Breaking Joseph

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “We’re waiting on a response to the offer for Hemmings. In the meantime, I want to see full New York reports from you all, including a detailed analysis of the negotiation process.” He paused to sip a glass of water. “All going well, our clients are flying in next Wednesday and we have the Queen’s Trust ball that Thursday. We’re hoping to begin negotiations ASAP, but there’ll be plenty for you to do until then. Keep a clear calendar. You’ll be wanting good references, I assume.”

  What would mine say? Punctual and organized. Neat girl parts. Noisy when she comes.

  “Now. On with those reports, and if you finish or get bored, Sadie has a stack of loose ends that need tying up.”

  Writing that report was about as interesting as it sounded. I bought lunch and chocolates for everyone to ease my guilt–it didn’t work, but at least appeared to be appreciated. Poppy returned from her meeting with litigation in a revolting mood and I assumed there had been no job offer. By five o’clock, the atmosphere was stifling.

  “What a fucking horrible day,” Matt complained. He was limping home and I felt obliged to offer an arm.

  “I know.” I sighed.

  “It was like somebody coiled a massive turd in the corner of the room.”

  “Ew.”

  “Everyone can smell it, but nobody wants to mention it.” He scowled in distaste. “Still. That’s what she gets for applying for your job, I suppose.”

  “It was never my job as such,” I insisted, steering him around the swarm of briefcases near the tube station. An elbow flew into my belly–Jesus.

  “You okay?”

  I wheezed. “Uh-huh.”

  “Twats never look where they’re going. Anyway. She could have been a little more gracious.” He blew his hair out of his eyes. “How should I kill Aidan? My leg is fucking killing me.”

  “You wanted me to tell you, didn’t you?” I’m not entirely sure I meant to say that out loud.

  “What?” He stiffened. “Oh.”

  “Joseph and I. We’re dating,” I muttered.

  He went silent for a good few paces. “Does anyone else know yet?”

  “No. We’re keeping it quiet for a bit.”

  “Is it serious?” He forced the words and they fell out in heavy chunks.

  “I don’t know. It’s…experimenting, I suppose.”

  “Yeah. Well.” His shoe scuffed against the pavement. “Good luck with that.”

  I squeezed his arm, humbled. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it, babe.”

  I’m not sure that he did, but he wanted to. That he said it at all was more than I deserved.

  “What are you up to tonight?” I asked.

  “Mostly barking at Tobe while he waits on me hand and foot. Being an arse because I can’t play rugby tomorrow. That kind of thing.” He tugged at his tie. “You?”

  “Um. Nothing, actually.” How utterly glorious. “I appear to need a hobby.”

  He grinned through his wanton fringe. “Will you maim me if I suggest a few?”

  “You’re maimed already,” I laughed, “but depends what they are.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been hanging around with Aidan too much.”

  I helped him into the lift and left him behind the doors, wandering home to do nothing with enough spring in my step for the pair of us.

  * * * *

  “Joe?”

  He glanced up from his book as I lowered mine. “Mmm?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  We were naked and splayed across the thick rug on his lounge floor, propped up by sage green cushions. Dinner had been at Chervil; dessert had been carpet burn. The week had been tense and busy now we’d gone full throttle with Redfish’s offer on Hemmings.

  “Go on.” He rolled onto his side and peered down at me.

  “Are you opening a US office?”

  His eyes widened–it was brief, but I caught it. “Who told you that?”

  “Just…you know. Speculation in the office.”

  “And since when do you listen to that kind of thing?” He pulled my book away with one hand and took my wrists in the other. They landed above my head, below his fist, and in a euphoric stretch of muscle.

  “It’d be nice to know if you’re moving away, is all.”

  “Leila.” He traced my nipple. Oh. “What makes you think I’m emigrating?”

  “You have family over there. Friends. An apartment. And you seem…well. Bored of Bach and Dagier.”

  “I’m hardly bored right now.” I hated his sly smile. Or maybe I loved it. Hadn’t quite decided.

