The C Word (Just a Word Book 1) (2 page)

2

PLASTIC HUMAN

Scrubbing my
face with my hands, my stomach growls and I reluctantly pull myself out of my
work. My desk lamp is the only light in the room and the city is a mosaic of
lights in the darkness outside my office window. I check my watch and decide I’m
not ready for home. I need to eat; I missed lunch and now it’s pretty late for
dinner.
 

I go to my
bathroom and freshen up, replacing my suit jacket and fastening the button once
I’ve finished. In the full-length mirror I check that everything is in order,
adjusting my sleeves so that the perfect amount of cuff is showing. Pleased
that a long and stressful day does not appear to be evident in my carefully
constructed appearance.

Pausing at my
office door to lock up for the night, I take out my handkerchief and polish the
brass name plate that reads, ‘Maximus McQueen - Vice President.’ Satisfied that
it’s blemish free, I continue to the lift, folding the silk back into a perfect
square and slipping it into my pocket.

The burn of
my tender skin against my clothes reminds me why I missed lunch today. Was it
worth it? I always get that calm feeling after being with him but today it’s
missing. I don’t want to read too much into it, but if that has stopped working,
then I don’t know what I’ll do. Right now I feel that my own company is not
what I need. The lobby of the bank is deserted but for the night guard. I wish
him a goodnight as he lets me out of the main door.

 
I already dismissed my driver for the
night, so I’m on foot, but I don’t mind that. It’s good to clear my head. The
city is just coming to life as I turn in the direction of Soho. I already know
where I’m heading if truth be told, I spotted it from the car earlier and it
intrigued me. I just need to grab a bite first.

I select the
number at the top of my favourites list and the call is answered in one ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey
beautiful, have dinner with me?”

“Sure, what
are we having?”

I turn the
corner at the end of the block and stare down a street packed with cafes and
kiosks serving pretty much anything you can imagine. My eyes fall on one of my
favourites and I set off. “I’m thinking falafel.” I smile because I know what
she’s going to say.

“Well aren’t
you just the perfect little plastic human.”

“I don’t know
what you mean,” I reply, finding it impossible to keep the amusement out of my
voice.

“Falafel?
Hardly a convincing carnivore are you?”

“I had wild
boar for breakfast, gotta watch my cholesterol.”

Her laughter
is infectious, so I’m chuckling as I approach the counter and nod at the owner
who waves in greeting and starts preparing my order without discussion.

“Where have
you been today? I thought you’d call me at lunchtime.” Valentina asks.

“Sorry, I had
to take care of a couple of things.” I can actually hear her eyes roll.

“How is Dick?”
She spits her name for him. “Still a dick?”

“He was his
usual charming self,” I reply, handing over my money and mouthing ‘thank you’
as I take the wrap that is handed to me. The window of the tiny shop is pulled
back since the evening is warm and I sit at one of the stools facing out.

“Did you get
what you needed?” She sighs, her tone resigned.

“If you mean
did I get his rock hard, commanding cock pounding in my arse while I fought for
air, bent over his desk, naked, then yes, I’d say it was mission accomplished.”
I offer a confident smile to the well-dressed middle-aged couple that walk past
and throw me a shocked look. Then I take a bite of my dinner while she speaks.

“Ugh!” she
moans. “Why don’t you find a club somewhere? Why does it have to be him? He’s
old and well, a dick.” She doesn’t like how he’s into humiliation. She doesn’t
get it; how the words don’t really mean anything and it’s all part of an act.
She takes it way too seriously; in her mind he’s the big bad wolf.

“Because you
know it’s not what I need.” We’ve been over this. He might not be her choice,
but she does agree that our arrangement helps me.

“But the
question is Maxi, why do you need it? I thought you’d been good lately?”

I sigh, “I
don’t know, it just feels like I’m liable to snap at any moment.”

“That’s not
like you.”

