“You were actually being serious about not owning jeans?” Clemmie snorted. “I can’t really refuse now, can I? What’s the big hoo-ha?”
“A date.” I paused, sitting up on the sofa. “A date-type-thing.”
“Ah yes, one of those. What the heck is a date-type-thing?”
“Well,” I began, “it’s one of those things you have when a colleague asks you to join him somewhere, but you can’t actually date because you’ll fuck up your work relationship.”
“Oh gosh. It’s Shares-Your-Desk, isn’t it?” she breathed, giddy and envious.
“His name is Matt.”
“So what will you do all evening? Sudoku?”
I cocked my head. “Possibly.”
“Ugh.” Bath water splashed in the background. “Are you sure you didn’t misinterpret when he said to keep it casual? Perhaps he was just talking about sex?”
I laughed. “He meant the dress code. It’s a rugby fundraiser.”
“Perhaps you could just have sex with him anyway, and then tell me about it?”
Baha. Well–
“Clothes, Clem. Can we concentrate on those?”
“If you insist.” I could practically hear her pouting. “Raising money for rugby, or rugby teams raising money for charity? Because that will have bearing on what you wear.”
“Really?”
“Anything to do with charity ramps it way up in the style stakes. Rugby, on the other hand, means they’ll be pleased if you just have your own teeth.”
“Erm.” I swallowed. “Can I just come and raid your wardrobe a bit later? I need the clothes for tomorrow.”
“I’m a bit tight for time–I think James wants us to play tennis.”
“You’re going to dump me to play with big yellow balls?”
“Oh, okay.” She sighed. “If it means that much to you.”
“Slutface.”
“Frigid bitch.” She giggled, sloshing water about again.
“I know,” I tutted. “I don’t know what he sees in me.”
Chapter 6
Joseph constructed Thursday’s activities just to be mean to me. He sent me through to the “real” solicitors in his department to peer over their shoulders and make feigned noises of interest. They were the people I could be working with in just a few weeks, after all. Algie Bach spent the best part of the afternoon trying to explain some weird nuance of acquisition law to me. I did much nodding and humming and wondering if he was gay–he kept checking out Matt’s ass every time he came through to use the library.
Not that I blamed him; Matt had beautifully cut trousers.
Would I get a chance to unzip them later that evening? I knew I wasn’t allowed, but still, the thought gave me something to concentrate on. Matt swanned by every half an hour, that knowing little smile playing on his lips...mean tease.
The two sides of me–my two jobs–had always been separated, by difference in hours if nothing else. Now, the two mingled as if someone had sliced right through the skin. I liked being wounded like this. I liked the risk and the pain of being tugged in so many directions, the fragility of it all.
I was a house of cards, waiting to be blown.
* * * *
I talked Algie into letting me leave work early by pointing out how little he had done all afternoon, except waffle at me. I had three glorious hours to prepare for my not-date and learn how rugby worked.
Okay. I didn’t give a flying toss about rugby. See what I did there? No? Gah.
Clemmie had loaned me clothes for what she called postmodern Sloaning: an invisibly tailored denim skirt that skimmed my thighs, and a fitted cardigan from Gap.
“Are you sure about this?” I’d asked, twisting in front of her Laura Ashley mirror. “Legs and cleavage?”
She had waved a hand dismissively. “You’re wearing flats, chickadee. Your legs don’t count.”
“I look like a seventeen-year-old going to the cinema.”
Clemmie snorted. “Be thankful you can pass for seventeen!”
I stood at the corner, waiting for Matt in the cool breeze of the evening and slowly submerging myself in the panic that he wouldn’t turn up. When he finally appeared on the horizon, I went dizzy with relief.
He squinted at me in the melting sun. “You look different.”
“I straightened my hair,” I said dryly.
He grinned. “You look normal.”
“You look like it’s fresher’s week,” I retorted, gesturing to his jeans and rugby shirt. “Are you going to treat me to a tacky alcopop or two?”
