The Arrangement (Erotic Novella) (5 page)

The front door
clunks shut and it's just me and Lily and the shuddering
aftershocks of my public abasement.

My head’s spinning. How many times have I fucked up? Guy,
Brett and Ed are surely just the tip of my grim personal iceberg.
I've got to call Harry. My phone's here somewhere. Where is
it?
Where is it?!

I shake the
contents of my bag over the coffee table, and snatch up my phone as
Lily rescues my wine glass.

"Em, honey. It's
OK
. Really. You'll be OK. Just take a minute -"

‘Got to call
him,' I try to say as I fumble with the touch-pad, but it comes out
as a blurred slurry of non-words, and my fingers are just bumbling
blindly against the screen. Through my tear-goggles I can barely
make out his profile pic as I scramble for the call options.

"Em? Emma?"
Lily eases the phone from my shaking hand and replaces it with a
tissue. "Get yourself sorted first honey. You want him to
understand what you're saying don't you?"

I hold my free
hand out to her but instead of giving me back my phone, she gives
me back my wine glass. Well, fine. Whatever. I drain it in one go
and it's evident I needed it. But then don't I always when things
get tough? Sad but true. Anyhow, it’s working. I'm feeling a little
more myself - a bit more grounded at least.

Lily's right. I
need my head straight before I talk to Harry. Need to take a bath.
Play some Otis Redding or the fricking Mamma Mia soundtrack -
something upbeat. Then I'll phone him.

"I'm not going
to ask about Curtis. Whoever he is," Lily says, and my heart stops
again at the just mention of his goddam name. "It’s just… If you
want to talk about him... Or anything..."

"Yeah," I
murmur. At least my words sound like words now. "Yeah. I know.
Thanks. But Lily," I say. Then I struggle for words which won't
sound cutting or melodramatic or dismissive. There are no good
words. All I can do is keep it simple. So I look at her, eye to
eye, and I say it. "I'm never going to talk about Curtis."

*****

What happens
next is so fast and frenetic I could almost believe I imagined it.
Lily goes to hand me my phone. She looks at it, then all of a
sudden she’s staring horrified at the thing, all panicked and
frantic.

“Oh shit, shit,
shit!” she hisses, jabbing at the screen. Then, getting nowhere,
she thrusts it at me and I see what’s got her so riled. Harry’s
connected. My call went through. My fumbling, idiotic fingers
managed to call him without me knowing, and now he’s heard… What?
What has he heard?!

I end the call
and try to breath. He couldn’t have heard anything. The phone was
on the table the whole time. He couldn’t possibly have heard… and
even if he did, we didn’t say anything. Nothing incriminating. What
am I worried about?

I turn the
phone off, stuff it under a cushion, and tell myself Harry would
never have eavesdropped on our conversation anyway. Then I stagger
to the bathroom, bung on my portable radio and shower. No time for
that relaxing bath. No time for Mamma-sodding-Mia. I’m just going
to freshen up and go.

I dress to the foreboding melancholy of Amy Winehouse singing
You Know I’m No Good, and pray poor gorgeous Amy isn’t trying to
tell me something from the grave. Because I
can
be good, can’t I? For Harry I can
be. I think I can. I’m willing to try.

5.

I ring the
doorbell because that's the polite thing to do, right? Correct
etiquette when someone's already told you politely to go shaft
yourself. I know he's in there so why isn't he answering the effing
door? I can see his silhouette moving by the window, and someone
else's too. Deanne's I think. And is a that a third body? I can't
be sure. All I know is, he’s busy in there, pretending I don’t
exist, while I twiddle my thumbs, streetside.

He won't answer
his damned phone either. Oh, and that's nice. Now it's going
straight to voice-mail. Charming. Fuck it, I'm going in.

Thrills always
looks weird with the shutters down and the lights off. The street
lamps and general Soho gaudiness soak through the windows casting
eerie alien lights on the kinky undies and toys. It’s cooler in
here than outside, and my bare arms prickle with goose bumps. I’m
quivering with nerves too, it seems.

