Best Together free porn video

Karen Marking pulled into a space in the small car park alongside the school. She sat for a moment or two collecting her thoughts. She knew that she may have to face one or two awkward questions from the man she’d come to interview, Yorke Millen, the acting headteacher, and she needed to make her guarded answers acceptable. Three years earlier she had interviewed him in very different circumstances. Then she had been a television presenter on a weekly current affairs program, confident, brash, with a reputation for asking searching questions. Because his wife had recently been killed when struck by a car driven by a drunk driver, and the subject had been ‘drink driving’, Yorke Millen, had been invited onto the show.

In talking about the incident, he had broken down completely, and was guided off air. For some time after, Karen had hoped she’d shown understanding and sensitive empathy at his distress.

Yorke Millen, standing in for the actual head, was currently faced with spreading rumours that low finances might close the school. Knowing an appointment was her normal procedure, Karen had feared, that he might refuse. She also worried that he might question her falling from regular TV presenter to reporter on the local newspaper. He would hardly appreciate the truth, “Oh, I was caught screwing the managing director’s son-in-law.” So, she sat there in the car, ensuring her ready response would be adequate.

Karen recalled a man in his late twenties, handsome despite lines and shadow around his dark brown eyes revealing his distressed condition. For this meeting she had worn, a neat black skirt, white blouse, and maroon waistcoat style jacket, giving her an image of efficient journalist. Would he notice her thinner face, small lines at her eyes, changes resulting from recent traumatic few months? Oh, come on, Karen Marking, you aren’t here to impress.

Once inside the school the secretary, Tina Lorder, a smart lady with steely grey coiffure, greeted her with eyebrows raised in surprise when Karen introduced herself. Clearly, she recognised her, and was surprised when Karen told her she was from the local newspaper.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment,” Karen told her.

Surprisingly, when Tina Lorder went next door into his office, Karen was just able to hear the exchange, "In the mood for a member of the Press? The Enquirer," she asked, and there was a pause before Yorke Millen’s voice growled, "What could they want? Did he give any clues?"

A different tone of voice from their last meeting. The secretary told him, "It's a lady, Karen Marking."

Karen wondered whether he was reliving the trauma of that time. “Oh,” he said, “ I thought you said the Enquirer.”

"Apparently, that's who she's with. Yes? No?"

He must have made some unspoken gesture as Tina Lorder appeared to usher Karen into his, minimally furnished office. What caught her breath was the man already rising from his chair behind his desk, a puzzled expression on his handsome face. He seemed taller than Karen remembered. Maybe, then, he had been crushed, lowered by grief. Now Karen was looking at a wide shouldered, imposing figure, a highly attractive man. And had his eyes briefly drifted from her face, down over her body? That was a pleasing, if fanciful, thought.

"This is a surprise," he said, in a strong deep voice. Very different circumstances from their last meeting. Here, he was in control, as he indicated a chair.

"I thought it might be," she replied, taking the offered seat, hitching at her skirt. To get a grip on reality she added, “How are you?” Detecting that his reply was less bright than it might have been, she went on, “We don't seem to meet in the best of circumstances.” Were those brown eyes boring into her before he asked, "And you? What happened to television?”

The question she had known she would have to face. Attempting a casual tone, she replied, "Can we just call it redundancy?”

"They can't have found anyone better?" he said.

Despite getting a glow from his respectful response, Karen shuffled awkwardly before replying, "Well, let's say they thought so."

"Given your ability though---the Enquirer?"

Why did he have to pursue the issue? Karen could only shrug, as she told him, “It's a challenge. And that's why I'm here really."

"What's on your mind?" he asked, and Karen saw suspicion cloud his face. She was striving to keep a reassuring expression, while bringing up her reason for being there.

“Your school is in a testing situation. What with the closure rumours, and all."

“Oh, yes, ’testing’ is a good word for it, " he said, and his smile was rueful. "A bit of a nightmare.”

Karen could not believe what she said next, given her actual intention, “I'm surprised to find you so composed. I was expecting more grey hair—or even less hair."

Happy that he laughed at her impertinent comment, she laughed along with him, and she was even happier at his response, "Well, thanks for that much," he said. "By the same token, I may not have recognised you."

"Maybe I don't handle stress that well," she sighed, and feared that he might get back to questioning her stress. Did she blush at what he said next?

“Oh, I wasn’t meaning you were any less attractive.” He stopped going further and there was just a momentary pause as their eyes held.

Feeling suddenly awkward, Karen hastened to get back on track, "What I was after, Mr Millen, is your permission to write some in-depth articles about the school."

"In depth?"

"A few good human-interest pieces— parents, children affected, concerns of the staff.” Karen could see that he wasn't too sure.

His head shook, as he said, "I don't know. You must understand the school needs to maintain a certain image. I can't see—"

"All very newsworthy," Karen broke in, holding up a hand of apology, “This could help that image. After all, it's still only rumours"

His sigh was heavy, as he flicked a letter still in his hand since she arrived. "More than just rumours now."

"May I?" she asked, holding out a hand, sure that had been his intention.

He shrugged, and, with only brief hesitation, he handed it over. Karen began reading. Very terse, typical Authority, and she picked out the key phrases, ‘—the Council’s financial difficulties—‘ ‘–-the school’s pupil numbers—‘ ‘closure is being considered---'. No words of regret, Karen noted. She raised her eyes, "What are your pupil numbers?"

"At present two hundred and fifty five, but if parents take fright." Again, he shrugged.

She nodded, handing the letter back, "They now admit considering closure, but the earlier rumours must have stemmed from somewhere."

Karen saw his eyes widen before he said, “That's exactly what I’ve been thinking.” Now did she imagine that there was warmth in those dark eyes? “We seem to have a mind link.”

Karen, looking at that, so open, so handsome face, could not prevent the thought that she wouldn’t regret more than just a linking of minds, but she forced herself to say, "Don't you think sympathetic articles in the local press might help?"

