In Too Deep (16 page)

Julia and Will were in the
Hi
Life
office. She was reporting to him
during Denise's absence, who was away on business for a few days.
Julia sat in front of his desk, looking mouth-wateringly gorgeous
as usual. Will leaned back in his operator's chair and his
neglected monitor automatically switched to screen-saver. Two
spacemen drifted across a black, star-spangled void, to the
accompaniment of bleeps and blips and what the designer had
obviously imagined were sounds heard in the far reaches of the
universe. I don't think so, Will concluded, and turned the volume
down.

Julia
fidgeted, her denim skirt riding up over her silky thighs, and the
tiny white triangle of her panty gusset winked at him as she
crossed her legs. His cock stirred with that familiar ache he
associated with his frustration concerning this nubile nymphet. He
concentrated on her body language, and it told him that she wasn't
too happy.

'It's all
going fine,' she said at last. 'I'm really in there. I'm seeing
Vincent Gabor again later today. He wants me to model for Blake,
who'll be there, too, I hope. In fact, if I take to the life, I
might give up journalism and embark on a new career.'

'That's
bollocks, and you know it.' He scowled across his desk at her,
annoyed at the sudden cold chill that invaded his heart. Lose her
to the fashion trade? Never!

'I don't know
any such thing,' she retorted loftily, standing and going over to
stare out of the window at the uneven rooftops, then down into the
crowded lane. It bordered Soho and Wardour Street, home of films,
printed sensationalism, and sex, and not far away from London's
theatre-land.

Will could not
resist the temptation to leave his chair and stand behind her.
'Fine view, isn't it?' he said quietly. 'Can't you feel the energy,
the crazy tempo, the get-up-and-go? I wouldn't want to work
anywhere else on earth.' He hardly knew what he was saying, simply
giving himself an excuse to be close to her without exactly
touching. Her hair smelt delicious, reminding him of the hay fields
of his boyhood, fragrant with poppies and meadowsweet. Then there
had been his grandmother's cottage near the sea, where the front
door bore a garland of honeysuckle throughout his summer visits,
his townie nostrils seduced by the scent that somehow mingled with
the tang of ocean spray.

Unable to
control his emotions or his burgeoning penis, he leaned down and
kissed the tender nape of her neck. He felt her stiffen and cursed
himself. He'd got the timing wrong - again. She moved away, putting
space between them, glancing at him from the tail of her eye.
'Don't push it, Will,' she warned gently. 'I like you; you're a
good friend...'

'But,' he
finished the sentence for her. 'There's always a "but" in there
somewhere.'

'But, I'm not
ready to make a commitment just now. There's too much happening in
my life.'

'Okay, but
just tell me one thing,' he said. 'Have they fucked you?'

She turned her
eyes to him, and despite the glint of anger there, he could see a
defensive uncertainty as well. 'I don't think that's any of your
business,' she said without conviction, and then turned to leave.
'Tell Denise that I think this story will blow the roof off, when
it's completed.'

'Bugger!' Will
cursed, sat down again, eased his erection into a more comfortable
position, and opened a file. He was writing an astringent article
concerning cosmetic surgery, and breast implants in particular, but
for once the words simply refused to flow from his fingertips to
the keyboard. Breasts; surely one of his favourite topics, but all
he could see were Julia's; so firm yet succulent, not too large and
not too small - just perfect. He groaned and gave up the battle to
write, elbows on the desk, chin in his hands as he stared at the
taunting cursor on the screen and saw nothing but Julia being
spanked by Gus. It was a scenario he had relived over and over,
using it as a masturbation aid, and coming when he got to the bit
where she sucked Gus's cock and he ejaculated over her face and
hair.

Will needed
relief now, so he went across and turned the key in the lock, then
unzipped his trousers and lifted out his engorged cock. Some people
condemned wanking as something only frustrated teenagers needed to
indulge in, but Will disagreed. Whether in relationships or out of
them, he had always indulged. It was so easy, so uncomplicated and
immensely satisfying. He loved women and everything about them, of
course, but his cock was always there for him, loyal and true.

