by Dae, Harlem
“You’re disgusting,” he said, then chewed the inside of his cheek.
Was he trying not to laugh?
“Yeah, but you enjoyed it, didn’t you?” I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows.
He stopped glancing about and looked at me. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“That. The job you do.”
I shrugged. “It’s a job like any other. Why, how do you do yours?”
“Point taken.”
“Curiosity getting to you?” I asked, stamping my feet to ward off the chill that was already seeping through my boots and into my toes.
“A bit.”
“Thought it might. I mean, it’s difficult not to be intrigued, isn’t it?”
He nodded, and we stood there for a few moments without speaking, the only sounds the faint swoosh of traffic and the incessant tapping of my boots on the cobbles.
“Ah, here’s my beautiful Spanish friend, look.” I nodded to our left.
The Porsche pulled up at the kerb and Carlos climbed out, taking just an extra second to unfurl his body from the sporty car. He wore jeans that sat low on his hips, but no top. He was just acres of muscle coated in flesh. Flesh that held some very distinct flogger marks.
Victor’s mouth dropped open, and he appeared as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it.
“There you go, no harm done,” Carlos said, straightening. “She’s all yours again.” He grinned and brushed past Victor, their arms touching, before he rapped smartly on the club door.
“Come on then,” I said brightly, scooting around the front of the car to the passenger side. “Better be quick. Before someone tries to steal your midlife-crisis carriage.”
“Don’t joke about it,” he said, giving me what he must have thought was a stern glare. “And who says I’m going through a midlife crisis?”
“I do,” I said over the top of the car.
“I’m bloody well not,” he said, dropping into the driver’s seat.
I climbed in. “You bloody well are. Otherwise, why on earth are you driving something as obscenely pussy-pulling as this, and why do you pick up strange women in coffee shops?”
“You said it,” he muttered, slamming his door and revving the engine to life.
“I said what?”
He stared at me through the darkness. “Strange women. You. I picked you up.”
No, I picked you up.
“I think you’d better take me home, don’t you?” I laughed lightly. “Otherwise we might have a falling out.”
I buckled up.
After he’d done the same, he looked at me. “Take you home?”
“Yes…”
“Oh, it’s just that I thought…” He frowned, pursed his lips.
“Thought what?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t think anything at all.”
Chapter Nine
Today I decided I’d visit the coffee shop to browse for men who might feature in my future. After all, a month never lasted long in my life, time always zipped by, and making sure I had a new toy to play with once Victor was gone would pass the hours until I saw him this evening. Of course, there were always the customers I could take my pick from, but I’d always felt mixing business with pleasure wasn’t the done thing. Julie had indulged on occasions, and from what she’d told me she’d had a high old time of it, but it had always left her wanting. It seemed the men who paid to watch her flog herself didn’t quite have the balls to flog her in the same way or with such violent tendency. The poor woman was destined to be left wanting in that regard.
Victor had dropped me off last night without saying anything during the journey, and I’d taken it that he’d been mulling things over, processing what he’d seen and how he’d felt. It was a shock to the system, being dragged out of your vanilla life and into something a little more risqué, I knew that all too well, so I hadn’t spoken either. I’d had a moment where my stomach had seemed to plummet when I’d thought about him calling it off—but that was only because I didn’t like to see things unfinished. Nothing to do with him as a person or having a proper relationship whatsoever. But then I’d thought about what he’d said before we’d left the car park. He’d assumed we were going out, hadn’t he? Thought the evening wasn’t at its end.
Now, I felt quite smug about that revelation. That he’d wanted to spend more time with me—or if it wasn’t that, he’d maybe wanted a bit more cock action. He’d possibly entered the greedy phase, on a par with when you’ve gone without something you didn’t know you liked, tasted it, and suddenly there was an abundance of it, ready for the taking. Ready for gorging on. That I-think-I-know-everything man had discovered that he didn’t know the half of it and was eager to soak up more experiences. My little sponge. That boded well for the coming month, and all the naughty things I had in store for him would see the light of day.
Still, it hadn’t hurt to tell him to take me home. Keep them keen, that was the order of the day. Deny them what they wanted and they’d play right into your hands to make sure you gave it to them. And yes, I wanted him in my hands, every last beautiful inch of him. In my cunt, too, but there was no rush. All good things came to those who waited.
It was cold again, and in contrast to the pleasant heat of my car, the brisk, chilly wind seemed to have it in mind to drive me back home. Instead, I allowed it to shunt me into that coffee shop, and I pushed open the door with relief to be in the warm. I’d dressed much as I had when I’d met Victor—casual chic, nothing fancy, nothing too revealing, my hair loose and spilling over my shoulders—and made my way to the counter. I scoped the place out as I strode, noting two men sitting alone and that they didn’t catch my fancy. They were good-looking enough, I’d give them that, but neither of them ignited that spark, the one that let me know that the minute I ordered them to lick my cunt they’d be down on their knees in an instant, tongues out.
