Dirty Bad Secrets (19 page)

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.

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?”

***

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.

“Whoa,” she said. “What’s this?”

“What does it look like?”

She dug her heels in, just enough that her pretty tits bounced. “We’re doing this?”

I yanked her forwards. “Apparently so.”

She slammed into my body, and her arms folded around my neck. Her lips were smiling as they met mine, and my hands were all over her, coming to rest against her face as I walked us backwards towards my bed. She broke off the kiss with a filthy giggle, then did a twirl, taking in the room.

“Nice,” she said. “Very… masculine.”

I shrugged. “If you say so.”

I followed her eyes as they wandered. Grey walls, with deep charcoal drapes, tasteful without fuss. My beside cabinets were more cluttered than I’d have liked, too much insight for Faye’s greedy, inquisitive mind. Business cards, and a pile of old photos, keys and business notes. She soaked it in and turned her attention to the bed. It was considerably bigger than hers, a tumble of heavy white bedding that I’d vacated in a hurry. My dressing gown was in a crumpled heap at the foot, not that I ever used the thing. Not before I had a guest in the house. Needs must. Only now there were no needs, we’d well and truly crossed that fucking line. She nodded her head as the full scale of the mirrored wardrobes became apparent.

“I see…”

“You
will
see, that’s the point.”

“Call him Mr Vain.”

“Call him Mr
likes to see who he’s fucking from any angle he chooses
.” I was bluffing. They’d been installed post Faye departing for Italy, post the wane of my appetite for random submissive pussy, but she didn’t need to know that. I unhooked a selection of shirts I’d put up for ironing, casting them aside to free the entire scope of the mirrors, then I watched her reflection and Faye watched me watching her. She dipped her head, looking up through mischievous eyes, and her posture shifted, heavy on one hip, the curve of her waist accentuated and beautiful. She ran a hand down the slope of her body as I watched, brushing over her hip to the toned flesh of her thighs, and then up again, dipping her fingers between her legs. I swallowed. “Well well, Faye. Here we are.”

“Chapter one,” she whispered.

“Chapter one.” I positioned myself on the foot of the bed, sitting comfortably, with my feet firmly on the floor and my cock firmly in my hand. “Come here,” I beckoned her towards me. “On my lap.”

“Is that an order?”

“You could see it that way.”

She tilted her head and there was that mischief again, always pushing it. “I thought we left the coin toss in the club?”

“This isn’t about the coin toss,” I said. “It’s about you doing what you’re bloody told. You
want
to do what you’re told, Faye, cut the bullshit. Just get on my fucking lap and stop your whining.”

She laughed. “Ever the charmer.”

“Ever the realist.”

For once she did as she was told. Her eyes were glued to her reflection as she backed up towards me. She was stunning in the lamplight, her skin glowing in soft amber, the shadows of her body so fucking tempting. She sat down and wriggled, my cock hard against her ass, then made to shift herself to take me, but I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her in position.

“Patience,” I said. “This is chapter fucking one, Faye, we haven’t even started.”

“What, then?” she whispered, and she was aching to be dominated, I could feel it in every horny ripple of her body. “What are you going to do to me?”

One of my hands moved up to her throat, and I watched her eyes in the mirror as they fluttered and closed. She yielded to the pressure, resting her head back against my shoulder without fight. I spread her legs with my other hand, hooking her knees over mine, the heat of her thighs burning mine. I cupped the gorgeous mound of her pussy, slipping my fingers between her rings. There was a whole fucking story there, I just knew it.

“You pissed me off today,” I growled. “Blabbing away with that loose tongue of yours, you want to keep your pretty mouth closed, Faye, or I’ll have to make sure it’s filled with something to my taste.”

“You piss me off
every
day,” she hissed.

“Is that so?”

She nodded, but she was squirming. I felt her swallow, her soft throat so delicate against my palm. “Punish me,” she whispered. “Not for the coin toss, just because you want to.”

I teased her clit with my fingers, just the slightest touch. “Hands on your thighs, don’t you dare move them.”

She did as she was told, and took a deep breath, resting her cheek against mine.

“Fucking hell, Faye, you’re perfect like this. Why can’t you be like this more often?”

My question was rhetorical, and there wouldn’t have been opportunity to respond if she’d wanted to. I landed my palm hard, right between her legs, and how delicious her pussy felt, so soft and so fucking vulnerable. She jerked but didn’t fight it, and subtly shifted, opening herself wider.

“Yes…” she breathed. “Hurt me there…I want it…”

“That makes two of us.” I landed another, cupping her after the sting, and massaging her soft pussy lips until she relaxed. “Isn’t it nice to be on the same fucking page for once?”

Her eyes opened and fixed on mine in the mirror. It was a beautiful moment, exquisite and charged and insane. I slapped her again, hard, over and over again, keeping a steady rhythm until her fingers were clenched around her thighs. She began to jerk, and her face showed her pain, the softest moans escaping her mouth. I tipped her face to mine, landed a kiss on her open mouth as my palm struck, and my cock pulsed as I felt her moan.

I pushed two fingers inside her, and she shuddered, her body rippling as the endorphins flooded.

“How does it feel?”