"You really think so?"

She licked her lips. Now came the need to clarify her own situation, "I have to admit that my first impulses were, career-wise, selfish considerations. I'm single, pushing thirty three."

"You don't look it," he put in quickly, and again his gallant comment, brought on heat.

She managed to keep her voice level as she went on, “Thank you, but rather old to be a cub reporter. I need a good project." She stopped and treated him to a smile, "Now I'm making it sound as though I'm begging."

"Not at all. I quite understand how that kind of lever would help. But would the school situation suffice?"

God, he was being so understanding. "If I can pitch it at just the right humanistic level. You would, of course, see anything I wrote before publication. Does that sound reasonable?"

Their eyes held for a moment, and Karen could see that he was weighing-up her offer carefully. “It sounds most reasonable. There could be some benefits for the school.” His eyes looked out of the window for just a second, while Karen was thinking, if this came off, seeing more of him would be a bonus. She held her breath as he turned his face to her again. “Would you like to make a start next week?"

Karen’s heart leapt, at his words. "Ideal," she said, wanting to hug his imposing frame. "Thank you. You won't be disappointed." She stood up, held out a slender hand, and enjoyed the gentle but strong grip of his. "I won't take any more of your time," she said, and added, “I have some contacts. I can probe into Council matters without raising too many suspicions." His smile at those words was, for Karen, worth the visit alone. Or was she reading too much into the situation?

Back in her car, Karen, high on the prospects of the articles, but equally high on how this encounter had aroused her libido, long buried since her error with Patrick Webber. Hard to ignore that so familiar fluttering in her lower body.

Within days she had started on her interviews, and had also had a brief meeting with her contact, Bill Raymond, in the council finance department. Nothing much that they didn’t know already. Yorke Millen had already advised the staff of what she would be doing, and Karen was pleased to find them welcoming and cooperative.

She produced one general article on the school situation, and was lifted by Yorke Millen's appreciation of, as he put it, "An article that was skillful and uplifting.” Oh, God, here was such an attractive man with a captivating manner about him. No wonder she had these deep stirrings.

Often, while moving around the school, she would unexpectedly meet him. Was that accidental? But such a lift when it happened. On the Wednesday, she dressed coolly in white blouse and blue cotton skirt, to have an earlier arranged interview with him. She was sure that his look had been appreciative, and she warned herself stay calm.

At that meeting they came to an early agreement, for, as she sat down across from him, and she said, “I appreciate you giving your time, Mister Millen,” he had responded, “Please, since you’re here for a while call me Yorke.”

Delighted at this suggestion of closeness, Karen quickly responded, "Then you know that I’m Karen.” Then she allowed her curiosity to get the better of her by asking, “Yorke? Not a common name."

"My parent's nod at the place of my conception,” he replied, a little ruefully.

Comfortable in this relaxed atmosphere, Karen listened keenly as he told her how before her time. her paper had published two separate articles about bullying in the school. Neither of them true.

"Of course, you did protest?"

"Yes, and to be fair the guy was sacked for not checking the story more thoroughly. But the damage was done. The school undermined."

Karen pursed her lips, noting the irony that she her appointment coincided with that dismissal. She gave Yorke a nod of understanding, “Retractions attract less attention than juicy stories. No wonder you were cagey about me."

She wallowed in Yorke's reassuring smile, "What you are doing is more than welcome. I'm not cagey about you anymore."

Karen was very aware of how their eyes held contact for longer than they might have. Could there really be some promise behind those brown eyes?

Keeping things formal, she told him, "Did you know that we acquired a new editor in April? That's probably why I’m being allowed to cover your story." This was a crucial moment as she held up her latest copy, "This is the draft giving the staff reactions."

He reached out for the folder saying, "I’ll look forward to reading this. Is there anything else?"

Karen told him of her visit to talk to Bill Raymond, in the finance department, feeling a little proud that Yorke’s eyebrows raised in appreciation of her pushing this far.

“Any use?"

"One thing he did mention was that Midsdale school closed just last year."

"They did."

"And they're building a factory right on that spot already."

"I didn’t know that.”

"Yes, so imagine how the Council could score if this school was to close."

Karen was warmed by the admiring smile Yorke bathed over her, as he said, “You really are getting involved, aren’t you?” Then he swiveled his chair around, "See out there," he said, pointing to the view out of the window.

Karen saw the open school playing fields and then a wide stretch of cultivated fields up to the nearby Stanning village. "It is a lot of land," she said.

"A gentleman named Scaley owns it. Applied for planning permission to build houses, and was turned down twice. Insufficient road access given as the reason. It’s not new ground, but worth following up on, Karen."

Karen was pleased to be able to tell him, "Great, I’ve already fixed an appointment with somebody in the land office for Friday morning."

"Hell, your enthusiasm is so pleasing, Karen," he said.

She gave him a wide smile before admitting soberly, "I enjoy doing it."

Later that afternoon before she left, she decided to call in to see if he'd read her latest article. Entering the office, she searched his face with hopeful eyes. Her heart leapt at his reaction, "Another superb article, Karen. I'm so pleased you are around." If that gave her a lift what came next really thrilled her. "Look, I'm keen to know what you find out on Friday."

Karen knew her diary was full for a few days in the following week and with a rueful smile, she told him that. Yorke’s eyes held hers for a moment before he asked, “You aren’t working Saturday, are you?”

Saturday? Karen had only been thinking in school time, “No, not Saturday.”

Yorke’s head nodded with satisfaction, “Good. Then what about a pub meal Saturday, early evening?"

It felt like a flare had gone off inside her. She was totally thrilled by the prospect. He could have met her here in school. Would her smiled acceptance be too obvious? It was as if he had awarded her Journalist of the Year.

"The Blue Dragon convenient? Say six thirty? Just to talk through anything you’ve learned."

She could accept that last 'talk through'. "I know it well."

