After Hours

Author's Note:

I cannot thank my editor, LadyEss, enough for her advice and eagle eyes.

Before reading any further, please check the tags.

If this is your kind of story, I hope you enjoy it; otherwise, thanks for taking a look.

All characters are aged 18 or over.

Geoff briefly looked over the small office. Mrs. Hartwell was deep in concentration, leaning over; he could just make out a little dark blue material where the pale grey blouse had opened a little between the buttons. He looked away quickly, focusing back on his magazine.

He had been sitting there for about half an hour. That afternoon, he had been more than happy to pick up a little overtime. That would benefit him one day; a little credit in the bank for covering a day off. He didn't make this obvious, and his colleagues were pleased to avoid leaving late. More importantly, he was more than happy to help his boss, the branch manager, Mrs. Hartwell. He could sit there, head down, reading his magazine and occasionally glance up to admire her figure and auburn-blonde hair. Geoff was careful and looked away quickly at the slightest move of her body. He was shy and awkward around women; just being in the same room in the otherwise empty bank, after hours, made him nervous.

The office was narrow, the two guest chairs were near the door, the desk a few steps further, and the filing cabinets against the far wall. On the wall behind Mrs. Hartwell, posters advertising the bank's products. The wall behind Geoff was split; the top half was glass, the bottom a clean off-white. It was decorated in corporate colours, mostly the clean off-white with small accents in the familiar royal blue and black. The carpet was the sort you would find in a hotel, hard-wearing with a repeating pattern and colours that complemented the corporate style, all designed not to show dirt.

Mrs. Hartwell got up and approached him, "Geoff, can you check something for me?" She handed him a table of figures. "The sub totals and totals please."

He scanned down the page, adding and subtracting in his head. He reached the bottom, nodded and checked again. Mrs. Hartwell stood over him, making him feel warm and nervous. Her perfume distracted him, citrus, flowers and a sweet caramel edge.

"All good," he said, passing it back to her, a little tremor in his hand. He briefly glanced up and gave her a little smile.

"Thank you. I won't be much longer," she said in her usual brisk professional tone.

Geoff started at her swaying bottom as she walked away, just a few steps, then dropped his eyes to his magazine as she started to sit down. He had been reading this article for quite a while. If asked, he would be able to say it was about Morocco, nothing more. His boss had his full attention.

Mrs. Hartwell returned to her desk and began to sort her papers, tapping them straight and stapling them together in the corner. She spent a few minutes straightening her desk and checking that she had everything she needed.

"Ready?" she asked.

Geoff nodded and shoved his magazine in his bag and followed her, eyes down on her ass, downstairs and outside.

The weather was a little cool for a late June evening in England. As they stood outside, waiting for the beeping to stop, indicating the alarm was set for the night. Mrs. Hartwell turned to him.

"Thank you again," she said.

"No problem, er... where are you parked?" he replied quietly.

"Clare Green, Queensgate."

"Are you OK walking there on your own?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

Mrs. Hartwell smiled, such a gentleman. "I would appreciate the company."

They walked off down the pedestrian street towards Cathedral Square, turning right to cut through to Cowgate. Geoff glanced over to the old stoned gateway that led to Peterborough Cathedral as they turned. Most of the shops were closed, and they chatted a little about his degree studies. Geoff was shy and struggled to keep up a conversation, but she asked about his courses from the last semester. He could speak with some confidence on these subjects.

At her car, she put her hand on his arm. Geoff tensed and felt a little warm on the back of his neck. Mrs. Hartwell was close, almost directly in front of him; his eyes could not find a spot to rest on that he felt comfortable with

"Thank you again", she said, got in and drove off.

Geoff watched her drive off and quickly headed off to his own small flat, her perfume still almost there.

She had noticed him tense when she touched him; his eyes never really settled on her. She smiled to herself, a big smile. Such a nice boy. Gotcha! she thought, he was over six feet tall and built like a brick wall, but she knew he was just a shy boy.

Two weeks later, Geoff popped his head into Mrs. Hartwell's office, "Can I get you a coffee, Mrs. Hartwell?"

"Yes, please," he turned to leave, "Geoff, would you be able to stay later tomorrow again? I have some work to do."

He paused, his heart rate increased with a surge of nerves and excitement.

