Breaking Joseph

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “You’re all glowy and I don’t like it. Go back to being jaded and fucked-over again.”

  From an olive-skinned waitress who wore huge hoop earrings, we ordered cocktails: Appletinis and Long Island Iced Tea.

  “I’ve missed you.” Aidan sighed. “Mattman is nice to look at, but his tortured-warrior-of-lurve act is wearing a bit thin.”

  “You’re only saying that because he hasn’t shagged you.” I giggled.

  “No, no, that’s not true. He’d be a miserable fuck right now.”

  “Now you’re just out and out lying!”

  “Meh…yeah, I am.” He grinned over the menu. “He's definitely hit his Christopher Nolan years. What are you ordering? Will you have fat slag food with me?”

  I scanned the laminated card. “Define fat slag food.”

  “Cheese, followed by refined carbs, followed by cheese. With a side order of no-lost-irony skinny fries.”

  “Full-fat Coke too?”

  “I may have just come in my pants.” He gasped, laughing. “Oh yes. You have ways of working it off, anyway.”

  I prayed he wouldn't notice my blush. “A lady doesn’t tell.”

  “Oh no. You did not just give me that. It’s too easy!”

  “Pfft. As if I’m not a lady.”

  “Ladies are no fun. I forgive you.”

  We waited for the waiters to leave and clinked our new glasses together.

  “So,” he went on, “I want to hear your Story of O in progress. Tell me everything.”

  It spilled out, the majority of it, hushed tones split by mouthfuls of pasta. He nodded and listened, silent for once–a strange thing for Aidan.

  “You shouldn’t be talking that way about a client,” he said eventually.

  “What way?”

  “Emotionally.” He wiped greasy fingers on a paper napkin. “Lei-Lei. You know what you’re doing. You’re good at what you’re doing. That is what he is interested in, regardless of whatever else he says.”

  “It’s not just what he says.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I squirmed in my chair, branded skin burning with slow heat. “I don’t know how to show you,” I muttered, playing with the hem of my skirt. “Follow me to the bathroom, okay?”

  He grinned like his face would split and I kicked him under the table.

  “Not like that!”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Inside the restaurant, I found my way into a tiled, cool corridor. He appeared behind me, and with a swift check for company, I ushered him into a ladies’ cubicle. There, I leaned back against the wall and scrunched my dress beneath my breasts to reveal the scratched signature across my belly.

  Aidan’s brows twisted in shock. “For fuck’s sake. Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He traced the raised lines, a cobweb of scarlet calligraphy. “Why the hell did you let him do that?”

  “I…” I’d never been ashamed to look Aidan in the eye before. I didn’t think that was possible. “I thought you would understand.”

  “Understand what? Seven hours over the Atlantic killed half your brain cells? I’m all for fun and games, but there’s stuff you do with someone who’s paying and stuff you keep for someone closer. How can you trust him?”

  “I don’t, entirely.” I looked away. “That’s part of the fun and games, I suppose.”

  “What did he do this with?”

  I tried not to wince. “A bread knife.”

  “Better than a rusty screwdriver, I suppose.” He pulled my skirt down and brushed creases from the fabric. “Next time he comes over all chop suey, tell him to fuck right off. I’ll fly back out with you if it comes to it.”

  “Aid, it didn’t hurt,” I whispered. “Not that way. He did it because I wanted him to.”

  “It’s not your job to want it,” he said sharply.

  “No, but…it’s not like that with him.”

  “Has he brought you out here on a smug little holiday, or to fuck when he pleases? Lots of them like to play games, to pretend they’re not stooping to that level. But it’s bullshit.”

  “He’s not stooping–”

  “You know what I’m on about.” He nudged my chin up with a fingertip. “It’s not about what it means for us. For them, there’s always guilt with paying. Stigma. Some of them like it and some just ignore it, but it is what it is.”

  “It’s not impossible for him to like me.”

  “No, it happens–but guys like him? They don’t like anybody.”

  I bit my tongue, and it wasn’t because Charlotte wanted to stick it out at him. “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh? Did he carve a ring on your finger too?”