“I
know,
I feel like I’m losing it. I made the new girl cry at
work today. It just feels like everything is a test of my control right now.”

“For how
long?”

“A week,
maybe two.”

“And this is
the first I’m hearing of it?”

“I thought—”

“You thought
you could deal with it and spare yourself my nagging?”

“Bingo.”

“Just for
that I’m going to nag you extra.”

“Yay.” I
grimace, shoving the last of my food in my mouth.

“So what’s
eating you?”

“I don’t know,”
I reply, licking my fingers and scooping up my wrappers to dump them in the bin
on my way out. “But it’s building faster than before. Things are getting on top
of me, suffocating me, and the next thing I know, it’s trying to control me. I
feel it bubble up inside me, this rage, this anger and it’s hard to get a lid
on it.” I wave goodbye to the owner and head out into the street.

“What do you
have to be angry about?”

I sigh, “Nothing.
That’s why I don’t get it.” I cross the road and head towards the nightlife.
There is silence as we both try and process this. Then I think of what I can
liken it to. “You know when you want someone and you can’t have them and all
you can think of is fucking them and how it will feel?”

“Er, no. No
mates remember?”

“Ugh, I
remember.” The pact we made a long time ago is one I know we will both stick to,
but we handle it very differently. For me that means I have who I want, when I
want, but never anything serious. For her that means practically being a nun.

“Well, let me
educate you, you’re horny all the time and nothing satisfies it, then you start
to be a moody bastard and the animal inside you is like a rabid caged beast, pacing
and clawing, until finally the new girl at work unwittingly creases some of
your paperwork and bam! Crying new girl. That’s how this feels.”

She giggles. “Are
you telling me you’re sexually frustrated?”

I scoff, “As
if! I’m just saying it’s
like
that. I’m
seeing plenty of action, don’t you worry.”

“If you’re so
satisfied, why see the dick?”

“Because
whatever this is, is not to do with how much action I’m seeing, it feels like
some outside force is causing it.”

“Weird. Are
you sure there’s not someone you want but you can’t have?”

“Valentina,
please! When have I ever failed to get who I want?”

“Alright,
calm down, Casanova. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.” She laughs.

“Bitch!” I
snap, affectionately.

“You know it.”
She purrs. She loves her reputation, but I know the real her and she is
anything but. So what if we’ve never met? We talk every day, several times a
day. There is nothing we keep from each other. I can say anything to her and I
don’t get judged. She is the only person who knows me. It’s been like this
since I first started work at the bank. We were both sixteen. I was given some
work over the summer to start my involvement in the business, mainly filing and
such. Her call came in to my father’s office and he was in a meeting. He has
two lines, one which his assistant handles and therefore would have taken a
message. The other is private, for us family to use, certain pack members and
he gives it as his direct line to one or two important clients.

Valentina Charm
was left alone when her parents died. Their estate was handled by the bank and
she had documents to sign and lots of other important stuff my father needed to
see her about. But she was resistant to come in and he was concerned for her
wellbeing, so he had given her his private line. I answered. I thought it would
be my mother. She tried to hang up, but I got her talking and we just clicked.
She called the next day and the next, and over the summer we became friends.
Handling her accounts was the first official job my dad gave me, he decided
since we had a rapport, maybe I could bring her in. It meant a lot to me, to be
trusted with something so big, but her years of friendship has meant more. And
one day, when she is ready, she will stop running and come to me.

“So what are
you doing tonight?”

“Heading out.”

“Where to?”

Looking up at
the facade of the bar I’m standing outside, I reply, “Just a bar. I’m trying
somewhere new.” There’s no need for her to know that I’ve been planning it all
day, since my driver cut down this side street to get me to a meeting on time.

“Ok well have
fun.”

“I will.”

“Oh and Maxi?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll kick
your arse if you hide shit from me again.”

I smile. “Come
find me Charm, my arse is waiting.”

“Someday,”
she teases.

