The Nature of Cruelty (29 page)

“Again,” I breathe.

His eyes darken at my request as he gives my nipple another gentle bite. Air gushes from my mouth quickly, my chest rising and falling as my arousal builds.

Robert pushes my skirt up around my hips and spreads my legs wider. I hear fabric tearing and realise he’s ripped the side of my knickers and pulled them off me. My eyes drift down to see him stuff the material inside his pocket. Then he draws back in the chair, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as he looks his fill.

He bites on his lip as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over my clit. My entire body shudders at the contact. The next thing I know, he’s growling and his mouth is on me. Inside, my body is rejoicing. It had been wanting more of this ever since the first time he did it. It’s the most delicious sensation I’ve ever experienced to have his tongue dancing circles around the most intimate part of me.

I grip his hair, pulling his mouth in harder against me. His answering chuckle vibrates through my sex, giving me that sharp, tingling feeling that I’m going to come soon. His hand spreads out over the lower part of my belly possessively. He pushes into my flesh right there, somehow knowing that it will make me feel the approaching orgasm more deeply.

His dark eyes pierce me, never leaving my face as he licks back and forth.

“I need…” I pant. “I need more.”

Suddenly he’s swirling his tongue in hard circles against my clit, and I’m gripping his shoulders tight. I let out a soft cry of pleasure as I come shakily on his mouth.

“Ah, look at you,” he says in awe, his eyes sparkling as he takes me in. He caresses my breast, and that elicits a soft moan from my lips. “Do you know how much I want to fuck you right now?”

“Do you know how much I want to be fucked?” I ask back lazily, my current aroused state making me speak more freely than I would otherwise.

He lets his head fall to my inner thigh with a groan. “That has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. If it wasn’t your first time, I’d have been inside you ten minutes ago.”

“You make me forget myself, Robert,” I say, looking down at him seriously. “It feels dangerous.”

He rubs my knee. “The danger is what makes it worthwhile, beautiful.”

“What if I can’t afford the luxury of danger?”

“You can afford the luxury with me,” he replies, his expression fierce.

He sits back and grabs a box of tissues from Alistair’s desk. I suddenly become aware of what I just did in my boss’s office in the middle of a shift, and feel both thrilled and ashamed. I sit silently as Robert goes about cleaning us both up.

“You seem pensive,” he comments, pulling my skirt down for me.

“I’m just thinking,” I mumble, running my hands through my hair.

“I’m sorry about your knickers. I got a bit carried away,” he chuckles, toying with the lace inside his pocket.

“That’s okay. I’ve only got an hour and a half left of my shift, so hopefully no one will notice my knickerlessness,” I joke.

He purses his lips and laces his fingers through mine. “I’ve taken the rest of the day off work. Why don’t you join me?”

I shake my head. “There’s no point. I’m almost done. I’ll just meet you back at the house.”

He smiles like he just thought of something good. “All right, then. It’s a date.”

Leaning forward, he kisses me softly on the mouth and guides me off the desk. He fixes everything back in place so that Alistair won’t be able to tell anything untoward went on in his office. After Robert leaves the restaurant I feel extra self-conscious, thinking everyone probably knows what I just did. They don’t, of course, but I can’t help being paranoid. Once I’m done, I take the Tube home. When I get there, I find Robert in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. The back door is open, and I can see that he’s laid the table under the gazebo in preparation for a meal.

“What are you up to?” I ask with a grin.

“Making you dinner, and then we’re going out.”

“Going out where?”

He nods to a flyer sitting on the countertop. It’s for an open-mic night at a bar in the city centre.

“Oh, no way. I told you I wasn’t ready. And even if I was ready, you wouldn’t be coming with me.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he says teasingly. “You’re doing this tonight, whether you like it or not.”

I’m about to protest further when his phone starts ringing. He pulls it from his pocket.

“Hello?”