“Pfft. That’s only for the classy ladies.” He nodded in the opposite direction. “Shall we?”
We fell into step with each other.
“So what will we be doing tonight, exactly?” I said. “Have you brought me to sell as a slave?”
“You’re awfully preoccupied with being bought, aren’t you?”
I paused. “I suppose I am.”
“But you don’t do that anymore.”
“No. It’s force of habit.” I shrugged. “And I never did see it as a bad thing.”
“If our brief encounter was anything to go by, I can believe that.” He seemed to wonder what to do with his hands for a moment before shoving them in his pockets. “But in other news…tonight is a bit like a village fair. Stalls and raffles and bad home-made cakes.”
“You said there’d be a buffet.”
“There will! It’s just made of butterfly cupcakes and ginger loaf.”
“You know your cake.” I giggled. “I like that.”
“Over-zealous stepmother.”
“But still…cake. Yum.”
We arrived at the rugby club to a car park packed with Brownies and Scouts. Wind-tickled bunting danced overhead and awful nineties dance music spilled from a loudspeaker. As we weaved our way into the stuffed hall, Matt’s hand melted against the small of my back as he steered. I wanted to stop just for the inevitable collision of our bodies.
“Do you want a drink?” His voice was husky as he hovered behind me.
I nodded.
He disappeared toward the bar and I rifled through an old Garfield annual on the book stall. I will always have an affinity with anyone so adoring of lasagne.
Matt returned a few moments later with two paper cups of Coke and ice, and a trio of gangly men behind him.
“We’ve come to meet Matthew’s girlfriend,” said the stocky blond one, flashing a grin at me.
Matt turned a shocking shade of raspberry as he handed me a cup. “Don’t listen to them, Leila. They’re filth.”
“Oh?” I cocked an eyebrow, smiling. “Is that the name of your team?”
The one with the shaved head laughed. “The Filth. I like it.”
“Leila,” Matt said, rolling his eyes, “this is Greg, Johnny and Eton.”
The one with the designer stubble winced. “My name isn’t actually Eton–”
“He’s a public school twat.” Greg elbowed his friend. “Besides, his real name is too embarrassing. We wouldn’t want to be associated with him.”
“But now I want to know!” I protested.
“No, really. It is embarrassing.” Eton nodded in defeat.
Matt touched the small of my back again. “I’ll tell you later.” The last word was punctuated with a conspiratorial wink.
We wandered around the hall for a while, pushing the ice round our cups with bendy straws. Behind us, Matt’s friends sniggered between themselves, and his embarrassment amused me. Maybe the skirt was a bad idea after all.
I bought a plateful of lush baked goods and we found a quiet corner with a sofa.
“Do you know when cake tastes especially good? When it’s in the name of charity,” I declared. “Which charity is this for, again?”
“The club.” He gestured about with a brownie. “They have a lot of youth teams…as you can see.”
I nodded. “So. This wedding. I was going to book the train for–”
“I’ll drive.”
I
frowned. “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind sorting the train or the hotel–”
“We don’t need a hotel. We can stay at my place.”
“You have a place down there?
“My dad’s cottage.”
“Oh…your farm.” I smiled. “Seriously, I don’t mind paying for a hotel. It’d be–”
“Ridiculously awkward, considering that we aren’t together.”
I chewed my bottom lip, deflated. “Are you done finishing my sentences?”
He balled a napkin in his fist. “Sorry. I just…I was going home this weekend anyway, and I’d like to show you where I’m from.”
I could have quite happily punched him. One moment he said he liked me, and the next, behaved like we were begrudgingly handcuffed together. Which one did he really think it was?
“Thank you.” I set the plate down beside us on the floor. I wasn’t in the mood for any more sugar. Besides, they had no flapjack. Travesty.
“Do I need to bring a suit?” he asked. “As well as the sequined codpiece, obviously.”
“Yes and yes.” I tried to laugh, but it wasn’t quite happening. “Remember a suitably homosexual tie.”
