The Nature of Cruelty

by L.H. Cosway

  She rips it open and pulls out a slim gold credit card. “I called Dad and told him I was going to find an outfit for the party. He offered to pay and said he’d send this over.” She pauses, and her grin spreads as wide as it will go. “Who’s up for a shopping spree?”

  “Eh, yes. Oh, and we both still need to get Dad a gift. Any ideas?” asks Robert.

  “Uh, hang on a second. Are you two going to buy your dad a present using his own credit card?”

  Sasha laughs. “Yep. It’s a tradition. Or maybe a passive-aggressive fuck-you for all the times he missed our birthday growing up.”

  “That’s so sly, but in a way kind of justified,” I tell her.

  “You’ve got it in one, kid,” she says, throwing her arm around my shoulders conspiratorially. “So, what say we do breakfast at Harrods…followed by shopping at Harrods? Dad’s treat.” She waggles the credit card in her hand.

  “Ah, sis, sometimes it feels like you read my mind.” Robert grins as we head out the door to his car.

  After a leisurely breakfast, I find myself sitting and waiting in various stores while Sasha and Robert try on outfits. Correction, Sasha picks the second dress she tries on; it’s Robert who takes the longest. Sasha and I are sitting in these big luxurious armchairs in the fitting area of a men’s boutique while an assistant helps him decide on a suit. The assistant is fairly pissed off with us at this point, as we keep making funny comments before bursting into laughter. Like, “Robert, your bum looks too big in those pants,” and “Those shoulder pads put the ’80s to shame.”

  Juvenile, yes. But fun. Even Robert can’t help the permanent grin on his face.

  “Was there champagne in that orange juice you had at breakfast, by any chance?” he asks us.

  “We’re just giddy,” says Sasha. “And I’m excited for Alistair’s after party. He said he’s hired strippers. Male and female. It’s going to be hilarious.”

  Robert smiles at his sister before his eyes shift to me. “Are you excited for the strippers, too, Lana?”

  I put on a serious face. “Very much so. I think I might ask for my first ever lap dance.”

  His smile immediately dies. “You won’t do anything of the sort. Those male strippers are creepy.”

  “Oh, but I suppose the female ones are okay, though,” I argue.

  “Well, yes, nothing wrong with the females.” His smile is back now. “Besides, if it’s a lap dance you’re after, I’d be happy to give you a private one when we get home.” He winks.

  “Oh, you sleazy bastard!” Sasha exclaims in horror. “Stop perving on my friend.”

  “Lana loves it when I perve on her,” he replies, giving me a confident wink.

  The store assistant looks completely exasperated at this point. “Sir, might I suggest the black Armani?”

  “Yes, I did like that one. I think I might go black on black on black tonight. What do you say, girls?”

  “You might end up looking like the devil,” Sasha tells him.

  “Or Johnny Cash,” Robert counters.

  “Or a rugby player from New Zealand,” I add.

  “Or a Goth,” says Sasha.

  “Or a self-serious fashion designer,” I say with a giggle.

  “Or a beatnik,” Sasha counters.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re not changing my mind,” says Robert, turning to the assistant. “I’ll go for the black one. Could you bring me some black shirts and ties to look at?”

  “Of course,” says the blond man before rushing off to fulfil the task.

  Sasha gets a bored look on her face. “Right, I need to go send some emails. Be back in a minute.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket before walking to the front of the shop where there’s better internet reception.

  When I glance at Robert, he’s checking out how the suit jacket looks on him in the mirror.

  “Ugh, you’re so used to this,” I say, cringing.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Having an assistant to help you shop. I hate it even in the cheap stores when the girls come and ask if you need anything.”

  “That’s because you’re a scared little mouse who doesn’t want to interact.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that shop girls intimidate me, and I always do stuff to make things awkward.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like staring at their hair to avoid eye contact. Or laughing to cover up silences when nothing funny was said.”