There’s silence, but I can hear someone talking loudly on the other end. They seem pissed off in the extreme, and after another few seconds I recognise the voice as Alan’s.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not having that. It was a fucking joke, Dad. It’s not my fault the man has no sense of humour.”

More shouting down the line.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Robert hisses, his jaw screwed up tight. He hits the “end” button while his dad is still talking. Then he throws the phone down on the counter and turns back to stir a pot of sauce heating over the stove.

“He’s not going to be happy you hung up on him,” I say to Robert’s back.

“He’s already not happy,” he replies in a low voice that makes my stomach flip, all queasy. I’ve heard Robert angry before, but not like this. “He says he’s taking a percentage of the potential money we lost on the contract out of my salary.”

“But that’s ridiculous. It’s not like the contract was set in stone, even without you making that joke.”

“Tell that to my dad. He’s not really known for being reasonable.” He stops stirring the sauce to slam his hands down on the counter. “What really pisses me off is that I earn every penny I make at that job. It’s not like he’s being charitable by giving me work. I actually do a lot of good for his company.”

I walk over and place a hand on his shoulder, and then I kiss the back of his neck, featherlight. He shudders. “Maybe Sasha’s not the only one who needs to look for a new job,” I whisper.

He turns around, and his eyes cut into me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I raise my hands. “Hey, calm down. I just think that working with a family member can be hard because it’s professional and personal all at the same time. If you didn’t work with your dad, you wouldn’t have to deal with the personal side.”

His eyes flick back and forth between mine, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence drags on until it becomes unbearable, so I break it by saying, “Look, let’s try to forget about everything that happened today, eh? Maybe I will sing at that open-mic night after all. I need to overcome my fears at some stage, and there’s no time like the present.”

Robert nods and returns to his cooking.

“I’m going to go take a shower, and then I’ll be back down so we can eat.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he replies, but he seems less warm than usual.

After taking my medicine, I spend a long time in the shower, washing off the day’s grime. When I get out, I style my hair in a French plait and put on a cream vintage dress with navy polka dots and a thin black cardigan, alongside a pair of navy ballet flats. Downstairs, I find Robert dishing up the dinner he made for us, which consists of duck confit with red wine jus, liquidised carrots, and caramelised parsnips.

Somebody definitely knows how to cook.

He’s still acting all silent and broody, and no matter how affectionate I try to be with him, it doesn’t work to change his mood. Once I’m done eating, I sit back in my chair, close my eyes, and soak up the last of the day’s sun. I’ve given up on trying to cheer Robert at this point and am just content to relax.

A few minutes later I hear him say, “Your hair looks pretty like that.”

I think the compliment is a roundabout way of him apologising for being unpleasant.

Opening my eyes, I glance over at him. “Thanks.”

“Do you want dessert?” he asks.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I made lemon sorbet.”

“Did you, now? Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.” I smile crookedly.

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip and rises to go fetch the dessert. When he returns, we eat in a less tension-filled silence than before, but it’s still not the flirtatious warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. Before we leave, we wash up the dishes together and then go to get our things. I still can’t believe I actually said I’d sing tonight just to cheer Robert up. Not only that, but it didn’t really cheer him up as much as I’d hoped anyway.

I grab a satchel bag and stick my wooden box and drumstick inside. They’re a crutch, but I won’t be able to sing without them. I also have a CD with the backing tracks to some of my favourite songs prepared especially for this momentous occasion. If Sasha knew about it, she’d tell me I’m a sad case – and she’d be right.

I walk into Robert’s room just in time to see him hanging his camera strap around his neck.

“You’re bringing your camera along?” I ask curiously.

He glances at me, nodding. “I’m in a picture-taking sort of mood.”

I wonder what kind of pictures he plans on taking.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the stairs. “I want to get out of here for a while. I’ve been ignoring my dad’s calls, and I’ve a feeling he’s going to show up so that he can berate me face to face. He’s been sending text messages saying I’m empty-headed and all I care about is my looks and trying to be a funny fucker.”

I gape at him. “He actually said that?”

