Power Games

‘You make me so hot,’ she moaned. ‘Where’d you learn how to do this stuff?’

As if to reinforce the point, Noah drew out, hovering his dick millimetres from Mrs Mason’s sweet spot. She groaned, thrashing her head from side to side.

‘Now! Take me now!’

He rested his thumb on her swollen clitoris, wondering when Mr Mason with his bald head and stuffy suits and perspiring brow had last done this, and began to tease, dipping his thumb inside her, drawing out her wetness.

‘Noah! Please! Take me!’ She was delirious, her hands reaching up to maul his chest before sliding down to clasp his proud, rock-solid erection. Noah rode through her fingers, his balls ready to burst. Mrs Mason’s pussy was pink and glistening, her dark bush trimmed in anticipation of their weekly meetings.

Noah Lawson looked older than sixteen. Mrs Mason would have a heart attack if she knew. Truth was, he had bedded dozens of women and none of them had a clue. He had lost his virginity to a friend’s older sister when he was twelve, a quick and strange fumble in the back seat of a vintage Cadillac, where he had panicked and pulled out and spunked all over her hand. He had come a long way since then.

‘You asked for it,’ he breathed, and in a single stroke he plunged into her, collapsing onto her tits. Mrs Mason was yelping, rocking so hard beneath him that he had to grab her wrists to hold her down and she was pulsing and writhing and biting his neck and only then did he let himself come, a series of white-hot electric spasms.

Noah rolled off, panting hard, his bronzed stomach rising and falling. He gazed up at the whirring ceiling fan. Mr Mason would be back soon.

‘I gotta split.’

‘Don’t—’ She sat up, starry-eyed. ‘When can I see you again?’

‘Soon.’

‘When?’

‘Keep this place dirty.’ He grinned. ‘Gives me more to do.’

As he exited the Masons’ estate, summer sun shining on his back, it was panning out like any ordinary Friday: a couple hours at the Masons’ and then on to Hank’s Hardware for therest of the day. Noah had quit school the year before—more accurately, he’d been expelled—and there was no one at home who gave enough of a shit to place him elsewhere: his mom was a waster and his dad had walked out on them years ago. Life was down to him. There was only one way to escape this neighbourhood and that was with a shedload of cash in his back pocket.

Soon as he could, he was getting as far from this town as possible.

He grabbed a hot dog, ravenous after the morning’s exertions. Mrs Mason had slipped him an extra fifty bucks, which he could have taken offence at but didn’t. There was enough money floating about this joint and since he hadn’t seen a dime of it since the day he was born, it was high time he cut a piece. The Lawsons were the embarrassment of Bourton. Everyone knew they had nothing. Everyone knew his mom was a bum and his dad had drunk himself to death in a ditch somewhere.

Everyone knew Noah had gone the way they’d expected him to, bailing on school and drifting the streets: a loser, a troublemaker, a failure, a lost cause …

And yeah, maybe they were right. Maybe all he’d end up doing with his life was fucking married women in their pool houses while their husbands went out to work. He’d be hauling crates for Hank the rest of his days, earning six dollars an hour and trying to remember the name of the last girl he’d slept with.

Noah lost his appetite for the hot dog and tossed it in the trash.

A van pulled up outside Hank’s and began unloading a delivery. Noah grabbed a couple of crates and headed through the door, colliding almost instantly with the most incredible-looking girl he had ever seen in his life.

The crates went smashing to the floor.

‘I’m sorry!’ The girl dropped to her knees, attempting to gather the mess.

‘Don’t,’ he knelt, ‘it’s glass.’

‘Ow!’

A prickle of blood flowered on her index finger. She sucked it.

For the first time in all his sixteen years, Noah Lawson was tongue-tied. The girl looked up at him, her eyes a deeper shade of green than he had known existed. Her skin was pale except for a flash of colour at the cheekbones.

‘I’m Noah,’ he blurted.

She took the finger from her mouth and inspected it. ‘It’s just a graze.’

‘It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

I was looking at you, he thought. Why haven’t I been looking at you for every second of every minute of every hour of my life?

‘Angela,’ she said, with a tentative smile. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Me too.’

She stood. He joined her. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

‘Can I walk you home?’ he asked.

‘Aren’t you meant to be working?’

‘I can come back.’ He didn’t care. ‘Let me.’

That shy smile again. ‘OK.’

The exit chimed just as Hank, the store’s owner, came through.

‘What the hell’s just happened out here—?’

But the door was already swinging shut behind them.

Noah Lawson did walk Angela home, that day and thewhole summer after. He could have walked her to the ends of the earth and back, and still never tired. He knew from that very first day that he would never be able to share her with anyone.

11 (#ulink_3c1a68ce-f821-552b-99d2-6bc1cff8fa3f)

London

It was Saturday night and Kevin Chase was performing live on The Craig Winston Show. He hated gigging in tight studio spaces, so close to the primly seated front row it felt as if he was screaming the lyrics in their faces. It reminded him of his audition with Cut N Dry: the panel of execs, Sketch looking on approvingly as he had sang and danced like a court buffoon until every muscle in his body hurt. It had gone to the wire between him and some stammering kid whose name he couldn’t remember.

The choice, Sketch told him later, had been easy.

Tonight marked the unveiling of his new single, the coming-of-age ‘Wise Up’. Recently commissioned by Cut N Dry in light of Kevin’s refusal to continue playing the pretty-boy-perfect role, it was about crossing the frontier into adulthood—or at least that was how Sketch had sold it. It wasn’t quite as sexy and edgy as Kevin had hoped for, but he supposed it was a start. At least it wasn’t about cuddly fucking toys.

‘You say you wanna feel me, girl this is the real me, come right here and deal me, cos girl I wanna call ya, I swear I will enthral ya, baby take it all yeah …’

The audience remained on their fat asses as Kevin charged the small stage, working his dance routines, the flaps of his knee-length Cavalli coat flying out behind him. A handful of Little Chasers had been admitted which prevented the whole thing becoming totally cringe-worthy, like he was an upstart kid flaunting his wares at a school assembly, and squealed their approval as he shuffled to the beat.

‘I swear girl you’re so beautiful, you know I think you’re beautiful …’

At this the Little Chasers squealed some more, and Kevin noticed through the blaring lights that one of them was at least his age, if not a couple years older. That was a novelty. She was pretty, too, with a thick dark fringe and sparkling eyes.