  “Huh, I hadn’t noticed you do that with me. Then again, I’m not a shop girl, and it’s probably because we’re always too busy eye-fucking each other for you to be paying any attention to my hair.”

  “Robert!”

  He laughs, all low and gravelly. “What? You know it’s true.”

  “I do not. And that term…I don’t like it.”

  He turns around and walks toward me, slipping off the jacket. “What term, Lana?” he whispers, before kneeling down and pressing his hands into the arms of the chair on either side of me. He leans in, bringing his lips to my earlobe, and sucks it gently into his mouth. I think I might spontaneously combust. Then, with his voice even softer now, he says, “Eye fucking?”

  He puts an extra emphasis on the “F” that makes my throat get dry. I squirm in my seat. “Yes,” I whisper, and I can’t tell if I mean yes, eye fucking or yes, keep doing that. I think he gets the message, though, because with his eyes trained on the door of the dressing room to make sure the assistant isn’t on his way back, he sucks even harder and runs his hand up the inside of my thigh. My legs fall open involuntarily. I breathe out a long stream of breath as he presses his fingers down gently and starts rubbing between my legs over the fabric of my shorts.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper, my body going limp. I let my face fall to the warm hollow of his neck.

  His answering chuckle vibrates right through me.

  The heel of his palm presses harder, and his fingers move faster. He seems to know the exact spot to touch, and before I know it my cheeks have grown hot and I’m experiencing my first ever non-self-inflicted orgasm. Robert’s tongue flicks along my ear, and his breathing quickens as I shake against him.

  “Oh, wow, you should see yourself right now,” he whispers, eyes consuming me.

  I take several shuddering gasps of air.

  He moves his hand from between my legs and cups my face. Next, he lays a quick kiss on my lips before rising to stand just as the assistant returns with the shirts and ties. I stay sitting there, unable to move, as I realise that yes, that did just happen. Robert stands facing the mirror as he examines several ties. His eyes aren’t on the ties, though; his eyes are on me, and they’re scorching hot. I look away and try to steady my breathing.

  “This one is charcoal,” says the assistant, “and this one here is ebony. We also have ash, onyx, and liquorice if you’d like to try those on, too.”

  Robert gives him a wry smile. “Oh, no, but I had my heart set on obsidian.”

  “Well…” says the guy, a bit flustered, “we could always order some in.”

  Robert starts to laugh now, and I can’t help giving a small giggle myself.

  “Oh, you’re joking with me,” says the assistant, sobering. “Very well. I’ll leave you to decide yourself.” And with that he turns on his heel and goes to attend another customer.

  “That was mean,” I say as Robert expertly folds a tie around his neck.

  “Come on, he was asking for it. Look at them — they’re all black.”

  “Yeah, I guess they are.”

  “So,” says Robert, turning back around from the mirror to face me. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Shut up,” I reply, shifting my eyes away, my cheeks flaming red.

  “You came really quickly,” he continues with a grin. “I might be mistaken, but I think you must like me, Lana. I think you must really like me.”

  His voice caresses my name, and I can’t take it. “I’m going to check on Sasha.”

  His laughter
follows me out the door.

  Eleven

  Sasha’s standing just outside the shop, tapping away on her phone. She glances at me sideways, still keeping one eye on the screen. “What’s wrong?”

  I let out a sigh. “Nothing. Your brother just takes forever to decide on an outfit. He’s worse than half the girls I know.”

  Sasha pauses typing to look at me now. “You seem flushed. Are you feeling sick?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just hot.”

  “Me, too. We’ll be heading back to the house soon, so we can shower and have a bit of a rest before the party tonight.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I stand quietly beside Sasha as she finishes up with her emails for the next few minutes. Just as she’s done, Robert comes out carrying a small bag and one of those plastic suit covers thrown over his shoulder.

  “Oh, her highness Naomi Campbell has finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Sasha jokes.

  “Funny,” says Robert, deadpan.

  We walk back to where Robert parked the car earlier, but just as we get there, he throws his keys to Sasha. “Get in and wait for me. There’s something I forgot. I’ll be five minutes.”

