Authors: Jade West
“Better?” I sneered.
She nodded, eyes watery.
“There’s so much more to come, Faye. So much more…”
I dropped the crop and used my palm to deliver heavy, thudding slaps across her tits. I twisted her nipples until she yelped, then took them into my mouth, biting and sucking and slurping until she begged for more. Fuck, how I loved hurting those sweet tits, marking them up so fucking pretty. I ground my fingers into her hungry snatch and she bucked at the contact, desperate to grind that tender little nub to orgasm.
“Please, Andy,” she wheezed. “Make me come.”
I slapped her cunt so hard she gritted her teeth. “You’ll come when I say so.”
“Bastard,” she said.
Two fingers slid inside her easily, so I opened her up with a third and she grunted. I snaked my free hand around her thigh to seek out her dirty little asshole, then worked a finger in dry. She let out low groan of pain. “I’ll fucking remember that,” she hissed.
“You’ll remember
this
more,” I said, and her body stiffened as I forced in another two. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it this way,” I snarled. “Your pussy well and truly fucking betrays you.”
“Fuck…” she wheezed. “Fuck, Andy, that fucking hurts…”
My fingers were brutal, stretching both holes nice and wide as she groaned and bucked and hissed at me. “Good girl,” I said. “Fucking take it.”
She brought her arms down from the wall, hooking them around my neck to rest on my shoulders, and with that leverage she pulled me closer, until her mouth was pressed to mine and her tongue was at my lips. I kissed her hard, muffling her squeal as I jammed a fourth finger into her pussy.
“Fuck me,” she groaned into my mouth. “Please, Andy, just fuck me.”
Her body made such delicious noises as I pulled my fingers out. I spun her around and pinned her hard, making her groan as her sweet bruised tits slapped the wall. I loosened my trousers enough to free my cock, and slammed into her sopping cunt with a growl of relief. I reached around to strum at her swollen clit, and my other hand found her mouth, forcing dirty fingers down her throat until she gagged.
“Come for me,” I snarled. “Come for me with my filthy fingers down your throat. Show me how dirty you are, Faye, show me the girl from those disgusting fucking books.”
She exploded under my fingers, legs shaking like jelly as she spluttered against the intrusion in her mouth. I held her firm, unloading myself into her hot little snatch as she tensed all around me.
I kept her pinned as we caught our breath, only letting go when I was sure she was steady enough.
Her hair was a mess, and her lipstick was even worse, but she looked hot as fucking sin.
I left her to dress herself while I finished up in the office, and she’d only just laced up her corset by the time I’d got back.
I tossed my keys from one hand to another, casually, as though I hadn’t just fucked her brains out five minutes earlier.
“Fancy a lift?” I asked. “Car’s round the back.”
***
Faye
Andy had a Mercedes, a new acquisition. It smelled of leather, and polish, and him. It also smelled of sex once we’d been sitting in it a few minutes. I relaxed into the passenger seat and watched dawn breaking over London, the rumble of the engine all but sending me to sleep.
“Up here, right? West Street?” Andy took the corner before I could stop him, and swinging onto the road I’d abandoned three days previous.
“Not anymore, sorry,” I said. “I should’ve let you know sooner. I’m in Kings Court, you can cut back around at the top, it’s only a couple of streets over. Kings Lodge Guesthouse, there’s a sign out front.”
He shot me a look before swinging the car around. “Why the move?”
“The bed was too soft,” I lied. “Couldn’t get on with it.”
“Couldn’t they have moved you to another room?”
“Fully booked.”
“I see. I trust this one’s better?”
“Much.” I shot him a false smile and he seemed to buy it.
He pulled up outside the guesthouse, and I unclipped my seat belt.
“If you’re about to sink into the whole
that was a mistake
bullshit, you should give it a rest before you start,” I said.
He twisted in his seat to face me. “Sorry?”
“I’m saying, don’t you dare think of pussying out on me before it’s my week.”