I've crash-landed here without a plan, hoping to
ad lib
my way back into
his good books. I'll just tell him I changed my mind. I want to be
his girlfriend after all…
Big balls-up,
boss. Turns out I
am
the hearts and roses kind of girl! Who knew?!

Oh God, there's no way he'll buy such a whopping change of
heart. I'm not even sure
I
buy it.

One thing’s clear: I want him. But who's to say I can do it -
this whole
relationship
deal. I mean, I’ve never done it with anyone I loved before,
so how can I be sure I won’t fuck it all up?!

Worse still, what if
he
fucks it up? What if he blows cold once he’s got
me where he wants me? What if he doesn't
really
want me like he says he
does?

Does
he really want me? I thought he
did. I really thought he did. But now I'm not so sure. I mean, he
didn't exactly fight for me, did he?!... And here I am, trying to
reach him and he's actively avoiding me.

Plus, Deanne's up there. Did he change his mind about
her
? Is that
it?

Or maybe it was
the phone call. Christ, I bet that was it. He heard me talking
about cunt-face-Curtis and now he hates me. But I didn't say
anything, did I?! He can't know what happened with Curtis. There's
no way he could know.

Oh God, I
shouldn't have come here. It's so obviously a bad idea. I take it
back - I’m not ready to see him.

We’ll do this tomorrow, I decide, and I’m reaching for the
door again when I hear him coming downstairs. I pause, fighting the
clawing fear in my chest - a fear that tells me
you’re no good, you’re no good.
Amy
was right all along. I’m just a cheapo Pot Noodle, whereas Harry -
well - Harry’s an all-you-can-eat Noodle House buffet. There’s
really no comparison. I don’t deserve him, and sooner or later the
penny’s gonna drop and he’ll move on to noodles new. And no, I
don’t no why my head’s so full of noodles at the moment, but I’m
sleep-starved and sick with dread so give me a fucking
break.

“Are you going
again?” Harry asks. I turn. He’s come downstairs and pauses now to
lean against the counter. “I keep finding you on my property, and
you’re always leaving. Should I be worried?”

“I love you.” O-
kay
… where did that come from?! Talk about going off at a
tangent. But somehow I’m still talking. “I want you, Harry. Just
like you said. Just you and me.”

But he says
nothing. Just stares at me, half in shadow, giving no clue to
what’s going through his head.

And I realize too late what a fool I’ve been. He doesn’t love
me. I assumed. I just assumed. He said
want
and I heard
love
, and now I’ve said it and he
can’t say it back because it wouldn’t be true.

I want to run.
I should have pegged it when I had the chance. "You're busy, I'm
gonna go."

"Not so fast.”
His voice is rough, low and I swear I melt a bit between my legs.
“What did you just say to me?"

Oh God, I can’t say it again.
I love
you, Harry. I love you. Don’t make me keep saying it.
"I'm busy?"

"You love
me."

I look at him, his brown eyes fiery hot, and I shiver. He
feels the same way I think. Want
did
mean love! My heart’s pounding almost audibly but
some part of my brain is still on the defensive.

"You've got guests,” I say, trying to draw attention away from
the
other
three
word sentence he’s now fixating on.

"Just Deanne
and Jake. They can wait, babe. Say it again."

I shake my head. I can't do it. I need him to say it back
first. It's tit for tat, and I know I'm being childish but
I want my tat!

"Why's Jake
here? Jake never comes here." I'm grasping at conversational
straws. Who cares why Jake's here?! I just want the focus off my
as-yet-unreturned love proclamation.

But Harry's
crossing the shop floor now, and his face is illuminated by the red
light spilling through the shutters, and he’s looking almost
dangerous. Like he's madly intent on devouring me, and a sharp
twinge of need spikes through my cunt at the thought.

“He wants to
sell the business,” he shrugs, though his eyes don’t lose any of
their fire. “Been trying to persuade me for months.”

