Knees bent and legs wide open, Daphne Blake stared up at the white spotlights on the ceiling of VELMA’S BEAUTY SALON. The radio in the corner played an unsettling rock song but it had been turned down low enough to seem almost satirical.

“Ready?” Velma asked.

Daphne squirmed. “No!”

She closed her eyes tight and sucked in a breath as the dark-haired beautician deftly pulled off the first wax strip.

“Fuck!” Daphne gasped, biting down on her hand. “Now I remember why I don’t fucking do this!”

Velma rolled her eyes, moving efficiently to limit hysterics.

“So why’re you here anyway?” she probed. “New man?”

Daphne huffed out a breath as another length of hair was mercilessly yanked from her protesting snatch.

“Ow! Jeez!” She glared at the ceiling. “And no. No-one.”

Velma shook her head.

“I don’t buy it. Someone you’ve got an eye on at least?” She sounded vaguely smug. “I heard there’s a new cop at the station.”

“Ugh,” Daphne acted disinterested. “Yeah. You know him. Remember Fred Jones? We hung out with him at high school. Then he fucked off to NYC.”

“Heard he’s become something of a playyy-er,” Velma sang.

Daphne propped herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowed.

“V, you seem to ‘hear’ a lot of things.”

Her friend raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Look, when you wax a woman’s lady parts, you don’t get much closer to her. I hear everything that goes on in this city. Now lie down,” She gestured impatiently. “This one’s gonna hurt.”

Daphne obediently lay back.

“Hurt? What, you mean more than the other – what the FUCK?” Her fists clenched. “My GOD!”

“Stop being such a pussy.” Velma laughed. “And yes, that’s my catchphrase.”

“You’re heartless,” Daphne gasped, eyes watering. “Do I even have any skin left!?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. Fred will be impressed.”

Daphne ignored her but her heart quickened a little at the thought of their old school friend. The newest cop at the precinct had transferred from the NYPD and even though Daphne had no intentions of being anything less than professional around him, she couldn’t deny that his attractiveness disarmed her. Broad shouldered and with dark blonde hair, Fred had already dated half a dozen co-workers and the stories flowing around the station filled her with both want and anger.

He just kept fucking her, like all night. She called in sick the next day!

He came in her ass and he didn’t even kiss her!

He has a thing for spanking.

He made her come like six times!

It seemed implausible. Fred, in his pressed uniform, always punctual, always thorough with his work. He’d been such a perfect student at school. Good grades. Polite. Daphne couldn’t help eyeing him and wondering. Could he really have changed so drastically? Maybe it was all lies. Sometimes he’d catch her looking. He’d smile. A smile which seemed to know too much.

Late at night, Daphne would find her mind wandering, going places it shouldn’t. Thinking of his double-edged smile. Imagining him naked. Her fingers would walk down her flat stomach and between her legs. She always found herself planning to do something about the soft hair down there. And now she had. So in a circular way, Velma was right. Of course she was right. She was always right.

We should set up a beauty parlour, she’d said when they were eighteen. Sure we’d be good cops but crime doesn’t pay, Daph. People are plastic now. We’ll be driving Ferraris by the time we hit thirty.

Daphne had declined even though of the two, she’d always been the one who took more pride in her appearance. Nobody had thought that Velma, with her chestnut bob and glasses, would make it in the beauty world. But she had. Smart and business-minded, she owned her own gleaming salon slap-bang in the middle of the busiest city street. And at twenty-five, she wore Gucci jeans and drove a red Porsche. Outside, Daphne’s dirty grey Prius was parked humbly next to it, like a plain cupcake beside an extravagant wedding cake.

“Stop thinking of Fred,” Velma cut into her thoughts. She set a pair of tweezers down and busied herself with a bottle of lotion. “This is not the place, Daph.”

“What’re you on about?”

“Honey. Don’t make me embarrass you. Anyway, you’re done.”

Daphne sat up and looked down at her bare snatch. Worth it, she decided masochistically.

