Breaking Leila (24 page)

Thick fingers
nudged against mine. “Show me where, Leila.”

I tensed and
guided him in, pressed upward urgently, and his strokes were
torturously slow. “No, harder,” I begged.

“Like
this?”

“Ow…please.” I
sank back on the pillows as he drove into the spot, over and over,
as hard as I urged. There was a warm little gush and then his other
hand suddenly clamped over my mouth, my cries muffled with it.

“God, I felt
you do that.” He kissed my throat again. “Do you want me to–”

I peeled his
hand from my face. “Don’t stop!”

“Okay, okay.”
He laughed.

Another tiny climax pierced me and I pressed my face into his
chest. The urge to stroke myself was too strong to resist, and I
wanted to fall off the edge of the world, to come painstakingly
hard all over him.
 
For
 
him.

“What do you
think about when you do this?” he said.

“Mmm…lots of
things.” I sighed. “There’s this horrible, mean tease of a rugby
player…he’s my colleague…he won’t fuck me, it drives me mad.” That
finger jammed into my spot again and I sucked at the air.

“Sounds like a
bastard.”

“What do you
think about? Tell me. I need to hear…”

“I have some photos of this girl I know that I found on the
internet. She’s all bound and blindfolded. You can see everything.”
Careless teeth found my earlobe. “I look at those pictures
a
 
lot
.” Warm tongue on my neck.
“I’ve…I’ve even looked at them at work.” He tugged my free hand
down toward his cock, and I began pumping in the same rhythm as my
bucking hips. “She…she makes me…fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been
so hard in my life.”

He twitched in my palm, swelled and ebbed at the head. I
was
 
so
 
close.

“Tell me how it
feels for you.” I twisted to meet his touch now.

“When I come?”
Sweat moulded the pair of us. “Like half of me falls forwards onto
hot coals.”

“Very poetic.” I squeezed him and he groaned. “You should
write a song about
 
that
.”

“Maybe…ahh.”

We were done
with talking. The air was full of the rustle of sheets beneath us,
heat spilling from our bodies and our little pants and moans. I
shoved his finger deep inside me with a rough jerk and crumpled in
on myself.

Somewhere in
the midst of all that, I felt a warm splash on my stomach. Matt
gave a gasp and then a stuttering growl. We fell into each other
limply and stole cool mouthfuls from the saturated air. When I
could move, I found his mouth and kissed his bottom lip lazily,
experimentally, and he kissed me back with renewed hunger, his
tongue winding around mine.

“That was–”

“Educational,”
he slurred.

I dissolved
into giggles against his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve never
been able to watch like that. S’nice.”

“Just nice,
hmm?”

“There’s a mess
all over your belly to prove it.”

I surveyed
splattered skin and grinned at him wickedly. “Picasso would be
proud of that load, Matt.”

“You’re
very…inspiring.” He dug damp hands into my hair as he kissed me
again. “Why don’t they have diagrams for that G-spot thing in GQ,
anyway?”

“I thought they
did?”

“They never made it look that
 
interesting
.”

“It’s not quite
that simple.” I smiled. “It’s like a different kind of orgasm.”

“Yeah?”

“Like…like a
smaller piece of cake. It tastes just as good but you’ve always got
room for more.”

“Is it wrong
that I’m already getting hard again?”

“Mmm.” I
stroked along his length with my fingertips. “You won’t let me do
what I really want with it, though.”

He took my hand
away gently. “You’ve corrupted me enough as it is.”

“Think yourself
lucky that I’m knackered. Men can still be raped, you know,” I
said.

“Soon, my
pretty.” He rolled me sideways and curled up behind, scooping the
sheet back over us. “You don’t need to be jealous any more, by the
way. That is the coolest thing I’ve ever done in this bed.”

“You sound like
a teenage boy.”

“I reverted to
being one for most of it.” He stroked my hair slowly, teasingly.
“Now I have something else to think about when I’m…you know.”

