HOOKED: An Erotic Romance (5 page)

He’d worked me up into a frenzy.

I tried doing normal things. Made a cup of tea, watched some TV, had a cold shower, but nothing could take away this ache. I needed to find a man, and I needed one fast.

At that moment, as if by magic, my phone buzzed, and I saw I had a text message. It was from Ben.

Lovely ‘hooking’ up with you today. Haha. I know it’s short notice, and maybe you’ve already eaten, but I’d love to see you. Up for dinner tonight?

I looked at my phone, almost angry with it for being the wrong man. But then I thought of Ben’s dimples, and how horny I was, and I decided to go for it. It was a Friday night. No work tomorrow. Why not?

Sure. What time shall we meet?

Ben texted back immediately.

Half an hour. I’ll pick you up. Dress fancy!

Well, he was definitely trying to impress. You could at least say that about him. I texted him back my address, and tried to think.

So, I was desperately horny, going out on a date with Ben. Nice guy Ben. This was okay. I was a single woman. I hadn’t even fucked anyone today - not properly. It was perfectly acceptable to go out on a date.

But what to wear? Definitely not my sensible knickers. This was one of my rare lacy French knicker moments. And I figured I’d really go for it with my outfit too. A sexy red dress, strappy and tight. Stilettos. Some sheer satin stockings and my diamond earrings. Gold necklace. You only live once, eh? Besides, what was all this nice stuff I owned actually
for
, if not to wear?

I got ready quickly, feeling an excitement building up inside me that I hadn’t felt for years. I’d forgotten that going out could feel like this. God, I’d been boring for so long. I was ready to unleash the real me. And I was going to unleash it on… Ben.

I smeared a dark smoky streak of charcoal eyeshadow over each eyelid, and then applied some crimson lipstick. There. I was dressed to kill.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Privacy Glass

Outside, a car approached me.

But it was a car I’d seen before. A grey four-wheel drive. A Subaru, with huge alloy wheels, a sports grill, and blacked-out privacy glass in the rear windows. It was a car that said:
don’t mess with me - you don’t stand a chance
.

The car revved and growled along the kerb, up to my front door, and the window hissed down. Raoul was wearing big black sunglasses, a greasy t-shirt and his kickboxing pants. He looked sweaty, filthy, and gorgeous. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

I smoothed down my red dress, awkwardly, thinking how strange it was that just a couple of hours ago he had been touching me in a grimy gym, his mouth pressed to my most sensitive parts. And now here I was, in a strappy dress, heels and make-up, so obviously waiting for another man. What must he think of me?

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Are you getting in?’

I looked up and down the road, wondering where Ben was, if he was about to appear around the corner any minute, and see me with the instructor.

Even behind his sunglasses, I could see Raoul was scowling.

‘Fine,’ I said. And I found myself getting into the car - but this time into the
back of the car
, behind the safety of the privacy glass, and we drove away.

I didn’t spot Ben as we headed for the motorway, but I kept myself firmly hidden behind that black glass, just in case. And I switched my phone on silent, so I wouldn’t have to bear the horror of hearing him calling, asking if I was okay. If I was standing him up on our first date.

Raoul didn’t say much during the journey, except to tell me again that it was best we have a chat, and that we’d go back to his place. He didn’t fancy the noise of a crowded bar, he said, and besides, he desperately needed a shower. Couldn’t force his stench on poor, innocent people in a public place.

But you’ll force it on me
, I thought grumpily, smelling the manly, post-exercise scent in the confined space of the car, and feeling less angry when I realized I was becoming turned on by it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Warrior Sprit

Raoul pulled into a driveway in silence, and I’ll admit that I felt a little disappointed he didn’t live in a giant Medieval castle, or a mansion.

His apartment block was an enormous hulk of concrete, with wire fencing around it, and threatening signs on the sides of the building, warning the kids: NO SKATEBOARDING, NO BALL GAMES, NO GRAFFITI. It was certainly a different end of town to what I was used to.

We got out of the car, and I followed Raoul up some concrete steps. ‘No lift here,’ he said gruffly, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the neckline of his grimy t-shirt. I followed him up two flights of stairs, then three, then four, desperate not to appear like I was flagging in front of him, as he just seemed to glide effortlessly up, his strong legs barely even straining under the effort.

Finally, on the fifth floor, we stopped. ‘This is it,’ he said, and opened a door painted with the number
247.

As soon as he opened the door, I noticed a bizarre mixture of smells greeting me inside. There was the unmistakeable musk of incense, something heady and strong like patchouli. But there were other, stranger smells too. Spices, exotic like cardamom, tangy like aniseed and liquorice, and hot, like chilli. It was like stepping into one of those crammed-to-the-brim Chinese supermarkets I’d come across in the Northern Quarter. It was so overwhelming I felt a little dizzy as I walked through the corridor into the living room.

My own living room window looked over a park and a primary school; it was quaint and almost countryside-like, despite being in the middle of the city. His view was
all city.
I forgot about the monstrous concrete block on the outside of this place, and knew immediately why you’d want to live in a flat like this. The evening sun was glowing with its last embers, as it sunk beneath the horizon, drenching the city in a deep, dusky pink. Office blocks, skyscrapers, the town hall… you could see it all from here. It was magnificent.

‘Take a seat,’ said Raoul, and I looked around for the most appropriate place to sit. I was ashamed to discover how pristine his flat was - there was no drying laundry in here. I perched on a black leather sofa, facing the window, feeling incredibly over-dressed in my strappy evening dress, compared to him, towering over me in his kickboxing gear. ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ he said, and I watched his tight behind, in his low-slung martial arts pants, disappearing off into another room.

