Bad Lover
Bad Series #6
Sarah Michelle Lynch
Copyright © Sarah Michelle Lynch 2020
The moral right of SARAH MICHELLE LYNCH to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. You must not circulate this book without the authority to do so.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
For more info visit sarahmichellelynch.com
Contents
The Problem
The Solution
The Big Doubt
The Reckoning
The Diabolical Truth
The Bad Series
Bad Friends
Bad Actor
Bad Wife
Bad Girl
Bad Guys
Bad Lover
Bad Exes
Bad Night
Bad Endings
The Problem
Anabel woke with a start from another sexy dream. Everything these days seemed to have a sexual connotation. Eating. Dressing. Bathing. Walking. She couldn’t do anything without thinking about sex, so it was no wonder her dreams were crammed full of meandering fantasies.
Isaac was already showering and would be in there a while. She had a funny feeling he was getting his rocks off at the same time as she opened her pyjama top, rubbed her boobs, then slid one hand beneath her pyjama bottoms and between her legs. Already slick, she swirled her middle finger around her clit until she was buzzing with excitement. Then she slid two fingers into her vagina and mimicked the act of fucking, rocking her hips until she squeezed around her own digits and released even more juice.
The shower switched off so she quickly grabbed a tissue, dried her fingers and held the tissue in her closed fist, rolling over so he wouldn’t see her pink cheeks as he left the en suite, the door to the bathroom nearer his side of the bed.
Isaac was a creature of habit if nothing else. She mentally ticked off his rituals as he performed them…
He dried off on a towel first and then, by the side of the bed, performed fifty sit-ups, lying on the same towel he’d just dried off on. In the old days she would have watched him, but now, not so much.
Next, he’d pull on a pair of clean underpants from the walk-in closet. Even though she was lying on her side still, facing away from him, she could picture his body – his defined abs, the hefty bulge in his tight boxer briefs, thick thighs from cycling, tight nipples, shaved chest, heavy shoulders and dripping long hair.
He always left the closet in his underpants and went back to the bathroom to use the hairdryer, spritzing hair product in between blasting hot air along the lengths of his curly brown locks. If they ever had kids (unlikely), she’d like them to inherit his hair. Hers was bright orange and grew like straw but his was thick, silky and sometimes even boasted ringlets. If he ever straightened it, she knew it’d turn out to be even longer than her long bob, but as he never went without curls, his hair sat just below his jaw and he nearly always tucked it back behind his ears, giving him the appearance of a man living in the wrong time.
Hair done, he sprayed deodorant next. Then cologne… nice fresh stuff. Sometimes he’d put on a muskier scent in the evenings, but generally during the day he wore clean cologne.
He also used moisturisers and she heard him opening and closing tubs.
Then he walked back into the closet, spent a few minutes picking out shirt, tie, socks, suit. He’d always dress in the walk-in, then he’d whistle on the way to the kitchen.
Now was her time to use the bathroom while he made coffee.
Anabel locked herself inside, used the loo and stripped out of her pyjamas, diving straight into the shower. As the spray hit her pebbled nipples, she thought of random mouths sucking them and then random tongues lapping between her legs.
She had to turn the dial down to cold; Isaac would be wanting to get back in here soon.
She shampooed, conditioned, then switched the shower off. Next was her favourite part. She foamed up her sponge and scrubbed every inch of her body, lathering herself. Then she switched the shower back on, watching as mountains of bubbles fought for escape down the plughole. Lastly, she grabbed her exfoliator and massaged her face, leaving the bathroom in a towel just as Isaac walked into the bedroom carrying a cup of coffee for her.
“Looking nice,” she breathed, smiling as he breezed past her in all his handsome glory.
“Got loads on today, it’s gonna be mental,” he said, in his deep tone of voice.
“Sure.”
She listened as he cleaned his teeth, no doubt having already devoured his own cup of coffee and his usual breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast.
He came back into the room, grinned half-heartedly, then went into the walk-in. She heard the footstool creak under his bulk as he bent down to put his shoes on.
“We should find time for a date night,” she called through.
“Yeah, see what you can come up with. Somewhere new to eat or something? Let me know.”
She sighed to herself, sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to let everything get to her.
He came back into the room, straightened his tie in the mirror, smoothed down his eyebrows and stroked his beard to make sure there was nothing errant about that either. Every other day he would trim his beard, which wasn’t thick – just very black.
He moved towards her, shoving his phone in his jacket pocket at the same time as kissing the top of her forehead.
“Have a good day,” he said, “text me about the meal, date… thing.”
She listened out for his door slam next, right on time. He never left the house any later than eight and as she looked at the clock, she saw it was 7.59.
