Thomas

 

They didn’t recognise me. Not even a cock of an eyebrow or a simple stare as they tried to place my face.

It shouldn’t have surprised me. I barely recognised myself from the boy I was all those years ago.

I did, however, recognise them. My memory was true to the finest detail.

Grace’s high cheekbones and pixie smile. The sparkle in her eyes as she raised one of her fine arched eyebrows, even tight-lipped and suspicious as I made my presence felt at the bar. Her voice, sultry yet sweet, all at once. The gentle slope of her hips under the tight wrap of fabric as she leaned back on her stool.

Nothing had changed on that front. Not about her.

And not about him, either.

The arrogance in Brett’s shoulders was still standing strong these days, even if he wasn’t. His bullish attitude, the low aggressive grunts as he faced off opposition like he could punch the whole world to the floor without even breaking a sweat.

I remembered him on the sports field, heading up team after team. Winning. Always winning. Bellowing war cries as he held up the team trophy like it gave him a status of a god amongst mere sad mortals. Parading himself through the streets like he owned the whole place and everyone in it. Those who were even worth his acknowledgement.

But he didn’t own the world. Not now. The world was a lot bigger these days, and so was I.

My game was strong now. Strong and slick and well prepared.

They’d never see my true intentions coming. Neither of them. Not until it was far too late.

I smiled to myself as I walked straight past my door on the second floor. I took the back stairwell from the building, dropping down into the hotel’s rear courtyard and slipping around to the front while the waves crashed loud on the beach below. I could see why they’d been so taken with this spot, such a marvellous little slice of the wilderness. Tranquil, yet wild. Peaceful, yet rugged. Enough of a dream to see them cast upon the rocks of financial ruin. An exposed vein right there for the pricking.

I took a seat on one of the few picnic benches in the beer garden out front, careful not to trigger the motion-sensitive light on the main porch. It was the perfect vantage point to watch the aftermath of my filthy unexpected proposition.

I’d have put another wad of healthy money on the fact they’d need a wine or twenty for the shock to settle down, and so they had. By the time I got out front they’d resumed their stations on opposite sides of the bar, Grace’s foot tapping the air once she’d hoisted herself back up on her stool. Brett’s expression didn’t shift any, not at first. He looked like he’d happily snap my neck as soon as catch sight of me again.

It suited him. That kind of aggression always had.

It seemed funny now, in such close proximity to the guy after all this time. Funny how I’d always wanted to be that kind of man too, just as he was. Strong, brutish, rugged.

I’d been none of those things growing up. My aggression had always been more intellectual, more introverted. Harder to come by. My muscular form was sculpted through blood, sweat and the challenge of not ever being good enough, not through the easy win of blessed genetics.

I’d worked hard to present myself in just the right way, making the most of my limited assets and pushing them to their limits and beyond.

I was slim but toned, through a rigorous schedule at the gym. Groomed and well-kept with the benefit of tailored outfitting to make the most of my assets. My armour and arrogance were driven by money and mind, rather than muscle. Luckily, I had plenty of both.

I’d expected much more of a fight than the one I’d received on Brett and Grace’s sweet home turf. I’d expected a punch or two to the mouth before they stewed with needy bellies enough to truly consider my offer. It meant only one thing — the pressure was higher than I’d anticipated.

The price was a bargain in my book.

I’d have gone higher to make it happen. Much higher.

I pulled a cigar from my pocket, being careful to angle the flame of the lighter away from the window as I lit up. It was overly cautious. They were still fully engrossed in conversation as I took my first puff.

I didn’t need to hear their words. I could read their sentiments more than easily enough in their body language, tense but hopeful. Grace’s hand went to her hair and scratched idly at the nape of her neck, and I wondered how her soft skin would feel against my mouth as I slammed that gorgeous little cunt from behind.

Maybe that’s when I’d take a punch or ten to the mouth from the raging bull.

I’d take it gladly, just to see the rage in his eyes as I finally fucked the woman he’d claimed all those years ago.

I’d smirk like a sonofabitch when she wrapped her ringed wedding finger around my dick and worked me hard while her brute of a husband looked on.

I was both disgusted and excited at the thought, my dick hard in my pants as the waves kept on crashing behind me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the pair of them, not even for a heartbeat as I toked on Cuban cigar excellence, enjoying every single moment of their muted discussion. Brett shrugged his shoulders, once, twice, and Grace pursed her pretty lips, choking back whatever words were on her tongue.

I loved how easy they were to read from this safe distance, without the distraction of language. They were a tight couple, certainly. In love, almost definitely, even up shit creek without a paddle.