I’m breathless.
Speechless. He
can’t
sell Thrills. That just absolutely,
categorically cannot happen. My back sinks into the door and I
struggle to push the words past my lips. “You’re selling…”

“Jake needs
some spare capital. He’s got a buyer lined up. I’d keep the on-line
business, and you’d still have your job here,” he says, and he’s up
against me now. Close enough to feel the need pouring off me in
heady waves, his arms pinning me against the door while I stare up
at him in desperation.

“I… I don’t want to be here without you,” I tell him. What
would be the point? It’s not like I ever set out to be a kinky
knicker seller - it’s really never been one of my life’s ambitions.
I took the work because I needed it, and I stayed because I
needed
him
. I was
just too effing moronic to realize.

“Then change my
mind,” he growls. His cock strains against me, stiff as an iron
bar, pushing firm between my legs, and it’s all I can do not to rip
both our clothes off and sink my hot plumped flesh around him. I
needn’t worry. He’s doing it for me. My bag’s the first thing to
go, then my knickers, then my silky vest top and bra, until I’m
wearing nothing but my flimsy black skirt. He peals the items from
me with deliberate care, letting his eyes skim each newly revealed
contour. Then he’s yanking at his trousers, pushing them down along
with his boxers to nudge his pre-come soaked dick against the slick
and ready lips of my pussy.

“Condom…” he
says.

“My purse.”

He leaves me
aching for him while he finds the johnny, and I can’t resist
stroking my clit, just trying to ease a fraction of my hunger. My
eye lids droop closed just as a firm male hand grasps my wrist and
pulls my fingers into his mouth. He groans against my touch,
swirling his tongue against my fingertips like he’s intoxicated by
the taste of me.

“Mine,” he scolds wickedly, reprimanding me for touching
myself, pushing his cock just inside the entrance of my vagina then
pulling out, spreading my juices across my clit. And
oh
how my clit hums for
him. My whole body is vibrating with need. We’re in a shop full of
kinky toys and I seriously doubt anything could come close to the
bliss of this huge writhing man between my thighs.

“Fuck me,” I
gasp. I’m panting uncontrollably now, and my breath seems to have
lost all sense of rhythm, hitching and catching and rasping to its
own mindless beat. He’s tormenting me with his cock, just teasing
it against me, and I’m not above begging for it. “Please, Harry,
you’re killing me! Just fuck me! Fuck me now!

And he does. He
plows that glorious thing inside me, and I nearly come right there,
right on that very first delicious intrusion. But I stop myself,
holding onto the remnants of my control while he draws back then
screws right up into me.

“Fuck, I want
you so bad. I won’t last,” he snarls. “I need you, Em. Need to come
in you soon.”

I have to bite
him. I’ve turned into this primal animal-woman and I just can’t
help raking my teeth across a hard sweat-slicked pec. I’m crying
out uncontrollably. Loud enough that anyone passing the other side
of this door is gonna think we sell a lot more than garters and
dildos. Loud enough - it seems - for Jake to hear me.

I hear
him
on
the stairs just as Harry’s revving up to climax, my clit throbbing
at the promise of his release, and I doubt even a herd of rampaging
elephants couldn’t stop us at this point. Harry's gripping my hips
almost painfully tight now with his long thick fingers, and that
raw growling urgency is enough to send me hurtling over the edge.
I'm clenching around his length and he's not letting up, impaling
me relentlessly until his own orgasm tears through him. And then
we're sinking, spilling onto the floor in a breathless lust-drunk
haze. He holds me tight, panting, cradling me, kissing me, and it
would be the most perfect moment of my life, if it weren't for
Jake.

Jake's standing
way back behind the counter, framed by the doorway that leads up to
Harry's flat. And he's fuming. Even with his face in shadow I can
tell he's mad, though I honestly don't know why. We get on OK, I
think. So why, oh why, does he look like he wants to rip me in
two?

6.

"Er, Harry..."
I murmur, and Harry turns, following my gaze to where his brother
stands.

Jake's arms are
folded tight across his chest, biceps pumping. He's busting to say
something, I think, ready to fling some dirt my way, though - as
far as I know - there's none to fling.

"Jake?" Harry
says, shaking himself from our post-orgasmic muddle. "What the
fuck?!"