Dirty Bad Secrets

by West, Jade

  “I’m not trying to make you into one.”

  “You could have fucking fooled me.”

  “It’s not about the strap-on,” I said, and I was getting ridiculous again. Emotional and overwhelmed and pathetic. “It’s about being able to give yourself to me in the spirit I give myself to you.”

  “And what spirit would that be?”

  “I submit to you when it’s your turn in charge, genuinely.”

  “You’re a fucking submissive, Faye, it’s what gets you off. I don’t need to read any of Vincent cunting Blackthorne’s books to know that shit.”

  “I’m not just a submissive,” I said. “Not anymore.”

  His face was a picture, tired and fed up and exasperated. “What are you, then? You want to be my domme? You want to play the big bad business partner who’s going to fuck my ass when things don’t go your way? I’m not down for those kind of games, Faye. I honour the coin toss, but that’s all. I’m no submissive, and these games are temporary.”

  “And that’s why you summoned me in here?” I smiled, bitterly. “You summoned me in to tell me that you won’t take it up your ass. You’re pathetic, Andy, you really are.”

  “I asked you in here to establish the basis of our relationship. The strap-on is one of the finer details.”

  “Fine,” I snapped, and I was angry again. So fucking angry with him, with Vincent, with this whole bloody situation. “If you can’t give me the same respect I give you, then it’s over. I want someone who can open their horizons for me, explore their sexuality, put themselves on the line.”

  “Alright, Vincent. You sound just fucking like him, you know. Especially when you’ve got a fucking crop in your hand. Is that what you’re trying to do? Dish out the kind of shit he gave you? Is that what turns you on? It fucking creeps me out. He’s fucked up, Faye, his approach is full of perverted shit.”

  “It’s not shit!” I sneered. “To be a submissive you have to give up the mind, Andy, the chip on your shoulder, the snipes and the bitterness and the negative self-talk. You have to give up your mind and expose your soul, and it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful. I want a man who can join me there, who can give me that. Is that too much to ask?”

  He laughed, and it was the death blow. “You are so fucking dramatic, Faye. Pull yourself down from the fucking ceiling and stop all the stupid fucking flouncing.”

  “I’m not flouncing. This stuff is real. It’s important to me.” I stared at him, at his hard shoulders, the tension in his jaw, the shadow of stubble, the dark eyes. At the way he was staring at me, angry and impatient and ready to lash out. He wasn’t submissive. He wasn’t even close to trying. “What’s going on here is nothing,” I said quietly. “It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake? We’re a mistake now?”

  “Yes, a mistake. I’m here for the club, not for you.”

  He tilted his head from side to side. “Fine. So, what was I? A rebound? A cheap distraction? A fucking joke?”

  “Something like that,” I scoffed.

  “And that’s it? You don’t get your way and it’s over? Done?”

  I shrugged. “You’re the unreasonable one.”

  “No, Faye, I’m not. You’re the one who wants everything on her own terms and wants it yesterday. You’re the one who stormed in like a whirlwind, without so much as a fucking explanation as to why you were back. You’re the one who demanded the position you so easily deserted. You’re the one who initiated this fucking way of solving our differences, and now, after everything I’ve done to humour you, you’re still a little bitch with her ass in her hands.” His breath was ragged, angry. “You’re right. It was a mistake. It’s fucking done.”

  Tears pricked but there was no way I was crying. I forced them back. “Fine. Suits me.”

  “Suits both of us.”

  “Good. It’s the right call.”

  “Definitely,” he snapped. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

  “What about the coin toss? Don’t think I’m losing my weeks because they no longer include sex.”

  “We still toss. Rules still apply.”

  “Great.” I forced a smile. “Well, we’d better get on, then. I’ll go back to the bar, I was working on cocktails.”

  He gestured I was free to leave. “Be my fucking guest.”

  ***

  It shouldn’t have bothered me. It was the right call, the sensible call, but still I festered all day. My cocktails were a disaster, and Topaz was quiet, keeping her distance as though I was in danger of exploding. I felt like it.