“Me too.” Bare
skin stuck to mine as I writhed against him. “I really am wiped,
actually.”

“Go to sleep
then, babe.”

“Will you stay
with me?”

“Always.”

We lay in
silence for a while, melting together as we breathed. Slumber began
to claim me.

“I think I know
what you are, Leila,” Matt murmured.

“Oh?”

He leaned in,
his lips almost brushing my ear. “You’re my punishment. For what I
did to Niamh. I want you so badly, but you’re not mine.”

Punishment
.

I went cold. “I
see.”

“I feel like I
have to earn this somehow. I don’t deserve it.”

“Does it
matter?” I whispered.

“Of course it
does…you understand, don’t you?”

I was suddenly
very glad that I couldn’t see him.

“You picked a
girl you thought you couldn’t have so you could carry on torturing
yourself…?”

“That’s not
what I meant.” He sighed, rolling away slightly. “Forget that I
said it. Go to sleep.”

And the sleep became my own punishment;
 
he
 
waited.

He wasn’t
Matt.

Chapter 11

Two weeks
before, I’d been a prostitute.

Sunday
afternoon. One of my more regular clients. He had not known it, but
I would never be at his bidding again–I had three jobs left before
I’d paid off the debt, and I would quit by the next weekend.

Or so I
thought.

The next
Wednesday lunch time, a text from William had booked me in for the
evening. I’d agreed. Somewhere not too far from me, Joseph had
opened his confirmation email and known that in just a few hours, I
would be on my knees for him. So it came to be that I was still a
whore, albeit for only one client. God knew, I’d be his whether he
paid me or not.

This morning, I
seemed to have a boyfriend. However it had occurred, it felt
organic and calculated in equal measure. He claimed that I belonged
to him.

That wasn’t
necessarily true.

I ought to have told him that, should have whispered the
warnings that brewed, but I needed to enjoy the calm before the
blade. The sun, velvet and beautiful, bounced off the froth in the
mouth of the tempest. I
 
wanted
 
this.

Something
cracked urgently beneath my breastbone. New passions, old
wounds.

I hear thunder
.
 
Don’t you?

* * * *

I was naked and
the room was dark. My hands were bound behind my back–tightly, as
far as tugging them told. Air writhed against my flesh, at war with
it.

“You’re not
going anywhere,” said Joseph. His voice spilled over me like a pail
of water, splashing into places I swore it couldn’t reach.

He dug firm
fingers into my hip. “I can smell you from here,” he whispered.
“Dirty little girl.” He pressed himself against my back, his cock
thick and warm between us. “Do you want this?”

I nodded.

“Well…we knew
that already.”

Something cold
and sharp caressed the skin on my thigh, and I shuddered.

“What about
this?” he said.

He held the blade up for me to see: smooth and silvery,
anointed in moonlight. My eyes widened just to get around it.
Everything was ice, save the liquid heat between my legs, and it
yelped,
 
yes,
yes, yes
.
 
Anything.

He pressed the
chilled metal against my cheek and I inhaled sharply, waiting for
the split and the gush. Then he brought it back behind me,
scratching along my spine in chalky little grazes. It came to rest
between my fists as it sliced through the rope, which fell heavily
at my sides.

“What do I do
now?” I whimpered.

“Whatever you
want.”

His arm came
around me, forcing me against him. I bit my lip and sighed; my skin
sang its pleasure.

“Who are you?”
I panted.

The laugh
echoed, playful in my ear. “I don’t know. Whore are you?”

“I’m…I’m
sorry?”

“Who are you
talking to, babe?” Matt mumbled, his face still pressed into my
neck.

The body was
his, the erection his, but the dark room had become his warm
bed.

Oh.

“Weird dream,”
I said sleepily. I rolled over and he caught my mouth, sucking my
bottom lip.

“Was it about
me?”

The image of the dream still spun. I paused to remember
Joseph, and then Charlotte smiled coyly and blew magic dust from
her palm.
 
Oh
no, you don’t.

“I’m not
sure.”

