Ryan stamped on the brakes and cursed loudly, skidding to a halt inches behind the bumper of the jet-black VW Golf. It exuded signs of the quintessential boy-racer; fat exhaust, lowered suspension, and custom transfers, including one that read "Low n Wide" in case there was any doubt. A perfectly good car ruined by bad taste and money.

Until that point, the journey home had been just like any other Wednesday, trying to find a station playing anything other than adverts, watching for police speed traps, and dodging rush hour traffic blackspots. A steady stream of cars overtook both him and the Golf as he craned his neck to see any signs of why the car had suddenly stopped short of the roundabout. In profile between the seats, its driver leant towards his female passenger. At first Ryan assumed they were about to kiss, but almost immediately noticed something wrong. The man's lips were curled and his mouth moved wide, chin jutting forward. Animated hand gestures joined the fray as the guy clearly started yelling within inches of the woman's face.

She gave her fair share back, the fracas escalating and reaching boiling point until the nearside door swung open fast and she climbed out, handbag swinging wildly. With enough ferocity to cause the car to shake, she slammed the door and stalked the few steps to the pavement as her ride screeched off in a trail of burning rubber, narrowly missing a truck already on the roundabout, its horn blaring in defiance.

The woman didn't even give the Golf a second look, focusing instead on a waist-high section of railing that barred her entrance to the pavement and bore the brunt of her rage. She thwacked it with her bag before hitching up her large-print floral business dress and trying to clamber over.

Equal parts amused and concerned for her safety as more impatient drivers overtook to reach the roundabout, Ryan realised just before she came to the same conclusion that she was never going to make the other side without losing a serious amount of dignity or her heels. She stopped, snapped her head left and noticed that the railing only extended about ten or fifteen metres from the mouth of the roundabout. Ryan hit the indicators, rolled the car forward a few inches and buzzed down the window as she yanked her dress back into position and strode past.

"Need a lift?"

"Fuck off."

"Seriously? Look around. Where are you gonna go?"

She stopped, whirled on him, hands on curvy hips, glaring through the open window. "Are you deaf?"

He cupped his hand behind his ear. "I can hear six lanes of motorway traffic beneath us and if I listen very carefully I can just make out the sound of the city a couple of miles that way. But suit yourself."

He put the car in gear.

"Wait!"

She glanced left and right, considering her options. Ryan added, "It's no trouble. Would hate to leave you stranded out here when I could have helped."

That wasn't strictly true. No act is selfless and she was pretty, even when riled.

Chewing her lip a while longer and eyeing him suspiciously at first, she eventually shrugged and reached for the handle. Ryan swept his rucksack from the front seat to the back and she climbed in, brushing a few strands of hair from her flustered face.

"Thank you. Sorry about… y'know."

"Understandable. Where are you heading?"

"The other side of the city. Near Holbeck."

"Not too far out of my way," Ryan lied, checking over his shoulder and setting off far slower than her previous driver.

After the initial exchange, neither spoke. She was clearly seething and he wanted to give her time to process everything, so he concentrated mainly on the road. Perhaps a little on her legs. An Audi cut him up on the slip road and Ryan raised his hand in annoyance, muttering, "They're all out today."

She continued to stare out of the window, short fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag in her lap. No rings, he noted as he traced his eyes from there up her buxom figure then returned his attention to driving. "Are you OK? Is there anyone I can call for you?"

"No."

"No you're not OK, or no I can't call anyone?"

"Both."

Ryan let the moment hang. "Look, I know it's none of my business, but if you want to vent, I'll listen. No judgement, I promise."

She relaxed a little. "Thanks, it's OK. Really. Men can just be such-" she struggled for a word, settling on, "-dicks."

Ryan nodded slowly, remaining silent. He used the opportunity of being on the dual carriageway to properly take in the brunette's features; bobbed hair framing chubby cheeks either side of a small mouth; dress probably snug when it was bought, clearly a size too small now, finishing mid-thigh to reveal tapered, bronzed legs. Undoubtedly fake tan. She'd definitely benefit from being more toned, but the slight bulges in the material didn't detract from her overall beauty. Any man who kicked her out of his car was a fool.

As if reading his thoughts and without warning, she launched into a monologue over how she'd been wronged, every now and again interrupting herself to direct Ryan towards her house. Unlike him, she had a local accent - Leeds or one of its suburbs. Wakefield or Huddersfield at a push. It transpired the pair had been dating a little over a year and rented a place. She suspected he'd cheated on her while she'd been away, which had sparked the row when he picked her up from the airport. Ryan presumed her luggage was still in the back of the Golf. Or her boyfriend had chucked it down an embankment.

The traffic slowed to a crawl and Ryan buzzed the window all the way down, dangling his arm out.

"How long have you been away?"

"Since the weekend."

"So what do you do? No, wait, don’t tell me." He used the moment to look at her properly, making no apology for sweeping his stare the whole length of her body before resting his gaze in deep green eyes surrounded by too much mascara. "You're definitely a people person, in some sort of customer-facing, sales or commercial role. Too sassy for an accountant, too headstrong to be a therapist or some touchy-feely profession. And you don't look like an astronaut. So I'd go with-" he ran his hand over stubble that would, if he let it, easily join with his crop of short brown head hair in a few weeks "-a buyer for a multi-national?"

"Nope, contract negotiator."

"Close."

"Not really."

"So, forgive my ignorance, but what does a contract negotiator do exactly, besides negotiate contracts?"

She gave him a précis on how she helped businesses arrive at the most advantageous outcomes when forging new relationships. The company she worked for would often send her away to meet with prospective clients, armed with a brief to win as many negotiation points as possible. In advance of the meeting they'd figure out which points were important and which ones she could use as bargaining chips or could concede. Ryan listened with the portion of his brain not devoted to imagining her naked.

"Remind me never to play poker against you."

She gave a tight-lipped smile. "It's not all that. You just have to be good at standing your ground and getting what you want."

