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“You want to be careful.” His voice is soft, but the timbre doesn’t fool me. My throat tightens as he steps into the kitchen, and I back away until I’m caught up against the work surface with nowhere to go. Even though he’s only a man, he fills the room, charisma radiating from him. He’s not touching me, but I can feel him all over my skin, pressing against my body. This is what he does.
Every single time.
“I’m not the careful type.”
“I can see that.” He puts a hand either side of me, clutching the worktop, caging me in. Lowering his head until his brow is pressed to mine, he stares at me, his thick, long eyelids fluttering as he blinks. “You’re a very bad girl.”
“I am,” I breathe.
“And you deserve to be punished.”
Yes I do. I really do.
He moves his face against mine, kissing me softly, little more than a brush of the lips. “Tonight I’m going to bend you over and fuck you so hard the snark flies right out of you, baby.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I can’t think of a single, witty reply.
Then he hits my arse yet again, and saunters out of the kitchen, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Laters.”
4
There’s nothing I love better than London on a summer’s evening. The streets are alive, thronging with people, the air thick with conversation and laughter. David and I walk past restaurants and bars, the open doors allowing the sweet fragrance of food and drink to escape into the night, wafting around us until my stomach starts to rumble.
The walk to Hoxton Square only takes us ten minutes, but it’s long enough for me to grill David about his life. He tells me he comes from the Northern Territories, that he has a one-year-old daughter, and his ex refuses to allow him access after an argument that got out of control. His voice drops when he describes Mathilda, and I can hear the pain that laces it, the ache that coats every word he says.
“I’m only here for a few months,” he explains. “I couldn’t stand to be near her. It was driving me crazy not being able to see her. I was close to a breakdown. I’ve always wanted to live in London, so I thought bugger it.”
“Are you planning to work while you’re here?”
“I’m a website designer. I’ve scaled things back a bit while I’m here, but there’re still a few commissions to finish. I can do that as easily here as anywhere else.”
“So you’ll be tapping away downstairs? God, I hope Max doesn’t disturb you too much.” Since our flats are part of a house conversion, the noise sometimes travels in the most embarrassing of ways. I know this, because Nancy, the previous tenant, used to wink at me after Alex and I had a dirty night.
“It’s all good. I don’t mind hearing a baby cry.”
When we get to the club, I give our name to the bouncer and he lifts up the rope, letting us into the lobby. We get our hands stamped and walk into the main hall, which is already half-full despite the set not starting for another hour.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask, grabbing my purse and taking out a couple of notes.
“I’ll get these.”
“It’s fine. Think of it as recompense for the noisy baby. You can get the next round.”
“In that case, I’ll have a beer. A proper one, not lager.”
We get our drinks and find a spot to the right of the stage. As we walk I see some familiar faces, smiling and saying hello to those I know. Alex’s band, Fear of Flying, have a pretty loyal following, but with the exposure they’ve been getting on some fairly popular music blogs, it has started to grow. I notice that at least half the audience is made up of younger women, drinking white wine spritzers and talking excitedly. Though I try not to listen too closely, I can’t help but notice the words some of them use about Alex.
Yes, he is ‘fuck hot’, but he’s also mine. A tiny dart of jealousy shoots through me. Not a big one; there’s no green-eyed monster here. Maybe a bit of territory guarding.
“Don’t you want to go and see your husband?” David asks after he takes a sip of beer. “I don’t mind hanging around here.”
“I try not to see him before a set. He’s too amped up, we’d end up having a row.” It’s true; by this time Alex will be almost high on adrenaline. Electric and punchy and liable to explode. It’s what he does to get through the painful anxiety that accompanies him going on stage, though once he’s performing you’d never know it.
“Oh, really? I never would have guessed.” David grins. I find myself blushing, mostly because he must have heard all our arguments. Alex and I love hard and we fight hard, and though that kind of relationship isn’t for everyone, it works for us.
Most of the time.