  His tongue ran across the underside of my breast, and I arched up to him on pure instinct.

  “You haven’t answered me,” I said.

  “My family fucked off and left me here when I was barely thirteen. I think I’d rather rim a horse than join them over there, okay?”

  “So why have you got an apartment there?”

  “Because I spend enough time there to warrant it. It was a good investment.”

  Snap. Teeth closed around my nipple to crush and I jumped, yelped, tugged his hair.

  Then he licked the welts he’d made and glanced up with a satisfied smirk.

  “I still think you’re bored,” I said.

  “Maybe I am.” He shrugged. “I’ve had too much on to think about it lately. You’re more concerned about it than I am, sweetheart.”

  “Sorry.” This, this. I liked his kisses much better, especially when he tasted like me. “What time are you picking up Elise and Kenji tomorrow?”

  “Around seven, I think.”

  His cock hardened between my thighs, and I rubbed the arch of my foot along his calf. Tendons, still ripe and fizzing from the way we writhed, poured heat through his smooth skin. There was nothing rugged about him on the outside, but I knew what lay caged: my wolf in good boy’s clothing.

  “Are you going straight to the hotel?” I asked.

  “Probably. Will settle them in. You can help me, if you like. And then there’s Thursday.”

  “That ball thing? Ugh. I’d forgotten–” The last world melted to a gasp as he stretched me. I was still sore across the buttocks from his angry palm–see, Joseph did not do things by halves. He did them in multiples, and I wasn’t the notch. I was the bedpost.

  “Don’t be so fucking ungrateful.” His blond hair tickled my forehead. “I’ll be introducing you to all my riveting tax contacts as the newest member of my team.”

  “Sounds…fascinating. Mmm.” I traced his shoulder blades as they roved beneath his flesh, imagined him being grown, put together. “Who will come on to me this time, do you think?”

  “Deacon won’t be there.” He brought my hands back up over my head. “We ought to go as a couple, sweetheart. That’ll shut them all up.”

  He’d caught me in too many of the right spots already, and the tree slid into view as if it was tattooed on my eyelids. The snake flicked his forked tongue; either it was hissing or I was panting. Maybe they were one and the same.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  “Mmm?” I took my own hair in fistfuls. Needed the pain.

  “We should go as a couple.”

  “Joe, will you shut up?”

  He eased out of me with a coarse laugh, and his teeth caught at my hips and stomach. When he reached the split of my mound, he blew softly. Ah, ah. His eyelids went heavy with perverse longing.

  “Here?” he whispered.

  “Please.”

  “On Thursday, then.” A slow lick along the base of my clit. “You and me.”

  “I thought we were keeping things quiet?” I spread further. That tongue felt so gorgeously warm.

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Fickle boy.”

  He drew back and spanked the length of my pussy. Heat tore across my bottom lip as I bit down.

  “What was that?” he said.

  “I…nothing. Have it your way.”

  He’s parading you around like the spoils of war
.

  If I was never aware of the war in the first place, how would I know the value of what was won?

  * * * *

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Elise trilled over the phone.

  Each blink in the lamplight of my bedroom was like being stabbed in the eye. “Erm. No.” Three in the morning…I needed to buy an alarm clock and turn off that fucking phone. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just had to tell you. I couldn’t wait!”

  “Tell me what?” I yawned.

  “He asked me. He asked me again and I said yes!”

  “Asked you wha–oh.” Excitement was in there somewhere, beneath the slur of sleep. “Congratulations, sweetie.”

  She squealed down the phone and I recoiled into my pillows.

  “I know! I had to thank you. That talk we had–it helped me see things in a different light. Not that much has changed, but I feel like it might, it’s exciting…oh my God. I’m getting married, Leila. And I actually want to get married.” She paused, giggling. “Not just buy something from Wang.”

  “That’s amazing, Elise.” I scraped a ball of mascara from the corner of my eye. “Do you have a pretty ring?”

  “We’re going to pick one in London. He knew I’d want to choose. He knows me so well.” Her voice dropped, husky. “You know what I mean.”

