Pretty mess, p.12
Pretty Mess, page 12
“Your new home, Wes,” Celia says as we all step off the lift.
I look around. “Is this the flat?” I ask incredulously.
She nods, giving me a polished smile. “Yes, the penthouse apartment.”
“Jesus Christ.”
They kindly ignore me, and she opens a door, gesturing for me to go through. I step into a lounge, although it’s completely different to any lounge I’ve ever spent time in. It’s a huge room with big, multipaned windows letting in lots of light. A massive sectional sofa upholstered in amber-coloured velvet and a couple of armchairs in a subtle checked fabric are positioned to face a marble fireplace. On one side of the room is a long dining table and chairs. A pair of double doors leads onto a terrace. They’re open, letting in a gentle breeze and the sound of traffic, and I walk over, pushing aside the curtains and stepping out. I find an expensive-looking rattan table and chairs, the scarlet-coloured parasol and seat cushions a bright splash of colour.
Clelia comes to stand next to me. “Lovely view,” she says approvingly. “You can see all the way across Knightsbridge down to Chelsea.” She points to a huge building in the distance that’s instantly familiar. “That’s Battersea Power Station, and over there is the West End and the city of Westminster.”
I follow her gaze, my eyes snagging on the park in front of me. It’s a big expanse of green, and it contrasts with the red-brick buildings with their ornate exteriors, which are jostling for space with more modern buildings. In the distance, steel towers rise up against the skyline, and the street below is busy with people and cars.
“I don’t think I could ever get tired of this view,” I say softly.
I look back to see Celia and Robert watching me and feel a flush rise on my cheeks. Do they know the arrangement Cormac has with me? Of course they do. I wonder what they’re thinking, but luckily I’ll never know. They’re obviously too professional.
Robert smiles kindly. “I’ll put your case in the bedroom, Wes.”
“Thank you.”
Celia gestures to me. “Let me show you around.”
I follow her dutifully, my head reeling as she shows me room after room—a modern kitchen, a utility room with shiny appliances, a small bedroom and an en suite shower room, a dressing room that smells of cedar with racks for clothing and a skylight, and a massive bathroom with a stone floor, a shower enclosure that’s big enough to fit four people, and a freestanding bath in the middle of the room. Everywhere is decorated in warm shades of amber and terracotta with pops of blue. The walls are painted white and filled with modern art, and the furniture is simple but classy and obviously hideously expensive.
I can’t believe this is where I’m going to stay. I shake my head. Just how much money does Mac have? I think of lecturing him the other day about wasting his money and my already flushed cheeks get hotter.
“And this is the master bedroom.” Celia’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
I blink. “I thought that was the main bedroom?” I say, pointing back the way we just came.
“Oh no. That was just a spare.”
I traipse after her into the room. My attention immediately focuses on the bed. It’s massive, with a carved wooden headboard and footboard. It’s made up with pristine white bedlinen, and a blue-and-white patterned throw rests at the foot. It’s piled high with pillows and looks like a cloud. I think of rolling around on it with Mac and feel heat run through me. I hastily look elsewhere in case my thoughts are obvious. Lamps are on either side of the bed with oversized amber shades, and an easy chair upholstered in peacock blue linen is situated by a set of double doors. I walk over and open them to find a small terrace that looks down onto a quieter residential street. A big cocoon chair is suspended in the corner. It’s filled with bright cushions and sways gently in the breeze, and I instantly earmark it as the perfect place to read.
Celia clears her throat, and I look back at her and offer a smile.
“I just have a few more things for you, and then we can leave you alone.”
I hasten to follow her as she walks out. Going to the breakfast bar in the kitchen, she upends the contents of her manila envelope onto the surface. “There are two cards here, but if you do happen to lose one, just give me a ring and we’ll replace the locks.” She points to a sleek phone on a side table. “The number for reception is zero. There is someone on duty twenty-four hours a day. As I mentioned, the basement has a gym, spa, and swimming pool. You don’t have to book the facilities, but if you want spa treatments, someone on the front desk will book you in.” She smiles. “I recommend the head massage. It’s incredible.”
I smile awkwardly back. I’m feeling seriously out of my depth.
She continues as if she hasn’t noticed my awkward silence. “You have a housekeeper. A—” She consults her phone. “—a Mrs Tidewell. She will come in every day during the week. Please set aside your laundry in the bags provided in your dressing room. She will take care of everything. If you need emergency dry cleaning, just ring downstairs and someone will come and pick it up for you.” I have a quick image of an ambulance with its sirens blaring, carrying my dry cleaning away, and then push that aside as she continues talking. “There are menus for the restaurants and takeaways in the area in the kitchen drawer, but Mr Reilly requested we do a food delivery for you once a week. Please tell Mrs Tidewell your preferences and she’ll ensure you have what you need.”
“That was very kind of him,” I say in astonishment, and something in her face echoes my feeling that it’s unusual behaviour for Cormac. But again, she’s too professional to say anything.
She sets everything in a neat pile and then stands back. “I’ll let you get unpacked and settled in, Mr Archer.”
“Wes, please.”
