by Olivia Fox
I've crash-landed here without a plan, hoping to ad lib my way back into his good books. I'll just tell him I changed my mind. I want to be his girlfriend after all… Big balls-up, boss. Turns out I am the hearts and roses kind of girl! Who knew?!
Oh God, there's no way he'll buy such a whopping change of heart. I'm not even sure I buy it.
One thing’s clear: I want him. But who's to say I can do it - this whole relationship deal. I mean, I’ve never done it with anyone I loved before, so how can I be sure I won’t fuck it all up?!
Worse still, what if he fucks it up? What if he blows cold once he’s got me where he wants me? What if he doesn't really want me like he says he does?
Does he really want me? I thought he did. I really thought he did. But now I'm not so sure. I mean, he didn't exactly fight for me, did he?!... And here I am, trying to reach him and he's actively avoiding me.
Plus, Deanne's up there. Did he change his mind about her? Is that it?
Or maybe it was the phone call. Christ, I bet that was it. He heard me talking about cunt-face-Curtis and now he hates me. But I didn't say anything, did I?! He can't know what happened with Curtis. There's no way he could know.
Oh God, I shouldn't have come here. It's so obviously a bad idea. I take it back - I’m not ready to see him.
We’ll do this tomorrow, I decide, and I’m reaching for the door again when I hear him coming downstairs. I pause, fighting the clawing fear in my chest - a fear that tells me you’re no good, you’re no good. Amy was right all along. I’m just a cheapo Pot Noodle, whereas Harry - well - Harry’s an all-you-can-eat Noodle House buffet. There’s really no comparison. I don’t deserve him, and sooner or later the penny’s gonna drop and he’ll move on to noodles new. And no, I don’t no why my head’s so full of noodles at the moment, but I’m sleep-starved and sick with dread so give me a fucking break.
“Are you going again?” Harry asks. I turn. He’s come downstairs and pauses now to lean against the counter. “I keep finding you on my property, and you’re always leaving. Should I be worried?”
“I love you.” O-kay… where did that come from?! Talk about going off at a tangent. But somehow I’m still talking. “I want you, Harry. Just like you said. Just you and me.”
But he says nothing. Just stares at me, half in shadow, giving no clue to what’s going through his head.
And I realize too late what a fool I’ve been. He doesn’t love me. I assumed. I just assumed. He said want and I heard love, and now I’ve said it and he can’t say it back because it wouldn’t be true.
I want to run. I should have pegged it when I had the chance. "You're busy, I'm gonna go."
"Not so fast.” His voice is rough, low and I swear I melt a bit between my legs. “What did you just say to me?"
Oh God, I can’t say it again. I love you, Harry. I love you. Don’t make me keep saying it. "I'm busy?"
"You love me."
I look at him, his brown eyes fiery hot, and I shiver. He feels the same way I think. Want did mean love! My heart’s pounding almost audibly but some part of my brain is still on the defensive.
"You've got guests,” I say, trying to draw attention away from the other three word sentence he’s now fixating on.
"Just Deanne and Jake. They can wait, babe. Say it again."
I shake my head. I can't do it. I need him to say it back first. It's tit for tat, and I know I'm being childish but I want my tat!
"Why's Jake here? Jake never comes here." I'm grasping at conversational straws. Who cares why Jake's here?! I just want the focus off my as-yet-unreturned love proclamation.
But Harry's crossing the shop floor now, and his face is illuminated by the red light spilling through the shutters, and he’s looking almost dangerous. Like he's madly intent on devouring me, and a sharp twinge of need spikes through my cunt at the thought.
“He wants to sell the business,” he shrugs, though his eyes don’t lose any of their fire. “Been trying to persuade me for months.”
I’m breathless. Speechless. He can’t sell Thrills. That just absolutely, categorically cannot happen. My back sinks into the door and I struggle to push the words past my lips. “You’re selling…”
“Jake needs some spare capital. He’s got a buyer lined up. I’d keep the on-line business, and you’d still have your job here,” he says, and he’s up against me now. Close enough to feel the need pouring off me in heady waves, his arms pinning me against the door while I stare up at him in desperation.