“If there’s nothing to report, we can just talk.”

Just talk? Now it was really beginning to sound like a date. Karen left the building on a real high. Beware of over-reaction, madam.

Excited enough to just be seeing him on Saturday evening, she longed to see how he’d react to the facts she gleaned from her meeting at the land office. Saturday evening, Karen, her folder tucked under her arm, marched into the Blue Dragon, looking forward to being with Yorke in this less formal situation. She had spruced up with a little more thoroughness this evening, a favourite lemon blouse, dark green cotton skirt, overlaid with a pale green cotton short sleeved jacket.

The only downer was that, unexpectedly, she had received an apologetic call to report on a function at eight thirty that evening. A reporter gone sick. Some literary presentation in Tynemouth. She had cursed that it would cut into what might have turned out to be a more than interesting evening.

Seating herself at a corner table, trying to remind herself that this was just a review of an agreed situation. As soon as he entered, smart in a navy blazer and blue open necked shirt, she felt that familiar shakiness in the pit of her stomach. Time with him recently, had added other similarly suppressed quivers inside her. A wide, genuine smile of greeting, and he apologised for being late, as he sat down.

"I was early," she told him. They talked briefly about the weather, as he draped his jacket over the back of his chair. She enjoyed watching, and wondering what he looked like with the shirt off, and quickly scolded herself.

They quickly agreed on an order and Karen was delighted when he accepted her recommendation of steak and kidney pie in ale..

"Care for a glass of wine with it?"

Plying me with drink, is it? "That would be ideal. I'm driving, but one medium white, please."

While he went to place the order, she was warning herself that just maintaining his respect had to be sufficient, as she shrugged out of the green jacket. He arrived back at the table, set down two glasses of wine, sat down and remarked, "You suit lemon---or should it be lemon suits you." Having his eyes notice her was simply one more thrill.

"Thank you," she said, and treated him to a special smile. Well, she hoped he would tell it was special. Now it was time to start the action. She reached down to her feet and came up holding the folder containing papers. "I hope this will interest you. Since that's why you're here."

"Based on your visit yesterday?" he asked, and he was leaning forward clearly keen to see what she had found.

"That and a couple of other enquiries." She reached into the folder and came out with a single sheet of paper. Now to find out whether she could surprise and please him. "Benjamin Scaley, builder. You mentioned him."

Karen enjoyed the look of disappointment on his face. She trusted she could remove that look. "Do you know what happened after he was refused building permission?"

She saw frown of puzzlement, just as a little red-faced waitress arrived with two steaming plates. The savoury aroma alone set her stomach rumbling, but she was just a little annoyed that a special moment had been disrupted.

"Good choice, Karen," Yorke said appreciatively, as he tasted the food.

"I knew it would be," she replied, delighted that he agreed with her, but wondering how they could get back on track while eating. But he was obviously as hooked as she was, for, resting his cutlery, he looked up at her.

"What were you about to tell me?"

She attempted an enigmatic smile as she said, "Scaley sold the land."

Clear surprise showed on his face. "When?"

"Roughly one year ago. Two million."

"Who would pay for land that had no planning chance?"

Oh, how she enjoyed the look on that handsome face, "A group called Hangford Properties."

She watched him as he ate in silence for a moment, clearly deep in thought. Emptying his mouth, he asked, "Why would they want it?"

Would he make the connection? "Doesn't seem sensible, does it? I checked up on them. Got caught up in the 1989 nose-dive—but survived."

Yorke was clearly intrigued, "But still came up with two million for land which---" He paused, and the obvious question now sprang to his lips. "When did you say this happened?"

Here it came, the connection she'd hoped he'd make. She told him the date, and watched him eagerly.

"Just before we became aware that the school was at risk," he murmured. "God, this is so close."

"So, is that a connection---or what?" And she put on what she hoped was her best journalistic mask. But she could see that he remained guarded, unwilling to accept a total truth.

"Taking a risk though. After all, closure was only a suggestion." She warmed to his brown eyes regarding her, as he went on, "But you, madam, have been a true snooper. What information would prompt buying land already refused planning permission?"

Yorke finished his meal well ahead of her, and as she ate, she knew his eyes were on her. She kept her head down, aware that she was not a lady-like eater. Her father had once said. "You eat with all the voraciousness of a starved bulldog." Not knowing what Yorke was thinking, on this one, he would have to take her as she was. She believed she had no false modesties, or pretensions.

As soon as both plates were clear, she stacked them and took them to the bar. When she came back, Yorke observed, "With the school gone there would be much greater ease of access,"

"And then some. A real Catch 22 situation. If they built houses on the land the school would grow. But they can only build if the school closes. Crazy?"

And again, he showed they were on the same wavelength, "Whoever purchased the land must have had some insight."

"So, they could make a gamble on the school closing." She was really enjoying their shared enthusiasm.

"You have done wonderfully well. I'll follow up on it, I've spoken to so many Council officials, Leader, deputy leader, you name it, I've talked to them all. Now, just maybe, you've given me a loophole to dig at."

Grateful at his appreciative words, she glanced at her watch, "I'm afraid I have to go." She so hated having to end it. "That bloody function."

"Right. I'll let you know what I find. How soon can we meet again?"

"Well, I have an assignment down in Yorkshire for most of the week," she said quietly, and here came a wonderful chance to bring him closer. Perhaps. And she looked at him with a look which she hoped was brightly challenging. "Are you a risk taker?"

"Now what does that mean?"

"Would you be against allowing me to prepare a meal for you? From my own kitchen," she said with mock grandeur. "Next Saturday, say? I know I'll be free then."

"Oh, I don't want to be any trouble."

She knew she could turn up a presentable meal, and with this man she could envisage sharing more than just a meal. "Hey, there are times when I'm glad of any company at the moment."

"Oh, thanks a lot," he laughed with a mock pout.

"I didn't mean it like that," she giggled, touching his arm lightly. How daring was that?