  How fucking dare he? Cocky fucking bastard.

  He’s the one who always wants everything on his terms, not me.

  Mid-afternoon and my mobile erupted with Facebook notifications. Bird in the Bush was live on Amazon, available for the public a week earlier than expected. The world went Vincent Blackthorne crazy, racing to download their copy and dive into the next sordid Magpie instalment. They’d get their money’s worth with this little number.

  They’d get their rocks off, and Andy would find out why I’d left Italy. He may find out through a tatty page of highlighted text in Topaz’s paperback copy, but he’d find out. It was only a matter of time.

  I wondered where Vincent was, whether he was smirking to himself just a short way away, knowing exactly how messed up I’d feel at his presence, knowing exactly what game he was playing with releasing early. Knowing exactly that my days here were numbered, that I’d be uncomfortable, and stressed, and angry.

  Of course he knew.

  I bailed on my cocktail efforts and took to sorting out the stockroom. The physical effort did me some good, working off the stress as I rejigged the boxes. I arranged the toys in one section, and the cleaning supplies in another. I arranged the bar snacks in a way that was easy to reach without climbing over three mop buckets and a box of butt plugs. It looked good.

  Fuck you, Andy Morgan.

  I scrubbed down the wall space I’d cleared behind the boxes, gloved-up and dangerous with a spray bottle of disinfectant. I pulled out the trays under the shelves and swept out all the dust. I mopped the hard to reach bits behind the storage units, and I polished up the candlesticks we used on special occasions.

  I was on the floor reassembling a load of old table decorations when the door creaked open behind me. I heard a jangle of keys.

  “Time to go,” he said. “Topaz is locking up. I’m tired.”

  “You’re leaving the club with someone else?” I sneered. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Don’t make me regret it, or you’ll have another four hours of doing that… whatever it is you’re doing.”

  I held up one of the orchid displays. “Fixing these.”

  “I forgot we even had those.” I heard his footsteps about the place, but I didn’t turn to face him. “Jesus, Faye, you’ve torn the place apart.”

  “It’s better, no?”

  “Yes, it’s better.”

  “My God, don’t tell me that was actually an acknowledgement of something done well?” I gathered up the decorations and pushed them back in their box. “Fine, let’s go. I’m fucking knackered.”

  His hand was on my elbow before I could protest, pulling me to my feet. “I can give praise, Faye. When it’s warranted.”

  “Sure you can,” I pulled away. “Let’s go.”

  We drove back to his in silence, my arms tight across my chest in defence of some barrage of questions that never came. He pulled up outside and I was out like a shot, up the stairs and through the apartment door as soon as he could open it for me. I hovered around the kitchen while he made a drink, but pretended I was busy on my mobile. It shocked me no end when he drank up and disappeared for a shower. He really was tired. I didn’t see him come out, even. He was straight into his bedroom, lights out.

  The frustration was more than I could bear.

  I made myself a sandwich, and I clattered about the place like I was feeding the five thousand. I put the TV on loud, and
made a big deal of going to the bathroom three times over the course of one short programme. If the volume irritated him, he didn’t react. He didn’t storm into the corridor in his boxers and demand some quiet, or ping me that I needed to get to pissing bed and not be late in the morning. He didn’t do fucking anything.

  I turned the TV off and cleaned up, jumping in the shower for a proper scrub down before I went to bed.

  There was the faintest light under his door as I crossed the hallway. It made my heart stutter. Ridiculous.

  I dried myself off and shoved my damp hair back into a bun, then lay in bed, listening for signs of life, but none came. I made a big deal of getting comfortable, hoping the headboard would bash the wall. It didn’t. Not even when I pushed it.

  I grabbed my mobile and called up his details. Text box.

  Are you still awake?

  A minute of silence.

  What do you want?

  I typed out a message only to delete it, over and over again.

  I want to ask you… I can’t sleep and I… About today… I can’t help but…

  There was only one message that made sense. I stared at the letters.

  I want you. Now. Please.