  Sasha shrugs. “Okay, but if you take any longer, I’m driving home with Lana and you can get a taxi.”

  Robert nods and rushes off on his errand. Sasha turns on the radio as we wait, and Robert gets back five minutes later on the dot. He throws a small bag in the boot and hops into the front seat. I wonder what all that was about.

  During the ride Sasha gets a phone call. This is a common occurrence and not normally something of interest to me, but her voice is different than usual – low and kind of hushed, with a small note of excitement.

  “Yeah, yeah. Look, I can’t really talk right now,” she says. “I’ll call you later.” And then she hangs up.

  I catch Robert’s eye in the overhead mirror, and he arches his brow at me. Clearly, he noticed the phone call, too. Perhaps it was the girl Sasha was out with the other night when she said she’d been with work colleagues.

  When we get home, I make dinner and then go to figure out which dress I’m wearing tonight. Nothing jumps out at me as I look through the wardrobe, and I momentarily think that maybe I should have bought something today when I’d had the chance. But then I come across my black velvet cocktail dress. It’s got short sleeves and a long A-line skirt, with heart-shaped cleavage. It actually cost me over one hundred euros in a vintage shop. Sometimes vintage can mean cheap, but more and more often it’s coming to mean overpriced.

  I take a shower and blow-dry my hair before putting in some rollers to give it a bit of a curl. As I’m sitting by the dresser putting on some moisturiser, there’s a soft knock on my bedroom door.

  “Come in,” I call, finishing rubbing in the cream.

  Robert steps inside carrying a small powder-blue shopping bag. “I brought you something,” he says, eyeing the towel secured firmly around my chest. He drops the bag onto the bed and sits down, crossing one leg over the other.

  “What’s that?” I ask, screwing the cap back onto my moisturiser.

  “I want you to wear it tonight.”

  “I’ve already picked an outfit,” I say, gesturing to my dress hanging at the front of the wardrobe.

  “That’s lovely, but I want you to wear these under it.” He picks up the bag and throws it to me.

  I catch it and look inside to find a ball of cream-coloured lace. When I pull it out to see it properly, I find it’s a corset bra and a matching pair of knickers.

  “You’ve got to be joking me,” I whisper, running my hands over the expensive material. I sift out the tag on the bra. It reads 32C. My eyes whip up to Robert.

  “How the hell did you know my bra size?”

  His face grows serious. “Well, I like to look at your body a lot.”

  “And take pictures,” I add.

  “And take pictures,” he agrees.

  I’m not sure if I want to wear these, but considering what I let him do to me today in the store, it might be kind of hypocritical to tell him no. I can’t say there’s nothing going on between us now, because there so obviously is.

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell him, turning back around and taking some items out of my makeup case.

  He stands up and walks towards me. I watch him through the mirror. He reaches down and in one swift movement releases the towel. It falls to my lap, revealing my breasts.

  He lets out a sigh of pleasure and grabs my waist, twirling me around to face him. His eyes flutter as he scans my naked form. Then he goes down on bended knee and takes one nipple into his mouth while cupping the other breast. A small, gurgled cry escapes me at the sensation of his hot tongue as it swirls and his lips as they suck.

  I guess this is what I’ve needed all along. Someone like Robert who moves so quickly that I don’t have the chance to get anxious.

  “Touch me, Lana. Please,” he entreats.

  “Um,” I say through my laboured breathing. “Where?”

  “Anywhere,” he urges, staring up at me. God, he really looks good from this angle.

  I move my hands to his shoulders before running them along his neck and up into the clipped ends of his hair. He groans and abruptly pulls away.

  I shiver at the loss of him.

  “Fuck,” he swears. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

  I hold in my grin and try to keep a straight face. “You better go, then.”

  He gives me one last mournful look and then slips out the door. I turn back around, stunned at what just transpired, at how I turned into a sizzling mess when he took control.