“So you’re a convert?” Velma asked seeing her smile. “Shall I book you in? Every six weeks, say?”

“Yeah,” Daphne took the proffered Kleenex and dried her eyes. “What the hell.”

“It’s definitely worth it,” Velma assured, efficiently tidying up. “Besides, won’t be long before you find out for yourself. Fred always had the hots for you. I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t staring at your ass.” She hoisted herself gleefully up onto the polished countertop and smiled. “Say hi to him for me, huh?”

“Ugh.” Daphne swung her legs off the bed and pulled on her underwear. “I will. If I see him.”

***

She saw him. She saw him every day. She also heard stories about him at the water cooler.

“Yeah, Sally says he’s like massive. Like, she could hardly even suck him off. Like it’s huge!”

“Apparently, she thought it’d be like a date. Like just a drink. Anyway, he walks her home and next thing, his tongue is down her throat. But it’s not like she didn’t want it. She was buzzing! I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“There’s meant to be a rule about dating co-workers but nobody even cares. I mean, he’s good at his job. No drama. One night stands. No strings. Doesn’t matter really.”

Daphne pretended not to listen. She glanced through the window of Fred’s office as she passed by. He looked right at her and smiled. She didn’t smile back. She went back to her desk and tried to focus on work. On phoning witnesses. On chasing up Forensics. On redirecting lawyer calls. On staring at the computer screen until lines of data blurred into one another.

“Hey, Daphne.” His shadow fell over her desk as afternoon wore into evening. It was the first time they’d officially spoken since he’d arrived.

Daphne looked up.

“Fred!” She tried to smile. “How was New York?”

“Dirty,” he said it innocently enough. “How’re you anyway?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

His eyes studied her.

“I haven’t seen you for too long, Daph. We should get a drink sometime,” he suggested. “Catch up, y’know?”

Daphne regarded him impassively. Steel blue eyes. In his dark uniform, he looked dangerously attractive.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m very busy.”

***

Regret plagued her for weeks after. Almost every night, she found her hand between her legs as she fantasied about him. It would have been so easy. One fuck. She could’ve seen what all the hype was about. She could have felt the real thing rather than being left to rely on unsubstantial dreams.

But then again, maybe he’d genuinely just wanted to catch up. The thought was almost humiliating, but they were old friends after all. Perhaps his intentions were wholly innocent. She couldn’t decide if that would make the offer better or worse.

Everything felt confusing. She found herself checking her makeup more often. Wearing her hair differently. Eyeing Fred’s conquests and deliberating their attractiveness. Stupid things. And she did it almost unconsciously.

Meanwhile, Fred acted like an archetypal gentleman. He knew how to get his way through the departments and he helped her out with delays; fast-tracking cases and tests. He had such an easy way with people. Something hypnotically friendly which obliged them to do as he asked. A charmer.

He could have been a salesman, a politician, a fucking president, Daphne thought, as she watched him work. So easy. So charismatic. And the looks were only a bonus. It felt indecent to stare but she couldn’t help herself. The dark blue shirt with half sleeves. The strong forearms. That goddamn smile. He was way too much.

Two weeks after the first offer, he tried her again.

“We can go for coffee if you’d prefer,” he said, leaning against the wall across from her desk.

“I don’t know,” she stalled, pretending to flick through paperwork. “Really, Fred. I don’t know.”

He didn’t smile.

He just watched her.

Patient and confident.

***

Eventually, she caved. Took him up on his offer of platonic coffee on a Saturday evening. She told herself it was absolutely not a date and then spent two hours getting ready. Hair up? Or hair down? Dress? Or jeans? Black dress? Or patterned dress? Lipstick? Or natural? Extended eyeliner flick? By the time she’d finished, she didn’t dare look in the mirror for fear she’d start over.

