Hardened (16 page)

I switch it back on again a few hours later. There have been seven missed calls, all from Stevie. He’s a persistent bastard, I’ll give him that, but he hasn’t phoned me now for almost two hours so perhaps he’s got the message.

There’s another text as well though, and this one is more welcome. Molly got back to London okay, and has already made an appointment with a solicitor. Her legal status makes no difference to me; it’s clear her marriage is dead in the water, but it seems to matter to her. It’s a loose end to be tied off, and I can relate to that. I hit Molly’s tiny picture in my speed dial.

“Hi there.” She sounds breathless, as though she’s been running.

“Hi yourself. Good journey?”

“Yes. I just got back from my mum’s.”

“Oh. Nice visit?”

“Not really. I told her I was divorcing Andy. She doesn’t think it’s a great idea.” Her voice sounds strained. I guess the discussion was a difficult one.

“Ah. The new driveway?”

“Among other things. My mum always thought Andy was a good catch. You know the sort of thing—nice, steady job, doesn’t smoke, and reasonably sober.”

“She should marry him herself then. Once the divorce is absolute, of course.”

Molly giggles. I’m pleased to be able to lift her mood a little. “I’ll suggest that to her.”

“When are you seeing the lawyer?”

“The day after tomorrow. The same day you fly to Paris.”

“Why don’t you fly out too, after you’ve finished your legal stuff? I can arrange a ticket for you to pick up at Heathrow.”

She pauses; I can tell she’s tempted. Then, “I can’t, really. I have to work.”

“That’s a pity.” I can think of worse things than spending a few days playing at being tourists with Molly—getting caught up in Stevie Horrocks’ little escapades being right up there at the top of the list. “Another time, perhaps.”

“I’d like that.” She hesitates.

I know there’s something else she wants to say. I wait, silent.

“When can I come back?”

I smile to myself. “Whenever you like, though after tomorrow I’m away until the weekend. I’ll phone you when I’m back in the UK.”

“Right, okay. I’ll wait to hear from you then.”

She thinks that was a brush-off. I’m not having that. I need her to trust me. “Molly, I told you, you can call me any time. I meant it.”

“I know. It’s just—”

“Any time, Molly. Remember that.”

“I will.” She pauses, as though considering whether or not to believe me. Then, “I should go. I need to catch up with some orders, and get my invoices in order.”

Fair enough, she does have a lot to think about. “Okay. We’ll talk soon, right?”

“Yes, sir. Soon.”

“Good night then.” I hang up, wondering what I need to do to convince her I’m sincere and going nowhere. My train of thought is shattered when the phone rings again. I decline the call, but it’s followed straight away by a text.

FUCKING ANSWER THE PHONE, DOG SHITE

He doesn’t scare me, never did, but I think of Rachel and take his call a couple of minutes later.

“Like I said we need a wheel man, and it’s you. Thursday. I’ll be in touch.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Thursday.”

“Fuck off.” I end the call and switch the phone off again.

This is fast degenerating into a farce. I amend Stevie’s ID in my phone to read
Dickhead. Do Not Answer.
I’ve done enough for him already by tracking down Brad. I don’t need to read his texts or take his calls, and there’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going on a bloody job with him.

Fucking loser.

* * *

Heathrow is manic. It’s just turned two on Sunday afternoon when I emerge from customs into the bright, bustling chaos of the arrivals hall. Thousands of weary travellers are milling around, many with phones pressed to their ears as they seek to negotiate their onward journey. I switch on my own phone and wait until the network reconnects as it comes out of flight mode, though I don’t need to call a taxi or minibus firm. I find Molly on speed dial and hit call.

“Jared? Hi. I… I wondered where you got to. Is everything all right?” She sounds anxious. I don’t blame her, I suppose. I
am
two days late.

“Yeah. Ran into some problems with the weather so the shoot took longer than we anticipated. It’s done now though.”

“Are you back then? In the UK?”

“I am.”

“I was thinking, I might come up to Yorkshire next week. If that suits you, obviously. I mean, I know you said any time, but—”

“I said it and I meant it.”

“Yes, of course. Would Wednesday be okay? I have some stuff to complete, and… I thought I might bring some work with me and my laptop. Then I wouldn’t need to rush back.”

