Breaking Leila

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “Finally.” His Scottish accent elongated the word. “Leila, what the hell is this message from John? I’ve already had inquiries for this evening–”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said. “I just...I decided I didn’t need to work the last three. I’m done.”

  “Did something go wrong last night? John said you looked fine.”

  I suppose it depends on your definition of wrong, hmm? “It was fine. I'm fine.” Cushions melted around me as I sat down. “I know I should have told you myself, and I was going to call tonight anyway–”

  “You’re going to piss off a lot of clients.”

  “There are tons of girls who’d love a place on your books. You’re special.”

  “Ladarna doesn’t want any of those girls,” he whinged. “Look, Leila. Please. Just this weekend?”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, Will. You’ve been really good to me. I’ve got my reasons, okay?”

  “Did you get a boyfriend? Is that what this is about?” Oh, how he teased me. Arsehole.

  “I wish. I really am sorry, you know.”

  “You’re still coming to my wedding, madam.”

  “Of course I am, although I still haven’t picked an outfit...”

  “Women! You’re a pain in the gooch as a species, bunch of fickle–”

  “All right. You’ve made your point.” I eyed the fridge. Was there milk for cereal? Breakfast of champions...dinner of whores. “Did John give you what I owed?”

  “Yes, yes.” With a great rush of static air, he exhaled. “We’ll miss you, you know. Thought you’d at least make it a year.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

  For twelve months, that second phone had constituted my social life–or lack thereof. It had made sure I didn’t have time for the self-pity and moping that my predicament made so tempting. Now it was an artefact from a previous life.

  Thanks to William, I had been indoctrinated by some of the most notorious male escorts in London. Trust me, there was no better way to be trained–they knew their way around a man’s body. Ladarna: bold in the Gaelic. As one of only three girls on the agency’s books, I got a party at William’s townhouse in my honour. They were excited about me. It was a far better show than our welcome drinks at Bach & Dagier, which had consisted of Matt’s favourite activity–whinging about the recession–while the insolvency queens and the litigators circled jugs of limp-fruited Pimm’s.

  But my year at the Ladarna was over.

  I had been a successful whore, now just a few grand away from paying off my parents’ debt.

  And beneath the slick knickers and the pink-smudged welts, I was as empty as every encounter, and Charlotte was full of herself.

  * * * *

  Friday. The longest day of the week.

  There was always a stack of loose ends on my desk in the morning, always a list of errands to run before the bank closed–and beyond. This Friday, my desk bore something a tad more interesting: a delicate bunch of peonies and a watermarked card.

  My office, first thing.

  I straightened my clingy wrap dress and strode over to knock. Deep breath, now.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Sunlight spilled through the blinds and draped him in syrupy shadows. I had to swallow before I spoke. “You wanted to see me?”

  He nodded in his chair. “Have a seat.”

  My heels that day were shameful, and what sounded like crushed carpet was a who are you dressing up for, hmm? Joseph leaned out a little and I slid on to his desk. My bare legs swung against his.

  “I have another job for you.” He smiled. “Tonight.”

  “Oh?” Oh.

  “Does that please you?” He walked his fingers walked along my thigh.

  “Depends what the job is.”

  “Dinner...and home to play.”

  I caught his hand. His shoulders squared, arms went stiff. A few days ago, had I been called into his office like this, a chair and a desk would have kept me at a safe distance. Now, he sought to violate more than just personal space, and...Jesus. Had it always been this way? Joseph abusing my secret, and me, manipulating his desire.

  There was a reason why this wasn’t part of my day job. If only I could remember what it was…

  “My girlfriend, Isobel–she’s always wanted to be with another woman. It’s her birthday.”

  “Oh.” I snapped my thighs shut before he turned the lawyer back into the whore. “Happy birthday, Isobel.”

  “She isn’t to know what you do. You’re a friend of mine. Is that clear?” He stroked my knee. “You’ll need to be a little more professional than you were on Wednesday.”

