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Chapter 162: Edinburgh Vaults
publish date:
2026-09-05 17:18:38
Latest chapter
Slippery cravings Chapter 166: Manchester
The gig is over. The loft still thumps.Bass from a leftover playlist crawls up the speaker stack and into the floorboards, a dull physical shove against the soles of boots, then into bone. Northern Quarter through the windows: wet brick shining like tar, taxi lights smeared in the rain, a queue that has forgotten why it formed. Inside it smells of spilled lager, hot dust baking off the amps, sweat, and her perfume fighting a smoke machine someone never killed. The air is close. The walls tick as they cool.She is not Mia.He knows that. He keeps almost saying the other name anyway.Rae. Black cropped top stuck to her spine. Gold hoop warm from her skin. A mouth that argued with the support act and won. Same voltage. Same way of standing like the room should adjust. Kenji watches her throat when she drinks — the lift, the swallow, the shine of it — and has to look away because the ghost is in the gesture, not the face.“Don’t look at me like I’m someone else,” Rae says.Kitchenette. C
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Slippery cravings Chapter 164: Cork
The Georgian townhouse smelled of old plaster and the whiskey she had poured without asking if I wanted one. Her Airbnb. Her rules. I had thought I was walking into another night I would run. She shut the door and looked at me like I had already agreed to something I hadn’t heard yet.Aoife.Dark curls. A mouth that smiled when it was about to be unkind in the right way. She set the glass down. An ice cube clicked against the side.“Sit,” she said. “Hands on the chair. If you move, I stop.”I sat.The chair was wooden, older than both of us, a little uneven on the boards. She took two silk scarves from a drawer — hers, pale, smelling of her drawer and not of hotel minibar. She tied my wrists to the arms. Not tight enough to be theatre. Tight enough that when I tested them the silk said no.“Good,” she said, and kissed me like a reward I hadn’t earned.She undressed without rushing. I watched because that was all she had left me. When she was bare she picked the ice from the glass and
Slippery cravings Chapter 163: Dublin Docklands
Rain ran down the hotel glass in sheets. The Liffey was a black ribbon under it, lights breaking up on the water like they couldn’t decide whether to stay. I stood with my phone in my hand for a full minute and almost didn’t send the text.That was the problem.I don’t keep women. I keep nights. Dublin was supposed to be a night. Then she had laughed in the bar like she already knew the ending and I had felt something tilt in my chest that I did not have a name for and did not want one.I sent it anyway.The lift took forever. When the door opened she was already there — wet coat, dark hair stuck to her cheek, that look that said she had walked through the rain on purpose.Niamh.She didn’t kiss me in the corridor. She waited until the room door shut and then she said it to my face.“If you’re going to ruin me, stop pretending you’ll walk out after.”I could have lied. I have lied in nicer rooms than this. Instead I said nothing, which was worse, and she saw it.“Coward,” she said, no
Slippery cravings Chapter 162: Edinburgh Vaults
The guide said five minutes.The lantern went with him. What he left us was black stone, a drip somewhere to the left, and the smell of wet lime and old earth. The vault swallowed the last scrape of his boots. Then there was only breathing.I couldn’t see her.She found my hand in the dark and put it where she wanted it.Not on her waist. Lower. Under the hem. Against heat that had nothing to do with the tour. Her fingers stayed over mine for a second, showing me the shape of her, the damp cotton, the exact place. Then she let go.“Don’t talk,” she whispered. The stone took the words and made them small. “Just—”I did.I pressed her back to the wall. It was colder than her, slick in patches where water ran. She hissed when her shoulders hit it. I kept my hand where she had put it, two fingers sliding beneath the cotton, finding her already open. She was slick and swollen. I worked her slowly because sound carried in a vault and because I couldn’t see if I was hurting her. Her breath c
Slippery cravings Chapter 161: Glasgow Whisky Warehouse
The tasting had ended. Lights down to the emergency strips. The bonded warehouse held its breath — cold stone, old oak, the sweet sting of spirit in the nose. Barrels slept in rows like a congregation. Somewhere far off a forklift beeped once and died.She had bet she could name every cask by smell.She lost on purpose.“If I’m wrong,” she said, close enough that I smelled pear-drop and peat on her mouth, “you lock the door. If I’m right, you still lock it.”I locked it.Her name for the night was Ailsa. Dark hair, a black dress that had been respectable at the table and was not respectable now. The warehouse manager’s guest. My problem.Stone bit through the soles of my shoes. Her fingers were cold when they found my tie.“This,” she whispered, tugging the silk. “If I make a sound they will come back for the keys.”I folded the necktie once and she opened her mouth for it. I set it between her teeth. She bit down and nodded. That was the yes.I backed her into a barrel. Oak was colde
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