A homeless guy approaches and I steer Victoria out of his way, discreetly slipping him a twenty pound note.
‘You’re softer than you look, you know.’ Those stunning lash-framed eyes don’t miss a thing.
‘Huh, you weren’t saying that this morning.’ There I go, testing that line again.
‘Archie Mason, lo and fucking behold, did you actually just crack a joke?’ Her face lights up as if I’ve given her a shiny new toy.
‘I am actually quite funny when I want to be.’ For a long time after I returned from the Middle East, humour was my defence mechanism. People find it hard to pity someone constantly smiling and cracking jokes. ‘Though not nearly as funny as you and your stunt with Alexa this morning…’ I deliberately flex the bicep she’s gripping.
‘Your face.’ Her saccharine smile would dazzle the devil. ‘But seriously, that scene was so hot.’
‘Never mind my face. My poor dick.’ Is it still crossing the line if I don’t plan on acting on it? ‘Would you be into that type of thing?’ The need to know crushes my sternum.
She slows to a complete stop halfway along Princes Street and pivots to face me.
‘Why the sudden interest in my sexual preferences, Archie?’
The rushing traffic fades around us. All I see is her.
I inhale the plume of air she exhales deliberately. I’ve got it so fucking bad for this woman. ‘I need to know if you’re going to drag me to a sex club one day. I’d hate to have to pummel every man in the place that looked at you, but I would, you know.’
‘I quite believe it. But it’s not entirely fair though, is it? You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, am I right?’ She’s so close, the tips of our toes touch and her breasts rest against my chest.
‘I never said I didn’t want you. In fact, I specifically remember telling you, even showing you, how much I do want you.’ My lips graze against the sensitive skin of her ear and she sucks in a short, sharp breath.
‘But you’re not willing to take the plunge, so to speak.’ Twin hazel pools glint as she baits me. The air crackles between us.
‘I can’t.’
‘Which is precisely why we had to come here.’ She points to the black fronted shop front behind me, a mischievous laugh pouring from parted lips.
The Ann Summers sex store.
My jaw locks with a crack.
She’s determined to make me combust with lust. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘Deadly. Or would you rather we find that sex club tonight?’ Swaying hips strut through the automatic doors. I briefly contemplate doing a Jared and waiting outside, before reluctantly following her in, half intrigued, half horrified and entirely turned on.
Row upon row of lingerie to suit every fantasy imaginable hangs in the store. High-waisted ebony g-strings, hot pink crotchless lace panties, suspender belts and stockings taunt me. Images of Victoria’s beautiful body in all of them, or none of them, infiltrate my delinquent brain. Blood rushes to my crotch again. I’m worse than a horny fucking teenager. But of course, that’s what she intended. I’m going to make her pay for it, one way or another. Just as soon as I work out how, without compromising my relationship with Ryan, my home and just about everything else I care about.
Victoria stops at a dominatrix outfit, thumbing over the sheer, translucent mesh.
Fuck. My. Life.
Margaret Thatcher.
Teresa May.
Camilla Parker-Bowles.
It’s not helping.
Those thigh-high fuck-me boots sashay all the way to the back of the store.
I keep my focus trained on her, not the Aladdin’s cave of multicoloured, weird and wonderfully shaped vibrators she’s leading me into.
What will she pick?
