Page 33 of Mayfair Madame
She shrugged, but the smile never left her. There was so much more for us to do, and I took her hand.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
“Actually, I should go.” She picked her clothes off the floor and began to dress.
“What? Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not done with you.”
“Naomi.” She had on her jeans and one arm in her shirt.
“Ellie. You don’t fuck me and leave me. That’s not how it’s done. At least have that coffee with me. Please.”
I planned more than coffee, but she continued to dress.
“I’ll have coffee, but then I need to leave. Where’s your bathroom?”
Chapter Ten
Ellie
Ipondered my reflection in the mirror, my face sticky with Naomi’s juices. Did I feel bad about running out on her?
Of course, but I was afraid she’d want something more, and I wasn’t ready to offer her that. Just because I’d undressed didn’t mean I was ready for her to see all of me. The parts of me that made me hate myself.
At least when I’d been on my knees, she couldn’t see the rolls, the nauseating flesh I so loathed and detested. How my stomach hung over the top of my underwear.
It was so fucking stupid, but I couldn’t stand it if she’d stared, or worse still, laughed. It had happened before. But if I’d refused, I would have sabotaged the best thing that had happened to me in a long, long time.
I found an expensive hand soap and washed all traces of her from my face. She’d probably hate me for leaving, but I’d have to accept that.
I walked back into the kitchen. Naomi had put on a silky robe, her elegant feet still bare. She added a little milk to a cup and handed me the other.
“Let’s go sit where it’s more comfortable,” she said, her tone frosty.
You wouldn’t have thought that just five minutes ago, I’d brought her to an orgasm so strong her legs had given way.
I settled into a comfy chair while she took the sofa. She tucked her legs beneath her and clutched her mug of steaming coffee.
“If you were anyone else, I’d have kicked you out of here, but I like you, Ellie Sharpe, and I think I deserve an explanation why you want to run away.”
I gazed into the mug she’d given me, looking for an answer but knowing I wouldn’t find it there.
“I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.” Such a fucking cliché, but it was true. How much to tell her, though? Did I want to bring down the mood of the evening?
It’d been a great one so far. If nothing else, I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and left my flat.
“Talk to me. I’m listening.” She eyed me, a determined look on her face, her lips set in a straight line.
Why was this so hard? I barely knew the woman, but maybe that made it easier.
“I hate my body. I have done since I was a child. The thought of you seeing me naked flooded me with anxiety, shame, and self-loathing. I can’t tell you the number of times I wanted to escapetonight. I was about to leave, and if it hadn’t been for Oscar standing in the way, I’d have disappeared. I don’t fit in with you and your friends.”
Her face softened a little but still held traces of a hardness I hated seeing, especially as it was my fault.
“Of course you do, and I knew you were leaving. I agree, you don’t know us, so I can understand how it might make you feel, but we’re good people. We’d never judge anyone based on looks alone. That’s not how we do things around here.”
“I know, but it’s hard when it’s happened before. When I was young, I was your atypical fat kid. I was taunted, bullied, and teased. Kids can be cruel, and they made my life a fucking misery every single day.”
Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach ached at the memory, but I continued.