“Wes,” she corrects herself, her smile a little more real this time. “There’s an information pack in the envelope that will give you the lay of the land—where everything is and the nearest tube station. I’ll leave you now, but do ring the desk if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
She exits the room, and a silence falls before Robert stirs. “Well, I’ll be off too, Wes, if there’s nothing you need.”
I shake my head. “I think Mac thought of everything. Fucking hell,” I breathe, looking around the room. “This must be costing the idiot an absolute fortune,” I say disapprovingly, shaking my head. “How much does a flat cost in this building?” I pause. “Not just a flat. A penthouse.”
His eyes are twinkling when I turn back to him. “Ah, well, not as much as you think.”
“Why?”
“Mr Reilly owns the building.” He pats my shoulder. “I hope you’ll be happy here, Wes.”
When he leaves, the silence is almost too much, and I wander around opening cupboards and doors. Despite the luxury, I can’t help feeling disappointed that Mac wasn’t here to welcome me. I’d imagined in a tiny corner of my mind him and me laughing and unpacking and being together. I huff. I don’t know what on earth had given me that ridiculous idea. Certainly not Mac’s behaviour so far.
Thinking of him, I take out my phone and pull up his number. I type quickly and send the text before I can second-guess myself.
Guess where I am?
A minute ticks by while I watch my phone. I don’t think he gave it to me for casual conversation, but it amuses me to think of him struggling not to reply. Somehow I know he’s not cross. The message alert sounds, and I nearly drop the phone in my haste to see the message.
At the London Zoo, having a lesson in table etiquette from the baboons?
I snort and tap away.
I don’t think I need that. My bottom isn’t nearly red enough to fit in at the baboon habitat. And I could teach them a thing or two about eating.
Only if it was about dislocating your jaw so you can fit more food in your mouth.
You’re so funny. You should take it on the road.
I can almost feel his aggravation. His text comes, and I snort when I read it.
If I ask why you’re messaging me, will you leave me alone?
I make no promises.
What do you want?
I bite my lip.
Are you coming over later?
The pause is long, and I feel myself flush. My phone buzzes.
I make no promises.
My smile is wide now. You little tease.
I’m going into a meeting. For the love of god, please leave me alone.
I’ll be around tonight.
Not bothering to hold in my smile, I slide my phone into my pocket and look around at my surroundings. The smile fades away slowly, because why am I flirting with him? He’s not my boyfriend. The whole morning has gone according to what I am in his world—a possession like the car, fancy clothes, and even this building. Actually, I’m not even that. I chuckle, and it sounds a bit hollow. What I am is another member of his staff, just like Robert and Celia. One drives him somewhere; another manages his building. I’m the keeper of his cock, existing to service him and bring him pleasure and then disappear back into the cupboard until he needs me again.
I shake off the ridiculous mood. “Get over yourself,” I say out loud because if I’m at the stage of imagining myself and Mac skipping around the flat together, I need to get help. And I really need to remember Julian’s warnings. “I am a whore,” I whisper softly. It makes me wince, so I say it again and then a third time. “I am a whore, and I need to remember that.”
I wander back into the bedroom and dig through my case, withdrawing the picture of me with my mum and Tyler. I set the frame neatly on the bedside table. Then I look around the room uneasily. I’m not actually sure whether I should have the photo out by the bed. This is where Mac will fuck me and given that he pays for that privilege I’m not sure he’ll want to be looking at my family while he’s doing the deed. I take the frame, walk back into the lounge, and set it neatly on a side table next to a big table lamp.
My mum and brother smile serenely out at me, and I touch my mum’s face, feeling the coolness of the glass on my fingertip. “I wonder what you’d think of all this, Ma,” I whisper. I shake my head. I don’t think she’d understand any more than Tyler would, but I do know she’d have loved me regardless. There’s a lot to be said for that.
I step back, shaking off the introspective thoughts, and head into the bedroom to unpack.
The sound of the front door opening startles me. I turn from where I’ve been sitting on the sofa, misjudge the unfamiliar piece of furniture, and fall onto the floor.
“Ouf,” I say and peek around the corner of the sofa as Mac walks into the room.
He’s wearing a grey suit with a subtle blue check, a white shirt and blue tie, and a long black coat. The coat highlights his broad shoulders. I’d be prepared to bet it’s some expensive fabric and came from a shop where you’d need a second mortgage just to look at the clothes. He doesn’t seem to own a single piece of clothing that doesn’t cost a lot of money.
He’s looking around, his face inscrutable, and I struggle to my knees. “Hey,” I say, waving.
“Why are you kneeling on the floor?” he asks cautiously.
“All the better to blow you, my dear,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
He shakes his head but can’t stop the twitch of his lips. He takes off his coat and throws it carelessly onto the sofa. I lean forward and grab it.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Examining the label. Yes, cashmere. I knew it.”
“Is there a point today where you’ll make sense? I need to make a note in my diary.”
“You’re hilarious.” I spring to my feet. “I had a bet your coat was expensive and probably sewn during the new moon by a virgin and a unicorn who never got any tea breaks.” I grin at him. “Want to see my new gaff?”
He rolls his eyes. “I do believe I might have seen it before.”