"And do you always get what you want?"

"Frequently."

"So I don't ever want to be the other guy."

She looked wistfully out of the window again. "You never want to be the other guy."

Kicking himself for making her think about her recent spat, Ryan hastily changed the subject. "Hey, we've not even introduced ourselves. Want me to guess your name?"

"We'll be here all day if you're as crap at it as guessing professions." She gazed into the distance again. "It's Mel."

"Melissa, Melanie, Melinda, Melificent…?"

"Melody. Melody Kramer."

"Pleased to meet you Melody Kramer contract negotiator." They shook hands. She definitely used lotion and was warm and soft in comparison to his dryer skin, a shade darker than hers. "Ryan. Ryan Noble."

"Noble by name or nature?"

"Name only. I'm a dick, remember."

She tried to suppress a laugh. Ryan was eager to capitalise on the break in her mood and keep the conversation flowing. "So what excites you about your job?"

She thought a moment. "The chase. And the winning. Definitely the winning. The perks are good too. Lots of travel. Though it does mean I have to while away evenings alone in bars and restaurants."

"Alone? Riiight."

Melody shot him a look. "Yes, alone."

Ryan raised a sceptical eyebrow in her direction. "Dinner for one? You're not the type."

"Solo travellers have a type?"

"Absolutely. And you're not it. Sweaty businessmen eat alone. Confident, radiant women dine with clients or have drinks bought for them, at the very least."

She avoided his gaze and Ryan broke into a grin. "I knew it!"

"What! You said you wouldn't judge me."

"No judgement. Just a little character assessment."

"What are you, Freud's cousin?" She gave an exasperated sigh. "So maybe I stepped out once."

He stopped at the lights. Cocked his head and cast her another disbelieving look, knowing he had her on the ropes.

"OK OK, twice. Jesus you got me. It's not like he hasn't been doing it too. I found her underwear in his bedside drawer last month. Worn."

"How did that make you feel?"

"How do you think?! Angry. Empty. Betrayed. But I let it go. Made an effort to be extra good. To fight for his attention, to be better than her so he'd focus on me. I just… let it go so I didn't have to face it." Her voice went hollow. "Until now."

The driver behind bipped his horn and Ryan put the car in gear. She seemed to be in full flow so he let her talk. Rule one: be attentive. Besides, he liked her lilting voice.

"I'd been stewing over it while I was away. Getting angrier. Jealous even. Imagining him with someone else. Couldn’t think of anything else on the plane. When I confronted him and he went on the defensive I knew… I just knew then." She looked out of the window again like the answer was to be found in the graffiti daubed across the tower blocks that flashed by. "Maybe I was angry at myself. I'm not proud I stooped to his level, just… validated maybe. Christ I'm rambling. And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"That… that… I've seen that look before. God, men are all the same."

"It's not what you think. You're safe from my evil clutches."

"How so?"

"Because you're not my type."

"There's that word again. You have a type for everyone?"

"Absolutely. And you're nowhere near naughty enough for my tastes, so relax."

"After what I just admitted?"

"A minor indiscretion."

"You call breaking one of the ten commandments 'minor'?!"

Ryan eyed her quickly. Had he misjudged her? "You don't strike me as particularly religious."

"Well… I'm not."

"So if nobody up there's judging you, your actions are justified. And is it really adultery if you're not married?"

Melody looked at him like he had six heads. "Of course it is. Infidelity's the same thing."

"Hardly. Especially if he's at it as well. Barely registers on the naughty scale. So I stand by my instinct that you're not my type. You're far too straight-laced."

She gave a sharp laugh, almost a snort. "Is that so?"

Ryan maintained his cool while he let his bait take hold. Rule two: incite indignation. She was a classic case. The type of girl he'd fucked twenty times over, and she'd make twenty-one if he played her right. Less than five minutes into the ride he'd recognised the signs, primarily her unspoken need for approval masked by bravado. Being abandoned at the roadside had hurt her ego, and being in a stranger's car made her vulnerable, causing her to babble. She was far too independent to admit either affected her, spoiled and accustomed to having her own way. So her defence mechanism was audacity, and from experience Ryan knew the best way to break that particular barrier was to call her out, be a challenge to her. Men were usually her playthings, so to not fawn over her made him stand out from all the other jokers who thought a chat-up line and a drink would guarantee some slot action.

The game required walking a tight line between the charade of open listener, comedian, and casual inquisitor, all the while showing only vague signs of interest. That maddened her sort. The strong ones like her, accustomed to attention and believing she was God's gift, needed constant reassurance to appease the nagging voice in the back of her head that she wasn't good enough. To deny her that basic need fed her insecurities. Absolutely textbook. The trick was to keep her thinking she was – or could be – in control. To gently knock her back a peg and watch her scrambling for a position of superiority. Then give her nowhere to go but down. Down. Down.

Ryan glanced over at her. "Prove me wrong then. Convince me. When have you ever done anything naughty? And I don't mean living on the edge by mixing your darks and whites in the washing machine."

Clearly incensed by the notion that she was either predictable or a slave to household appliances, she thought for a few moments. Then her eyes twinkled. "How about a demonstration?"

"Interesting. But you wouldn't dare."

"Sure about that?"

"Hundred percent."

She checked behind for cars, then straightened in her seat so the only parts of her body touching the dark blue upholstery were her shoulders. Wriggling, she shucked her knickers down her legs, balled them up, opened the window and threw them out, nonchalantly closing the window after them. "So what do you think of my type now, hotshot?"

Ryan feigned surprise, somersaulting inside that his gamble had paid off. "I think it's a waste of perfectly good underwear."

"They chafe. He bought them for me anyway."

"Then I think maybe I have you all wrong."

"I think maybe you do."

Once more, she returned to looking out of the window and stiffened as they pulled off the main road. Ryan noticed. The realisation she was close to home and her boyfriend was probably there, ahead of them.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. But I can't face him. Not yet. He needs time to cool off, or..."