“I… I don’t want to be here without you,” I tell him. What would be the point? It’s not like I ever set out to be a kinky knicker seller - it’s really never been one of my life’s ambitions. I took the work because I needed it, and I stayed because I needed him. I was just too effing moronic to realize.
“Then change my mind,” he growls. His cock strains against me, stiff as an iron bar, pushing firm between my legs, and it’s all I can do not to rip both our clothes off and sink my hot plumped flesh around him. I needn’t worry. He’s doing it for me. My bag’s the first thing to go, then my knickers, then my silky vest top and bra, until I’m wearing nothing but my flimsy black skirt. He peals the items from me with deliberate care, letting his eyes skim each newly revealed contour. Then he’s yanking at his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers to nudge his pre-come soaked dick against the slick and ready lips of my pussy.
“Condom…” he says.
“My purse.”
He leaves me aching for him while he finds the johnny, and I can’t resist stroking my clit, just trying to ease a fraction of my hunger. My eye lids droop closed just as a firm male hand grasps my wrist and pulls my fingers into his mouth. He groans against my touch, swirling his tongue against my fingertips like he’s intoxicated by the taste of me.
“Mine,” he scolds wickedly, reprimanding me for touching myself, pushing his cock just inside the entrance of my vagina then pulling out, spreading my juices across my clit. And oh how my clit hums for him. My whole body is vibrating with need. We’re in a shop full of kinky toys and I seriously doubt anything could come close to the bliss of this huge writhing man between my thighs.
“Fuck me,” I gasp. I’m panting uncontrollably now, and my breath seems to have lost all sense of rhythm, hitching and catching and rasping to its own mindless beat. He’s tormenting me with his cock, just teasing it against me, and I’m not above begging for it. “Please, Harry, you’re killing me! Just fuck me! Fuck me now!
And he does. He plows that glorious thing inside me, and I nearly come right there, right on that very first delicious intrusion. But I stop myself, holding onto the remnants of my control while he draws back then screws right up into me.
“Fuck, I want you so bad. I won’t last,” he snarls. “I need you, Em. Need to come in you soon.”
I have to bite him. I’ve turned into this primal animal-woman and I just can’t help raking my teeth across a hard sweat-slicked pec. I’m crying out uncontrollably. Loud enough that anyone passing the other side of this door is gonna think we sell a lot more than garters and dildos. Loud enough - it seems - for Jake to hear me.
I hear him on the stairs just as Harry’s revving up to climax, my clit throbbing at the promise of his release, and I doubt even a herd of rampaging elephants couldn’t stop us at this point. Harry's gripping my hips almost painfully tight now with his long thick fingers, and that raw growling urgency is enough to send me hurtling over the edge. I'm clenching around his length and he's not letting up, impaling me relentlessly until his own orgasm tears through him. And then we're sinking, spilling onto the floor in a breathless lust-drunk haze. He holds me tight, panting, cradling me, kissing me, and it would be the most perfect moment of my life, if it weren't for Jake.
Jake's standing way back behind the counter, framed by the doorway that leads up to Harry's flat. And he's fuming. Even with his face in shadow I can tell he's mad, though I honestly don't know why. We get on OK, I think. So why, oh why,
does he look like he wants to rip me in two?
6.
"Er, Harry..." I murmur, and Harry turns, following my gaze to where his brother stands.
Jake's arms are folded tight across his chest, biceps pumping. He's busting to say something, I think, ready to fling some dirt my way, though - as far as I know - there's none to fling.
"Jake?" Harry says, shaking himself from our post-orgasmic muddle. "What the fuck?!"
But Jake's not shooting eye-daggers at him, they're all flying straight at me. He doesn't even bother to look away while I struggle with my knickers and top. He just keeps on staring like I'm the filthiest little slapper he's ever had the misfortune of seeing.
"Who's Curtis?” he says, and I freeze up.