"I'd be happy to come. There's just one thing stopping me."

Hell, why did things have to be difficult? "What's that?" she asked warily.

"I don't know where you live."

Relieved, Karen found deep delight in sharing another laugh. She was sure in that moment they were drawn closer together. Outside, they stood by her car in the warm evening air. He was standing very close, and Karen was sure she could feel the heat from him. Probably her imagination, but then unexpectedly, he had bent and kissed her gently on the cheek. Before she could respond, he had stepped back saying, "I'm really very grateful for your help."

As she drove away, Karen was thinking, ‘Damn, this bloody function. Roll on next Saturday.’

Her days in Darlington dragged, and she wished they had exchanged phone numbers, so she could know what his investigation had found. Everything about him intrigued her, his manner, his movement, his voice were all alive in her head, and in her heart. She had to admit; if he showed any signs of desiring her, she would be his, and how often had her body heated on that prospect?

Saturday came at last and she fussed all day, wanting everything to be right. The cooking was relatively simple; chicken breasts in a rich tomato and onion sauce, baby potatoes, broccoli, and runner beans. She chose to wear a simple pale blue summer dress, above knee length, with a scooped neckline. A cool, competent image, she hoped.

At precisely eight o'clock, she saw his car pull up outside her gate, and looking out, she saw that rain was pounding down. Yorke, in only jacket and pants, leapt from the car, slammed the door behind him, and dashed for the cover of the shallow awning at her front door. Karen had the door open before he reached it, and as he dashed inside she could only say the obvious, "You really caught it."

"Too stupid," Yorke laughed as he faced her, rain dripping from his chin, and shook himself like a great Dane. "I knew it was coming." Kicking of his shoes, he handed over the wine he had brought, and slipped out of his jacket, before loosening his tie.

"Hang your jacket there," she said, indicating the coat rack. "Are you all right otherwise?"

“A few spots on my pants. They’ll soon dry.”

Take them off, if you like. Karen didn’t say that, but he looked so scrumptiously unkempt, standing there, with his dark hair tousled, she was so tempted. God, she really needed to cool it.

She led him through to her good sized sitting room, where she was quietly proud of neat modern furnishings. A small two-seater sofa and armchair in tan leather. A couple of tasteful water colours on the walls and a table neatly set in one corner. Two places facing each other, and candles already lit.

She was delighted to hear him say, “Nice house. I like your style.” When she turned to thank him, she was sure his eyes had been on her. Dream on, Karen Marking. And quickly she asked him if he was ready to eat.

"Any time you like."

Within minutes they were sitting at the table and, while she was dishing out, Yorke uncorked and poured the wine. Karen watched anxiously as he took his first bite at the chicken. And life seemed full of little thrills as he said, “The sauce on that chicken is so delicately piquant.”

“Are you a connoisseur of food.”

“Not really,” he admitted, and she knew his eyes were firmly on her face as he added, “but I know what I like.” They talked only of minor issues as they ate. Yorke, she noticed, had allowed himself two half glasses of wine. By the time they were clearing up, Karen began to realize that she had been imbibing too freely. Her cheeks were heated, and two thirds of the bottle had gone. She had a lovely warm glow inside.

“Leave the dishes," she said, as he began collecting them. "We'll have a coffee. Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Coffee would be fine."

Karen found Yorke settled into one of the easy chairs, as she placed a tray on the small table between them. She sat on the sofa facing him, studying him openly. "You're not going to keep me waiting any longer are you?" she said, with a cautious smile.

Yorke smiled warmly, and, as he picked up his coffee cup, he said, "Thanks to you, Karen, I was able to follow up on Hangford Properties on the internet. Found their website, on which the directors were listed. Littleson and Clarke seem to be the top two. Nothing outstanding among the directors.”

He stopped for a moment, and looked at her with a teasing smile on his face. Karen, although she was having difficulty staying alert, knew that he had something much more positive to tell her. She nodded her head to urge him on.

Yorke’s smile broadened as he continued, “It was a couple of days later that I took a deeper look and I came across a page of what are called 'Associates', and on that list one name jumped out at me." He stopped, took a sip of his coffee, and Karen knew he was watching for her reaction.

But despite the moistening she was feeling between her thighs, she was able to urge him, "Go on. Go on,"

He gave her a smile and went on, "That name was Norman Evingston."

"Unusual surname."

"Isn't it though? But it happened to be a surname I recognised. So yesterday morning I had a long talk with Harold Murton, the director of education. Before I revealed anything, I asked if talk of school closure came from any particular source. Almost without hesitation, he said it had been his deputy, along with a couple of other committee members. Just as I hoped."

"Why?"

Yorke’s triumphant smile could have split his face, "The name of the deputy director is Raymond Evingston. Further checking and,” teasing pause, then, “they're brothers, Karen. That's all, really. Murton has assured me he'll study the matter most carefully and get back to me."

"So, it's wait and see? Oh, so close." Having enjoyed his obvious delight, she glanced at his empty coffee cup, "Another?" she asked, and when he thanked her and demurred, she added, "A whiskey?"

"Well, if you are having something---but small. Half and half with water. I'm driving." But Karen was away immediately, and found her legs just a little unsteady. To hell with that, this was celebration time, wasn’t it? Eagerly she prepared his drink and poured herself a generous tipple.

When she went back with the two tumblers, she handed Yorke the whiskey and sat down, noticing him eye the tumbler of clear fluid in her hand.

"A gin lady?"

"Vodka," she replied, wishing she had said ‘water’. For the next fifteen minutes or so they talked through what might happen. Karen was so taken with his presence, she was surprised to find her tumbler empty. "A top up?" she asked.

"Not for me, Karen, thanks." Karen knew as she bumped against the coffee table that she had too much, too quickly, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her now. As she moved to the kitchen, she heard him add, "You know as much as anyone now, Karen. A little patience now. You may score a big story out of it."

