Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Faye

I was too shocked to object. In truth, of all the probabilities for that particular day with that particular man, I’d have said the likelihood of being in his passenger seat, speeding through the night with my suitcase in the back, was slim to nil. I didn’t quite know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t forthcoming with conversation, either.

The streets grew quiet as we left the heart of the city, and soon we were pulling up in a parking space outside an apartment block on the edge of Hammersmith. He took my case, and I followed without comment, trailing meekly behind as he led the way through the main foyer. The building was plush but sparse, with just the occasional leafy plant marking the way as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. He unlocked the door and held it open for me, ever the perverted gentleman, and I stepped over the threshold with a tingle of anticipation.

I was pleasantly surprised when he flicked on the lights. A short hallway led through to an open plan living area. The ceilings were high, giving a sense of space and opulence, and the walls were decorated in a neutral cream. The kitchen was modern, all steel and granite with an island for extra space. He had few trinkets, with only a well-stocked fruit bowl jumping out for attention. The lounge section was dominated by a huge white leather corner suite, peppered with black scatter cushions. A glass and chrome coffee table bridged the distance between the seating and the wall-mounted TV, and a marble-topped dining table stood to the rear. I caught my breath as I spotted Vincent’s paperback placed face down on the top of it. The splay of the pages told me it was nearly finished.

Andy followed my eyes but didn’t comment.

“I’m surprised you’ve let me loose in your home,” I said. “Considering it’s my week. Who knows what I have in store for you.”

He smiled but shook his head. “Coin toss stays in the club.” His tone was non-negotiable. “The rules don’t apply here.”

“Convenient,” I smirked. Nerves were fluttering though my stomach, a whirlwind of tiny wings. “So, what now?”

“I show you to your room. You can make yourself at home,” he said. I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at the sleeping arrangements, even though I knew it was dumb as shit to consider anything else. He tracked back to the hallway, and opened a door to his right. “This is you.”

It was a nice room, airy and light with a comfortable-looking double. It had built-in wardrobes and a dressing table, but very little else.

“Lovely. Best room I’ve had since arriving.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He dropped my case at the side of the bed. “Bathroom is opposite, there are towels in the rack by the door. Tea and coffee in the kitchen, probably some bread for toast if you’re lucky. Do help yourself.”

“And where are you?” The words tumbled out unfiltered, but he didn’t break a sweat.

“Next door,” he said, tapping on the wall to illustrate. His room was the other side of the headboard, and I found myself wondering if his was a mirror image. His face would be just inches from mine through the wall. “Goodnight, Faye. Don’t be late up in the morning, or I’ll leave you in bed and give you hell for it when you get to work.”

“It’s my week,” I protested. “Don’t you be forgetting that.” I smiled to lighten the tone. “I’ll be up.”

“Good,” he said. “Sleep well.”

The bed was comfortable. Really comfortable. Crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows embraced me as their own, and I snuggled down with a sense of ease I’d been missing since Vincent’s text message. There’d been plenty more since, rambling declarations of love and devotion, the same old crap I’d been listening to for three fucking years, only these days it meant less. Maybe his magnetism was slipping. Maybe I really was getting over him.

Although I didn’t fancy seeing him to put that theory to the test.

The flush of the toilet sounded across the hallway, followed by the hiss of running water. I smiled at the idea of him wincing under the shower faucet as the water pummelled his bruises. The water eased off a few minutes later, and I imagined him towelling dry, crossing the hallway with just a low slung towel around his hips. Footsteps sounded across the floorboards, and his bedroom door clicked shut. I held my breath, listening hard for sounds of movement, and it sounded as though a wardrobe door creaked, but I could have been imagining it. My heart was racing way faster than it should be. I wanted to laugh at myself, laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, but it didn’t feel funny. Not at all.

