Huffing, I stomp towards the lifts, resolving to call a cab from the lobby.
Will Lloyd be at home? What if he’s still in the gambling den? With his phone switched off, that seems the likeliest possibility. I have no desire to re-enter that atmosphere of suppressed evil and dissipation. But I feel I have to see Lloyd, now, more urgently than I have ever needed to.
I have no idea, looking at my strangely-not-me reflection in the mirrored lift, what I’ll do when I find him. Part of me wants to slap him for putting me in that position with Chase. Part of me wants to hold on to him for grim death.
I examine the dishevelled girl in the long shirt and tux jacket more closely. Those bite marks will take time to fade. All my lipstick is kissed off and my mascara has smudged below my left eye. I look like a really, really low-rent Sally Bowles.
I’m halfway through singing a drunk-sounding version of ‘Mein Herr’ when the lift door opens.
I strut across the marble singing ‘You’re better off without me, Mein Herr’ until the night receptionist looks up at me and says, ‘Sophie Martin?’
‘That’s me.’
She nods over towards the cocktail bar, which must surely be closed at this hour. I turn away from the desk and teeter towards the smoked glass dividing the darkened bar from the low-lit lobby. Damn these heels.
I peer around the doorway, into the gloom. In the corner, I can just make out the silhouette of a man. He has a drink on the table in front of him, a tumbler, and he’s staring down at it, his shoulders low.
‘Lloyd.’
He looks up and leaps to his feet. ‘You … you’re here.’
‘Why the fuck did you turn your phone off?’
‘I didn’t! I …’ He grabs it from his jacket pocket and stares at the screen. ‘Oh. Sorry. Battery’s flat.’
‘Just as well Chase didn’t try to kill me then, eh? Jesus, Lloyd! What were you thinking?’
‘I really thought it was charged up.’
By now we are facing each other, inches away, in the centre of the deserted bar.
There’s a weird quality to the air between us; it seems thick and swirly, like a fog. His eyes are brimming with something – not tears. Something else.
‘I would never have put you in danger. Did he do anything to you? Are you OK?’
‘I’m OK. Can we go?’
‘Sure, I’ll call a cab. Or rather, you can.’
‘No, it’s not that far. I want to walk.’
‘You came down,’ he said, wonderingly, as we leave the bar, still not touching. ‘I thought I’d be there until morning.’
‘Did you?’
‘You’re pissed off with me, aren’t you?’
We nod our goodnights to the receptionist and pass out of the sterile lobby and into the city, its night beat pulsating faintly under the never-quite-darkness. Sirens, street lamps, dreams, nightmares tangle together with the stars.
‘Pissed off?’ I stop at the foot of the steps.
‘You think I went too far,’ he says.
‘You risked everything. You risked me.’
‘But do you understand why?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’
‘So?’
‘So. I think I’m going to take these shoes off.’
I slip my feet out of the tyrannous towers of heel and carry them instead, swinging the slingbacks from my finger. I set off along the pavement, which is cold but less dirty than those in the cheaper parts of town, at least. I wouldn’t be walking barefoot outside that peep show, that’s for sure.
We cross the road and walk along the perimeter of the park. Some paving slabs are canvases for chalk masterpieces, living to delight another day as long as it doesn’t rain. I spot a near-perfect rendition of Toulouse-Lautrec’s The Kiss, glowing red under the lamplight.
‘It seems such a shame it has to fade,’ I say, stopping to gaze down at it.
At last he touches me, the palm of his hand on my elbow. ‘Sophie,’ he says. It sounds urgent. ‘Please talk to me.’
‘I am talking to you.’
‘No, come on.’
‘Let’s go into the park.’
‘It’s closed.’
‘I know a way in. There’s a broken railing. Come on.’
I lead him about a quarter of a mile up the street, then duck in through a warped rail, dragging myself through the hedge to the other side.
I start to run, ecstatically barefoot, through the wet grass, past the twisted dark shapes of the trees, towards the lake. I feel as if I might start to lift off the ground, bumping along and then rising into the air like a kite. I’ve never been more free.
At the lake’s edge, I turn and watch Lloyd catch up with me.
He bends slightly, puts his hands on his thighs, waiting for his breath to settle.