The coffee itself was unremarkable but strong enough to keep her alert. She felt conscious of everything. Fred looked so different in his t-shirt and jeans and she felt overdressed; wished she’d opted for her own jeans instead of the sleeveless black dress. He kept looking at her neckline, even though it was conservatively high. He just kept looking at it. She would’ve given anything to know what he was thinking.

They talked about work. About school. About life. About Velma and their other old friends. Empty conversations, at least to Daphne. Coffee. More coffee. His hair. His eyes. His hand curled around the coffee cup. Everyone else was living their own lives. Teenage girls gossiping and bitching. An elderly couple not speaking but somehow so obviously comfortable. The endless chirpiness of the baristas and waitresses. People going by on the street outside, laughing and fighting, together and alone, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance like they were numbly following a dream.

And all Daphne could think of was sex. About what was under Fred’s clothes. About him shirtless and jeans-less. About the way he might touch her. If he even wanted to touch her. The words from his mouth were engaging but so innocent. So friendly and platonic.

He paid the bill. She protested. He laughed. Standard procedure. Then he walked her home. It wasn’t very far, but far enough for a lilting sunset to become a proper sunset.

“So,” he said, unexpectedly following her through the doors of her building. “You gonna invite me in?”

The simmering tension in Daphne’s stomach began bubbling with alarming ferocity.

“Invite you in?” She tried to laugh. “Why would I do that?”

They walked up the stairs together, maybe a foot apart. It occurred to her that they’d barely even touched each other since his return. They hadn’t even shaken hands.

“Why?” Fred sounded undeterred. “Post date antics. What else?”

Daphne looked at him. There didn’t seem to be enough flights of stairs to her floor.

“Fred, we’re friends. This wasn’t like a date. I know what you’re like, okay? And that’s not me. I’m not that kind of girl.”

They’d reached her floor. She unlocked the door to her apartment.

“You wouldn’t have said yes if you didn’t want it.” Fred said.

Daphne set down her purse. Her keys. Her jacket. Kicked off her heels.

“I said yes to coffee.”

Fred laughed. He leaned against the doorframe.

“You knew what it meant,” he said.

He seemed so out of place in the doorway of her apartment. Everything inside was neat and orderly. It’d been a Saturday, after all. She’d spend the morning dusting and vacuuming and the afternoon doing laundry. Cleaning up after the hectic week.

“You wanna know a secret, Daphne?”

She looked up at him warily and he smiled.

“I only came back to this city for you. Ever since we were kids, I just – I knew there was something about you.”

Daphne shook her head.

“You were a different person back then.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe. But pieces stick around inside. You were always such a princess. So – untouchable.”

She scoffed.

“Stop. You’ve fucked a dozen women since you got here.”

Part of her hoped he’d deny it and tell her she’d got it wrong, but he didn’t. He just shrugged.

“True. But none of them meant very much. You’re so fucking pretty. So good, you know? You just get me so – so hard, Daph.”

His voice dropped low. “You want me to be bad to you? Be real nasty?”

Daphne couldn’t look at him.

“I mean as you said, you know what I’m like,” he continued. “But you still went out with me. And you walk around giving me those eyes all day, every day. I – what did you expect, princess? For me to jack off and be satisfied? It’s really not that easy.”

Daphne swallowed. Everything inside felt hot and tight. She knew her lace panties were soaked through. He hadn’t even touched her yet. But there was something about him.

“It’s so difficult for you isn’t it, princess?” he murmured. “To admit it.”

“Look, I-”

“I’ll give you a word,” he interrupted. “You say it, I walk away. That’s easier for you, right? You can still keep saying no even though you don’t mean it.”

Daphne stared at him incredulously.

“I don’t know why you think you can just-”

“Daphne.”

She blinked.

“What?”

He smiled.

“That’s the safe word. Your name. Daphne. Got it?”

She exhaled. Looked past him to the door of the apartment across the hall.

“Fred, you’re being ridiculous.”

“And Fred will be mine,” he said, undeterred. “Just in case. Some girls can get carried away.”