I stayed awake for a long while, wondering if he was awake too, wondering if he was thinking about me, thinking about us, contemplating storming my bedroom and paying me back for his wounds. Maybe he’d tear off my nightdress and bite my ass until I bled for him. And then he’d fuck me, fuck me hard enough to hurt, and I’d grip his tender fucking ass and beg for more, beg him and squeeze his ridged fucking flesh until he punish-fucked me into next fucking week. I shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t want to complicate things any more than they already were, yet still I wondered, and waited, and played with my horny little clit until I was stifling my moans with his fluffy white pillow, over and over a-fucking-gain.

But still he didn’t come.

I fucking hate early risers, and Andy Morgan was one of them. Figures.

I was wrapped in a dressing gown with crazy hair, struggling even to remember my own name when he arrived through the front door in gym gear. I’d never seen him in gym clothes before, and it took me aback. He looked… different. Totally different. I couldn’t decide if I liked him better or worse outside of his suit. Naked, my clit answered. You like him best naked. His hair was still wet, which pointed to the fact he’d even bastard showered already. I pulled a face and flicked the kettle back on.

He held up a racket in explanation. “Squash,” he said.

“I’m surprised you know anyone dumb enough to want to play squash at this godforsaken hour.”

“James,” he said. “Or Masque, as you know him.”

Now that did surprise me. “How the fuck did you start playing squash with Masque? I didn’t even think you knew the guy.” A strange feeling of jealousy snaked around my stomach, and I couldn’t have actually told you who or what I was jealous about. It was totally bloody ridiculous.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“So it would seem.” My tone was sulkier than it should have been.

“We did a charity run a few months back, if you must know. That’s when we became properly acquainted.”

“A charity run? You and Masque?!” Fucking hell!

“Quite, but it’s not as obscure as it sounds,” he said. “We have a famous footballer on our books, Jason Redfern.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a total imbecile, Andy. I’m well aware we have Jason Redfern on our client list.”

“Good. Well, there was some big deal about him raising money for sick kids when he was last in the country. PR stunt, I’m sure, but Raven got all passionate about it and roped the lot of us in. Even me. She’s somewhat tenacious.”

“An Explicit fun run?” I laughed. “Did Masque wear his mask? I can’t imagine him taking the thing off.” The mystery of his actual face was crazily erotic. I fought back the need to ask Andy what the hell Masque really looked like.

“Not just an Explicit fun run, and no, Faye, he didn’t wear the bloody mask.” He made himself a coffee and topped mine up. “We ran neck and neck the whole route, got talking along the way. We play squash once a week as a result, it hardly makes it a fucking bromance.”

The idea of the two of them getting all sweaty and smashing a ball around was quite fucking hot. All ripped and grunting and competitive. I smiled as I sipped my coffee. “Who’s the better player?”

“It’s an even match.” His eyes met mine, and they were dark. “That’s why I like playing him.”

“Like hell,” I scoffed. “I know how much you like winning.”

“Only when it means something,” he said. “I’d rather lose to someone who can put up a fight than come top over someone who doesn’t challenge me.”

“I’m not so sure I believe that.”

“Believe what you want, Faye.” He leaned against the kitchen island only to recoil like a snake as his ass touched granite. “I got my arse kicked this morning thanks to your psycho vampire attack. I was limping around the court like a battered old cunt.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And you’re going to be late if you don’t get your fucking ass in gear.” He pulled the mug from my hands. “Shower. Now. You have five minutes.”

I couldn’t wait to get the bossy motherfucker in the office.

***

My parcel arrived, next-day delivery. All I needed was an excuse to use it.

It came close. Really fucking close, every fucking day, because that power-hungry sack of shit clashed heads with me at every single opportunity. Taking a secondary role in Explicit’s parenting did not come easy to Andy Morgan. It didn’t come easy at all.

He argued every single one of my suggestions, just because he could, and whined like a bitch every time I demanded any actual information from him. He had this annoying condescending tutting sound he made whenever he’d catch me on the phone, making it perfectly clear I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, but despite all of this, and the ever-present urge to slam a big fat dildo into his pretty-boy asshole, I was finding my feet.

