Dirty Bad Wrong

by Jade West

  “Doubt it. From the bits I’ve heard he sounds like a wet-blanket jerk. She could do a lot better.”

  “Seems she’ll be staying, then.” A strange mixture of horror and relief washed over me. It sickened my stomach so much I felt the urge to retch.

  “We can hope. I’d sure miss her perky little ass in the mornings.” She caught me in her dirty eyes, a sly smile twitching at her mouth. “She’s great, James, really great.”

  I let out a sigh. “So, are you going to talk, or not? I could still catch the gym...”

  “Let me see... Lydia Marsh... twenty-three, from Warwick. Tall, dark hair, green eyes, perky little ass... project manager for Trial Run Software Group, you may have heard of them?” I checked my watch pointedly. “Fine!” she laughed. “Her ex sounds a douche, conservative to the extreme, I’m surprised she wasn’t the one to fuck around. She must be a fucking saint. I haven’t heard him calling, but I gather he’s been round her friend Steph’s. That’s her only friend by the way, and she’s a class-A fucking idiot. She’s only been round once and turned her nose up the entire fucking time.”

  “Any family?”

  “Only child. No daddy from what I can gather.”

  “Mother?”

  “Now, there’s a story. I’ve overheard bits and pieces. Her mother sounds like a real bloodsucker.”

  “Go on...”

  “I’m pretty damn certain she’s into drink, and I’m also pretty damn certain Lydia bails her out often.”

  “How so?”

  “Money... support... a sympathetic fucking ear. For all her tough-girl attitude, I think our Lydia’s pretty soft. Oh, and get this, she hasn’t even told her mother about the break up. I heard her promising to pass on a hello to the lovely Stuart Dobson.”

  “They don’t sound close.”

  “One way street, for sure. Urgh, victims give me the heebies. I’m telling you now, James, shit’s gone down there. I suspect her mother’s crap has screwed her up good. She has scars, James. Self-harm.”

  “She told you that?”

  “She doesn’t need to. I’d know them a mile off.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Arms, the ones that I’ve seen, neat little cuts, wrist to elbow. They’re faint, definitely old, but there all the same. You’d never notice if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but, you know, skin’s my thing.”

  “Intriguing.”

  “Anyway, she’s a model housemate. Clean, tidy and thoroughly well-mannered. She drinks too much coffee and lives on her laptop checking out goddamn work shit 24/7, can’t you do something about that? She needs a life. She also needs sex; hot, filthy, steamy, disgusting fucking sex to loosen her up a bit. She’s old way before her time. Maybe you could help her with that, too?”

  “I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll give it a shot if you won’t, see if she’s got any bi tendencies lurking beneath the surface,” she grinned. “I’ve been holding off, but if you aren’t interested...”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Knock yourself out, Rebecca. I hope she tastes sweet.”

  “She’s submissive, by the way.”

  Her eyes challenged me, baiting for a reaction. I didn’t give her one, just sipped my coffee whilst staring at the street beyond. Too close to work for this, too fucking close. The idea of prying eyes twitched at my fists. “How can you possibly know that? Self-harm doesn’t equal submission, Rebecca, not every time.”

  “I’ve been in this game long enough to know when someone needs a firm hand.”

  “It’s based on fuck-all then.”

  She cackled at me, an edgy laugh which turned heads towards us. I gritted my teeth.

  “She followed me into my room the other night, saw my personal stash of torture implements. You should have seen her face, James, half-apologetic, half-fascinated. I think it was probably the cane that grabbed her most.”

  “Now you’re just taking the piss.”

  “Yeah, I am, but only about the cane. In my humble experience I’ve come to know two kinds of control freak. Those like you with the desire to rule the world and everyone in it, and those like her. Control freak through necessity, not by nature. It’s not her nature, James, I’m telling you. Something made her toughen up, tighten up, hell, probably grow the fuck up earlier than she should’ve done. Plus, she’s a cutter, pain works for her. I bet you any money there’s a dirty little girl under that shell, just waiting for someone to tear her open and put her back together again.”