‘Sophie, please tell me you’re OK.’
‘I’m OK. Really, more than OK. Much more than OK.’ I laugh and twirl around, dipping my toe into the silted waters.
‘You sound a bit manic.’
‘I’m not manic. I’m free. Something’s shifted up here.’ I tap my head. ‘It’s like I know what I’m doing.’
‘I wish I did.’
‘Everything that stood in my way, everything that scared me – it was all in my head. All those fears I had about you losing interest in me, leaving me, wanting to pin me down or imprison me, well, they’ve gone.’
His brow lifts and a brightness returns to him. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. And the biggest thing is, even if you do leave me or lose interest in me, or whatever, I can’t let fear stop me taking that risk. The risk is worth taking.’
His lip quirks up. He still looks disbelieving. ‘So you’re saying …?’
‘I’m saying that I want to be with you. In our own way, the way we’ve been. With all the fun and … and more than that too.’
‘More?’
I take his hands and laugh up into his face. ‘I love you, you knob.’
‘Well, I love you too, you bitch.’
I pretend to slap him and it turns into a kiss, the two of us clinging to each other, pressing into each other. The bite marks and the bruises are forgotten, his kiss the best analgesic ever. Somewhere in the fog of passion and tongues, our balance goes missing, we stagger drunkenly on the kerbstones and then topple sideways into the shallows of the lake with a huge splash and a scream.
An alarum of quacks and flapping wings surrounds us as we laugh like idiots, unable to get up for falling back down, trying to help each other up with no success at all, until we temporarily give up and huddle together against the chill water, teeth chattering, fingers slimy with pondweed.
From a distance I notice a gang of swans approaching at speed. ‘We have to get out,’ I say to Lloyd with a shiver. ‘Those fuckers are vicious.’
He grabs my arm and manages to haul me to my feet and back onto land.
It’s the very darkest part of the night and, though it’s summer, I am aware of the need to get out of these wet clothes before we succumb to hypothermia.
‘Let’s go.’
I start the run across the grass but he is soon sprinting faster than me, pulling me along so I stumble and whoop with laughter all the way until we get to the hedgerow. It takes a while to locate the broken railing again and, when we do, we are so cold and wet and pleased to see it that we squeeze through without regard for what might be waiting for us in the street beyond.
A police officer is patrolling the pavement and we straighten up, two dripping apparitions, directly in front of her. She halts abruptly and stares, her hand on her extendable baton handle, then she relaxes when she sees we are just night-time revellers, probably a bit happy-drunk but no kind of threat.
‘Evening, officer,’ says Lloyd smoothly, ‘nice night for it.’
She stares for a moment. ‘You know that the park isn’t open at night, don’t you? It’s trespass.’
‘Is it?’ we both say, looking at each other in mock surprise.
‘You know it is. But you look like you have an urgent appointment with a shower, so I’m going to pretend I’ve seen two very bedraggled ghosts tonight and tell you to take care on the way home, OK? Goodnight.’
She walks on and we chorus thanks before running hand in hand across the road and back to the Luxe Noir.
We pause on the bottom step and look up at our dominions; floor after floor of guests paying us for the pleasure of our hospitality. It is our kingdom and we are its monarchs, working in harmony now, day and night.
‘This place,’ I whisper. ‘It’s ours.’
‘Yes,’ says Lloyd, his arm around my shoulder. ‘For as long as we want it.’
We kiss again, a kiss like a baptism, a kiss like the start of a life, expressing infinite forgiveness and infinite hope.
‘Let’s go round the back,’ suggests Lloyd. ‘Don’t want the night staff to see us like this.’
***
It’s the best shower of my life, watching the grey-green muck disappear down the plughole along with the last traces of Chase. It’s all the better for sharing it with Lloyd, who lathers up my hair, soaps my skin and makes extra-specially sure my most intimate parts are thoroughly cleansed.
‘You did it, then?’ he asks, once we are warm and clean and dry and lying on the bed together in bathrobes. ‘You fucked Chase?’
‘Yeah. I thought you might want me to walk out – I thought that might be the challenge. But that would have been too easy. I should have realised.’
