Dirty Bad Wrong (23 page)

“You’ll see me a lot sooner than that,” I said. “Scoot up, will you? Unless you want me to sleep in Rebecca’s bed, she might get a shock.”

She scuttled along, throwing open the covers. “You’re staying? Really?”

“It seems a good night for firsts, Cat, don’t you think?”

I threw off my clothes, slid in beside her. Her bed smelt of Cherry Blossom and White Lily and
her.
It smelt of her. I pulled her into me, her head on my chest, and she felt so fucking good.

The beast slept, finally. He slept like a baby in Lydia Marsh’s arms.

***

Lydia

I woke with James beside me, my head in the crook of his shoulder as he slept. The night still felt a blur, but he was here, he was real. He rolled towards me in his sleep, wrapping me in warm arms, and slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Marsh, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Not that surprising,” I whispered. “Considering this is
my
bed.”

“That is a fair point.” I felt his swollen cock against my thigh. It sent a flurry of nerves around my stomach.

“Horny, James? I didn’t think sex in a bed would be your style.”

“I’ll make an exception,” he said. “Do excuse me if I taste of stale scotch.”

I opened my mouth for his tongue. “You taste like you,
and
stale scotch,” I breathed. “I like it.”

He pinned my arms above my head, moving to rest on top of me. “I’ll take your beautiful cunt any way I can get it, Lydia,” he groaned. “I can’t get enough of your sweet little snatch.”

We both jumped at the rapping on the bedroom door. Rebecca hardly left it a second before she launched her way in.

“Hey lovebirds, sorry to gatecrash, but I’m having a bit of a personal crisis out here. I’ve been waiting a fucking age for you two to wake the fuck up.”

James didn’t move his arms, just looked over this shoulder at her. “It seems quite the time for personal crises.”

She perched herself on the bed without any hint of reservation, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s Cara,” she said. “I fucked up.”

James eased himself off me, freeing my wrists. “I think we can make room for another small one, can’t we, Lydia?”

I nodded, pulling the covers back enough for Bex to join us in bed. It felt surprisingly normal, but my standards of normal had already warped considerably. Rebecca lay back on my pillow, staring at the ceiling while her arm draped across my waist. “It’s fucking Jaz’s fault,” she said. “All of it. We were arguing, after you’d both left. I was up in her face and she was screaming at me, and then we were in the toilet, and she pulled my hair and I’m pretty sure I gave her a decent thump around the jaw, you know how it goes.”

James raised his eyebrows. “And then?”

“And then I was fucking kissing her,” she sighed. “I have no idea how the pissing fucking crap it happened. I was kissing her, and pulling her hair, and telling her how much I fucking hated her, and then there was Cara in the fucking cubicle doorway, and she looked so fucking sad.”

“Did you go after her?” I asked, squeezing James’ hand under the duvet.

“She’d already gone,” she said. “And Cara still lives with her parents, I didn’t want to be rocking up there like some deviant Casanova, howling at her window. I went home with Jaz and we argued until morning.”

“And now, what? You regret it?” James quizzed. “Has our little Cara wormed her way into your cold heart, Mistress Raven?”

“You’re hardly in a position to take the piss, James Clarke,” she laughed. “And yeah, maybe she has.”

“Call her,” I said. “Put it right, say it was a one-off, and you’re sorry.”

“I tried,” she admitted. “Straight to voicemail. We agreed this shit was casual, now we’re all over the fucking place.”

“Casual has a habit of rolling that way,” James smiled.

“Doesn’t it fucking just?” She rolled her eyes. “Weird how it can take a stupid bloody cock-up to make you realise how much you give a shit, don’t you think?”

“Amen to that,” James said, tickling my thigh under the duvet. “So, which of our fucked-up little threesome is putting the kettle on?”

None of us jumped to volunteer.

***

I saw James out after breakfast, lingering in the doorway while he checked he’d picked up his phone, his keys, his wallet… I got the slightest suspicion that he was dawdling as much as I was, unsure of what to say from here.