That was not the score she had in mind, as she sat down with her recharged tumbler. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, less focused, knowing what she wanted. Deliberately she leaned forward, so aware that her neckline would droop revealingly.

Yorke’s face had an indefinable expression. Had she overdone it? Too eager, too hasty, she’d risked driving him away. Desperate to clear her own head, she placed her glass on the table, needing to talk, wanting him to know everything about her. “Let me explain why I'm out of television." God, was she slurring her speech? She saw the frown on his brow as he shook his head.

Karen, head lowered, began to talk with deliberate slowness to disguise her light-headedness, "Yorke, I'm no easy catch, but I've been around. I was married when I was twenty-three, just after I got my first job in television. I was assistant producer. He was a camera man. Ian Marking." Her eyes moved beyond him and he turned to follow her gaze towards the window.

He looked back at her, “The photograph, that’s him?”

Karen nodded her head, and her eyes moistened when he added, “A very striking young man.”

Her breath shuddered in her throat as she said, "I adored him." Her eyes came back, wide to hold his, "He was killed in a car crash on the Alnwick by-pass. We'd been married just two and a half years."

"I'm sorry," he said, and Karen knew that his comment was genuine, so she plunged on with her full story. Her despair, the burying herself in work, fighting her way to the top of TV directing and producing, well in, but empty inside. She hesitated, as she told of how, under the influence of drink, she succumbed to the advances of company director, Patrick Webber, in the back of his Merc. “Exotic stuff, you see." And her lips trembled.

"You know, Yorke, I've told this to no one before.” Karen feared she was rambling on wildly, “You don't mind listening?"

He shook his head, “If it helps you.”

"After that night---well, to be frank, it went on. And he wasn't that great a lover." Why on earth did she have to giggle at that point? This wasn’t funny. "I blamed long term celibacy." But she pressed on to tell of the night eighteen months earlier alone in the office with him on top of her when the managing director walked in.

Karen couldn’t believe that recalling the incident could affect her like this. Her lips puckered, and she squeezed her eyes closed to deny any tears. It had to be the drink, but she went on "You see, Patrick was married---only he was married to Curtis Royston's daughter. Oh, I'd known that---no excuses. They cooked something up between themselves. He was found a post down in Yorkshire—and I was asked to submit my notice."

"You could have fought that, surely?"

"Unfair dismissal? Well, I might have. Crazily, it was me who was riddled with guilt. No, I was finished. I'm sure Royston got to other companies. Nobody was interested. So, here I am, trying to get myself back into gear, and failing."

“You haven’t failed for me” he said gallantly, but he must see how moist her eyes were. Slowly, she stood up, "I need a tissue. Silly of me, after all this time."

She was suddenly excited when Yorke stood, stepped towards her and put, what was probably only, a comforting arm around her shoulder. Hopefully, she moved in closer, submitting to the comfort of his arm, and very deliberately she lowered her forehead to his broad shoulder. Would her perfume tantalise him? Then his fingertips touched the warm skin of her upper arm, and she dared allow her arms to rest lightly around him. For maybe a minute they stood like that, not moving. At last she drew back her head. “Thank you for listening."

He was looking down into her face, "Well, if it has helped, it will be no bad thing. You had a bad deal."

Karen sighed, terribly aware of the moistening between her thighs, and she made the audacious move of pressing her body more firmly against him. “Such lessons are difficult to value," he agreed, but he moved his body sideways as though disturbed by her closeness. Her face turned up to his, her lips slightly parted, her eyes questioning, and she tightened her arms around him.

"Is there such a thing as mutual solace?" she asked, moving her lips on his cheek, feeling her breathing quicken.

"I'm sure there is," he replied gently, and Karen moved her head back to look into his face, saw what appeared to be a look of uncertainty. His lips came down to meet hers and the kiss was warm and gentle. But Karen was well aware that she could no longer settle for warm and gentle, as she pressed her mouth demandingly on his, and she sent her tongue searching for his. At the same time, she twisted her body so that the hand that had been on her upper arm now covered her breast. Oh, that felt so good. Excitement rising, Karen squirmed her hips against him hoping to detect a rising solidity.

That was the moment that Yorke broke the kiss and he gripped her shoulders to hold her at arms-length. Her pounding heart slumped, as Yorke gasped, "Karen, Karen." Oh, God, his eyes on her were so genuine as he went on, "Please, don't take this the wrong way, but maybe drink is driving your mood. Tomorrow you could regret this. You already told me of your pain from such a mistake."

Her hands dropping to her side, disappointment pressing in on her, Karen nodded, “Perhaps you’re right.” Now it was time for honesty she was certain, and she said, “You’re right about mistakes.” She now looked firmly into his eyes, “But it wasn’t just the drink, Yorke.”

His hands returned to her shoulders, and his dark eyes returned her own look, “That’s good to hear, because it matches my thoughts about you.”

Karen’s mind was in a whirl, from the thrill of that kiss, to the disappointment of his pulling away, to the absolute joy at what he had just said. His grip tightened on her shoulders before he added, "If this is going to happen between us, I’d prefer it natural, and not drink induced.”

Karen trembled at the promise in his words. She looked into his eyes once more as she sighed, "You're right." Reluctantly, she moved away from him to glance in a mirror over the fireplace. Her eye shadow had smeared under the lids, and her lipstick had smudged from her lower lip, "Oh, I see it all now," she laughed easily. "That is hardly an attractive prospect."

"It's a very attractive prospect," he said, honestly. "One not to be taken lightly."

"But one not to be taken." She looked at him regretfully before saying, "Would you excuse me a second?" At his nod, she hurried up to the bathroom with her mind still seething with questions. Did he really desire her? If so when would that be allowed to surface? Could she wait that long? There was little doubt in her mind that drink or no drink she longed to be naked in his arms.

She washed her face until it glowed, applied a little makeup, helping her to regain her composure. Then, she returned to where Yorke waited patiently. He stood as she entered,but she waved for him to regain his seat, and sitting opposite, she switched into her high efficiency mode, and said, “Thank you for being right. Now, tell me how I can help."

