Margarita Monday. My favourite day of the week. There was a small Mexican place central to where we all lived and the four of us would go there every Monday. Jose’s made the best frozen margaritas.
Penelope and I jumped out of the cab and met the others outside; Jenifer, the new office junior, and Amanda, one of the downstairs receptionists. She would always pop upstairs to gossip and we hit it off straight away. We headed inside and straight to our usual table.
I loved hanging out with the girls. I never thought I would have a group of friends, but there I sat, sipping on a passion fruit margarita and having a good time. I rarely spoke about my personal life and never about the last two years of my teens. I told them I was estranged from my parents, which wasn’t a complete lie, it just wasn’t my choice to be abandoned. I left that part of my life story out. And anything else prior to 2003. It hurt too much to talk about, so I consciously repressed it, never letting it show.
The lights dimmed and the place fell silent before a new song started.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”
I looked around for the lucky birthday celebrator, ignoring the sharp stab in my back, my chest, my heart. I didn’t know where it hurt, I just knew that it did. And then my body went numb when I saw two waiters approaching me with a cake and candles bearing the number 24.
“Happy birthday, dear Skye. Happy birthday to you,” my friends sang, oblivious to the fact that I had shut down.
The cake was placed in front of me and the tears pooled.
“I’m sorry,” I spluttered as I jumped from the table and ran outside.
I hid in the alleyway next to the restaurant and tried to calm myself. I didn’t celebrate my birthday. I didn’t tell anyone when it was. I avoided conversing about all celebrations; even Cinco de Mayo, and England didn’t celebrate it.
“Too much for you, too?”
My head snapped up when the smooth, raspy voice spoke and I gasped when I saw the man it came from. Tall, dark, handsome; broad shoulders, narrow waist, and he was casually leaning on the wall opposite. He had his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, drawing my attention to his legs – long, strong, powerful. The cotton button-up coaxed my tongue to moisten my suddenly dry lips – a dusting of hair beneath the three undone top buttons, a chest that rose and fell precisely, cooly, confidently.
“It’s too hot to eat Mexican in July,” he said whilst I continued to mentally undress him. “I damn near choked on my jalapeno.”
I looked into his eyes, a dark hazel brown, and laughed coyly. I was spellbound, rendered speechless by the man before me.
“Yeah-”
I was entranced by his five o clock shadow as it darkened with the setting sun, and I was captivated by his eyes when they transfixed on mine and the corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. It was a core-melting smile, a soul-baring gaze; it had me relaxed but on edge. It had me confused. Who was this man?
“You okay?”
I nodded and smiled again. I didn’t know what to say. Every man I’d ever met beyond the sleezeballs in bars were at work, where I played a part. A role. A character. Here in Jose’s alleyway, as plain old screwed up Skye, I was tongue-tied, inside out and back to front. He was gorgeous; alluring, self-assured and I was instantly attracted to him.
“Yeah, you just made me jump.”
I dropped my gaze and his arms caught my attention as he clenched his fists in his pockets. With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, he looked delicious; I wanted to take hold of them and feel the muscles tense against my palms. There was just something about a man’s arms. I wanted to travel up, to feel his biceps that pulled the cotton taut across them, over his chest to the first button and pull. Hard. I wanted to watch the buttons scatter along with my mind. I’d never felt like that before – I’d never felt the urge to possess someone so instantly, and wondered what it would be like to be possessed by them in return.
“Sorry,” he smiled when my eyes met his once more. “I can make it up to you.”
“You can?”
“Sure. Wanna see a magic trick?”
My eyebrows shot up, my curiosity piqued, “Give it your best shot.”
He slowly pushed off the wall and took the two small steps that closed the distance between us. Holding his hand out next to my ear, he snapped his fingers and produced a burnt orange rose. Orange was my favourite colour.
“I’m Thomas.”
“Skye,” I took the rose from him, lifted it to my nose and inhaled the heavenly scent. “That was some magic trick.”
“Skye?”
Thomas and I turned to find Penelope, Jenifer and Amanda at the end of the alleyway. Two men, one blonde, the other with a mop of black curls, stood behind them. All five faces stared towards us, wondering what we were doing. I wondered the same thing.
Thomas cleared his throat and scraped his hand through his hair. I clutched the rose in both hands and stared at the ground. Our friends remained silent for what felt like minutes, but could have only been a few seconds and the awkwardness quickly fell over Jose’s alleyway. It was long enough to make me doubt why I’d stayed so long, why I hadn’t run away. The girls weren’t impressed; their puzzled expressions betrayed what they were thinking – what was I doing?
“I…uh…I should go,” I began to step away. I didn’t want to leave, I knew I didn’t, but wouldn’t admit it.
I turned to face Thomas and held out the rose. He could play the trick on the next girl he met.
“Why don’t you keep it and come back inside with me?” He said, his voice vibrating through my ears, warming my blood and making my head light. “I’ll renew your margarita.”
“I can’t,” I stuttered, stepping further away. I wanted to stay but I forced myself to leave. “Thank you for the rose, Thomas.”