The office atmosphere was strained and hours were long, meaning the time spent at his apartment was minimal. We’d retire to our separate bedrooms with a grunt of goodnight, but there were none of the trysts I rubbed my clit off to every fucking bedtime. Most of the time he was so annoying it was easy to convince myself I didn’t want him, but my pussy never let me believe that for long.

I wanted Andy Morgan alright, and I wanted him really fucking bad.

To chisel my return in stone, it was clear I needed to put my stamp back on Club Explicit in one way or another, and the solution was easy. Our main entrance stairwell was classy, but tired, suffering from far too many drunken elbows knocking the artwork. It was the perfect place to put the Faye’s back statement piece, and by mid-week I’d made my plans perfectly clear to Mr Know It All.

“No major refurbishments,” he hissed. “The rules were quite clear.”

“It’s not major,” I snapped. “It’s a bit of fucking paintwork.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “This isn’t your call. There’s no way you’ll get that artwork done by the time we toss next, so chill your fucking backside.”

But he was wrong.

Mistress Raven pulled the strings for me, and she must have pulled them bloody hard, because on Friday morning our resident Savage, known by day as Callum Jackson, the infamous London street artist, was well at work on my new mural. Andy nearly shit a fucking brick when he saw it, but even he couldn’t maintain his disapproval for long. Savage’s mural was a masterpiece, a blur of naked bodies lining the stairway, in various forms of play. They were in the throes of passion, armed with crops, and whips, and cuffs, and canes, and everything in between. It was incredible, and it brought tears to my eyes.

Savage didn’t want payment, and he didn’t even seem to want thanks.

At least that was one less thing for Andy to gripe over.

Saturday was the day it all reached a head, and it’d been a long week brewing. We’d been working closely, so closely that my knee was pressed against his, and his thigh was burning mine through my skirt. So closely that I could smell him, smell his aftershave, smell his gorgeously musky fucking skin. So closely that I could feel the heat from his sweet fucking flesh. So closely that the atmosphere was charged and heavy and ripe to fucking explode.

We wrapped up a load of website changes, and it became obvious he was aware of it too. The room was pounding with the beat of the bass on the main floor, punctuated by the occasional howl of pain. It seemed the whole fucking building was horny as fuck.

“What next?” he said, as I wheeled my chair back to my own desk. “Do you want to toss the coin early? If you’re a good loser, I’ll tongue your sweet little cunt before I tan your backside.”

His words were unexpected enough to make me shiver. He smirked as he noticed.

“Like that, is it?” I said. “What makes you so sure you’re going to win? And what makes you so sure I’d even want you to?”

“You want me to. I can practically smell your sopping wet snatch, Faye. Besides, you’d have no say in the matter.”

“My week’s not over yet, pretty boy. I’m still in charge, remember.”

My tone seemed to jolt him somehow. His back straightened in his seat, and his shoulders tipped back. He turned to face me, and his pupils were wide and glazed. And then it hit me. He was horny as sin. As horny as I was. Maybe even more than I was.

My leg brushed against the box of tricks under my desk. No, definitely not more horny than I was.

“What are you planning on doing with the rest of your week then, Faye?” he growled. “Do you want to call a truce? We could lock the office, maybe even bring one of the benches in from playroom four.”

“How’s your ass?” I said. “Still sore, pretty boy? What makes you think I want a truce?”

The corner of his delicious mouth turned up. “You’ll come to regret that little episode when I take charge.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You’re in a whole shit-storm of trouble, Faye. I’ve still got your fucking teeth marks on me. You’d better hope they fade soon, or you’ll be getting a set to match.”

I fucking hope so.

I reached into my collection of toys, grinning as I fished out two pairs of handcuffs. I tossed them over to him.

“Good girl,” he said. “I think I’ll have you on your back, cuff your legs nice and wide until you’re doing the fucking splits.”

“They’re not for me, prick.” I stalked over to him. “I want your wrists cuffed to your chair.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do, do you?”

