Breaking Joseph

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “Not like that.”

  “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing, Bridge,” Dad said. “Anyway, we’re celebrating. Here’s to Leila. After all her hard work, things are coming together.”

  “Here here,” Mum called.

  We clinked glasses and drank deeply. I watched the pair of them as they snuck secret, delighted little smiles. For so long, I’d tortured myself about whether they knew how I’d earned the money, but it didn’t matter anymore. Any of it.

  Not that I thought, in a million years, that they knew the truth. It was bad enough that they were aware of Charlie.

  We sat and talked until late in the afternoon, until their holiday cottages beckoned and there was work to be done. I helped Mum with all the laundry and after an hour of folding crisp, white bed sheets, my thoughts inevitably turned to Joseph and the linen we’d spoiled two nights before. I wondered what my parents would make of him; I wondered whether I’d get as far as introducing him at all.

  Perhaps I might.

  In the evening, I slipped back out to the garden to sit beneath the tree. I pulled the glass of wilting lilacs into my lap, closed my eyes and let the scent invade everything, and fell back on my hands just for the stinging stretch along my back. As it conquered, I sighed and tipped back my head. Sitting like this, I could be five, ten, fifteen years old. This was the tree where no snakes lurked to tempt me, no apple crashed from swollen branches to be crushed to sticky pulp, and Adam lay still in his grave. The only two entities here were me and my memories. They felt like the most important things in the world.

  I stayed there until the twilight seeped in, its fingers dark and inky. The longer I lay against the trunk, as I breathed in the sweet, summer scent of the lilacs, I realized I didn’t need to be grown anew. Joseph had asked for a word and I gave him what I thought was the key to my every undoing, but these flowers had saved me. They reeled me in and took me home. Like them, I bloomed. Blossomed.

  To rescue this place, I’d risked my career and my personal safety. I succumbed to what I despised most about myself and found that it was not the punishment I craved.

  And it did not matter. I was here, and I was happy.

  Maybe, maybe, that could be enough.

  * * * *

  “It’s going to be strange,” I told Joseph, “actually working in your office.”

  “You already work in my office.” He cast his towel away and swept the Sunday papers off the bed with one arm.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Blond hair tickled my belly as he bobbed down between my thighs. He’d been in the shower for ten minutes, and now he acknowledged that it was way too long.

  “I’ll have an actual desk,” I went on, “and a caseload, and–” I broke off in a yelp as his tongue parted my lower lips to seek the glistening flesh inside.

  “Go on,” he mumbled.

  “I…um…I mean, I’ll get to work with you instead of just shadowing.” My hips rose, my back arched. “And I can lump all the boring warranties onto your next batch of innocent children…ow.”

  He kissed my inner lips, suckling and nipping as if he toyed with a kitten. Two strong thumbs held me open so that I contracted with longing, so I felt how empty I was. His tongue traced the entrance but never once slipped inside, no matter how hard my hips sought to manipulate him, and all the while he darted back to my clit, tracing it from base to tip in the way he knew made me tremble and moan. I felt myself gush in little surges and my muscles thrust down toward those thumbs. Please, please, inside me. Please.

  “You were saying?” He breathed warm air all over me and then his thumbs slid in very slowly.

  I panted at him. Couldn’t, wouldn’t talk.

  Now he parted me–all of me, this time–as he licked, and the sensation as my pussy struggled to pull back in was delicious. My whole pelvis throbbed with it. He had mapped me so expertly, this man, and now he went exploring in the territory claimed as his.

  He closed in and I was full of his fingers, fucking them until he stretched me out again. I loved the little rush of air inside as he spread me. When I bounced on him, the fingers found my spot and I slid further toward complete loss of control.

  “Please.” I tugged his hair in handfuls.

  “Now, she talks.” His voice sang into my flesh, made it quiver. He had that lovely bemused tone, the one that crept out when he was in his element and trying to pretend otherwise.