  “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

  “You’re to leave for the bathroom half-way through the meal. At the end, if I ask you back for drinks, it means she likes you. If I say I’ll see you on Monday...we’ll find another job.” A sleek glass paperweight sat beside us, long and meandering, shaped like a Chinese dragon. He began to knead it in his fist.

  “It will all be for Isobel,” he said. “She won’t want me to touch you.”

  “Of course.”

  Either he was going to melt that paperweight, or split it in two. God, I knew how that felt. His knuckles twitched beneath the skin. A little part of Joseph was always spoiling for a fight.

  “I want you to pleasure her. I want you to teach her to pleasure you.”

  “I’ve done that before,” I managed.

  “Apparently, there’s a lot you’ve done before,” he said dryly.

  I bit my lip to stifle a grin. “Did I disappoint you, Mr Merchant?”

  “No, Leila.”

  I shifted about on my hands. I was, embarrassingly, beginning to stick to his desk.

  “You’re a man of...fewer words than usual.”

  “I keep going to make the kind of bad innuendo you and Gordon come out with.” He groaned. “Less is more. Well.” He nudged my closed legs again. “Except there. If you want to wear less, then I won’t be complaining.”

  I nodded sagely. “I’ll ask Sadie if we can have a no knickers day for charity.”

  “I’m about to embarrass myself with a cliché–so mush.” He laid the paperweight on a stack of folders and stood up. Now he could stare down at me, no longer a girl but just a puddle about his feet.

  “Kiss me,” I pleaded.

  Instead, he cupped my jaw and his mouth fell to my throat, where he dragged tiny kisses that made me shiver.

  “I’m going to give you this now.” A brown envelope landed in my lap.

  “Thank you. Sir.” I straightened myself up, sliding off the desk. “Should I bring the others in...?”

  An indulgent grin lit his cheeks. “Give me ten minutes.” He knotted thick fingers across his crotch.

  “Ten it is.” I hit the carpet again and my heels chatted between themselves. Crunch crunch.

  Outside, Bhan–uncharacteristically early–eyed the envelope in my hand with suspicion.

  “Crikey,” he said, “did you get a warning, too?”

  * * * *

  The day dragged so heavily after that.

  Matt threw green-eyed glares at the peonies on my desk because he didn’t believe that I’d brought them in any more than Poppy did. Things might have felt awkward between us after the talk yesterday, but all I could think about was Joseph, and I hadn’t even cleaned myself up after our breakfast tease. I sat in my wet lace knickers all day, smiling to myself as they stuck to hidden places.

  Joseph had left details of the restaurant in the envelope. I hadn’t taken so long to get ready since my very first client, when I’d worried over runs in my stockings and whether my perfume was the cheap, slutty kind. Now I found myself lingering over a choice of lipstick, the length of my nails. I settled on a floaty dress with a Grecian cut bodice–pretty, but not predatory. No need to go hunting tonight.

  I arrived at the restaurant just after 8:30 PM, and the hostess led me to the table.

  Then I saw I
sobel, and it hit me. I would perform a seduction and it might well be real, but the rest of the night was a lie. Unsettled, I watched as she leaned across to Joseph, brushed his collar and drank in his words… I hadn’t even met the woman and already, I played her false.

  She was quite the woman.

  “Hello.” Isobel smiled and held out a manicured hand. She had a vaguely familiar accent–European? All her consonants fell out in staccato shapes.

  “It’s lovely to meet you.”

  Her hand, soft and light in mine, needed no firm grip to make an impact. The hostess pulled out my chair and I re-arranged my skirt before sitting down.

  “Isobel,” said Joseph, “this is Leila. She’s currently training in my office.” Gone was the office tie, yet he was ten times the schoolboy in his filthy-eyed glee.

  Isobel nodded. “I work in tax law myself. Are you planning to stay in the field?”

  “Yep. I really enjoy it,” I said. “Well…except for the clerks at Inland Revenue with the beaks for noses. They freak me out a bit.”

  “She’s a talented girl,” Joseph murmured. “Full of promise.”