  But I couldn’t press send. I just couldn’t do it. I rolled onto my side, chewing on my fingernails, that churn of something in my stomach threatening to throw up my sandwich.

  I held my breath at the sound of movement, eyes wide in the darkness at the realisation it was coming from the room next door. I flicked on the lamp, all ready to head out into the living area if he headed in that direction. I would have to hang around the corridor if it was the bathroom he vanished into, pretend I needed the toilet. Again.

  Anything just to see him.

  But I didn’t need to do anything.

  I pulled the duvet up to my chin as my bedroom door opened, and it turns out that Andy Morgan doesn’t even wear boxers to bed. He doesn’t wear anything at all.

  “I… um… I had some questions about work…” I lied, holding up my phone.

  “Sure you did.”

  “I did… about the birthday party…”

  He approached the bed and pulled the covers back. “Move,” he said.

  I shifted across, and he slipped inside, fluffing up the pillow I’d just vacated.

  “I can’t be your fucking submissive, Faye. I don’t know how, even if I wanted to. It just isn’t who I am.”

  My stomach kept on churning. “You don’t need to explain,” I said. “Like you said, it’s a mistake.”

  “We both said it’s a mistake.”

  “It is.”

  He turned onto his side, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I stared up at the ceiling, struggling to keep my breath steady.

  “You’re impossible,” he said. “Impossible and demanding and frustrating. You’re highly strung, Faye, the slightest thing and you’re off like a rocket, dramatic and hysterical and so fucking annoying. I’m perplexed, genuinely. I don’t know why there has to be such fucking extremes, such impossibilities. You make life so pissing difficult, Faye, so complicated, and it doesn’t need to be. It could be so simple.”

  “You came in here just to tell me that, did you?” I snapped. “You could have waited until tomorrow, when we got to work and I actually get paid to listen to your shit.”

  “Shut up, Faye. Just shut the fuck up for once.” His voice was low and dangerous, and my toes curled on instinct. His weight shifted in a heartbeat, and he was hot, his body pressed tight to my side. “We both know why I came in here.”

  The faintest, most pathetic little gasp came from my mouth, and his mouth was waiting. I pressed my lips to his, and my arms curled around his neck, guiding him onto me. My legs wrapped around his waist, his cock hard against my belly.

  “What do you want me to do?” I whispered between kisses. “It’s your week… I won’t argue…”

  “Fuck the week,” he said. “And the coin toss stays in the club, remember?”

  It was music to my ears. Oh God, how I kissed that stupid, annoying man. I kissed him like I wanted to punish him, like I wanted it to hurt, but he wasn’t any better. He pinned my shoulders to the mattress, and his body ground against mine with a need for control at odds with his words.

  I dug my fingernails into his shoulder blades, then pulled down, hard enough to leave scratches. It only encouraged him. He grabbed my ankles, and yanked them high, and I braced myself for his cock, expecting the primal thrust that would see me take the whole fucking length of him, but it didn’t arrive. His mouth moved down my neck, hot wet kisses down to my collarbone, and I was gasping for him, arching my back for more.

  “You are a fucking nightmare,” he growled, then sucked a nipple into his mouth. He nipped me hard enough that I squeaked, then soothed it with his tongue. “This can never work, Faye. We’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Just fuck me,” I hissed. “I don’t even care anymore.”

  “Not yet.” I felt his smile against my stomach, then a nuzzle and he was lower, he spread my thighs, hooking one of my legs behind his back as his breath teased my pussy.

  “Oh fuck,” I said. “Please…”

  His fingers spread me, and I was ready, so fucking ready. He was gentle with his tongue, teasing, flickering everywhere but where I wanted him the most.

  “Why did you get pierced?” he asked. “Was it Vincent’s idea?”

  “Don’t talk about him,” I snapped. “Jesus, Andy, he’s not fucking pillow talk.”

  “It was his idea. I thought so.”

  He had no fucking idea.