  He let me come, murmuring encouraging little words into my clit between licks. One thumb sat atop it while the other pushed down inside to make me gape. My thighs got wet as I worked for him, and he took his time cleaning it up, his tongue dragging languorously. My hips rose and fell as I flexed my sated muscles. Warm waves of pleasure still permeated as I moved.

  “What did I do to deserve that?” I whimpered.

  “It was the way you were lying. Like an invitation.” He pinned me for a kiss and took his time there, too. His patience knew no limits sometimes.

  Other times…well.

  I broke off as his phone screeched on the bedside table.

  “Ignore it.” He swatted my hands away. His cock was thick between my thighs now, and it probed where I was hot and slick. “Up on your hands and knees.”

  I had barely composed myself before the phone began to ring a second time. Joseph tutted and shoved it off the table. He drew light fingertips along the wound on my back, now knitted together in scrappy lines of pink, and spanked me firmly as he reached my buttocks. I arched up into his hands with a little wiggle.

  Then the phone rang again.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

  “Switch it off, then.”

  He dove down to fetch it, glanced at the screen and raised an eyebrow. Sorry, he mouthed, bringing the phone to his ear. “Lewis? What can I do for you? No, no, it’s fine…” He sat cross-legged on the floor and I fell forward onto the pillows. “Absolutely. No, not until the end of the year, I suspect…really? I know. Fits in quite nicely.”

  I wrinkled my nose and made my hand a camp, chattering little mouth.

  Joseph poked his tongue at me and gestured to the cock that still nudged above his navel.

  “That’d be great. Let me know when you’re over.” He tugged at my ankle. “Yeah. I’ll get in touch as soon as I’m ready.”

  I landed on the floor in a fit of childish sniggers and he guided me along by a handful of hair. I sucked the underside of him in an upward stroke, my mouth coming to rest at the head. His whole body jerked to follow me and I heard him stifle a gasp.

  “Thanks, Lewis. A pleasure. Yeah, you too.” The phone fell clumsily to the carpet and now both hands gripped my shoulders, egging me on. He filled my throat with the ease of a key in an oiled lock, a moan escaping his lips as he glimpsed the promise behind the door. It wouldn’t be long.

  I loved the quiet that descended when I sucked a man. He slid in and out noiselessly, the only sound his escaping breath. When he grew close, when those first groans and curses split the air…it made me wet, that moment. I longed for something to tighten around and my hips rocked with the rest of me. I punctuated his gasps with encouraging whimpers so he knew my effort was strenuous, that I wanted this as much as him.

  The sight of Joseph stretched back on one arm, his other still guiding me–it was enough to send me over the edge before him, almost. And the angry pink cut along his hip-bone–the one seamed with butterfly stitches his doctor friend had quietly applied–was a kiss to my eyelids. So wrong, so brutal. So pretty. His flesh gone to L.

  I tasted it just before he broke. It was like he had too much to contain. When the flood came, it hit the back of my mouth in prickles and only his slowing gave me room to swallow.

  I crawled up his limp body and peered up from the crook of his arm. “What was that phone call about?”

  “Christ. Give me a minute.” He laughed, ruffling my hair.

  I blew stray curls from my eyes and rubbed my thighs together, still aching pleasan
tly from watching him come. “Is it a minute now?”

  He gave a great, mocking sigh. “No. And it’s none of your business, either.”

  “Highly unfair. You know my worst secret. I should know one of yours.”

  “The implication that I have worse secrets notwithstanding, it was a business call, Leila. I wasn’t ordering in heroin and child porn.”

  “So why have you gone all cagey all of a sudden, hmm?” I poked him in the ribs with a knowing grin.

  He exhaled, silent for a moment; he was considering, perhaps. Then he rolled onto his side so he could catch my eye. “Look. If I tell you this, it’s important you don’t share it. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” I did a little salute, though my belly twisted with it–he was going to New York after all. Oh God.

  “The other day,” he began, “when you said I was bored. You were right.”

  “Okay.” Lying bastard. I knew it.

