Sexy as Hell Box Set (2 page)

“Well, it’s the dress itself. I mean, who wears this kind of get-up?”

Again, I wondered what he was seeing when he looked at me. Some slut?

“I do. And…” Releasing my hair, I swivelled to face him, ensuring there was adequate space between us. “I do believe you’ve lost already.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”

“You said you know everything, yes?”

“I…”

“Yet you don’t know who wears this kind of get-up.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. His long lashes almost rested on his cheeks. “Damn.”

“Indeed.”

He sighed and opened his eyes. “A month, you said?” This time it had sounded like an admittance of defeat. He’d be waving the white flag any minute.

Surrender tasted so good.

“One month where I’d teach you and show you as much as I can,” I said. “Agreed?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, shrugged and said, “Agreed.”

“Oh goody. Then I think we should begin now, don’t you?”

“Bring it on.” He folded his arms over his chest, tilted his chin.

I slid my feet into a pair of shiny black stilettos then strode to the door. “Come on then! We have somewhere we need to be.”

Flouncing from the room, I headed for the front door, swaying my backside with exaggerated movements. By the time I reached the hallway my dress had ridden up. I turned to give him a view I hoped would get his mind and libido going. A triangle of fabric was on show, my knickers, red and damp, and I waited for his gaze to stray. It did, him homing in on that scarlet patch, shaking his head as though he couldn’t get over how I was. Yes, I’d been a good girl in the coffee shop, saying all the right things, making him think I’d be grateful for his attention once I’d got him home. And now? I was a wicked temptress, intent on getting him to him lick my cunt on command if it was the last thing I did.

“Christ,” he said. “You need to pull that dress down a bit, love.”

“Do I? Do I really?” I winked and grabbed my handbag off the shoe cabinet. “I don’t think so. If I want to go out with my gusset on show, I will. Now, stop bleating about what I look like and get a move on.”

Once outside, I stepped onto the little path that led to the pavement. My sky-blue Mini Cooper was parked right beside it, and I clicked the key fob to unlock the doors.

“Jump in,” I said as I got into the driver’s seat and flicked the heater to full blast. “We need to move it if we’re going to make the first show. It starts at nine.”

He climbed in beside me and buckled up. “Where are we going, the cinema?”

I could have been cruel and wet myself with laughter but refrained. “We’re going to watch something, yes, but it isn’t the latest James Bond or anything remotely like it.”

“Right.” He stared ahead. “So do I have to do everything you say? Go everywhere you want to go? Don’t I get a say in any of this?”

“Look,” I said, starting the engine then easing out of my parking spot. “I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m not even going to have sex with you. I’m going to show you things, broaden your horizons, and when I think you’re ready, when you’ve proved you can enjoy yourself while not in control, then I might consider letting you fuck me. How about that?”

“You’re very self-confident. Maybe I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Hmm,” I said, belting down the road and drawing to a screeching stop at the junction. “Oh, I think you do, otherwise, why did you come home with me? You wanted to have sex with me but on your terms. I turned the tables, that’s all. Isn’t it exciting?” I zoomed left and headed towards the seedier side of town.

“Exciting? I wouldn’t say that. More like unsettling.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. His long legs were a bit short on space in my small car.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Let go of that prissy attitude, Victor. You certainly didn’t have
that
at the coffee shop. You were all confidence and look-at-me-I’m-gorgeous. Sexy as hell, I think you said at one point.”

“Neither of us are who we thought we were, then.” He stilled his hands.

If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d sounded grumpy, petulant. Oh, I’d soon have him eating out of my hand. Or from between my legs.

“Just relax, okay?” I said, turning right down King Street.

“What are we doing here?” He slumped down in his seat, barely managing to see out of the windshield. “Isn’t this where…?”

“Yes, but not all the working girls sell themselves on the corners, pretty boy. Some of them work indoors. Like me.”

“What the bloody hell is this place?” Victor asked. “And what did you mean by what you just said?”

We stood in an alleyway, the flat, square cobbles wet from the recent rain and glistening from the orange glow of a streetlight out on the road. A row of buildings flanked the alley, all dark red brick with even darker red doors and small windows on the first and second levels. The buildings were like something out of the nineteen-twenties, maybe originally an old mill or something. I knocked on a door with the number six proudly displayed in brass and waited for Emma to open it.

“I meant exactly what you thought I meant, and this place is where I work,” I said.

He stared down for a moment, seeming to have trouble processing the change in our location. “So you’re a prostitute?”

“Some would say so, but I don’t sell sex.” I shrugged. “You’ll see.”

The door opened, and Emma, resplendent in knee-high white socks, a short, pleated grey skirt, and a white blouse, beamed her usual smile. Her blonde pigtails swung to a stop. “Oh, are you on tonight, Zara?”

“No,” I said, taking Victor’s hand and dragging him inside towards the pine reception desk. “I’ve brought a friend to have a looksee.” I nodded at Victor.

Emma shut then locked the door. “A virgin?” she asked, walking behind her desk and plonking herself onto a chair.

Victor inflated his chest—something I suspected he did a lot of when his masculinity was called into question. “I’m not a virgin!”

“Not that kind of virgin,” I said, swatting him lightly on his arse, then looked at Emma. “Yes, a virgin, so we’ll just be watching tonight.”

“Room four’s free,” she said, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger, her gaze slipping down Victor’s tall, lean frame.

I couldn’t blame her, he was quite a catch.

“Who’s on display?” I asked.

“Julie.” Emma smiled again and swept her tongue over her top lip.

“Oh, Lord.” I studied Victor. “Are you sure you know everything?”

