Dirty Bad Wrong(33)

“That’s right, Violet,” I whispered. “Let it go.”

She cried freely, resting her head back against mine. I nuzzled the tender spot at the nape of her neck and her breathing calmed, slowly. I turned her face in my direction, eager for my prize. She was even more beautiful than I imagined. Black rivers of tears ran thick down her cheeks, make-up spoiled so perfectly. I licked them up, all the way from her jawline, running my tongue right the way over her puffy eyes, digging for more. She groaned, straining for my mouth on hers. I gave it to her, wide open and wet, forcing my tongue in as far as it would go. When I pulled away her eyes were glazed, high on endorphins. She smiled at me.

“I’m going to really fucking hurt you now, Violet,” I breathed.

“Please, Master, please more,” she said, and she really meant it.

There were no more screams. Only tears. The soft yielding of a body hungry for punishment. She took it well, like the true pain slut she is, until I finally rewarded her with my whole fucking fist where she takes it best.

The beast inside savoured every fucking second.



***





Chapter Eight


Lydia



Masque. Sculpted from sin, and sex and sweat. His brutality, so measured. The beast on his chest, pain embodied. He was all I could think about. He was all I had thought about, through the early hours of Sunday morning with the taste of Explicit still ripe on my tongue, and on still through the day, all day, without reprieve. I had endless questions about the man in the mask, all to which Rebecca replied one damning phrase.

No, Lyds. Not him. He’s way too dirty-bad-fucking-wrong.

But she couldn’t know. How could she? She couldn’t possibly know the way I’d thrummed to his darkness, the way his body had called mine across that room, the way every part of me ached for liberation in his chains.

I jumped in my seat as a thwack boomed loud. Metal on wood. A metal ruler slamming onto a desk, more specifically.

“Jesus Christ, Lydia. Are you even here today?”

James Clarke didn’t look happy. His brows were heavy with annoyance. His jaw set in a grim line.

“Sorry, I am listening.”

“So, answer the question.”

Shit. “Sorry, what question?”

He sighed. “Get with the plot or take the day off, I’ve got no time for this.”

I thumped back to reality. “Sorry, James. I’m listening now.” I watched him place his metal ruler back in position, unable to avoid the observation that James Clarke’s hands were big and strong, and ripe for brandishing implements – or for sitting on. Like Masque’s. Thoughts of what he did with his fist made me shudder, I could almost feel him inside me. Goddamn it, I was actually screwed. Masque, Masque, Masque, everywhere I looked. I shoved chimera-man and his strong hands back in the closet and forced my eyes back to James. “What was your question?”

“Are we fully prepped for the phase one sign-off visit? We’re going on Thursday, unless you’ve been sailing so high in fairy-land you haven’t checked your email this morning.”

“Thursday? To Brighton?”

“Well, that answers my question,” he groaned. “Yes, Thursday, yes, Brighton. Another overnighter, returning Friday evening. If it goes well we can begin your phase two project plan next week. It was good, by the way.”

Suddenly I was right back on planet Earth. I couldn’t help but smile. “You read it? Already?”

“Finally, some sign of intelligent life. Yes, I read it.” He slid the file across the desk to me, careful not to disturb his pen alignment. “There were a couple of typos on page thirty-nine, you should run spellchecker on the next one.”

My pride took a knock. I could have sworn I’d used spellchecker. “But it was good? Apart from that?”

He fought back a smile that twitched at his mouth. “It was excellent. I don’t even want to know how much time you spent learning WHM’s case-management processes, but it paid off. You did well, Lydia Marsh. Gold star for Cat’s eyes.”

I flicked through the file, at his pencil notes in the margins, all positive. “I didn’t think you were going to read it yet.”

“I’m pleased to surprise you.”

“Thank you,” I grinned. “And yes, we’re ready for the phase one sign-off visit. I spoke to Trevor White this morning and he was very happy with how we handled their accounts migration. Fantastic was the word he used.”

“Trevor White is calling you now, is he? I thought he’d gone a bit quiet at my end.”

“On my direct line. I think we’ve developed a good working relationship.”

He gave me another of his unreadable looks. “I’m sure he’s very impressed by you, Lydia.”