  “Don’t look so venomous.” He laughed, wriggling closer. “It’s nothing to worry about. In New York…I made a couple of contacts–”

  “You’re moving, aren’t you?” I insisted. “You said you weren’t–”

  “I’m not! I’ve been thinking of leaving Bach and Dagier, Leila. Starting my own practice.”

  “Oh.” I flushed from my own stupidity. “That’s…well that’s great.”

  “It is. It’s also expensive, and risky. But Daniel Lewis might just have a contract for me.”

  “Wow.” I blinked up at him as it all sank in. “So…so when?”

  “Not for a good six months. I’ve had a look at a few offices and I have a lot of paperwork to sort. If Lewis comes through, though, I’ll be handing my notice in soon.” He stroked my cheek. “You’ll have a new boss before the year is out, but I promise you I’m not going anywhere.”

  The kiss that followed was warm and balmy, and when my own phone buzzed, I rolled over to read the text.

  “It’s Poppy.” I scowled. “She wants to meet for dinner later.”

  “I didn’t think you socialized with her much.”

  “I don’t. She keeps asking, though.”

  “Maybe she wants to talk to you about something? I’d be avoiding her too, but…might as well get it out of the way.”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed. “I was thinking of just staying in bed with you, anyway.”

  “Can’t.” He smirked. “I’ve got plans.”

  “Oh? When were you planning on kicking me out?” I feigned a pout and he kissed me again, teasing any malice away with the tip of his tongue.

  “I’m going out with Abi. Sadie lets me borrow her for a night whenever she’s in town.”

  “Are you going cruising for chicks?” I giggled.

  “Probably.”

  “Can I come watch?”

  He started to laugh again. “Do you want to see what happens when I go out with Abi?”

  “Go on, then.”

  A little video was summoned to the screen of his phone. I gazed over his shoulder as Abi, clutching a cocktail and definitely worse for wear, staggered in front of a sequined backdrop, grabbed a microphone and began to croon along to the music. “I love myself,” she crooned, “I want you to looove me…”

  “Oh no. You arse. Is that the awful sushi place on Grantham?”

  He sniggered. “They turn it into a karaoke bar on Sundays.”

  “Oooh woooow,” Abi squealed. “When I think about you, I touch myself!”

  I flicked the video back off. “You’re mean, Joe. Does she even know you’ve got that?”

  “Fuck, no. She’d bite off my scrotum. Probably eat it afterward, too.” He took my phone and started tapping the buttons.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

  “I’m telling Poppy that you’d love to meet her for dinner. When she’s royally slaughtered, you can meet me and Abi at the lap dancing club and we’ll get incriminating footage of her doing something foul with an uninterested Slavic whore.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “How many videos do you have, exactly?”

  “Of my lovely friends? Oh, a good number. None of them would ever cross me,” he said sagely. “Shall I do one of you, Leila? Are you a god-awful singer as well?”

  “Sod off.” I swatted him around the head as I rose to dress.

  Must never sing in front of my evil boyfriend. I really am quite crap.

  * * * *

  Aidan rang while I was in the cab to the restaurant.

  “Lei-Lei! Where have you and your lovely arse been?” he boomed.

  “Erm…busy?”

  “Does the Marquis lock you in a cage at the stroke of six o’clock every night?”

  “Something like that.” I giggled. “What have you been up to?”

  “Auditions. And shagging. More auditions. I’m going to be in Rent in the summer!” He was doing that bouncy little dance that meant he was excited–I heard his chair creaking. “It’s a total gay rite of passage.”

  “But you’re bi.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. But there’s no bi stereotype for jokes, it gets confusing,” he complained. “Anyway, are you around tonight?”

  “I don’t think so. Having dinner with a colleague.” I grimaced.

  “A colleague you’re fucking?”

  “Dear God, no.”

  Aidan hooted. “That makes a change. Oh well. Running tomorrow?”

  “I probably should.” I leaned down to adjust the dainty buckle on my shoes. “I’m about to load up on God knows what for dinner.”

  “Nobody hires a fat whore, Lei-Lei.”

  “Hey! I’m not a whore anymore, remember?”

