by Lucy Wild
A cold wind picked up, as if to emphasise how hard my life was about to become. I pushed open the door to the pub, stepping back into the warmth.
A quick glance round told me the man hadn’t come back. I approached the bar, feeling his wallet weighing me down, like the chains of a convict. The bartender watched me cross the floor, his eyes narrowing. “Another Merlot?” he asked, his voice cold. I could hear loud and clear what lurked between the words.
You don’t belong here.
He was right. I didn’t belong here. All I was going to do was hand over the wallet and get the hell out of there. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. As I did so, I heard a cough behind me.
A finger tapped me on the shoulder. With a sense of absolute certainty that I was about to be arrested, I slowly turned round, the wallet in my outstretched hand, a spluttering apology already forming on my lips.
But it wasn’t the police. It was him, the man I’d stolen it from.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, taking the wallet from my hand, his fingers brushing over my wrist as he did so. I shuddered at his touch. What the hell? Why had I reacted like that?
My mouth fell open but no words came out. He stepped round me and turned to the bartender. “Two glasses of the 2009 Château Margaux.”
The bartender nodded as the man turned back to me. “You like red.”
It was a statement, not a question. I tried to reply but I still couldn’t get any words out. A smile flickered across his lips as he opened his wallet and slipped out three twenty pound notes. “Here,” he said, holding them out towards me. “A reward.”
I managed a half frown, saying in a bare croak,” What for?” as I tried to shake the feeling this was a terrible distraction while he waited for the police to arrive.
“For finding my wallet,” he said, pressing the notes into my hand, folding my fingers over them, his hand lingering over mine for the briefest of seconds. “I think you’ll like the 2009, a good year for Margaux.”
He slid one glass towards me before taking the other and lifting it into the air. “To good wine and good Samaritans.”
THREE
ETHAN
The latest one was waiting for me in the pub. The one the agency assured me would be “perfect for my needs,” as if they hadn’t said that so many times before.
I put on my most realistic smile, altered my body language to a warm, outgoing happy-go-lucky man who just wanted to have some fun.
It was a fucked up thing to do, really. I was going to take a woman who had done nothing wrong, and turn her into a submissive so dependent on me that after a week was up, she would be unable to function. I never said I was a good person.
I had high hopes it would work this time. But then, I’d thought that each time before. It was kind of fun dominating and possessing women but it wasn’t enough to achieve my goal. I wanted to break someone like Emilia had broken me.
Most of them gave up before I even brought out the cane, yelling out the safe word and leaving me to count up the days wasted as they ran out of the door.
They came to me, eager to begin, thinking it was just a way of earning some easy money from an eccentric guy with more cash than taste. It wasn’t anything like that. It was the hardest way imaginable to earn anything. I controlled everything about them, every aspect of their lives. They didn’t get to make a single decision.
The only nod to normality that I made was letting them have a safe word. I had to. If I was to break them, it wasn’t enough that they obeyed me out of fear. They had to obey me out of desire. That was where the true bond would begin, where they would rely on me, lean on me, depend on me. Like I’d done on her.
But one time after another, I had barely begun and the safe word was yelled. It was over. The fear was too much. The pain was too much. Reality was too much. They couldn’t handle it.
I was beginning to wonder if anyone could handle me, my needs, my goal.
It wasn’t going to be Stephanie, my latest interviewee. I could tell that from the moment she started talking. She was too eager, too happy to be doing this, telling me all about the BDSM clubs she went to, the things she did there. She was vanilla through and through, expecting me to be shocked by the idea of her being spanked.
I was polite though, telling her I’d be in touch. I wouldn’t. I could have fucked her for the hell of it but the time when that would have brought me pleasure was long gone. All I wanted was to get this over with. But even as I was trying to get away from her, my eye was caught by someone else, someone who stood out.
She was alone, her shoulders were slumped. She looked as if she’d already been defeated by the world. She also looked beautiful, even in those clothes that she had clearly chosen to try and hide her body.
I knew the type well. A couple of years ago she was nothing and then her hips had swelled, her chest had grown, and instead of embracing adulthood, she’d tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, not wanting people like me looking at her with hunger in our eyes.
No make up on her face, unlike Stephanie. She didn’t need it. There was an innocence to her skin, a youthful glow, even as her eyes seemed older than mine, tired, half closing as she passed my table and sat down opposite.
She kept glancing my way. That wasn’t surprising. I knew the effect I had on women, innocent or not.
When I finally managed to get away from Stephanie, I thought about approaching her there and then but Stephanie was still looking at me from the other door.
I headed outside instead, walking down the street, leaving my car where it was. I’d circle round and then go back in. Then I could get her alone and talk to her, see if she might be interested in a little proposition.
I thought about how she might look locked up in my house, her little body naked, ready for me to use. The thought turned me round and got me walking back to the pub. Then I saw her on the street, heading straight towards me.
She looked scared, like she was being chased. I ducked into a shop doorway and let her pass by. She stopped to drop a coin into a charity collection tin before continuing on. I followed her until she stopped again.
She muttered something to herself, shaking her head as she spun round and headed directly towards me again. If she lifted her head, she’d see me but as she walked forwards, she turned and looked behind her, giving me chance to duck into another shop.
I hovered inside for a moment, looking out as she approached.
“Can I help?” a man’s voice said behind me.
“I’ll take this,” I said, snatching up a cushion from the shelf next to me, carrying it over to the till as I realised I appeared to be inside a shop that sold nothing but cushions. That was a thing, apparently. A cushion shop.
“An excellent choice,” the man behind the counter said, grinning broadly. “Seven fifty please, Sir.”
I reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet and came up empty. I frowned, tapping my other pockets. “Of course,” I said, turning and heading for the door.
That was why she’d looked so stressed. She’d stolen my wallet. How had she done it though? I hadn’t even seen her move from her seat.
She was good, I had to give her that. But I had the upper hand now as she didn’t know I was following her.
“Sir, your cushion?” the man called after me but I was already heading out, glancing down the street and seeing her in the distance. I marched after her, catching up just as she vanished back into the pub, no doubt going in for some more easy pickings. How had she done it without me realising? I was obviously concentrating so hard on getting away from Stephanie that I hadn’t noticed what she was up to.
She was at the bar by the time I reached her. I coughed politely and tapped her on the shoulder. She spun round and looked at me with panic in her eyes as I saw my wallet in her hand.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, taking it from her, feeling her skin under my fingertips. It felt soft and cold like she needed warming up.
She looke
d terrified of me and I had to keep my glee under control. For what I had planned, she would be absolutely perfect.
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LUCY WILD
Lucy Wild is a contemporary romance author. She lives on the Yorkshire coast with her partner and their border collie in a house full of books, sweets and more books.
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