“What?” I gasp. Oh, Jesus, Harry heard. But there was nothing to hear. Nothing. Was there? And he didn't say. He didn't say a thing. I look at Harry, and I crumble as I try to speak. "Y-you heard... You..." But the words just aren't coming.
“I heard," Jake says, and he shakes Harry’s phone at me like evidence in a goddam trial. “He gave it to me to babysit. Didn’t want you fucking with his head any more than you’ve done already. So? Who is he?”
“Enough,” Harry warns, but he’s looking at me for my response. He's looking at me and I can’t think straight.
“No one,” I say, too quietly, my words hooking in my throat. “He’s no one.”
Deanne's running downstairs too now, come to watch my downfall maybe. Come to watch Jake as he paces towards us, rounding on Harry while I pull myself upright on trembling jelly-legs.
"Listen brov, she’s not worth it," he hisses. "Nothing’s changed. She’s not going to stop sleeping around just coz you asked her to.”
“Jesus, Jake,” Deanne mutters, trying to ease his tirade from the doorway where she’s leaning, but it doesn’t soften his kilowatt glare.
I should to smack him. I really should. I should tell him to back the fuck away. But my face is on fire and my eyes are welling with infuriating tears, and it’s so not like me to take this kind of shit but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say…
“You’ve had your goodbye shag, brov. Just call it a day. She’s fucking someone else.”
A whimper escapes my lips. Where’s my cool retaliation? Where’s my hellion temper? I’m shaking my head, too crushed by Jake’s attack to even speak, and I’m trying to meet his glare - I’m really trying - but to be honest he’s just a blurry haze through my stupid tears.
“Back off,” Harry tells him, but he doesn’t sound as steady as I need him to. He doesn't sound too sure, even as he stands heroically in front of me, a physical barrier between me and his misguided toss-pot brother.
“Yeah, I’ll back off. When she admits she’s fucking this Curtis! She’s all hung up on him. Dude, I'm sorry but I heard her. Don’t let her lie to you.”
“She never lied to me,” he says, but he’s not my Harry any more. He's just doing the decent thing, standing up for a woman who’s being yelled at. He thinks I want Curtis. I almost laugh - it’s hysterically funny isn’t it?! Curtis didn’t want me and now he’s poisoning Harry against me too.
But he’s not, is he… that’s just me being ridiculous. I’m the poison. I’m the cheap slut who can’t keep her knickers on. I’m the one who wouldn’t know a normal loving relationship if it bit me on the arse. And I’m the one who’s leaving.
7.
I’m gone before Harry can stop me, and here’s the great thing about Soho: even on a Sunday it’s so busy you can lose yourself within seconds, especially when you’re running as crazy-fast as I seem to be.
I nearly collide with a delivery bike and I’m calling back ‘sorry, sorry…’ when I slam into a copper. “Sorry - Oh, God - I’m sorry,” I pant, his arm on mine as I catch my breath. He’s leaning in to look at my face though I can’t really see him properly with my eyes streaming like this.
“You OK, miss?” he says, and it’s such a police cliche I almost giggle. I nod, palming my eyes to wipe away the thick curtain of tears, and that’s when I hear him.
“Em! Emma!”
I have to go.
“Is this man bothering you?” asks my friendly policeman, and I fight the urge to say yes.
Yes! Too right, he’s bothering me.
“Em…” Harry’s arms wrap around me and I’m sobbing into his chest. Wet, guttural, roaring sobs that I just can’t seem to fight. He holds my head to him, smearing my face against his jacket - unfortunately - but there’s not a lot I can do about that.
“Miss?” My copper friend must think I’m such a nut bar.
I force myself back from Harry, sniffing and wiping my nose unattractively on my bare wrist. “Sorry,” I say again. So fucking English. Always apologizing. “I’m fine. Really.” And even though I’m obviously a few thousand miles off fine he does the decent thing and leaves.
Then we’re moving. I’m not sure if my feet are even touching the ground, but Harry’s maneuvering us into The Three Greyhounds and arranging me at a table.
