Masquerade

One

Billie Black

‘Fucking kids,’ I swear and bury my head under the pillow, but the irritating ringing of the doorbell continues mercilessly. The desire to go out and throttle them is so strong it makes me grit my teeth.

I pull myself out from under my pillow abruptly and frown. Hang on a minute. I no longer live in the poor end of Kilburn, and there are no kids roaming the corridors annoying people on Sundays here. Also, I have no debts left so it can’t be debt collectors either. Not that those lazy fuckers will work on Sundays.

I get out of bed and, walking barefoot to the front door, curiously put my eye to the spy hole.

Whoa!

I draw back hastily, and press my hand to my belly. What is out there is far worse than any debt collector. By far worse. The bell rings again and holds. The sound is jarring loud and…insistent. It’s not going to go away. I turn my head and look at myself in the mirror on the wall. My hair is a spiky rat’s nest. I pull my fingers viciously through the unruly mess, but it does not improve. The bell goes again. Oh, fuck it! Whatever. I don’t care, anyway. I take a deep breath, rearrange my face into one of tight exasperation and fling open the door.

Cor… Look at that, though. Tight black T-shirt packed hard with muscles, he fills the corridor like the Incredible Hulk, only he is all blond, and he makes little kitty clench tight even on a Sunday. Damn this man to hell. How can anyone look that good at this time of the morning?

He removes his finger coolly off my doorbell and smiles a severely attractive smile, before letting his gaze, all wicked and sexy, start roving down my body. It’s like having melted chocolate poured all over me. I want to lick myself. Keep it together now.

‘What do you want?’ I demand aggressively.

‘To fuck you senseless.’

I don’t succeed in stifling the gasp that rises into my mouth. The cheek of the man is astounding. Last night he brazenly introduces me to his girlfriend, and this morning he stands on my doorstep wanting a legover! I feel a fine rage in my veins.

‘Fuck off, you cheating skunk,’ would, as Ali down the sweet shop would say, be giving him too much face. ‘Piss off, I don’t want you to fuck me senseless,’ would be a lie. So: I nod, and move quickly to slam the door in his lazily smiling, smug face. With lightning speed he lays his palm firmly against the wood and resolutely pushes his way in. I am engulfed by the smell of his freshly showered body. Probably washing off her smell, I think sourly. I don’t do the undignified thing and attempt to fight against such a male show of strength. I decide to decimate him with pithy wit instead.

Inside, he looks as out of place as a rhino in a China shop.

‘The polite thing to do would be to offer me some tea,’ he says, one blond eyebrow arching.

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m actually not feeling very polite at the moment.’

He flashes a pearly white grin: wolfish in the extreme. The guy is a walking sex bomb. ‘That’s just grand,’ he says. ‘We can be impolite together.’

Pithy wit deserts me. ‘Don’t make me punch you in the face.’

‘You were the best lay I ever had.’

My eyes widen. The surge of pleasure I experience irritates me. I pretend to laugh dryly. ‘Is that supposed to be some sort of compliment?’

‘Yeah, and a goddamn fine one too.’

Before we go any further, let me first tell you that this man is good in bed. No, make that really, really, really good. Like out of this world good. He butterflied my legs and went to work on my girly bits with the precise dedication of a Swiss watchmaker until I nearly fainted with pleasure. And believe me, I’m the expert in muff diving, since I have been for most of my life a lesbian.

‘Well, you were the worst lay I ever had,’ I lie.

Unoffended, he laughs merrily. ‘Time to make amends, then.’

‘Don’t you fucking dare come near me,’ I warn. I realize instantly that there is not enough threat and too much desperation in my voice.

His moss green eyes glint, dark and dirty. They make me horribly uneasy. I’m not in charge here. We stare at each other and the rush of sexual heat that sweeps over my body makes me feel oddly dizzy. The memory of his touch still burns in my bones. Unable to speak I stare foolishly at him.

The truth is I’m pissed off with this guy for not calling after he promised to, for making me sleep with my phone for nearly a month, for confusing the hell out of my sexuality, and for having a girlfriend who is the exact opposite of me, but as the seconds pass, I am not sure anymore if I am more pissed off with him or with myself for being so pathetic.

The problem is that my pulse is racing and I can’t think past the aching throb between my legs. I take slow breaths as my body, the hyperaware Judas, remembers and replays the sensation of all the hard planes, the raw silk of his skin, and the absolute perfection of that one night we shared.

I blink. Big mistake.

He advances, his lips twitching with amusement.