“Thanks for staying,” I said. “I enjoyed it.”

“Me too. It wasn’t all that bad for a foray into domesticity.”

“Maybe one day we’ll do it again,” I smiled.

“Stranger things have happened, Lydia Marsh.” He leant down to kiss me, countering the romance by twisting my nipple through my cami. “I know you want more, Cat, more of this.” He tipped his head towards the flat, towards the slice of normality we’d had together. “But please go softly on an old man set in his ways. I propose dinner, next Saturday. I’ll pick you up before Explicit. I’ll give you dinner, in exchange for a little gesture.” His eyes were hooded and glazed, his cock already swollen in his jeans.

I teased him with my palm. “What do you want in exchange?”

He kissed my ear, his breath loud and hot. “I’ll take you out, Cat, if you’ll piss in my mouth next weekend.”

I pulled away in shock, blinking up at him. “Are you serious?!”

“Deadly, and don’t act so surprised. I could have asked for a lot more, and I
will.
Believe me, Lydia, I’ll ask you for a lot more than that.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it,” I said. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Dinner in exchange for
drinks
, Cat, that’s my proposition.”

“You actually want to drink my pee, that’s what you’re saying?” I was already burning up, I could feel it.

“That’s
exactly
what I’m saying,” he smiled. “Will you piss for me, Lydia, yes or no? The clock’s ticking.”

I jittered nervously from one foot to another, stomach in knots.

“I’m sorry, Miss Marsh, but I’m going to have to push you for an answer…”

“Ok, yes,” I said, before I could stop myself. “But I’m not sure I’m going to return the favour and guzzle down any of yours, I’m pretty sure that’s a hard limit of mine.”

He smiled, and it was the smile of the beast, dark and horny and dirty as sin. He backed away, retreating onto the street. “We’ll find out, Lydia,” he growled. “I think you may surprise yourself.”

I hoped he wouldn’t hold his breath. The idea was squicky as hell,
nearly
squicky enough to stop me jilling myself crazy over it later, but only nearly.

***

Lydia

Even with Salmons eating healthily into our work schedule the week really dragged. It dragged in a way I’d never felt before, not once since I’d been working with James. I guessed it was the contrast, the glimpse of what could be outside of that place, with its corporate mentality and it’s hush-hush agreement.

Work was undeniably different, regardless of how hard we tried. We kept our business-as-normal front on it, but things had definitely changed. There was something more in his eyes than the previous sheen of professional camaraderie, something deeper and darker and much more raw. Maybe he saw it in my eyes, too, I don’t know.

I kept it all firmly to myself, ignoring the temptation to spill some of the emotional beans to Steph. The option presented itself mid-week when she began calling, but I forced myself to avoid and ignore. I told myself she was probably full of more junk about Stu and let it go, having no time for that crap anymore.

Rebecca was my only accomplice, and me hers. We’d talk more than we’d ever talked before, long nights over coffee, laughing about love and life, and weird, dirty sex in public. I loved her for it. My little heart stretched its wings, the tiniest sliver of hope for the happily-ever-after, for the blossoming of romance unlike any other. Maybe white knights
did
turn up to slap your clitoris, after all? Maybe that’s what true love is all about?

I hoped so.

Most of all I hoped for a chance with him, my man in the mask. A
real
chance in the
real
world.

It’s often the small decisions that are the catalysts for the major events, and my life that week was no different. I just didn’t see any of it coming.

***

Rebecca had picked out my dress, all ready for my nice, posh meal and piss-gate beyond. It was a classy red number, fitted satin with a long split at the back.

“Bingo,” she’d laughed. “Multi-functional. This little gem will look cracking in the dining hall, and possibly even better when you piss in the thing.”

I took her word for it.

I spent the whole day getting ready, and yet I was still late. James was picking me up at seven, nice and early, in line with the time Rebecca and Cara had scheduled their kiss-and-make-up chat. Their reconciliation was inevitable. They’d hardly been off the phone since the blow up.

