No Strings

Chapter 11

At work the next day I just couldn't concentrate. I kept finding myself staring out of the window, my stomach in knots. What was making me so anxious? I knew it wasn't just Paul's reappearance. I had meant it when I had told Jake I knew how to deal with him. Problem was, I didn't know how to deal with Jake. Things had been just fine a week ago, so what had changed? First, there was that twinge of jealousy I had felt when I'd seen him with that blonde in Shoreditch, then there was my complete inability to resist him the next day despite sensing trouble on the horizon. And now last night. Red flags were everywhere. That kissing, his manly heroics, the 'Call me if you need me.' And look at me now. I was sitting here staring out of the window in the middle of a busy working day thinking about him.

So I shook myself and turned back to the computer screen.

And how had he got that black eye? Was he the kind of bloke who got into fights? If he was, I needed to stay well away from him. I had enough to deal with already.

Oh my God. Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? This was really bad. This could lead to all sorts of complications and none of then would be good - certainly not when the bloke in question had a black eye and a totally unknown job. He knew how to throw his weight around too. He'd demonstrated that both with me and Paul. OK, with me the results were usually ridiculously pleasurable but he had demonstrated a liking to be in control and I knew that kind of man. And I knew better than to get mixed up with one. Again.

I had absolutely no idea who Jake really was.

The solution was clear. I couldn't do Jake anymore and this time I had to stick to my decision.

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I was worried about Sarah. Really worried about Sarah. That bastard banging on her door last night looked like bad news. And I really didn't like the idea of him turning up at hers today when I wasn't around. She had said she could handle him but hadn't I heard that one way too many times before? "I don't want him arrested, I can handle him," the woman says, with a split lip. And two days later she's in hospital.

And here I was trapped behind a desk waiting for a phone call from the lab and buried under virtual mountains of paperwork I had been procrastinating over for days.

Who was he anyway? An ex boyfriend? She had never mentioned anyone before but she wouldn't would she? Not when our conversations consisted of me saying things like "Take your clothes off", "You're so tight" and "Turn over." Fucking hell, I was a charmer wasn't I? Who was I to worry about some pissed off bloke when I was hardly Prince Charming myself. I winced as I remembered angrily fucking her in the shower last weekend. And - oh shit - making her suck me off in the stairwell. Not exactly civilized or gallant.

I itched to text her and find out where she was right now. If she was at work I would be able to relax, a little bit. Or at least enough to be able to concentrate on something else for more than five minutes. But I had never texted her in that way before. It was usually her who texted me with one or two words - 'Tonight?' or 'Feeling horny'. On many occasion I had been tempted to engage in some sexting with her but I had resisted. That was too much like relationship territory. I had always kept it short and sweet and to the point - apart from last Friday in the bar in Shoreditch when pure lust (and too much Whisky) had gotten the better of me.

Maybe if I texted a 'Where are you?' it might sound like an invitation rather than interference? Who was I kidding? I wasn't her boyfriend. I had no right to be asking her questions like that. I'd sound like a controlling nut and it looked like she already had one of those in her life. I had told her to call me if she needed me. But I had a horrible feeling that she would never do that. She might if she needed a fuck, but she wouldn't for anything else. And shouldn't I be relieved by that?