“I don’t pussy out of anything, Faye,” he snapped. “And I wasn’t about to sink into any
that was a mistake
bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”
“I fucking say so.” He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and my stomach lurched at the memory of them inside my asshole. “Look, Faye, I don’t see the point in maintaining some bullshit pretence that it’s not going to happen again. It
will
happen again. It’ll probably all end in tears and a business relationship that’s more fucked up than the fucked up one we have already, but it’s going to happen again regardless. Why pretend it’s not?”
“I’m not pretending, I thought you were.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.”
“Fine,” I said, making my move out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m absolutely totally fucked, in more ways than tiredness, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be fucking late,” he said.
I gave him the finger before I turned away.
I flicked on the kettle and ran my poor feet a very, very hot bath before calling it a night, and only pulled out my phone at the very last minute to check my alarm was set for the morning.
I shouldn’t have looked for the message icon, should have just pretended it didn’t exist.
But there
was
a message icon, and it was blinking right at me.
1 new: Vincent
Shit.
I opened it with a sigh, confident it would just be another like all the others, with the same load of
fly back to me, my love
crap he’d been spouting of late.
But that wasn’t what the message said at all. Not even close.
I stared at it for long seconds before I pressed delete, turning it over in my head like it could have some alternative meaning.
It couldn’t. It was quite simple.
If my Pretty Bird won’t fly home to roost, the roost will fly to her. I’m London-bound, sweet Magpie. I’ll be seeing you very soon.
Oh fuck.
***
Faye
“It pains my heart when my beautiful magpie looks so sad.”
Vincent’s voice brings me back to the room, even though my eyes stay fixed on the mountains in the distance. Afternoon sunlight pours through the studio window, warm against my naked back. It’s the very definition of perfect, this place, nestled into the side of the Prealps, with this beautiful, creative, tempestuous man.
But he’s right. I am sad.
He rises from his chair, and I breathe a sigh at the inevitable. I turn away as the bed dips under his weight, holding off the moment when I have to meet his eyes. His fingers tickle the inside of my thighs.
“Speak with me, pretty bird, tell me of your sadness.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie.
Strong hands pull at my waist until I roll to face him. “Are you not happy here, Magpie?”
“Of course I am,” I protest. And I mean it; even though it’s been less than twelve months with a man like Vincent and I’m already breaking. His quest to explore the seedy depths of human experience knows no boundaries, and I’m simply a moth fluttering in the flame of his perverse indulgences, fragile and erratic.
“Then, what is it, pretty bird?” He grips my chin. “A good girl never keeps secrets from her master.”
I pull his hand from my face. “I’m just tired. Must we entertain again tonight?”
His scowl confirms his disappointment and my heart races.
“Our guests travel a long way, Magpie. They travel so far for the pleasure of our company, and you wish to send them away without courtesy?”
“No,” I say. “It just feels as though it’s never just us anymore.”
“It’s always just us,” he smiles. “Even when there are others, Magpie, it is always just us in my heart.”
A flash of anger in my stomach, and it rises too quickly for me to subdue it. “It’s not always just us in your
bed,
though, is it? You never love just me anymore, Vincent. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to share.”
“We have spoken of this many times,” he says. “Must we speak of it again?” Strong hands squeeze my breasts, and his touch has me moaning before I can control myself. “Jealousy is natural and beautiful, pretty bird. I love the way you hurt for me. I love the way your soul longs to possess mine. I too feel the burn inside as I watch you with another. It is a good burn, sweet girl, it makes us alive. You must learn to embrace it.”
“Yes,” I say, and I don’t even know why I’m agreeing.
“Our love is special, Magpie. It is pure and free. It is wild, like the wind on the mountains. We cannot put it in a cage. Our love would grow stale and indulgent. We would grow tired.”
“I just want you to love me above the others in the crowd, Vincent. Master. Is that too much to ask? Does that make me a bad person? A weak person?”
“No,” he sighs. “It makes you even more beautiful.”
I shudder as his fingers slide down my belly, spreading my legs in invitation. “I want you,” I breathe. “Only you.”
He’s turning me insane and I know it, I can feel it. This streak of crazy is burrowing deep, twisting me up inside.