“And what would one of those look like?”
“Floral, usually.”
He frowned.
“Don’t tell me you don’t own one,” I teased.
“Oh, I do. I’m just wondering what else in my wardrobe is classed as gay.”
His blunt words burrowed in at the nape of my neck, and...ugh. Thank God for a curtain of straight, shiny hair to hide behind. I didn’t know why I took what he said so personally, why I cared about the way he had said we aren’t together.
Greg and Eton appeared at our sides.
“Time for your forfeit, Matthew,” said Greg with glee.
“Forfeit?” I asked.
Matt clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I may have lost a wager or two.”
“And?”
“The Brownies are going to pay to pelt him with water balloons,” Eton chuckled. “Everyone is, actually.”
“You kept that one quiet.”
“I also appear to have forgotten my change of clothes,” he groaned.
Greg nudged me. “I think I’d forget too, coming out with you,” he said coyly.
I toyed with the undone buttons on my cardigan, trying to think of an appropriately un-slutty response. Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“Leave her alone, you tosser.” Eton tugged him away. “She’s going to be mortified enough walking home with swamp-tastic.”
“Seriously,” Greg went on as he was dragged away, “if you and Matthew ever have a tiff, I am your willing shoulder!”
“Ignore him.” Matt got to his feet. “Are you coming to bask in my humiliation?”
“I haven’t had a better offer all evening.”
He pulled me up by the hand, making sure I landed a safe distance away. We binned the leftover cake and headed over to the aptly-dubbed Soak a Solicitor corner.
I lingered at the edge of the burgeoning crowd as his friends sat him in the middle of a large paddling pool and decked the wall behind in rubber sheeting. A stack of flaccid, brightly coloured water balloons sat in crates at the side. Already, Johnny ushered children with cheeky grins into a jagged queue.
“Roll up, roll up!” he yelled, stretching out his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Mr Matthew Gordon awaits your best shot. He’s currently working in tax law,” he added, summoning wry laughter from the adults.
Matt held up his hands in surrender and the first balloon burst on his shoulder with a wet smack. His friends made the loud, manly croons of sympathy that one normally hears at a sports match.
I edged back to let more spectators through.
“Leila?”
A familiar voice.
I spun on my lack-of-heel and half of me plunged into heat.
“Charlie.” My mouth went dry. I gestured idly to his armful of children’s coats. “What are you doing here?”
“My wife’s boys play here,” he said, trying very hard not to smile at me. “I could ask the same of you.”
I pointed to an already soaked Matt. “I work with him.”
“Oh, I see.” He tugged me to the edge of the hall by the sleeve. “Are you with him?”
“No.” Why did it feel dishonest, saying that? It was the truth. I didn’t know where to look, Charlie’s crinkle-cornered eyes, those familiarly broad shoulders, square hands. I knew every inch of this man and felt like the world could see it.
I had loved every inch of him too, but he had never known.
“You look lovely.” His breath rushed over my ear.
“So do you…I mean…well. You know.”
“I know, Leila.” His voice was so delightfully deep, so close…it awoke a thousand memories.
Spring. Pale green light poured through the window at the back of his Range Rover. My dress bunched around my waist and Charlie lay naked, sweat welding him to the upholstery. I writhed slowly in his lap, luxuriating in the stretch of him, gasping loaded words into his hair.
“You’ll be finishing your training soon,” Charlie said. “Still with Bach and Dagier?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I like it there. They challenge me.”
“So they should. They’d be idiots not to take you on.”
“They are.” I nodded. Wanted him to be proud of me. “Taking me on, that is.”
“Congratulations.” He leaned in again. “Good girl.”
I laid on the hotel bed, school skirt hitched up to show him how I wore nothing underneath. Charlie trailed his tongue up the inside of my thigh and spread my inner lips with his fingers so he could lick me. He brought me to orgasm like his hands and mouth had been crafted for it, then ordered me onto my hands and knees. With his cock slick from the glue of me, he entered my ass for the first time. I gripped the pillows, squealing, begging him to go slow. It hurt so intensely but I loved it; I’d never been pulled so tight on him. A few minutes later and I urged him on–faster, rougher…
“Thank you,” I whispered. “What are you doing now? I…I’ve often wondered.”
