Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Andy

I untangled myself from Faye slowly. She murmured in her sleep but didn’t wake, and I took a moment to watch her there, in my bed, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, her pretty nipples poking out above the covers. She was beautiful. A beautiful, filthy, intoxicating siren of the deep. I grabbed my squash gear from the wardrobe, being careful not to bang the door. She didn’t hear me, didn’t even stir.

James was already waiting at the court. He was doing his warm up, his ripped hulk of a body raring to go. It always made me smile to see the man here, so at odds with the crazy fucking dominant performing in the mask every weekend. Fuck, how they loved him, the infamous Masque. I owed him some for the free entertainment, pulling the punters through the door for just a glimpse of him at play.

I dropped my bag on the bench and joined him in some stretches. The place was quiet, relatively, just a couple of guys smashing it out in a court a couple down from ours.

“I hope you’re ready to get your arse kicked today.” I smiled. “Last week I played like a pussy, this week you won’t be so lucky.”

“Last week you played like a man who’d had his backside tanned,” he smirked. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know what kind of limp that was.”

“You’re delusional,” I said.

“Sure I am.” His smile was broad and genuine. I liked James, he was my kind of guy. “Just keep running that mouth of yours, Morgan, and we’ll see who gets the ass-kicking.”

“It’s my win,” I said. “Suck it up, Jimmy boy, victory is mine. I can feel it.” And I did feel it until I reached for the racket and clamped my fist around it. Fuck, my fucking knuckles, they hurt like a bastard.

James raised an eyebrow. “Another sex-related injury?”

“Hardly,” I scoffed. “My fist had an unfortunate collision with someone who deserved it.”

“I hope they came off worse.”

“So do I.” I whizzed the racket through the air to practice and my grip held up. “Hardly a scratch.”

“Let’s see, then,” he smirked, and we were off.

James is a fucking good squash player. He’s nimble for his build and he’s strong, like a fucking ox. His reflexes are like a cat’s, but I’m slightly quicker on my feet than he is. I used it to my advantage, tearing about the court like a man possessed as we battled it out for a win. A couple of points in and we stopped to catch our breath. I took a swig of water and checked my phone. Nothing from Faye, but I wasn’t expecting anything. She’d never been great with mornings.

“Big night, then, next weekend?”

I nodded. “Birthday bash. Faye’s bag, fuck knows what kind of crazy shit she’ll come up with.”

“Didn’t you see the email?”

“Email? No, I didn’t. She’s not exactly desperate to keep me in the loop,” I said. “We have some power issues we’re still hammering out.”

“Hammering out quite literally, I imagine.”

I flashed him a look, not quite a smile, but enough to give him the picture. “Faye Devere is a monster to handle when she digs her petulant little heels in. No fucking sense, no fucking reason.”

He smiled broadly. “Faye Devere is quite something.” I served, hard enough that he had to spring to the back of the court. “She’s spirited,” he added. “Original and playful. Quite infectious. I had a lot of fun with Faye Devere once upon a time.”

“I remember,” I said, channelling the jealousy into my game. It worked. A couple of points smashed home in my favour.

“So, what’s the landscape? Are you two a thing now?”

I was surprised at the question. James isn’t usually one for talking, and neither am I. I shrugged. “We’re hammering that out, too.”

“Nice. I’m sure you’ll be great together.”

I laughed, spinning my racket in my hand to loosen up my knuckles. “You don’t have to be polite.”

“I’m not being polite,” he said. “There always seemed to be something there, from an outside observer’s perspective. I think you’re both game enough to keep each other on your toes. That’s half the battle as far as I see it.”

“She’s keeping me on my toes, James, she’d have me twirling like a fucking ballet dancer if she could get away with it.”

He cocked his head. “And she can’t?”

I bounced the my racket against my knee, game forgotten, and James responded, backing up to the side of the court and folding his muscled arms across his chest.

To talk or not to talk. Fuck it, why the fuck not.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he said. “Fire away.”

“Picture this. You wake up after your honeymoon, some day in the future, and your lovely Cat suddenly announces she wants a switch relationship. She wants you on your knees and begging for it, ready to bare your fucking asshole and take a decent pounding with a strap-on. What would you say?”

He laughed. “That’s quite specific.”