  I held his face to my pussy, gripped him tight with my thighs. “Lick me,” I said. “Or bite me. I don’t fucking care, just shut up and do it.” He did a combination of both, and it felt fucking wonderful. Two fingers, and they curled inside me, hard, grinding at the right spot. I squirmed. “Fuck, Andy, I’m not going to last long…”

  I pressed my feet flat to his back, levering against him. My ass left the bed, and his mouth moved with me. I could hear myself, so wet. You’d think I hadn’t been fucked for a whole fucking year.

  His mouth was incredible, hot and needy and desperate. He sucked my clit until my hands were clasped around his head, he sucked until I moaned like a whore, and his fingers fucked me, so hard that my stomach began to ache as the tides rode in. This was going to be a big one.

  “I’m going to… oh fuck, Andy, I’m going to…”

  My pussy tensed, and his fingers were so strong, pressing just right, just fucking right. I moved against him, and he met me, his movements mirroring mine while I began to uncoil.

  “Fuck!” I hissed. “Andy… don’t stop… I’m…”

  The world turned white. I lost it, thrashing and bucking and squealing as my pussy went into spasms. And it was wet. Really wet. Too wet. He groaned, and it was a delicious sound, and then I was off again, squealing and writhing and losing my fucking mind.

  I shuddered as I came down, over and over. He climbed up alongside me and kissed me with a mouth that tasted of me.

  “Did I just…” I began through ragged breath.

  “It was perfect,” he smiled. “Jesus, Faye, you came like a fucking train.”

  I looked at him through hazy eyes, and he looked amazing. “Fuck me,” I said. “Please fuck me.”

  He didn’t need asking twice, sliding his cock inside me in one long stroke. I was ready, so ready I gasped at the sensation. He adjusted position, pressing my knees up to my chest, and he took me slow, slow and deep. I gripped at the sheets under me as the pressure started to rebuild.

  His balls were heavy, slapping against my ass as he picked up pace, and it felt so right this way. I coaxed him, needing him, needing more, and he gave me more, hard and fast, and I jerked underneath him as he pumped and grunted and his body took its release within mine. Hearing him come in the quiet of the bedroom was divine. It felt different here, so different, so much more intimate. The thought made my stomach lurch.
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br />   He pressed his forehead against mine as he caught his breath, and I smiled as the revelation of what had just occurred sunk in.

  “What’s funny?” he asked, and he was smiling, too.

  It tickled me. The whole thing tickled me, and I shifted from underneath him, rolling onto my side as he nipped my shoulder in punishment. “Speak, Faye. Use that smart pissing mouth and answer the question.”

  “It’s nothing,” I protested. “Just something stupid.”

  “What?”

  I tipped my head to meet his eyes, and his were already darkening, ready for more.

  “It’s just, us…” I said. “This.” I gestured to the room, but he didn’t seem to understand. Like he ever understands. The endorphins made me giggle. “We just had vanilla sex. Vanilla sex, Andy, I can’t even remember the last time that happened.”

  “Vanilla?” he smiled. “Was that boring for you?”

  “No,” I laughed. “No way! Just… weird…”

  “You act like it’s over. It’s far from over, Faye. That was just the fucking prologue.” He smiled at his choice of words, pressed his fingers to my throat, and my laughter dried up. “Let’s see how vanilla chapter fucking one is, shall we?”

  ***

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andy

  Infuriating and ridiculous, this thing was fucking insane. This thing was a firework about to explode in my face, and send my whole bastard business up in flames along with it. I should have put a stop to it, drawn a line, the sensible line. But it was her, Faye Devere, queen of getting under your skin and staying there, and as much as I hated it, as much as I wanted to tell her to piss off and actually mean it, as much as I wanted to ship her back off to Italy and resume normal life without stupid games and complications, I was still reaching for her hand. Still leading her, wide-eyed, with that temping little smirk on her face, from her bedroom, my guestroom, into my actual bed. The threshold was more than a doorway, it was a whole other level of involved, and she knew it. She paused before crossing, hanging back at arm’s length with a cocky eyebrow raised on that pretty, devious face of hers.