His ready smile fueled her, and they began to talk planning. It was five minutes past eleven when they said their farewells at her front door. The rain had stopped, but trees and bushes seemed decked in amber, as droplets caught the yellow lamplight. It was yet another thrill to have Yorke reach out and grip her hand in a tight, yet brief squeeze of gratitude as he thanked her for the meal and her involvement. Karen hoped her eyes would indicate what she was feeling.

As his lips touched gently on hers, there was a loud unearthly screeching somewhere behind them. Mutually startled, they each turned their heads, and laughed with some relief as two cats appeared on the shadowed lawn, face to face, backs arched. Yorke made a scaring squawk and the pair disappeared.

Karen's looked back at him, as she recalled something from younger days, and she said, "There are two things for which animals are to be envied: they know nothing of future evils, or of what people say about them."

"That's very profound."

"Voltaire—remembered from university."

"Oh, maybe we could discuss that sometime." Smiling, Yorke placed his hands on the curve of her shoulders, "Can I make you a promise?"

"Anytime," she said, fervently.

"If Murton comes up with what we want to hear, I will take you out for a deluxe meal."

Delighted at that prospect, Karen was sure a sensuous up and under look would not be amiss, "Only if we skip the restaurant coffee, and come back here for---that." Her look, and the pause were as close to lascivious as she dared, and added firmly. "And I'll only have one glass of wine."

He kissed her brow, and Karen was sure his eyes confirmed her own sentiment as he said, "Sounds good. Let's hope it's soon,” before walking away down the path.

Karen was surprised how well she slept that night. Feeling good and full of anticipation was one thing, but for the following five days, frustration was the theme. She had phoned on the Wednesday to ask if there was any news, and Yorke promised her that she would be the first to know. Then, by some magic of coincidence, on the following day, she was in school to interview a group of parents, and when done, she had just entered his office to see him when the phone rang.

Raising it to his ear the phone, Yorke gestured Karen to a chair. She began to sit but remained standing watching Yorke’s expression. His eyes widened, and he mouthed ‘Murton’ in her direction. Karen instantly leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Yorke’s face. During the whole duration of the following conversation their eyes remained locked.

Yorke’s head nodded and then with a bright smile clearing the worry from his face, he was able to convey the good news to Karen without speaking. Delighted for him, Karen, her eyes moist, reached out and gripped his free hand.

"And Evingston?" Yorke asked.

Karen could see the satisfaction on Yorke’s face at the answer to that. There were a few other comments, but as soon as Yorke put down the phone, Karen was in his arms, pressed against him, kissing him and being kissed, with a wildness that was pure joy at the news. When they finally broke, Yorke told her, "Evingston suspended.” He held her at arm’s length. “You started this. Now there's much to do. And you have an exclusive."

Karen felt so high, Yorke could have had her on his desk if he’d wanted, but she said, "Hell yes. I must get this in right away. It'll make tomorrow's edition, I hope." She reluctantly pulled away from his arms and hurried to the door.

"I have to get newsletters out for parents, and of course tell the staff." Yorke said, and as she opened the door, he called, "Would you be free Saturday night for that deluxe meal?"

Karen’s heart was pounding, "Oh, I'm not sure," she laughed, paused and added, "I'm positive."

"I'll pick you up at seven thirty."

So, it was that Saturday night, showered, and powdered, scented and gently made up, Karen wore her snugly fitting blue satin dress that revealed her shoulders, and just a subtle amount of cleavage. Determined to make this a night to remember, her joy was heightened as she climbed in, he gave her a quick kiss and murmured, “You look amazing.” was how she wanted it to be.

How elegant he looked in his light grey suit, with dark blue shirt and light blue tie, so cool. She told him, and he moved one hand from the wheel to squeeze her hand. For the rest of the journey he regaled her with the joyous reactions of staff and parents.

Yorke had booked a table at the Club 25 on the Quayside, making it a very special evening. This was a high class establishment, all maroon leather seats, low lights under Karen had to tell him how impressed she was. Delightedly, he told her, "It was meant to impress you, but mainly it's because you deserve this kind of appreciation," And, his eyes bathing over her, he added, "You look stunning. I hope the food's as good as your appearance."

Karen was sure it had to be. Quail starter, followed by beef bourguignon they shared was just perfection. As they ate their eyes rarely looked away from each other. She really tried to be more lady-like in eating the delicious fare placed before her. And they only had one glass of wine each.

Once the meal was over, the waiter was surprised that they turned down the offer of coffee. Their smiles, at that moment, sent out their private message to each other, and Karen knew she wasn’t misreading it. Yorke’s eyes on her bare shoulders and her cleavage were not in her imagination. She wanted him so much.

As soon as they were in the car, Karen leaned against him, and Yorke, as he started the car, gave her hand a tight squeeze.

The five miles to her front door seemed interminable. Karen kept one hand on his thigh just above the knee. After all their restrained encounters, she just longed to be possessed by this wonderful man. Raising her eyes, squeezing his thigh, she saw the smile on his face, “Why are you smiling?”

"That's exactly why," he said, nodding to her hand, and briefly took a hand from the wheel to caress hers.

For the whole journey, Karen felt her passion rising, and when he finally applied the handbrake, she thrilled that his first action was to turn to her. Their open mouths came together, and tongues met up almost frantically. His hand stroked over her breast and Karen couldn’t wait to feel what was behind the bulge in his pants. But as she stroked her hand there, Yorke broke the kiss, and grunted, “Too uncomfortable. Let's get inside."

As Yorke opened his car door and slid out, Karen, under the promise of what lay ahead murmured, "That's what I want, you inside—me," She opened her door, and hurried around to see Yorke removing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder.