“Faye is quite a specific woman, James, she wants what she wants and she wants it now. Like I said, she’s a fucking monster.”

“And that’s what she wants?”

“That’s exactly what the dirty little cow wants.”

“What do you want?”

I propped myself against the opposite wall, and there was silence as I weighed it up, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “I should want an easy life, to get on with running Explicit in a sensible manner, whether that’s together or not. I should just tell the snotty little mare that I’m not pissing submissive, and she can take it or leave it. I should want to tell her to get fucking lost after she bailed without so much as an explanation three years ago.”

He smiled. “And what do you actually want?”

“Fuck knows.” It was a lie, I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted her. Every annoying, infuriating, zany, weird, childish fucking bit of her.

James must have sensed my difficulty in sharing. He discarded the squash ball, bouncing it around all three sides of the court, then crossed his legs, relaxing into his pose. “I can’t imagine for a second that Cat would ask me to switch. She simply isn’t that type of woman.”

“Quite.”

“But if she did, I would have to consider it carefully.”

I met his eyes. “You’d consider it?”

“I would definitely consider it. I love Cat. If she felt the need enough to switch that she asked the question, I’d be a fool not to consider it seriously. I’d want to consider it.”

His honesty surprised me. “But you’re no submissive, James, no more than I am. How would that work?”

“That’s what I’d need to consider,” he said. “Whether I could offer her that, genuinely. After all, if it’s not genuine, if it’s not authentic, there would be no point. She’d be better off finding someone else to fulfil that part of her, if it were that important, and I wouldn’t resent her that.”

“Don’t you think you’d just keep your mouth shut and take one up the ass for the team, to keep her quiet?”

He grinned. “No. Unfortunately, I don’t think that. You’ve been around, Andy, you know what it’s like to take on a scene with a submissive who isn’t really feeling it. We’ve all been there. The woman who thinks it’s what she wants, who’s playacting to be cool, who’s so full of bravado that she doesn’t let you anywhere near the part of her that really matters, the inside. That’s not what we want when we’re on top, we want the real deal. We want a sub who’s all in.” He paused, and I let him find his words. “If Cat asked me to switch and take a turn as her submissive, I’d want to apply myself fully to it, or not at all. I think it would do more harm than good to just go through the motions. She’d know I wasn’t feeling it, she’d know I was there in body but not in spirit, and that would only cause her frustration. I demand a lot from her as my submissive. I demand that she’s honest, and willing, and devoted, and that she applies herself wholeheartedly to the dynamic of our situation. Why should she expect any less from me if the roles were reversed?”

He had a point. “I don’t know if I can do it, James. I’m talking for real here. I don’t know if I can genuinely submit. I don’t even know how I’d know.” I sighed. “It’s not the pain, that doesn’t worry me, it’s… I don’t know…”

“I get it,” he said, and I’m sure he did. “You have to work out whether you can give yourself to her, whether you can look into her eyes like she’s everything, whether you can believe she’s everything, whether you can kneel before her and see her for the goddess she is, whether you can feel that genuine humility, that genuine desire to serve her without holding back.”

I sighed. “It’s a pain in the fucking arse.”

“Literally, if she gets her way,” he smiled. “Look, Andy, Faye is a beautiful, exotic, vivacious woman. If you want her enough to actually consider putting yourself on the line for her, then I’m confident you’ll find what you need when the time comes.”

“I’m not sure I could serve anyone without holding back, even a woman like Faye. Especially a woman like Faye, she irritates the living fucking shit out of me.”

“Think about it,” he said. “Make the right call. For both of you.”

No fucking pressure.

I checked my watch and he checked his, and we both drew the same conclusion.

“Same time next week,” he said.

“Indeed.” I shook his hand. “Thanks, James, I really appreciate the insight.”

His handshake was solid, like him. “Any time, my friend.”

I gathered my bag, and checked my phone again. Still no messages, Faye still asleep in bed, no doubt. I waved James off with a smile. “I’ll see you on Saturday, for cake and party games.”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “I’ll be a lot harder to spot in a whole roomful of masks. I might feel emasculated, insignificant.”

“Yeah fucking right,” I laughed, then thought it through. “Why the masks?”

“It’s the theme,” he shrugged. “At least that’s what I fathomed from the email. Truth or Dare, Venetian style.”