  Voices echoed down the corridor and several girls fell into the toilets. We waited for their doors to latch, for the giggles to drown out our footsteps, and then hurried back out to the table.

  I pushed tendrils of pasta around my plate with glum detachment. Aidan’s scolding still grated inside, and the chatter of pedestrians seemed louder after the quiet restrooms.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

  “You’re always blunt.”

  “You need it right now.” He rolled flat Coke and ice around his half-empty glass. “It’s one thing to say I’d hate to see you get hurt, but what he’s done…seriously, Lei-Lei. Warning bells. Brrring!”

  “Are you saying this because of Matt?”

  He snorted. “If you don’t want him, no amount of my bitching is going to change your mind, is it?”

  “No, but…”

  “So no, it’s not about the Mattman. Besides,” he added sheepishly, “I want him to myself.”

  “Good luck with that.” I smiled.

  “Bitch. Just be careful, all right? It’s weird listening to you talk about this guy. You’d barely talk about Matt at all.”

  “Yeah, well. Says a lot, I suppose.”

  “That you were a lady then?” he teased.

  “Arse.” I stabbed him lightly with my fork and he cocked an auburn eyebrow.

  “Now see…that’s fun and games.”

  “Oh, be quiet.”

  Stuffed with carbs of the dirtiest sort, we skipped dessert and he walked me back to the hotel. We breezed through a dozen different city smells; dry fire car exhausts, fresh coffee, sugared donuts. A hundred perfumes warmed on bodies and commingled in the air.

  “You sure you’re not coming for more drinks?” he asked.

  “With you and Matt?” I grimaced. “I don’t know if I could be drunk enough for that.”

  “You get to watch us wrestle.”

  “Now you’re talking. Ugh. Seriously, I think it’d be weird.”

  “Oh, fine, fine.” He squashed me into one of his horrendous bear hugs. “You take care of yourself, okay? Call me if there’s a problem. Any time.”

  “Thanks,” I squeaked, half smothered in his armpit.

  “I like my Lei-Lei in one piece,” he said fondly.

  “You won’t tell Matt about…” I gestured to my stomach and he stepped back.

  “You think I want to spend the evening coaxing his head out of an oven?”

  “I think you’d leave it there if his arse was poking up in the right direction.”

  “I’m ashamed of my answer, so I’m going to ignore that.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

  Between fumbling for my key card and balancing on heels on plush hotel carpet, I heard my phone ring. A dangerous name flashed on the screen, and the feverish smile that left Aidan so disgusted made my face ache all over again.

  “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Joseph. Bar noise fizzed and echoed in the background.

  “Just got back to the room. How about you?”

  “Down in the lounge, entertaining. Come and join us.” He paused to murmur something in another direction. “I’ve been telling everyone about you–they’re waiting.”

  Cock parade? “Give me t
en minutes.”

  With skin blanched from the breeze and my fingertips still glossy with garlic butter, I looked like I’d been blown back from the restaurant. In the harsh light of the bathroom, I twisted my curls into a loose knot and sprayed spiced apricot perfume, before sliding out of my plain dress and into a V-necked satin number with a clingy skirt.

  After two large cocktails, it was harder to walk in heels than I’d anticipated. I counted the black and white squares on the shiny lounge floor as I went. Joseph smiled as he saw me, patting the space beside him on the plush seat of the booth. Opposite, Kenji and Elise leaned in together–it aroused me, noticing how his hand curled over her knee.

  “Good evening.” I sank down next to him.

  “So far.” Elise nudged the wine bottle on the table. “How about you?”

  “Yeah, it’s been good. Thank you.”

  Joseph inclined his head toward the menus. “Have you eaten, sweetheart?”

  “I just had dinner.”

  “Ooh,” Elise said, “where did you go?”

  “Anico’s? A couple of blocks away, the place with the seats out on the pavement.”

  “We like it there,” Kenji said, looking at Elise. “Don’t we?”

  “We used to meet there for lunch when we first started dating.”

  “The pasta is yummy. And the cocktails are good,” I added.