“Yes. Very good parenting to insinuate your son’s a stupid, vain twat.”

Inside my head I feel guilty for a moment, because I used to have similar thoughts about Robert myself.

“Does it upset you that he said that?”

“Of course it does,” he exclaims, running his hand down his face. “All I’ve ever wanted was for him to be proud of me, but the only thing that ever impresses him is when I act exactly like him,
or
if I make him a shitload of money at work.”

I pull him into a brief hug. “You’re none of the things he thinks you are,” I whisper.

He grips me tight. “I know,” he whispers back, lips touching softly off my hair before letting me go.

It’s a warm evening as we walk toward the Tube station, hand in hand. It feels like the sun is fighting its hardest to stay up. One of my favourite things about summer is how it doesn’t get dark until really late. Sort of like you’re getting an extra bit of daytime thrown in free of charge.

Robert’s hand falls loose from mine, and I turn to find him holding his camera up and taking pictures of the ground. Confused at first, I look down to see that someone has smashed a glass bottle on the pavement, and it’s shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. The light of the sun shines through them and makes it look like the ground is glittering.

“Pretty,” I say, as I stand beside Robert to view the shots he’s taking. “But I thought you only liked to photograph bodies.”

He remains focused on his camera as he answers, “Bodies would be what you’d call my forte, but sometimes other things will catch my eye. I also like to take pictures of groups of people interacting. You can glean a lot from body language.”

“Hmm. That’s very deep.”

“Mum always used to say I think about things too much.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that about you.”

His finger pauses on the camera as he gives me an arch look.

I backtrack. “Not in a bad way. You just seem like the kind of person who does what they feel without thinking it through too much. In a good way. You’re not tied down by inhibitions.”

“Yeah, well,” he replies, his voice a touch sad, “sometimes people work really hard to portray a certain picture when in reality the opposite is true.”

I study him now, thinking to myself that there is so much more to Robert I still have to learn. We continue on to the Tube and get off at Piccadilly. The bar is only a short walk from there. I don’t expect there to be many people out on a Monday night, but the place is jam-packed. Then again, that’s London for you. It’s the kind of place that feels like it’s constantly in rush hour, and if you slow down too much, you’ll get trampled on.

“The sign-up table is over there,” says Robert. “Go put your name down while I get us a drink.”

“Okay, just an orange juice for me.”

He gives me a brief nod and then walks away. God, there’s really no breaking his mood tonight. A young woman up on the stage is playing the piano and singing a ballad. When I’d imagined going to an open-mic night, I’d pictured some rock club full of kooky characters, but this place caters more to business workers having a drink after a long day of go-getting. I swallow hard, feeling my throat run slightly dry.

With shaking hands I manage to force myself through writing my name down on the piece of paper at the sign-up table. It costs ten pounds to take part, and I grudgingly hand over the money. What has the world come to when you have to pay to do something that could be potentially humiliating?

After being told that there are four performers ahead of me, I give the sound guy my CD, telling him to put it on track six. I spot Robert sitting in a booth a little away from the stage. He’s sipping on a glass of scotch, his eyes wandering disinterestedly about the room. The piano lady, dressed in black heels and a dark red, contoured dress, sings about love in the most generic way possible. My nerves build as I become more and more aware that this so isn’t the audience for me. People mostly talk over her, and when she’s done they give her a shitty, half-hearted round of applause.

“I’m not sure about this,” I say to Robert, sipping from my orange juice and then biting anxiously at my fingernails.

He manages to drag himself out of his dark humour long enough to squeeze my hand and tell me, “It’s the lead-up that’s the worst part. Once you’re doing it, you’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “And will you please quit brooding about your dad? It’s not going to do you any good.”

“I’ll try,” he answers, breathing out a sigh and tracing his index finger in lazy circles over my thigh.

Suddenly, an idea springs into my head. I know the exact song to sing that will cheer Robert up. It’s one of my favourites, and even when I hated him I still used to think of him whenever I listened to it, however ironic that might have been.