LUST PREVIEW

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Please note this is NOT edited, this is the raw version that most definitely will not be published. It is purely to whet your appetite.

SAM

Her vulnerability captures my attention. The way she keeps brushing her hair behind her ears. The way she glances at the door, as if looking for a saviour.

The bar is lively by nine o’clock. Pints are being poured, foamy tops dribbled on the floor before they reach the table. Someone keeps singing Sweet Caroline at the top of his voice, and I’m relieved when someone bellows out. “Shut up, will ya?!”

I watch my colleagues from my position at the bar. They’re laughing about something, too loudly to be genuine. Another Friday night farce.

“Another Coke?” the friendly barman, Harold, asks. He’s always smiling, like he’s in on a joke I’m not privy to.

“Diet.”

“Of course!”

I’ve been ordering the same thing every Friday for the last two years. Two drinks, then home. Just enough to show willing. Show that I’m part of the team.

Harold pushes the cold glass across the bar.

“Peter’s tab?”

I nod. I’m not buying. The boss can pay seeing as he insists on this charade every week. Team building apparently.

Peter is currently talking at Thomasz, his glass empty and his cheeks pink. He’s gesticulating wildly so I assume he’s talking about his main love, Man United. Thomasz, who I doubt has ever seen a football match in his life, nods furiously.

His brown-nosing is futile. There’s only one person in this company who Peter cannot afford to lose, and Thomasz knows it’s me as well as I do.

I turn to face myself in the mirror hanging over the bar. I need to shave. My stubble is shaping into a beard and I look dishevelled. My eyes shine in the bar lights, one blue, one hazel. A distinctive quality I quite enjoy. I hold my gaze for a moment.

“What are you doing over here all alone?”

I flash Anna a smile and she openly simpers. She’s good-looking for a woman ten years older than me. Nothing but a decoration for Peter’s arm. A bored house-wife.

I always wonder why she comes to these things. Does she have nothing better to do on a Friday than hang out with the husband’s employees?

“Just taking a break from the crowds.”

“Yeah?” She touches my arm, gives it a little squeeze. Her eyes flash as she takes in my bicep. “Need some company?”

I pause, granting her a moment’s hope.

Her lips are ruby red which doesn’t quite compliment her complexion. Hair pulled back into a neat knot at the top of her neck. Her dress short and black revealing long, toned legs. She clearly works out. Kudos.

Peter is staring at us from across the room, a hint of a frown contradicting the forced smile. I let my lips lift at the corners. He nods and turns away.

“You know, I don’t know where Peter would be without you.” She says this as if it’s new information. Her hand is still on my arm.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d manage. It’s a great company—you should feel proud of what you’ve both built.”

She makes an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Oh, please. His dad founded that company. I don’t see what Peter has brought to the table.”

Probably true. But Anna’s life is funded by that business regardless of who built it, and I find it hard to sympathise with a woman who bites the hand that keeps her in her large detached house and Botox injections.

“Oh, gosh!” she says, hand flying to her chest. “You don’t want to hear all this. I’m just the wife—”

“You’re a lot more than just the wife, Anna.”

That’s not true. That’s precisely what she is. But telling her would be unkind, and unkindness draws attention.

She bites her lower lip, marking her incisors red. She thinks she has a chance with me. I sip my drink, turning away.

She finally removes her hand and moves on to complaining about her house. The bathroom is dated, the kitchen too small for entertaining, the gardener not pulling his weight. I make the appropriate sounds, and let my eyes roam around the room.

I see her again. She’s sitting by the door, drinking what appears to be Coke. Vodka, probably. Maybe rum? Her ice-blue eyes have that glassy edge, her movements are exaggerated, and her voice a tad too loud. She finishes what’s in her glass and glances at the door again.

She sits slightly apart from her group. Not excluded, just unsure. Her shoulders are slumped inwards, and she keeps touching her collarbone, a self-soothing habit she probably isn’t aware of.

The woman next to her keeps leaning in, as if taking her under her wing. The girl looks new to the group, unsure.

“That’s Elicia. She lives across from me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“The ugly one. My age but looks ten years older.”

I have no idea who Anna is referring to but it’s not my girl who now stands and tips her hand to her mouth, the universal sign for getting a drink.

“Anna, I think Peter wants you,” I say into Anna’s ear.

Her shoulders drop as she searches for her husband. “Oh? Well, I guess I’d better see what he wants.” She sounds disappointed. “You coming to join us?”

“Give me a minute. I’ll just get another drink.”

She looks at my full glass and frowns, but doesn’t say anything before heading back to the Amethyst team.

The girl reaches the bar and smiles shyly. She asks Harold for a vodka Coke, speaking far too quietly for Harold to hear. She has to repeat herself twice. Harold leans in and apologises for the noise as if it’s his fault.

