wall. He took another cigarette from his packet and placed it between my lips. Lifting his lighter in the small space between us, he drew a flame and lit both our cigarettes. Arthur took a deep drag; I did the same. I blew out the smoke, then ran my hand down his jumper. He never dressed like this, this casual. He always wore suits with waistcoats and handkerchiefs. Pocket watches and expensive shoes.
When I looked up into his eyes, searching their depths, I saw they were red raw, and deep dark circles lay beneath. “Arthur, what’s wrong?” I asked. His nostrils flared. I could smell the whisky on his breath and his usual cologne on his clothes. It was the only thing that brought me any comfort at this point.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“Arthur—” My sentence was cut off when Arthur smashed his lips to mine. I moaned as his hand slipped into my hair and he pressed me even further against the wall. I could barely breathe; his entire body weight kept me pinned and unmoving.
My cigarette fell to the floor, and I could smell the tobacco burning on the wooden floorboards. Arthur must have dropped his too, as his other hand took hold of my jaw and he kept me exactly where he wanted me. He kissed me. He devoured my mouth, leaving me a weak, shaking mess against him.
Spinning me around, he slammed me to the bed. I inhaled deeply, trying to catch my breath. Arthur was glaring down at me, stubble coating his cheeks. The pupils of his eyes had almost eradicated the blue. I saw the deadly promise in his gaze. The promise that he was about to ruin me again. He did so every time, but every so often things were even more intense. More aggressive. More suited to what he did for a living.
I knew it as Arthur’s devil side. The side with little to no morals, a heady amount of darkness in his soul, and absolutely zero control when it came to taking what he wanted—right now, that was me.
He stumbled off the bed to close the blinds. To keep what we did in here to ourselves. Enough light slipped through the thin material of the blinds that I could see every movement of that body I knew so well.
Arthur threw off his jumper and trousers and climbed back on the bed. His cock was already in his hand, and he was stroking the hard length—he hadn’t been wearing underwear. I lay back, and Arthur crawled over me. My heart leapt to my throat when he lifted his hand to my face and softly ran his fingers down my cheek. A lump formed in my throat as I looked into his eyes and could have sworn I saw them shimmer.
Arthur didn’t do tender. He didn’t do soft and loving. I was utterly in love with him and had been for many years. I had no idea if he felt the same. He never gave anything away. Had never once let himself slip up in my presence, no matter how many times we’d been together.
But there was something different about him today. My body was steeped in dread. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “Arthur,” I whispered, capturing his hand and bringing it to my lips. I kissed his palm and heard his quick, stuttered exhale.
But Arthur ripped his hand back and lifted the hem of my jumper. He yanked it over my head, then pulled down my jeans and threw them across the floor. My bra and knickers went next. I lay naked on my bed, Arthur stroking his cock faster and faster, his desperation evidenced by the clenching of his jaw.
“Suck it,” he said, his thick East End accent causing my body to respond as always. I crawled to my knees and swirled my tongue around his slit. Arthur tensed as my mouth lapped at his flesh. I glanced up and saw his eyes glued on me as I wrapped my lips around his tip, then took him into my mouth. Arthur’s head snapped back and his hand threaded into my hair. He pulled tightly on the strands, and my body thrived on the pain as it always did with him.
He gave me something I had never known I needed. I seemed to give him something too. Arthur guided my head up and down, and I took him as far down my throat as I could. I cupped