Breaking Leila (8 page)

“You’re acting
like a jealous lover.”

“I
 
am
 
a
jealous lover! I can’t believe you came over to offer me his
fucking leftovers. What does it take to get you to see me as
anything other than second rate? Should I beg?”

I squared my
shoulders. Where did all of this come from, and when did these
obligations settle in the dust of our hotel fuck? “Do you think you
need to?”

He said
nothing.

“You’re not
second rate,” I said. “The way he treats me...I’m not stupid enough
to think that I’m anything other than a toy.”

“You would like
to be otherwise.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Right? “Me and Joseph, we don’t...we’ve got
nothing in common besides the obvious.” I brushed my fingers
against his arm to see if he would push me away. He eyed me
suspiciously, but tolerated my caress anyway. “I
like
 
you
.”

I meant it. I
was as surprised as him.

“You’ve got an
awfully convoluted way of showing it.”

The little
smile made my lips ache. “I’m aware of that.”

He peeled my
hand from his arm. “I can’t do it, Leila. Not while I know you’re
still...for him.”

“But after the
jobs are done?”

“I don’t
know.”

“Would you at
least consider being friends again, then?” Failing twice in one
night–a new record. Ugh.

“I guess it
would make things easier at work,” he said.

“Thank you. If
you decide to, I mean.” I gathered up my coat and bag. “I’ll do you
that courtesy.”

A mocking
silence seeped in as we walked to the door. This was the only
little death I’d get tonight–Matt and I.

“I’m sorry,” I
said.

“I know you
are.” He chewed his bottom lip. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not your
fault.”

He shook his
head. “I shouldn’t have tried to complicate things between us.
Or...well. It was unfair of me.”

“At least it
was honest.” I considered kissing him on the cheek, but thought
better of it. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Do you need me
to call you a cab?”

“No, I’m only
‘round the corner.” The jacket slithered over my arms. “Thanks
anyway.”

He’d barely
closed the door when Toby erupted.

“Holy shit! She’s a
 
prostitute
? No wonder she looked so pissed when I opened the door with
a twenty!”

Charlotte
wagged a finger at him and laughed like she’d swallowed a wasp.

Chapter 4

There was a
reason I’d suffered that split down the middle, and his name was
Charlie Flemming.

He was
forty-two. I was seventeen. I did work experience at his law firm
and got a lot more than a mouthful of meandering Latin. I had my
first proper boyfriend at the time, but it never mattered. Never
felt wrong. Years passed before I realized why.

Like the
silhouette in my dreams, first I blurred at the edges. Then my
seams bulged and I peeled apart. Whether Charlotte stirred to life
in Charlie’s palms, whether she waited all along as a savant twin,
I’m not sure, but what I do know is that by the time Charlie
married and our years of trysts came to an end, she was waiting.
She was hungry.

She was going
to eat me alive.

So I kept the
distance between us and the pattern began to form: two of
everything. For law, I had whoring. For the girl who longed for a
nice boy to rescue me from Charlotte’s war, there was one who came
alive for the man who thrust me straight back into it. Men are
mocked as slaves to their hormones. It’s no laughing matter, trust
me.

The problem
with being split was that it was exhausting. And impossible. People
didn’t react well to it. Women assumed me two-faced, and yet it was
never that simple; men, when they left the hotel room, no longer
wanted to share. In fact most of them weren’t that keen to begin
with.

Two sides to
me, then–the flesh and the carnivore. One of them, it seemed, I
would have to put to bed.

* * * *

“I’m coming
back,” I slurred down the phone.

“Leila, it’s
two in the morning. I was in bed,” William groaned.

“Oh, fuck off,
Will. It’s still business hours for you.” I paused to gulp more
wine. “Anyway. I want my job back.”

“I thought you
didn’t need me anymore, hmm? What’s changed?”

“Men are
bastards.” I sniffed.

“Nobody likes a potty-mouthed whore. Not
 
that
 
kind of potty mouth,
anyway.”