“Yes, Andy. I do.”

He smiled as if to humour me and cuffed one of his wrists to the arm of his chair. He tested them, and they held firm. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” I said, and cuffed his other. “You think I’m fucking playing, don’t you? I’m not playing, Andy. You’ve been asking for this all fucking week. I’m sick of your backchat and constant griping over the smallest fucking thing. It’s going to stop.”

I pulled out a length of bondage rope and bound his ankles to the chair legs. My head was virtually in his crotch in that position, and his erection was unmissable. He had the fucking horn, alright.

He cursed as I pulled his tie loose, and cursed louder as I tore his shirt open and buttons flew.

“There’s no need for that,” he spat. “No need to be so fucking destructive.”

I ran my palms across his chest. “You’re a delicious piece of meat, you know? I’m going to enjoy showing you all the beautiful things I learned when I was gone.”

“I must have missed those pages in Vincent’s shitty novel.”

“You must have. It’s all in there. If you give yourself up to me, I’ll make you feel good, pretty boy, so fucking good.”

He met my eyes. “Watch it with that fucking bloodlust shit, Faye. Don’t do anything fucking crazy.”

“Relax,” I smiled. “We’re going to have so much fun. All of us.”

I turned my back to him, and heard him struggle in the cuffs. “All of us?! What the fuck do you mean all of us?! This isn’t funny, Faye, there isn’t going to be an all of us.”

I pulled out my favourite new toy. A Jennings’ dental gag, a stainless steel implement of filthy fucking beauty. “Open wide,” I said.

Andy actually flinched. He flinched, and I laughed. I really fucking laughed.

“I mean it, Faye,” he said. “Nothing fucking crazy. What do you mean by all of us?”

I wedged my fingers in his mouth, forcing them to the back of his throat until he retched, then used the motion to slip the gag inside before he had chance to stop me. I’d cranked it open in a heartbeat, and with the metal hooked behind his teeth he couldn’t shift it. He was stuck. I spread it wider, and wider still, enjoying the way his lips stretched. “You’re going to dribble like a big fucking baby,” I said, squelching my fingers to the back of his throat. I sucked them clean when I pulled them out, keeping my eyes hard on his. “It’s going to be fucking beautiful.”

He tried to speak, but his words were muffled grunts.

“I love you like this,” I hissed. “Just a bit wider, that’s a good boy.” I forced the gag open, as wide as it would go. His lips really were spread wide. I watched his throat move as he attempted to swallow, angling his chin as my eyes explored his mouth. I pinched his tongue between my fingers, grinning like a lunatic. “Perfect,” I said. “That’s fucking perfect.”

I fished around my handbag until I found what I was looking for. Scarlet vixen lip colour. Andy eyeballed me warily as I approached, but it wasn’t for his lips. I wrote in jagged letters, right the way across his chest and stomach.

Faye’s dirty slut.

“Beautiful.” I admired my handiwork. “Now we just wait.” His groans were delightful; gurgled, garbled threats that I happily ignored. I wheeled him across the room, abandoning him in the empty space, then pushed my own seat to his desk. I sat with my feet up, watching him. Soon enough the gag began to achieve the inevitable. His mouth was watering nicely, spit pooling quicker than he could swallow. It collected at the corners of his lips and spilled over, coating his chin with glorious fucking drool before it dripped its way down his chest. He’d be soaked before the evening was done, and long before I was. “Try not to fight it, pretty boy. Humiliation can feel beautiful, I promise. It can set you free.” I squeezed my tits through my blouse as he watched. “Oh fuck, Andy, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

He squirmed against his bonds, trying to free his teeth from the gag, but it was pointless.

I checked the time, smiling as the bass quieted. “Not long now,” I said. “It’s almost time.”

“You’re going to enjoy this more than you know,” I said, unbuttoning my blouse. I straddled his knees, my face in his as I lowered myself onto him. The handcuffs rattled as he tried to touch me, but the chains were too short. Again, he grunted, and again it came out as a muffled nothing and saliva dripped from his lips. I ran my fingers through his hair, only to grip tight and yank his ear towards my mouth.