“Stop it,” he said. “We’ve already established I don’t.” He stared at Emma, jerking his head sideways at me. “Is she always this bossy?”

“If you think this is bossy, wait until she really gets going,” Emma said, leaning back in her chair to plonk her black flatties on the desk.

Victor swiped a hand across his brow.

“Come on,” I said. “This way!”

I pulled him to a door to the right of the desk and led him down a hallway that could have belonged in a hospital. White walls, glaring strip lights, and seven white-painted doors evenly spaced. Reaching door number four, I stopped and waited for Victor. Once he stood in front of me, I planted my hands on his shoulders.

“Now then,” I said. “Julie might open your eyes a little bit, all right? But it’s fine to be shocked and I won’t think any less of you.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d never met you,” he said, eyeing the ceiling. “All I wanted was a bloody
decaff coffee after work, and there you were, all smiles and enticing tits, and look where it got me.” He lowered his gaze and stared at me. “I should be at home, eating my dinner. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“But you’re not, so get over it,” I said, patting his shoulders. “And just think, when you got up this morning, you had no idea what you’d be doing now. Isn’t this at least giving you a little thrill?”

“If I tell you the truth, you’ll laugh at me.”

Playing around with him was all well and good, but I felt a bit sorry for him then. Only a bit, mind. “I won’t. Promise.”

“I’m uncomfortable. This…this place. You. Emma out there. I’m in a sex den, aren’t I? My clients would probably freak if they found out.”

“You are and they won’t.” I paused. “Do you want to leave? We can, you know. I’m not into forcing people.” I gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Listen, this is just watching, okay? You don’t have to do anything but observe, and if you don’t like it, we’ll leave. Go and have something to eat, dinner. My treat. Deal?”

His eyes softened a bit, and a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I’d managed to get a positive response from him. That was a good sign.

“Deal,” he said, managing a smile.

“Right, come on then.”

I opened the door and let it swing wide. The contrast in lighting was stark. Out here was bright, in there wasn’t. Only a low-watt bulb glowed inside a half moon glass shade on the wall to our right, making the red paint look dusky pink. Victor cleared his throat and stepped in. I followed, shutting the door and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Soon, light would spill through a rectangle of glass from the room opposite, and Julie would perform in all her glory.

Two black leather bucket chairs were in front of us, and I tapped Victor’s arm.

“Sit down there,” I said, pointing, then taking the seat beside his. “The show won’t be long in starting. Glad we made it in time. Nothing worse than coming in halfway through.”

“What’s she going to do?” he asked, getting himself comfortable.

“Oh, this and that.” I didn’t want to scare him before she’d even started.

Julie’s performances always left me in awe of her. She’d said recently that no one hurt her exactly as she liked and when she entered the performance room she lost herself, went into another world. I knew what she meant. After all, I did the same thing myself, except what I gave the voyeurs was totally different from what she gave. All tastes were catered for here. All except vanilla. I smiled to myself and wondered how Victor would cope. I’d been somewhat cruel, bringing him to Julie’s spectacle for his first time, but it was a test of sorts. If he could cope with her, he’d be set up for seeing Lovisa and Halsten, a Swedish pair who enjoyed a bit of bloody violence more often than not.

“This and that sounds ominous,” he said.

I waved my hand, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Stop fretting. She won’t be doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Light suddenly blazed through the window as the automatic curtains pulled back. I blinked, turning to look at Victor to see his reaction to the room ahead. He darted forward in his seat, peering as though unable to believe his eyes. I knew what he was looking at, knew the layout like the back of my hand. Black walls, black floor, a somewhat out-of-place chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. Row upon row of toys hanging from hooks on the wall opposite, the metal of some twinkling. And Julie standing in the centre, naked except for a pair of shiny red thigh-high boots, her back to us. She was Barbie doll perfection, long, wavy blonde hair, and slender legs.

Victor blinked.

I looked through the window. Julie reached up and gathered her abundant mane in one hand, securing it into a knot with a
scrunchie.

Victor gasped. “Her skin…”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” I looked at him.

“No, no it isn’t. Where the hell did she get those scars?”

“You’ll see. But if you meet her, never tell her you think those scars are ugly. To her they’re beautiful. A part of her. A very important part. There’s a lot you won’t understand this month, a lot you’ll think is wrong, Victor, but you must always bear in mind it isn’t wrong to those who are doing it.”

“But she’s been hurt!”

“Yes, she has.” I didn’t offer any more information. Sometimes it took seeing something before you could believe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That what you saw wasn’t the first impression you’d got. I was going to open this man’s eyes so wide he’d think his pretty eyeballs were going to pop.

Julie stepped forward and took a whip from one of the hooks. She moved a few feet in reverse so she was once again in the centre of the room. With a flick of her wrist she tested the whip against her booted leg, the sound of it hitting the leather filtering through the slim slats built into the top of the window.

In my peripheral, I caught sight of Victor jumping, balling his hands into fists in his lap. I imagined his heart rate speeding, him not knowing what she was about to do, rolling information around in his mind with regards to her scars. They criss-crossed her back, some creamy and raised, old, others light pink, and others still red from a more recent whipping. She wore them as her armour, a badge displayed proudly, for they represented who she was, who she was finally allowed to be. Herself. I didn’t expect Victor to understand. Not many people did, I’d found.

Julie drew the whip up in front of her, and its tail sliced across her shoulders. Victor let out an “Oh, shit!” but didn’t look away. Julie whipped on, one lash following the other with incredible speed, no long gaps in between strikes, no chance for a breather. This was how she liked it, hard and fast, and, like she’d said, if no one had the bottle to strike her in the way she liked it done, she’d do it to herself.