Unbreakable. No.

They never were.

I’d fucked over twenty married women in the past three years. Twenty delicious bodies had writhed and squirmed and grunted under mine as their husbands watched on with jealous eyes.

Twenty grand had been the most I’d ever agreed to before this evening, to a couple in London who were about to be evicted from their friend’s pad in Canary Wharf. The cheapest I’d ever negotiated was… considerably lower.

I brushed my palm over the swell in my pants as Grace took a swig of wine and shifted in her seat. I wondered if her body was betraying her, even at this early stage. I wondered if the wine made it easier for her belly to flip and lurch at the flattery of fifty grand for one short night with her stark naked body.

I’d seen it over and over. The bloom of pride as they registered how much they were wanted by a stranger, even with a wedding band on their finger.

Sometimes it was about the money, sometimes it was about far less. One woman had been so taken with the prospect of a night in my bed that she’d followed me right out of the bar when her husband had threatened to beat the shit out of me. She’d laid her sweet little body on a platter for free, no payment necessary, for whatever I wanted, and I’d laughed. How I’d fucking laughed.

And then I’d refused, pure and simple. Thanks but no thanks, offer withdrawn.

Her pretty face had been a pretty picture, but not as much of a picture as her husband’s when he’d caught her up in the middle of her bargaining.

I heard they’d signed divorce papers less than three months later.

Brett closed the distance between him and his wife, and she took a deep breath before her tapping foot finally stilled. I held the cigar smoke in my mouth as they leant in close, wondering whether this would finally be the time a couple talked themselves down and threw me out of their lives unceremoniously.

But I doubted it.

They always agreed, festered in the aftermath and came calling for more.

Every morning after the event I’d left my business card behind, and every time I’d received the follow up call. Sometimes it took a week. Sometimes a month, or two, or three. But they’d always call me, always. All twenty women with shaky voices as they reminded me of their names and told me how much they’d enjoyed the experience.

Brett took his wife’s hand across the bar top and it sparked a weird twitch in my gut. It passed in a beat, quickly, barely obvious, but I grabbed hold of its meaning before it sank out of trace.

It was hope. Something I rarely ever felt these past few years. Stupid, irrational hope that maybe this time they’d prove me wrong.

It was his smile as he stared into his beautiful wife’s eyes and leaned in closer still. The tenderness under the rage as they talked about my offer and what it would mean for them, their life, their future. It was in the way she clutched his fingers in hers, the desperation for his strength as she whispered whatever quiet reservations she was feeling into the space between them.

I was considering walking away into the night without even grabbing my suitcase when my phone vibrated in my inside pocket.

Even though it could have been any lonely woman pinging my number at this time on a Saturday evening, I knew who it would be.

I knew it before I’d even turned my back on my pair of latest conquests and thumbed my handset into life.

Don’t do it. Not this time.

The words cut me deep, even in the heart of nowhere with my ultimate challenge framed and snared, almost ready to go. My thumbs were like lumps of concrete, my cigar tight between my lips as I tried to form a response to the request on screen.

She’d sent another before I’d even finished typing.

Please, Tom. Hold onto hope. You’re nothing without it. Walk away.

It sealed the deal for me.

Tom.

Nobody called me Tom. It was Thomas. Thomas fucking Heath. Head of Heath fucking Global and early crypto-currency tycoon.

Mr Thomas Heath. Twenty-nine year old entrepreneur with every scrap of his shit together, living it up in central London, shaking business leaders’ hands across the whole fucking world.

And I was done with hope. Hope meant shit to me.

I deleted the words I’d typed out on screen and powered down, cursing under my breath that she was even trying to piss on my parade during a conquest this big.

Grace Anne Whitley, now Grace Anne Foster.

The woman I’d wanted for years.

Beautiful. Playful. Sweet and pretty and tight-lipped and shimmering with temptation.

Everything I’d thought of through long nights as a gawky teenager.

Nothing I could ever have, not even in dreams.

Until now.

In three days’ time she’d be mine, in body if not in soul. Soul would come later.

It was an angry smirk on my lips as I shoved the handset back in my pocket and shifted back around to resume my viewing.

What greeted me was nothing I was expecting, a surprise even under the circumstances.

His fists in her soft dark hair, her body tense and tight as he kissed her deep. Hard. Raw.

A man possessed. Possessive.

A man claiming what was his. Staking his ownership. Proving whose ring was on her finger, and which man belonged inside that sweet little cunt.

He should make the most of it, because he wouldn’t belong there much longer.