around his ankles like a starving cat unwilling to be ignored. He stopped walking, bent down to catch a hold of it, then balled it into a meaty fist. As the bus started up again, I stared across the bus and out the opposite windows at him, wishing he’d see me so I could gauge his reaction to my looks.
Since when had I become so in need of assurance?
Since I knew damn well this wasn’t a game any more. Since I realised he was serious in wanting to meet.
I was serious too, but deep inside, even though I’d gone along with it, even though I’d told myself we’d be meeting, I hadn’t quite believed it. Easy to be swept along, just like those pieces of litter, and easy to convince myself I could do this thing. And here I was, taking the initiative, a step outside what we’d agreed. Why? Because I wanted to gain the advantage, of seeing him before he saw me. Perhaps, if I did manage to catch a glimpse of him today, and liked what I saw, it would give me the courage to go home and press for a real meet. The problem was, Liuz tended to call the shots. Even though I played the game too, gave the right answers, behaved as though I had all the confidence in the world, it was clear he was the more dominant one.
But wasn’t that what I liked so much about him?
Absolutely, and the idea of him being so dominant in person, in bed, had me squirming in my seat. My face flushed at the images flickering through my mind, of our sex-sweat bodies, hands slippery from that and my juices, his cum. Of my hair, lank and damp from exertion, held tight in his steel fist. Of his lips, barely touching my earlobe, filthy words spilling from his mouth in a torrent. Filthy enough to make me come without him touching me.
The bus bell, loud and abrasive, jerked me from my reverie, and I looked about, feeling foolish for having indulged in fantasies when I was supposed to be watching out for the first of my stops. Relieved to see I hadn’t missed it, I paid attention to the streets outside, swallowing to combat the sudden dryness in my throat. Another stop and it would be time for me to get off.
That stop came all too quickly, but conversely, not soon enough. I was a tangle of emotions, the threads of them writhing inside me to form several knots that rested hard and dull in my stomach. I wanted to spy on him and I didn’t. I wanted to spot him and I didn’t. I wanted – God, I wanted far too much. He’d made it that way too, with his dirty emails that set me on fire and gave me a taste for needing more out of sex than a quick fuck that always left me feeling like something was missing. As though what had happened hadn’t quite been enough. I wanted more than five minutes of fumbling foreplay, a few sloppy kisses and a cock only sliding in and out enough times so the man could come. I wanted to be lavished with attention, used in ways I’d only ever dreamed about – and left so spent I couldn’t walk without my legs almost giving way.
Liuz would give that to me. He’d told me he would.
He’d promised.
A church spire in the near distance caught my attention, its bricks ancient, that dirty grey only old buildings can wear and still look good. Clouds hung around the stone cross on top, their bellies almost black, distended with rain that would pelt down sometime soon. I quickly checked in my bag, cursing myself for not bringing an umbrella. With no time to chastise myself any longer, I reached up to press the bell then gripped the blue metal pole until the bus stopped once again.
I stepped onto the pavement, its surface ravaged by cracked tarmac, and thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t opted to wear heels. I couldn’t cope with them on a day like today, where I’d possibly be doing a lot of walking and standing around. With the knots in my belly tightening, I made for the church.
The first address was quite close to it, and I arrived in short time. I stared at the house, one that didn’t fit my image of Liuz at all. It was clearly owned by someone well-to-do, all mullioned windows and a nicely tended front garden that spoke of the owner having fingers even greener than the short-clipped lawn and the animal-shaped bushes. He couldn’t live here, could he? He’d mentioned a bedsit not a home like this. Unless he’d been lying?
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the white-painted gate and walked up the short gravel path to a front door that came straight out of a magazine I’d written an article for entitled Perfect Homes. It was a double effort, the glass panels diamond-leaded and coloured in transparent hues of red, blue and green. I reached the three steps in front of it and went up, nerves thrumming, my mind screaming that I could do this, that I could pull it off. I was a journalist, for God’s sake! I couldn’t begin to count the times I’d knocked on someone’s door in the hope they’d give me the information I sought.
But I hadn’t wanted to fuck those people. I hadn’t said rude things to them, exposed my disgusting desires. Exposed my nipple in a picture.
Biting my lower lip, I raised my hand and, before I could talk myself out of it, pressed the brass bell button. The chimes rang out inside, a melody only the rich could get away with without coming across as crass; the echo of each note indicating the house either didn’t hold much furniture or it stretched back quite a way, bigger than it appeared from outside.
A blur of movement behind the glass from the far reaches, and then a figure appeared, a slim female if I wasn’t mistaken.
Shit. What if he’s married?
The door swung open on silent hinges, and I saw I had been mistaken. A slight male, maybe mid-twenties, stood on the threshold, hair immaculate in a swept-back style that oozed hair gel and the obvious half hour it must have taken to achieve that look. His nose bordered on being too thin, and I quickly gave him the once over, noting he wore shorts that showed off a knobbly knee that was nothing like the one in Liuz’s picture.
‘Yes?’ he said, tilting his head.
‘Liuz?’
‘Yes?’ He frowned, his expression that of someone wondering how the hell I knew his name – puzzled confusion, lips slightly parted, tongue darting out just that little bit to wet the seam of his lips.
I hadn’t thought this through properly and had no idea what to say next. My mouth worked, no words of explanation as to why I was there emerging.
A surname. I needed a surname.
I eyed the brass doorbell. ‘Liuz Brass?’
‘Uh, no. I think you have the wrong person.’ He pursed his lips, cocking one hip to rest it against the door edge, his frown deepening.
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry!’
Before he could ask me what I wanted with Liuz Brass and how I’d come to be at his house, I dashed down the steps and path, the gravel crunching obscenely loudly. The gate closed behind me with all the finality of a don’t-return-here-anytime-soon snap, and I ran down the street towards the bus stop. I only allowed myself to breathe once I got there, plonking my ass down on the seat beneath the rain shelter.
What the hell was I thinking?
I didn’t know. What I did know was that obsession drove me, obsession was my master, and that I’d get on the bus when it arrived and continue to my next stop. Although that first encounter had been a mountain-sized cockup, it could only get better from here on out. Right?
The bus came, and I perched on the seat nearest the door, determined to keep my attention on the road and not what lay ahead. I told myself off for losing my cool, for forgetting my journalism training. I was supposed to be fearless, able to work under pressure, and get any and all information needed for a story.
I