“Listen,” I hissed. “I’m going to say this once, and I fucking mean it. I know you think you hate this, and I know you’ll think you’ll hate what’s coming, but even now your cock is fucking betraying you.” I rubbed against him to prove my point. “We need this, Andy. This is how we function, this is how we knock fucking heads and get through it. This is how we cope with the shit we give each other.” I traced my fingers over the letters on his stomach, and his eyes flamed with embarrassment. “I need this. And I need you to give it to me. Tonight you’re going to give it to me.”

Another growl, and he sounded so fucking angry.

“If you give me what I need, I promise I’ll fulfil my half of the deal. Your week, your way. I’ll do whatever you say, anything you want, anything you need. Anything,” I emphasised. “And I won’t even moan about it.” I pressed my lips to his throat. “Anything, Andy.” I pulled down my bra, and my nipples were tight. “You have no idea how horny this makes me,” I hissed. “I never thought I’d feel like this. I never thought I’d want this so badly.”

I forced his head forward and he groaned as a mouthful of drool spilled free. It dripped from his chin and splattered on my horny fucking tits. “Oh yes, Andy, that’s what I want. Give me more.” I rocked against him, riding him, my pussy pressing tight to his thighs. “More,” I groaned. I licked up the trail of spit from his chin, tracing my tongue around his sweet stretched lips. He closed his eyes, but he was giving in, I could feel his resolve breaking. “Kiss me,” I breathed. “Give me that wet fucking mouth.”

His tongue was hot and slick. I circled it with mine as I moaned my pleasure, sucking him into my mouth and savouring every fucking bit of it. I was out of control, I could feel it, something dark unfurling below consciousness and threatening to consume me whole, but it didn’t matter. This moment was all that mattered.

This beautiful moment.

“Will you let me play?” I asked, my mouth still slurping around his tongue.

He didn’t answer. Not even a grunt.

A knock at the door and he startled. He fought hard, pulling his wrists tight against the chains but they wouldn’t budge. His eyes were wide and wild, his head shaking.

“Shh,” I said. “Relax.”

He grunted and groaned as I removed myself from his lap, fastening the last of my buttons before Topaz opened the door. She stared straight at me, oblivious to Andy’s predicament at her side.

“I’m just about off,” she said. “It was a good night, shame you both missed it.”

“Mr Morgan’s been a little tied up,” I smirked.

“Tied up?” She turned her head as she asked the question, and her sweet eyes popped out of her skull.

“Yes, he’s quite tied up, wouldn’t you say?”

Her fingers shot to her lip ring, fiddling away as her cheeks burst into colour. “I, um… I’m sorry I walked in…”

“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Her voice was so timid, barely a whisper.

I approached her, turning her by the shoulders to face Andy square on. “Look at him,” I said. “Isn’t he fucking beautiful?” She didn’t say a word, not even a peep. “Come on,” I said. “Don’t be shy. I’m happy to tell you how much I fucking like him like this, he’s quite the pretty boy, my dirty little slut.”

“I… don’t… I…”

“Topaz,” I said. “This isn’t an accident. I knew you’d be coming in here.”

She looked at me, dumbstruck. “I don’t understand…”

I left her side, walking behind Andy’s chair and placing my hands on his shoulders. “A gift,” I smiled. “For you, for him, for me. I don’t even know who it’s fucking for anymore.” I laughed at the absurd situation and felt the wetness pool between my legs.

“Faye… I…”

My tone snapped, harsh. “Topaz, do you want him or not? If you don’t, then go, I’ve made a mistake, but if you do want his gorgeous fucking cock you’d better sit yourself down on the edge of his fucking desk and stop blathering.”

