Dirty Bad Secrets (2 page)

***

Andy 

Topaz’s ditzy little heels clacked into my office as soon as Faye was clear.

“Miss Devere’s in charge.
All
problems land at her feet.”

“But Mr Morgan...”

“The woman’s flighty and whimsical. Nothing more than a fucking nuisance. She’d never hack any actual responsibility. She’ll be bored within the week.”

She nodded. “So, I ask
her
for instruction on tonight’s set up?”

The prospect of Faye taking charge brought a bitter twang to the back of my throat. My resolve crumbled. “Put a couple of cocktails on offer. Garnet Crows and Screaming Orgasms. Two for one before midnight.”

Topaz smiled. “And what about the main stage? Just shackles?”

“Flogging bench from playroom three. Put it in the middle of the dancefloor.”

“Anything else? Or should I ask boss lady?”

Boss lady? I cringed at that. “Tell the DJs to keep the tempo up, try and keep the action going on the main stage. We’ll show Miss Devere just how big a beast she’s wrestling.”

“Yes, Mr Morgan.” She smiled.

“Make it a great night, Topaz.”

Faye Devere, larger than bastard life in my fucking office. Anger twitched in my temples. She’d break and leave again, back to Italy for Prosecco on the terrace where she’d regale people with tales of her London adventure.
Fantastic, darling, wonderful!

A flutter of eyelashes might bowl over those brownnosers in Venice, flouncing about at some writing retreat or whatever the fuck they go there for, but her charm would cut short shrift back here on home turf. It would cut short shrift with me. I wondered if she was sitting comfortable at my bar, kicking her stilettos up with a smile on her perfect little mouth. How nice to play the big I am without any of the real graft that goes along with it. That’s all it was to her. A stupid game.

I’ll work the bar.
As if the woman had any backbone for a real shift. I should’ve done what should’ve been done years ago; put her over my fucking knee and tanned her tight little ass until she learnt some manners.

And then do it again for the hell of it.

I should’ve done it when she announced she was leaving for Italy in the first place, told her the club didn’t have time for her frivolous fucking jollies and shone a little light on her priorities. Maybe then she’d have stayed home where she belongs.
Belonged
.

I pulled the vintage whisky from my desk drawer, complete with tumbler, and poured myself a triple.

***

Faye

Stubborn, self-righteous prick. His presence was heavy at the best of times, always had been. He stomped through life with a big old fucking stick up his arse to match the plum in his mouth. I’d forgotten the strength of his moods. If I hadn’t, maybe I’d have called first.

The thought was ridiculous. If I’d have called ahead,
all
of the locks would have been changed.

To prove the point, the supply drawers behind the bar were locked up tight. Seemingly the years hadn’t mellowed him into any less of a suspicious control freak. Only the bottom drawer was open, filled with novelty dick straws and Explicit membership cards. He’d had the place rebranded in my absence. The red slash of the new logo looked good.

Andrew Morgan, Director
.

No mention of me. I was slipping them back in the drawer when I noticed the frame underneath. My heart leapt in recognition, pulling it out with shaky fingers. I wiped off a sheen of dust to find my own face smiling out at me. Opening night, my arms wrapped tight around Andy’s waist, head on his shoulder as spotlights glowed overhead.

I propped it up on the bar with tears in my eyes. So much promise.

Ruined.

But it wasn’t ruined, I was here. He couldn’t push me away forever.

Topaz ferried me to the customer side of the bar as she got the place ready for shift. She didn’t ask me to move, but her body language said it all. I couldn’t stomach another showdown, so took a seat, eyeing up her work as she chalked the specials on the board. “What on earth is a Garnet Crow?”

“One of our more unique beverages. Wanna try one?”

I gave her a smile. “It would be rude not to sample.”

She assembled a brutal looking purple concoction that made my nostrils burn. Exactly what the doctor ordered.

“You like?”

I managed a nod, and she presented a milky white drink with a cherry on top. “People normally follow it up with one of these.”

“A Screaming Orgasm?”

“One of Mr Morgan’s inventions.”

I took a sip. “It’s nice. Mr Morgan’s orgasms are really something.”

I saw the hint of a blush, the lowering of her eyes. She hadn’t fucked him, but she wanted to. She
really
wanted to. A pang of jealousy knotted my stomach before I shoved it away. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

I picked up my drink. “Another of these, please. Dutch courage.”

“You don’t look like you need it. The courage, I mean.” It wasn’t an insult, her eyes were friendly enough.

“Don’t be fooled by the exterior.” I took the opportunity to dig. “Did Andy... Mr Morgan... did he say much about me? Not today... just in general...”

She shook her head. “No.” My face must have dropped before I had chance to restore the mask. “But that doesn’t mean anything...” she added. “He may have talked to other people...”

“Or maybe not.”

“He works all the time. Talks a lot, but only about business.” She slid the next Orgasm across the bar. “If you did stay around, maybe things would be a bit different.”

I met her eyes with a flare of will. “I’m going to be staying around. For good.”

She didn’t comment, just offered the faintest of smiles.

“Does he have anyone?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”

“Andy. Does he have anyone?”

Her jaw flapped but made no sound for a long second. “No, um. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Who is he fucking?”

She shrugged, gawping. “It’s really none of my business...”

I let out a laugh. “He’s got you trained well.”

“I just… I don’t know... sorry...”

“You don’t see him with anyone? In here?”

“Mr Morgan, in here?” It was her turn to laugh. “No. Mr Morgan never comes in here, not when the club’s open.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Well, that’s a fucking turn up.” I downed my drink. “No wonder he’s so fucking miserable.”