I fell back on
to the sofa cushions, wincing. “So…am I hired again?”

“No.”

“Why not?” I
whined.

“Because you’re
drunk, which isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

“I told you–men
are bastards. All of them. Even you, because you won’t bloody hire
me back!”

He stifled a
laugh. “Leila, you warm an old man’s heart.”

“You’re thirty-nine, you pansy.
 
Please
, Will. I had such an awful night. I want to go back to
screwing strangers with questionable amounts of money.”

“You really did
get a boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“No.
 
No
.”

“Oh?”

“They hired me.
 
Guys from my
office
 
hired
me,” I howled.

“Oh.” William
went silent for a moment. “That’s…unfortunate.”

“How did this
happen? I said no lawyers. No accountants and no lawyers!”

“They must have
lied,” he said sheepishly.

“Of course they
lied. They’re bastards.” Another gulp of wine. “It’s all a big
mess.”

“Are they being
twats? Because I can put them on the black list if they’re being
twats.”

“No. Quite
reasonable as far as it goes–for, y’know, bastards,” I said, “but
it’s still a big mess.”

“That’s
generally what happens when you shit on your own doorstep.” There
was the unmistakable gush of a toilet.

“Jesus, Will.
You couldn’t have waited?”

“Don’t lecture
me about self-restraint.” Water hissed as it spewed into a sink, no
doubt. “Shall I blacklist them anyway, to make you feel
better?”

“No…Well.
Actually–go on then.”

“You text me
their names in the morning and consider it done. I’m going back to
bed.”

“You weren’t
seriously in bed?” I said, incredulous.

“I had a
mouthful of cock, but it was still bed.”

Snort. Baha.
“At least one of us is getting some.”

“No thanks to
you! I’m sorry about those guys–we fucked up, I know. Now, sober
yourself up and call me in the morning. If you still want to come
back, we’ll talk about it. But I doubt you will.”

Three voices
beckoned in my mind. Bed was one, wine was another. Then there was
the internet and the shiny new credit card that languished in my
purse.

Clickety click.
 
Who knew drunken shopping
could be so much fun?

* * * *

I awoke on the sofa to the chime of a text message. The clock
on my phone read
 
12:41pm
. The text read:

Thanx 4 the
flowers. Always did like roses. Send them when my mates aren’t here
nxt time? M x

Jesus,
Charlotte. Lay off the wine.

* * * *

Most people
keep their knives in the kitchen. Mine were sheathed in my email
inbox.

Between the
work reminders, messages from old friends and Viagra spam, nestled
hoards of old mail from Charlie: five years’ worth of photographs,
links, and hotel booking receipts. A legacy made in pixels and
breath poured over the screen–my own personal pornography. On long
afternoons like this, I splayed the blades and pricked my
fingertips until the blood drew sticky sighs.

Like all the best seductions, it was achingly slow. Though
handsome for his age, I doubt he attracted many teenaged girls–his
eyes crinkled when he smiled, his hair was flecked with grey. There
was just something arousing about how he was
always
 
right
.

His
inappropriate flirting became a joke between us. I loved having
that kind of rapport with someone who was not only much older–a
grown up!–but a master in the field I loved. As I typed his notes,
he would stand over me and peer into my shirt, take guesses at the
colour of my bra. I always made sure I wore something new.

Often, I
fantasized about not wearing one at all.

Did I realize
how questionable his behaviour was? Yes. Did I mind? A little bit.
Did I want him to stop? God, no.

The first time
it happened, I had only been there for a few months. Charlie made
excellent excuses and took me with him on a networking dinner.
Every gesture he made ended with his fingers brushing my bare
thigh. Before long, he ventured up and outright fondled. I had
never been so grateful for a flowing white tablecloth.