All the way up the garden path they were kissing and clumsily fondling each other. At the door, Karen fumbled in her handbag for the key. As she pressed the key into the lock, with her other hand she reached back to grope and open his fly, as she whispered, "Unzip me. Unzip me."

The ratcheting noise of the zip’s descent under his eager fingers was one of the most sensuous sounds Karen had ever heard. As Yorke was kicking the front door closed, she was shrugging her gown to the floor, and was in his arms, her fingers desperately searching for, and finding his longed-for hardness. God, these were the actions of a nymphomaniac, weren’t they? It didn’t matter, and it was good to hear his grunt, as her fingers closed around that hot, strong promise, and she pulled it free of his pants. At the same time, she was reveling in the sensation of Yorke sliding his hands inside her panties, and, as he was pushing them down, she moved in closer, guiding his throbbing cock to where it was demanded. She was aware of his knees bending slightly to facilitate her intentions, as their tongues fought each other in a wild kiss.

Yorke's cock in her hands was so hot and hard, and Karen just wanted to have it inside her. She guided it to nuzzle along her eager lower lips, all so wet, and as he made his first thrust, she released her grip and grabbed at his buttocks. Two sensations hit her at once; his hardness piercing up into her eager channel, and the vigour of his entry lifting her off her feet, as she was pushed back against the wall.

Karen wrapped her legs around him. Totally skewered on his lance, she was suspended in some kind of heaven, with Yorke deep inside her where she had wanted him since they'd met. For a frantic second, she thought she might be slipping down the wall, but Yorke's next delicious thrust rode her back into position. She squeezed her legs tightly around him, ensuring that the only movement he could make was a twitch of his hips. That cock inside her was everything she had imagined throughout the early evening. It filled her completely. Their kissing was broken as they buried their faces into respective shoulders.

The moment Yorke's thrust had lifted her body back up the wall, came his gurgled moan, a series of hard heaves and Karen knew he was climaxing. She rode with his pleasure, knowing that she wasn't quite going to make it on this trip, but, nevertheless it had been a pure joy for her. As his diminishing erection slid out of her, she lowered her legs to the floor, and sensing Yorke's legs giving way she went down with him so they were sitting on the floor, hugging close.

"Too quick, wasn't I?" he whispered.

"You’ve had a longer wait," she said gently, her hand stroking his hair.

"Phew, that wasn't the way I meant it to be."

Karen looked into his face in the faint light, "What did you want?"

"Slow, sensuous."

She hugged him, "I have a confession.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

Karen took a deep breath, “I’ve wanted this since I first walked into your office.”

He treated her to a wide warm grin, “Well, there’s a coincidence.”

“How?” Karen didn’t dare believe what he was about to say.

“From that first day, I’ve wanted you. Every time you came and sat in my office I had a mini-erection.” Their kiss was warm and deeply mutual.

As they broke, Karen felt compelled to say, “About the slow, sensuous, given how we’re both feeling, we’ve got plenty of time for that. But first, how about a shower?”

“Sounds good.”

Holding on to each other, they climbed to their feet, and Karen used her panties to mop the juices between her legs. Then with a sudden realization she giggled.

"What's the matter?”

"All we've done and I've still got my bra on. Don't you like my breasts?"

He laughed with her, "Don't know. Never seen them. Anyway, I'm still in pants and shirt."

She took his hand, and said scoldingly,"Come on. Shower."

She led him upstairs into her large bedroom, she switched on a bedside light, so he could quickly view the major feature, which was the bed, all coloured cushions over a pink duvet. Through another door, into a fully tiled en-suite with a wide shower cubicle. As she entered she switched on the light.

In the aftermath of their encounter downstairs, Karen was feeling warm if mildly dissatisfied. Now she was eager for his reaction to seeing her fully exposed body, and was just as keen to see his. Crazily, she'd held his hardness in her hand, had it inside her but she'd never really seen it. She moved now to the shower cubicle, and turned on the spray, checking for temperature. When she turned back, Yorke was just standing looking at her, so immediately she reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and let it fall.

She stood naked in front of him without any self-consciousness, enjoying the way his eyes travelled over her body like some loving caress.

“That," he told her, "is a sight worth waiting for. Perfect for stroking."

As he took a step towards her, she held up a hand, "Aren't you just a little overdressed for the occasion?"

Smiling, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his pants. Karen watched with some enjoyment, seeing a neatly muscled frame, broad chested, with his manhood already semi erect. "Quite well made," she observed lightly, "but am I prepared to let it rub against me?"

In the bedroom, after a shower, more sensuous than she had ever known, Karen moved some of the cushions to one side, before lying flat on her back, while Yorke sat on the edge, and again she relished his eyes caressing over her body, which was ripe with anticipation. She kept her legs slightly parted, and could tell from the way his eyes lingered down there that, from his angle, he would see the way her eager lips pouted among her black pubic hair. Might he consider running his tongue along there. Oh, she hoped so.

Yorke leaned over her, "How would you like this to be?"

"Good for both of us."

"I could just sit up here and look at you," he admitted.

"Having your eyes on me is thrilling, but we could kiss, and you may have noticed my breasts are rather sensitive to touch." And she gave him a cheeky grin, which he buried with a warm kiss.

Karen had a few ideas of what she would like, but since he had asked first she would give him his way. Later she might apply a thrill or two of her own, for his sake. The kiss they were now involved in was deep and stimulating, as their tongues entwined. His fingers had been playing with her hair, and had trailed down her neck, to drift gently over the skin of her shoulders. In no time her breasts were receiving his delicate attention, and she was already breathing hard.

That magic touch as he favoured her nipples, sent wild signals down to increase her moistening underbody. His body was pressed close to hers, and she was aware of the gentle prodding of his rising hardness. Something to look forward to.

Yorke broke the kiss and pressed his lips along her bare shoulder. Karen had been just lying there, savouring his every move. If he’d had no woman since his wife, he was being a most considerate lover. Her hands were moving down over his buttocks, just hinting at dipping into the crack. Bending her head slightly she kissed along his neck, very aware of the increasing pressure of his growing cock.

