“Well thanks and all that but I can look after myself.” He lets out a little laugh and does his usual head shake.
“Why, tell me why kitten, every other week, you waltz in here with a different little play thing in tow, licking your boots and panting all around you. Why, why do you do it? Are you trying to piss me off, or are you trying to prove something to yourself?”
“Like I told you before, what I do has fuck all to do with you and why would me coming in here with a bloke piss you off anyway? You don’t give a shit, you made that clear the night you dragged me over here for a drink with you, then totally ignored me when you found out who I was so don’t fucking start with me about trying to piss you off.”
I keep my back to the door of the office but reach behind me and turn the handle, it’s locked and he must have the key, I lose my temper completely, grab the handle with both hands, turn it, pull it and kick the door.
“Open the fucking door!” I scream. I feel his hand on my shoulder; he pulls me around and kisses me hard on the mouth. I grab his hair and pull it as hard as I can, despite the force of his kiss. His lips are soft and warm, he tastes of whiskey or bourbon or whatever the shit is that he drinks and he smells delicious; I’ve had months of mindless, faceless sex and not one single orgasm but right now, I feel like I could come at any minute, just from his kiss. I bite down gently on his bottom lip and he moans into my mouth and my legs almost give way; his big hands run down either side of my body, his thumbs brush over my boobs as he drags them down from my armpits to my waist, he splays them over my hips, then over my arse cheeks as he pulls me into him and grinds.
“Fuck,” he moans into my mouth. I’ve been at a business lunch with my Mum today and am still wearing my work clothes, a Chanel skirt and jacket with a shell blouse underneath but it’s what I have on under my skirt that has got his attention now; his fingers are stroking the outside of my thigh, reaching under the hem of my skirt and I’m just waiting for it, in three, two, one.
“Fuckin hell kitten, you’re wearing stockings?”
I smile at myself, what is it with men and stockings? “I sure am Tiger, what of it?”
He bends his knees so we are eye to eye, even in my heels; he’s a good few inches taller than me. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Pull your skirt up and show me your stockings.”
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t swear Kitten, it’s not nice, now pull up your skirt and show me what you’re wearing.”
“Fuck nice and no.”
“Did you wear them for him?”
“Who?”
“That fucking idiot you walked in here with.”
“Stop swearing Tiger, it’s not nice and it’s none of your fucking business.”
He pulls me with him while he walks backwards and rests his butt on the edge of his desk, holding me at arm’s length; he slides my skirt up my thighs to my hips, then seems to change his mind and pulls it back down again. My belly drops to the floor as that horrible, horrible feeling of rejection hits me and for the first time in almost four years, I think I might cry. He takes a step toward me, reaches for my hip, undoes the button and slides down the zip, because the skirt’s fully lined and a little lose, thanks to the amount of cocaine I’ve been shoving up my nose every weekend for the past six months. My skirt slides silently to the floor and from somewhere, confident George appears. I step out of my skirt and away from him, shrug out of my jacket, pull my blouse over my head and stand in front of him in my pale pink La Perla lingerie. I put my hands on my hips, open my legs and look him square in the eye, his gaze doesn’t meet mine, his eyes are looking over my body, and I feel a little self-conscious. I know I’m a little too skinny, too many drugs, too much gym, too much misery doesn’t set you in good stead for a great appetite but judging by the tepee that’s forming in his trousers, he likes what he sees. His hands are gripping either side of the huge oak desk and his knuckles are white, his eyes rest on my tits, which finally seem to have decided to stop growing, I’m five feet eight and only just filling out size eight clothes right now but I still need an E cup bra to fit my tits, making dresses an almost impossible wardrobe choice for me. Luckily working in the business, I just get things either tailor made or altered.
“Turn around,” Cam’s voice makes me jump as it rasps out, his gaze finally meeting mine, I turn very slowly, once I have my back to him, I pull the scrunchy out of my hair, shake it out with my fingers and let it fall down my back.
“Jesus fucking Christ Kitten.” I look over my shoulder at him.
“What Tiger, what’s wrong?” His brown eyes are almost glowing, they shine so brightly, his cheeks are flushed and I reckon he must have a whole tribe of red Indians sitting in that tepee judging by the size of it. I wink at him and he makes a sound in his chest that’s almost like a growl and I have to control the little whimper that almost escapes my throat.
“Come here,” he orders.
“Please,” I say.
He stands up straight, he’s so tall, he must be at least six feet five and broad and just so, so…
“Come. The. Fuck. Here… ” Masterful. I turn all the way around so that I’m facing him again and take a step forward, then jump straight into his arms as someone bangs loudly on the office door.
“Fuck!” We both say together.
“Cam, you better get out here mate, this blokes going off his narna and smashing up your birds motor.”
I look straight at him. “Hilda… I’ll fucking kill him.”
Cam looks at me totally confused. “Stay here, I’ll sort the little prick out.”
He looks me up and down, walks over to a cupboard in the corner and pulls out a sweatshirt. “Put that on and stay here.”
He unlocks the door by flicking a catch on the handle. Well fuck, it didn’t need a key after all, and marches outside. There’s no way that I’m staying put while Hilda gets smashed up, I know it’s no less than I deserve after the way I treated Lee but my Dad’s blokes spent months finding the parts fixing her up and that’s after the six months it took me and my Dad to actually find one that was worth fixing up. My Dad had begged me to let him buy me something new, like he had my brothers when they passed their test but for some unknown reason, I’ve always wanted a burnt orange and black Triumph Herald, with a walnut dash and a sunroof, and being the daddy’s little princess that I was, I eventually got my own way.
I went over to the big oak wardrobe looking thing in the corner and found a pair of jogging bottoms, I spent a few more seconds being nosey, looking at the shirts and ties and giving them a little sniff as I did, I couldn’t help it, he smelt so delicious. I could hear sirens outside and flew out of the office, the bar was quiet, with most of the patrons watching the show that was going on outside. I pushed my way through the crowd, I hadn’t had chance to pull the joggers on but the sweatshirt came down to my knees anyway.
I assumed the pile that was on the floor with three of Cam’s doorman leaning over it was Lee but I couldn’t really see. Cam had his back to me, standing in front of my car, talking to a Policeman. It went quiet as I approached him.
I trod on something sharp and cried out in pain. I’d kicked off my heels to pull the joggers on and was now just stood in my stockings. Cam swung around as he heard my “Oww shit.”
He dragged his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Excuse me a second, officer,” he said very politely. He had a very strong East London accent, stronger than my Dad’s and it sounded strange hearing him speak so nicely to the Policeman. “Kitten, I told you to wait inside, there’s glass everywhere. Where’s your shoes?”
“What’s he done to Hilda?”
“Who the fuck’s Hilda?”
“My car.”
He laughed.
“What’s funny?”