  Joseph nudged me. “Not too good, I hope.” He sat just a couple of inches away, his fingers wound tight about his glass. What would he make of Aidan’s harsh words? Warning bells.

  I shuddered. “I behaved myself.”

  “That’s no fun,” said Elise. “You can let your hair down, now. We won’t tell anybody.” She reached for an empty goblet and the wine spewed in with soft little glugs.

  “If Redfish are successful in their bid, Elise and Kenji will be spending a lot of time in London.” His hand lingered over mine shamelessly as he passed me a full glass. “Leila went to uni in the city, so she’s been there for a few years now.”

  Kenji shot Joseph a conspiratorial glance. “It’d be brilliant to get back to England.”

  He nodded back. “We were at Cambridge together.”

  “You and Ken?” What? Can anybody say conflict of interest? Jesus.

  “Yup.” Kenji raised an eyebrow at me. “Better that you keep that to yourself–don’t want Deacon to think that we’re biased.”

  “Best that our colleagues don’t know, either. We are going to win this purely on our lawyerly prowess.” Joseph’s tone was so dry that I couldn’t suppress a giggle.

  Kenji had a similar manner to Matt about him, with almost-black hair that kept trying to claw his eyes out. “Did you study law as well, then?” I asked him.

  “No, no. Politics, Philosophy and Economics. It was a little like law, though–lots of arguing with everyone. I was on the debate team with Joe here.”

  “So who taught who the arts of persuasion?” I sounded far more coy than I’d intended.

  Elise bit her bottom lip. “Now there’s a question.”

  “I don’t actually remember much about our debates,” Kenji admitted, “just the celebrating afterward. We won a lot.”

  “We beat the shit out of Oxford twice.” Joe grinned, reaching for the wine.

  “We were awesome,” said Kenji, clinking his glass to Joe’s. “Best days of my life.”

  Elise elbowed him.

  He winced. “Except for now.”

  “I’m borrowing your credit card for that one.” She brushed my arm. “Come shopping with me tomorrow. After the meeting. I’d love to show you a few of my favourite haunts.”

  Joseph nudged me again. “You should go.”

  “Do you have embarrassing stories about Joe to tell me?”

  “Not yet.” She laughed. “But I can probably get a few.”

  “I never did anything embarrassing.” He beckoned the waiter. “Did I?”

  “You embarrassed a lot of other people.” Kenji grimaced. “Including me.”

  Another bottle of red appeared, uncorked, on the table, and beneath, Joseph trapped my foot between his and squeezed, squeezed. I thought about how he’d last had me–up against the bedroom door–and squirmed against the upholstery. If he was as crass as Aidan said--as everyone said--why did I still feel this way? It was clichéd to say someone set me on fire, but what else consumed the air between two people and left them no choice but to close the space?

  “What did you do after Cambridge?” Elise asked Joseph.

  “I worked at a local firm and then went to the City a few years later. Found Bach and Dagier and didn’t look back. I made partner in two years.”

  “Impressive,” she said. “You like it there?”

  He paused a little longer than he should have. “It’s still challenging,” he said finally. “It’s enough…especially if we get this contract.”

  “And what about you, Leila?” She smiled. “Do you like it? I’ll show you around my pretty offices tomorrow. What do you think, Joe–could we convince her to move?”

  “I don’t know about that.” Was she referring to the rumoured New York branch of Bach and Dagier? That one that had inspired Poppy to apply for the same job on the team as me?

  Joseph folded his arms. “No poaching my staff, madam. Is that clear?”

  “Madam.” Kenji laughed. “You’ve still got the weirdest way of talking to women.”

  “It works,” he said.

  Elise surveyed the pair of us, her left cheek pricked with a fiendish dimple. Then she leaned in to whisper at me. “Does it?”

  His fingers found my thigh and I edged my legs apart just a little. When he slid beneath the gusset of my knickers, I bit down. Waited for the breath to pour between my teeth. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  Morning. New York. Outside, the city was raucous with life, and inside, traveling voices in a dozen different accents pierced the steamy hiss of the shower. A room service tray lay in Joseph’s place on the bed and the air hung thick with the citrus scent of his soap.