“Good…” she whispered. “It feels nice… it burns…”

I worked my fingers inside her until I felt her body relax, and then I withdrew them and resumed her punishment. The slap of palm against wet pussy was the stuff of fucking dreams. She was horny, and every smack sent her reeling, wriggling, twitching against me.

“Look at your sweet cunt, Faye, see how beautiful it is.”

Her pussy was pink and swollen, tender and vulnerable. “More,” she hissed. “Fuck, Andy, hurt me some more…”

“Good girl.” I pressed my lips to her temple. “I want you to watch this. I want you to see everything.”

She nodded and her eyes were wide but glazed, fixed on my hand as I rubbed her hard little clit. She braced herself, her back arched against my chest. “Hit me,” she said. “Hit me, Andy, just fucking hit me.”

I unleashed it all, every frustration at her smart fucking tongue, all the humiliation at her crazy little games, and then there was more, so much more. Her dismissive emails, months of nothing but
thanks, Andy, kiss kiss kiss
as I waited for her to come home. Come home to our fucking club, come home to me. Fuck, how I punished her pussy, and she took it, she took all of it. Her breath turned ragged, and her thighs started shaking, but she took it. My palm was tingling, and her cunt was hot and sore, beautifully pink, and flushed from the pain.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God, it hurts.”

I spread her lips, pinching her clit and rolling it between my fingers. “You’re so wet, Faye, you dirty little bitch.”

“Please…” she said, and I don’t think she even knew what she was asking for.

When I slapped her again she yelped and lurched forwards, holding her breath as I eased her back. My hand pressed to her throat. “Stay still.”

She nodded, but lurched again as the next landed, circling her hips until the pain subsided. I slapped her until she squealed and closed her thighs, only to kiss her neck until she opened back up for me. Over and over and fucking over, and my cock was straining to let go against her ass and my own breath was raw and raspy. I slapped her pretty tits, and my breath caught at the sight. The mirror was a wonder, a beautiful fucking wonder. It captured everything, every dirty little fucking thing. I pulled at her nipples until she screwed her eyes shut, and I slapped those beautiful tits until they were marked with my handprints. I wanted to mark her, I wanted me on her, I wanted her body tainted with mine, branded permanently with my own dirty fucking need for this reckless, frivolous, delicate fucking creature.

And that’s when I knew. The fucking rings. Of course I knew, I’d known it all the time.

“He put those rings there, didn’t he?”

Her eyes flew open, her breathing ragged. “I … I don’t want to talk about it.”

I twisted her nipple. “Come on, Faye, just say it.”

“No,” she hissed, and I slapped her pussy until tears sprung.

“I’ve had enough of these dirty fucking secrets.”

“Like you haven’t got any of your own,” she breathed. “I know you have secrets, Andy. You’re no better than me.”

She was right, of course. So right that the room was charged with it. I reverted to my questioning without so much as a flinch.

“Did you
want
him to do it? Did you
ask
him to pierce your dirty little cunt, Faye? Did you
beg
him for it?”

She tensed as if I’d put a current through her, but I didn’t let her go. I was a lot stronger than her, and I held her tight to me, my fingers already working their way inside her.

“I didn’t beg,” she rasped. “I cried.”

“Because it hurt? It must have fucking hurt.”

“Because I was scared…”

Her words slapped me, and some dark fucking monster uncurled in my gut. My body softened, my grip on her loosening as I sought out her clit and played nice. “It’s ok,” I said. “Relax. It’s alright, Faye, just relax.”

She did relax, slowly, pressing herself back against me, temple to temple. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine in the mirror, they were hooded and low, her breath short as my fingers worked her clit.

“It was his idea,” she said. “He wanted it.”

“Did
you
want it?”

The softest shrug. “I wanted what he wanted.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. He always got what he wanted, that’s how it worked.”

“That’s not how it should have worked, Faye.”

She smiled, and it was bitter. “You can talk.”

“I’ve still got your teeth marks on my ass,” I said. “I think I
can
talk, actually.”

She breathed, then moaned as I picked up the pace around her clit. “I didn’t like his friends. Two of them, they were always around. Cynthia and Richard. Cynthia was an evil fucking bitch.”

“Go on…” I encouraged.

“It was Vincent’s idea but Cynthia pushed it. Said she’d done a piercing course, had all the stuff.”

“Had she?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

“And you let her?”

“I let
him
.” She lolled her head back, squirming her hips. “I’m scared of needles. Like really scared.”

“He knew that?”

“He knew. That’s why it was such a big deal. That’s why she pushed it so hard.”

I wrapped my arm around her, across her breasts. “Tell me.”

“They were drunk on Prosecco, so was I. Cynthia brought out the piercing kit, the needles and the rings, and I freaked out like a baby. It wasn’t my finest hour, Andy. It was embarrassing.”

I battled the rage, focussed on her soft, sweet pussy against my fingers. “What happened?”

“They called me a baby, of course. Laughed at me. Vincent told me to stop disobeying, gave me all the
give yourself to me, pretty bird, be my beautiful magpie
shit.”

“And you did?”

“I cried, and I lay down after they talked me into it for ages on end, then freaked out and started shaking. But good old Cynthia had it covered. She took my wrists, sat on them, told me to stop being a spoiled little brat.”