‘I can’t believe it’s worked out.’ He sits up with a shuddery little laugh. ‘I was sure this was going to backfire on me big time and you’d be off to the Virgin Isles or wherever with Chase. Either that or you’d decide to find Chase Mark Two.’
‘Why would you take that risk?’
‘I had to know. The stakes had got so high. I didn’t want to win this thing and have you move in with me only to find that you left a few weeks or months later because you still weren’t sure.’
‘I’m not such a prize, Lloyd. There are lots of better people than me.’
‘Not for me there aren’t.’
I pull him back down, face him and stroke his cheek. I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone more. ‘So I fucked Chase.’
‘How was it?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was fine.’
‘Fine?’
‘Yes, fine. I’ve had worse; I’ve had better. It was certainly nothing to write home about though.’
‘Home? That’s here now. Isn’t it?’
‘I thought I’d passed the task!’
‘Soph, I just need to hear it. You are going to stay, aren’t you?’
There’s a second’s vicious tug at the pit of my stomach, a moment of panicky nausea. I gather all my strength to dismiss it. ‘Yes. I’ll go to the lettings agency tomorrow and give notice on the flat. But you have to give one of your rooms over to me for a darkroom.’
‘Sure, you can have the spare bedroom, like I’ve always said.’
‘We’ll call that settled then.’
He kisses me, sealing the deal.
‘There’s something I haven’t told you about fucking Chase,’ I mention, holding him close to me, my hand on his neck.
‘Oh? His dick’s made of gold? He has a massive tattoo of you on his back?’
‘No, you knob. He wasn’t bad, but he left me unsatisfied.’
Lloyd does a stagy gasp then he laughs and kisses my nose. ‘He didn’t?’
‘He did! I had to fake it in the end or I’d have grown old over that desk.’
‘Ah, over the desk. Knew it.’
‘I’ve got the bruises to prove it.’
‘Hard going, was it?’
‘Just a bit. So anyway …’ I trail off delicately, leaving him to draw the inference.
‘So there’s a hungry pussy that wants feeding?’ He slips the bathrobe over my thighs, baring them, and runs his hand up one flank.
‘Very hungry,’ I whisper. ‘Starving. But go easy. It’s a little raw down there.’
He presses down against my clit, finding me wet, then tries to curl a finger inside my inflamed vagina. I wince and he withdraws it.
‘Poor puss,’ he croons. ‘Got treated harshly tonight.’
‘After all those goings-on at the gambling club and Chase on top of that – I don’t think I can …’
‘S’OK.’
He unties my sash and opens the robe wide, kisses my nipples then installs himself between my thighs, spreading them for a closer inspection of the scene. ‘Oh yes, you’ve been busy tonight,’ he diagnoses.
‘I think I knew that.’
He grins at me. ‘This little pussy likes to stray, but she always comes back.’
‘Maybe you have the best cream.’
‘There’s a thought.’
He crouches down, putting his hands underneath my thighs, holding them steady while his face moves in closer. The first stroke of his tongue is almost dangerously good, and I let out a little ‘oh’ of bliss.
The need that had been deadened by our sojourn in the lake was reawakened in the warmth of the shower, and my clit is pulsing with it, almost jumping forwards to offer itself for licking.
He obliges with deadly exactitude, a master of his art, knowing exactly how and where and how hard to use his tongue. At first he is all hot breath and artful teasing, then he deepens his technique and his strokes, covering my cunt in the dewy evidence of his possession. My pussy becomes his instrument and he plays it like a virtuoso. He leaves my sore spots alone, but he pulls apart my bottom cheeks all the better to consume and overwhelm me, his whole face working at me until, much quicker than I intend, I come hard, tossing my head from side to side on the pillow, wailing as if I mourn the loss of control. For a moment it always seems that way, as if I should be ashamed to feel such pleasure, ashamed to let it happen, then the rapturous flood of sensation mixes in with the shame and makes everything golden.
He gives me a long, firm lick for luck, then kisses the tops of my thighs all over before lying back down beside me.
‘All better?’ he whispers, stroking my hair.
‘The best,’ I sigh, my eyelids heavy, my body sinking into the mattress. ‘The very best.’
When I wake up, he is still sleeping.
I’ve woken up in this bed many times, but never feeling like this, like something is different, something has changed.