I smiled to myself. I’d thought Victor would have taken me up on that offer, would have sworn to it on the day we’d met that he was a self-assured bachelor who was into kink and had it in him to do anything I asked without being coerced.
How wrong I’d been.
I ordered an espresso and chose a seat in the far corner at the back so I could see the door and any potentials as they came in. It was the same position I took up every time I came here, a pussy on the prowl, lying in wait until her prey innocently approached. I never got my claws out so they could see them, but they were there nevertheless, snagged into their jacket lapels, drawing them closer to me. How had I got it so arse backwards with Victor? Yes, I did believe I had snagged him anyway, but that first experience, where he’d refused my delightful offer… I needed to learn to read people more carefully.
Seated, I stared around the room, comforted by the scents of coffee, Danish pastries, powdered doughnuts, cookies and that thickness to the air of such places that made me feel right at home. If I could bottle the scents and capture the emotions it wrought in me I would. I sighed in pleasure and took a sip of my coffee, anticipating that by the time I’d finished my first cup I’d get that wonderful hit and be ready to take on the world.
I wasn’t ready to take on Victor, though, who entered in a black suit and white shirt, directing his attention straight at my corner. His eyes widened when he took me in, and I had trouble not doing the same. What was he doing here? Didn’t he have his own posh coffee in his office, prepared by the overbearing Mary? Didn’t he have work to do? I drew in a deep breath and plastered on a smile. No way was I letting him know he’d thrown me for a loop, caught me in my mission to find a new playmate. He didn’t smile back, which was a little disconcerting, but no matter. What did I care? If he’d slept on things and wanted to break our agreement, well, I was in the perfect place to collect someone new and show them the good time Victor would be missing.
He stalked—yes, stalked!—to the counter and ordered, glancing my way once or tw
ice and scowling as though I’d done something to piss him off. By the look of him he’d be telling me soon enough, no need for me to worry over what was wrong. Cup in hand, he walked over and placed it on the table, sitting opposite and folding his arms across his chest. I smiled brightly, cocking my head and twirling a strand of hair around my finger.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, lowering his chin and staring at me as if I’d done the most hideous thing known to man.
“Having a bloody coffee!” I blurted, indignance rising in me. “It’s what you tend to do in these places, didn’t you know that? And I might well get right into the swing of it and have a Danish with my next cup, if it’s all the same to you.”
He slackened the tightness of his arms a bit, and his shoulders lost a little of their rigidity. I’d have thought my response would have riled him further and was a tad confused because it hadn’t.
“Oh, right,” he said. “I thought…”
There he went, thinking again.
“You thought what, exactly?” I reached for my cup, annoyed that my hand was shaking.
He blushed fiercely and lowered his gaze. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Obviously it does, otherwise you wouldn’t have felt the need to question me, would you, when it’s pretty obvious what a person does in a coffee shop.”
“No, it isn’t.” He reached out for his cup. His hand shook too.
“Isn’t it? How so?” I sipped, not needing the caffeine hit now. I was well and truly ready to take on the world and his damn wife.
“You…you pick people up here,” he said quietly.
“And?” I almost shouted, not caring who heard me. “That is your concern how?”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
Oh, but it did matter. What was he getting at? Did he think because we had an exclusive month together he had the right to stop me from browsing for my next conquest? Not on his bloody life!
“Listen, you,” I said, jabbing a pointed finger in his direction. “I can do as I please while I’m teaching you. If I want to come here and look around, browse what’s on offer, I will. If I see someone I quite like the look of, I’ll file it up here.” I tapped the side of my head. “Once our month is finished I’ll come back, and if that someone is here again and is up for some fun, then fun is what I’ll be having. You don’t tell me where I go or who I see afterwards, you got that?”
He looked up, and the expression on his face shocked the shit out of me. His eyes were glossy, his mouth downturned, and a frown scored deep wavy lines across his forehead. Had I missed something here or what?
“I see,” he said. “Well, at least I know where I stand.”
What? “I thought I’d made it clear from the start where you stood! Where I stood.”
He nodded, shifting his gaze away from me to stare at the wall behind. “You did. I must have just…I thought… Really, it doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and returned his attention to me. “I apologise. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Neither do I,” I said, “but it wasn’t very pleasant. Now, are you up for anything tonight or, seeing as you’re in a foul mood, do you want to give it a miss?”
“No,” he said quickly, reaching out a hand to cover mine. “No, I need…” His face went red. “Tonight is fine. What time?”
“I’ll text you,” I said, draining my cup as I stood.
“Where are you going?” he asked, gripping my hand tighter.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to get that second cup and the Danish I mentioned, all right?”
He nodded, releasing my hand.
“Oh, good,” I said, those words brimming with sarcasm. “So glad I have your approval. Do you want a cake?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll get the woman to make this a coffee to go.”
“Suit yourself.”
I swanned up to the counter, my mind a muddle. He was doing that possessive thing, where he thought I was his property and he had the right to know the ins and outs of my life. Well, he didn’t, and the sooner he realised that the better. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He was sitting there, making no move to leave, staring across at me, that frown still in place, his mouth still an upside down smile. I shrugged it off and ordered a refill and selected the biggest Danish in the glass cake cabinet. Purchases made, I returned to the table and acted as though he wasn’t there—after all, he wasn’t supposed to be. He’d said he was leaving.
