The Nature of Cruelty

by L.H. Cosway

  Robert groans and lets go of my breast, leaning down to give it a mournful kiss goodbye. “Don’t put ideas in my head. I’m this close to calling in sick.”

  “You shouldn’t, not after what happened yesterday with your dad.”

  “I know. Fuck, I really don’t want to have to face him today. Promise you’ll come to the office at one and have lunch with me. That way I’ll at least have something to look forward to.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ve never been to your dad’s offices before.”

  Standing up from the bed with not a scrap of clothing on him, he begins reciting directions.

  “Take a left turn after Baccino’s, keep walking for about five minutes, and you’re there. You can’t miss it. Tell the girl on reception you’re there to see me, and she’ll let you in. My office is on the sixth floor. I’ll order something in.”

  I smile. “Righteo. Looking forward to it.”

  He kisses me deeply, and then goes to take a shower and get ready. I fall back into the bed, closing my eyes and breathing in the smell of him on the pillows. Once he’s left for work, I do have that bath, taking a book in with me and allowing myself a nice long soak. Afterwards I feel more like myself again. Images of last night shift through my head, making me blush, even though I’m completely alone. And then, all of a sudden it hits me. I’m no longer a virgin.

  The concept seems strange and foreign now that it’s behind me; this airy, mythical thing that once made me feel so alienated is gone. Should I feel different? Like a new person? Well, if I should, I don’t. I’m still me, and all the hours I’d spent worrying about it seem so ridiculous in retrospect.

  Later on, I get ready for my lunch with Robert. I’m all too curious to see what Alan’s offices are like. I wonder if there’ll be any celebrity clients hanging around.

  On the Tube to Knightsbridge, I see that somebody left their copy of The Daily Mail on an empty seat. Having forgotten to bring my iPod with me, I pick it up and flick through the pages. I search for the showbiz section to see if there’s anything in here that Sasha wrote. Her stories are mostly only published on the website, but every so often one of her articles will find its way inside the actual paper. Unexpectedly, I open a new page to see a fairly long article credited to Sasha Phillips. The caption reads: Pop Star Molly Willis Admits to Miscarriage.

  Jesus, Sash, give us the hard-hitting headlines, why don’t you?

  The article details how Molly actually was pregnant several weeks ago as rumoured, but that when she miscarried she covered it up by claiming she hadn’t been pregnant at all and that someone had fabricated the entire thing. Yesterday afternoon, a source close to the pop star revealed what had really happened.

  I feel slightly sick as I read about how several well-known commentators have been hitting out hard at Molly, calling her a careless monster and saying she miscarried because of all the hard drinking and partying she’d been doing in the early stages of her pregnancy.

  I’m glad that Sasha only states the facts, not expressing any of her own opinions on the matter. It’s actually surprising, considering her bosses tend to encourage her to express such opinions. They like a bit of controversy, do The Mail. She must have stuck to her guns on that one. And then, all I can think is, poor Molly.

  I remember back to when I’d seen her on television that time, and there had been something sad in the set of her mouth. Right at that moment she’d probably been mourning her lost child but had to put on a brave face for the public.

  It’s a bizarre world where one day you’re being proclaimed as the most beautiful woman in Britain, and the next you’re labelled a monster for being so unfortunate as to have miscarried a child.

  These days the media interacts in brutal ways, with the thin façade of moral outrage, when really it’s all schadenfreude, taking pleasure in seeing another person suffer. In this information age, swords and knives are no longer the weapon of choice – words are.

  Somehow the swords and knives seem more straightforward, less insidious. No one’s pretending to be a good person when they’re stabbing you in the gut.

  Pulling out my phone, I send Sasha a quick text: Saw your article in today’s paper. Wish you didn’t have to write stuff like that. The poor girl.

  As I exit the Tube station, I get a long text back from her: If you knew what other journalists are writing about her, you wouldn’t be saying that. My article was veritably cheerful by comparison. My editor wanted me to change a few things, make it more sensational. I told him no. I’m about two protests away from getting the sack at this point. But yeah, I know. It’s all find-hype-destroy these days. Molly was found, she was hyped, and now she’s being destroyed. How depressing.

