Page 51 of Untether

The only word you’ll scream is ‘more’.

She’s pinching the bridge of her nose hard, her entire body shaking with laughter. I drop a kiss on her bareshoulder and take a big inhale before launching into the second verse with gusto.

I’m gonna eat you—

‘Please stop,’ she kind of laugh-sobs, her palm going to my chest. ‘I can’t take it.’

Her touch against my heart feels great, even through my shirt, and I’m reminded once more of exactly how keen I am for one hundred percent nudity between us.

‘But I have so many more verses,’ I say, my voice filled with mock hurt. ‘You’re gonna blow me, I’m gonna rail you…I was planning on finishing withYou love my di-ick.’

She snorts and lets her forehead drop to my shoulder, and I use the opportunity to snake my arm around her waist and pull her a little closer. We’re not a couple—obviously—but we’ve been intimate enough that touching her feels natural. That she looks and smells sexy AF only helps.

Besides, I like making her laugh. It’s not like I can deliver some intelligent commentary on her attack on Dowling the other night. Comedy’s more my niche than political insight, so I’ll stay in my lane. And if playing the fool helps build our working relationship and her comfort levels with me, then all the better.

Because I meant it.

I’m gonna fuck her.

Aida’s come here this morning not, astonishingly enough, for my cock or my vocal cords, but for a sit-down with all of us to discuss the progress of the documentary. She’s looking sleek and professional in a fine-knit sleeveless camel turtleneck-thingy with cream trousers and killer heels.

All I know is that this power player vibe she has going on makes me feral. And when I pull back enough to look ather, those dark eyes of hers are amused and interested in equal measure.

‘I think it’s too early to say the L-word,’ she says drily, ‘but I’m definitely into your dick, if you couldn’t tell the other day.’

I smirk, my fingers flexing on the indent of her waist. ‘I could tell, baby.’

‘You two look cosy,’ Gen remarks, bustling in through the double doors. She’s particularly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today—she’s been like this all morning. The Big Bad Wolff must have given her a particularly good seeing-to last night. When she’s like this I tend to piss her off by referring to it as her BCE—Big Clipboard Energy. If she didn’t enjoy fucking so much she’d have made a great headmistress.

I ignore her comment, but Aida springs away from me as if we’re two teenagers sprung behind the bike sheds and goes to hug her.

It appears that,despite not having had my cock properly yet, Aida is also full of Big Clipboard Energy, because she has alotof updates for us. I have no clue how she’s juggling all this documentary stuff with mothering two boys, preparing for her weeklyCentre Stageinterviews and all the other pop-ups she does on various BBC news and current affairs shows during the week. She may not be one of the main anchors anymore, but she’s heavily involved.

Her life makes me feel exhausted and also lazy, because I have a pretty nice gig with my little financial side hustle at Cerulean one day a week, organising events for Alchemy by day, and participating in them by night. I’ve always consideredmyself an ambitious, successful guy, but it’s a bit lame when I put it in the context of Aida’s calendar.

As the creative vision behind the documentary, she’s appointed herself as the primary liaison between the Azure, Creatrix—the production company—and Alchemy. The programme is scheduled to drop on two consecutive Thursdays in January, with the intention of blowing everyone’s New Year blues out of the water with our salacious (by Azure’s standards) content.

That’s under four months from now, but the trailer is slated for two weeks’ time and will inevitably prompt an avalanche of press and social media interest and a torrent of requests.

Aida and I have already shot some footage for the trailer—far more for her than me. Mine mainly involved me sitting in a chair in the suite at the Lanesborough, dramatically lit and sexily satanic (Aida’s brief to me) in all-black, while spouting various provocative soundbites that she and the Creatrix team concocted to ignite curiosity. I’m sure it will also ignite plenty of judgement and slut-shaming, the brunt of which she will undoubtedly bear.

The thought makes me fucking furious.

Still, I’m sure I’ll be in for my fair share of ribbing from my mates when they see me intone such pearls of wisdom asall women deserve to know mind-bending pleasure. And I’m the man to give it to them.

Even I baulked at that one. But I understand I’m playing a part here. I represent an opportunity, a truth that can liberate. I’m a unicorn, an enigma. The skilled sex club owner whose ultimate act of altruism is helping women discover the power that lies within their own bodies. They’re painting me as some kind of sex maestro, and I’m not exactly complaining.

Possibly the strangest part of the whole charade is that I’ve spent far less time obsessing over how much more pussy I’ll get after it airs than I thought I would.

I mean, come on. I’ll be chest-deep in pussy for the foreseeable future. I’ll be a sex celebrity. A sex-lebrity, even? Women will stop me in the street and beg me to fuck them, to “teach” them, or so I imagine. Gen, devious little witch that she is, even threw that visual out there when she was getting me over the finish line on signing up for this.

You won’t just have a reputation at Alchemy,she purred.You’ll have a national, or probably international, reputation for being the man to see when women want to be fucked back to life. Surely that’s your life’s goal?

I confess she wasn’t far wrong. I should be high-fiving myself in the bathroom mirror each morning in anticipation, but I’m far too caught up in wondering just how much I can blow Aida’s lights out to give much bandwidth to those faceless women.

In any case, the programme will be controversial.

The woman fronting it will be even more so.

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