Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Author's note:
This is the first in a three-part story. There are some sexy scenes but it's largely character-driven. It's set in the UK so expect British English throughout. Context: in the UK, people like Laura would study an undergraduate (first) degree from about 18 to 21 years old; a doctorate (PhD) for another three or four years, and then become a post-doctoral researcher or 'postdoc' on a series of fixed term employment contracts. The lucky few will achieve a permanent academic position eventually.
Special thanks to
Bad_Hobbit
for editing and giving me the confidence to publish this. Any remaining factual or writing errors are my own.
This is the first work I've shared, and I would be very grateful for your feedback.
Chapter 1
Laura
You might have thought that being a post-doctoral research scientist working on cutting-edge biochemistry research would be interesting. High-powered. Perhaps even glamorous, if you watched CSI. But I knew it was a mug's game.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my work, and most of the people I worked with were fine. I'd just hoped that seven years of study would buy me more than a two-year contract working ridiculously long hours, a salary that paid the rent on my one-bedroom flat, and a minuscule chance of a permanent academic position in about ten years' time.
That Saturday was only supposed to be a few hours' work. Then I'd seen the email from my boss asking me to repeat a bunch of trivial lab work done by his new PhD student the previous week. We both knew that he'd asked me to repeat the work because I was competent, Jessica was young and attractive, and Alan was a sleazebag and wanted to keep her happy. The whole thing was demeaning, unfair, and a massive waste of my time.
When I finally got round to my own work, the GC-MS machine threw a technical fault at 4pm and told me by its infuriating little spanner symbol that it wanted an engineer, which gave me two choices. Throw my samples in the bin and start again: a three-week setback I couldn't really afford. Or use the machine in the lab next door once Paul's samples were done, which would probably mean staying past 11pm on a Saturday. Again.
Finally I'd hung up my lab coat, shouldered my rucksack and slammed the door behind me. Blinking in the cool air like the Blue Peter tortoise waking up from hibernation, I set off to walk home. Since it'd been sunny and warm at 9am I didn't have a coat, but I wasn't about to shell out for a taxi at weekend night rates. The walk was only half an hour so I hoped I'd make it before the rain started.
An internal monologue about my obnoxious, slave-driving letch of a boss powered my strides for the first ten minutes. Alan Williams must have played a blinder at university politics to get a professorship: he certainly didn't seem to have got it on merit. The latest kick in the guts was the email to tell me that although I was still allowed to attend the conference in Birmingham (England, not Alabama), Jessica would be presenting our research. In some ways it made sense. If half the audience were horrible old pervs like him, Jessica and her short skirt and double-D tits would be much more appealing than someone who might actually be able to answer the delegates' questions. Like, I don't know, the person who'd designed the experiments, done most of the research, and drafted the papers that bore Alan Bloody Williams' name as first author.
I almost stumbled on a cracked paving stone and remembered that the spiralling anger and bitterness would just bring me home re-running the same old arguments, I'd lie awake stewing for hours, and before I knew it Sunday would be a dead loss too. I only knew one way to rescue that situation, so I resolved to distract myself for the rest of the journey with a naughty daydream, ready for a solo session with the vibrator once I got home and a medium-quality orgasm to get me off to sleep.
Like I said, not exactly CSI.
The ideal subject for my fantasy popped into my head almost as soon as I had the idea, and not just because I sometimes saw him in the park so I knew he lived nearby. My colleague Dr Richard Wielechowski: ridiculously handsome, intimidatingly bright, with a gaze that could weaken knees at a hundred paces. He was almost six foot, discreetly muscular, with jet-black hair, chiselled features and wintry blue eyes. He was a rising star in the department, driven and determined, and the phrase 'doesn't suffer fools gladly' could have been invented for him. He'd been known to puncture egos with a single sentence, and 'resting bitch face' didn't begin to describe the aura of 'Go Away' that surrounded him.
The origin of his ice-prince demeanour was a favourite topic among the women in the department, and no doubt some of the men. Theories included the mundane (caught his wife cheating? passed over for promotion?), whimsical (irritated by constant mispronunciation of his name?), and heart-breaking (dead wife? terminal illness?). Nobody seemed to know anything about his personal life and they certainly wouldn't dare ask him, so he remained a bit of a mystery.
Still, for my purposes the inside of his pretty little head was completely academic. He was drop-dead gorgeous and I would've fucked him in a heartbeat.