Ryan didn't want to know exactly where that train of thought might lead, but noted the unfinished sentence and pained look. She was probably the sort who liked the rough stuff and went back for more. "Where do you want me to take you then?" Carefully chosen words. Implied togetherness, but open enough that it could mean somewhere to leave her.

"Anywhere. Just drop me somewhere here and I'll find a place to hole up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, you've done more than enough already. Thanks for being a gentleman and restoring my faith in men. At least a little."

Ryan tipped his imaginary hat, indicated and slowed the car. "One does what one can, ma'am." If only she knew the half of it. The conquests. The one night stands borne from opportunistic half-chances far slimmer than this one. The erotic screams of every notch on his bedpost indelibly marked in his brain. And her, Melody Kramer, inches from him without underwear. Primed. His cock stirred. "Look, do you want me to go with you? Try and smooth things over with him. Safety in numbers and all that."

He knew that would incense her. The colour drained from her cheeks. "God no. A random bloke turning up at our door will push him over the edge. He'll assume the worst."

"He has such a low opinion of you?"

She was quiet a beat. "Recently I haven't exactly given him reason not to."

Ryan sensed that wasn't all. Knew she was fragile, balancing on a knife-edge. It could go either way. Home with just his right hand for company, or here buried inside her tight snatch as she absolved her sins by encasing them with fresh ones. He waited. Watched her reach for the handle and hesitate. Could have climbed out of his life right then. Probably should have.

"Can I pay you for the fuel?"

"No, you're fine. But thanks for the offer."

"How about a drink then? Have to show my appreciation somehow."

Touchdown! "It's not necessary, seriously. Not if I'm driving. I'm glad to have been able to help."

"So you're going to let me sit in a pub on my own in this country too are you?"

He weighed it up. "I thought we established you don't drink alone."

"Touché. Come on, one drink. I don't bite."

"I doubt that."

He looked her over, batting her lashes at him, eyes alive. "OK. I'll have to park up for a while, though. Alcohol on an empty stomach is never a great combination."

"Then how about some food? Nothing fancy. Pub grub."

So predictable. "I shouldn’t."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll split the bill."

"Is that a concedable part of this negotiation?"

She looked away, went quiet. Ryan looked out the other window at some kids chucking stones at a glass bottle they'd propped up. "Sorry."

"No need. Maybe he's right. Maybe I let my work spill into my home life too much."

"Don’t beat yourself up. Everyone does it; you wouldn't be human if you didn't. It shows you care, and anyone who doesn't appreciate that or isn't willing to meet you halfway doesn't deserve you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Part-time psychologist?"

"And part-time philanthropist, part-time musician and part-time pub inspector. I feel the need to file a report. Name the place."

She pointed and he peeled away from the kerb, pulled off the road, and nosed the car into a space between two painted lines. Not that it mattered; he could have parked the QE2 diagonally in the car park and not hit anything.

It was a typical chain pub with no identity, almost scared to be different. Inoffensive chart music played at a low volume to a handful of people dotted about the place nursing unfinished drinks. All of them looked thoroughly miserable, as if they were waiting for the end of the world to return from the toilets and engulf them. The scuffed tables had engraved number discs set in the corners, and the bar staff would struggle passing through airport metal detectors first time. Ryan presumed the food mirrored the quality of the establishment; microwave on high, three minutes, ding.

Melody selected a booth and slid in. They perused the menu. Even the available options were predictable and samey, but they chose quickly and Ryan ordered, bringing back the drinks and settling into the bench's ineffective cushion. He pushed her change across the table. "This your local?"

"One of them. Doesn't get much better than this."

Ryan made a show of looking up and down the length of the pub. "They had three-for-two on tumbleweed I see." Melody smiled and took a deep pull at her pint after they chinked glasses. Ryan also drank, wiping froth from his lip afterwards. "That guy who served me, the NBA could probably use his earlobes as basketball hoops."

"Corey? He looks hard, but he's decent. I don't go for the spacer look myself."

"Me neither, but I've been told I have an ear shape that'd make it look good." He traced one to reinforce the point. "Got any ink?"

She swilled the bubbles from the edge of her glass and took a second mouthful, longer than the first. He watched her neck ripple as she swallowed. "A little."

Rule three: Girls who indelibly decorated their bodies gave it up more easily than those who didn't. They were more willing to take risks and placed less value on sex as an act. That also corroborated that she wasn't a churchgoer. Most women of faith that Ryan had met wouldn't mark their bodies out of respect and held deeper principles than atheists. With the possible exception of Catholics who were all sluts when the lights were off.

"I assume it's nothing overused, like a Chinese symbol in your sacrum?"

"You assume correct. An Egyptian ankh if you must know."

"Ahhh, the symbol of life. Somewhere more interesting than your lower back?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Anywhere you can show me?"

She gave a coy smile. "No."

Ryan's erection stirred once again. She was becoming more alluring by the moment. Forcing himself to watch some unidentifiable team's goal replaying on the muted TV over the bar, he took a swig of his own pint and felt the bubbles race down his throat.

Returning his attention to her, he noticed her irritation. "Twenty-two men more interesting than me?"

"I told you, you're not my type."

"So what is your type? Shy? Easily impressed by the macho swagger fresh from the gym?" She brought her hand to her face in mock surprise. "Tell me you're not gay."

He pulled a face. "Hardly." Sliding a beer mat under his drink, he counted off the qualities on his fingers. "One: strong. Two: willing to take a risk. Three: dirty."

"Unwashed?"

"You know what I mean."

"Moi? I'm innocent."

"Sure you are. Apple of Daddy's eye, studied hard, good grades, and been a contract negotiator right out of school."

"Not exactly. Had a stint at a law firm, back when I thought that was what I wanted to do. Lasted about nine months. And I had a holiday job at Burger King."