  She paused in her little monologue, searching my face. “You’d like to see her scars, wouldn’t you?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Oh well. I figured she might be your thing. I’ve never seen anyone more your type.”

  “And what is my type, Rebecca? Enlighten me.”

  “The eyes... Katreya-green, you could say.” I must have paled, mortified, staring at her like she was some kind of ghost whisperer. “I do know you, James. I’ve seen you drunk, I’ve heard you drunk, when you’re too bloody inebriated to keep your mask up, no pun intended. Besides, Rachel told me years ago; bemoaning the fact she had blue eyes, not green.”

  “Rachel should’ve kept her mouth as tight as her pussy. Katreya has nothing to do with anything.”

  “If you say not. Is that why you suggested she move in?”

  “She needed a room, you needed a housemate. End of story.”

  “You hate how well I know you, don’t you? Admit it, you hate it.”

  I called the waiter and asked for the bill. Rebecca didn’t seem that surprised, just gathered up her cigarettes and made ready to leave.

  “You try my patience to the point of violence, Mistress Raven, but I wouldn’t have you any other way. Stay, get yourself lunch since I dragged you out of Camden.” I handed her a twenty before I made my exit, stooping down low to ruffle her hair and land a kiss on her forehead.

  She tilted her head up, one eyebrow raised wickedly. “I mean it, James. I’ll try my hand if you won’t.”

  “I wish you all the luck in the world. I hope she’s your new bitch, I really do. A Lydia-Cara ménage à trois sounds exactly up your street.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “I’ll see you again, Rebecca.”

  She spun in her seat to watch me up the road. “When?”

  I could almost feel the roll of her eyes at my lack of response.

  ***

  I kept my eyes focused on Frank as he delivered his monthly motivational spiel. Lydia Marsh pulled at my gaze, wedged in between some girls from admin. I tasked myself to blank her out, forget all about the ripples in the tight mauve shift dress she was wearing. The room was heaving. Lydia was five seats down to my right, squeezed against the table by the guys from sales. I caught them chancing glances over her shoulder, straining for a hint of cleavage.

  Lydia Marsh bit her lip when concentrating. I’d noticed it weeks earlier, and every fucking time since. It tormented me daily, that tense little mouth. I could feel her doing it now, sense the tap, tap, tap of her pen against her chin. My mood took a turn for the worse.

  “...as you all know, James and Lydia have done a grand job on phase one of the WHM project, we’re ahead of schedule and due to go live with the accounts module within the fortnight. They’ve already recommended us to Salmons, the big personal injury lawyers up in Warwick...”

  I’d already heard all this, of course. I cast my eyes around the room, soaking up all the congratulatory smiles from well-meaners. My gaze returned to Lydia, her glittering eyes beaming with pride as they locked onto mine. I granted her the slightest nod. It burst her bubble, and she looked back to her notes as I turned away.

  “...Stephen Bryant will be heading to Salmons in a week or two to deliver the first demo. With a fair wind we’ll have another top 250 client before the year is done...”

  I zoned out.

 
My balls felt heavy as lead, aching with the need to fuck like a beast. I craved the salty tang of tears, straight from a broken woman’s eyes, her tight little cunt mine to abuse. She’s submissive, you know. Fuck you, Rebecca, just fuck you. I bet you any money there’s a dirty little girl hiding under that shell.

  “...anything to add, James?”

  The room looked at me, and I looked blankly at Frank. He was smiling his goofy fucking smile, waiting for me to join in his self-congratulating love fest.

  “You’ve covered it, Frank.”

  “Great, well, if there’s nothing else...” The clock loomed towards end of play, the weekend beckoning. Nobody said a word. “See you on Monday, everyone.”

  I stayed in place as the room vacated, streams of people filing out like good little soldiers. I stretched my legs under the table, struggling to alleviate the ache in my groin. It didn’t work.

