Castle: A steamy romance novella (Angels Series Book 3)

by Ashleigh Jameson

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Books By This Author

  A Quick Favour

  CASTLE

  BOOK 3 IN THE ANGELS OF LONDON SERIES

  ASHLEIGH JAMESON

  AJ PUBLISHING

  Copyright © 2020 Ashleigh Jameson

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  1

  Lizzie

  "You...Are useless!"

  I hurl a pewter vase at Jack's head. He shrieks and dodges the projectile, sending it hurtling against a framed photo of his mother. I wonder what old Rosie would think if she walked in on this scene. Her darling son, deep inside his secretary when his fiance returns from work early to catch them in the act.

  "Babe, it really isn't what you think." Jack pulls his trousers on. His rapidly deflating member hangs out of his fly like a cocktail sausage.

  Our bedroom is a mess. Discarded clothes line the path to our bed. My precious vanilla scented candles are burning out by the large dresser. Never did I think I'll associate such a sweet, calming smell with a vision so vile. My fiance, the man I'm due to wed in three months, railing into a woman more than ten years his junior while she uses the assistance of a vibrator. My vibrator, no less.

  Little Miss Nobody Cares watches this whole scene unfold with what seems to be mild amusement. I study her pouting face closely, but can't see any shame or guilt in those big doe eyes. She doesn't even bother covering up her boobs.

  And I think that's what does it for me.

  The sight of her twenty year old bosom is the final nail in this coffin.

  My tears finally arrive, and there's no stopping them.

  Jack, being ever the English gentleman, hurries over to give me a cuddle. In this moment though, he may as well be a troll carrying a 'Free Candy' sign.

  I shove him as hard as I possibly can, sending his lanky frame tumbling back into the leather armchair by our bed.

  He stares at me, wide eyed. His mouth moves, but no words come out.

  What else is there to say, really?

  Grabbing my bag, I storm out of the room. Down the winding staircase, and out the massive front door. The shitty front door in this huge, shitty house that's frankly preposterous for just two people to live in. Bloody bankers and their insistence on flashy things.

  In a final act of vengeance, I drag my key along the entire right hand side of Jack's Sportster, relishing in the sound of metal on metal. He'll have no problem forking out the cash to get it fixed, but at least I can leave him a little souvenir on his precious piece of junk before that.

  As soon as I hop into my Mini, I dial Maria's number. She answers on the first ring.

  "What's up, love?" She asks.

  "It's over. That spineless little shit cheated on me." Turning the engine on, I hit the gas and speed out of my former house.

  The last thing I see is my ex fiance's crumpled face in the bedroom window when he spots the mauling on his car.

  Rolling down the window, I toss my engagement ring out. Apparently it's worth two months of his salary, which would value it at a rather hefty price. Finders keepers, I guess.

  "Maria, are you there?" I ask.

  "I'm here, hun. Just fighting the urge to say I told you so," my best friend replies.

  "Don't you dare."

  "Look, you know what they say. The best way to get over someone," she pauses for effect, "is to get under someone else."

  "Babe, that joke is older than Jack's hair piece."

  I am Elizabeth McKinley. Founder of Lizzie's Threads, a giant online clothing retailer. I'm self made, and self sufficient. I may not be the prettiest, but I'm distinguished enough to still get cat called. I may not be a teenager anymore, but at thirty four I'm far from a geriatric. My boobs may not be as perky as that bimbo in my bed, but they're a pretty tear drop shape. Jack used to tell me how much he adored them.

  He worshipped them.

  And then he traded me in for a younger model, and I'm left looking like an unfortunate domestic statistic.

  "Where are you now?" Maria asks.

  I stare at my phone on the dashboard, forgetting I'd even called her.

  "I'm heading out of Notting Hill."

  "Where are you going?"

  I sigh. "I'll get a hotel for a few nights while I figure things out."

  "Fuck that, you're staying with me. Get your arse to mine pronto."

  "Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

  To be honest, being alone is the last thing I need right now. I need my best friend.

  "Oh sweetheart, you're never a bother. Go let yourself in and get ready, I'll be back at nine." Maria giggles. "We're going out tonight."