I lean back against the wall, letting the crowd close in around me.

Harold tips the double shot into the tall glass. “Haven’t seen you in here before,” he says to her.

“I actually live in Nuneaton. Just a meeting in Rugby.” She smiles at him. Her eyes shine as if she’s pleased to have someone else to talk to. “I don’t usually come to these work things, too hard to get home.”

Harold beams at her and hands her the drink. “Well, it’s a pleasure having you here—”

“Janice.”

“Don’t suppose you know anyone looking for a job, Janice? We could use the help behind the bar.”

“No, sorry.”

Harold tuts. “I think I’ve asked just about everybody. No luck yet. I’ll have to call the sodding recruitment people.”

She pays, and Harold disappears to serve another customer. The woman takes a sip of her drink, visibly leaning too far to her left. I edge close and swiftly knock her purse off the bar with my elbow. She bends to pick it up from under a stool.

Looking around, I slip my hand into my pocket, pull out the pills and slip them into her drink. Now I pull back and wait.

To my delight she absentmindedly pokes her ice with her straw before downing half of her drink and heading back to her table.

I wait a few seconds before moving back to the Amethyst team.

As I cross the bar someone nudges me into her table. “Oops, sorry!” I gasp. She doesn’t even glance in my direction.

That’s good.

“Sam the man!” Peter says, clapping me on the back. “Want me to harden that drink for you? Get you a proper man’s drink?”

I step fractionally to the side, away from Peter’s sweaty palm pressed to the back of my shirt.

“I don’t think my drink determines my sex, Peter,” I say coolly.

“Fair enough.” He laughs like I’ve made the best joke he’s ever heard—filling the space he knows a clever response should belong.

“I’m glad to talk to you actually. Just wanted to talk to you about the Council contract.”

“You want to talk shop, Peter? Now?”

He shakes his head quickly, as if the suggestion embarrasses him. “No, no. I know you’ve got the details in hand. I just wanted to thank you.”

There are tears in his eyes. Just the booze, probably. Though with Peter it’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or misplaced emotion.

“Just doing my job, Pete.” He hates being called that.

“I know, but you’re bloody good at it. Thank you.”

“Well, if you ever want to give me a raise—”

He blushes. “You know I would if I could.”

We both know it’ll never happen. Peter’s generosity has always lived entirely in his intentions.

I don’t say anything, just continue to stare at him until his cheeks flush a deeper red and he makes his excuses to leave. He returns to his wife, who pulls away when he goes to kiss her on the cheek.

I turn back to face the rest of the room.

Janice stands and starts making her farewells to her colleagues. Her friend, who I assume is Elicia, clutches her hand and holds it, encouraging her to stay.

I wait to see which way this goes.

Janice shakes her head, and her friend releases her. She stumbles slightly as she heads towards the door, guided by a few too many vodkas.

Through the open door, I see the tall bouncer wave her goodnight.

I grab my coat and make my exit.

“Keegan,” I nod at the bouncer, who gives me a little wave. I don’t think he’s moved from his stool all night.

I follow the girl into the night.

Cameras are dotted along the street. I step into the shadow of the old people’s home and put on my hat, a blonde wig tucked just poking out the back and my own hair tucked into a hair net. I pull my coat closed and gloves on, keeping my head down.

Janice is now about twenty steps ahead. She rounds the corner by the multi-storey car park into an alleyway—hardly anyone uses this path. And, more importantly, it has no cameras.

I pick up my pace.

Someone squeals behind me and I hold my breath. They pass the alleyway and I continue.

She stumbles into the wall.

I grab her before she reaches the ground.

“Easy, now,” I mutter into the night.

She’s light. It’s like carrying a child. The car park side door is ajar—I broke it a couple of months ago. Lower council budgets usually mean side entrances are neglected, a fact I like to take advantage of.

I take the girl down a floor, careful to avoid the one working camera by the main entrance.

I place the girl carefully on the concrete floor. She slips, hitting her head.

I check around me.

She doesn’t make a sound.

The light is dim but sufficient. I take her in. Her smooth, pale skin. A silhouette of a tree inked onto her lower arm. The wispy hair around her crown.

I touch her lower lip, inwardly cursing my glove for getting in the way of skin-to-skin contact.

My breathing deepens to a pant.

I dip my finger into her mouth and my pulse races, my dick hardens.

Sucking in air between my teeth I slip my free hand into my coat pocket, taking out the paper bag. I unfold it carefully and pull it over her head.

My fingers roam down her body, pulling up her tiny dress to reveal slim thighs and the tiniest black lacey thong, tucked into one side of her labia. I slip it to the side, completely revealing her beauty whilst I unbutton my trousers and slide on a condom. I stare at her, taking in her shaved, perfect pussy.

“You’re a good girl,” I whisper as I force myself inside. I groan. “A very good girl.”