The Monogamists Ch. 02

UPHILL

I first met Jen going uphill. I'd just started at a large insurance firm as a quantitative analyst, my first real grown-up paying job out of university, and since I found myself on my own inside a vast organisation, I signed up for a number of social activities to try and find some people I'd be able to hang out with, grab a beer, get something to eat. I wasn't particularly looking for a relationship, and certainly not halfway up the steepest hill in the city sweating and staggering with a dozen other people from the lunchtime running club.

"C'mon tortoise," she said as she passed me, and grinned. It was the grin that did it: confident and sexy, dimples in her cheeks. I watched her trim figure accelerate away from me, saw the way the beautifully rounded cheeks of her bottom moved in her skin-tight, aquamarine running shorts. Her dirty blonde hair, gathered in a pony-tail with a black scrunchie swayed deliciously against the bunched muscles of her back as she worked her way up to the summit. I gained inspiration and hauled myself to the top.

She turned to watch me as I practically fell onto the low wall that marked the end of the course.

"God, you look like shit!" she said, grinning again.

I didn't answer, and truth be told I couldn't; the last sprint to keep her in view had robbed my entire body of oxygen and now I was gulping in lungfuls of air like a drowning man, just staring at her.

Her smile dissipated into a frown of concern. She bent down to examine me.

"Looks like you nearly popped a lung," she said.

"Your... fault," I managed.

"Really?"

"You... called me a... tortoise." I drew myself up defiantly. She made a circling motion with her hand and pointed downwards.

"No, keep your head down. Give it a minute. Get the lactic acid out," she said as she sat down on the wall. Then the humour returned: "I've never killed a man before. But I promise you we're going to get through this."

I met her gaze, her hazel eyes regarding me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"You're going to go on and lead a long and active life," she said, mockingly, "Providing the shock doesn't kill you in the next two minutes."

It was something about the way she looked at me as she said it. I answered before my brain had time to process the next thought.

"So maybe the last thing I'll see on Earth is you?" I asked.

She laughed. "I think you're going to pull through." She stood up again.

"Henry," I said. "I'm Henry," then felt a little self-conscious for blurting it out. "In case the paramedics need to know."

She appraised me for a moment. "Jen," she said. "Welcome to boot camp, newbie."

And then she headed back through the revolving doors into the office.

---

Jen always seemed a step ahead, sassy, smart and in charge. I discovered that she was the same age as me, but was further up the corporate ladder having not opted for a Masters degree, giving her a couple of years' head-start. She was already running a small team of accountants on the tenth floor and a rising star in the business. She joked that she had a head for figures.

As the newbie, she'd invited me up to the tenth for Friday drinks, celebrating some project milestone and I was more than eager to tag along and see more of her. We all went out as a group for follow-on drinks after, and then to a club after that. It was good to feel part of a group again, and especially when Jen and I were able to have time just the two of us, walking between bars or hanging out at the table while everyone else danced. But as the closer I got to her, the more I found something in the way, something I couldn't articulate, as if there was a line she had drawn to say: 'this far and no further'. I knew that I wanted her. I was determined I would solve this.

---

A few weeks later, I found a clue.

It was the launch party for a reinsurance product that I'd helped to build the model for, so this time I was on the tenth floor on my own ticket, not tagging along. Jen's team had covered off the financial side, after some collusion behind the scenes to make sure we were working on the same project. By now, we had fallen into a pattern of after-work drinks and catch-ups on the weekend, always as part of a group, but regular enough that I was sure she saw something in me too.

I stepped onto the floor and made my way to the large conference room with views across the city. There were already over a dozen people mingling in the space, and I soon discovered Jen over by the window. Instead of the usual business casual workwear, she was wearing a pure white long-sleeve top that accentuated her slim waist and rose over her demure breasts to show off her long, delicate neck. Below, she wore a mid-grey skirt in some flimsy fabric that clung tightly to her heart-shaped bottom and then gathered itself as it wrapped her toned, shapely legs, ending just above her knees. And then I noticed her shoes; gone was the practical footwear she wore during the day, replaced by dark grey stilettos. She looked over to me and waved. I realised I had ground to a halt in the doorway, staring dumfounded. With an effort, I propelled myself forward to join her.