Ryan laughed and Melody was indignant. "Fuck you, Ryan Noble. You're not all that, with your big brown eyes, chiselled jaw and boyish looks. What are you, a model?"

He wiped his mouth, still chuckling. "Used to be."

"For real?"

He nodded. "Underwear."

"Don't believe you. Show us a pose then."

He eyed her for a moment, unsuccessfully trying to imagine her with a baseball cap flipping burgers, before standing, sticking his hands in his pockets and turning his head to one side, looking at the doorway. She laughed. "Alright, you've passed. You have catalogue man down to a tee. It must pay well, so why d'you give it up?"

Plonking himself back on the flaccid cushion, he gave his stock retort. "Got fed up with being someone else's bitch. Look left. Look right. Look more intense."

"So now?"

"IT consultant. Telling managers what they already know and charging them for the privilege."

"Money for old rope?"

"Something like that."

"Don't they get suspicious?"

"You mean being delivered intangibles and told what they want to hear?"

She nodded, draining her pint far quicker than he'd have expected. He sank his to catch up.

"They're all too busy looking for someone to blame. By the time we come in, their precious company's already sliding on the FTSE or the shareholders want blood because of the lower dividends than the previous year. Paying us to point the finger at bad processes gives them something to focus on, something to report to the board that make them seem like they have a clue. We save them face. Buy them time."

"Clever. Who's 'we'?"

Ryan rummaged around in his wallet and slid his card across the table. She reached for it and their fingertips connected briefly before she drew the card closer and scrutinised it.

"Ryan Noble Associates?"

He nodded. "A band of like-minded reprobates I call friends. We're small, nimble, agile. And I liked RNA as it has the link to DNA, the essence of life on earth."

"Pretentious much?"

He grinned. "Someone's gotta be. Drink?"

"Same again, please."

He took the glasses to the bar – an act to which Corey seemed indifferent, probably as he preferred having something to do on quiet days. But he was nothing short of efficient, capping her shot of lime off with half a litre of amber liquid and pouring Ryan a pint with a textbook centimetre head. Had it been Guinness, Ryan figured the guy might have eschewed the traditional shamrock emblem for piping the Mona Lisa into the froth.

Ryan slid the cash across the bar. "One for yourself?"

Corey took a second to consider the offer, the light catching the three diagonal bars in his eyebrow. "Thank you."

By the time Ryan returned to the table, the food had arrived.

"Has it been three minutes already?"

Melody looked up from cutting into her chicken wrap. "What?"

"Nothing." He noted with a satisfied inner nod that his card had gone from the table. Exactly as planned.

The burger was unremarkable and overdone, but the chips were passable.

"Not a patch on Burger King."

"Shut Up. You must have had your fair share of crappy Saturday jobs."

"There was one that was pretty funny. I used to walk around the neighbourhood collecting money for a hospital charity. People would agree to pay a quid a month or something. In return I'd give them a newsletter from head office depicting giant novelty cheques being handed over to people in suits, and explanations of how the donations had bought new MRI machines or helped old ladies in their final days on Earth."

"Sounds very… noble."

"Yeah," he said taking a healthy bite of his burger and chewing quickly. "Except a few years after I left, the guy who ran the scheme was jailed for fraud. Seemed he was skimming off the top for 'administration purposes'."

Melody nodded, a stray frond of lettuce protruding from the corner of her mouth that she poked in with a fingertip. "Your first brush with organised crime."

"Seems that way. I felt terrible for essentially scamming people out of money to line the pockets of some unscrupulous bastard…"

"And now you're an IT consultant," she finished for him with a wry grin.

"Ironic huh. But it feels good to be able to scam the big boys in return. My little 'fuck you' back to the city."

"That why you do it? To atone for your sins."

"Sort of. That and I'm good at it. You have any big plans to do likewise? Sabotage Burger King for robbing you of your dignity?"

"No, it was alright. Though the staff turnover was so high they didn't get me my own name badge in case I didn't stay. Any idea how embarrassing it is to wear someone else's badge?"

"Every day?"

"Yep. "

"I'd say that was grounds for gangland-style retribution. A fry-by shooting. What were you called?"

She finished her mouthful and looked at him hard, as if deciding whether to impart the information. "Kevin."

Ryan fell about laughing. "Seriously?"

Melody nodded. "The best thing, though, was on my last day I deep fried it." Ryan laughed again. "Took it off and dropped it straight in the fryer. It's probably still there."

Smiling, they lapsed into a short silence, drinking, and chewing. Melody nodded her head to Happy by Pharrell Williams. She had become gradually more animated as the alcohol invaded her system, and went to order another. The rate at which she was knocking them back made it clear she was trying to forget about her boyfriend, or at least gain some Dutch courage to face him again. Every drop worked to Ryan's advantage.

He sat watching her flirting with Corey, idly flicking her heel on and off her foot as she waited. Finishing his burger, he roamed his gaze over her figure again and imagined reaching for the hem of her dress, peeling it slowly up her body, revealing satisfying curves inch by inch until the material was free and he'd drop it to crumple at her feet. Nothing but bra and heels interrupting her marshmallow physique. The only way that tantalising vista could be improved would be if he pushed her to her knees, made her look up at him, subservient to the core, told her to unbuckle his belt, free him and suck his already firm cock until it glistened with her saliva, raw desire registering in her eyes at the prospect of taking it all inside her. He swelled at the thought.

Evidently slightly tipsy, she swayed away from the bar towards him, far more provocatively than the mediocre surroundings deserved, and placed his Coke and her pint on the table. "You can wipe that look off your face, Mr. Noble."

'What look exactly?"

"Undressing me with your eyeballs."

"You must have me mistaken for someone who's attracted to your type."

Before sitting down, she leaned across the table to his plate and stole one of his few remaining fries. Resting on her elbows, she suggestively bit the end and made sure he saw her cast her gaze to the bulge in his trousers before slithering back to her seat. "Clearly not your type."