“And I want you,” he says. “I want all of you, Magpie. I want your beautiful soul.”
“Yes…” His fingers spread me.
“I want you to break for me, pretty bird, in every way possible. I love you enough to push you beyond your limits, and it is there that you will come to know your own soul. You will find salvation in the darkness with me, my beautiful girl. You will find all you need with me. You must trust me. You must trust me enough to let me take you to that place.”
His thumb finds my clit. “Yes, Master. Yes…”
“Tonight I shall love you, Magpie, above the others in the crowd.”
My eyes widen. “Really? You will?”
He smiles. “I will show Cynthia and Richard how much I love my sweet bird, but first you must prove to them how much you love me. You do want to prove that to them, don’t you, Magpie? You will do this for me?”
“How?” I ask. “How can I prove that?”
He pulls his fingers from between my legs and presses them to my lips. “Enough questions,” he says. “You will see.”
His gaze has already left mine. He’s staring down at the driveway as Cynthia’s car pulls up.
I can’t stand Cynthia or Richard, although I try not to admit that to myself and certainly not to him.
“Showtime,” he says.
I only wish I wanted it as much as he does.
***
Andy
“You don’t seem all that excited, nor that optimistic. The odds are in your favour, Faye, third time lucky.” I flipped the coin between my fingers, admiring the figures who’d decide our fate for the next seven days.
Faye remained perched on the edge of her desk with her eyes on her feet. More crazy heels, more blisters no doubt. Why she insisted on wearing such ridiculous footwear for a shift behind bar was beyond me. Yet they all did it. The pull of fashion clearly knows no boundaries.
She’d been quiet these past few days, doing all the shit I set out for her without even a hint of backchat. She was efficient but distant, and I had to admit I wasn’t entirely a fan of this new Faye demeanour. Maybe common sense was giving her the battering it should have been giving me, and she was out to shove this
thing
we were dallying with back under the carpet, where it should have stayed. Maybe she wanted back to Italy. Maybe she wanted back to
him
.
And maybe I should stop wondering what the fuck Faye fucking Devere wanted.
I offered her the coin. “You can toss.”
“I tossed last time.”
“And I’m saying you can toss again. Throw, before I change my mind.”
She pulled her eyes up to mine, but there was none of the usual Faye exuberance there to greet me. “Toss, Andy. It’s fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
She was staring back at her shoes before I’d even thrown it. It landed in my palm, man on top. My week. My
third
week.
The disappointment took me aback. A definite pang of regret, even though the idea was both curious and absurd.
“Am I back on bar, then?” she asked, seemingly resigned to another week of general labour.
“It would appear not.” In a heartbeat I’d flipped the coin in my palm, shocking myself as I held it up for her to see. “Third time lucky.”
The victory seemed to rouse her. A sly smile swept across her lips, and her back straightened, shoulders high. “I win?”
I handed her the evidence, woman on top. “Yes, you win.”
She examined the figures on the coin. “You’re not going to backtrack are you? This is my week, Andy, I mean it. Fair’s fair.”
“No, Faye, I’m not going to
backtrack
. It’s only seven days, don’t get ahead of yourself.”
She got to her feet, arms folded, and it took just that one sorry moment for me to register the error of my ways. “I’ll be taking your desk,” she said. “You have all the important shit over there.”
“What
important shit
do I have that you will need access to in these seven poxy days, Faye?”
She pulled her chair over to my station and plonked herself down, staring unapologetically at the financials screen in front of me.
“That’s what I’m about to find out,” she said. “I want you to walk me through me every single thing you do for this club, Andy. Starting right now.”
Faye was like a fucking dog with a fucking bone, dipping into this and fucking that, poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Financials, suppliers, membership procedures, marketing. She wanted the low down on the whole pissing lot of it, as if it would have ever been that simple.
“Three years,” I snapped. “You’re expecting me to walk you through three years of management. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Faye, and you aren’t going to waltz in here and take on my role in seven poxy days.”