A young guy
looks me up and down like maybe I’m lost.

“K, I’ll talk
to you tomorrow, I gotta go.”

“Love you.”

“Love you
too.” I reply, holding the young guy’s stare as I slide my phone back into my
pocket.

3

DEFINITELY NOT MY TYPE

He has blue
hair and the bridge of his nose pierced. I’m wearing a bespoke
suit,
I can’t really blame him for staring. I can hear music
coming from deep inside and I know he’s right, I don’t belong here, but the
urge to go in is strong. I might look lost, but I can hold my own and I’m not
intimidated. I flash him a grin and enter through the dark doorway.

I have to
step around several people to get through the door; the place is packed. I set
my shoulders back and walk with my usual level of confidence. However the
moment I enter, my beast comes hurtling to the surface. It’s only for a second,
but it almost knocks me off my feet. I grip the back of a chair to keep from
staggering back. The bar is crowded and I could do without a scene. I’m just
here to have a quiet drink and…okay, I don’t know why I’m here, but it feels
like there’s a reason.

 
My beast is raging, it takes everything I
have to still him, but I pull myself together quickly. Since I don’t know what
is causing it, I tighten up my projection. As far as anyone here can see, I’m
just a human. It’s a blessing having the ability to control that. There have to
be some blessings I guess, because the rest is just a curse.

Normally I
project wolf, since there are plenty of shifters around and it doesn’t raise
questions. I keep the rest locked away and stay firmly in control of what
others see of me. Humans have no clue what lives among them, but I can always
sense when there are others near. Most of the time it has no effect on me, but
this, what ever is here, just tore it right out of me in an instant. I’m not
used to that, my power is on a different level to most.

 
Although my instincts tell me to run from
whatever has caused this disturbance, I still feel that I need to be here and
now I really want to know why. So I pick my way through the crowd to the bar
and order a beer.

With
trembling hands I take the offered bottle and turn to scan the room. But I
catch nothing, just a bar full of humans having a good time. I take a deep
breath, the feeling having passed. Maybe it wasn’t something else that caused
it, maybe it’s just me finally cracking up like I always feared I would.

The pub is
lively but I hug the bar and drink my beer. The guy beside me steps back while
telling his friend some grossly over-animated tale and he knocks my drink out
of my hand. I grab for it fast and barely a drop is spilled as it lands on the
bar, but I have to bite back the urge to tear into him. This is what I mean,
where has my control gone? I’m the king of cool, calm and collected. I don’t
have a temper. I work too damn hard at it.

Even his, ‘sorry
mate,’ and his signal to the barman to bring me another bottle, doesn’t calm
me.
 

When I
finally get a grip, I take my eyes off the label on my bottle and look around.
The cute barman winks at me when he sees me watching him and I offer a
halfhearted smile. He’s tempting, but I’m far too distracted. In another room
at the end of the bar, a heavy base line is reverberating. The heavy rock music
is nothing I would listen to normally, but I feel a pull, so cautiously, I make
my way through.

I get the
same once over from the grungy looking girl on the door. Ignoring it, I pay the
few quid to get past and slip into the darkness of the small auditorium. The
stage is dimly bathed in blue light and the band is like shadows. I take a
position against the wall, just inside the door. In the darkness I can see a
reasonable crowd, appreciating the music. In front of me, a guy is moving to
the beat, his hands slung loosely around the waist of the girl in front of him,
chin resting on her shoulder.
 

I’ve come in
mid-song, but the drums thump a persistent, building rhythm, adding to the
mounting tension in my body. The guitars wait their turn. The singer is ready
for his entrance into the next wail and all the while the bass sounds from the
darkness like a lascivious stare I can’t break away from. It’s so all-consuming
I lose a sense of my surroundings and realise I can’t read the people in this
room. It isn’t helping my anxiety any, but it’s hypnotic.
 