Ryan shuffled in his seat. "What can I say. I'm only human."

The truth was he did want her. She ticked all his boxes. Confident. Smart. Sexy. Impulsive. Flirtatious. Naughty enough to throw her underwear out of a moving car, which he suspected was an indicator of her inventiveness between the sheets, or indeed any other places. Against a door. In the woods. In an alleyway. In his car. He pictured her clambering across the gear lever and straddling him, hiking her dress, reaching between them to free his solid prick, aligning herself and sinking onto it with a sigh, her voluptuous bottom deforming against the steering wheel as they ground together. How he wanted to yank her dress off her shoulders, free her buxom tits and bite down on them as the car rocked. To feel her hot breath and ecstatic sighs in his ear, synchronised with their rhythm. To hear her lose control and feel her come around his girth. The stains on the upholstery would be well worth it.

Ryan knew he had to make that happen. She was already on the way and the alcohol would make it easier. He just had to seal the deal. Ed Sheeran helped by being the next act on the jukebox. As Melody swayed to Don't, Ryan used the track to turn the conversation to her musical tastes. "I assume you're not a 'make shapes' kinda girl? Big box, little box?"

"Not really. I like my music a little more… musical. Something with a groove. Something you can feel."

"More bump 'n grind than hands in the ay-er."

"Definitely."

"You twerk?"

She laughed, hair tumbling over her shoulders. "Hardly. I leave that to Miley."

"God help us, please don't. She wouldn't know sexy if it turned up at her door in just a thong and a promise. Did you see her performance?" Melody nodded in time to the chorus. "It was like… you know people who do pole dancing but concentrate on perfecting the technique instead of feeling the beat and flowing with it?"

"Criminal."

"Absolutely. Pole dancing is all about selling the package, the sex, the heat. Miley's the equivalent of opening the package and finding the contents aren't what you ordered."

"Lambrini instead of Pinot Grigio."

"Exactly."

"You a connoisseur of the pole then?"

"Didn't I mention I'm also a part-time gentleman's club owner?" She fluttered her eyelashes again over the rim of her pint glass, and took a long pull. "Easy tiger. It's a school night."

"Don't care," she pouted. "Not due in work 'til lunch time."

"And at this rate you'll still smell of booze then."

"They'll cope."

Ryan sipped his drink as Corey came over to clear the plates. They thanked him and Melody picked up a beer mat, fraying its edges with a manicured fingernail. "Do you believe in Karma?"

"What goes around comes around? Sure."

"Am I on the wrong path?"

"Bit deep for a Wednesday."

"But am I?"

"In what way?"

"I mean… he cheated and I know about it, but the last three times I've been away I did the same."

"So it's three now?"

"Did I say two earlier?" Ryan nodded and she shrugged. "Three. Two. Thirty-two. What does it matter? Once is too much. I'm no better than him."

Ryan took another slug of his Coke and eyed her. He wanted to empathise but instead watched her lips quiver and imagined them split around the head of his seven inches. It was an odd moment of vulnerability so he chose his words carefully. "The fact you did it might mean it's not the right time for you to get serious. You're fun, you're young – not even twenty-five yet, right?" She nodded. "There you go. Plenty of time for serious later. Get out there and live some more first."

She sighed and sank another third of her pint in one gulp. Ryan doubted he'd win a head-to-head drinking contest. In what was becoming a customary trait, she gazed out of the window and mused, "It's not quite what I expected."

"So don't waste any more time on second best. End it. Today."

She flashed him a dark look. "And ride off into the sunset with who? You?"

He dismissed the idea with a wave. "You don't want me."

"Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

"Not this time." Ryan deliberately kept his choice of phrase ambiguous. Not this time could infer there might be another time. Or times. Or that maybe the decision wasn't hers to make and she would have to relinquish control for once, accept fate. To a woman like her, that was exciting. Three small words with big meaning. He iced them with: "And who says you have to saddle up so soon? Plenty would kill for a woman like you, and you know it." Smart. Take the focus off him, but leave things open. Imply that he's not beyond reach of being another admirer under her considerable spell.

She nodded slowly, taking a little longer over the remainder of her drink, then put down her empty. "Back in a minute."

She rose, smoothed down her dress and headed for the ladies'.

Ryan watched her bubble butt go, using the time alone to reflect on whether he'd done enough to tease her. He had to show he was interested but couldn't be easy or she'd move on. As if somehow resistant, yet not impervious, to her hex. He had to remain aloof, calm, confident, but not aggressive. There'd be time for taking control later. If he maintained the course, she'd become his latest dirty pretty plaything. Putty beneath his tongue. That thought sent a delicious shiver racing up his spine. He loved attaining the seemingly unattainable, but right now, she had to be the one to make the decision. All he had to do was guide her to the correct outcome. Just one further nudge. He sank the remainder of his drink and thought about his hands on her curves. Those bountiful breasts rising and falling with the slaps of their bodies as she rode him in the driver's seat. Their mouths pressed together in the confined space, tongues lancing. Her breathless whispers of encouragement.

The toilet door squeaked from the corner of the pub and shortly Melody rounded the corner, striding confidently towards him, effortless in her grace even atop four-inch heels. The end of the world never looked so damned appealing, her moment of insecurity gone. Perhaps he'd done enough and her decision was made. He just prayed her renewed self-assurance wasn't chemically induced; coke was a harsh mistress that Ryan knew only too well had the propensity to ruin everything it touched. She fixed him a long, loaded stare as she approached, climbed the two steps and breezed past the table. "Let's go."

They pressed through the deserted car park, leaving his car behind. So much for best-laid plans. He hung back a step, improvising. "So how far do you need to go from here?"

She shrugged. "Fifteen minutes maybe."

"I could walk with you some of the way. The air will help the alcohol wear off."

"OK."