“Fred, we’re not going to – I won’t – this isn’t…”

His smile was carnivorous.

“You can’t even say it? What, princess? Fuck? Have sex?” He smirked. “Make love?”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked finally.

“Drop the act, Daphne. You’re so fucking turned on right now.”

His hand came out unexpectedly, caught the hem of her dress and slipped underneath, brazenly curling around her snatch. Daphne jumped away.

“What the fuck, Fred!?”

He stepped inside her apartment and shut the door.

“You know how to stop this. One word.”

His hand caught her ponytail, and he tugged her head back so he could kiss her. His mouth felt confident. It simply felt confident; like it knew what to do and was certain it wouldn’t be rejected. And she didn’t reject it. It felt good to be kissed, and to be kissed so hard, like he really wanted her. His hands dropped to her waist and he pushed her against the door, tugging up the skirt of her soft dress.

Now would be a good time to stop, she thought hazily but by the time the thought had fully formed, his hand had pushed between her legs and began to touch her so knowingly that she bit down hard on his lip.

He laughed against her mouth, his tongue pushing in and flickering against hers. His fingers went beneath the lace, pressed hard to her smooth skin before one pushed inside her.

Fred’s mouth relented a little, though his lips still brushed hers as he spoke.

“You are so fucking tight. My god!”

He caught her bare arm and spun her around, pulling her dress up around her waist. Then, without any warning, he slapped her ass. It caught her so off guard that she didn’t even protest; simply uttered a startled "oh." He did it again, pushed down on the small of her back so she bent a little and then spanked her harder.

“Can you imagine if your ass got red enough to match your hair?” his voice teased. “Wouldn’t that look so pretty?”

Daphne’s hands were pressed hard against the door. She turned to look at him.

“Fred – this is ridic -”

He spanked her again, leaving her breathless. At first it hadn’t really hurt; had been more of a warm, radiating heat but as he got into it, she felt the burn and then the sting. Even as she winced, he didn’t let up. Nobody had ever treated her so roughly before and yet she felt wetter than ever. Angry but hungry. It didn’t make any sense. He hit her in the same spot, five times over and then squeezed her burning ass.

“You know how many times I’ve looked at your ass?” he growled. “Just looked? And had to tell myself looking was all I’d ever get?”

His finger went to her tailbone, trailed down over her asshole. She clenched instinctively. He held it there a second, almost thoughtfully and then dragged it down to her snatch.

“Fuck, you’re dripping!” He let out a low whistle. “You love this!”

Daphne opened her mouth to protest but he spanked her again, leaving words falling over each other in her mind. Again. Again. She pressed her forehead against the cool wooden door, eyes gazing blurrily at the white gloss paint. Would she even be able to sit down at work? If it wasn’t for the stinging pain, she felt she could have been dreaming. Things like this didn’t happen to her. This was Fred. Fred Jones! The same hand that had held countless doors open for her was now raining down blows on her ass. It was surreal.

He let up eventually. Spun her around and kissed her so hard she felt like she might suffocate. His hands grabbed her ass, pulling her body tight to his. She squirmed at the clutching pressure of his fingers but undeterred he moved through the small apartment and kicked open her bedroom door. He set her down.

“Take your dress off.”

Her hands were clammy. She could hardly get a hold of the zipper at the nape of her neck. Fred didn’t help. He stripped down to his boxers and waited impatiently, flicking the light on. It only added to her anxiety. He didn’t even close the blinds. Daphne finally unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor around her feet. She stepped out of it and he closed the gap between them, kissing her again. His hands settled on her waist and pushed her down onto the neatly-made bed.

His fingers curled between her legs, wrapping around the base of her panties and tugging them off. The way he did it felt unnecessarily crude. He dragged the lace down her legs and dropped it on the floor.

“Finally,” he purred. “I’ve got you where I want you.”

She was aware of how sore her ass felt against the sheets. He moved on top of her, hands grasping her tits until it hurt. Her breath came...