I joined the girls, nodded my heads towards Thomas’ friends and took one look back at Thomas. He looked confused but tipped his head goodbye, and I looked at the ground as the girls and I headed towards the cab office.
“Who was that?” Penelope asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and played with the rose. “I went to get some air and he was just there.”
“And you didn’t want to stay?”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. I didn’t believe what I said and I knew she wouldn’t either.
“Why don’t you go back?” She suggested as the others exited the office.
“I can’t. He might be dangerous. What if he’s a creep?”
I knew, again, my words held no truth. He was just a man and he thought I was just a woman.
“Skye,” Jen turned to me and held my shoulders. “What have you got to lose?”
There was that question, the one that put everything into perspective. I had nothing to lose, because I had nothing.
“Go on.”
I turned around and followed the girls’ gazes. I could see Thomas and his friends further down the road, walking in the opposite direction. Slowly, I took the first step and I didn’t look back. I walked as fast as I could, afraid I’d lose him – I didn’t know what I would say, only that I would say whatever I felt. I was drawn to him, pulled by an invisible force that brought the panic in. What if I couldn’t catch up? What if he’d changed his mind? Was I about to make a fool of myself?
“Thomas!”
For one moment in time, I didn’t care. I ignored the looks from the people around me, I ignored the fear, I ignored the reminders of the past, and I called again.
“Thomas!”
He turned instinctively, as if he felt it too. The pull. He strode towards me as I rushed to get to him and we both slowed to a stop just a metre apart.
“I’m not in the mood for margaritas,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“No?” He cocked a brow; a move that had an effect on every one of my senses simultaneously.
It made my heart race, my blood pound in my ears. It made my stomach flutter in excited anticipation
.
I shook my head, “Do you like wine?”
He tilted his head from side to side and pursed his lips in thought.
“Red or white?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “That’s the deal maker or breaker.”
“Both,” I muttered, my confidence failing. He was going to reject me based on whether I liked red or white wine?
“I can work with that,” he winked and turned to his friends. “See you tomorrow.”
The two men frowned and attempted to protest but Thomas ignored their efforts and held his arm out for me. I hesitated. I wondered if I could do it – go for a drink with a man without a mask in place to protect me. But the question returned; what did I have to lose?
Nothing.
I settled my hand in the crook of his elbow, my fingers flexing against the warm firmness and Thomas led me to a little wine bar on one of the back streets.
We stayed for hours, until the sun had set completely, the cobbled street outside the bar was bathed in darkness and we had consumed two bottles of red wine at the table by the window.
I laughed freely as Thomas recounted things he’d done with Chaz and Joel, the two friends he was with earlier; the places they’d been, the things they’d seen, and now they worked together. We talked a little about me, post-2003, but I kept the conversation on him. I wanted to stay in the bar with him forever; I felt safe, I felt free if only for a while, I felt like I had found something in Thomas and whatever it was, I wanted to keep it.
Eventually, the bar manager asked us to finish up our drinks so they could close for the night; it was past midnight and we’d been there for three hours. I hadn’t even noticed. I was happy, content to be surrounded by Thomas and everything he represented. I could be myself around him, whoever that was.
Thomas paid for our wine and we thanked the staff before stepping out into the clammy summer air. Thomas held out his hand for mine and for the first time in a long time I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t ponder, I didn’t shy away. We took the short walk back to the cab office and Thomas ordered a car to take me home.
“Can I see you again?” He asked, tucking my hair behind my ear and setting his hand on the side of my neck.
The goosebumps rose from the warmth of his hand, my pulse thumped furiously against his palm and my body heat rose to match his.
“Yes,” I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper.
Thomas blinked slowly, licked his lips and his eyes fell on my mouth. My lips tingled beneath his gaze and the smile that came next was instantly more intoxicating than the wine. He leaned in, so slowly I thought time had stopped. Everything around us ceased to exist as he leaned closer and I closed my eyes.
His lips met mine and Earth stopped spinning. It was a soft kiss, a whisper of a touch as he sealed his mouth over mine. I never wanted it to end, but he pulled away, stroked his thumb over my cheek and as I opened my eyes, his voice, low and assured sent a shiver rippling down my spine as he whispered.
“Your cab is here.”
I stepped back and locked into his eyes as he reached behind me to open the door. He had me. I had him. Whatever had happened tonight, I would remember it until I took my last breath. I climbed in the car and as I looked out of the window and waved goodbye, Thomas blew me a kiss. Only it wasn’t a kiss; it was his heart, and he took mine with him as I blew one back and the cab pulled away from the curb.
Without warning, Thomas had crept in from out of nowhere and captured me, enraptured me, and given me a reason to fight.
Sixteen
“Wanna see a magic trick?” has got to be the worst way to catch a woman. But it worked on me. Boy, did it work on me. Thomas made falling in love easy.
December 9th, 2008.
“Thomas!” I called up the stairs. “We’re going to be late!”
