted her into speeding up just enough to make him growl with lust. It took all of his will to still himself and resist the drive to buck his hips and thrust his cock deeper into her wet, greedy mouth.

“I can’t…hang on much longer, I don’t want to…”

The first hints of his come in her mouth told her he was right. Deborah understood the instruction and meaning and with a final devilish lap of her tongue she pulled away.

“You are really good at that,” he panted, as she rose to her feet. kicking off her shoes, she shimmied out of her knickers. Before he could say anything else she was settling herself onto his lap, straddling him in the chair.

He kissed with force, bruising her lips with his, forgetting about the split in his lip. She felt him flinch and drew away, lightly grazing her thumb over the source of his pain.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t care,” he said, his eyes heavy with desire, before he claimed her mouth again. Her lips parted and invited his tongue to slide over hers, the action mirroring the now fervent need to have him inside her. It was hot and needy, full of hunger for each other. Deborah moaned into his mouth, as his rough fingers found her cunt completely soaked. He slid his fingers between the slickened folds and she whimpered when he found her clit. Though he was more than ready to tease and stroke, she was already wriggling into position, gripping his cock to guide him inside her aching to feel full and be fucked and satisfied.

Crying out his name, she lowered herself down slowly, savouring the delicious stretching feeling as she accommodated his thick cock and gaining leverage on his shoulders to pull herself up and down. Jackson shifted his grip to her waist in an attempt to take some control over the pace. He grunted as she fought against his hold to raise herself up as far as she could go, only for him to push her back down hard, taking every inch of him. She eagerly bucked and rode on his lap, moaning with approval as he held her down and she ground out her own pleasure, seeking friction against her throbbing clit. Jackson couldn’t help but smile at her wickedness.

Leaning in to her ear he whispered, “you’re beautiful, you know you’re beautiful, you’re amazing. I want you, I don’t think I can stop wanting you.” He kissed at nibbled at her ear. Warm breath against sensitive skin made her bite her lip.

“I know, I can’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you dare,” she gasped as they fucked.

Moving together now, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow. She was panting, fighting for breath and he was sure she was close to tipping over the edge. Nails dug into his shoulders so sharply, he was sure he’d be bleeding when they finally stopped, but it didn’t matter, it only drove him on to fuck her harder. Deborah’s moans grew louder and more broken. He could feel her body stiffening and her eyes starting to roll. Mounting pleasure made her thighs shake, so close now, each whimper pleading for more.

“I’m going to, I’m coming, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her words blurred into incomprehensible moans as she came apart for him. Bolts of ecstasy from her now molten core sent hot, tingling sensations down her limbs, up her back. The oxygen was sucked out of her and she rode out every blissful second. He wasn’t far behind her, now no longer obliged to hold on to his own release, he came hard and fast. Jaw clenched, he gave three final deep thrusts as he pumped his hot come into her.

As their breathing returned to normal he held her, then cupped her face in his hands, stealing a gentle kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Better?” she ventured.

“Definitely better.”

They remained still for a while, until the aching cramp in Deborah’s thighs forced her to move.

“So, are we ever going to do this in a bed, you know, like normal people?” he asked.

“Didn’t someone say we weren’t doing this again?” she replied playfully.

“You did, but here we are.”

This still terrified her.

“I don’t know what this is, Jackson.”

“Can’t it just be fun?”

He suspected it was more than that, for him at least, but he was determined not to ruin the moment.

She shrugged. He was sweeping her into his arms, stroking her cheek. Why did he have to be so bloody irresistible? Saying no to him was becoming impossible. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers was already making her stir for more.

“I suppose we could try it sometime, if I’ve got nothing better to do.”

He kissed her softly.

“Do you want to check your diary then?”

“Mmmm,” she sighed, “besides I think you owe me.”

“What do I owe you then?”

His tongue traced teasingly across her lips.

“Oh I think you know.”