Chapter Eleven
KIT
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ In the periphery of my vision, Greg pulls Simone from my side, under his own umbrella. ‘Bea, answer me.’ I grate the command through gritted teeth as I shake her by the arm, making her wince. ‘What are you doing here?’ An array of half-formed thoughts begins to spin through my mind.
Is this about last week? Does she know about the club—about me? Who else knows how I spend my weekends?
I should’ve stayed at home. I hadn’t even planned to go out last night, but after enduring dinner with my brother again—yes, enduring because she wasn’t there—I knew I needed to get laid.
Or risk finding out exactly where she worked.
Fucking was a way to push away the obsessing. The need to know if she tastes as good as she smells.
‘You know this nutcase?’ Greg almost screeches. I suddenly realise Greg should only be allowed to use his mouth to suck dick.Or to answer, ‘Yes, sir.’I don’t particularly like it when he speaks at the best of times. But this? This shrieking makes me want to punch him and lay him out flat.
‘I thought you weren’t dating anyone.’ This from Simone, using what I assume is her barrister’s voice over the noise of the rain. She then demands her husband to call the police.
And all the while, Bea hasn’t uttered a word. She looks shocked, as well as fucking shocking. Red-rimmed eyes, a little gaunt, and her wild hair now wet and bedraggled, rain running down her light coat in rivulets.But so beautiful still.
‘No. No police,’ I growl as Greg reaches for his phone. ‘There’s no fucking need.’
‘No need?’ Simone repeats. ‘She almost punched me!’
‘I’m almost certain she was aiming for me,’ I reply sardonically. Bea’s brow furrows briefly, so maybe she wasn’t after walloping me, after all. She didn’t call my name as she approached me, just sort of growled.
‘I’ll take care of this.’ Take care of her or deliver Rory to her for his beating, if that’s what this turns out to be. The way she’s still trembling, I sincerely hope not. I just need to get to the bottom of this first.At least, it doesn’t appear to be about me. ‘I’ll be in contact, right?’
‘There’s nothing to take care of,’ Bea says suddenly. ‘I-I made a mistake.’
‘A mistake?’ Simone replies imperiously. ‘Try attempted assault.’
Bea straightens her spine, possibly realising the consequences of her actions. ‘A case of mistaken identity,’ she responds defensively. ‘And I didn’t strike anyone.’
So it is Rory she’d intended to punch? What has the fucker done wrong now? Unless... of course. She thought she saw Rory kissing someone other than Fin.
And more to the point, she can know nothing about the club.
‘The intent was there,’ Greg begins as Bea cuts him off with an incredulous look in my direction.
‘What areyoulaughing about?’
‘I’m not laughing,’ I protest even though I find myself chuckling. Relief, probably. I clear my throat. ‘I said I'd take care of this, and I will.’ I turn from Bea, though I don’t let go of her arm. I’m not sure I could catch her if she ran, not after last night, the glow of which is cooling rapidly. Especially as Si’s current expression could sour milk.
After a beat, Simone appears to change tack, offering me her cheek. There’s a lingering hint of pussy on her face which causes a wisp of memory to rise from last night.
Her, naked and kneeling on one side of the bed, me standing on the other side, a girl stretched out between us. Simone’s face buried deep in her pussy, the shape of my cock visible through the thin membranes of the girl’s throat.
‘Take care, darling,’ she purrs. ‘Don’t forget to call about next weekend.’
I nod but don’t answer before Greg offers a similar goodbye as his wife, without the kiss. To anyone looking in, the interaction seems purely platonic. To anyone leaning in, they certainly wouldn’t smell pussy onhisface.
Maybe just the salt of my cum.
The sound of Simone’s heels against the wet pavement fades as the pair makes their way back to... wherever it is they go Saturday mornings. Hotel? Home? Our relationship doesn’t extend to those details, but all the while, Bea and I are mute. Though I’m almost sure I can see the questions feeding through her gaze. I’m not currently asking, and while she’s not offering... she will.
‘Are you going to let go of my arm?’ she asks softly.
‘That depends. Are you going to run away?’
‘I’m wasn’t planning on it,’ she says, her cheeks turning pink.
‘That’s not very convincing.’
‘You’d stop me?’ Her tone drips with scorn and rebellion. I let my small smile answer while trying not to reveal what the thought of her running does to me because I do like a little fight in a girl. It makes the chase so much more fun.
Especially after I thought of pursuing her last week.
Pursing her lips, Bea glances over her shoulder to a grotty looking café. ‘My breakfast is getting cold.’
