Page 85 of Duplicity

She shrugs. ‘As long as your fucking is better than your banter, Brendan, then sure. Knock yourself out.’

I laugh again. She’s a hoot—assuming she’s not serious about my chat, which I’d say is pretty strong. ‘My fucking is excellent. Can I fuck your arse?’

She turns away from me and puts her hands up on a pillar. ‘Yep. Just do me a favour and lube up, okay?’

Holy crap. She wants to do it right here, in the middle of the room? Okay then. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. We are in a sex club after all, as she pointed out so sweetly.

Ivy moves her feet further back from the pillar and hinges forward so she’s bent over for me. I step in behind her and push her short dress up so that her arse is bared to me. She’s not wearing panties. She has long legs and a fantastic, toned bottom and a bare pink cunt. Everything about her is objectively a knockout. But the strangest thing happens—my instant reaction is that she’s WRONG WRONG WRONG. Just like that. It’s like my body is screaming at me:No! This isn’t what you want! You only like Marlowe’s body, remember? Wrong woman!

Well, fuck that for a game of shits and giggles. Just because I’ve allowed myself to get comfortable with one partner recently, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy mixing it up a bit. I stare at Ivy’s lovely white arse as I give myself a stroke through my trousers. Weirdly, I’m still completely limp. Maybe it’s because I’m in public? Maybe my dick hasn’t got the memo that it’s okay to fill up in this context?

‘Mmm, you’re very sexy,’ I tell Ivy. She is, after all, and it feels like the polite thing to say. Her little arsehole is right there, alltight and puckered and forbidden andmine for the takingafter weeks of Marlowe keeping hers firmly out of bounds.

I want this. I do.

I need it, basically.

I exhale harshly through my nostrils as I rub my hand harder over the area covering my poor, sad, flaccid dick, as if it’s a bottle and I’m hoping this will awaken the genie. Still NO fucking THING. Nada. Maybe it has stage fright? Maybe it’s scared of this strange new land and is reminiscing about more familiar terrain.

Another memory lances through me. Marlowe on her hands and knees for me on the floor of my office, her incredible body braced to take me. Whenever she’s in that position she exudes the strangest mix of vulnerability and courage and carnality. I can’t explain it, but I wish I could bottle it.

Fucking hell. I need to give myself a serious talking to here.

This is not Marlowe.

Marlowe has fucked off for a few weeks.

Marlowe won’t let you anywhere near her arsehole. She won’t even let you lick it.

This woman is gorgeous, and she’sliterallybent over double so you can take her up the arse, so what the fuck are you waiting for, you wanker?

Ivy cranes her neck to see me. She, presumably, has the same question for me. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ I lie. ‘Just… warming him up.’

She frowns, then straightens up and looks down at the notable lack of bulge in my trousers.

‘Oh, mate. That’s not good.’

‘It’s fine.’ I rub it so hard that my boxer briefs chafe against my poor dick. ‘I just need a minute.’

She bites her lip. ‘You want to get it out for me? I can have a go.’

I flinch. I actually flinch, and my feet take a step backwards of their own accord. ‘No!’ I say. I think I may snap it, which is neither cool nor intentional.

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Okay, okay. Look, you’re obviously not feeling it. No bother. I’ll just go and find someone who can rail me nice and hard.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her lamely, watching her cut through the crowd. I have never had to apologise for any lack of sexual prowess before, and here I am, falling at the first hurdle. It seems my dick did not get the memo that we are here to have a good time tonight. It seems my entire body is repulsed by the fact that this beautiful, willing woman is Not Marlowe.

And nothing about that is okay with me.

I look around in a panic to see if anyone is watching, if anyone is laughing at the guy who’s all talk and no trousers. But they’re not.

No one is paying me any attention whatsoever. I duck my head and make a beeline for the doors.

I can never show my face in here again.

That’s for sure.

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