  “Oh yes.” I rubbed my still-sore buttocks with the heel of my hand. “So listen…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? When you get in from the flight.”

  “God. I did wake you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I got carried away.” Now she whispered, low and conspiratorial. It just feels like we’re sharing this.”

  “Not sure I’m about to get engaged anytime soon.” Despite the thick duvet, I shuddered.

  “No, but our men are best friends and all.”

  “I’m glad we’ve made friends too.” If I’d been talking to anyone else, I’d have added, even if you do call me in the middle of the bloody night, but I didn’t want to offend her Harvard sensibilities.

  “Me too.” I could hear her smiling. “I’ll see you soon, okay? I can’t wait for England!”

  Chapter 9

  Approximately three and a half hours after Elise called, I met Aidan in the park for a run.

  “You look like a Death Eater,” he chirped.

  I yanked up the hood on my jacket. “I sincerely hope you’re referring to my choice of outerwear. Arse face.”

  “Don’t look bitter as well as hung over, Lei-Lei.”

  I pouted. “You’re awfully sharp with me since I crossed over to the dark side.”

  “You know how I feel about the Marquis.” He tugged at my hand. “Come on. Three circuits.”

  “You’ll need to be gentle with me to begin with.” I knelt to stretch my calves and then began an experimental jog. “I’m nowhere near your level of fitness.”

  “Pah. I’ll tell you what: either you keep up with me…” He stroked his chin. “Or you have to do tomorrow’s round wearing a strap-on.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Already, I lagged a little. This was highly unfair.

  “Do you want to embarrass yourself in front of the students again?”

  “No,” I said meekly.

  “Well, then.” He nodded as I jogged ahead. “Dance for the fucking puppet master! Dance!”

  Aidan was understanding in the bedroom, when I needed it. He was patient when I cried on his shoulder. On the track, he was nothing but a punishing dictator, and so my throat ached with each heaving breath and my knees rattled with the impact of foot to ground. I bleated like I was giving birth as I finished the last lap.

  “See,” he said triumphantly, “now you look awake.”

  I smeared the sweat off my upper lip. “Sod off.”

  “Feisty too. I’d totally do you.” He went to grab my hips and I limped out of the way.

  “You’re as pale as me,” I said. “How do you manage not to turn a luminous shade of beetroot?”

  “I’m a man. I go beetroot in other places.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There goes my sausage sandwich.”

  * * * *

  Lunch at the office had become an awkward scenario.

  In days of yore, Poppy, Matt and I would all work on similar things and would either order in together, or go out. Then as Matt and I were paired up and we grew closer, we’d slink off for sushi or huddle over his desk. Now, an invisible wall divided us–I had rejected Matt, who had also once been rejected by Poppy, who had lost out to me.

  We were hardly about to rush off to the pub.

  So as the clock ticked toward one, I felt a familiar sense of dread sidle up and wheeze over my shoulder. It always fell to me to suggest something, yet all I wanted was an excuse to duck out and leave.

  Eventually, Poppy pulled a box of neat little sandwiches from her Smythson tote. She stayed at her desk, muttering to herself and pausing to brush crumbs from her pencil skirt. Matt and I exchanged glances for about ten minutes before an email shot into my in-box like a pebble dashing a puddle.

  Shall we go out? Need some air x

  I gazed up at him and he smiled faintly.

  Where do you fancy? I replied.

  Starbucks, anywhere, don’t care. Just don’t make me walk too far!

  We ended up in a little French place, undoing all my hard running work with sugared, lemony crepes. The table cloths were a clichéd red gingham, lavender hung in dried bunches from the ceiling, and language tapes played in the bathrooms. I made a mental note to come back with Clemmie, who loved all things quaint and small.

  “Are you going to the ball tomorrow night?” I asked.

  He folded a crepe with his fork, and his brows fell in to follow. “I think we have to, unfortunately. Cock parade and all that.”