I took the opportunity to look around the space I was in. I’d never been in a flat like it. The most striking thing I noticed, was that every wall, instead of being full of paintings, like mine, was full of hanging
weapons.
And I’m not talking country gents’ shooting rifles. I’m talking Samurai swords. They had ornate, engraved handles, in deep blues and pearlescent whites. Almost elegant in their slender beauty, until you looked at the the sharpness of their long, curved blades, and realised how easily they could slice through flesh - probably even bone.

Rather than feel scared surrounded by all this weaponry, I found something stirring inside me. The same sort of masculine aggression I’d felt building up in me during my two kickboxing sessions. That feeling of wild abandon at being able to let go, to express myself through the power of my punches.

Raoul walked in holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. Interesting. I hadn’t seen him as a Chablis sort of man. Maybe he was more refined than I gave him credit for.

‘You like the swords, I see,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘They’re beautiful.’

He sat on the sofa beside me, and poured us both a generous glass of wine. He handed one to me, and then - without saying ‘cheers’, I couldn’t help but notice - he began to drink. ‘They’re amazing weapons,’ he said. ‘Imbued with such a deep-rooted sense of magic, and folklore. The Samurai used to name their swords, believing that within the sword lived their warrior spirit.’

I thought about those words.
Warrior spirit.
Is that what Raoul had been unlocking in me?

He pointed at one of the swords, hanging over the fireplace, with a violet handle, studded with tiny, iridescent crystals. ‘This one reminds me of a Masamune sword. Masamune was one of the most talented craftsmen, who began the tradition of Soshu sword-making. See those crystals, set in that deep, pearly material? They were thought to resemble the night sky.’

I looked out of the window, at the real night sky, feeling disappointed for a moment that the lights of the city hid the stars from view. I’d love to sit under the stars with this man.

‘Masamune’s swords,’ he said, ‘rather than being regarded as brutish or evil, were actually considered to be deeply spiritual and benevolent, incapable of harming anything that was innocent or undeserving.’ He took a large mouthful of wine, and I did the same, feeling the crisp, dry flavours crackling on my tongue.

‘Unfortunately,’ he continued, ‘we always hurt the people around us. Even when they don’t deserve it.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hard For You

‘Listen, I’ve been talking for too long,’ he said. ‘You’ve barely said a word. Tell me about yourself.’

I fiddled with the wine glass in my hands, realizing he knew almost nothing about me. For a moment, looking at the glass in my hands, I thought of Ben, and felt a rush of guilt. Was he still waiting outside my apartment, hoping I’d step out of my front door at any moment? How many missed calls did I have? I had another mouthful of wine. Raoul noticed how fast I was drinking, and gave me a top-up.

‘I manage a company,’ I said, aware of how boring that sounded. ‘A paper company.’ Shit. That didn’t make it any better. Paper! Here I was, talking to this
rock
of a man, about paper!

I thought of that game I used to play when I was little… rock, paper, scissors… Rock won against paper, didn’t it? No, wait a minute. I remembered my big brother, wrapping his palm around my fist.
Paper covers rock!
he used to shout, and I always thought how stupid that was, something so fragile, able to envelop something so hard and tough.

I looked at Raoul. He was gazing intently at me, waiting for me to say more.

‘For the last few years,’ I said, ‘I’ve been married to my work. I’m incredibly ambitious. But it comes at a price. It was only when I came along to your first class, with my friend Rebecca, that I realised how much of life I’d been missing out on…’

Raoul reached out and took my hand, and I felt the roughness of his skin, the calluses from the countless poundings of his fists against leather. ‘I’ve been missing out on a lot too,’ he said. ‘I don’t normally do things like… what happened today…’ I could see he was struggling. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him looking out of his depth. I wanted to kiss him and tell him it was okay. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he said at last.

‘An apology?’ I wondered which of his countless rude acts he was going to make amends for.

‘It was an ex-girlfriend,’ he said, looking up at one of the swords on the wall. ‘She left over a year ago, but it took me a while to get over her.’

I felt irritated all of a sudden. ‘And you’re telling me this because…’

‘I’ve found it difficult to trust people, since then. When we ended up… getting so
close
in the gym today, I panicked. Have you ever had your heart broken?’

I looked down at my glass, sadly, and shook my head. ‘No. I haven’t.’

‘I used to train with her. We started taking classes together, years ago. She was a natural. Then she started taking extra classes. Without me. Her trainer was a man called Lex. I mean, Lex! What kind of a name is that?’

‘And she had sex with him? Sex with Lex?’

He turned away for a moment, and then put down his glass and walked over to the window, his back to me.

With the evening city lights behind him, his silhouette looked astonishing. Every contour screamed out ‘man’ to me. His body was
perfect
.

‘It must have been hard for you,’ I said gently. ‘But you’ve got to move on.’ I thought of Rebecca, how hard it was for her, after Darren, and remembered that I needed to get in touch with her tomorrow. She’d said Darren and her were talking tonight. I hoped to God they didn’t get back together. That guy was trouble.

‘I guess I’ve just focused on my work,’ he said. ‘You know what that’s like.’

I put down my glass, and stood up, moving towards him, amazed that this man and I could have something in common. I stood beside him in my small red dress, my bare arms brushing his biceps.

‘When you walked into the club last week,’ he said, ‘scowling at me, getting angry with me, looking so…
gorgeous
… I knew that I was in trouble. For the first time in a year, I felt vulnerable.’

I let my fingers touch his, trembling, feeling the sensitivity at the tips, the electricity shooting up my arm and into my breast. ‘I feel vulnerable too,’ I whispered, longing for his hands to curl around my waist, for him to take me in his arms, lift up my skirt, to finally enter me with his strong erection, to let me welcome him in to my hot, moist, centre…