  A minute later she sends another message: Thinking of becoming a greeting card writer. That way the worst thing I’ll ever have to compose is sympathy and condolence messages.

  Find-hype-destroy. I never thought of it that way before, but it describes recent pop culture perfectly. Sasha is so clever. You’re an artist, you rise out of obscurity to fame, fortune, and endless admiration, but then one day somebody decides you’ve gotten too big for your boots, or they’re jealous of your success, and they decide they’re going to cut you down a peg or two.

  When you think about these kinds of consequences, it really doesn’t seem worth trying to become famous in the first place.

  With these dark thoughts in my head, I make my way towards the offices of Phillips PR.

  Sixteen

  Just before I get to Robert’s work, I send Sasha a quick message back: That would be a fun job. Let’s have dinner at the house tonight and hang out. Sounds like you’ve had a rough day.

  She replies: The roughest. It’s a date.

  A dark-haired receptionist smiles at me as I enter through the large glass and steel door. I’m wearing a loose open cardigan over my dress, and the sleeve gets stuck slightly on the handle. There are workers coming and going, and I’m awkwardly getting in their way. Grimacing sheepishly, I tug it free and continue to the reception desk. A tall security guard standing to the side of the lobby tightens his lips to keep from laughing at me.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Robert,” I say, glancing around uncertainly. I stick out like a sore thumb in this place.

  The receptionist arches her brow in amusement. “It’s a big building with several different companies. You’ll have to be a little more specific, love.”

  “Um, Robert Phillips, from Phillips PR?”

  Her eyes immediately light up in a dreamy way. Yeah, she knows exactly who I’m talking about now. Who wouldn’t notice the work of art that is my brand-new boyfriend, however messed up he might be on the inside?

  “Oh, Robert,” she says, and I don’t know how to interpret her tone. “He did mention someone would be coming to see him for lunch. Take the elevator up to the sixth floor, and I’ll buzz him to let him know you’re on your way.”

  Giving her a tight smile, I thank her and step inside the elevator with several other people. By the time I reach the sixth floor, it’s emptied out, and I’m the only one left in the carriage. The door pings open, and I step into a corridor with grey walls and coffee-coloured carpet. Robert is nowhere in sight, so I walk along, reading the names on the office doors to see if I can find him on my own. I laugh when I finally reach Robert’s office and see that Jimmy’s is right next to his. I wonder if the guy is still pestering Sasha for that date.

  I can hear voices chatting inside, so I knock and wait for someone to let me in. A few seconds later a woman in her late thirties opens the door. She looks like a red-haired Sarah Jessica Parker; one of those women whose features don’t seem like they’d make an attractive face, but somehow they do. I also notice that our hair is almost the exact same shade of red. Her eyes are different from mine, though, all brown and gold like caramel.

  She gives me a polite smile. “Oh, hello, are you the new intern they were sending me?”

  Before I can answer, Robert steps in front of her, s
miling brightly. “She’s not your intern, Olivia. This is my girlfriend, Lana.”

  He wraps his arm around my waist, and while my brain is still processing the name “Olivia” and coming up with the shocking fact that this is the married woman Robert was with, I thrust my hand out to shake hers.

  Her eyes widen by a tiny fraction as she returns the handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, smiling and appraising me at the same time. She’s probably thinking how unsuited Robert and I are for one another. We look like polar opposites; him in his suit and me in my quirky vintage wear.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, too,” I say, withdrawing my hand and allowing Robert to tuck me tighter under the crook of his arm.

  “I take it you’re from Ireland?” she says, folding her arms and hooking one high-heeled foot behind the other. She’s got a tight navy shift dress on, her long hair twisted up at the back of her head in a clip.

  Surreptitiously looking to the side, I see that Jimmy and another man are in Robert’s office as well, and I breathe out a relieved sigh. At least she wasn’t in here alone with him.