It was said without hesitation, almost as is if there was no other option. He sped up to catch her.

Their route took them past abandoned factories, decaying shells of once magnificent buildings, the crumbling, faded red brickwork supporting rotten frames with broken glass, and rooftops peppered with holes. Ryan mused, "They must have been stunning in their prime."

"They're even better from the inside."

"They're boarded up."

"You've never been in an abandoned building before?" He shook his head. "Do you ever do anything you're not supposed to?"

If only she knew. But he let her grab his hand and lead him to a pile of earth alongside one of the buildings. She unhooked her shoes and scrambled up the bank, looking back to yell, "Come on, I'll show you." From the low vantage point Ryan could see up her dress and was reminded that she had no underwear. Too fucking easy. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and scrabbled up after her.

The summit of the bank ended level with a broken window frame. Melody started to drag a discarded, sturdy plank and between them they made a bridge. Ryan guided her across with a hand against her lower back, the closeness making him shiver with anticipation. A few short, slightly wobbly steps later they were inside, hopping onto a dilapidated wooden gangway, which was all that remained of the first floor. Stairs to their left led down to the vast open space where textile machinery once clanked. The noise must have been deafening.

She scampered off down the flight clutching her shoes, somehow oblivious to the decades of grime on the floor. Ryan descended and crunched after her, footsteps echoing off the walls and fragments of ceiling a few storeys above. Partway across the floor she stooped, brushed her feet and slid her heels back on. Ryan watched her glide into the depths of the cavernous space from a few metres behind, the clicking of each measured step like tiny gunshots ricocheting from the walls.

She squeezed through a gap into a storeroom of some description. Ryan approached and peeked in after her. Shafts of light cut through the holes in the brickwork and roof, casting half of her in shadow.

"Come on, Mel, we shouldn't be here, this is trespassing."

"Did you see the sign?" Ryan admitted he hadn't. "Then no problem, right? Thought you liked risk-takers."

She stepped towards him, reached through the gap and yanked him inside. "I love this room. Think it was the manager's office or something back in the day."

Ryan noted he had been wrong about the room's purpose. A huge solid wood desk dominated one wall. Odd that it hadn't been removed when they asset stripped the place, but as he got closer and ran his hand along its dry surface could see why. It was riddled with tiny holes. "Guess they didn't have Ronseal back then."

Mel smiled and the furniture complained as she turned and perched against it, angelic as if the beam of light in which she stood had transported her from above. Ryan stood aloof at one end of the table. "You been here before then?"

She nodded. "A good place to think. No distractions. A place time forgot. Kind of romantic in a way."

Ryan stepped towards the centre of the room and turned, regarding the layer of dust on the table between Melody's manicured fingernails. She went on. "Can you imagine what it would have been like when this place was operational? A bustling workforce. The excitement of the industrial revolution still in its infancy. And the noise out there the perfect shield for workplace indiscretions to take place in here. Like the boss standing right where you are, the eager worker girl summoned to his office for a-" she traced one finger in the dust "-briefing."

Ryan just watched her performance, silent save for his heart beating ever faster. He sensed she was already well on her way to the bottom. Vivre la descente.

"She knows why she's really there, of course. She's not stupid. And inside she can't wait. The manager stands there, appraising her figure and tells her to leeeeean back like this-" she tipped her head back, traced her hands up her sides to just under her breasts and exhaled, "-the handsome boss biding his time, undressing her with his eyes." She ran her hands back down her hourglass. "And as the heat overwhelms her, she slides her dress up to reveal her panties… oops." She brought her hand to her face in a coy Betty Boop pose. "She doesn't appear to be wearing any."

Ryan stood there, pulse quickening beyond what he thought possible at the glimpse of the neatly trimmed triangle before him, the convergence of which plunged between pliable thighs. But he showed no other outward signs of his elevated want. Decided to push her to see how far she'd go. A final challenge to make her his. "Uhhh, Mel, we should leave."

"Melody Kramer to you," she scolded. "And I saw you looking up my dress earlier, you dirty man. You are just like the others."

"No, I…"

"Just like all the rest. Only… after… one… hot… little… thing." She punctuated each word by walking her fingers across her thigh towards her exposed centre. Light reflected the droplets of moisture that dappled what was visible of her pubic hair.

"Mel…"

"Melody!"

"Melody, this isn't right. You're clearly reacting to the drama earlier, you've had a drink and you'll regret this tomorrow."

She seemed a little taken aback. Textbook. "What's wrong with my body? This doesn't please you? Excite you?" She moved her legs half a step further apart.

Ryan was glad he was in shadow or she'd have seen just how much her womanly figure both pleased and excited him. "It's not that. You're very alluring. Some other time, some other life it would be a different story, but I'm not taking advantage of you."

"I'm not here to be taken advantage of," she spat. "I'm here because I want something. I want to show my gratitude for what you did earlier. And I get what I want."

"No, you're here to get back at your boyfriend. You're here to work out whatever issues you have in your relationship, but it's not me you should be working them out with."

She stepped forward a pace, her hand flying to his cheek but he anticipated and caught it. Yet she surprised him with her strength, and used the momentum to pull herself into him. Their lips met. Ryan could taste the sickly sweet texture of alcohol as her tongue darted from between them. He pretended to resist, one last act of defiance to seal the deal, then released her wrist whereby she immediately grabbed his and guided it between her legs. He cupped her, felt wetness against his fingertips as she angled him just right and his digits were drawn inside her body. Almost magnetic. She gasped into his kiss and used him like a dildo, fingers sliding in and out of her wet entrance. Any further resistance he may have shown, melted into her pussy juices.

They stepped towards the desk as one, Melody returning to her previous perched stature. Their lips and tongues fluttered, hovered, dove, entwined, then crushed together. His free hand grabbed the back of her head. Hers ran down his torso to seek his rear and squeezed. Her other hand trailed around to join it, resting against the other cheek. Ryan's fingers sawed in and out of her. Momentarily, he heard pigeons roosting high above them in the rafters, probably unaccustomed to the human intrusion, but Melody's erratic breathing and the gentle creak of ageing wood began to swamp the sounds.