  Isobel gave a knowing little laugh and I shuddered. I wanted to say she looked groomed, but that wasn’t it–sculpted was more appropriate. Her caramel skin had a sparkling sheen to it, and her chin-length hair fell in honeyed shades of blond. She couldn’t have hit thirty yet. I tried not to stare at her lips–plump as peaches–and failed miserably. Good job I was actually there for the woman for once, and not the man.

  “Where are you from, Isobel?” I meant to sound relaxed, yet my voice was made of water.

  She sipped her wine, savoured for a moment. Smiled her approval at Joseph. “I’m from Salzburg originally. Now I work in Vienna.” Her glass made a soft thump against the table cloth as she placed it down. “I spend a fair amount of time in the UK, for work. I do a lot of consulting for your company.”

  “It’s worth coming over here for the shopping,” I said. “You must have a good eye–that camisole is gorgeous.”

  “Oh, thank you.” A delicate string of diamonds winked against her wrist. “And you’re right. I don’t know which I like best–Harrods or Urban Outfitters.”

  I laughed. “Europe is better for perfume, though.”

  “Quite. Tell me what it’s like to work for Joseph, then. I want to hear all your stories.”

  Joseph cleared his throat as our entrees arrived. The tasting menu had been selected and we were to have six, maybe seven small courses. Meant to be a chance for the chef to show off, it was also the perfect pre-cursor to sex because it didn’t quite satisfy, and the feeling lingered: you need something more.

  Tonight was no disappointment in that arena.

  Joseph, for the most part, played the smiling observer. His eyes followed the swell of my breasts, or my fingers as I touched Isobel’s arm. He luxuriated in the promise that sparked between us all. The chemistry was subtle, but it was there.

  “Joseph tells me that it’s your birthday today,” I said to Isobel. “I’m flattered that you chose to invite me this evening.”

  “Oh, it was his idea.” A flush crept over her cheeks. “He has the best ideas, don’t you, schneemann?”

  “I’d like that in writing, please.”

  I caught his gaze for a moment, transported back to our encounter that morning, and fought to keep still against the ripple of inner muscles. I wouldn’t get to kiss him tonight, would I? Ugh. So...mean.

  Still, exploring Isobel would be no trial.

  We fell into conversation dangerously akin to whinging about the recession. My inner tax geek mewed in the yogic stretch of it, and as new opinions frothed in the wake of our debate, I forgot my nerves. The food was sublime but it may as well have been sawdust, and panic sidled up to my growing arousal, tapping its shoulder and cocking its brows. How does she not know what I do? How does she think he arranged this...?

  Toward the end, I made my prerequisite trip to the bathroom and lingered there nervously, wrapping red curls around my fingers. I had played well so far: compliments, intelligent chatter, only one glass of wine. The anticipation was not normally so tumultuous–I got paid either way, and a rejection simply meant a free evening.

  I did not want to be rejected this time.

  Chapter 3

  Joseph smirked. Either another twisted trainee sucked him off under the table, or he was about to take me home for Isobel.

  As we left, Isobel took my arm and guided me toward their car. We giggled in the backseat over the way the waiter had stared at us, how his eyes had widened as we held hands. Now we were the lovers curled back on cool leather, squirming beneath our seatbelts as our fingers went on safari, and every time she glanced at me, she bit her bottom lip. Her nipples hardened beneath the silky bodice and her palm bore the faintest chill of sweat.

  Joseph flicked the light switch at the door of his loft apartment, and the glow spilled into acres of open space. Reams of books stood neatly on glass shelves, and giant landscapes–fjords?–splayed their valleys across the walls. Furniture was in pale hues and smooth curves. There were all kinds of rumours at work about the space he kept so private–he had a secret collection of stuffed reptiles, a glass floor revealing a shark tank. Virgins writhed in cages before he devoured them for breakfast. Now, I crossed the threshold with the golden-haired ticket, and she mewed as our hips bumped at the door.

  Isobel took me out to the balcony and then disappeared. I was alone with the cityscape and its clustering lights.

  “Nicely done,” Joseph said from behind me. His hand snaked across my belly and his breath poured over my ear. “You look gorgeous.”