Yes!
I grin to myself. Molly MacBride makes for very pleasant company.

“Wednesday’s fine. Bring whatever you like.” I drag my small suitcase on wheels out through the massive plate glass doors of the airport onto the flagged forecourt teeming with passengers scurrying to be away. The chill of an autumnal afternoon in England hits me, the contrast sharp after the dry air-conditioned atmosphere of international arrivals. I shift my phone to my other hand and hail a cruising taxi.

“Jared? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Sorry, just got distracted. What are you doing right now, Molly?”

“I was just going to have a shower actually, then I thought I might nip out and do some supermarket shopping. On second thought though, if I’m not going to be here—”

“Are you up for a visitor?”

“What? Who?”

“Me. Who else? I can be there in under an hour.”

“I thought you were two hundred miles away.”

“I’m at Heathrow, and the cab driver needs an address to dump me at. So…?”

“But, I wasn’t expecting… I mean, I—”

“Say no if you want, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Having me suddenly pitch up on her home turf might not appeal. At least when she comes to my place, Molly can leave whenever she decides she’s had enough. I won’t press her on this. But I cross my fingers anyway.

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that. Do you have my address?”

“You told me it before you left. Wait for me, we can shower together. Oh, and I have a present for you. Well, a couple of presents, in fact.” The nipple clamps and clit clip caused a raised eyebrow when the female security officer spotted them in the plastic tray as I came through Charles De Gaulle airport, but she offered no comment, just smirked and nodded me past. The toys are now tucked away in my jacket pocket, and I can’t wait to see them glistening on Molly’s curvy little body. I hope she’s going to find them as entertaining as I know I will—eventually.

“There’s no need to bring me presents. I mean, it’s not as though…”

I sigh, knowing what she’s thinking. My agenda is, I am beginning to realise, somewhat more complex than Molly’s, but I’ll start from where we are. “I know, just sex, right. But wait until you see what I brought you before you say any more. An hour then?”

She hesitates, then, “An hour. Yes, sir. Bye then.”

“Bye, Molly.” I end the call and lean back in the rear seat of the cab. The driver regards me in the mirror.

“Where to, mate?”

“Wandsworth,” I reply. “Can you get me there in less than an hour?”

“No problem, guv’nor.” He signals and pulls into the lane headed for the M4 and inner London. I settle in for the ride.

* * *

Exactly fifty-seven minutes later I press the doorbell for entry into Molly’s building. Hers is the basement flat in a converted terrace house, complete with three square yards of garden and a window box sporting the bedraggled remains of summer bedding plants now succumbing to the seasonal chill. The neighbourhood is not exactly salubrious, but I’ve seen worse in inner East Leeds.

Molly’s disembodied voice from the intercom invites me to push the outer door and come straight in. Her door is immediately inside, on the left. I do as I’m told, to find Molly awaiting me in her tiny entrance hall.

She looks utterly delicious. Her hair is shorter, cropped back into the sleek, sassy style I recall. It’s much more her. She’s barefoot, wearing faded black jeans and a loose-fitting tunic-style top in a rich shade of blue that complements her eyes to a tee. Unless I miss my guess she isn’t wearing a bra. I lean on the door jamb and watch as her nipples pucker and harden under my scrutiny. Oh, yes, clamps will be perfect—an inspired choice. The clit clip was an impulse buy at the adult store just off the Champs Ėlysées but if I can convince Molly to experiment with it the toy will send our level of intimacy soaring. Maybe I will need to be just a little more forceful…

“Sir, I… It’s good to see you.” She steps back to allow me to pass her. “Come in. Please.”

She ushers me into the compact space that doubles as sitting room and bedroom, her three-quarter-sized bed nestling in a small alcove at the far end of the studio flat. A cluttered worktable is the only other furniture, unless you count the bookcase, the tiny portable television balancing on an upturned milk crate, and the single chair. I suppose the bed must serve as seating as well as a place to sleep. Two doors lead off the main room, one to a kitchenette where I can just make out the corner of a sink, and the other I assume must lead to the shower and toilet. The place is minuscule and rekindles unwelcome memories of my cell at Armley. All we’re missing is two farting, snoring cellmates and a solid steel door.