“Exactly the same as I did before. I’m just a well behaved husband in a bigger, shittier city.” He chuckled.
A loud cheer erupted as someone caught Matt right in the face. I bit my knuckles in sympathy for him. He was already soaked.
“Well behaved, hmm?” I made wide eyes at Charlie.
“I had long enough to play, angel.”
I lay naked in his lap, my back arched and ass pushed upward. The best part of Charlie’s fist was stuffed into my pussy. There was a whoosh of cold air as he brought his other hand down in a sharp spank. The heat of the slap blossomed in my red cheek and spread to my stretched lips, my puckered clit and quivering thighs.
“Have you had enough, little one?” he asked.
His fingers curved inside me.
I cried out.
“Not yet. More, please…”
Someone tugged my hand, and I snapped back into the room. I shrieked when I realized that it was Greg, dragging me toward the paddling pool.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re a solicitor too, apparently!” he announced. “Look what we have here, heh!”
I glanced helplessly at Charlie, who shook his head in amusement. The crowd swallowed me up and spat me out at the front, and Matt grinned pure filth as Johnny and Greg manhandled me into the soggy pool.
“You don’t understand,” I cried, “these aren’t even my clothes–”
The first balloon burst against my thigh, soaking half my skirt. I screamed like a girl–which I was, fortunately. I made a dash for the side and then Matt tackled me in true rugby style, his sodden clothes sticking to me.
“Oh no, you don’t!” He laughed, pinning me down.
Amid the cheers, a blubbery curtain of balloons fell upon us. Greg and Eton were hurling them along with the kids. Arses.
“Cool them of
f!” Johnny ordered, and the arsenal continued.
I was sorely tempted to abuse my position beneath Matt and give him that punch, but instead I found myself laughing and shivering, my face pressed into his shoulder. It could have been worse–at least my cardigan wasn’t white.
Still, the way the wet knit clung to me left little to the imagination, and judging by the bulge in his jeans, Matt had noticed. My stiff, cold nipples poked through the thin wool–hardly good, clean family fun, eh? I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Johnny yelled, “let’s thank Matthew and Leila for being such good sports!”
Another cheer shook the rafters and a final balloon smacked Matt on the back of the head. I grinned like my face had split when I saw, over his shoulder, that Charlie had thrown it. Two small boys bounced and laughed at his sides. It warmed me, seeing him so...content.
“Are you bastards going to just stand there, or get us some towels?” Matt shouted.
“Matthew, there are children!” Greg said in mock disapproval, his arms full of towels and clothing. “Look, I found you some old kit. It’s sized for kids. It’ll be especially amusing.”
Matt glared at him as he helped me out of the pool.
We dripped and squelched down a corridor, and into a small changing room. Greg threw the bundle at us, winked and closed the door. It made a rather unsavoury locking sound.
“He thinks he’s being funny,” Matt groaned. He gestured to my sodden form. “I won’t look, I promise.”
I glanced down at my still-obvious nipples and flushed slightly. “Nothing you haven’t seen already.”
He peeled off his shirt and wrung it out over the sink. “At least I had the foresight to take my shoes off.” He smirked.
“I didn’t know I was about to be thrown head-first into the ring! You didn’t plan that, did you?”
“I dunno. Is wanking over the prospect the same as planning?”
“Matt!” I whipped at his leg with a towel and he jumped away. “You’re a huge head fuck, do you know that?”
“Oh?” He rubbed his wet mop of hair with a towel. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
I tipped the water out of my shoes. “I don’t understand why you even asked me here.”
He stepped out of his jeans. His boxer shorts were relatively dry, damn it. “I told you why. I wanted to show you that I can be just as good. Better.”
Breaking Leila Page 9