"No problem," he replied, there was a little catch in his voice as he spoke.

"Thank you."

The following night, he was settled with a magazine, taking quick, furtive glances over to Mrs. Hatwell at her desk. It was company policy to have a minimum of two members of staff at all times in the building. Geoff wanted to thank whoever came up with that policy.

Mrs. Hartwell stretched, her arms went up and back, hands clasped together, pushing her chest out. The material of her blouse stretched over her breasts, gaping between the buttons. Her eyes were closed, she gently rotated her body at the waist, and Geoff saw flashes of dark blue bra and lightly tanned skin. His mouth dropped open, and his breathing went a little shallower. She relaxed her body, dropping her hands and rolling her shoulders. Geoff looked down quickly.

She opened her eyes and looked over. "Sorry, this is taking longer than I thought." Her voice was a little softer than her usual brisk professional tone.

"No problem," he replied with a rough voice, flicking over the glossy page to find a large photo of a beautiful Georgian Bloomsbury townhouse. He dared not look up.

A few minutes later, she came over with a few sheets of paper. "Could you check these, please?" Again, her voice was a little softer than usual.

Geoff dropped the magazine on his lap and took the pages, his hand trembling slightly.

He scanned the first page. Mrs. Harwell bent over to him.

"I think the first two are OK, but I have missed something on the third."

He scanned each page; he had a gift for numbers and patterns. As Mrs. Hartwell had said, the first two were spot on. She stood above him; he could feel his neck warming and smell her perfume. The third was wrong. He took a pen from his shirt pocket and rapidly noted the four separate issues. Mrs. Hartwell remained where she was, leaning over, watching him work. Her presence made his handshake a little as he wrote. Geoff pressed harder on the page with the pen to steady his hand. He passed back the pages; his hand was trembling enough to be obvious.

Mrs. Hartwell took the pages and looked over them, "How on earth...", she said, her voice was soft and low, "you are wasted here."

Her phone pinged. She returned to her desk, picked up her phone and dialled. Keeping her back to Geoff. He could only hear her side of the conversation.

"Hello, dear," Her voice was back to its brisk professional tone.

Was it her husband? He wondered. His mind wandered to being the man she shared a bed with. His eyes settled on her ass.

"No, I'm still here,"

"I don't know, could be a while," there was a little impatience in her voice.

Goeff looked away quickly and shrank a little in his chair.

"I know, it can't be helped. I will see you later."

Definitely her husband, he thought, lucky guy.

She hung up with a little sigh, sat down and went back to her work.

Geoff lost himself in his Travel Magazine, an article about Bloomsbury in London.

He wasn't sure how long he had been reading when he heard Mrs. Hartwell tap her sheaf of papers straight and staple them. He looked up as she dropped them in a manila folder.

"All done," she said brightly.

Mrs. Hartwell got her things together and checked her bag. Geoff put his magazine in his messenger bag. He followed her out of the office and down the stairs to the ground floor.

Outside the bank, the alarm stopped beeping, and Mrs. Hartwell put her keys in her handbag.

"Are you parked at Clare Green, again?" he asked a little too quickly.

"Yes, would you mind walking me?" she replied.

He shook his head, and they started towards the car park. Mrs. Hatwell asked about the magazine he had been reading. They walked on, chatting about London and Bloomsbury. As they neared the car park, she changed the subject.

"How about a drink?" she asked.

"I...er..." he tripped over his tongue as he tried to reply, "Don't you have to get home?"

"My husband will manage without me for a little longer," her tone suggesting this subject was not welcome.

"Er... okay," he mumbled, rephrasing the question.

The extra time with her was welcome; so far, she had not let whatever frustrations she had with her husband spill over. Geoff decided to avoid that subject.

The place she chose had been converted to a pub years ago, a soulless chain pub in an old building. There was the smell of food in the air and a little background chatter from the few customers.

Geoff found a table in a quiet corner and looked around. The pre-printed backboards with menus and posters for upcoming sporting events. It was not the sort of place he liked. Mrs. Hartwell joined him, a pint of lager for him and a small glass of white wine for her.

"So, how are you going to use that brain of yours after you graduate?" she asked.

"I don't know, I'm still deciding," he replied with awkward hesitation.