“Venetian style?!” My blood ran fucking cold and James stopped in his tracks.

“Is there a problem?”

I forced down the surprise, pasted on a smile. “No, no. I’m sure Faye just forgot to mention it.”

“I guess she did.” His eyes were filled with questions but he didn’t pry. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

***

“Venetian night? What the fuck are you doing organising a Venetian night? Like there’s anything about that fucking place you’d want to remember.”

Faye was stirring her cereals aimlessly, groggy and lethargic. “Jesus, Andy, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s never too fucking early for a conversation like this, Faye.”

She groaned. “It wasn’t even my idea, ok? My idea was truth or dare night, it was the others that came up with the masks, Raven and Cara and Topaz, even Demelza got in on the act. They were being sweet, it’s a celebration of me being back home, so I don’t feel sad about Italy.”

“And you didn’t think to tell them this may be entirely inappropriate?”

“Would you have, if it were you in my position?” Her eyes were hard. “It shouldn’t be a big deal, I should be fine. I’m a big girl, Andy, I can take a few masks and feathers without hyperventilating.”

“Don’t brush this off as nothing, Faye. It’s not nothing. I read those fucking books, I know what kind of shit went down out there.”

“And I told you I didn’t mind it in the main. I’m not scarred, I’m not some little broken puppet that needs wrapping up in cotton wool. I’m fine.” She dumped her dish in the sink, cereals half untouched. “You need to stop harping on about those books, Andy, it’s driving me mad. I don’t need reminding that you know my seedy life story every five bastard seconds.”

“Me and the rest of the fucking planet. Sorry for fucking caring.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s how it sounded.”

She rubbed her temples, then wrapped herself tighter in my dressing gown. She’d taken a liking to it, and I’d taken a liking to her liking it, not that I’d ever fucking admit it. “Can we start the day over, please? I hate arguing with you before my brain has even booted up properly, it puts me in a bad mood all day.”

“This isn’t an argument.”

“Then sniping, knocking heads, whatever you want to call it. Can we put it to bed, please?” She put her hand on her hip, and gave me nothing short of a pout. “Please, Andy. Please don’t be a dick this morning, I haven’t had nearly enough coffee to cope with you.”

“So melodramatic,” I said, and flicked the kettle on. “Fine. We’ll start over, see if we can get through the morning without taking each other’s heads off for once, shall we?”

“Suits me,” she sighed, and there was a sparkle in her eyes.

I pointed to the corridor. “In that case, you’d better get your peachy little backside in that shower, or we’re going to be fucking late.”

***

Faye

I was nervous of our birthday bash, not because of any stupid feather masks, or truth or dare games, but because it was my chance to stamp my foot on this club again. To prove I was back, and back to make a difference. I thought it meant so much because it was a general statement, but that was inner dialogue crap. It was about him. All about him. Proving to him irrevocably that I had something to bring to the Explicit table.

And that’s why I’d kept him out of the loop on pretty much everything from the beginning.

I wanted him to be as surprised as everyone else. I wanted him to be impressed, and overwhelmed and excited by the evening just as much as everyone else would be.

Quite pathetic, I know, but the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t let up those few final days before show time. I checked everything compulsively. Drinks orders, decorations, party games, DJ playlists, lighting sequences, everything.

Our little baby was four years old, and this time it would have both parents at its birthday celebration.

If only Andy could seem as happy about that as I was.

He didn’t seem happy at all most of the time, but that was mainly just him. He buried himself in paperwork and figures, taking on all the practicalities of club management as I indulged my creativity. At least he didn’t moan about that. Not too much, anyway.

We were fucking every night, and waking up together every morning, but the whole couple thing wasn’t anywhere close to being resolved. We had an unsteady truce, but the clock was ticking, and my desire to stretch his tight little asshole was becoming too hot to handle.

I piled the cheques ready for banking, the one steady admin responsibility I’d maintained, and I watched him. I watched him brooding over some spreadsheet or another.

“What?” he said. “Don’t think I can’t see you staring.”

I shrugged. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?”

“That depends on what you’re looking at.”

“I’m looking at you.” I smiled. “Must you be such a bloody grumpy guts every day?”

“I’m not grumpy. I’m trying to sort this shit out.”