“I’m not expecting you to walk me through three years of management, Andy, I’m expecting you to help me understand exactly what goes on around this place.”
“And what exactly about this place is it you wish to understand?”
She sighed. “Don’t make this impossible. I won the coin toss, I get my week.”
“And this week I’ll start walking you through the financials.” I opened the profit and loss spreadsheet and she slammed her hands on the desk before I’d even started.
“I’ve already got this information and you know it,” she snapped. “Show me something new.”
“Just because you’ve already got this information doesn’t mean you understand it. Tell me how we display bottle versus draft revenue and what impact that has on our stock lines. Tell me where we record additional membership revenue for one-off events.”
Her face was the very picture of exasperation, and I fought the urge to pull the little bitch over my knee and slap some humility into her. “Fine, show me the profit and loss spreadsheet, and then show me all the other reports you’ve already palmed me off with, and all the others you’ll use to stall because they don’t mean shit,” she hissed. “But tomorrow we
will
be looking at marketing, and you
will
be telling me what I want to know whether you like it or not.”
We simmered and we festered and we managed to somehow trawl our way through a whole day of my show and tell puppeteering, but by the close of play on Sunday evening, I had no intention of rolling over and letting her bulldoze through my marketing strategy.
I kicked off my shoes as soon as I was back through my own doorway, grabbed a triple of vintage bourbon and flicked on the TV I hadn’t used in months. My pulsed raced as I considered the unthinkable, but I did it regardless; cancelling every one of my morning alarm calls.
Time to take an impromptu duvet day. I’d fucking earned one.
***
I called Topaz on her mobile, smiling to myself at the surprise in her voice as she registered who was calling. I imagined her still in bed, green hair splayed out on her pillow like a bird’s nest as she groped for her handset. To say she wasn’t a morning person would be an understatement. The girl sounded half fucking dead.
“I’m not coming in today,” I said. “You can tell Faye when you see her.”
“Not in?! You mean, not at all?”
“Just tell her,” I snapped. “And don’t be late.”
I’m such a fucking cunt sometimes.
I kicked back on the sofa, flicking through TV channels in horror as I came face to face with the dregs of daytime TV. I lasted through all of twenty minutes before I had twitchy feet, mind racing through the stacked up to-do list at the office. I imagined Faye’s pouty, self-entitled face to keep me glued to my seat, and it worked well enough. My mobile was on the coffee table in clear view, ready for the stream of text messages and calls when she realised she didn’t know shit about running our club. Only they didn’t pissing well come. I didn’t hear a single peep out of her.
She’d always been stubborn; stubborn and highly strung. An explosive and unpredictable combination.
Faye Devere had always been a maelstrom of enthusiasm to my calm. She was creative and flamboyant, with her head too high in the clouds for her own bloody good, but her ideas, more often than not, were spot on. She thought big and I thought real, and somehow between us we’d find that sweet spot, where shit got done and it got done well. It was Faye who’d set her heart on the Explicit venue in the first place, way beyond the scope of my initial investment. Faye who’d convinced me to dig fucking deep and take a chance on it, on
us.
Explicit was her grand vision, brought to life by my bullish determination to make a fucking go of it. We’d gone in big,
I’d
gone in big, and it had paid off.
And then she thanked me by pissing off into the sunset without so much as a goodbye.
I wasn’t going into that fucking office, not even if I had to tie myself to the coffee table and watch a whole fucking day of soul-destroying TV.
Just as well I had Vincent cunting Blackmore’s shitty novel to keep me occupied.
Topaz’s expression was one of both fear and relief as I strolled through the bar at just gone seven that evening. She was perched on a stool with her earplugs in, fingers only slightly more covered in glitter and glue than the bar top beneath them.
“You’re back!” she said, her cheeks flushing.
“Clearly,” I muttered. I leaned over her shoulder, trying to work out what in the name of hell she was actually doing.
“Faye’s idea,” she said. “Explicit gaming cards, for truth or dare night.”
“Truth or dare night?” I pulled a face. “And when exactly is this truth or dare night supposed to be happening?”
She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I’m just getting them ready.”