Page 18 of Unstitch

Jesus Christ. ‘Let me do it for you.’ I glance around. The corridor’s empty. ‘No one has to know,’ I plead. ‘I’ll put you on that table and make you come so hard with my tongue. Think how good I can make you feel, even through the fabric.’

‘Max. No.’ She tightens her grip on her waist.

‘Fine.’ I didn’t expect her to give in, anyway. Not here. ‘I want you to dance for me tomorrow. At my place.’

She widens her eyes. ‘What the actual fuck? No.’

‘Seriously. No one needs to know. You can do it off the books.’ I pause. ‘I’ll give you twenty grand.’

Her face is a picture. If I didn’t want this so badly, I’d laugh.

‘What—that’s ridiculous! You’re insane. You can’t pay twenty grand for a dance.’

‘I can and I will. Give the money to charity if you don’t want it.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Is this your fucked-up way of getting me to sleep with you?’

I sigh. Time to lay my cards on the table. It’ll go better for me, anyway. ‘Look. There’s something between us. You might be in denial, for some unknown reason, but that’s fine. I don’t pressure unwilling women to let me fuck them.’ I never have to pressure any woman to let me fuck her, if she must know. ‘I want to fuck you, yes. I want to fuck every hole in your perfect body—I told you that already.

‘But I also want you to get naked and dance just for me. I want to enjoy you without sharing the pleasure with anyone else. And if you want to fuck me afterwards, then great. If not, no problem. But I’m categorically not paying you for sex. You’d have to do it because you want to. Do you understand?’

13

DEX

My little sister is crying into my shoulder, her giant tears soaking through the cotton of my t-shirt. She’s pregnant with her first child, though, so I won’t mention that her waterworks feel a little excessive.

I’m not brave enough, or stupid enough, to do that.

‘Eight years,’ she howls. ‘It’s taken you eight years to come home to me.’

Guilt squeezes my heart tightly. ‘I know, love. I missed you too. But I’m back for good now.’

‘In theory,’ she says with a sniff, lifting herself off my shoulder. ‘God knows, they’ll want their pound of flesh from you.’

I smile weakly, because it’s true. I may have just landed this morning on a red-eye so short I got way too little sleep, but the reception I received at Loeb when I went in to show my face was exuberant enough to make me panic. It seems I’m their Great White Hope for turning the fortunes of their Equities division around, and I have a mountain to climb to prove that this budget-busting hire was worth it.

‘They’ll let me out occasionally,’ I promise with more confidence than I feel, ‘and you’ll always be my first call.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ she says with a warning thump to my upper arm, and I grin at her.

Belle is objectively beautiful, inside and out, and it pains me that I wasn’t around for more of her formative years. The force of my need to cut ties with my father and the toxic values of my upbringing was so great it obliterated all else. Even the desire to be around for my little sister.

That said, she’s done okay for herself. The more I get to know Rafe, the more soundly I approve of him as a life partner for Belle. He seems a rock-solid guy, as do his mates, and I couldn’t have asked for her to find a more adoring husband. It’s clear he thinks she’s the sun, moon and stars.

‘The place is looking great,’ I say, looking around. An all-white textured panel that must be six feet tall and three feet wide dominates the round hallway. The panel itself is curved. I guess it was commissioned for this exact space. ‘Holy fuck, that piece is amazing.’

Our parents infused both of us with a keen aesthetic sense and an appreciation for good art. They’ve long invested in paintings and sculpture—our mum has a great eye—and Belle has picked up the family baton.

‘Never marry an art dealer,’ Rafe quips. ‘The art budget is through the fucking roof.’

I laugh. ‘I can well believe it.’

‘He’s worse than me,’ my sister protests. ‘He’s such a pushover. He says yes to every piece I suggest.’

‘That has nothing at all to do with the paintings,’ Rafe says, and the way he looks at Belle as he says it, with love that’s soft and fierce all at once, is really something.

‘You’ve done a great job,’ I tell her quietly as I stroll into their open-plan kitchen and living room. We’re on the upper ground floor of their new townhouse, and it really is a beautiful space.

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