“We have spoken of this many times,” he says. “Must we speak of it again?” Strong hands squeeze my breasts, and his touch has me moaning before I can control myself. “Jealousy is natural and beautiful, pretty bird. I love the way you hurt for me. I love the way your soul longs to possess mine. I too feel the burn inside as I watch you with another. It is a good burn, sweet girl, it makes us alive. You must learn to embrace it.”
“Yes,” I say, and I don’t even know why I’m agreeing.
“Our love is special, Magpie. It is pure and free. It is wild, like the wind on the mountains. We cannot put it in a cage. Our love would grow stale and indulgent. We would grow tired.”
“I just want you to love me above the others in the crowd, Vincent. Master. Is that too much to ask? Does that make me a bad person? A weak person?”
“No,” he sighs. “It makes you even more beautiful.”
I shudder as his fingers slide down my belly, spreading my legs in invitation. “I want you,” I breathe. “Only you.”
He’s turning me insane and I know it, I can feel it. This streak of crazy is burrowing deep, twisting me up inside.
“And I want you,” he says. “I want all of you, Magpie. I want your beautiful soul.”
“Yes…” His fingers spread me.
“I want you to break for me, pretty bird, in every way possible. I love you enough to push you beyond your limits, and it is there that you will come to know your own soul. You will find salvation in the darkness with me, my beautiful girl. You will find all you need with me. You must trust me. You must trust me enough to let me take you to that place.”
His thumb finds my clit. “Yes, Master. Yes…”
“Tonight I shall love you, Magpie, above the others in the crowd.”
My eyes widen. “Really? You will?”
He smiles. “I will show Cynthia and Richard how much I love my sweet bird, but first you must prove to them how much you love me. You do want to prove that to them, don’t you, Magpie? You will do this for me?”
“How?” I ask. “How can I prove that?”
He pulls his fingers from between my legs and presses them to my lips. “Enough questions,” he says. “You will see.”
His gaze has already left mine. He’s staring down at the driveway as Cynthia’s car pulls up.
I can’t stand Cynthia or Richard, although I try not to admit that to myself and certainly not to him.
“Showtime,” he says.
I only wish I wanted it as much as he does.
***
Andy
“You don’t seem all that excited, nor that optimistic. The odds are in your favour, Faye, third time lucky.” I flipped the coin between my fingers, admiring the figures who’d decide our fate for the next seven days.
Faye remained perched on the edge of her desk with her eyes on her feet. More crazy heels, more blisters no doubt. Why she insisted on wearing such ridiculous footwear for a shift behind bar was beyond me. Yet they all did it. The pull of fashion clearly knows no boundaries.
She’d been quiet these past few days, doing all the shit I set out for her without even a hint of backchat. She was efficient but distant, and I had to admit I wasn’t entirely a fan of this new Faye demeanour. Maybe common sense was giving her the battering it should have been giving me, and she was out to shove this thing we were dallying with back under the carpet, where it should have stayed. Maybe she wanted back to Italy. Maybe she wanted back to him.
And maybe I should stop wondering what the fuck Faye fucking Devere wanted.
I offered her the coin. “You can toss.”
“I tossed last time.”
“And I’m saying you can toss again. Throw, before I change my mind.”
She pulled her eyes up to mine, but there was none of the usual Faye exuberance there to greet me. “Toss, Andy. It’s fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
She was staring back at her shoes before I’d even thrown it. It landed in my palm, man on top. My week. My third week.
The disappointment took me aback. A definite pang of regret, even though the idea was both curious and absurd.
“Am I back on bar, then?” she asked, seemingly resigned to another week of general labour.
“It would appear not.” In a heartbeat I’d flipped the coin in my palm, shocking myself as I held it up for her to see. “Third time lucky.”
The victory seemed to rouse her. A sly smile swept across her lips, and her back straightened, shoulders high. “I win?”
I handed her the evidence, woman on top. “Yes, you win.”
She examined the figures on the coin. “You’re not going to backtrack are you? This is my week, Andy, I mean it. Fair’s fair.”