“What shit?”

He patted his knee and my stomach fluttered. I dropped the cheques and made my way over, sucking in my breath as he pulled me down onto his lap. He pointed at rows of figures.

“Enlighten me,” I said. “What am I looking at?”

“Does it matter?” His fingertips found the hem of my pencil skirt and slipped underneath.

“We’re busy,” I protested, but he only nipped at my neck.

“My week, remember?”

“For a few more days.” I spread my thighs for him, gasping as his thumb found my clit through my panties. “And what about when it’s my week?” I asked, arching back against him.

“What about it?”

“You know what about it,” I groaned. “Are you going to let me or not?”

He tensed, but didn’t stop his fingers. “I’m still working things out.”

It riled me, even though he was getting me off, and even though it was his week, and even though I was probably being an unreasonable fucking cow, it still riled me. I clamped my legs shut, brushing his fingers out of the way. “Then I’m still working things out, too.”

And then there were two riled people in the room.

“I was being fucking nice,” he snapped. “I’m allowed to take some fucking time to make my mind up, Faye. You haven’t been back five fucking minutes.”

“That’s getting a bit old, Andy. I’ve been back long enough for you to know how you feel.”

“Feel about what? About you? You might still be a flash in the fucking pan around here for all I know.”

I pushed up from his lap and turned around to face him, perching myself on his desk. I was taller than him, and I liked that. “I’m not a flash in the pan! I’m in here every day, Andy, every single day with you! And I’m in your bed every night, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“So, all I have to do is let you into my fucking asshole as well and we’ll have a triple whammy, is that what you’re saying?”

I couldn’t stop the smile.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “That’s actually it, isn’t it? It’s pathetic, Faye, it really is.”

“Will you do it?”

He returned his attention to his screen. Smoothing down his tie and brushing creases from his trousers. “I don’t fucking know. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“When will you have made up your mind?”

“I’m not sure. When it suits me. You need to learn some fucking patience.”

“I don’t have much patience,” I said, teasing my toes up along his thighs until they were pressed in his crotch. He was hard, but angry, and made to swat them away. “I mean it, Andy, I want everything, remember. I want to be everything.”

“Piss off, Faye, I’m working.”

“You weren’t working a minute ago.”

“Yeah, well I’m working now.”

“Fine.” I poked my tongue out and left him to it.

***

Andy

Faye was more nervous than I’d ever seen her, even on our opening night. She was dressed to kill in thigh-length boots and a black latex miniskirt over fishnets, and her corset was tight, and curved and all but welded to her skin. She fastened up the remaining buttons of the cut-off blouse she was wearing over the top, and gave me a twirl. Her hair was loose and curled, splaying around her in perfect waves, and her lips were pouty and glistening and red. Red enough to bite.

“Does this look ok?” God, how her eyes wanted answers. She was stunning, absolutely fucking stunning, and yet her expression was one of abject disappointment. “You don’t like it, do you?”

She started tugging it off, and I had to still her hands with a sigh. “Are you fucking insane? You look gorgeous, Faye.” I leaned towards her but she took a step away.

“No!” she said. “Lipstick!”

“Fine,” I groaned, and straightened my tie in the mirror next to her. I was wearing black in the main, a tasteful tailored number with a black tie to contrast against my fitted white shirt. We matched, the monochrome couple, although it was highly unintentional.

“Show time,” I smiled. “Are you ready?”

“No,” she sighed. “Not really.”

“You’ll be great,” I said. “You know you will.”

“I wish I did.”

I breathed in her hair, and she smelled of toffee apples, a new shampoo. I’d seen it in the bathroom, amongst her other ever-growing collection of bottles and lotions. She was taking over the place, laying down roots all over my own apartment, all over me. I didn’t care. I was long past caring. If only she’d just let go of the need to have me at her fucking whim, we’d be just fucking fine.

I’d been banned from my own fucking club that morning, forced to work on my laptop down the street while Faye, Topaz, Cara and Demelza got busy with the decorations. I’d been nothing but a chauffeur, a nice suit in a set of wheels, only now as we stepped in through the main doors, walking up through Savage’s mural into the main bar area, I could appreciate why.