I scan through
the darkness. My usual razor-sharp senses are clouded by the sound surrounding
me. It’s not even really the sound; it’s the feeling of the sound, as if it
owns me. Suddenly, the drummer trips the beat and the stage is soaked in light.
The band jumps to life enjoying their moment in the spotlight. All except for
the bassist, who as soon as the lights beam on, turns abruptly from view and
tries to disappear.

Why? And why
do I give a shit?

I can no
longer hear him clearly, yet I’m fascinated by him. He hooked me blindly with
just the sound of his fingers on the strings, I could feel it in my chest and
throat, throbbing. Then as he reluctantly turns back to face the room and
flicks his hair out of his face, I feel him further south.

Fuck.

He’s
beautiful. I can’t believe I think that, but he is. He’s not at all my type,
nothing about this place is. But fuck.

I wear a
tailored suit; he wears a pair of faded ripped jeans with chains hanging from
the belt loops.

I’m more
Frank Sinatra and an Eames lounge chair.

He’s all
bleeding eardrums and sticky floors.

Definitely
not my type.

His jet-black
hair sweeps almost completely over his face with his head bowed like it is.
Long at the front and shorter at the back, it’s endearing to watch him use it
as a shield from the audience. He clearly lacks the confidence of his bandmates
and shuns the spotlight. I can’t even tell if he is looking at the strings or
has his eyes closed to block out the room, until another flick of the hair
reveals one piercing green eye which pins me where I stand with an unwavering
stare. He can’t be staring at me, he probably can’t even see past the lights,
but it still holds me captive for a few more moments before he dips his head
and his hair falls back into place.

I caught the
glint of the small silver hoop in his nose, before it was hidden again, and the
snakebites in his lip are still visible, making me wonder what else he has
mutilated. His solid tattooed arms flex as his fingers work the strings of his
low-slung bass. His sleeves are torn off at the shoulders of the slim fitting
shirt.

Everything
about him is a frayed edge. I like pressed seams. So why am I hard as fuck?

They finish
their set and jump down from the stage, immediately swamped by groupies and his
bandmates lap it up. I watch, full of unexplained tension, the empty bottle in
my hand surely about to smash I’m gripping it so hard. He hangs back and after
a few curt nods, sidesteps the group and heads for the bar, breezing straight
past. A few steps past me he pauses and glances back at me with that one green
eye. My cock twitches. I want to get his intense gaze on that for a while.

He quickly
turns away and reaches the bar, where a beer is immediately handed to him. He
takes a long drink and then rests both forearms on the counter, studying the
bottle. I take the place beside him and try to concentrate on getting myself
another drink, but it’s hard with him in the vicinity. He smells like
cigarettes and clean salty sweat. I steal a glance and spot the sheen of sweat
on his neck, feeling an overwhelming urge to lick it.

“Want me to
do a twirl for you?” he says in a deep, gruff tone, not bothering to look up.

I smirk, he’s
petulant too and I could really have some fun with him.

He lifts his
head and turns that eye on me again, looking me up and down. A smile spreads on
his face and he turns to face me, leaving one elbow on the bar. His beer comes
up to his mouth while he continues to appraise me. He takes a slow drink and
then as he lowers the bottle, he lowers his eyes, noticing how even Saville Row’s
finest can’t mask a raging hard on. I’m not ashamed. He licks one of the silver
rings in his lip, then drags his teeth over it, sucking it in to his mouth. I’m
mesmerised. The small silver balls on the rings would feel incredible rubbing
my shaft as it disappears into his willing mouth. I want him on his knees.

“You lost?”
he asks.

“I’ll find my
way home.” I reply, watching him.

“Is that so?”
He pushes his elbow off the bar and straightens up to his full height. Eye to
eye with me, he runs his fingers through his hair and pushes it back clean off
his face. Damp with sweat, it stays there in an effortless sweep. It changes
everything. No longer hiding behind his hair, his confidence becomes more
obvious. I had him wrong; he’s not shy. He’s perfect, in the most imperfect
way.