I force this notion to one side, Molly is a far cry from my previous roomies. Apart from the table the place is neat enough. From what I know of London property prices, this studio flat with just about enough space to swing one very modest-sized cat is no doubt costing her an arm and a leg.

“It’s not much, but I haven’t been here long. I do have a garden though.” She offers me an apologetic little shrug. “I’m looking for somewhere a bit further out.”

How about two hundred miles out?
I keep that notion to myself for now. Molly has family in London although I get the impression that despite the geography they may not be that close. She chooses to live here for her own reasons, I suppose, and this thing between us is just sex. Or so she thinks.

I dump my overnight case beside her table and turn to face her. A two-handed finger-wiggling summons is all it takes to bring her into my arms. I hug her and bury my nose in the soft, freshly clipped ebony-coloured locks and inhale the fruity fragrance of her hair. Apples, perhaps and a hint of vanilla. Very apt. I run my fingers through it.

“Nice. Much better.”

“I got it cut yesterday. I… I had a Brazilian wax too.”

Jesus, Mary, and the fucking donkey!
My cock springs to attention.

“For me?” I manage to keep my tone level. More or less.

She nods within the circle of my arms. “I read somewhere that in the BDSM lifestyle it was sort of expected. So I thought, maybe—”

I tilt her face up so she has no option but to meet my gaze. There’s to be no hiding. “I would have asked you to do it soon enough. I prefer my subs truly naked.”

“Is that what I am then? Your sub?” Her features are flushed, her expression uncertain.

“That’s a choice only you can make. If it’s truly what you want though, I’d be honoured if you’d put yourself in my hands.”

“That
is
what I want. I was hoping, wondering…” She breaks off, chewing on that full lower lip again, one of her infallible tells. I bend my neck to lower my lips to hers and brush a soft kiss over her mouth.

“What were you hoping and wondering, Molly? If it’s in your head, tell me. If you have questions, ask me. This is as much about honesty between us as it is pleasure and pain. Did your kinky reading not tell you that too?”

She nods. “I read a lot about trust too. I do trust you, sir.”

“I’m starting to trust you as well. And myself. It’ll build, over time.”

Her brow furrows. “Why do you need to trust me? You’re the one with the whips and paddles?”

I smile. “Ah, Molly, you have a lot more to learn. I need to trust you to tell me what’s happening, for you. How you’re feeling, what you like me to do to you. And I need to trust myself to listen, to watch, to take notice and to take care of you.”

“I see.” Her expression suggests otherwise.

“Do you? I wonder. But you will, I promise you that.” I wink at her. Enough of the intense navel gazing, it’s time for some kinky fun. “So, did you wait for me, for that shower?”

“Of course. Do you want me to wash your back?”

“Maybe. After you’ve sucked my cock, on your knees, naked, as water streams over the pair of us.”

Her eyes widen, the tip of her tongue pokes between her lips. She bows her head, her posture that of the perfect, obedient little submissive.

“I’d love that, sir.”

She’s not alone. “Get naked, Molly. Now. Oh, and for future reference, next time I arrive here I expect to find you kneeling at the foot of your bed, nude and ready for whatever I decide to do by way of a greeting. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, perfectly clear.” She steps back one pace and tugs the tunic over her head.

Her beautiful breasts are bared for me, pert and firm, her dark pink nipples pearling and swelling. That reminds me…”Ah, yes, your present.” I open my jacket to retrieve the clamps and drop them onto the corner of her work table.

They’re the tweezer sort, decorated with small, azure beads that dangle from each one, a delicate chain linking the two clamps. I could attach a weight to the chain, but I think not this time. I drop the clit clip next to the nipple clamps and wait for her to ask the question writ large across her pretty features.

To her credit, she unfastens her jeans first and shoves them down, her underwear too, and steps out of the clothes to stand before me naked.

“Nipple clamps, sir?”
Did she just wince?

“Yes. They’ll look very pretty.”

“Will they hurt?”

“Yes.”

“And the other thing? Where does that go?”

“It’s a clit clip.”

“Oh.” Her face pales. I decide to put her out of her misery.

“That doesn’t hurt, but you’ll have to trust me on that.”