I scrubbed myself in Rebecca’s posh oriental body wash, taking an age to shave off every scrap of body hair I possessed, then wrapped myself in a towel in time to do my hair and make-up. Rebecca obliged, layering on lashings and lashings of mascara and eye-shadow while I blow-dried my hair in a frenzy. I was just about done when Cara rang the buzzer, merely taking a final moment to adjust my waves before getting dressed.

Bex buzzed Cara on up and stood back to admire her handiwork.

“Hot to trot, baby, you’ll knock him senseless,” she purred, then laughed as she flicked up my towel. “Look at the state of you, Kitty Cat, you still have fucking tigger-stripes, our James Clarke will be chomping at the bit when he sees those beauties.”

I laughed along with her, turning myself in the mirror to check them out for myself. “He hit me bloody hard,” I said. “It hurt like an absolute bastard.”

“Lydia?! Oh my God! Lyddie?!”

My eyes flicked to the doorway, instinctive horror flooding right through me. Cara stood with her hand over her mouth, eyes screwed shut in mortification, but she was the least of my concerns. At her side was Steph, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, her jaw flapping as she struggled for words.

“Steph? Shit! What are you doing here?”

I struggled to back away from her but she was at my side, her eyes all over my fucking bruises. “What happened to you?!” she screeched. “Who did this to you?”

Rebecca yanked Cara by the elbow, dragging her through to the balcony. Cara mouthed ‘sorry’ and Bex mouthed ‘stupid cow’, I appreciated both sentiments.

“Calm down,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like bloody nothing!” she thundered. “Someone’s beaten the shit out of you! It’s that suit man, isn’t it?!”

“You don’t understand!” I snapped. “You wouldn’t understand. I’m fine, Steph, I’m really fine.”

I wrenched out of her grip, retreating to my bedroom for my dress. I felt so much safer with it on, but still she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s sick, Lyddie, sick! What kind of man would do this to you? What kind of man, Lyds?!”

“He didn’t
do
anything to me, Steph, I wanted it.”

“This is all fucked up, Lydia Marsh, it’s so fucked up. I knew you being here was a bad thing.” She pointed at the roof terrace with flailing arms, and I saw Rebecca poke her tongue out at Steph’s back. I fought the urge to laugh. “These people are WEIRDOS! They are CRAZY!”

“They aren’t crazy.” I rolled my eyes. “I like it here. I’m
happy
here.”

“You’re coming home with me right now!” she yelled. “Where these people can’t hurt you again!” She tried to pull me along by my wrist, but I had none of it, twisting away.

“I’m not going
anywhere
, Steph. This is my
home
. These are my
friends
.”

“And what about me?” she snapped. “What am I? What is Stuart?”

Stuart’s name thumped me in the gut. “Stuart is my
ex
-boyfriend. A nobody. He got someone else pregnant behind my back, I couldn’t give a fuck about him anymore.”

“That’s why I’m here!” she wailed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, if you weren’t too busy with these weirdos to listen to your fucking messages!”

I folded my arms. “What are you here to tell me?”

“It’s Stu,” she said. “He’s not the father! Carly admitted it the other night, admitted it clean out. The baby isn’t his, Lyds, it was all lies. I doubt he even fucked her in that alleyway, not really. She may have sucked him off, sure, but I don’t think he took it all the way, he was too drunk to remember, and she took advantage. He’s not going to be a dad, Lyddie, he’s not, and he’s so bloody sorry, all he wants is to make it right with you. It’s his second chance, Lyds, he knows how bad he’s messed up.”

“I don’t want Stuart,” I seethed. “Baby or no, it makes no odds. I don’t love him anymore.”

She turned purple, her bottom lip jutting out in rage. “You’d rather a man that beats the crap out of you, would you? You’ve lost the fucking plot, lady, these people have fucked with your mind.”

I looked at the clock, horrified to find just ten minutes to spare. I lost my temper, needing her out and away before my twisted-as-sin chaperone crashed her little monologue.