  I laugh. “Yeah, did the accent give me away?”

  She makes a gesture with her thumb and forefinger. “Little bit.” Her eyes wander to Robert, and she grins at him in a satisfied way. “Who would have thought it? You have a thing for redheads, Rob. I must have given you a taste for them.”

  Robert frowns, and Olivia’s lips purse with the pleasure of having outed him. Little does she know, I’m already well aware of their history.

  His hand roams over my hip as he ducks his head and plants a kiss on the hollow of my throat. He’s staring at me adoringly when he answers, “It’d be Lana who did that, actually, Olivia dear.”

  Her mouth drops open, and for a second she doesn’t breathe a word. “Well,” she says finally, all huffy. “I’d better be going. Enjoy your lunch.” She puts a snappy emphasis on the word “lunch,” catty as you please.

  With that she strolls out of the office, swinging her hips as if trying to communicate with her body language that she doesn’t give a shit.

  Robert groans and shakes his head. “And to think I took a beating for that woman.”

  “Is she back with her husband now?” I ask, far too eagerly.

  He eyes me in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I heard the name Olivia and put two and two together. So, is she?”

  “Her husband makes a half a million pounds a year. What do you think?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  Jimmy and the other man make their way past us, nodding goodbye to Robert and carrying on with their “all-business” chat. Robert closes the door and swings me around, planting his lips on mine and coaxing my mouth open with his tongue. I’ve just started unbuttoning his shirt when the phone on his desk rings. He draws away from me reluctantly and goes to answer it.

  I take the opportunity to have a look around his office.

  “Yes, that’s perfect. Bring it on up,” he says, and then puts the phone down, glancing at me. “Food is on its way.”

  I nod and stare at the quintessential London view out his window. He growls seductively and begins striding toward me. The look in his eye gives me a jolt of nerves, and I shriek with laughter, running away from him. He chases me around his desk for a good three minutes straight before there’s a knock on the door. I lean against the glass window, trying to catch my breath. Who knew I had it in me to be so playful?

  “Come in,” Robert calls, and a short, blond guy walks in carrying two brown paper bags and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. He places all of it on the table and leaves after Robert tips him. I make a quick trip to the bathroom to take my medicine. Feeling flirtatious upon returning, I go and sit on Robert’s chair instead of one of the three situated in front of his desk. It’s a big leather swivel number, comfortable as heaven and expensive as hell.

  As I rummage through the bags, I find a Greek salad, sourdough bread, hummus, and dipping oils.

  “This looks delicious,” I say, taking a bite out of a piece of bread. When I look up, Robert is standing before me with his hand outstretched. I take it, and he pulls me from the seat before swiftly taking my place and positioning me on his lap. His arms come around my waist to reach for the food, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder.

  I feel his low voice vibrate against my back when he asks, “You hungry?”

  “Starving,” I whisper as he picks up some bread, dips it in oil, and brings it to my mouth. I take a bite, and he purrs in approval. I should elbow him in the ribs for acting silly, but I’m actually finding that I enjoy him feeding me.

  “So,” I begin casually, after several minutes of Robert giving me bites of food and me returning the favour for him. “What was your meeting with Olivia about?”

  He chuckles. “And Jimmy and Conrad, you mean?”

  “Uh, yeah, and those two,” I say, feigning forgetfulness and pouring some juice into a glass on Robert’s desk.

  “One of our movie star clients has a big premiere happening this weekend, so we were just making some preparations. Olivia will be accompanying him to the event. She’s brilliant with the press, knows just how to work them.”

  “Huh.”

  Robert’s hand moves up my thigh. I feel his breath on the back of my neck when he asks huskily, “Are you jealous of her, little red?”

  I shrug. “It’s hard not to be when I know you slept with her behind her husband’s back and then you talk about her all complimentary like that.”

  “We were filling a void for one another. Her husband is rich, but he’s a wet dish rag in the sack. I stepped in and gave her the thrill she was seeking. I wanted a woman with red hair, so she stepped in and let me have her.”

