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“Talk?”

“Talk, fuck, whatever. Don’t worry, I won’t even offer you a coffee this time.”

I pressed up against her. “This ain’t no place for me, I don’t belong here.”

“Neither do I,” she said.

“Where doyoubelong, then?”

“Do you actually want to know? Seriously?”

I nodded. “Not taking no money again, though. Don’t want it.”

“This place doesn’t mean shit to me, it’s just a nice apartment, handy for work.” She reached for my hoodie, cold hands burying inside. “Meet me tomorrow, if you’re serious. No money this time, just because you want to.”

I weighed it up, drink slowing my brain. “Where?”

“Soho. I’ll meet you at Tottenham Court Road Station. Eleven PM.”

“Got nowt to wear.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she smirked. “You won’t need it.”

***

Chapter Eight

Sophie

I’d missed Explicit much more than I realised, underestimating its importance in my emotional equilibrium. Friday night work drinks had only reinforced that point. Laughing with my vanilla colleagues had taken effort, far too much concentration. I’d tried my best to be one of the crowd, but they cared about too much shit that meant nothing to me; gossip, and fashion and what’s on TV. I was all out of fucks to give, craving instead the embrace of my freak show friends,mypeople. Excitement ran through me, reinvigorated anticipation.

Only this time would be different.

I’d gone all out. Satin underwear under a sheer lace mini dress. Elbow-length gloves in black velvet. No stockings this time, only boots. Stiletto heeled leather to the knee, so tall I felt precarious. I liked the feeling.

I’d hidden it all under a long cardigan. My choker was the only giveaway, the unmistakable O-ring a tell-tale sign for anyone in the know.

Callum Jackson didn’t appear to be in the know. He was waiting when I stepped from the tube, trademark hoodie paired with black jeans I’d never seen him in. I checked him out, nodding my approval.

“Best I could do,” he grunted. “Ain’t got nothing else.”

“You look great.”

He didn’t respond to the compliment. “Where you taking me? Some swingers place or summat? Ain’t getting it on with no old cougars if that’s your thing.”

“You’ll see.”

He followed me across to Soho, shoulders hunched as his eyes scoped out every shadow. Explicit’s double wooden doors were unmarked from the street, no hint at the crazy awaiting inside. I put a hand on Callum’s arm as they swung open, smiling my usual welcome at the security guys. They eyeballed my guest, but let us pass with nothing more than a ‘good evening’. Callum kept his eyes on them until we were out of sight, muscles tense enough that I could feel them under his clothes.

“I’m Missy in this place,” I said. “We all use a club name.”

Dark eyes pierced. “Why?”

“Privacy... atmosphere... some people like the allure of a separate persona.” I handed my cardigan to the metal-studded girl at reception, and watched the savage take a step back. Outfit success. “Pick a name, Callum, any name...”

He swallowed, eyes on the line of my panties. “Am who I am. Fancy name makes no odds.”

“I quite fancied you as a Blake, or a Wraith, or a Steel…”

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