  The door swung shut behind the stragglers, leaving just the hum of the projector and my delectable project manager. She came closer, leaning over my shoulder to hand me a file. For the briefest of moments her perky little rack grazed my shoulder and my dick leapt to attention, straining towards her with only a flimsy table top for camouflage. The pale swell of her tits was a magnet, the sloping V of her neckline revealing two perfect handfuls. She had two tiny freckles on her right breast. I wondered for a long moment whether they’d match the colour of her nipples. No, her nipples would be dusky pink; round and ripe and so fucking tender. Strawberry buttons on creamy white skin.

  “I wanted to give you this.”

  Her scent knocked me senseless; Amber and Black Cherry. She’d applied her perfume like an amateur, carelessly thick on her wrists and no-doubt rubbed to shit, but still my mouth watered. My pulse beat in stereo, both in my temples and my cock. I battled the impulse to tear the fabric from her wrist, hot with the need for scars against my tongue. I forced myself to scan the first few lines of her document. “Case Management stages for WHM? Already? We won’t need these until phase two, it’s an inefficient use of your time, Lydia.”

  She pierced me with offended eyes. “I did it after work, James. Extra-curricular. I’d love to know what you think.”

  “I leave in ten minutes.”

  She smiled nervously, her mouth just inches from my nose. “Sure, well, there’s no rush.”

  “Then why give it me now?”

  “I was just, um. It was ready.”

  I flicked through the pages. She’d written a whole fucking tome. “I’ll schedule some time next week.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. I could taste her disappointment.

  “Did you expect I’d do it now? I have engagements after five.”

  “No, not right now. I was just thinking maybe you’d like to come over at some point. See Bex, and me, and we could do it then, or not. Maybe this weekend?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, of course, sorry, short notice. It was just a thought. You haven’t been over, I thought you might like to see her.” She smiled to lighten her words.

  “I saw Rebecca today.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh? Sorry, my mistake. I didn’t realise.”

  “Why would you?”

  “I guess I wouldn’t. We don’t really speak outside of work talk. I thought you coming over might re-break the ice.”

  “I hardly speak to anyone, Lydia, work or no. There’s no ice to re-break.”

  “We spoke in Brighton...”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “...and then nothing. Did it make you feel awkward?”

  I watched her unashamedly, revelling in her discomfort. “Why would Brighton have made me feel awkward, Lydia?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You think I’m embarrassed? That I regret asking if your ex managed to get you off?”

  “No... yes... do you regret it?” She smoothed her hair behind her ear.

  “No.”

  “If I overstepped the mark or anything, I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologise for.” Fuck, now my cock was twitching.

  “Just, in Brighton...”

  “Lydia, we’re colleagues. We work well together, do we not?”

  “Yeah, really well. I really enjoy working with you...”

  “Good. Then all’s well.”

  “I guess there’s no issue, then.” Her tone was too bright, fake. “You never let me thank you, for Rebecca, either, not really. She’s great.”

  “No thanks necessary.” I closed her file, sliding it amongst a pile of others destined for my office.

  She took the hint, retreating with just a smile and closing the door behind her.

  It was only when she was safely out of eyeline that I retrieved her paperwork, placing it safe in my briefcase for the way home.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  Lydia

  I wished the underground platform would swallow me up. Blown out by James Clarke, so totally and utterly. I’d hardly be able to look at him ever again. What an idiot. Hey, James, fancy hanging out sometime, check out my project notes? Idiot. I stepped onto the train, wedged amongst all the other commuters battling through rush hour. This crush thing, whatever it was, was getting ridiculous. Yeah, James Clarke looked good in a suit, yeah, he was smart, and dedicated, and mysterious, and really goddamn talented and so infuriatingly in control of everything it turned my legs to jelly. But so what? Blown out. Time to let it go. I’m good at that.