I have to
have him.

“Yeah,” I
almost growl.

“T, you gonna
help pack up or what?” shouts the singer, or should I say, screamer, of the
band.

He rolls his
eyes.

“T?” I ask.

“Uh huh,” he
replies, giving nothing more.

“What does it
stand for?”

 
Swigging his beer in
annoyance,.
“Thor,” he replies, glancing beyond me, I guess to see if any of the band are
in earshot.

I laugh. “What
does it really stand for?”

“It really
stands for Thor,” he says flatly.

“Is that a
stage name?” I ask, still highly amused.

“No, it’s an ‘I
have weird parents’ name.”

I cannot take
a person called Thor seriously. “T it is then.”

“So what’s
your name city boy?”

The mirth
drains from my face. “Max.”

He raises his
brows slightly, sensing I’m being economical with the truth.

“Maximus,” I
correct.

“Weird
parents too?” he laughs. His face lights up and I feel my desire soar.

“Something
like that,” I smile.
You have no idea
,
I think to myself. Sometimes I wish I was just an uncomplicated human like him.

“T!” Someone
else shouts impatiently from behind me.

“Coming!” he
barks back.

“Well, it was
nice meeting you City Boy, I gotta pack up.”

He makes to
walk past me but I have to stop him. All I want is his number and then maybe
this whole weird evening will be worth it after all. I reach out and place my
hand on his tattooed arm.

A surge of
feeling rushes through me like a tidal wave. His feelings. His desires. We both
jump back like we got an electric shock. He looks as startled as I feel.

What the
fuck?

He stands
back, breathing heavy from the shock. Glancing around, he grabs my jacket and
drags me a few feet to a door labelled, Staff. Opening it he throws me into an
empty corridor, slamming me into the opposite wall and kicking the door shut.

“What the
fuck did you do?” he snarls.

“Me?” I snap.
“What the fuck did YOU do to ME?”
RUN!
My
head is screaming. But all I can think is what I felt from him. His emotions,
his desire. He wants to fuck me. I felt it. It was so clear and so hot, that
even my tenuous grip on my precious control isn’t enough to convince me that I
shouldn’t be around this much uncertainty.

“You got in
my head,” he growls, his forearm pressing into my chest, holding me in place.

“You got in
mine.” I hiss. “No one gets in my head.” Panic starts to set in. I feel the
control slipping. Breathing hard we glare at each other, eye to eye.

“What are
you?” he whispers, staring at me in the dim light of the corridor.

“I’m not
something you can understand,” I reply, feeling the weight of his arm as my
chest rises and falls rapidly. I’m something I can barely understand.

“Try me.”

But I can’t
speak. I would’t even know how to
explain..

“It was you,”
he accuses.

“What was me?”

“Out there,
on stage, when I was playing. I felt you. Fucked me up for a second.”

“I felt it
too.” I straighten up and push him away, my heart still hammering hard. “Which
begs the question,” I move towards him. “What.” I jab my finger into his chest.
“Are.” I take a step forward with another jab, pushing him back. “You?” I jab
one last time so his back hits the opposite wall.

He reaches
out and touches my face. The rush happens again and I pull back, but he moves
forward until I again am backed up to the wall and resumes contact.

It’s not just
desires I feel, it’s everything. Desire was just the prevailing emotion. I feel
all of him. And it’s not terrifying, until, that is, I realise he can probably
feel all of me.

 
“Stop.” I beg, pushing his hand off me.

I can’t have
him seeing what I am. I’ve worked too hard to be
who
I am to have that ruin me now.

I push him
away and yank open the door, storming back past the bar without looking back. I
hear him yell for me to wait and I hear his bandmates calling him back, but I
don’t stop. Not until I’m free of that feeling, free of that place and running.
And I keep running until I reach my building.