He slumped low
on his chair, legs spread, flies agape. His weapon rose from his
groin like a splendid fleshy spear; he was very proud of its length
and girth. He stroked it affectionately with his right hand, and
reached lower with his left to rummage inside his underwear and
fondled his balls. They felt like sap-filled fruit. He hadn't had
sex for several days and they were more than ready. He massaged
them, and pretended that Julia was on her knees between his legs,
cupping his testicles in her dainty fingers and licking his cock.
He squeezed his shaft and pumped briskly, drawing down the ridge of
skin that collared his helm, then sliding up and over it, anointed
by the bead of juice that hung from the eye. Will sighed, and
watched his hand and fingers performing the ritual. He knew
precisely how much pressure to use and for how long, and when to
let up to stop himself peaking.

But it wasn't
wise to delay too long when doing it in the office; someone might
knock on his locked door and wonder what he's up to. Besides, after
the recent closeness of Julia he wanted instant completion. He
increased the rhythm of his fist, tight around the stem, the helm
appearing and disappearing, his fingers slippery with pre-come
juice. He couldn't stop now. He could feel the force gathering,
chasing down his spine and into his loins. It surged and he pumped
his cock furiously, dreaming of it cocooned in the deep warm valley
between those luscious breasts of sweet Julia. He stiffened,
groaned quietly, and felt the spunk pumping from him, coating his
fingers and wetting his shirttail. He came in several glorious
spasms, then replete, rested for a minute before wiping himself
with a tissue and tucking his diminished penis away, zipping up
quickly.

Composure
regained, Will unlocked the office door, and lust appeased for the
moment, settled down to his unfinished leader.

'I've done
it,' Julia cried excitedly, rushing into the sitting room. Arlene
was lounging on the settee, watching daytime television. 'Why
aren't you in the workshop?' Julia added, then getting no response,
raced on. 'I've just popped in to change; I've got a date with
Vincent Gabor.'

Arlene turned
her head sharply, looking at her friend inquisitively. 'You have?'
Julia nodded eagerly. 'You like him, don't you?'

Julia blushed
and lowered her gaze to the carpet. 'Yes,' she admitted meekly. 'I
think I do.'

'Well I hope
you haven't forgotten the object of the exercise; my stolen
designs,' Arlene reminded her curtly. 'I don't like that
starry-eyed look of yours.'

'I'm not
starry-eyed,' Julia protested, pouting sulkily. 'You don't
understand—'

'So what about
the plan?' Arlene cut in. 'What about my designs.'

'I told you,'
Julia remonstrated, and Arlene half-expected her to stamp her foot
like a tetchy schoolgirl, 'I'm meeting Mr Gabor today to discuss a
modelling contract, and I think I'm being introduced to Marty
Blake. Apparently they're planning a big show, and I want to be
part of it because it'll give me an opportunity to find out if
Blake's pirating your stuff.'

Arlene eased
off, realising that Julia was actually doing very well in her
undercover role, but still concerned about the potentially
dangerous attraction she could see developing towards Gabor. 'So,
what's Vincent Gabor like?' she asked, encouraging her friend to
talk.

Julia
elegantly lowered her bottom onto the edge of the settee, winced a
little, and looked suddenly unsettled, as though she wanted to tell
Arlene something, but wouldn't. 'Well, he and his friends don't
live as we do,' she began. 'I'm entering an entirely different
world to anything I've known before.'

'Such as?'
Arlene probed, placed a reassuring hand on Julia's knee, and
listened with growing concern as her sweet friend opened up and
told her everything about the dubious events that had taken place
at Gabor's penthouse.

Julia prepared
herself for the forthcoming evening with a great deal of
consideration. Nothing too brash, she decided; Vincent Gabor was to
treat her with respect, and so was Marty Blake.

She chose a
simple outfit that suited her personality. She hadn't the
confidence to put on something that was overstated, even though
Arlene put her considerable wardrobe at her disposal, mostly her
own designs and making.

She settled
for a midnight-blue dress, the snug bodice of which showed off her
breasts to perfection, moulding her cleavage into a deep, dark
shadow. The skirt was cut on the cross, and she admired herself in
the mirror, pirouetting so that it swirled around her legs. Yes, it
was lovely and feminine... just right.