  The cab driver jerked round to gape at me and I lowered my voice.

  “Not fat, either,” I added, disgruntled. “I think.”

  “Not yet, you’re not. Not that I’d mind, you know, but I don’t think the Marquis wants everyone to shout there she blows! at his girlfriend.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll meet you in the park tomorrow morning,” I said. “Are you happy now?”

  “Absolutely. I ought to go into motivational speaking, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose we do have issues with overpopulation.” I grinned.

  “Oh, fuck off, you harpy.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. We’ll work on your abs.”

  “I don’t think I have any abs.”

  “You do. I saw them once in the mirror when you were doing reverse cowgirl.”

  The restaurant was beginning to fill up with the dinner crowd. It was an upmarket French place, and just the sort I’d expect Poppy to pick. The chairs were upholstered in cream leather, the floors were hard wood, and light bounced between white tablecloths and reams of glass.

  The maître d’ guided me to a table in a quiet corner where Poppy was already waiting. She smiled at me and her fingers flickered in a wave.

  “I’m really glad you could make it,” she said. “We don’t have long left working together.”

  “No.” I tucked my bag under the table and shifted uncomfortably. I’d had the lack of foresight to wear a lace dress and it chafed against the lash mark on my back. Then I spotted the third place setting on the table. “Is Matt coming?”

  “No, no.” She gestured to the bottle, already open. “Would you like some wine?”

  “Why not?”

  I watched scarlet tumble into my glass, reminded of the blood Joseph had painted down my thighs just days before. Sometimes, the world was just a big, metaphoric tapestry of us fucking. It never failed to make me shiver.

  “So,” I began. “Um. How’s the job hunt going?”

  She nodded. “Litigation said no, of course, but then I expected that. Not to worry, though. I’ve lined something up.”

  “Really? Wow. Congratulations, Pops.” I was genuinely pleased for her–she worked hard and deserved a job. I reached over to clink my glass to hers. “So where are you going, what field?”

  “I’d rather not say until I finalize things.�
� A nervous quiver shot through her voice, a faint one. Joseph’s revelation about the coke made me wonder if she was using. I’d never failed to notice it with clients, and still felt a bit shocked that I hadn’t seen it in her. Maybe I just wasn’t looking for it at work?

  “Fair enough. Either way, I hope it goes well for you. Are you staying in London, at least?”

  “Oh yes.” She sipped, swallowed. “Not venturing far.”

  “Just here, madam,” said the maître d’.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I almost spat my wine out.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Isobel, slinking into the middle chair. “I got held up in traffic.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Poppy said. “Leila, you’ve met Isobel.”

  “Yes.” Dear God, I hoped my face wasn’t as crimson as the menu. It felt like it. What the fuck was going on?

  Poppy poured Isobel a glass of wine while she slid out of her cropped jacket.

  “Have you both had a good weekend?” Now it was my own voice cracking with nerves.

  “Rather quiet, really,” Isobel said in her soft Austrian accent. “I fly back out tomorrow, though. Can’t wait to get home.”

  Poppy tapped a fork on the table. “Isobel’s had a tough week.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I lowered my eyes.

  “What about you, Leila? Have you been celebrating getting your contract?”

  “Just with my parents.” I forced a smile.

  I wanted to ask why Isobel was there, but couldn’t think of a polite way to slip it into the conversation. The two women had seemed to click at the ball on Thursday. Could she just be there as a friend, a last hurrah with Poppy before she went home?

  “Did you enjoy the Queen’s Trust ball, Leila?” Isobel eyed me sharply over her glass. “It was quite something, no?”

  “It was great to see so much money raised.”

  “It was nice of Joseph to donate that script,” she went on. “I didn’t know he did such things. Still. A lovely gift.”

  “Speaking of which…” Poppy and Isobel swapped glances. “We have a little gift for you, Leila. Something to celebrate your new job.”

  “Oh?” I smiled again, genuine this time, but only in its discomfort. “You shouldn’t have.”

  Isobel pulled a card file from her bag and slid it across the table.