After a few minutes, she reached into the back of her chest of drawers by the side of the bed and pulled out her vibrator. She lay back on the bed, opened her towel and masturbated herself to three or four more orgasms, all the while imagining Isaac throwing her about the bed, his suit still on – his worries and cares for the day ahead secondary to his need to fuck her. So what if he arrived late to the office? He had to fuck her to oblivion. He needed her body. He didn’t even care if he got his suit in a mess.
Once she’d exhausted herself, she grimaced at the bed she’d been lying on – damp from her wet hair and the towel she’d been half laid on. She yanked off all the bedding, threw it in the laundry bag in the bathroom and began to get dressed.
She took time doing bits in stages… plucking the odd hair… yanking a brush through her mane. Blow-drying. Spraying hair product. Then brushing her straight hair into even more vertical lines.
She used concealer, then foundation, a little contouring to enhance her already cherubic cheeks, which Isaac said were her best feature, as well as her red hair and freckles.
She went light with eye make-up, careful not to diminish the natural crystal-clear blue of her eyes. She brushed her eyebrows, used a little pencil and then walked naked to the closet.
Their apartment was a crow’s nest overlooking London, they used to joke, when they first moved in. All of London lay below them out of the floor-to-ceiling windows as they used to fuck against the glass, every day, bothering nobody with their displays of lust.
Quickly putting thoughts of the past out of her mind, she dressed in high-waisted French lace knickers. Then she poured her DD breasts into a matching balconette bra. She pulled on a pair of cr
opped trousers, a pair of low heels and lastly, a structured white shirt, a crushed velvet blazer finishing the ensemble.
Anabel ran her own clothing company and could turn up when she liked, hence her own leisurely, unrushed morning routine.
She strolled downstairs to the kitchen, put her empty mug in the sink and grabbed fruit and yoghurt from the fridge, adding some honey.
She stood in the middle of the living room watching the world outside while also admiring the huge, substantial apartment they were living in. They bought this place together when they were still in the throes of new love. Anabel had believed it would last forever; never imagining things might get like this.
Light poured in through the monumental windows, illuminating the chandelier in the ceiling three floors above, the library, the spare room, the master suite… the landing… all within sight from wherever you might be in the apartment. It was a £10million investment… but all this luxury seemed redundant now that their frenetic sex life had disappeared.
Anabel was left with fumbles under the duvet, sessions with her vibrator and the occasional late-night fuck with Isaac, whenever he woke up with a hard-on and needed it gone. She couldn’t even remember the last time he told her he loved her.
So much for their kingdom above the clouds, because what was a castle without a king and queen? Anabel had started to feel like his social secretary and nothing more – and it certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed that he wasn’t interested in making an effort in the romance department, not one bit – even asking her to arrange their dates.
Strange, when it used to be so different between them.
The day passed seamlessly, with a couple of design meetings, a conference call with their main supplier and a little bit of staring at social media and all that jazz. Before long, it was four p.m. and Anabel was thinking of knocking off early, heading to Bravissimo near her home in Southwark and hoping Isaac might notice her, finally. However, there were a number of bars near her office in Camden where she could pick up a guy – any guy – for whom the underwear she was already wearing would be more than fine.
She stared at the screen of her Mac and her finger hovered over her mouse, ready to click on her favourite porn site. Maybe she could just…
She pulled her hand away sharply when Mikey entered her office unannounced, scaring the whatsits out of her. For god’s sakes, the new guy had to be hot, didn’t he?
“Miss Pritchard, I’ve finished those numbers you were asking for.”
At first, she wanted to die. Then she wanted to rebuke him.
“What numbers?” she almost barked.
His forehead furrowed, then she shook her head and thrust her hand out, gesturing she would take the papers he was holding in his hands.
Mikey was one of her logistics officers and as they were currently expanding their distribution, she remembered she had asked for some numbers she could take to her accountants.
She slid her reading glasses onto her nose and perused his figures. Everything looked in order. Things would certainly work out well if they could pull this off.
“This is fine,” she muttered.
“Good, great,” he said, “just let me know if you want anything else.”
He was about to leave her office when her command halted his steps.
“Wait, sit,” she said.
He took the seat opposite and didn’t know what to do with his hands and legs, crossing them, then unfolding, pretending to be casual, then stretching like this was the perfect opportunity for that.
She sort of liked it that she still had this effect on young men. Mikey was no older than twenty-five, seven years her junior. He wore endless variations on the ripped jean, no fewer than two beaded pieces of jewellery on any given day – and also seemed to own a vast collection of the tightest t-shirts known to man. She was sure he intentionally purchased things two sizes too small.
Not sure why she’d asked him to sit, only that he was annoying her, she pressed her lips together and stared at the papers in front of her, then lifted her eyes to his brown ones.
“It would be lovely next time if you could knock,” she said, sounding a little harsh, though not meaning to.
“Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“Yes, I was deep in concentration,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“Apologies, note to self, will try better next time.”
She stared at him with disdain. There was more than a little sarcasm in his voice and the only way in which it thrilled her was that he seemed like he’d be a commanding lover, though in the workplace, she desired people to know their place and that was most firmly beneath her.
She hadn’t worked her arse off and got here without some sacrifice, grit and sucking up of her own. There was no way she was going back to any of that.
Anabel had spotted a gap in the market years ago after working for a fashion company for five years, straight out of university. Her business, Birds and Butterflies, manufactured stylish summer dresses that were custom-made. She had two stores in London and an online business, but they were now expanding into other cities, namely Leeds – the town she grew up in. It would be her greatest achievement to open a store there and be successful. After all, it was the city of her upbringing and the one place in the whole world she loathed… but doing this would prove she’d put all that behind her. And after Leeds – if it went well – as far as she was concerned, the possibilities were endless. She had the technology and the research to make it work and replicate her business model on a grand scale.
Because she hadn’t spoken for a while but hadn’t dismissed him either, he took the initiative and said, “Don’t worry, this is going to be a success. Not that I understand women’s clothes or any of that – or even shopping habits or anything – but when I tell people I work for you, they look at me like I’ve gained entry to a world they’d love to know more about.”
She pursed her lips and grinned. “That’ll be all, Mikey. This is great. Just be… a little gentler with your entry next time.”
She realised what she’d said all too late and shrank in her seat as he walked out smirking, his face red and crumpling with an inability to stop himself laughing.
That was it, now she knew it was definitely time to leave for the day.
She started packing up when her phone rang. Not the office one. Her mobile.
Flashing on the screen was the name of someone she hadn’t heard from in such a long time.
“Oh my god, Susan! It’s been too long.”
“Hello, gorgeous. How are you? I’m in town and wondering if you’re free?” Susan’s silken tones slid into her ear.
“I was just about to leave for the day. My office is in Camden now.”
“Oh, how marvellous. Let me think…” Susan went quiet for a moment. “What about the Shard bar? Isn’t that near where you live?”
“Umm, yes.”
That was also the same building Isaac worked in… as a hedge fund manager.
“Somewhere else?” she asked, perhaps detecting the uncertainty in Anabel’s voice.
“The Ivy Café Marylebone, if you fancy it?”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll be there in half an hour, forty-five minutes tops.”
“Okay, great.”
Anabel rang off, a little disconcerted.
It had been so long since they last met up…
In fact, the last time she saw Susan was undoubtedly her wedding – almost two years ago.
So, what was Susan doing in London?
The mind boggled, especially with such a handsome husband at home. Anabel would have killed to be married already, even if it meant settling in Castleford… because maybe some sacrifices are worth it.
Anabel’s driver dropped her off outside the door of the Ivy Café and she told him to clock off for the day – she’d grab a cab home later. Having already messaged Isaac about dining out this evening, he’d unsurprisingly informed her he’d be working late and would order in for himself. She h
ad free rein to enjoy the night ahead of her.
Susan was already there, sat at a little table on the street, a refreshing summer cocktail in front of her.
God, but she never changed.
She had always been rake-thin, even at school when every girl in class was in the throes of puberty and struggling to shift the puppy fat. Those days at grammar school were hateful, so much so, Anabel had undergone therapy. It had been the bullying, not just for having red hair, but for being pretty, busty and clever. She’d suffered a lot. So had Susan. Two loners eventually came together and somehow, people left her alone after she made friends with Susan.
Susan wore huge sunglasses. Her hair was dressed in a perfect chignon. She looked like Audrey Hepburn on a good day – and that was saying something. She wore a fitted dress with bold prints and yet, something seemed different.
“Wow, here you are,” Susan said, getting up out of her seat and hugging Anabel, not too tight, but just enough to seem friendly.
Susan wasn’t a hugger, if Anabel remembered right.
Anabel took her seat and grinned across the table. “This is a surprise. What are you down here for? How’s that gorgeous husband of yours?”
“Oh, what husband,” Susan said, and Anabel was taken aback by her flippant attitude. “We’re done. So, I’m moving to London.”
Anabel swallowed hard. “Come again.”
“I left him,” Susan sniffed, lifting her glass and taking a small sip.
A handsome waiter came by the table and asked Anabel if she wanted a drink. God, he was so hot Anabel felt her insides clench a little.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” Anabel didn’t even know what was in the glass, but she sure as hell couldn’t think of anything else to have – not with this bombshell hanging in the air.
“Why did you leave him?” Anabel whispered, careful to sound gentle. She’d encountered Susan’s temper in the past and knew to stay on the right side of it.
Bad Lover Page 1
