The Deep End. AM Hartnett

a little underdressed. Or maybe it’s overdressed.’

      She gestured down her body with the hand that held her wine glass. This was not something he provided. The satiny red bustier, mesh panties and black stockings were from her closet. The matching red pumps were an impulse buy. Judging by the growl that came through the static when she slipped out of her raincoat earlier, Taureau approved.

      A low laugh from the computer speakers, and she had to bite back the sudden burst of annoyance that went through her.

      She didn’t know what his voice sounded like, not really. With the majority of people she came in contact with in this job, she did so via phone and email. It always gave her a turn when she finally came face to face with someone. The voice on the phone was never the same as the live one, just as a photograph could never truly capture how beautiful or ugly a person was.

      The volatile feeling in the back of her throat went down hard, and she chased it with the wine.

      That almost-smile appeared on the screen to accompany his laughter. ‘Actually, I was thinking I could send you on a little field trip.’

      Instantly intrigued, Grace leaned forward.

      ‘Define field trip.’

      A thrill went through her at the sight of his tongue touching the corner of his mouth. It was a quirk she was getting used to, revealing itself when he hit upon some dirty little task for her to complete. It was almost as good as those filthy phrases he dropped around her like bombs once she gave himself over to his demands.

      ‘A little drive through downtown. That’s all I’ll give you right now.’

      ‘You’re a cruel master, Jacques.’

      ‘That’s an interesting way of putting things.’

      Grace found no words, and Taureau let his response hang there for her to chew on. She wondered what he was really like in the bedroom. His dominant streak was clear, but did he have rules he expected his lovers to adhere to, or would he simply use his body and his strength to push her around?

      Though her mantra these days seemed to be ‘Yes, Mr Taureau’, she wasn’t sure how open she’d be to a demand to submit to any sort of ritual.

      She set the glass aside and eased herself back onto her hands. Taureau tilted his head just slightly, enough for her to see the pucker on his mouth as she crossed one leg over the other.

      ‘You really like this little ensemble, don’t you?’ she said.

      ‘Very much.’

      ‘What is it about this that you like?’

      ‘Every inch, but since you’re clearly fishing I’ll indulge you.’

      That struck her as funny. She tipped her head back as she laughed, and when there was only a little left to fizzle out she swallowed it and tried for a serious face. ‘Please, yes, indulge me.’

      ‘Your shoes,’ he said.

      Grace stretched her foot out. ‘They are a little much, aren’t they?’

      ‘They’re perfect. I don’t care for those ones you wear with the straps across the foot, and the red really stands out.’ He leaned to the side, resting his chin on the edge of his chair. ‘I can image how they’d look if I had your legs draped over my shoulder, maybe one hanging off one foot. I could make a game of it – see how much I can make you squirm before the shoe drops.’

      A sprite of mischief danced through her, tweaking a smile on her lips. ‘You know, it’s always about my weaknesses, what you could do to me. I wonder about your weaknesses and what I could do to you.’

      ‘Hold your horses, I’m getting there. Stand up for me.’

      Though she rolled her eyes, her grin widened as she hopped off the edge of the table. Her laughter returned as he raised his hand and twirled his finger around, and she threw out her hands as she spun.

      ‘Stop. There. That’s my weakness.’

      Grace placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder at the screen. ‘My ass?’

      ‘I can see through those panties,’ he went on. ‘I like that they cover you completely, but I can slip my hand inside and play with you, and you can watch my fingers moving.’

      ‘Do you want to watch my fingers now?’ she asked, plucking the lace ruffle at her hip bones.

      ‘No. You like hearing me talk, so I’m going to give you what you want.’

      A shiver ran through her, but she didn’t bother to suppress it. ‘Go on, then.’

      ‘Do women know how inviting garters are?’ He spoke as though to himself. ‘They set off the same compulsion one gets when someone places a wrapped parcel in front of them at Christmas. It would be so easy to tug and tear, but isn’t it better to savour the unwrapping? Try to get those flimsy little panties over those bits of metal without snagging them, playing with the garters and watching your face when I give them a little snap.’

      She ran her hand down and over, following the curve of her ass, and slipped her fingers under the garter. Though tempted to do just what he had described and let it snap back against her skin, she simply gave it a tug.

      ‘Stockings worn all on their own are always a nice touch,’ he went on. ‘Isn’t it funny how those things that are supposed to be practical make a man feel like an animal? I want to see you in nothing else when I have you in bed.’

      Grace leaned back against the table and held on, desperate to do something far more wicked with her fingers than press them against the surface. ‘I want … I want … always what you want …’

      ‘What you want,’ he said with a sharp bite. ‘Not just me, you want it too. I know you. I’ve watched you. You perform, and what you wear, like this, turns you on as much as dirty talk. Try and deny that you wouldn’t want to be spread out, hands holding the flushed insides of your thighs apart. Tell me that seeing the contrast of the black stockings framing your pussy while you’re being fucked doesn’t turn you into a firecracker.’

      Keeping her gaze low, she pressed her tongue to her upper lip and enjoyed the heat that filled every part of her. Once the fluttering in her head abated and the fever in her blood became a simmer, Grace was left with the suggestion perched on the end of her tongue.

      She had no choice but to let it leap. Even though her throat burned with the need to swallow it back, she was powerless, and so she said, ‘We don’t have to talk about it any longer, you know. If that’s what you want, you can have it.’

      For a few moments there was nothing left but her limbs taut with nervousness as she stared at the floor and the slight crackle coming from the computer speakers. Regret nipped her, but she bullied that thing with the sharp teeth back into whatever fathomless void it had come from.

      It had been said, and it needed to be said, even if it was a mistake.

      What came next was a guttural sound: Taureau clearing his throat, followed by his quiet words.

      ‘If you’re done with your wine, I think it’s about time to go.’

      The electricity leapt from her body and left her feeling small and cold. She pressed her lips together as her regret squirmed, victorious, and she pushed away from the table.

      ‘Shall I call a cab?’ she asked, reaching for the coat she had tossed over a chair in her eagerness to show off her lingerie.

      ‘Use the service, but get the phone and the headset first.’

      She didn’t say anything to him as she disconnected the computer and turned off the projector. Only after she had washed the glass in Caroway’s sink and tucked the bottle in his credenza did Taureau call her back, this time on the phone.

      She quickly tucked the headset into her ear and answered