Slowly, so slowly, with a face like beetroot, our sweet little pixie girl propped herself on Andy’s desk. She didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the floor as she twiddled with that fucking lip ring. I reached into my box of tricks and pulled out the pink glass dildo I’d chosen especially. It was thick, but not too thick, with a nice gentle curve to it. I handed it over, then returned to Andy. I wheeled him towards her, stopping when they were just a metre apart. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, so tight that his knuckles were white. He groaned, but his protestations were becoming weaker, especially when I reached down between his legs and found him hard as fucking rock. “I guess it’s game on,” I whispered.

I gestured Topaz further back onto the desk, then lifted her tiny feet to rest on his thighs. She screwed her eyes shut, but his were straight at me, daggers of pure fucking darkness. I smiled, then eased Topaz’s knees apart, spreading her thighs nice and wide for his viewing. Her short pleated skirt offered no privacy, granting him a prime view of her sparkly pink panties. They were extremely fucking cute, and they matched the dildo perfectly. I leaned against the desk beside her. “He wants to taste you,” I hissed. “Look how much his fucking mouth is watering.” It made me laugh, and I snaked an arm around her waist, another teasing at her tiny black crop top. “Don’t be shy,” I said. “It’s ok. He wants it, look at the bulge in his fucking pants.”

She let out a breath, and I could feel her heart racing against my palm. I plucked at the ribbons of her top, teasing down the fabric. She had tight little tits, and they spilled out of her bra so beautifully. Her nipples were pale, but hard, and her skin was a rainbow of colours. A winged bird breathed fire, rising from smoke and ash. It was beautiful. I flicked at her hard little nubs and she caught her breath. “Are you going to let him taste you?”

“I’m not sure…” she whispered.

I took her hand in mine, guided it between her legs. “Touch yourself,” I said. “Let him watch.”

Softly her fingers started moving, through her panties at first, so slowly that her movements were almost imperceptible. I watched Andy watching her, and although his head was angled back, and his knuckles were still angry and white, his eyes didn’t waver. I felt the spark in my own clit, buzzing with my own fucked-up need. Topaz grew braver, pulling her panties aside to reach her clit. “Here,” I said, dipping my fingers in Andy’s sopping mouth. “Make it nice and wet.” I used his spit to lube her up, then nudged the dildo in her free hand. She didn’t need telling again. She rubbed the glass against her clit, and then her eyes finally grew brave enough to meet his. Her nerves played a story across her face and it was so fucking beautiful and pure and innocently fucking filthy that it took my breath away. I clenched my thighs, fighting the urge to jump Andy’s fucking cock and ride him to orgasm.

“Yes,” I hissed. “Do it. Fuck yourself for him.”

She pushed the dildo inside her, letting out a moan as it penetrated. She worked it like a good girl, back and forth as he watched. I let her play until she was rocking her hips, her dainty little feet braced tight against Andy’s thighs. Then, I took it from her, raising it to my nose. It smelled of sweet young cunt.

“Open wide,” I laughed, forcing it inside Andy’s drooling mouth. I pushed it straight back against his throat, making him jerk and splutter before I eased up. I rolled it around his tongue, where he was sure to taste it, and sure enough his cock twitched in his pants. Good fucking boy. “Look at that, Topaz,” I smiled. “He fucking wants you.” I went for his belt, loosening it enough to pull his cock free. It sprang up proud, and her eyes widened. I tugged it in my grip, slapping the impressive fucking dick against my palm. “I know how much you want a piece of this,” I said. “Here it is, your one-night fantasy.”

She was shaking, adrenaline pummelling the shit out of her. I needed her to work some of it off, spring a little of the nerves out of her step. “Playroom two,” I said. “The medical gurney.”

She nodded. “You want that? In here?”

“If you would be so kind.”

I waited until she was well out of earshot before I landed a nice slow kiss at the corner of Andy’s mouth.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” I breathed. “It’s show time, the main act. And you, pretty boy, you filthy little cunt, you’d better be a good fucking boy for me, or it won’t be Topaz that’s riding that shiny pink dildo. It’ll be you.”

***