  “Not your scene, hmm?” I scored lines in the froth of my cappuccino. Swish swash. “To be honest, it isn’t really mine, either.”

  “Are you going with Joseph?”

  Silence. I found the bravery to nod.

  “Thought you might.” He cleared his throat. “Would it be wrong of me to bring Tobe as my plus one?”

  “Better than Aidan.” I laughed. “Though I can’t see it being much of Toby’s thing, either.” I paused, eyeing him. “You could ask Poppy.”

  “I could wax my balls too, but it’d be painful and utterly pointless.”

  “She looks like she could use some cheering up.”

  “And I’m a consolation prize?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Are you looking forward to going home?”

  “Yeah, actually.” He set down his cutlery and his features softened a little. “I feel a bit weird leaving Ike and Simmy, but it’s not like they’re in trouble or anything. I just…I probably sound lame but I like cobbled streets and the cathedral and people shouting in Wurzel accents. Here, everything is so fucking hard–the buildings, the driving, the sounds. Especially the people.” He clicked his tongue. “They’re rude.”

  “Since when were you fussed for manners?”

  “I miss my friends.” The words made him flinch and I’m not sure he meant to say them.

  “And Niamh?” I didn’t mean to ask about his ex, either. The one he’d spurned for me.

  “No. Does that make me sound like a twat?”

  “Of course not.” I reached over and brushed his cuff; the bare flesh of his hand seemed inappropriate. “I feel a bit responsible for all that.”

  “It was going to happen. I’d be lying if I said you weren’t the catalyst…but that’s no bad thing.” His lips twitched upward, cautious of a smile.

  How much more honest had we been with each other these past few days? Nothing held back behind shadowy pasts or gritted teeth. It felt good. We’d been through the laundry, Matt and I, and though we were stained, a freshness lingered.

  But it wasn’t the same for him. He loved me–he’d said it just a week before. From behind my cappuccino cup, I watched as he fiddled with the table
cloth and recognized the way his knuckles rose and fell; its shiny folds stood in for the flesh he longed to fondle. Sometimes, just for a minute, I wished the world was organized in a different way, and men like him wouldn’t try to own girls like me at the expense of…well. Too much.

  “You’re a good friend to me,” I said. “I should thank you.”

  His brow lurched again. “And there’s the consolation prize.”

  “I can be mean if it makes things easier.” I prodded him with my fork. “See? Grr.”

  He caught my hand and pushed it away gently. “If I let things go sour between us, it’d be because I wanted to torture myself. Like you said.”

  Well, this was embarrassing. “Is it working? Are you…happier?”

  “Yeah. I am.” He glanced up, and there was the rock star he’d once shown me. The jut of his lower lip like armour, flying up before he took centre stage. “I’m fucking chipper. Can’t you tell?”

  * * * *

  That evening, I waited for the shrieks and frowns and briefcases to leave the office before I slipped through Joseph’s door.

  “I have a complaint to make, Mr Merchant.”

  He got to his feet and beckoned me with a finger. “Miss Vaughn?”

  “You haven’t fucked me in your office yet.” Breath caught sharp in my throat as he locked an arm around my waist.

  “I haven’t, have I?”

  His finger toyed with my bottom lip. Then his teeth followed.

  “It won’t do.” The carnivore in me kissed him first, mewed at the earthy taste of flesh. “In fact, I think it’s against company policy.”

  “Section seven, clause B: all eligible females must be bent across the desk and stretched like bread dough.” He laughed. “Actually…scrap the eligible bit.”

  “Sounds messy. You’ll be needing a few more paperweights.”

  He turned and brought the glass dragon back in his hand. Barely weeks ago, I’d sat on the desk to tease him, and he’d kneaded the weight in his fist while my skirt rode up my thighs. If I’d been braver, he’d have done…it. I wished he had. That dragon was sculpted in heavy, moan-inducing meanders.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, “that this would make some pretty marks along that arse of yours.”

  “Pretty sure you promised to fuck me with it too, and you haven’t done that yet, either.”