Mel's hands glided round to Ryan's front, finding him hard. She broke away from his searching lips.

"Would you prefer I thank you directly, or would a taste of kitty be acceptable remuneration?"

He didn't need asking twice and dropped to his knees. She stepped out further and leaned back a little. The smell of her arousal was intoxicating. He ran his tongue up her thigh to catch a few drops that had drizzled from her. She was tangy, sharp, but with a creamy undertone that only intensified as he neared her pussy. The hunger consumed his tiny pang of remorse at taking advantage of her like this. On any other day of the week, he knew she could hold her own and resist. But not today. She'd crumbled under his expertise.

The only thing she held was her breath as he approached and then it all came tumbling out noisily, groaning as his tongue snaked across her slit, up and up towards her little button. Ryan grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked it higher to reveal the full extent of her womanhood, before his tongue hit the apex and she jumped. "Ohhh, yessssss."

He grabbed her hips and guided his tongue along the cleft of her entrance. Her mixture was zestier, laced with a faint undercurrent of urine, but no less delicious to Ryan's probing as he felt her quivering and listened to her shallow breaths. He lived for these moments. Felt on top of the world when strong women were reduced to their base instincts, with panting their only method of communication as he strummed their core.

Melody clutched his head and pulled him to the places she needed most. Though he'd rarely admit it, acts like that turned him on immeasurably. When the touches were just right that his prey ground into his face, used him like they would a vibrator or dildo to crush, lick and stab their wetness, he became rock hard. It was even more intense if they pushed him back and sat on his face, but comparatively few took the opportunity without being asked. One day he'd find The One who would rock his world in that way. A woman who would take charge, dominate him, smother him, selfishly make him eat her because she was consumed by passion and raw need. He sensed Melody might be The One, but knew deep down he felt that about all women in the heat of the moment.

Lash after lash drove her closer to orgasm, the fingertips at his temples and her cries of encouragement his guide. Matters intensified when he slipped his long tongue inside her. She was liquid satin and he lapped up every drop she could give before returning to slather her clitoris with her own wetness and revelling in the ever-increasing sounds she made. He sensed she was close and couldn’t recall a time he'd been rewarded so quickly. She must have been pre-heated, building up the encounter in her mind while they were in the pub. Or maybe she'd really slipped away to touch herself.

Whatever the reason, she was ready to explode and Ryan wasn’t going to deny her the pleasure. He pressed on, masterfully strumming her, his years of experience at being on his knees between countless women's legs ensuring she reached her plateau. He delighted at every lick, flick, tap, circle, nibble and full-on swab of her drooling pussy and protruding clit. Guided her like the helmsman of a cruise liner, charting the stormy waters, navigating her sea of desire. Then at the last second veered her into an iceberg and let her hull fill.

From the heart of the building, in an area of the city with light foot traffic, there was little chance of interruption, which was a small mercy given the mews and desperate panting in the air as she came. She shook against him and he ceased as the waves crashed through her body, more than content to let her enjoy her moment of release.

He held her steady throughout, blowing gently onto her centre, occasionally flicking out his tongue to catch the opaque droplets that would otherwise be wasted as gravity exerted its influence. Eventually the tension drained from her body and she relaxed a little. He stood, resting his hand on her pillowy hips above her bunched dress. Their lips locked again and the contact restarted her panting as the sharp smell of her pussy drifted between them. She began to rub his length through his trousers. Even though she had just come, he could sense her need still welling. Perhaps the speed at which she had rocketed to release meant she had more in store. One or two past conquests had exhibited similar traits, but nothing on the level of this girl. She was almost feral with desire. And had fallen right into his lap.

Melody couldn't fail to feel the flared end of Ryan's tumescence through the thin material of his trousers. Below her dainty fingers the clasp was unsnapped, zip lowered, underwear pulled down and his cock sprang free into her hot hands. She massaged it, working the drops of pre-come around the swollen head. Despite the impromptu location, Ryan had no misgivings over what he was doing as her fingers encased his shaft and stroked. Divine. He thrust his tongue inside her hot mouth, exciting them both. She jerked her head away and fixed him with a wild-eyed stare, the jade in her eyes sparkling in the remnants of the main light shaft. Her whispered request was as simple as it was powerful:

"Take me. No questions. No ifs or buts or excuses, just fuck me. Please. Fuck me."

There was something he recognised in her. Some part of her desperation also inside him, fighting to get out. The human need to hold, to take, to connect, to fuck, unchanged for centuries. He ran his hands up her curves, pawed her ample breasts through her dress and listened to her laboured breathing. Dove into her neck as she tipped her head back, kissed her throat, her jaw line, up to her ear and breathlessly told her to turn around, "So I can fuck you like you deserve."

Doing as instructed, turning playfully and sprawling across the ancient table, she made a dust angel. Ryan was temporarily mesmerised by the sight of her alabaster bottom wiggling before him. Utterly flawless, plump globes, starkly contrasted beneath the hem of her floral dress. So perfect he felt compelled to mark them just to make sure they were real. He knew she'd take it and love it. Knew her type perhaps better than she knew herself. He slapped one cheek playfully and the noise echoed around the office. She groaned so he did it again, harder, reaffirming his instincts, alternating spanks until her cheeks were flushed pink and she began to beg. How he loved it when they begged. Made him hard as a girder to know she was beside herself with lust. He slid his hands to her hips, gripped her tightly, aligned his fat cock with her centre and buried himself inside her sopping core. She cried out and took every stroke, grinding herself against him as they set up a desperate rhythm.

Her moaning into the table only encouraged Ryan. He pistoned her dripping folds, occasionally slapping her beautiful backside, the mild sadistic streak in him quenched at the way the spanks and her cries were returned to his ears. It drove him.