I handed over my glass for a refill.

The place was about to get a whole new kind of management. I had it all planned out, ready to roll. Andy would soon see what three years had done for me. Venice had made me, sculpted me into a different animal altogether. The bitch was back with new tricks, and ready to share. A tiny part of me had hoped I’d be sharing with him. Not fucking likely from the looks of it.

The show would still go on.

“I’m going to be putting on some entertainment tonight.”

Topaz looked wary. So bloody wary. “Entertainment?”

“Yes, a show. That’s what we do here, right? We’re a sex club. I want to put on a show.”

Her eyebrows were heavy. “Mr Morgan was quite clear that he wants a flogging bench on the main dancefloor this evening.”

“Mr Morgan only owns fifty-percent of this fucking club, whether he likes it or not.” I smiled, but it was frosty. “We could be friends, Topaz. Don’t make an enemy out of me, I’ll be here a long time.”

She sighed and shrugged, shaking her head like the world had turned insane. “Sure, whatever you say, Miss Devere. Just tell me what you need.”

I told her exactly what I’d need.

***

Andy

Explicit was heaving by eleven. I tried to keep my head down, oblivious, but the itch for control was too bastard strong. I crept along the corridor by the playrooms, pressing myself into the shadow of the wall to avoid a collision with anyone on duty. The rest of my route was clear. I slipped into the heart of Explicit without fanfare. The main floor was busy enough to skirt the edge undetected. Faye was easy to spot in the crowd, her head was tipped back as she laughed amongst the regulars, her eyes sparkling. Drunk.

Every BDSM club has a superstar dom. Ours is known as Masque, a huge hulk of ripped man-flesh with a big black dragon inked across his chest. He’s like an ancient gladiator throwback, his face a play of shadow behind the mask that gives him his name. I like Masque, for all the theatrics and pomp he’s a sharp guy with a decent brain in his skull. That isn’t what makes him popular in this place, of course. That’s all down to how he looks and how he fucks —rough, brutal, raw. He leaned in to whisper something in Faye’s ear, and she cocked her head, her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing muscle. My jaw gritted, frivolous bitch. I looked to Masque’s fiancée, Cat, but she didn’t seem bothered, she was dancing with Mistress Raven — another club regular — flicking her hair all about the place without a care in the world. Nobody seemed to care, in fact.

That wasn’t quite true.

One of our hostesses, Demelza, drifted close enough that I could tap her shoulder. I pulled her close before she could speak, a firm finger across her pretty mouth. She squirmed in my grip until she registered it was me, and the contact felt strangely electric. Too long without sweet, wet pussy.

“There’s a problem downstairs, Miss Devere needs to sort it out.”

“There is? What kind of a problem?”

“Whatever problem you want. Just get her off the main floor. She’s making a spectacle of the whole fucking place.”

She looked over to find Faye tracing Masque’s tattoo with a finger. “I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t tell her I’m here. Tell nobody I’m out of my office.”

She nodded. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

Sir.
It had been a while.

I watched with delight as Demelza made her way across to Faye, but my mood was quashed in a beat as the drunk cow made no effort to deal with the crisis. She waved Demelza away with a sweep of an arm, and kept on chatting. My hostess returned, head downcast.

“Sorry, Sir. She said she would handle it later. After the scene.”

“What scene?”

Faye answered the question for me. As per usual Explicit practice, the lighting changed to signal action on stage, and the crowd hustled into position. My pulse quickened as my
business partner
shimmied her way through the throng, but Masque didn’t follow her lead. He sought out his fiancée instead, wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders and guiding her along with the rest of the onlookers. My eyes scanned bodies for movement. It was a thickset guy with a shocking blue Mohican that stepped up after Faye. The one they call Sergeant. Sergeant
Sin
to give his moniker its full cringe-worthy glory. His muscled neck was dark with ink, military-style art that made him look as though he snapped necks for breakfast. He smiled as Faye took her position, running heavy hands up the toned flesh of her thighs. My mouth turned dry.

She was smiling as he groped at her through the thin fabric of her dress. His hands squeezed at her tits before his mouth clamped onto her, slurping and slopping his tongue all over her perfect skin. She towered over him by at least six inches in her stilettos, rocking gently as Sergeant’s chubby fingers slid her dress straps down over her tanned shoulders. He freed the swollen cups of her lace bra, yanking her dress further still until it gathered around her slender hips. Her body was as lithe and tight as I remembered; a body that screamed to be touched, begged to be punished. I’d never answered its call; more fucking fool me. Business always came first, except it didn’t. It didn’t come anywhere in Faye’s world, clearly, and neither did I. I should have just fucked the bitch when I had chance, pounded that tight little cunt so hard she’d be too sore to leave.

She stepped out of her dress as Sergeant inched it to the floor, and his face was between her legs, flickering tongue soaking her pussy through the skimpy gauze of her panties. His dumb fucking skull obscured my view of her, but I saw enough. A twist of fire in my stomach, spreading down to thump in my cock as Faye moaned for him.

Strong hands tore her panties from her body, then held them up as the crowd cheered. He forced the scrap of fabric in her mouth, and she held it tight as he rammed two fingers deep between her legs. He lacked finesse, pistoning away without skill. I watched the heave of his arm as he rammed her, jerky movements like a teenager at a sleepover. He unhooked her bra and threw it into the crowd, and still they cheered. My eyes feasted on her gorgeous tits, the even tan darkening into the pert little nubs of her nipples. They were ripe enough for a handful. Ripe enough to sink your teeth into, too.