In the cab, he
asked if I minded stopping by the office to pick up some paperwork.
I felt nauseous with pleasure at the prospect. The building was
dark and deserted and he didn’t bother to switch on the lights;
street lamps lit the rooms in milky shadows. I stood at his desk
while he rifled through the filing cabinet.

When he came up
behind me and put his hands on my hips, I froze.

“I hope I’m not
being too forward,” he whispered.

“No.” I
swallowed as one hand slid up to my chest.

He cupped a
breast, weighed it, rolled my nipple through my clothes. “Do you
like it when I touch you like this?”

I nodded, inhaling sharply.
 
Yes, yes,
yesss
–the erection that prodded my
buttocks had turned me into a parselmouth. Huh.

His other hand
prodded my thighs from the back. I opened them slightly, holding my
breath–I knew what approached and I had been waiting for it for
weeks, months even. As he shoved my damp knickers aside and parted
me there, I leaned to grip the top of the chair. He laughed as I
pushed my pussy into his hand, easing his thumb inside me, and I
tightened on him with a little moan.

“Leila…are you
a virgin?” The hope was evident in his voice–I didn’t dare to
disappoint.

“Yes.” I pushed
myself further onto his thumb.

He scraped past
my g-spot with frustrating slowness. “Mmm…”

I was sort of a virgin. I’d never done
 
this
 
before.

“But you seem
to be a girl who knows what she wants,” he went on, moving his
thumb for me now. “Do you want me to stretch you out, little girl?
You’re soaking wet.”

“Please.
Please.” The words made me dizzy.

His fingers
found my clit then, swollen and bruised to the touch. I cried out
as he made little circles over it, teasing it from beneath its
hood. I’d never been touched with such confidence or precision, and
gushed for the first time, slathered his palm.

“You’re a noisy
girl.” His clothed cock twitched against the cheeks of my ass. “I
wish all the staff were in to hear you moaning for me. You’re going
to get a sharp shock when I break you in. Do you understand
that?”

I ground harder
against his hand. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mr
Flemming.”

“That’s
better.”

He kept
stroking in that even rhythm, my whole pelvis tightening with every
thrust of his thumb. Each time my muscles tugged downward, I
slipped further into throbbing, achy bliss. I sighed breathlessly,
turned on even more by my own sounds. The cab honked outside in
annoyance, but neither of us cared.

I must have
stood there, violated so beautifully, for a good ten minutes before
my orgasm stirred. Back then, I didn’t much recognize the signs,
but I twisted my hips so my clit met his fingers harder, and the
buttery walls of my pussy gripped and released him in snares.

When a hot flush seared me from top to bottom, I knew it was
coming.
 
He
 
knew. He went faster, deeper, his other hand squeezing my
breast under my dress.

“Oh God, oh
God,” I cried between breaths. “I’m–I’m going to…”

He panted
against the back of my neck as I tipped over the edge. Split on the
blade. The dark office rushed up inside me, but got forced back out
at the same time. The orgasm devoured my insides until they cramped
and ached–like toothache–pain, but I was sweeter for it.

Charlie turned
me, still breathless and trembling, to face him in the dim light.
“Are you okay?”

I wrapped my
arms around him, mewed into his chest. He nuzzled my cheek, and
tipped my chin so he could finally claim my mouth. The kiss was
slow and teasing, and I smiled like an idiot as he broke away.

“I’ve never
done that with a man,” I confessed.

“I hope I
haven’t spoiled you for the rest of them.” He grinned.

“Oh.” I leaned in to smell his neck, and Charlotte yelped,
frayed at the edges by musk and spices and mellowed body heat “I
hope you
 
have
.”

He kissed me
again, releasing my hips to unbuckle his belt. When he drew my
hands down I filled my palms with his cock, so hot and thick as it
stood against his belly.

“What do you
think?” He swallowed. “Will I fit inside you?”

“I don’t
know…but I want you to try.”

“While you’re
still so wet,” he murmured, arching his back as I squeezed him,
“and so relaxed. Take that dress off for me.”