I could hear him rustling around in the bedroom; he took longer to get ready than I did. I humoured myself knowing I’d had all afternoon to prepare for the evening while he was at the office.
Thomas was the managing director for a sports magazine. His father owned the company until he retired and Thomas took over. He was ten years older than me, but you couldn’t tell. He acted younger than his age, often blowing raspberries on my neck while I tried to work. He liked to hide too; he’d pretend he wasn’t home and jump out of a cupboard when I least expected it. He sat in the same spot for an hour once. And then complained about his knees and back hurting because he’d contorted himself into the little cupboard under the stairs, knowing I’d go there to put my shoes away when I got to his place. Only I was running late.
I acted older then my twenty-five years. I’d experienced things people twice my age hadn’t and for that, I was a thirty-five year old in a twenty-five year old body.
I still worked for Poise. I had been there for four years and I loved it. I survived my first week and at the end of it, Nina ripped up my CV and told me I’d never have to write one again. I was an office junior for just eight weeks. I made coffee, ran errands and was at the beck and call of everyone in the office. I moved up quickly and every time I did, I heard the bell ring and imagined the MC announcing that I’d won another round. I had been an admin assistant, a receptionist and I was now the office manager. I loved it; I had finally found my niche. I felt important, I felt needed. I felt normal.
“Thomas!” I called again and heard him laugh.
I moved from the living room to the hallway when I heard him galloping down the stairs. He was tying his tie and trying to wiggle his feet into his shoes, whilst shaking his barely-dry hair into some sort of style.
“Geez, you’re a mess,” I joked, approaching him.
He continued getting his feet into his shoes while I adjusted his tie and combed my fingers through his auburn hair. I styled it the way I liked it; tussled and slightly to one side. It was guaranteed to have my fingers itching to touch it all night. I liked to tease myself.
“Love you too,” he rolled his eyes and squeezed my backside.
“There,” I smoothed down his tie and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. I ached for more, but it was all part of our game. My favourite game. “Let’s go. The car is outside.”
He helped me into my coat, pulled on his dinner jacket and grabbed the umbrella. I took his hand again; a sign of appreciation that he always dismissed, saying he was lucky to have me. I was the lucky one. He understood me; from the moment he handed me the orange rose in Jose’s alleyway, he became my magic.
Thomas opened the front door, pulled me into his side until my body melded with his and we laughed with ease as we ran the length of the driveway in the rain, to where the car was waiting to take us to the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards ceremony.
Seventeen
They say ‘don’t hate the player, hate the game’. Well, I kinda loved the game…I kinda loved the player, too.
December 10th, 2008.
“That dress makes your tits look incredible.”
Thomas curled his arm over my shoulders, taking one of my breasts, sheathed in midnight blue, in his hand.
“Yeah, well, those trousers are too tight. I could see your cock twitching for me all night.”
“Mmm,” he groaned, moving his arm and slipping both hands into his pockets. “It’s been twitching for you for thirty six hours.”
That was how long it had been. Sometimes we would only last an hour without each other. Sometimes we’d go at it all night, multiples times, until I was so exhausted I only just made it to work the next day. And sometimes we would go for days with nothing but a teasing touch and a goading glare. It was what we enjoyed most. The anticipation. Building the need until it was on such a base level we couldn’t stop for hours. It had been thirty-six since he was last inside me. The only contact we’d had was chaste kissing, an ass grab on his part and a crotch stroke on mine. I ached for him; I would have torn my clothes off and rode him on the back seat if it weren’t for the game. We played it every time we went
out.
Thomas pulled his closed fists from his pockets and presented them to me.
“If you get it, you go. If you don’t, I go,” he licked his lips and I knew he had a wicked plan. “Pick a fist.”
I thought for a second, just a second, because I was too excited to drag it out, and tapped his right fist. He turned it over and opened it; it was empty. He opened the other. It was empty too.
“Cheating, Mr Radley?”
“We never agreed to play fair,” his voice lowered to a seductive, rasping timbre that resonated through me and made my stomach flutter.
He reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and held out his fist again. I pried it open and found a small red gem settled in his palm.
“A ruby?” I took it from him and closed my fingers around its warmth.
“Red. For Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
He always bought me a gift when we played. I didn’t need them, didn’t expect them, but I took them. The first time, he gave me pair of Cartier diamond studs. I went crazy and demanded he take them back…
So he wrote the word ‘Cartier’ on my clit with his tongue again and again, refusing to let me come until I begged for release and promised not to reject his gifts again.
I flushed thinking about that night and squeezed my thighs together.
“You’re wet for me already,” he breathed and turned to look out the window. “I can smell your sweet nectar. I imagine it trickling from you, waiting for me to lap it up.”
I exhaled a moan, just from the sound of his voice and the images of his head between my legs. I’d gone from nought to nymph in seconds. Faster than the flashy car he fucked me on last week.
The car pulled up outside Thomas’ house and we climbed out. It sped off into the distance as we waited at the end of the driveway for it to disappear.
Survival (Twisted Book 1) Page 7