I like to watch him sleep, like to see his pale eyelashes flicker and his face so flushed and far away, but this morning I am like some kind of adoring sap, wanting to gaze upon his unearthly beauty or something. And yet there is nothing unearthly about it. He has luscious full lips and some cute freckles and the beginnings of laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. He’s a reasonably good-looking bloke but Adonis doesn’t have to worry about the competition. Why am I so bowled over by the sight of him?
My body aches, reminding me of the night’s excesses.
I have given my heart.
I lie back down, pulse racing. I’ve done it. I’ve taken the step I never thought I would. I told Lloyd that I love him. Now he knows exactly the extent of the power he has over me. But then again, I know exactly the extent of the power I have over him too. As long as neither of us turns evil, it could be fine. It could be good. Whatever the world wants to throw at us, we’ll have each other. At least, that’s the theory.
Nothing left to do but test it.
I reach down under the covers and peel them back, oh so gently, over Lloyd’s naked body. Sleepy warm skin, just enough muscle definition without it being too much, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. And – yes – the semi-engorgement of his cock.
Very lightly, I place my fingertips beneath his scrotum, assessing its heaviness and tension. Pretty heavy, pretty tense. What is my darling Lloyd dreaming of? Something rude, no doubt.
He stirs a little, grunting sweetly. I move my hand to the hardening shaft, making light sweeping motions up the length of it, barely touching it, enjoying the way it fills out and grows under my touch.
I feel he has earned his favourite kind of alarm call.
I bend and lick it from root to tip, tracing a circle around the head when I reach it, then I seal my lips around it.
He jolts as if electrified and starts to wake up with a great deal of spluttering and chaotic breathing.
I keep my eyes on my work, taking the first few sucks, waiting for him to come to consciousness.
I sense him sitting up slightly to look down at me.
‘Oh babe,’ he says, then his head falls back on the pillow with a resounding flump.
I make noises of murmuring delight around his helpless cock and start to milk it for all it’s worth, taking hold of the sac below and massaging it as I work.
Lloyd wants to say things but he can’t. It’s delicious to hear him shudder and struggle with speech, then give up.
He’s fully erect, velvety steel in my mouth, and I stretch my jaw to accommodate him, work at loosening my throat to take him all the way in. But I don’t have to work for long because the salty liquid bursts into my mouth before I’m ready, and I swallow it quickly, licking up all the traces from his cock before releasing it.
‘Mm, what did I do to deserve that?’ he asks with a yawn, after we’ve kissed our tastes into each other’s mouths.
‘Everything.’
‘Does that mean I get woken up this way every morning?’
‘Don’t push your luck, Ellison.’
‘Why change the habit of a lifetime?’
My laugh turns to a sneeze, then another. In my advanced state of mooniness, I haven’t noticed that I’ve been burning up and shivering all over since I awoke. It takes Lloyd’s hand on my forehead to realise it.
‘Fuck’s sake, Sophie, you need to break this habit of falling in lakes. Wait there, I’ll get the thermometer.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Shut up or I’ll make it the rectal thermometer.’
‘Promises,’ I say with a cough.
He returns from the bathroom and sticks his digital thermometer under my tongue. ‘Yep,’ he says, examining the reading. ‘You’re staying right there today.’
‘You don’t get flu from falling into lakes,’ I tell him. ‘That’s a myth. I bet one of your dodgy gambling mates was infectious.’
‘Yeah, and you’ve been spreading your germs on my cock. I’m going to get cock flu now.’
I giggle deliriously. ‘You’re an idiot. Is that anything like bird flu?’
‘I’m not sure I want to find out. OK: honey and lemon, paracetamol and a cold flannel. I think that’s what it said in the Boy Scout handbook.’
‘You were never a Boy Scout.’
‘Ah, but I was.’
I lie juddering and aching while he sorts me out with various palliatives.
‘Chase wouldn’t do this for you,’ he mentions.
True enough. Chase had hated it when anybody was ill, appearing to see it as a personal failing.
‘Chase is a twat.’
‘I thought that was me? I’m the twat around here. I don’t want anyone stealing my twat thunder.’
‘You aren’t, though, not really. Only in a nice way. You’re ace.’
‘So are you.’
He kisses my forehead and I drift into fever, knowing that I am loved.