  I really thought I was onto something, really believed we’d had a moment in Brighton, whatever that even means. I figured moving in with Bex might be the start of a friendship, or at least the chance to have a conversation outside of work, but nothing. He barely even spoke to me, no questions, no chat about Rebecca, or how life was going, no anything. He’d asked once. Once. Weeks ago. I figured maybe he was awkward, maybe we’d overstepped the mark in Brighton, maybe, maybe, goddamn maybe. Who even cared?

  I’d asked him over, he’d said no. Not interested. Not in me, not in a friendship. I’d just have to forget about it, just like everyone else in the office that had ever fancied a shot and got nowhere. Hell, it’s not like I hadn’t got over worse.

  It was rebound, of course it was rebound. I probably wouldn’t have even done it when it came to it. Work flings are never, ever, ever a good idea. Ever. Just ask Stuart. I wondered fleetingly how he was doing without me. He’d been round to Steph’s a few times, desperate apparently, begging to know where I was. He was worried, he said, worried I’d be cutting myself to shit, no doubt. He needn’t have been. It felt so far away now, my time with him. Like someone else had lived through the whole thing and I’d been asleep underneath it all. Strange. Maybe one day I’d need therapy, cry it all out and start popping the Prozac. Better to keep it repressed, and keep looking for my perfectly-healthy rebound fling. I mentally erased James Clarke from the list. I’d have to find a new crush now, someone else to capture my imagination.

  James had been right in Brighton, Stuart didn’t get me off, not really. It had taken James’ questioning to make me realise, but realise I had. I’d been giving Stuart a helping hand for as long as I could remember, and eventually I’d lost track of what was fake and what was real. I needed more than that, something hotter, dirtier, grittier. Something all-consuming and wild. Something crazy. Something real. Something like the James Clarke of my fantasies. The James Clarke who told me he vents in the bedroom. The thought had whirred around my brain ever since. He was big. Big enough to throw me around like a little doll and use me any which way he wanted. Yeah, sure he would, Mr Perfect. Real life James Clarke was probably as corporate in the bedroom as he was out of it. I consoled myself with that thought.

  Bex was already in when I got home, propped in the kitchen with the stereo on, playing thumping tunes I didn’t know.

  “Hey, Lyds, good day?”

  I gave her a sigh. “So-so.”

  She eased me aside for a path into the fridge, pulling out a bottle of cold wh
ite. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  I took a glass, let her fill me a large one. “Good idea.”

  “So what’s with your shitty day? James being a nit-picking asshole?”

  “He’s not that bad,” I lied. “He mentioned he’d seen you today.”

  “That’s a turn up. Getting anything from that guy’s like milking a rock.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Don’t take it to heart.”

  I drank my wine. “I don’t get him.”

  “Nobody does.”

  “You do.”

  “Sometimes,” she smiled. “Did you give him your super-duper project file?”

  “Yeah, he said we’ll look at it next week.”

  “Next week?! So much for beavering like a crazy to get that done.”

  “It wasn’t compulsory.”

  “I hope he was grateful.”

  “Can you even imagine him with a grateful face?” I grinned at her, loosening up. “It’s my own fault, working too hard on something that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Are you talking about the project file, or about James?”

  “The project file!” I said. “Have you been drinking?”

  “A few in the studio earlier.” Her eyes glinted at me. “He’s hot, right?”

  “He’s attractive.”

  “And a weirdo... He likes you, Lyds, or he wouldn’t work with you.”

  I finished my drink. “He’s private, I get that.”

  “Sheesh, yeah. It’ll take a bloody lifetime for you two to get to know each other, Private and Privater hanging out in Private-ville.”

  “We aren’t hanging out anywhere, it’s all about work.”

  “All work and no play makes James and Lydia very fucking dull indeed.”

  I laughed. “Am I dull? Really?”

  “Nah, just... focused.”

  “That’s dull, isn’t it?”

  “No... yes... a little. But hey, if it floats your pretty little boat.”

  “It doesn’t. I need to get out.” I rubbed my temples, willing the blow-out memory away. I left Bex to it, all ready to go ditch the work outfit and veg in my PJs but she called me back.