fuck. I held on to my mantra daily, gripping it in white knuckles every time she entered my room, every time the ping of my email sounded with her name, every time she crossed my path in the fucking corridor.
She brought me coffee every fucking morning, just how I liked it. Just like we were friends, placing it on my desk with the same shy smile every motherfucking day. And the meetings, countless fucking hours of watching Lydia Marsh watching me, oblivious to the torment of her pretty green eyes. Lydia Marsh who didn’t think I cared shit for her. It’s better that way. Definitely better for me.
I’d given Explicit a wide berth for weeks. The club regulars dulled to grey once I’d seen the pain in Lydia Marsh’s eyes. Even sweet little Cara, even Rebecca. What I’d seen in Lydia was real. Beautiful, hot, raw pain; her broken soul peeking out through the cracks in her armour for just one single helpless moment, and I’d seen it. I’d seen her. Even if I bleached my retinas she’d still be there, sobbing her hard little heart out in the kitchen.
I slammed the file shut and smoothed down the edges. Perfect order. Just how I liked it.
***
I didn’t tell Bex I’d changed my plans. She’d find out for herself soon enough.
In my craving for a distraction I’d done the unthinkable. I’d pulled out the little black book. The virtual little black book, of course: full of email addresses and online dating profiles all tagged together nicely with photos of my encounters. I’d checked them out one by one, browsing for the perfect Lydia Marsh antidote. Several were off the radar, status relationship or no longer active at all, others I’d red flagged as emotional no-gos. I only hit one lucky jackpot. A submissive known as Violet from over in Kent, far enough away to avoid ‘just passing’ or suggestions of coffee, but close enough to make it in on short notice. She’d been good last time around. Nicely experienced. Really fucking dirty but a little too fucking keen. Still, we’d passed the six month cool-off, she was green light status all over again.
I’d dropped her a message, making it perfectly clear what I wanted from her. She’d taken the bait, just like I’d hoped. I used the opportunity to check out Masque’s profile. It was still relevant. Sparsely populated, unrecognisable and entirely untraceable.
Interests - Everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. No vanilla.
Seeking - Sex only. Casual encounters.
Not in a hotel bed, with the cute little coffee trays and in-room satellite TV. Not in some random woman’s living room surrounded by domestic trinkets and family photos, and sure as hell not in mine. One venue only. Public, casual, impersonal. No strings, no questions, just filthy rough sex. They’d never even see my face.
It’s amazing how many women want it that way.
I took up my position at the shadowy side of the bar, watching for my guest. I was invisible from the main entrance, well placed to enjoy her nervousness as she looked around the room for me, jittery and unsure as the stepped amongst the club regulars. I saw Violet’s hair first, redder than I remembered, piled up high on her head in a vintage wave, her long neck sloping down into narrow collarbones. She was older than me, hitting just the other side of forty and blessed with both a high pain threshold and a deep-seated desire to be abused in public. She was a gusher, with a pussy long ripened for punishment, conditioned for the hard stuff by two rough labours and a special-interest side income. Pay-per-minute webcam, fucking herself raw with any crazy implement her public paid for. It was her edge over the younger competition. Good news for her bank balance and good news for me. She’d take my whole fucking fist without so much as a whimper. Dirty bitch. My cock twitched. Thank sweet Jesus for that.
I made my approach without speaking a word. She sensed my presence, turning to look up at me with hungry eyes.
“Masque, hi. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Hello, Violet.” I took hold of her chin, forcing her face from side to side as I checked her out at close quarters. “You look good.”
“Not for long, sir, I’m sure.”
I tipped my head to the main floor, to the cuffs hanging down from the ceiling centre stage. “I’m going to hurt you in the spotlight, Violet, for the whole club to see. Do you