  I picked at croissants and fruit salad while I gained my bearings. We hadn’t gone to bed late, but a fair amount of wine was consumed, and my thighs were stiff and sore. The mix of tottering around half-drunk, holding my buck-happy hips still beneath the bar table as he stroked me, and straddling him when we finally fell into bed would’ve done it…funny how I didn’t have more of an appetite.

  You’re happy, Aidan had said. Indeed. But one has to stare hard to recognize a long-lost acquaintance, especially when there are other things in the way.

  I slid out of bed and my feet landed on a smooth brown shoebox, a silver logo dissecting its lid. I teased it open with a toe and tucked aside the tissue paper. The shoes were light in my hands and yet heavy with suggestion; heels higher than any I’d dared to walk in, with leather smooth as cake frosting and startling red soles. An ankle strap led to a delicate buckle. They were a perfect fit.

  “Do you like them?”

  I stared at Joseph, who was shower fresh and glistening, through my tousled morning hair. On any other man, the towel that clung to his hips would have offered a bit of modesty, but here was a man for whom modesty trembled and fell over itself to escape.

  Yummy.

  “I do.” I stretched a leg up from its crossed position. Naked except for the shoes, I felt wicked, and it was hard not to bite my lip. “Thank you.”

  “You can keep them on, I think.” He eased me back, his wet skin sticking to mine. Then his teeth descended, white little razors that grazed at my neck.

  “Not really office wear.”

  “Not what I’m talking about.”

  I flicked my tongue over his, stiffened my legs as he pushed at them. “Maybe I ought to make you wait.”

  “I buy you pretty things and this is what I get?”

  I scraped the heel down his shoulder and he grinned at me. “Later. When we have more time.”

  For a split second, I thought he would
release me–he had a fist full of thigh and my skin burned in his grip. Then that scent caught on the air, and I shivered. Here was a game, spewing smoke as it grew to full flame. One last push, I broke, and he settled on top of me with a curious half smile.

  “Now,” he said.

  I spread my arms in a vain little struggle. “No.” The velvet head of his cock kept nudging my clit and it took great effort to get that word out. One twist of his hips and he’d have me regardless.

  But he waited.

  I thought he might pin my arms, but he brought them around his neck as he kissed me, and I was smothered in fresh breath and damp hair.

  “Still no,” I said, panting as he broke off.

  “No such word.”

  He slid just a little farther down. God knew, I was wet enough for him to barge right in. What would be sweeter: the release of him stretching seared tissue now, or the dull throb of my G-spot giving me slow fever all day?

  “No.” It was triumphant and teasing, a challenge posed.

  We stayed locked that way for a long moment. He breathed over me slowly, his fingers stroking through my hair and tugging gently at my scalp. His cock sat at the entrance, now–my lips wet him with a swollen kiss. I closed my eye as we rocked together, as his head made sticky trails back over my clit. When he broke the embrace, his mouth trailing down my belly and his wide hands squeezing my breasts, my resolve withered.

  No, no, he would. Not. Win.

  A very deliberate lick over my clit made me shudder. I brushed the hair from his eyes as his tongue curved, harder now. My hips rose up to meet him, but the rest of me was tied to the bed with invisible rope.

  “You won’t…you won’t break me,” I said.

  He caressed my calf as he brought it to rest on his shoulder. Again with the tongue. “I love these wet orgasms you have.” His groan warmed the inside of my thigh. “I want to be able to taste you all through the meeting.”

  Give in, give in, give in, said Charlotte. Then I remembered his boasting the night before. You have the weirdest way of talking to women. It works. Nature said I ought to submit to him, to my body, to my thoughtless desires.

  But I could be insolent too.

  As I rose from my elbows, I tore pink flesh from his mouth. His bemused expression implied he measured my distance in disappointment. Up on my hands and knees–like the animal I’d accused him of being–I crawled over, knelt and pressed his hand between my thighs. He drew a thick finger across my slit and I tugged it, now soaked and glossy, up to my mouth to smear. When I was painted, I sucked off the remainder while he rubbed it over my tongue.