"Not wasting it behind a bank counter, I hope."

Her tone was warmer and friendlier than it ever had been. She maintained a professional distance at work that kept everyone on their toes. He started to relax, and they chatted a little more freely. The pub remained quiet. Sitting as they were, he could not avoid looking at her; his eyes darted around nervously, trying not to settle on her hazel-green eyes or worse, her chest. Her eyes remained focused on him, a steady, confident gaze. He tried to calm himself. This isn't a date, just two colleagues chatting after work. Goeff knew it would go no further than that; if it did, he would cream his boxers before she kissed him.

At her car, she put her hand on his arm again. "Thank you, and please don't tell anyone how friendly I can be," she said with a smile, her eyes meeting his, "it will ruin my reputation." She gave him a little conspiratorial wink.

He smiled and nodded, and she squeezed his arm gently. He jumped a little, then tensed and went a little pink in the face. Mrs. Hartwell held his arm a little longer than she should have, enjoying his reaction, got in her car and drove off. Oh, he definitely had a crush on her.

Mrs. Hartwell enjoyed the attention of men; she got plenty. It was all just outside her marriage. Her husband had lost interest in her over the years; physical intimacy of any type was very rare. She could pick and choose if she wanted to, the guy at the dry cleaners, for example, mid-thirties, lean and confident. Geoff was different, so quiet, so shy, so young. He was obviously affected by her mere presence. The way his deep blue eyes would not settle, the stuttering speech. The little glances of his that he thought she didn't see. She felt a warmth inside, thinking about the effect she had on this gentle giant. Thinking about how much he would want to please her, what she could teach him.

Over the next few weeks, there were two more late nights, each similar, some work, a drink and a walk to her car. Mrs. Hartwell played up to his crush a little after the other staff left. In the pub, she pushed a little further. It gave her little thrills to see his reactions. Her husband just ignored her, no matter what she did. A week ago, Mrs. Hartwell had selected her sexiest lingerie and a robe. She greeted him at the door as he got home, slipped off her robe and put her arms around his neck. She held him close, put a leg around his hip and kissed him. He wasn't interested; he pushed her away, saying he was tired. As he walked away, leaving her standing in the hallway, she held back tears. Goeff would not have done that. She thought. He would have done anything I wanted.

Geoff was enjoying the extra time spent with her; she was married, stunning, and older. He would never have a chance of anything other than helping her out and having a drink with her now and again. That was enough; anything else would be impossible, she was married.

Mrs. Hartwell took a few weeks off, then worked from home for a few more; no one mentioned why. Geoff noted that a couple of the longer-serving members of staff had discreet whispered conversations that ended when anyone else might hear. He didn't see her and, apart from a few official messages, heard nothing. He missed those extra hours after work and the now routine visit to the pub.

On her first morning back, Geoff immediately realised why she had been off. Her breasts looked bigger, fuller, perkier; he didn't think it was just an impressive new bra. His eyes widened briefly, and then he caught himself.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Hartwell," his voice cracked a little, "Coffee?"

If only my husband had reacted like that. She thought.

"Thank you, yes please," she replied.

A couple of days later, after hours, Geoff was reading his magazine. Mrs. Hartwell was hunched over her desk. A glance over and he confirmed her blouse was gaping more than before. A pale blue bra showed. The tighter blouse showed the bar more clearly. He could see its contours hugging hers. She was obviously frustrated with the work she was doing.

Her phone rang. She sighed and snatched it up. He only heard her speak again.

"What?" Her tone was sharp.

"Yes, I am." She shot back.

"Why? Because I have to get this work done!" Her frustration and anger were barely concealed.

Husband again, he thought. Geoff sank into his seat.

"No, I don't care, I have to get it done," she continued.

"Yes, I know you are!" She shouted down the phone.

Geoff tried to ignore it; he should leave the room, no, that would be too obvious.

"Oh! Do as you please, you usually do!" Her voice had a vicious edge.

"I will see you in a few days then."

She hung up the phone and sighed again.

Mrs. Harwell closed her eyes. Geoff had enjoyed my stretching before. She smiled to herself and stretched, her hands straight above her head, hands linked, she arched her back, pushing her chest out. She had left her eyes slightly open and leaned her head back. Geoff was starting open mouthed at her chest. She felt a shiver run through her body. She let out a little sigh, and his eyes went back to his magazine.

