Duplicity (Seraph)

by Elodie Hart

‘One more thing. You harm my friend, physically or emotionally, and I will take great pleasure in skinning your balls with a rusty butter knife. Do I make myself clear?’

I love it when they pretend to be inexperienced. Gets me every time. It really, really turns me on to imagine that I’m the one teaching them how good it can be.

I have to attract her and impress her and make her trust me and desist from freaking her out, and as I stare at her, that all seems like a pretty tall order.

‘That’s my good girl. Now,’—he gets to his knees surprisingly nimbly for a guy his size—‘let me show you the killer part of my pitch.’

‘Just found my new favourite fidget toy,’ he tells me. ‘Zoom meetings will never be the same again.’

He shoves his boxer briefs down and Jesus fucking Christ, I have bitten off more than I can chew, because that’s not a dick. It’s a monster.

Marlowe, Marlowe, Marlowe. You were already perfect—and then you went and begged.

‘Don’t you fucking tell her she needs these to look good in a dress,’ he shouts at the sales assistants. I hear one wet slap as a fillet presumably lands on the glass coffee table, then another. ‘Her figure is fucking perfect, and you know it. If you can’t stick to your job, which is picking out clothes and handing them to us, then you can get out and leave us to it. Do I make myself clear?’