Dirty Bad Secrets(58)

We caught our breath slowly, a tangle of limbs on a padded gurney, and as the world woke up around us, we fell asleep where we lay.

And that’s where we stayed until the cleaner barged in at just gone nine that morning.

For once, and to Andy’s great annoyance, we were both late to our desks, but at least we didn’t have far to travel.



***





Chapter Fourteen




Faye



Topaz looked different when she arrived for her shift at lunchtime. She had a shimmy in her hips, and her hair was swept up from her face in a way I’d never seen her wear it before. Pink lipstick that matched the dildo I’d made her fuck herself with, and fake lashes with tiny little diamanté gems on them. She’d morphed into a punky little wet dream overnight, a skull print crop top hitched up with safety pins, with no bra underneath to hide her proud little nipples. Cut-off denim shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, and baby pink pumps finished off the ensemble. Quite the transformation. It’s amazing what a good fuck can do for a girl’s confidence.

I slipped the mobile I’d been staring at all morning into my pocket and continued with my cocktail-making experiment. I was adding a shot of vodka to the concoction when she finally noticed me behind the bar.

I couldn’t have held back the smirk if I’d tried. “Twit-twoo,” I said. “Someone got out the right side of bed this morning.”

The cutest little blush splotched her cheeks. “Just threw this on,” she lied. “No big deal.”

“Sure you did.”

She looked me up and down. “Looks like you didn’t get out of any side of the bed this morning.”

“Sharing a gurney wasn’t the height of comfort, I have to admit. I think we should start stocking emergency supplies of shampoo for the wet room.” I pointed a finger at my excuse for a messy bun. “Hand soap is really no substitute.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Planning on making a habit of it?”

I sniffed my cocktail and pulled a face. Oh, the fumes. “I don’t plan for much these days, Topaz. Life has a habit of becoming a little… unpredictable.”

“You can say that again.” She leaned back against the fridge, and her fingers began their twiddling at her lip ring. “Is Mr Morgan angry with me?”

“He’ll act like it,” I said. Her face dropped, totally nervous and unbelievably cute. “No. He isn’t angry with you, he’ll have the same stick up his arse that he usually has.”

“Is he angry with you?” she asked. “Is that why you’re on bar already?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t have chance to put me on bar this morning, I was already in here by the time he’d finished showering.”

“Oh,” she said, and it was heavy with the unspoken.

“Oh?”

She dithered as she formed her response. “Well, I mean… I guess it could be… awkward… are you avoiding him?”

“Me avoiding him? No.” But I was avoiding him. I’d been avoiding him all morning. The harsh reality of the morning after, waking up face to face with someone you’ve blatantly overstepped the boundaries with, who you’ve baked under the spotlight of humiliation for, confessed uncomfortable truths about jealousy, and past lovers, and filthy fantasies that should never see the light of day, and… urgh. It was horrendous. And we both felt it, not just me. He’d untangled himself and jumped off that gurney so quickly there wasn’t even time for a good morning. I tipped a healthy dose of blackcurrant into the mix. “Maybe I am avoiding him. Just a little.” I turned to face her, resting my elbows on the bar top like this was the most casual conversation in the universe. “So,” I said. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah… I’m cool.”

“Sure about that?”

She looked away from me and smiled. “Yeah, I’m very cool. The whole thing was a bit of a surprise, but I’m good.”

“A surprise?” I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve read all three Magpie books, and that little thing last night came as a surprise to you?”

She blushed, pretty in pink. “I just didn’t expect it. I really didn’t expect you to choose me and I super really didn’t expect to see Mr Morgan as a, um…”

“As a, um?”

“Submissive,” she finished. “I wouldn’t have ever imagined him that way. Not ever.”

I laughed, hard. Hard and way too bitterly. “Mr Morgan is no bloody submissive. He’s just a dom counting down the seconds until it’s his turn in charge. He tolerates, grudgingly. He’s nothing like a submissive. The man couldn’t genuinely kneel if his life depended on it.”