Jen was standing with four other people and they shuffled around to admit me into the circle. I scanned their faces: Frances I already knew, she was in her late forties and Jen's boss, and could be quite demanding. The other three were strangers. Jen introduced me.

"Henry, this is Clive," she gestured to the man to her left. We nodded. "And Amir," she gestured to the man next to Clive.

"My boss, Frances, you already know," she said with a smile that I knew well enough by now to guess that she was playing the host in polite company.

"And this is Anya." She gestured towards the woman standing between her boss and myself. Because of the arrangement I hadn't been able to take more than a quick sideways glance but now she turned to face me directly.

"Anya is Frances' executive assistant."

It was the way Jen said it that made me shiver. Anya was beautiful, with long brown hair sweeping around delicately made-up eyes the colour of dark chocolate. I had to force myself to speak.

"Henry," I managed, then swung around to face the group. "I did the quant piece," I added unnecessarily. The man opposite me nodded; I had already forgotten his name. Someone tapped a microphone behind me and with relief I turned towards the centre of the room to pay attention as the speaker began to thank the project leads and staff. I was intensely aware that I was standing in very close proximity to the two most beautiful women in the room. I wanted to lean forward and whisper some remark, any remark into Jen's ear but I knew that I was only capable of nonsense words. I felt a knot in my stomach that quickly manifested itself as a growing tension further down. Jen was so close and facing away from me; I could let me gaze drift from the speaker to Jen's shoulder, follow the curve of her spine under the white sheer material, down to her waist. I imagined what it would feel like to slowly peel up the hem, exposing the soft skin beneath.

I folded my hands in front of me as cover.

There were several speeches, which was fortunate since it gave me the chance to compose myself. I listened intently, trying to fill my thoughts with something other than the thought of the beautiful body in front of me, and the stranger close behind. The memory of Jen's voice nagged at me, a thread I needed to pull on. Not the words of her introduction to Anya but something in the tone, almost too subtle to detect.

The speeches ended and we mingled. The room was now full of people, and I was introduced to many other faces, but somehow it was Jen pulling me forward, encouraging Anya into the next conversation. There was bubbly and I watched her partake freely, the life and soul of the party, the curves of her body angled perfectly in the light. She enticed me on, beckoning Anya to follow as we worked our way through the room. Trying too hard, I thought.

After an hour, we found ourselves several drinks down and by the door, just the three of us. I had been able to hold a fairly decent conversation with Anya, overcoming my initial stunned expression, and found that she was funny and a little shy despite her looks; or maybe because of them. We were discussing our favourite road trips while Jen charmed a couple of men in their sixties.

"No doubt good to know for the career ladder," I murmured conspiratorially to Anya, nodding towards Jen. I was close enough to smell Anya's perfume and take in the curve of her neck.

"Yes," she replied smartly. "He's the CEO."

The simple way she said it made me feel foolish. I was about to stammer some face-saving quip when Jen was back before us, grinning mischievously and clearly buzzing with excitement.

"Done," she announced. I noticed a strange intensity in her eyes. "Why don't we blow this joint? That new bar down on Prince is meant to be amazing."

She looked from me to Anya and back to me expectantly.

"Sounds great," I said, attempting to match her enthusiasm. I had better things on my mind than a bar crawl.

Jen smiled. "Great!" she said. "Anya? Let's go!" She didn't wait for an answer, but turned to the door and headed out, with the clear expectation that we would follow.

At the elevator, Jen was chattering about the cocktails to Anya. Anya was nodding. I continued to tug at the mental thread; by the time we reached the lobby I had worked it out. Through the front doors, we came to a halt.

Anya looked at us both. "Actually, do you mind if I give it a miss?" she said. "It sounds like a lot of fun and I'd love to go there next time, but I'm shattered." She smiled ruefully. "Mid-week drinking." There was silence for a moment.

"No problem," I said. "It was great to meet you."

"You too," Anya said, then to Jen: "See you in the morning!"

