Me Too Avenger by Eve Christie

Author:Eve Christie [Christie, Eve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Peter Moore parked in the street outside his ‘home away from home’.

The apartment building was an understated 1930s design; light grey varnished stone, white borders around its windows. At night, it looked like a nine-storey ocean liner moored at the side of the road.

The lobby was expansive and well lit; the porter’s station empty. “The porter's gone home?” enquired Harley, a nervous edge to her voice that irritated her.

“Mr Paynter? He’s worked here for decades. He’s about 112. Clocks off at 5. Lazy sod. Still, the fewer witnesses the better.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Harley, squeezing his arm, relaxing her shoulders.

They walked up three carpeted stairs and approached an old-fashioned cage-lift. Peter Moore opened the lift’s door and stood aside, “After you,” he said. They entered the small lift and he slid the door closed behind them with a fate-sealing CRASH.

The lift strained to pull them upward, its old pulleys and cables creaking and knocking, a stuttering bulb announced the passing floors in green neon.

The corridor was narrow. The light provided by brass conch-shells that spanned its length, throwing halos of orange onto the walls.

Room 407 was announced on a brass plaque in the centre of the door. Harley heard voices from the apartment directly across the hall. A couple were having a conversation just inside the door. “See you in a bit,” said a man’s voice. Peter Moore flicked through a number of keys on a keychain and singled out the correct key. He unlocked the door. Harley placed a palm on his back and hurried him through the door. The door closed as the guy opposite emerged into the hall.

“You’re keen …” said Peter, pulling her close and trying to stick his tongue in her mouth. Harley stepped back and slapped him, hard. Peter Moore looked like a little boy who’d been punished for something he hadn’t done.

“You’ve been naughty. And naughty daddies should be punished. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes …” he said, wiping some spittle from his chin.

Harley hadn’t anticipated revulsion on this scale. She felt like an arachnophobe being pursued by a horny tarantula. She unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops on his trousers. Peter Moore cupped her face in his hands and lowered his gaping mouth towards hers. Harley grabbed the top of his trousers and turned her head and dragged him into the apartment. “Now, which one of these doors leads to the bathroom?” she said, reaching for a brass handle. Inside, she discovered a small bedroom containing a single bed.

“The bathroom’s the next door down,” said Peter, helpfully.

“So it is …” Harley made for the large pewter taps and turned them on, full pelt. Peter sniffed his armpits. “Is there a problem, my sweet?”

“Ever since we met, I’ve had this fantasy … it involves our bodies all wet and slippery.” She approached him and threw her arms around his neck and licked his ear. He groaned.

“You promised me champagne, daddy …”

“It’s in the kitchen, in the fridge,” he said, attempting to pin down her evasive mouth with his rigid tongue.

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