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She dropped the fish slice on the side and gave me a pinch, leaving me bent-over, bare-assed and totally shell-shocked, with a face that most likely matched the scarlet of the kitchen. I pulled myself together, yanking down my robe and choking back the shock like it never happened.

Rebecca grabbed her bag and keys and checked her make-up one last time, and I watched her as though she was some strange alien creature that I hadn’t spent the past month living with. She turned in the doorway before she left, a huge grin lighting up her face.

“Lydia Marsh, I think we have us a pain slut. Maybe Cinderella shall go to the ball after all.”

***

Chapter Seven

James

My mobile buzzed in my pocket. Text message.

“Do you want her or not? Last call.”

Writing my response was easy. Sending not so much.“Not.”

I counted the down the seconds until the second buzz.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe whatever you want.”

I cast the phone aside and returned to the paperwork in front of me. Lydia’s proposal was virtually faultless. The girl had skill. The phone started up again, rattling against the desk top. It disturbed my pen alignment. I put them straight again before viewing the message.

“Will I see you tonight?”

“No.”

“Definitely not?”

“Definitely not.”

“Positive?”

“Fucking hell, Rebecca. NO, you will not see me tonight.”

A few minutes delay.

“Spoilsport. Cara says she’s forgotten what your palm feels like.”

“I very much doubt that.”

I needed out of this Lydia Marsh shit. The suggestion that she move in with Rebecca had been a bad one, a rash decision made purely by my cock. Now she was there to stay, holed in tight with the only person I called a friend. I’d shit my own bed by courting a ridiculous fantasy. Bad form, James, bad fucking form.

Fuck no-one you know, and know no-one you fuck.I held on to my mantra daily, gripping it in white knuckles every time she entered my room, every time the ping of my email sounded with her name, every time she crossed my path in the fucking corridor.

She brought me coffee every fucking morning, just how I liked it. Just like we were friends, placing it on my desk with the same shy smile every motherfucking day. And the meetings, countless fucking hours of watching Lydia Marsh watching me, oblivious to the torment of her pretty green eyes. Lydia Marsh who didn’t think I cared shit for her. It’s better that way. Definitely better for me.

I’d given Explicit a wide berth for weeks. The club regulars dulled to grey once I’d seen the pain in Lydia Marsh’s eyes. Even sweet little Cara, even Rebecca. What I’d seen in Lydia was real. Beautiful, hot, raw pain; her broken soul peeking out through the cracks in her armour for just one single helpless moment, and I’d seen it. I’d seenher. Even if I bleached my retinas she’d still be there, sobbing her hard little heart out in the kitchen.

I slammed the file shut and smoothed down the edges. Perfect order. Just how I liked it.

***

I didn’t tell Bex I’d changed my plans. She’d find out for herself soon enough.

In my craving for a distraction I’d done the unthinkable. I’d pulled out the little black book. Thevirtuallittle black book, of course: full of email addresses and online dating profiles all tagged together nicely with photos of my encounters. I’d checked them out one by one, browsing for the perfect Lydia Marsh antidote. Several were off the radar, statusrelationshipor no longer active at all, others I’d red flagged as emotional no-gos. I only hit one lucky jackpot. A submissive known as Violet from over in Kent, far enough away to avoid ‘just passing’ or suggestions of coffee, but close enough to make it in on short notice. She’d been good last time around. Nicely experienced. Really fucking dirty but a little too fucking keen. Still, we’d passed the six month cool-off, she was green light status all over again.

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