She could not prevent the gasp that burst from her throat as his lips moved down over her breasts, and it felt as though he was, with his gentility, worshipping her nipples as his tongue tickled around them. As she felt them swell, he took one into his mouth and sucked gently on it. Knowing her gasping was increasing under his exquisite attention, Karen wondered just how much moisture she would produce between her thighs. Eagerly longing for his touch down there, she was delighted when Yorke allowed the fingers of one hand to stray down over her flat belly. Then he was favouring her curves as his hand traversed from breast to waist to hip and back again. God, he was good. It was as if he knew her actual needs.

Now, one hand moved to her inner thigh, where it moved back and forth with such gentle adulation. She was quite ecstatic with his movement, but in her mind, she was screaming, 'Get there. Get there.' Could he read her mind? For even while in her head she was screaming her demands, his fingers trailed through her bush, played there for a few seconds before searching out the beginning of her crease. That set her panting uncontrollably.

Karen knew she could no longer just lie there. She had tried flexing her thigh against his hard cock, but could not get sufficient space. She needed to favour him. "Move round, Yorke. Turn so I can reach it." Without replying, he made a double movement to succumb to her wishes. His lips moved from her breast and down over her belly, and as he did that he twisted his own body so that his erect manhood came within her reach. Her fingers gently encircled it, and she was happy to hear the grunt of pleasure that brought from him.

Having Yorke's wonderful cock before her eyes was a new experience. She had held it in her hand, and it had been inside her, but this was her first close-up viewing. Holding it now, she knew it was invidious to make comparisons, but it was pleasing to note that it was bigger than that bastard Peter's. The purple head with its tiny little mouth was so close. But what was he intending now? His fingers were parting her lower lips. His face had to be close to her clit and she could feel his quickened hot breath down there. As she sensed that, his tongue licked right over her clit sending radiations of sensation through her whole lower body. An unstoppable squeal burst from her lips.

His licking became more thorough, and somehow, she guessed her clit had become erect, and again she gasped, as fingers explored along the wetness right up to her entry. Karen knew that Yorke's action down there was going to send her over the edge fairly quickly. Not one, but two fingers had entered her channel, while his tongue continued to ravish her clit.

She was compelled to bring him up to her pace. More teasing of his steely cock would have been good, but she had no hesitation in taking it completely into her mouth, and drawing it back and forth. Her tongue lapped at it on each draw back, and she loved the sense of power it gave her, as his thighs spasmed with each move, and she heard his breathing become harsher. His purple head caught at the back of her throat. But, oh, his fingers, his tongue. A channel of fire flowed up from her entry into her very centre, and everything was beginning to pulse down there. Her hips jerked in an unexpected spasm.

Karen was so close. She knew she had to warn him. Working his shaft in her mouth was lovely enough, but his fingers, touching her so intimately, were going to drive her mad. It was then that his tongue began, lavishing fiercely on her clit, which was suddenly between his lips---he was sucking it! Extra exquisite sensations rocked through her body. Desperately she pulled her head back from his pulsing cock, and while grabbing it in her hand, gasped breathlessly, "Oh, God, Yorke. Quick." Her hips, impulsively, pushed up at his face.

She was delighted to find that he was ready, as he rolled between her jerking thighs, and she felt him tuck one of the cushions under her hips. Karen's eager fingers helped him place his iron hardness into her entrance. Now she had his face above her, he was trying to smile, but his own passion was making his mouth gape open as he plunged his full length into her and began an intense pounding action. For Karen, that pistoning of his rod deep inside her was sheer rapture. She wanted this sensation to go on and on. As he drew back and thrust again, she knew that the cushion under her was allowing him greater penetration, and she didn't mind that at all. Her whole body felt crammed with him. She was a lift shaft, and his solid rod was some great cylinder that her internal walls could grasp and pull at.

Lifting her hips off the cushion she was sure she could urge him deeper. His lips hunted hers but she was unable to hold her head still as she took all of him. His head dropped to her breasts, where his lips grappled with her nipples, just adding to her ecstasy.
Then unexpectedly, his cock began to retract, slipping back down to her opening. Surely, he hadn't cum? Oh, not yet. Not yet. "No," she growled desperately, as she felt him right at the lips again. But, just as suddenly, his rod plunged into her grateful depths once more. It was so sublime, and she knew she was about to orgasm. Yet she so wanted him with her. She moved every fibre of her being down there, as the fires flared.

Karen had no doubt that he was as close as she was. Yorke raised his body over her, so skilled, as each stroke of his cock caressed over her clit. Faster and faster, Yorke was pushing, and for every stroke he made, she responded equally, totally lost in the wonder of their mutual heaving and grunting. Madly, wildly, her senses all askew, she retained sufficient awareness to know that they were sharing a joint orgasm. He, pumping his fluid into her, she taking it all, her insides squeezing every drop from him, as though there would be no end. Her head tossing, but not her head, her face perspiring, but not her face, her body afloat, but not her body, as they all belonged completely to him.

They lay side by side, absolutely still for a few minutes, regaining some measure of composure. At last, she murmured, "Hell, Yorke, I've never known-"

And it was lovely to have Yorke lean over her, place a finger to her lips, before he whispered, "Ssh, Karen, no comparisons. This was totally ours.”

"I'm so glad you think that."

His gentle kiss was warm on her already warm lips, and said, "From saving the school, to reawakening my life. I trust you're proud of yourself."

Still glowing from their love-making, Karen half sat up, and looked at him frankly, "I'll only be proud if I've reawakened your life to be my own personal property."

Karen was sure that Yorke’s eyes moistened as he looked deeply into hers and asked, "You really mean that?"

She told him of the love that was blazing in her heart, and she kissed him tenderly. As she broke away, Yorke whispered, "Then I'm trapped."

Their lips came together once more, and it was so very good.