After a couple of minutes with me adding sugar to my drink and making a big deal of stirring it, of me biting into my Danish well aware he watched my every move, I was just about ready to ask him if he wanted to take a picture.
“Are you ignoring me?” he asked, his tone gentle.
“Oh!” I said, swiping a stray flake of pastry from my lip. “I thought you said you were getting your coffee to go.”
“I was. I mean, I am.” He made a move to stand but remained in place.
“Off you trot then. You must have drawings to draw, clients to impress. Think of all the time you’re wasting sitting here with me.” I bit into my pastry again, not enjoying the taste one bit. It was somehow sour, clogging my throat as I swallowed.
“What are you… Have you got a nice day planned?” he asked.
“I haven’t thought about it. I may stay in here all day.” I zeroed my gaze in on one of the men I’d spotted earlier and widened my eyes as if he floated my boat. I was being cruel, I knew that, but Victor had to learn the hard way. Zara Watson was beholden to no man. She was a free spirit, unable to be tethered or bossed around. I returned my attention to him and smiled.
“All day?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, and why not? It’s warm, I have nothing better to do but people watch.”
“Man watch,” he murmured.
“What was that?” I asked, frowning a bit so he got the impression I really hadn’t heard him.
“I need a Scotch,” he said. “Think I might go to the wine bar along the way a bit at one o’clock for a pasta lunch, and yes, that Scotch.”
“You do that,” I said. “And enjoy it.” I leant back, waiting for him to leave, yet oddly, I didn’t want him to go. I was enjoying our banter now, the oddness of the way our relationship—no, our time together—was progressing. He was showing me that he had the tendency to be jealous. His man-watch quip had been proof of that.
Mmm, that little nugget of information might prove fun to mess around with.
He rose, left his cup on the table and backed away, watching me all the while.
I looked down at my coffee, stirred it again, and when I glanced back up I saw the door closing and him on the other side, waiting on the kerb to cross the street. He stared back at me over his shoulder, and I gave him a little wave.
He raised his hand and returned the gesture, and just before he turned away again, I caught a look of such pain on his face that it jolted the smugness out of me.
Had what I’d said and how I’d acted hurt him that much?
Chapter Ten
Damn it. I should have asked Zara to join me for lunch. Offered the invitation and said what I wanted loud and clear. Wasn’t that what I usually did? I was an assertive kind of bloke. I could have just thrown the sentence out there—it would have been the normal, sensible thing to do.
But then, what was normal with regards to Zara?
Nothing.
She probably would have said no, because how could she have been hungry after the huge Danish she’d munched at the coffee shop? I thought women worried about calories? Clearly Zara didn’t, not that she needed to. She had a sleek, streamlined figure, almost like a catwalk model but with bigger tits. Perky tits that I reckoned would fit in my palms just right.
I twirled my fork in the pasta and imagined myself in bed with her. Kissing her, making love, fucking, whatever the hell it was she wanted. I could imagine her taste, rich and spiced, like dark, bitter chocolate melting o
n my tongue. There was nothing sweet about Zara. She was the opposite to Helen, who’d been demure, a little shy and had tasted of sun-warmed strawberries and sugary treats.
Helen had liked to make love with the lights way down low. She’d been a bit bashful of me seeing her naked. She didn’t completely oppose it, just avoided it. I’d never really understood why. She had a cracking body, soft and curved, and it had fitted so well with mine. It was a damn shame her dream job happened to be in South Africa. Sure, she’d asked me to pack up and head halfway around the world with her, but that was never going to happen. Partridge and Partners was my baby, and Partridge and Partners was in London. There had been no decision to make, and she’d known that in her heart of hearts.
We’d said goodbye. There had been tears.
Soon I’d have to say goodbye to Zara too. It was becoming a bit of a damn habit.
I munched on my spaghetti, then swallowed, took a sip of water. I’d decided not to go for the Scotch. My heart had been fluttering since the coffee shop, and I didn’t think the alcohol would help. I should have remembered to take one of my tablets this morning, but with everything else swirling around my head I’d forgotten—again.
My mobile buzzed in my breast pocket and I retrieved it. I was expecting a call from a client who’d changed his mind about the direction of the staircase in the barn he was having converted. It wasn’t a call I wanted to have on the first lunch break I remembered taking this year.
My stomach clenched when I saw it wasn’t a client at all, but a text from Zara.
You’ve got me thinking about pasta. Cook for me tonight. I’ll come to yours at ten. What’s the address? X
Bloody cheek. Cook for me. What was I, her slave or something?
I lay the phone on the white linen tablecloth and stared at her words. Sharply written, I could hear her saying them, demanding to be obeyed.
My cock stirred.
What was it about her voice? The way she spoke? It was so authoritative. She oozed confidence, a confidence that came from being obeyed over and over.