I step closer and poke him in the ribs, enjoying his surprised huff. It’s good to surprise him. I’m guessing he’s so controlled that it rarely happens. “You own the whole building, eh, Mr Moneybags?”
He catches my finger and draws me gently forward until I’m standing toe-to-toe with him, me barefoot and him in very polished shoes. “And who told you that, little nosy?”
“I have my sources.”
He hesitates and then says almost reluctantly, “Do you like the place?”
“Fucking hell, Mac, it’s amazing.”
“Please don’t call me that.” He sighs. “It’s the name of someone who might actually appreciate your company.”
I grin at him and, reaching up, I loosen his tie before pulling it slowly from his collar. “I think you like me plenty, Mac, or at least what my arse can do to your cock.” He goes still, watching me as I drop the tie to the floor, but it’s the stillness of a lion watching its prey.
It suddenly occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve taken the initiative. All the other times he’s been in the driving seat. I wonder if I should step back and let him take over. Maybe he wouldn’t like it any other way. But a glance down at the erection tenting his trousers tells me to dismiss that idea.
I quickly scramble out of my clothes, my reward being his sharp intake of air. For a second, I think he’s going to drag me close, but he remains still even as I smile up at him and start to unbutton his shirt. The material parts, showing his smooth, broad chest, and I slide my hands down his ribs, enjoying the feel of his hot, silky skin.
I pause when I reach his belt. “Yes?” I ask, and I’m startled at the hoarseness in my voice. My cock is already stiff and throbbing. Something about the way he stands still as I run the show is incredibly hot.
He raises one sardonic eyebrow. “Why are you asking me? You seem to be in charge.”
I shrug. “I like that idea.”
“God help us all.”
I snort and undo the buckle on his belt. I slide it free from his trousers and give the leather a crack. “Shit!” I flinch when it hits my fingers. “That fucking hurt.”
He makes a sound that is very much a snort, and I mock-frown at him. “Don’t mock me. I’ve hurt my finger.”
“Show me,” he says, and the mood abruptly changes. His voice is dark and deep and an incitement to sin, so I step closer and raise my finger to his lips, gasping as he takes it into his mouth and starts to suck. His mouth is hot and wet.
“Shit. It’s like my dick is connected to my finger,” I say in a breathy voice.
He lets my finger go. “What a stunning and erotic image.”
“I can’t help it. Everything you do is hot.” The usual cynical look comes over his face, and I roll my eyes. “It’s the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Maybe because I’m paying you to be here. And I think you’re too smart not to pretend you appreciate me.”
The sudden jibe and dismissive tone of voice chills the heat that’s been building. It’s not that it isn’t true. It’s just that when we’re together, there’s no way I can pretend he’s not the hottest man I’ve ever been with, that the sex we have isn’t the best thing I’ve ever felt. And, of course, now I have to ask myself if he’s been pretending to behave like my arse, in particular, is the only one he’s ravenous for.
He sighs, and my eyes fly to his. “That was uncalled for,” he says softly. “Forgive me.”
I cock my head. “Was that… was that actually an apology?”
“No,” he snaps.
I grab his arm as he moves away, pulling him back to me. Then I step closer, winding my arms around his narrow waist. “No, that’s right. It was actually a command. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“If you were surprised, would you stop talking?”
I grin. “No.”
“That’s not exactly shocking.”
He cups my shoulders, pulling me even closer, and I groan as my cock nudges his. He lowers his hands and cups my arse, encouraging me to grind against him as he kisses me. The kiss is like fire from the start, our tongues duelling as we struggle to keep our mouths connected. I snuggle closer, prolonging the kiss and writhing as my cock paints stripes on his trousers.
He pulls away and says something, but I don’t register what it is.
“What?” I say pouting.
He looks a little wild, his chest rising and falling quickly and his cock straining against his trousers.
He licks his lips, dragging his eyes from where they’re devouring me. “I need to discuss something with you.”
“Now?”
My incredulity seems to amuse him and some of his usual control settles back on his shoulders. “I’d like to discuss the option of going without condoms.”
Oh. This is so far from anything that I was imagining that my jaw drops.
He shifts his weight. “Have you been stricken dumb? What a joyful day,” he snaps.
“No. I mean, yes. Well, a bit.”
“Oh dear. It’s just babbling incoherence, then.”
I laugh and then lean against the back of the sofa. “So, no condoms?”
“Yes. I believe you’re tested regularly, as am I.”
“Of course. That’s the rule, isn’t it? I have your results on my phone next to your love notes and marriage proposals.” He rolls his eyes, and I grin at him. “Besides, I’ve only been with you since we met.”
A cynical look crosses his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as I saw it. “You’ll forgive me, but I don’t trust anyone that easily,” he says grimly.
That stings. I always tell the truth, but I dismiss my instinctive reaction because he’s right not to trust people in this situation.
“How do you usually handle this conversation with the other men from the club?”
He stares at me, reluctance written all over his face. “It’s never been addressed with anyone else,” he says grudgingly.
Something like delight rushes through me.
It must show because he holds up his hand and says, “No to whatever ridiculous idea is filling your head this time.”