***
We're together in his office after hours, his stern gaze tearing through me as he steps closer, reaching a hand out to cup my chin into a kiss. His lips are soft and gentle at first, and I'm overtaken by desire as I inhale a heady breath of his cologne. The kiss becomes deeper and more forceful, and his hand tightens against the small of my back, pulling me into him, trapping my hands against his pecs and biceps as I revel in the firmness I can feel beneath his crisp cotton shirt.
He unbuttons my blouse and teases my nipples as I gasp and moan, and I open his shirt and slide my hands over his smooth, taut chest. He grasps my thighs in strong hands and lifts me effortlessly onto the desk, sliding my skirt up to my hips as I welcome his body between my legs and feel his hard cock straining in his trousers. He looks into my eyes with an intimidating aggression and snarls that he wants me.
His teeth graze my neck as he slips a hand into my knickers and finds me wet and ready for him. Then his fingers are in my mouth, forcing me to taste my own juices before he reaches down and peels off my underwear. He releases his belt with a clink, and his trousers and boxers pool around his ankles.
His cock is thick and hard, and the feeling of it rubbing against my slit is almost unbearably pleasurable, but I want him inside me and I whisper it in his ear. He frowns at my impatience but thrusts his hips forward and enters me in a single, powerful stroke. Firm hands pull my hips closer to the edge of the desk and he wraps his arms under my knees to support me as he fucks me hard and fast, the well-defined muscles in his stomach flexing and his strong jaw tensing as he takes possession of me, stern and forbidding.
***
Well, something like that. I hardly ever wore skirts to work and I was pretty sure everyone's desk would be too covered with piles of paper to sit on. But never mind reality. I felt the first signs of arousal and began to enjoy the friction of my jeans between my legs as I walked. I mentally set Dr W. aside as I headed onto my usual shortcut across the park. The path wasn't well-lit, but a few ankle-height solar lamps kept me on the straight and narrow.
I had almost reached the far edge of the park when a couple came into view ahead, walking away from me. The girl was staggering in strappy heels and a skirt that barely covered her arse, and the back of her top was just a couple of fluorescent straps. Her long hair brushed her bare shoulder-blades as she wobbled along. The man was tall and much more sensibly dressed. I noticed, with a trace of judgement, he hadn't offered his jacket to his skimpily-clad companion. He was holding her tightly around the waist and gripping her wrist over his shoulder to support her weight. Her head seemed to be almost resting on his shoulder.
I looked closely at her feet: I wasn't convinced she was even walking on her own.
From her body language she looked completely out of it, and they weren't exactly dressed for the same event. That meant they hadn't started the evening together and now he was... he was doing what? Taking her where?
"Oi! What's going on here?" The words were out of my mouth before I'd made a decision, but I could feel anger and suspicion rising in my throat. I broke into a jog.
The man looked back furtively, hiding his face behind her shoulder, then twisted and dumped the girl on a wrought-iron bench at the side of the path. He bolted out of view into the darkness and she slumped sideways.
"What the fuck?" I yelled after him. "Piss off then and leave her alone! Pervert!"
As I reached the girl, I desperately tried to dredge up the first aid from my induction course. Something about checking that you and the casualty aren't in danger. I couldn't see much beyond the path, but the guy seemed to have scarpered and I couldn't hear anyone else moving about. Thankfully I could see the outline of the gates not far away, and streetlights and homes beyond.
I turned my attention to the girl. Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed, her mouth lolling open as I tried to ask her name. Then she folded forward and quietly vomited onto her shoes. I fished my phone out of my bag and called for an ambulance.
***
If you were to ask my colleagues what Dr Laura Black is like, they'd probably tell you I'm sensible, organised, and resourceful. When the paramedics arrived, they found the un-named casualty in the recovery position at the park gates, unconscious but breathing, and me waving to attract their attention through the drizzle. Two young paramedics jumped down from the ambulance and one began checking the girl's vital signs, while her colleague asked me if there was anyone else in the park needing medical attention.
"We were already on our way: there were two incidents on the system," she explained cheerfully. "A man reported a similar-sounding casualty about ten minutes before you did, but he didn't stay on the line so we weren't sure if it was the same one. Debs, how's she looking?"
A man had called the emergency services. And was walking her to the road to meet the ambulance.
Not a potential rapist, then. Thank God it wasn't anyone I knew.