The lighting was different, neons no longer limited to the bar area. They’d spread to all four corners, and the place zinged with a blue metallic glow. There were UV balloons everywhere, massive displays rising from tabletops to ceiling, in turquoise and electric blue. Black balloons, too. So many of them.

My jaw was on the floor, not least when I saw the ice sculptures on stage. They were the same figures as our power coin, two couples, one on the left and one on the right, and they were perfect, crazily accurate in their detail and horny as hell. The clever bitch.

Every booth had a pile of Topaz’s glittery cards, and every booth also had an arrangement of orchids, the ones from the storeroom that Faye had so painstakingly rescued and put back together.

She’d done a great fucking job. An insanely good job. She’d done perfectly.

But it was bittersweet, so bittersweet. Three years she’d bailed for, three years she could have been at my side, mucking in, being creative, doing her fucking share.

“Do you like it?” she asked, and her dark eyes were so nervous.

I tried not to let the emotions show on my face. “It looks excellent.”

“Excellent?”

“Yes, Faye, excellent.”

Her smile was broad and genuine. “Thank fuck for that!” she giggled. “Jesus, Andy, you had me worried there.”

Cara was already warming up for her dance show. We watched her perform on the pole, twirling about the place in a tiny white tutu and black plague doctor mask. It was creepy as fuck, but strangely beautiful.

“Jason Redfern’s confirmed,” Faye gushed. “His girlfriend is going to be dancing later.”

“The redhead?”

“That’s her. She’s got a huge half-face of feathers, apparently it looks really something.”

“Can’t wait.” She didn’t pick up on the snark in my tone and I was grateful.

Three years this club had been my baby, my domain, and now she was back it was like the world had forgotten who’d been here all this time. It wasn’t just me going Faye Devere crazy, they all were. I could see it in their eyes as they squeed and gushed and fluffed about each other. She was the favourite and I was forgotten. The boring one who did all the practical shit in the back office.

I sighed and let it go, trying to focus on the revenue the place would be generating as a result, but I was uncomfortable and I couldn’t shake it off, I didn’t want to shake it off.

We headed to the bar, and there was our little minx Topaz. She looked as transformed as the rest of the place, her green hair threaded with electric blue streaks. She had a tiny silver skirt on, reflecting the neons of the bar, and over the top was the thinnest little baby pink blouse, looped up and tied in a tease of a bow.

“Well look at you,” I said. “Quite the little temptress blossoming before my eyes.”

She blushed, and it was as delicious as always.

Faye stepped to the side while Topaz gave a big ta da and unveiled a chocolate cake monstrosity with a flourish. The thing was a tower of decadence taking up the whole bloody corner of the bar top, and there on the top of it were wedding figures, modified wedding figures with whips in their tiny plastic hands. Me and Faye.

Faye really was nervous then. I could see it written all over her face.

“Do you like them?” she said.

I nodded. “Clever.”

“I thought it would be a nice touch, symbolic...”

“Indeed.”

She let it slide, waving goodbye to Topaz and continuing her mission to drag me around the place and point out every little feature, and through every single one she became more desperate, more enthusiastic, ever more keen to see me lose my shit and scream and wail and gush about how exciting it all was, but I wasn’t in that place, not even close.

“Are you ok?” she asked, finally. “You seem a little… distant.”

“I guess I’m just tired.”

She smiled. “But the night hasn’t even begun yet, you’d better find some energy from somewhere.”

“I think I’ll probably stay in the office,” I said. “Watch most of it through the security feed.”

Her face bloomed like I’d slapped her. “You’re not coming?”

“Of course I’m coming, I’m in the building, aren’t I? That counts.”

“No, it doesn’t count.” She smiled to hide her upset, and I felt like a cunt. I was being a cunt. And yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

I excused myself as the first guests made their way through, and Faye would have followed me, I know it, if Topaz hadn’t pulled her away saying she needed her at front of house.

Faye’s eyes looked back at mine as we went our separate directions and hers were hurt, they were hurt so badly I could have stopped breathing, stopped walking, pulled her into my arms and promised her everything she ever wanted.

But I didn’t. I just kept on walking.

***

Faye

“Hey!” Topaz dashed along behind me, grabbing my elbow before I disappeared into the storeroom. “Faye, what’s wrong?”