  A breeze swept down. I shivered. “Thank you.”

  He ran his hand up, cupped my breasts and kneaded them softly. “Do you ever bother with a bra?” His voice mashed delight and amusement into rough, curvy sighs.

  “At work. Do you think I need one now?”

  “Absolutely not.” He weighed them with sweeping thumbs. “Later, after Isobel falls asleep...you and me.”

  Oh. “Okay,” I whispered.

  Isobel strode up behind us and Joseph darted away.

  “It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?” She rubbed her nose. Beside me, barefoot, she was barely an inch shorter.

  “If a little cold,” said Joseph, cocking an eyebrow at her erect nipples.

  I sank down to a steel chaise longue and patted the space between the cushions. “Would you like to sit with me, Isobel?”

  She smiled shyly and padded over. I slid the straps of the camisole down her arms and turned her to face Joseph. She gave a little sigh as my fingertips sailed over her skin. I was a kitten swatting at a butterfly, and he knew, I knew.

  I swept the hair away from her neck. The breeze caught its honeysuckle scent and fed it to me in wispy slithers. Then I brushed my lips against the skin there, tracing the sleek line with my tongue. Joseph leaned against the doorway and watched, hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes greedy.

  “I think you’re beautiful,” I whispered, biting Isobel’s earlobe. “I think you’re like dessert in human form.”

  She giggled. Tilted her head toward my mouth. “Thank you.” Her hand slid back to find my knee. “I’ve been thinking the same about you since we met, you know.”

  I worked my fingers up into her hair, grinding the tips against her scalp, and every moment or so, I paused to draw them back through her soft tresses.

  “I hope you’re watching and learning.” She thought she teased Joseph. Ah...she possibly was.

  He broke into a smile. “Oh, I’m watching, sweetheart.” He folded his arms. “Just forget that I’m here.”

  I worked Isobel’s shoulders and she arched back with a cry of delight.

  “But I want you to see, schneemann.”

  He strode over, pulled me up by the hand and turned me to face his lover.

  Isobel’s eyes never left mine as he drew my black knickers down my thighs, as he knelt to slide my heels o
ff and pull my dress away. When he stood again, arranging my hair so it hung in ringlets round my breasts, she smiled in rapture.

  “Happy birthday, baby.” He pushed me forward.

  “I think this is my favourite gift this year.”

  I sank to my knees and kissed Isobel. Though hesitant at first, her tongue sought mine, slick and curious, and she tasted like the dessert wine we’d shared not long ago. I brought her hands down to my breasts and sighed against her lips at the squeeze. She leaned back as I licked up her calves. By the time I reached her inner thighs, she mewed like a kitten, and I sucked tiny mouthfuls of flesh just hard enough to leave marks.

  “Shall we take this inside?” asked Joseph.

  Rhetorical question.

  He didn’t have a bedroom. He had a gallery, a great podium decked in white sheets, a hall of mirrors. It wasn’t a place to sleep–it was an act of bravery. The oil painting above his bed looked three-dimensional in the milky light, and beneath my fingers, a headless girl writhed in a pit of coarse vines. I stroked the thorns and they gnashed their teeth at me.

  Swish. Joseph pulled the covers back and then disappeared behind us, switching off the lamp as he went.

  I stopped Isobel by the bed. She was a little taller than me now that we were both without heels, but still so slightly built. I toyed with the straps on her camisole, easing them down her shoulders to reveal the top of a cream satin bra.

  “Arms up,” I whispered. Her top fell in two peaks of froth. I kissed the overspill from her bra, trailing my mouth down the curve of her belly before reaching to undo her skirt. In lingerie, her skin glistened in the barely-there light–and just as I eyed her, she watched me too, her breath quickening at the shaved mound between my thighs.

  Isobel kissed me this time, kneading my hips with her hands. I unhooked her bra and filled my palms. Her nipples were a yummy shade of raspberry and I tightened in the knowledge that her pussy was likely to be the same. She whimpered as I broke away to suck on them, stroking outward with my thumbs as if I milked her.