“Mmm. Were we
naked?”

“I…”

He kissed me,
his hands kneading my buttocks and knotting into my hair.

“I can’t
remember,” I lied.

“Well, I had an
awesome dream,” he murmured. “The girl I told you about last
night…the one at work, the one with the pictures…she was in bed
with me.”

“Oh really?” I
grinned up at him. “I’ll bet she was filth.”

“You were.”

How long had
it been since I’d woken up in the arms of a lover? Moulded against
another body, drenched in the smell of sex and sweat and honey;
nothing quite like it, is there? As the unsettling dream of Joseph
faded and the memory of Matt last night trickled in, I felt myself
relax against him. This could not be bought.

Not with money,
anyway.

I slid my
fingers down and toyed with the solid mass against his belly. He
bucked his hips, shoving it into my palm and moaning.

“You’re a
wicked tease,” I said, brushing the hair from his face.

“I don’t want
to tease. I want–”

Floorboards
creaked in the hall. Voices were low and lazy.

“Ugh.” Matt
released me and sat up for a moment, listening. “We’re going to be
interrupted soon.”

“I think God
never wants us to have sex again.”

“We can be
alone tonight though, yeah?”

I thought
through the day quickly: get on train, visit parents, arrive home,
collapse.

“Please.”

He bent to give
me another kiss. “I’ve waited long enough–I can do a few
hours.”

I tugged on the
most decent clothes I could locate—a t-shirt, and his boxers from
the previous day–and took an armful of toiletries down to the
bathroom.

The girl who
opened the bathroom door to me looked horribly familiar.

“Erm.” I didn’t
know where to look. “Hi, Niamh.”

“Hello,
Leila.”

She was
beautiful with no make-up and scrunched hair; it suited, in fact.
Something of the wild had her, and it made me envious.

“I came back
with Toby,” she said quickly, as if she could read the words on my
eyeballs. “Just to talk and stuff.”

“Oh. Well.” I
stepped from one foot to the other, trying not to drop two tons of
Dermalogica. I felt like I should apologize, but then I got angry.
This wasn’t my fault. “I hope you had a good night,” I said,
looking swiftly down.

“Do you know
about me and Matt?” she asked sharply.

“Some of it. He
told me yesterday.” I made myself look her in the eye without
wincing. “I didn’t know on Friday. I’m sorry.”

If that
surprised her, it didn’t show. “If you want to put up with it, it’s
your choice. Whatever.”

Charlotte wanted to say
 
I’m not the one who
conveniently spent the night with Toby in order to spy on my
ex
, but I managed to retain sympathy for
Niamh. Just. “It is my choice, yeah.”

She edged past
me and stalked down the hall. I stared after her, half expecting
her to fall through Matt’s door and start throwing vases.

The shower felt
coarse and stifling. I rushed in and out, tucking my hair into a
neat plait and throwing on a dress and boots. Matt tapped on his
laptop as I returned.

“Niamh’s here,”
I blurted out.

“Are you
serious?”

“She was in the
bathroom. Said she came home with Toby–”

“Toby?” he said incredulously. “She doesn’t
even
 
like
 
Toby. Oh, fucking hell.” He started to pull on his
jeans.

“Are you
feeling adequately punished yet?”

“I’m going to
go and talk to her.” He sighed. “Is that all right? I could be a
while.”

“I’m not going
to head down to breakfast like everything’s normal, but I think
I’ll cope.” I played with the mouse on his laptop. “Good luck.”

“Unlikely.” He
stomped off down the corridor still bare-chested, the floorboards
trembling as he went.

I sat for a
moment, glancing around awkwardly. I had often panicked about being
caught by a client’s partner–it happens–but I’d never been this
close. Without the paying element, it was somehow worse.

In another
room, two voices began to talk over each other. Had Niamh actually
slept with Toby? The two brothers were very alike, save a few
inches in height. Oh God. Matt had said Niamh smothered him, and
now the earth of them had blown away, the roots of that tree were
painfully visible.