Page 19 of Duplicity

‘You nervous?’ I ask, scrutinising her face. She really is an extraordinarily beautiful woman, but she doesn’t give much away.

That’s okay.

If she wants me to work for it, I will.

Even if I’m paying through the nose for the privilege.

‘No, not at all,’ she says, far too quickly.

I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘If it helps, just think of it as a first date. Areally sluttyfirst date.’ I wink. ‘My absolute favourite kind.’

She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh and blushes a little. How a woman who’s intent on embarking on a career as a sex worker can have the whole bashful, virginal vibe going quite so effectively, I have zero clue, but clearly the universe is really into me, and I’m not going to question it.

Our drinks and mezze arrive quickly on a bar cart, our server making brisk work of setting the food up on the low table in themiddle of the long, curved sofa and the drinks on the marble-topped bar area to one side of the space. I go to hold the door open for her as she wheels the bar cart back out and subtly take a few hundred quid in cash from my pocket.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Anastasia, sir.’

‘Thanks for all your help, Anastasia. I’d appreciate it if you made sure we weren’t disturbed for the rest of the night.’

Her eyes widen at the sight of the money. ‘Of course not, sir. Have a good evening.’

I shut and lock the door behind her. That the owners of this place fitted their private suites with locks tells me they anticipatedexactlythe kinds of shenanigans that would go down in here. Once that’s taken care of, I pour Marlowe a glass of perfectly chilled wine and take it over to her, openly looking her up and down as I do.

‘God, I can’t wait to touch you.’

My meds may have worn off by this time of day—if I take them too late, it really affects my sleep—but I’m not sure all the Ritalin in the world could stop me from blurting that out. It’s true. I’m a starving lion attempting to hold off while a juicy T-bone is dangled in front of me. Not going to happen, mate.

She hesitates. She looks taken aback by my admission. After all, she’s only been here a few minutes.

‘You can touch me if you want,’ she says, which doesn’t exactly smack of the enthusiastic consent I’m hoping for.

I tilt my head as I consider. ‘Maybe I’ll get to know you while we chat, remind us both what we’ve got in store. Hmm?’

‘Sure,’ she says brightly. I’m not convinced she’s anywhere near as desperate for this as I am, which means I’ll take great pleasure in watching her shed those layers of nerves and brittleness and whatever else is going on as she yields to the way I know I can make her feel.

I refill my drink and we take a seat next to each other in front of the excellent-looking mezze. I adjust my position so I’m facing more towards her and glance down at her bare legs. So smooth. So tantalising. The hem of her already short dress has ridden up, and it wouldn’t take much at all to burrow under there and find nirvana.

‘Dig in.’ I hand her a side plate and take one for myself, populating it with some great-looking falafel and a decent dollop of hummus. ‘Want some?’

She nods, and I put a spoonful on her plate.

‘Do you have any preference on how we do this?’ I ask her.

‘Not really. This is my first Seraph audition,’ she confesses, which I obviously already knew. Still, it gives me a kick that I’m her first client.

‘Have you done this before? Were you doing any sex work on the side while you were toiling away at the RA?’

She gives a little laugh. ‘Absolutely not. Um, Camille suggested we use this time to talk about logistics and, um, expectations. Yours and mine.’

‘That sounds very sensible,’ I say evenly. ‘Do you have any expectations, Marlowe?’

‘I—no. I—suppose I’d rather hear what yours are.’

I nod my understanding as I bite into a falafel. They’re fresh as fuck: perfectly crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. I swallow it down quickly and lay a palm on her thigh, just above her knee. Her skin is so smooth and soft it could make a man weep. ‘This okay?’

She nods twice, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. But more telling is the fact that her quad has tensed up under my hand.

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