"You're insatiable, Melody Kramer."

"Oh yes! Use my name. Tell me who you're fucking."

He played her game. "Does Melody Kramer like being fucked?"

"Yes!"

"Does she deserve my cock?"

"Yes!"

"Is Melody Kramer turned on by being spanked?"

"Oh yesss!" she hissed through gritted teeth as he delivered an open-palmed parry to her glorious peach.

"What does Melody Kramer want more than anything right now?"

"To be treated like the dirty slut she truly is. Fuck me. Spank me. Make me come again. Please."

Simultaneously spanking both cheeks, she cried out. With fingers digging into the deformed and reddened flesh he parted her bottom and nearly came at the sight of her dark, crinkled knot. So inviting.

Reaching for her shoulders, Ryan started to haul her upright, then grabbed a fistful of hair, tugging it. She went wild. The change in angle of attack caused his dick to hammer against her front wall before driving up towards her cervix.

"FUCKYES! Harder!" she snarled, arching her back, stretching her arms over her head and gripping his shoulders.

He obliged her request, listened to her open-mouthed grunts of satisfaction at every rough stab to her insides. Reaching around her, he poked his thumb in her mouth. She sucked on it hungrily before he drew it from her, trailed it from her smooth armpit all the way down her side and brought it between their bucking bodies, massaging the entrance to her backside. She thrust back against him and his thumb dipped inside as he rubbed, making his cock swell at the thought of fucking her tight rear. But he let her do all the work. She let go of his shoulders and brought her palms to the table, shoulder width apart, shoving herself back to grind against his pubic bone, panting and growling that she was about to come again.

The slaps of their bodies grew in intensity, but were gradually lost to the cries of ecstasy as her excitement soared and she brimmed over again, milking his cock for all it was worth and demanding he fill her. He pounded into her sopping channel and pressed his thumb deeper into her tight ring, picturing her begging for him to fuck her butt. That did it for him, and moments later Ryan let forward a torrent of spunk, flooding her already soaked reservoir amid deep groans of satisfaction.

He emptied inside her spasming pussy, slithering easily into her depths with their combined lubrication. For such a slut, she was still tight and he savoured the feeling of her organic vice rippling around him, slowing his actions to a halt buried deep inside her. They froze as orgasms owned them, joined, feeding off each other's heat. Internally floating and tumbling like the dust they'd disturbed that clung and spun in the remaining spears of light.

At the natural conclusion, as their surroundings began to prick at the forefront of his conscience, Ryan reanimated and slowly withdrew, her glue trying to selfishly keep him inside. He drifted from her, giving them both space to make themselves presentable, watching her wiggle that tight dress down to her thighs, and brush dust from her belly and heaving chest. No sign of the tattoo she had mentioned.

Usually his manners came naturally, but all of a sudden it felt awkward to thank someone he barely knew for sex. He forced the words out, figured he owed her for playing with her fragile state, and there simply didn't seem anything else more appropriate. She just smiled back and said it was her pleasure. He believed her.

The shadows were longer as they headed out of the building, the sun burning the scant clouds a dusty orange beyond the cityscape. They stood there side by side, watching as the fireball dipped lower in the sky, then scurried and slid down the earth bank to street level. She put her heels back on and the pair walked the rest of the way to her road in silence, mutually agreeing that it was the end of his journey.

There was another long, awkward moment. In any relationship there's give and take. The fact she'd given up her charms so easily spoke volumes about the kind of girl she really was. No better than her boyfriend, clearly damaged goods, using sex to validate her life choices or paper over the cracks in her relationship. But Ryan felt compelled to hug her and tell her that whatever issues she had would work out. He knew his moral compass was no better. When it came down to the wire, he'd indulged and damn well enjoyed violating her.

"Goodbye Melody Kramer contract negotiator. Whatever you choose to do will be the right decision. Of that I'm certain."

She gave one of her customary tight-lipped smiles, like she didn't believe him. Their hands brushed, which suddenly seemed an oddly intimate gesture despite what had happened between them. Then she turned and Ryan watched her sashay away in that snug-fitting dress, sans panties, with his come probably drizzling down the inside of her legs.

All the way back to the car he wondered about the randomness of their encounter. The chances of being in that spot at that time, of reaching out and offering help to a stranger in distress and the reward for that act. If 'reward' was the right word for coercion and manipulation that, this time, left him feeling strangely cheap and dirty and hollow. He'd fucked a tonne of women like Melody, had teased out the inner slut in all of them. Some were dirtier than others. Some even surprised him with how low they were willing to go when dialled to the max, out of their minds with lust. Sometimes he gave them what they craved, other times he denied them. Cruel, but necessary when he wanted a second encounter with the ones that really pushed his buttons.

Melody would have gone further, of that he was certain. Had he persisted, she'd have given up her glorious buttocks to his invading cock and really screamed the place down with pleasure. But something held him back, and it wasn't just the fact he was saving her for another day. She was fundamentally different; didn't really need him to lead her on. He sensed she could match his depravity, spar with him and take him places the others hadn't. Possibly without asking.

When he said she was headstrong, he meant it. Almost all the others had been weak. Mere pawns. Sexy, pretty, intensely fuckable playthings, for sure, but pawns nonetheless. Melody had the capacity to change all that. Yes, he'd played her, but there was an undeniable fluttering in his belly he hadn’t felt in months. Maybe years. Couldn't shake the feeling that she had equally been playing him to get what she wanted. And that was as scary as it was exhilarating.

He sat in the driver's seat staring dead ahead, finally thumping the steering wheel. Fuck you Melody Kramer. Fuck you for getting under my skin. The sight of that amazing butt and the sharp taste of her honey were both things that he was sure would haunt him for the foreseeable future. Until he saw her again. A wry smile crossed his features as he gunned the engine.

She'd be back, of that he was certain. They always did.