Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(80)

I stare at my transformation. The idea is seductive and even I cannot help but fall for the pure poetry of ‘the girl with the flower’ line, but… ‘Look, Terry, I don’t want to insult you or anything, but don’t you think it’s all a bit much? I look like a transvestite.’

Terry covers her mouth and peals of laughter escape from between her fingers. ‘Don’t worry. The lights on stage are very bright and afterwards it is very dim in the shadows. You will be the perfect fantasy in both types of lighting,’ she says and switches off the bright lights that surround the mirror. And suddenly in the dim there is this fantasy creature. I stare at her curiously almost in disbelief. Is that really me? Some of the glitter has fallen from my sweeping lashes onto my cheeks and they sparkle like magic dust.

‘See?’ she says gleefully.

‘Yeah, I get it now,’ I agree with a smile.

She switches the lights back on.

As she is arranging my hair around my shoulders Donna comes in after knocking softly. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and she has the look of a harried housewife but her voice is low and melodious.

‘Well, dear. What kind of clothes would you like to wear? I could get you a nice long gown with a Mandarin neckline going. Some of the other girls wear it and it works very well if you have the slit going right up to the crotch.’

I think of my grandmother’s beautiful silk cheongsams with their demure side slits and I suddenly miss her so much I lose the ability to speak. I just nod.

‘What color?’

‘Whatever you think is best.’

‘Either blue to match your eyes or deep red to catch attention.’

‘Deep red then.’



In full fantasy mode I find my way to the changing rooms. It feels as if I have accidentally stepped backstage during a Miss World contest. Unbelievably beautiful girls of every race speaking a cacophony of languages are in various stages of undress. In all the madness of shaving creams, tampons, sequined G-strings and feather boas I spot the black girl who became geometric patterns in the dark.

I experience an instant sense of solidarity with her. There is something about her I really like. Even at our audition I recognized her as one of those straight people. No bullshit. What you see is what you get. I go up to her. She is sitting in front of a mirror applying her make-up.

‘Hey, remember me?’

She regards me in the mirror with cool eyes. ‘Sure I do. How are the knees?’

‘Fine. I’m Jewel by the way. What’s your name?’

She carefully glues on a strip of false eyelashes and says, ‘Melanie.’

‘In ancient Greek that means “the black girl”.’

She stares at me in the mirror, one eye extravagantly lashed, the other oddly bare. The coolness is gone. She is as impressed as I had wanted her to be. ‘Where did you learn that?’

I’m not about to tell her that. ‘I was interested in Greek mythology when I was younger.’

‘And then you became a stripper.’ Her voice is challenging.


‘Yeah. Shit happens.’

‘Hmmm…’

‘Look, I’m about to be kicked out of my flat share. Do you know anywhere I can live? Even temporarily?’

She shakes her head. ‘No.’

‘OK. I’m sure I’ll find something,’ I say with a shrug and turn away.

As I am walking away she says, ‘My flat mate is moving out in two weeks. If you want you can kip on the couch until she goes. Just contribute toward bills for the moment.’

I smile. Much better than anything I could have expected. I turn back slowly. ‘That would be fantastic. Thank you, Melanie.’

‘Two hundred pounds a week plus bills after she goes.’

‘Sounds perfect.’





THREE


Jake

The flower behind her ear is a surprise. A large plastic orchid. It is at once bold and innocent. Something a child or an island girl would do. She is wearing a sleeveless red dress with a low cut V-neck and no bra. My eyes flow to the way the material cups her supple breasts. I itch to shape them with my hands, feel their weight, squeeze them, play with them, drag my tongue wildly over the peaks…. Bite them.

Lust trembles in my roaring blood as my cock thickens and lengthens with unsatisfied desire. Damn! I want to f*ck her like I have wanted to f*ck no other. From the moment our eyes clashed I have been consumed by a kind of madness. I keep thinking of my fingers clenched in her hair, tonguing that smooth flat belly, the fragrant creases between her thighs, and wrapping my lips around her secret flesh. Feeling her buck and come in my mouth.

It is sheer craziness.

Even now, I realize I am stalking her. Watching from the shadows as if I am some carnivore after prey, but I can’t seem to stop. The urge to possess her is stronger, miles stronger than my desire for the uncomplicated life of making loads of money and ending my nights between the legs of women I don’t own. I used to think life didn’t get sweeter than that.

I drain the last of my whiskey, the liquid cool and scratchy in my throat.

With her it is different. I don’t want to have sly sex with her. I want to mate with her. I want to wrestle her to the ground and take her with relentless force, so hard that she retaliates with claws ripping into my back. I want to force open her thighs and take her whether she wants it or not.