  I quickly do my makeup and take the rollers out of my hair. When I go to put on the dress, I pause, considering whether or not to wear the lingerie he bought me. God, why does he have to do stuff that’s just so bloody sexy? I run my fingers over the lace, thinking of how he must have been visualising me in it when he purchased it. It’s also slightly reminiscent of the white lace I’d had on in the garden the day he’d looked up my skirt. Hmm, is that why he bought it?

  Feeling reckless and in a way kind of sexually empowered, I pull on the knickers and then clip the bra in place. It stops a couple of inches down my ribs and pushes my boobs right up. Well, well, well. I finish by zipping on my dress and rummaging my black peep-toe heels out of the wardrobe.

  “Lana, are you almost ready?” Sasha calls from her room. “The limo’s just arrived.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I call back, shoving a few necessities into my clutch bag.

  I find Robert waiting at the foot of the stairs, dressed in his black-on-black-on-black ensemble. Sasha was right, it does make him look like the devil – in the most attractive way possible. I suddenly realise that we match.

  He smiles wickedly when he sees me, taking my hand into his, turning it over and giving the inside of my wrist a tender kiss.

  “Are you wearing them?” he whispers.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I whisper back flirtatiously.

  His grin is strangely approving. “That dress makes the colour of your hair stand out like crazy,” he comments, just as Sasha leaves her room and comes downstairs.

  She’s wearing the silvery satin dress she picked out today with matching flats, and her short hair is gelled and clipped over to the side.

  “Wow, Sasha, you look like a runway model,” I exclaim.

  “Yeah, Sash, you scrub up well. Who’d have guessed,” says Robert.

  “Oh, shut up, the both of you,” she replies nervously.

  Sasha feigns smacking Robert on the head with her bag and saunters past us to the door. Robert offers me his arm, but I ignore it and follow Sasha. I’m not ready for her to know what’s going on just yet. That will require some alone time and an empty room where she can yell at me about how I’m being an idiot for trusting her brother.

  We get inside the black limo, and the driver pulls away from the house. Robert sits close
beside me while Sasha sits on the other side and opens up the drinks cabinet. Their dad and his girlfriend Melanie are coming with us, so we’re on our way to his house on Hampstead Heath.

  “Did you remember the watch?” Robert asks Sasha, referring to the present they bought for their dad. I didn’t buy him anything, because there really isn’t anything I could afford that a man like Alan Phillips would want. Sasha said he wouldn’t notice even if I bought him a brand-new Ferrari anyway, he’s so jaded.

  I stare out the tinted windows as we approach his home in all its regal Georgian glory. It’s strange to think that this is where Robert and Sasha spent all their summer holidays growing up. The driver gets out to knock on the front door, and a couple of minutes later Alan and Melanie emerge.

  “Ah, my children, how are you both this fine evening?” Alan asks merrily as he climbs inside the vehicle. By the looks of it, he’s already had a few.

  Melanie gets in wearing a gold dress that she proclaims was designed by Vivienne Westwood, even though nobody asked, and her caramel hair is pulled up in an intricate style.

  “It’s very pretty,” I tell her, referring to the dress, since she quite obviously wanted a compliment and neither Robert nor Sasha spoke up to give her one. She clearly has it in her mind that she’s going to be their new mother (and by the way she’s eating Robert up with her eyes, I’m thinking she wants it to be an oedipal sort of relationship). Ugh.

  “Thank you,” she replies with a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t quite get your name?”

  “This is Lana,” Robert interrupts, placing his hand momentarily on my shoulder.

  “Oh, well, thank you, Lana.”

  “Sasha, you look marvellous,” says Alan. “You should dress up more often.”

  Sasha grimaces and hands her father his birthday present. “Happy Birthday, Dad. This is from me and Robert,” she says, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

  He takes the small bag and shoves it to the side. “Oh, lovely. I’ll have Henry put it with the rest of the gifts when we arrive at the hotel.” His eyes move to Robert. “Now, son, I heard it through the grapevine that you moved out of the penthouse. Why didn’t you tell me?”