“Sit. Stay,” he tells me, like I could do anything else right now. I’m a worn down husk of a woman and the idea of leaving seems suddenly about as feasible as regrowing my hymen.
I watch him at the bar, wondering if he’ll buy me the double shot of Captain Morgan’s I so sorely want, though I’m heartened when he returns with a cup of tea instead.
He pulls off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, while I stir two sugars shakily into my cup.
"I want a ciggy," I sigh.
"You don't smoke."
"I don't care, I want one."
Harry frowns and digs around in the pockets of the jacket I'm now wearing, then miraculously pulls out an electronic cigarette.
"Jake's jacket," he explains. "He's trying to quit. Hence the twattish attitude."
Oh. Well, at least now I feel better about the snot incident. I take a nasty puff and my nerves thank me for it.
"Listen,” he says. “Don't tell me about Curtis. Not unless you want to. Just tell me we're alright," he says, and the way he looks at me so intently, like he trusts me not to fuck him over... it makes telling him almost easy. Almost.
I take another drag on this rank-tasting thing then stare at it absently, pinching it between trembling fingers. I don’t know if we’re alright. I don’t know if we can be alright once he knows what I’ve done. But I tell him anyway. I close my eyes, I lean into his shoulder and I tell him the truth about the woman he thinks he wants.
*****
Curtis had a bedsit up the road from my gran when I was a wayward kid. He was six years older than me, all buff and sexy in a clean-cut teen-crush sort of way, and I was obsessed with him for four years solid. He was always a bit dismissive to be honest, and I guess I must have been kind of overbearing. I'd cycle outside his flat most days like a proper little stalker, just waiting for him to come back all oil-smeared and grimy from his shift at the garage. He never gave me more than a quick hi but it didn’t matter. My hormones had set their sights on Curtis Leigh and I wasn’t going to be deterred.
He moved though. All that time spent trying to make him notice me, and he goes and fucks off up North to do some effing work placement. I was fifteen and utterly grief-stricken. And I thought that was the end of it. Thought he was gone for good.
Then years later, I’d just started uni and it wasn’t going so well, and I nipped back home to visit Gran - you know - just for some tea, cake and sympathy, and there he was. He was chatting to Gran on the doorstep, asking after me. Curtis was asking after me. I thought all my birthdays and Christmases had come at once.
He was just passing by, he said. Visiting old mates. He said it like his being there was just totally casual. No big deal. But I was straight back to being that giddy kid crushing on her sexy neighbour.
Anyway, we started seeing each other. He was back in London for good, kipping on mates’ sofas until he found himself somewhere to live. And more often then not, he’d cra
sh in halls with me.
I didn’t think twice about shagging him. I’d been a virgin for far too long as far as I was concerned, and here was the man of my dreams, ready and willing to rip off my v-plates.
I was beyond horny for him. Up for anything. And he wanted everything. It didn’t matter where we were or what it was, if he asked for it, I’d do it. One time, we were in the Student Union and he said he wanted a blow-job. So what did I do? I just crawled under the table and gave him one, right there, with God knows who watching. He was my first real boyfriend and I wanted him so badly I think I’d have done just about anything he asked me to.
And I guess he knew that. Because he asked me to go to this party his mates were having. A joint birthday thing, he said, and I thought great, a date, he wants me to meet his mates. Like maybe I was finally fitting into his life.
It was in this high-rise up in Bermondsey, and it wasn’t so much a party as two pissed lads with a stereo, but that was fine. I was nervous, expecting something less intimate. Both Gabe and Jesse watched me like I was dinner, but Curtis stuck to me like glue. And after my first beer I started to relax. The blokes started flirting with me and I flirted back, just a little, not meaning anything by it, just trying to be how I was supposed to be.
That’s when they put the porno on. I was sitting on Curtis’ lap on the sofa, squeezed up in between the birthday boys. I could feel Curtis’ erection digging in hard against my arse as the blonde girl on the telly writhed about with a vibrator, fucking herself hard with it while the camera zoomed in for a lewd wet close-up.