I watched her walk away, admiring how she looked from behind as she reached the curb and raised her arm to hail a cab. Then I looked across at Jen. She was also watching Anya leave.

"Nicely played," I told her.

"What?" Jen replied, confused and slightly unsteady. And crestfallen.

I paused, picking my words carefully, aware of the consequences. I felt a dull ache.

"If you wanted me as your wingman, you should have just asked."

Jen said nothing, in stark contrast to the vivacious party girl of just a few moments before. I reached out to cradle her neck, realising that my plans for her were fading like her plans for Anya. She turned her cheek to nestle into my hand and closed her beautiful eyes. We stood under the harsh artificial streetlights as traffic howled past for a long moment without saying anything to each other. Eventually she lifted her head and looked at me.

"Do you want to fuck?" she asked.

God help me; I said, "Yes."

---

Most people spend their lives taking things at face value, building out from a set of assumptions that remain largely static, because the effort to crunch the numbers is often huge and usually, ultimately makes no difference. The trick to being a good quantitative analyst is to love the numbers. The best come to understand the numbers on an intuitive level, able to see patterns in the data and direct the models to embrace unexpected outcomes. If you do it long enough, you begin to see that the world itself is filled with patterns and you find you're drawn in to explore them. You can't help yourself.

A person may look out at the mountains and enjoy the scenery, marvel at the way the sunlight glints off the ragged peaks, and maybe that's enough. But you can also see it as an infinitely complex interaction of forces: the unavoidable result of inescapable tectonic pressure.

---

Jen had a studio apartment on one of the higher floors of an apartment building on the fringes of the city centre. We took a cab and sat in silence through the ten-minute journey, punctuated only by Jen giving directions and the muted sound of a late-night talk-radio station host taking calls from unhappy listeners.

"I'll get this," I said when we pulled up outside her building.

Jen nodded, "Thanks," and opened the door.

We stood at the curb as the cab pulled away into traffic. Jen made no move to go inside.

"Look, we can talk about this tomorrow if you like," I said, more to break the silence than anything. I reached out and took her hands in mine. She didn't react, but she didn't pull away, still silent.

I was conscious of the way she looked, the stiletto heels bringing her eyes level with mine, the tantalising curve of her small breasts held tight by the body-hugging while top. The warmth of her hands in mine. I wanted her badly but was unsure if she wanted me; the woman in front of me was a stark contrast to the bubbly life and soul of the party from only half an hour ago. The champagne was wearing off.

But there was something else, deep in those hazel eyes. An undercurrent of something between us. Waiting; forces at work beneath the surface.

"Kiss me," I said.

For a long time, she didn't move. Then she bent her head forward and her soft lips touched mine, then gentle act sending thrills through my body, stirring me down below. I brought a hand up to the back of her neck and returned the kiss, more forcefully this time, parting her lips and tasting her tongue. She drew back and for a moment I thought I'd blown it.

"Let's get off the street," she said and led me by the hand into her building.

Inside, we entered the elevator bay and Jen punched the call button. I opened my mouth to say something but at that moment a torrent of yelling and screaming exploded behind me. It looked to be half a dozen people of about our age in full party mode spilling into the building, their raucous shouts in stark contrast to our silence. The elevator door opened and they piled in after us, filling the tight confines of the elevator with laughs and the smell of alcohol. A girl bumped into Jen and knocked her back into me. Jen braced her hands against my stomach to steady herself while the girl apologised profusely and then just as quickly turned back to engage with her friends. I grabbed the handrail behind me for support.

One of Jen's hands snaked out to hit a floor number and then returned to its spot pressed against me. I felt it slide down slowly, her fingers finding the buckle of my belt, fingernails tracing their way around the metal, tugging at the leather and working the tongue of my belt loose. She backed into me and began to brush her bottom gently up and down against my crotch. The movement was subtle and in the crowded, noisy space it went unnoticed by the others.

I felt the sudden release of pressure as she undid my belt and slid the tips of her fingers under the waistband of my trousers. The gentle bobbing motion of her perfect bottom against my crotch was too much and I began to stir and stiffen. Her fingers searched downwards against my skin, and my cock rose in my pants to meet them. Jen pushed her hand further under my clothes, her long nails making contact with my head through my underwear. She traced a slow circle with a single fingernail around my tip. By now I was rock hard, my hands balling into fists on the handrail.