I could feel the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over and ruin my eyeliner. I tried to stop my lip quivering, and shrugged, mute.

She knew of course. She pulled me into an embrace so much shorter than me, but it didn’t matter. Our sweet little Topaz was growing up. She was wise, and empathic and confident in a way that she hadn’t been when I’d first arrived back, and now she was putting it to great use as my little crutch.

“He doesn’t mean it,” she soothed. “He’s just difficult. It’s probably hard for him to admit this place is fucking rocking tonight.”

“I thought he’d be happy,” I whimpered. “I thought he’d be proud.” And that was it, the tears fell and there was nothing I could do about it. “He expects everything,” I sobbed. “He wants me to work hard, I work hard, he wants me to do a good job and I try my best and he hates it. He wants to be with me, but he won’t be with me, not how I need him to be. He’s hot and cold, and snarky, and bitter and difficult. Always fucking difficult. He’s such an asshole, Topaz. He’s such a fucking asshole.”

“But you love him anyway.” Her voice was so quiet but so firm.

And she was right.

I’d always loved Andy Morgan. I’d always been in love with Andy Morgan. I’d been in love with him since the moment I met him, since before I knew anything about him, and it may not have been real then but it sure felt real now.

I’d loved him too much for an unreciprocated relationship. Too much to bear him smiling at me before going off to fuck other people, no matter how much I loved our club.

I’d had to run a long fucking way away to forget about him.

Right into the arms of a tosser called Vincent fucking Blackthorne.

And then I’d run right back again.

But it was too late. Andy Morgan would never forgive me for it, and he’d never let me forget it, either. And he shouldn’t. I didn’t deserve it. I’d left him with all of this in his lap for three fucking years and hadn’t even bothered calling to say hello. Running this club was harder than I thought, so much harder than I remembered.

He had every right to hate me, and every right to tell me to leave.

“I don’t mean to poop on your pity party,” Topaz said. “But that’s your night out there. Enjoy it. Fuck what he thinks and what he wants. You put the work in and you should enjoy it.”

“I don’t know if I can enjoy it without him.”

She rolled her eyes, and it shocked me so much I laughed through my tears. “You’re both as bad as each other,” she snapped. “Get the fuck out there and rock that party, or I might be slapping both of your asses one of these days.”

I really didn’t see that one coming.

***

Andy

I poured myself a triple whisky and kicked my feet up on my desk while my club partied without me. The place was heaving, I could see it on the monitors, and whatever email PR Faye had put together had worked like a dream. The club was a sea of masks and bodies, and those bodies were moving, dancing, laughing. The club was alive. It dazzled with life.

Because of her.

Because of Faye fucking Devere.

She brought things to life.

And God, how it fucking pained me to admit it, even to myself, but she brought me to life, too.

The thought of going out there and admitting how well she’d done, how she’d achieved in a few weeks what I’d failed to achieve in three years, not the general behind the scenes crap that keeps this place ticking over, but the actual work of bringing the club to its potential, creating a thrill, a buzz, an atmosphere that people would be talking about right through to its next fucking birthday. She’d done that.

And she’d done it in spite of all my sarcastic little digs and comments, in spite of all the blocks I’d put on her, and what she was allowed to do.

I could only imagine what she’d have achieved if I’d been on her side.

But she’d bailed on me once, and she’d do it again, and all of it meant nothing if it wasn’t constant. An enthusiasm that burns hot but quick isn’t worth shit, not in a concern like this. You need regularity, community, a build-up of company values over time. Faye couldn’t do that, she’d waltz away and leave the club in the lurch and it would be up to me to pick up the pieces again.

Only I didn’t want to pick up the pieces again. I wanted her.

I didn’t want this place without her, not now she’d come home. Not now I’d seen how good we could be.

I downed my whisky and poured another, then switched the monitor from one camera view to another. I looked for Faye, and even in a sea of masks she was easy to spot. She was the only one on the floor not wearing one, and she looked divine, dancing and twirling free. I couldn’t make out her face but I knew she was smiling, and I knew everyone else would be smiling around her.

Fuck this shit. Just fuck it.

Another triple went down like wildfire, but I knocked it back anyway and grabbed my jacket.

It was time for Daddy Explicit to make an appearance. I only hoped I hadn’t left it too late.

***