  When he says this last sentence, he trails his hand through my hair, emphasising his unspoken point. He’d wanted a woman with red hair because he wanted me, wanted me for years but couldn’t have me.

  “Okay, I’m not jealous anymore,” I tell him happily.

  “I thought as much,” he replies, grinning and pushing the food aside. “So, what do you think of my office?”

  “It’s delightful,” I say sarcastically, giving him a funny look.

  He laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a soulless high flyer’s office in an expensive area code, Robert. What do you expect me to think of it?”

  “I expect you to think it’s sexy and want to do naughty things with me in it,” he breathes, lips flicking over the back of my neck.

  “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I might be tempted. Do you make a habit of this type of thing?”

  “I’ve never had sex in my office, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Not even with Olivia? It would have been awfully handy to just slip in here when you two were having your little tryst.”

  “We only ever saw each other outside work. Olivia is the ultimate professional. She’d never risk her job, not even for the hottest piece of ass in the building,” he jokes and licks behind my ear.

  Giggling and sighing at the same time, I shift in his lap, feeling him grow harder as his hands roam my body. I lick my lips and turn to kiss his jaw, my every nerve ending alight with the anticipation of what he might do to me right here in the light of day, with his co-workers just outside the door.

  He takes my earlobe between his teeth and softly bites. “Being inside you last night was the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

  His words cause a pink blush to spread over my body.

  I bring my hand to the bulge in his pants, and exhilaration runs through me when he groans loudly. It gives me a heady sense of power that I can affect him like this. An image of me kneeling on the floor, giving him a blowjob, enters my head. I try not to think too much and just allow my body to lead the way as I slide out of his lap. My knees hit the carpet, and Robert stares down at me with his mouth hanging open, comprehension of my intentions in his gaze.


  “Lana,” he rasps.

  I give him a teasing grin. “Robert.”

  Then I reach for his belt buckle and pull it open before releasing the button at his fly. Drawing down the zip, I glance up and see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. If anyone were to enter the office right now, they’d just see Robert sitting at his desk, none the wiser as to what’s really happening underneath.

  He assists me in pulling his pants down his thighs, his erection popping free. I always feared the idea of giving a guy head, thinking it would be a difficult and complicated procedure, but with Robert I’m eager for it. I want to make him feel good.

  “Christ,” he breathes as I bring my lips down to kiss the tip of his penis. Experimentally, I open my mouth and take about an inch of him inside.

  “Ah, fucking hell. Lana, I love you.” His jaw tightens, and he grips the leather arms of his chair.

  His proclamation alone makes me wet, and I yearn for some kind of friction down there. In my head I hear the words I love you, too echo in some deep, dark recess, but I daren’t give them sound.

  Opening my mouth wider, I take as much of him into me as I possibly can and then begin moving up and down. One of his hands reaches forward and grips my hair, wrapping it around his wrist. He pulls softly, groaning. I bring my mouth to the head before swirling my tongue around and causing him to let out a string of swear words. Between my legs pulses with the need to be touched as I increase my speed, so I surreptitiously reach under the hem of my dress and begin stroking myself beneath my knickers. I’m still so tender down there from last night, but the gentle pressure of my own fingers feels amazing. Electrifying. Forbidden.

  I just need a little relief, because doing this to Robert is turning me on far more than I expected it to.

  “Oh, God, are you touching yourself?” he asks, craning his neck. Trust Robert not to miss a beat.

  I don’t say anything, but instead let him fall from my mouth and then drag my tongue along the length of him.

  “Shit, you are touching yourself. Make yourself come for me, baby. Ah, that feels amazing.” He slips his hand inside my top and under my bra to pinch my nipple. I feel an orgasm building as I continue sucking him off, rubbing my clit faster. When he gives my nipple one last hard pinch, I convulse as I come, at the same time feeling him spurt into my mouth. For a brief moment I don’t know what to do. This is my first blowjob, and I don’t know what the proper etiquette is. A second later I swallow, wincing slightly at the foreign sensation.