The elevator chimed and came to a halt on one of the middle floors. The doors opened and the party spilled out into the corridor, swearing and cheering and talking about jelly vodka shots. Neither of us moved until the doors closed again, and then Jen resumed her teasing motion against me, fully able to feel my stiffness now.

I saw that the only highlighted number was for the top floor. "You live in the penthouse?" I asked.

Her fingers slid down between my skin and my underpants to run her nails along the naked shaft of my cock.

"No," she replied, "I just wanted more time."

She turned to face me, her hand still stroking my cock slowly. I reached for her bottom and pulled her into me, bowing my head to lay a kiss on the side of her neck. She caught her breath and her hand began to move more forcefully. I delighted in the feel of her buttocks in my grasp, slipping my hands down to cup each cheek through the sheer fabric. I worked my kisses up her neck and across her jaw, while all the time her hand grasped and manipulated my rock-hard member.

The elevator chimed again. I pulled back to survey her face but she gave no hint that she intended to halt. The doors slid open exposing us completely to the view of whoever was in the corridor. Jen didn't stop and instead began to stroke me faster. I felt the pressure begin to build in my cock. She was smirking at me know, clearly enjoying getting me worked up and I realised that she intended to keep going. The doors closed, but the elevator didn't move immediately. She brought her mouth to mine but this time she slid in her tongue. My hands travelled up her torso, circling around to her breasts. I passed my fingers over the fabric and discovered her nipples, small and hard beneath the soft fabric. I tweaked them lightly. She broke the kiss and gasped. After all the weeks of watching and wondering, I was now finally able to run my hands over Jen's perfect body. All the while her hand was building up inescapable pressure in me.

I knew I was going to cum. I could tell that she wanted me to. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around both her wrists and pulled her hands behind her back. I felt the muscles in her arms lock as she fought against me, my cock aching at losing her touch. I looked her in the eyes and saw something there in the deeps. Defiance, and something else.

"Tell me..." I swallowed to try and get some moisture back into my mouth. "Tell me which floor you're on."

She struggled again. I kissed her.

"Or do you want me to fuck you right here?"

"Dealer's choice," Jen replied.

I watched her expression for a moment. The familiar Jen was back; cocky and playful. She wriggled again against my grip.

"No way," I said. "You'll have me shoot my load right here."

"You need more stamina," she teased.

The look she gave me then triggered something deep inside me; daring me to go further. I managed to encircle both her wrists with the one hand, pinning her arms behind her back, and shifted the other down to the hem of her skirt. She struggled again, but I could see that it was mock anger; she could easily break my clumsy one-handed hold of her wrists if she tried hard enough.

I slid my hand under her skirt, tracing my fingers slowly up her thigh until I felt the edge of her panties. I pushed my index finger under the fabric, moving inwards, feeling the friction of pubic hair against my fingertip. All the time she was watching my face intently; her own expression was guarded and gave no sign of her feelings.

I slid my index finger along the inside of her thigh under her panties, brushing across the pubic hair of her mound, tracing downwards now and feeling the heat of her skin against my fingertip. She struggled again in my grasp, but now nothing more than a token effort. I swirled my finger in lazy circles over her mons, taking my time.

The elevator began to move. Jen stiffened but didn't break eye contact with me.

"I'm not done," I said softly.

I slid my finger down over her pussy lips and felt the moisture there. Her cheeks flushed as I slid my thumb into her panties, tracing my finger slowly up and down her lips while brushing my thumb through the fine hair of her mound. The elevator continued to descend.

I released my grip on her wrists and entwined my fingers with hers, resting softly on her bottom. All the while my other hand repeated its pattern: gently up and down her pussy lips, feeling the dampness building there, my finger reaching the top of her slit and resting momentarily on the fold of skin before stroking down again. Jen was breathing harder now, the cocky smirk changed to a look of lust. I repeated the movement again, slowly down and then slowly back to rest on the skin hooding her clit.