It’s Turkey Twizzler, and now she’s topless, wearing nothing but a teeny latex micro-mini and aforementioned dog leash.
‘You really aren’t coming to the orgy?’ She pouts at Dimitri. ‘I’ve told my handlers you might come. I’ve wanted to be topped by three men for such a long time. It’d be a dream come true.’
‘Handlers?’ Dimitri’s tone is blank and mystified.
‘Tops, you know. Doms. Where are you from? You have the sexiest accent.’
‘Moscow,’ he says, then picks up his coffee and takes a sip.
‘Mmm, so cool. Please come to the orgy. You too.’ She turns to me for about a millisecond and casts flat, bored eyes over me.
‘Thanks for the invitation,’ I reply, unable to keep the sardonic edge out of my voice. ‘But no thanks.’
‘I don’t want group sex,’ says Dimitri. ‘But thanks also.’
I want to kiss him. In fact, after she shrugs, says, ‘Pity,’ and turns around to reveal that her skirt has no back other than a wide strap crossing the tops of her thighs, I do.
‘That was a very gentlemanly refusal,’ I say, staring after her naked arse as it sashays over to the coffee bar where her ‘handlers’ are waiting for her. ‘Most men would want to fuck that.’
‘With two others? Not for me. I like a one on one.’
‘I thought guys dreamed of having two women at once.’
‘Oh well, that’s different.’
I elbow him in the ribs. ‘How so?’
He ruffles my hair. ‘I’m joking. And I am late for work. Come on. I book a room for next Saturday, yes?’
‘Of course. Yes.’
Chapter Six
‘You’re such an enigma these days. It’s like I never know what you’re thinking about any more.’
‘You never did.’
‘I thought I did. You thought about the same things I did – music, style, games, films, fun stuff, yeah?’
‘Maybe my idea of fun has changed.’
‘Has it though? Has it? How?’
Anton leans forwards, his Friday treat gastropub lunch forgotten as he hangs on my next utterance.
‘Oh, I dunno. It hasn’t really. I can’t do tomorrow though. Going to a wedding.’
‘Whose?’
‘Distant cousin.’ My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Someone I recognise has just entered the pub.
Anton twists his head round, following my line of vision. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Oh, nobody. Who?’
‘That woman. Don’t pretend you don’t know! Your face!’
I shrug and drop my head, hoping that O won’t see me.