Geoff kept his eyes locked on his magazine, trying to make himself as small as possible. He didn't move at all. Mrs. Hartwell went back to her work. A few minutes later, she called him over.

"Geoff, do you understand how this works?" Her voice had returned to its brisk professional tone with a hint of frustration.

He walked over, trying to behave as if there had been no phone call, that he had not just been staring open-mouthed at her chest. In truth, he had no idea how to do that; he looked and moved like a six-foot-tall, scared deer.

Mrs. Hartwell pointed to the spreadsheet on the screen and asked him a few questions. He started to explain what to do.

"Would you be a dear," she said softly, "and show me how to do it?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly. Something he could focus on that wasn't the tense phone call or her enhanced chest.

The seat was warm as he sat. He addressed the first issue. She leaned close behind him; her perfume surrounded him.

"Could you show me that again? That was too fast." She asked in a voice even softer.

He paused, unsure how to answer, his eyes fixed on the screen, turning would put his face too close to hers.

"What's wrong? " she asked.

"Sorry, I thought I was going slowly."

Mrs. Hartwell just laughed and put her hand on his shoulder. When she stopped laughing, she took a deep breath.

"Thank you, I needed that," she said, squeezing his shoulder.

He jumped at the touch, "I... er..." wasn't joking, he said quietly.

"I know, let's just do this at your speed, and you can show me how another time."

"Okay," he replied.

She watched as his hands flew across the keyboard, turning her stale table into a rich, useful spreadsheet, full of stuff she didn't know was possible. As he took her through it, she leaned over, and her breast settled on his shoulder. Then pressed in more.

Despite his best efforts, he reacted. It must have been less of a reaction than he thought; she didn't say anything or move, just continued to ask her question. His voice sounded a little rough to him. But again, she didn't seem to notice. Her face was so close to his, and he could still smell nothing but her perfume. It took all his effort not to shake or run.

Geoff wasn't quite sure how they ended up outside; his head was spinning. Mrs. Hatwell had been so close for so long. It took all his effort to concentrate on the screen. He vaguely remembered her thanking him and then getting ready to leave. Picking up his magazine and bag. He almost stumbled on the stairs following her down to the ground floor.

On the street, the beeping stopped, indicating the alarm was set. Mrs. Hartwell turned to Geoff.

"Let's go for a drink."

It wasn't a question. Goeff knew that. "O...OK".

As they walked, he played over what had happened in the office, her leaning on him, her breast on his shoulder. He could not get past the fact that she must have known. He could not believe that. She would have moved, apologised or done something other than stay there.

This time his pint was joined by a large glass of white wine. She saw him look at it.

"Don't worry, I'm not driving. Taxi." She said.

"Oh, OK."

She smiled. "Nice of you to worry, though."

He could only smile dumbly and flush a little, enjoying the compliment.

"I need to ask you a favour," she said.

"Er.. okay."

"That call earlier, could you forget about it?"

"What call?" he said quickly with a shy smile.

She put her hand on his, "You know full well what call, but thank you," she squeezed his hand and felt him tense. She could see the effort he was putting into not even appearing to glance down at her chest, his eyes dancing around as usual.

She quizzed him on spreadsheets, giving him a safe subject to think and talk about.

Mrs. Hartwell drained her glass. "How about another?"

"Er...."

She leaned over, "I don't want to go home yet..." her voice was a little distant.

She continued, "I don't want to argue with my husband, he's going away for a few days. If I stay here a little longer, he won't be at home."

"Should you be telling me this?" he asked quietly, utterly unsure of how to deal with this situation.

"No, but you won't say anything, will you?" she answered in a low voice.

He shook his head quickly.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He watched her walk to the bar, shaking a little. What the hell was going on?

Mrs. Hartwell set the new drinks down and checked her phone. She smiled, "He's left the house, I hope he enjoys his conference," she said, not meaning it.

Geoff looked very uncomfortable. Why is she telling me all this? He thought. I don't want to know.

"Sorry, is this making you uncomfortable?" Mrs. Hartwell asked.

"Does it... er... help?" he stuttered, "telling me?"

She smiled, "Yes, it's not an easy thing to deal with."