Page 53 of Unstitch

‘Don’t overthink this,’ I tell him. I’ve built a career of sweet-talking and hand-holding and silkily, gently coercing people to do every single thing I want, and I have no intention of stopping now. ‘She wants you. She was incredibly taken with you. And look at her.’

We both take a moment to turn our heads to the stage, where Darcy’s dancing, an angel beating her wings inside her gilded cage. As we turn back, I risk a glance south, but it’s too dark in here to see if he’s hard.

When I have his attention again, I press on, making my voice softer, more cajoling. ‘You know, she gets so aroused on stage, bless her. Do you blame her? Everyone’s watching her. Everyone wants to fuck her. But none of them can. She’s untouchable, except for me.’ I pause. ‘And for you.’ I raise my eyebrows meaningfully. ‘And you know what? She’s never had a threesome—can you believe it? It’s all she wants, and she wants her first time to be with you and me.’

I inject into my pitch all the emotion of Bob Cratchit advocating for Tiny Tim, and my acting skills are rewarded with a flicker of doubt in Dex’s strange and perfect eyes as the twisted form of chivalry I’m pitching no doubt wars for dominance in his conservative little heart with what he considers to be seemly.

He’s actually asking himself if he can do this.

Let’s reel him in.

‘Imagine touching her. Her skin is softer than you could ever dream. She feels so fucking good.’ My tone is low. Confiding. He’d be a moron not to take this recommendation from the horse’s mouth, as it were. ‘Tastes amazing, too. Like nectar. I bet she wants your mouth on her cunt. I bet she’d let you fuck her with your tongue before you fuck her properly. Imagine it.

‘And she’s so fucking responsive. I know she comes across as feisty as hell, but in bed she’s a submissive little doll. You’d get to lay her out and feast on her.’ Time to close. ‘This is the only way you get to be with her, mate.’

‘Fucking hell,’ he mutters, and if I wasn’t so intent on winning this round, I’d almost feel sorry for the guy. I’m here to broker the deal I promised Darcy I’d swing, and if I have my own reasons for wanting to ensnare this hot little fly in my web long enough to forge my own inroads with him, then that’s an added bonus.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

‘What are your concerns?’ I ask him, sounding horribly like a salesman trying to close a buyer on a top-of-the-range mattress, but I don’t think it’s my selling style that has him barking out an unamused laugh.

‘My concerns? I came here to watch her dance. That’s it. No offence, but this isn’t my scene. I’m not comfortable being here at all, and now you’re trying to strong-arm me into some kind of kinky ménage—I don’t think so.’

‘Look, I get that,’ I tell him. I don’t, obviously. This place is Disneyland. ‘She’s nearly done, and I’ve got a private room booked. It doesn’t have to be…’ I choose my words. ‘It’s her first time. No DP, nothing like that. Remember, this is just about taking care of Darcy, making her feel good. If all you want to do is go in there and tell her what a great job she did and maybe give her a kiss, that’s totally fine. Just come say hi. She’ll be really hurt if you leave without swinging by backstage.’

And still he wavers. Honestly, if he can’t handle that then the guy clearly has no fucking backbone at all, and she and I should cut him loose. He can run off with his tail between his legs and sign up for Hinge and hopefully find some nice, safe, lights-out, missionary action. Fuck’s sake.

‘Get a load of this,’ I tell him with a jerk of my head.

He turns his attention to the stage again, but I keep my gaze on him. I’ve seen this routine a few times now, so I know she’s gearing up for the big reveal, the money shot that might just achieve what my smooth talking can’t.

And I know when she does it, because watching Dex watch Darcy spread her legs and bend over and expose herself fully to the crowd is my new favourite show.

I watch as his brow creases and his eyes narrow and he snags that plump bottom lip, digging his teeth in so hard that I have the novel and unwelcome sensation of being jealous of someone’s teeth. If he could stop being an overthinking, jumpy little bitch for a few moments, I’d show him exactly how that lip should be bitten.

But then the miraculous happens.

‘No guy-on-guy stuff, right?’ he asks, inclining his head towards me but keeping his eyes fixed on Darcy’s magical cunt. ‘Because that’s not my bag at all.’

I swallow a smirk. Sure it’s not. ‘Of course not,’ I say, sounding shocked. Where is my Golden Globe? ‘It’s all about Darcy. Think of it like we’re servicing her. She deserves a good servicing after dancing so beautifully up there, doesn’t she? She’s turned everyone in this room on, and she’s aching to be touched all over her beautiful body, and I know you and I can do a good job of that together. Just think of how very, very good we can make it for her.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice dreamy, and I know he’s imagining gorging himself on her.

She’s bowing, giving the audience a smile and a wave and a cheeky little shimmy of her hips, and I wedge my tumbler between my forearm and my abdomen so I can clap with the rest of them and then wolf whistle.

And as she turns to go, sauntering off stage with those arse cheeks gliding against each other invitingly, I move in for the kill with a decisive hand on what is a very toned shoulder.

‘Come on. Let’s go and make a fuss of her, mate.’

36

DEX

Every part of my nervous system should be screaming DANGER at me right now. Instead, it’s too busy whipping up the hormonal equivalent of crack to have any regard for my survival.

I stand clear of the doorway leading from The Playroom to a wide, dimly lit corridor to allow a laughing, semi-naked couple through. She’s a petite blonde in a red latex bra and leggings, and he has her by the neck. It seems we’re not the only ones ready for a little privacy thanks to Darcy’s inimitable charms.

I should be watching them—her arse looks incredible in those leggings—but then they turn into the second room and Max strides in front of me, and for some reason I find my gaze glued to his arse instead, admiring from a purely aesthetic perspective how perfectly the supple weave of his wool trousers skims the curvature of his glutes. How well the tucks in the back of his pristine shirt follow the tapered small of his back to his narrow waist.

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