Page 25 of Resisting Mr Black
“I knew it.” There’s a little too much glee in Lucy’s voice than I’m comfortable with. “When I first saw him, I SAID I bet he’s one of those dominant controlling types in bed, didn’t I? He’s got that strong, silent, brooding thing going on.” She drains her PG Tips mug and smirks. “What do you think of that?”
I look over at the kitchen counter and recall yesterday and how he couldn’t even bring himself to touch my knees before saying something I still don’t quite understand.
“I’m not sure.”
The lid has been lifted on the Pandora’s Box of all things Art Black-related.
“I bet his arse looks mighty tight in leather,” Lucy muses.
I bang my mug down on the counter, desperate to change the conversation. “That information was a few years out of date, so it might not be true anymore.”
“I think if you’re into kink, you’re into kink,” she nods resolutely. “Chill, Soph. It might be fun.”
There’s no need for me to consider whether it will be fun or not because nothing’s going to happen between us. Being tied up and letting a guy control me sexually isn’t something I want. In my eyes, this is just another good reason for me to stay the hell away from him.
I drain my mug and shoot a look at the empty bottle of Prosecco on the kitchen counter. “Come on, let’s go. I need a stiff drink.”
And I need to forget about Art Black.
By the time we stagger into Bar Red, I’ve definitely forgotten about him, drowning my thoughts about him by drinking my body weight in wine.
The loud thud of bass from some nineties dance number vibrates through my bones as I sway through the crowds, following Lucy up to the bar. My head is cotton woolly and every now and then, the room spins a little and I know I’ve reached my puke limit.
I prop myself against the bar and giggle as Lucy opens her black sparkly clutch and pulls out her phone with wobbly fingers. Her cheeks are flushed, and I know she’s reached her limit too.
“I don’t think I want any more drinks. I’m going to call Mark to pick us up.” She hiccups and holds the phone to her ear. “Fuck knows how I’m going to manage at work tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Work. Art. And just like that he jumps to the front of my mind again giving me one of his easy smiles. My stomach twists and this time it isn’t because of the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.
I rub a hand across my forehead to try and ease the banging that’s started at my temples and manage to retrieve my phone from my bag. Disappointment pokes at me. I’ve had no more texts from him this evening.Probably at his kinky sex club whipping some woman’s arse,I think cynically.
“He’ll be five minutes,” Lucy slurs, holding up three fingers.
I frown. “Who, Art?”
Lucy laughs and rams her phone back into her bag. “No, Mark.”
She pushes herself off the bar and wobbles slightly, grabbing the edge of the bar to steady herself. “I’m popping to the toilet.”
I start to follow her and begin weaving through the customers crowded round the bar when I feel something grip my left wrist tightly, holding me in place. I turn to see a tall guy with slicked blonde hair and sly eyes grinning down at me with his hand around my wrist.
“Piss off!” I hiss and try to yank my hand away, but he keeps his thick fingers clamped in place.
Panic begins to rise in my chest as I frantically search for Lucy, but she’s long since disappeared off through the crowds, oblivious to the fact I’m no longer with her. The guy starts dragging me through the crush of people hanging around the bar, all drunk and laughing and enjoying themselves, not noticing what’s happening to me. I’m powerless, my body and mind not working together. I want to scream but my lungs aren’t working, and my limbs are seizing up with terror. Suddenly he turns, pulling me to him. I push my palms into his chest, using all my strength to try and wriggle free, but his arm is huge in comparison to my small waist, and he’s got hold of me in a strong grip.
“Relax, darling.” The stench of alcohol hits me and makes me want to gag as he presses his mouth against my cheek. I twist my head away from him.
Then he’s dragged off me.
It takes me a few seconds to realise what the fuck is going on because the guy’s sprawled out on the floor and there’s a set of broad muscular shoulders encased in a black jumper in front of me. The other customers are stepping backwards, creating space around the guy, who’s holding his nose as blood trickles down his hand. He’s slurring and mumbling incoherently. On cue, two hefty-looking bouncers dressed head to toe in black appear and grapple the guy to his feet. The figure in black turns to face me and I’m hit with an overwhelming feeling of relief when I recognise Art. The crease line in his forehead is deep, and he’s looking all kinds of worried and angry as he looks me up and down.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head. My brain and mouth aren’t working together, which is probably for the best because I want to fling my arms around him. I fold them instead, fighting it.
“Fucking hell.” Lucy appears at my side, her eyes widening as she watches the bouncers drag the guy off towards the exit. “What did I miss?”
“You’re both leaving,” Art snaps, scanning the club. “Now.”