She drove the
short distance to Highgate, her car representing independence. If
things got too alarming she could always leave, beholden to none
for a lift. With a scrunch of wheels on gravel, she parked outside
Hazel House and sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Her mind
had been filled with Vincent Gabor all day. It was as if he'd cast
a spell over her, invaded her very being. She hadn't been able to
eat, her stomach full of butterflies. In the bath, and whilst
dressing, she had viewed her body as if it belonged to someone
else, a vessel which she was oh so willing to sacrifice to him. She
was infatuated, totally and dangerously.

But she had a
mission to complete, and she would surely discover that Marty
Blake, not Vincent, had perpetrated the crime.

The front door
was opened by a voluptuous maid wearing a short black taffeta dress
that clung to her generous breasts, pinched her waist and flared
into a short frilly skirt, a white apron and lacy cap, fishnet
stockings and high-heeled shoes that beautifully enhanced her
shapely legs. 'Can I help you?' she asked brightly.

'I've an
appointment with Mr Gabor,' Julia announced, surprised, for she had
expected Grace to be there.

'Yes, miss,'
the girl answered. 'He is waiting for you.'

'I'll see to
this, Penny.' An androgynous figure appeared at the maid's side. It
was dressed in black leather from head to foot, a close-fitting
hood covering its head. 'Follow me, Miss Jones. I'm Kevin Dean, by
the way, Marty Blake's PR and advertising consultant.'

It was hard to
come to grips with the idea of him attending board meetings, yet
the whole sequence of events was taking on a bizarre quality. It
was even stranger than when she had first entered Hazel House and,
as she walked behind Penny and the sinister person in black who
called himself Kevin, she wondered what she had taken on. The
shadows of evening were silently filling the hall and she had a
strong urge to turn tail and flee, to seek the sanctuary of her
beat-up old banger. But she was fired by curiosity and desire, and
couldn't resist seeing what was round the next corner. Somewhere
inside her head a continual film was filling up with images,
recording every detail. Later she could re-run it and write it all
down.

Would they
take her to the reception room or had another place been chosen?
Apparently it had, for they didn't pause, conducting her to the
back of the house. Kevin stopped and pressed a button near a pair
of cedar wood doors. They slid open, revealing the entrance to a
lift, and Kevin gestured to Julia, who stepped inside. He followed,
and so did the maid. It began to descend smoothly, then stopped
with a slight jar. The doors hissed quietly open again, Kevin
stepped out, followed by Julia and the maid.

Ahead of them
was a dimly lit passage. It was chilly and damp. Had it once been a
cellar? Was this still its role? Maybe Vincent Gabor stored rare
wines there, knowledgeable when it came to vintages. She knew she
was whistling in the dark; rare wines weren't the reason the lift
had been installed, the walls re-pointed, the stone floor
swept.

'Where are you
taking me?' she asked, addressing Kevin's thin back, for he
insisted on walking ahead of her.

'To meet the master,' he replied evenly, the foreboding tone
of his voice causing her to shudder with trepidation.
Master
. The very word
chilled her more than the dingy damp passageway he was leading her
along.

A door set in
an arch loomed before them. It was made of solid oak and heavily
studded with nails. It had an ornately worked iron keyhole. Kevin
rapped on the panels with his knuckles, and a voice called for them
to enter. Kevin pushed open the creaking door and stood aside so
that Julia might go first.

She was aware
of darkness shot through with scarlet, of the persistent hum of a
heating system in the bowels of the house, of the tall, powerful
man silhouetted against the flames of large ecclesiastical candles
standing in carved sconces.

'Welcome,
Julia Jones,' Vincent Gabor said, the timbre of his voice scraping
down her spine like sharp fingernails on slate. 'Come to me.'

She couldn't
speak, every vestige of sense deserting her. Gabor didn't move,
willing her to go to him, but she couldn't, having lost the ability
to walk. Her knees had turned to jelly.

Then Grace
emerged from the shadows, as severe as ever in an immaculate grey
suit.

'Don't keep
the master waiting,' she snapped, and dug her fingers into Julia's
arm, marching her across the stone-flagged floor to him.