  "I don't have anything to wear," I complain.

  I'm going to be a miserable drunk today, and would much rather make a fool of myself indoors.

  "No excuses," Maria says, " wear any one of my dresses you like. And use my make up. But tonight, Miss McKinley, we are painting the town red."

  She hangs up.

  "Just great," I mutter, changing routes and driving towards Ealing Broadway.

  It's going to be a long night.

  2

  Connor

  "Fuck me," the flame haired beauty begs. This pretty little thing is Jeannie Rivers, editor of Mystique Socials, London's online magazine which allows readers a glimpse into the glitzy lives of its socialites.

  She's strapped to our unique cross. A padded cushion below for her to kneel on, carefully aligned with the two X beams where her hands are strapped, causing her body to lean forward in a comfortable position while her peachy bum sticks out on one side and her naked boobs are cradled over a U shaped opening.

  Diego stands before her, flogger in hand.

  She tries jerking her mouth towards his cock, but she's too restrained to do so.

  "What did I tell you about being greedy?" Diego asks.

  He reaches for the gold nipple clamps currently attached to her and tightens them, eliciting a yelp of pleasure.

  "What about you?" Jeannie looks over. "Will you fuck me good?"

  I'm surprised she asked. Hell, I'm surprised she can see me standing by the door. This large dungeon is nearly pitch black, barring the crimson light glowing over her cross. I can barely make out Diego's shadow, he seems to be picking out a new toy for Jeannie.

  "Not tonight, sweetheart," I reply. "Just checking in."

  I nod to Diego and shut the door.

  That woman doesn't want me. She's so turned on that all she wants right now is cock, regardless of the man it's attached to. I'm a monster, and women don't fuck monsters under normal circumstances. I'm doing her a favour, really.

  I head back to my office, located at the end of the corridor. Above me, R&B music thumps from our bar. It's a mild Saturday evening, and the crowds are out in full force. Drinking the autumn evening away, dancing their worries away.

  Only a select few knows this bottom floor exists. A world within their world, where their na
ughty fantasies may be brought to the surface in a safe environment.

  Angelika's door is open. Again. Walking past, I see her verbally demeaning a man who's dressed in a gimp suit. His face is buried between her naked thighs while one hand furiously wanks himself off to Angelika's orders. This man is Barnard Jones, one of London's property tycoons. A true gentleman. Angelika smiles at me and I nod, tossing her a bottle of water from a little table by the door before walking off.

  Settling into the comfy leather armchair in my office, I study the surveillance video of the bar. Some of the dungeon members are in attendance, enjoying some fine champagne at the VIP tables before getting their hedonistic desires satiated. Our dungeons stay open well past the bar's closing hours.

  I didn't really want this job, truth be told. My bosses, Jackson Angel and Rykard Simmons betrothed this place to me after they finally decided to move on to more legitimate business ventures, leaving their former life behind as the heirs to London's criminal underworld. With Jax running a successful construction company and Rykard owning a string of bars, my role as their right hand would have soon become redundant. The normal world has no room for an ex special operatives soldier with a trigger happy finger.

  But it is what it is.

  And I'm truly grateful for the opportunity I've been given to run this modern bar with a filthy secret. Rykard lets me run this place as I see fit, and I even have my old comrade Diego with me. Who would've thought he's as skilled with a whip as he is with a Glock?

  The fact is, my former bosses truly value me. I was never just their right hand man, or their enforcer. They treated me like one of their own, and they've always had my back. How many people can actually say that? Hell, I'm earning so much money now that I could be featured in Jeannie's magazine. Not that I ever would. The less people who know of my existence, the better. I'm a recluse for a reason. There's no room for me in society, and I have no interest in it either. This has been working nicely for me so far.

  Until today.

  Until this moment.

  "Who the hell are you?" I lean forward so quickly that I nearly knock my crystal bourbon glass clean off the desk.

  I zoom in on the CCTV footage of the small, secondary bar situated in the rear of the upstairs room.

  And I see her.

  She sits with Maria Paling, one of our dungeon's members, sipping a flute of champagne.

  My cock hardens to a throbbing mass of painful steel within my wool trousers at the sight of her. She's a delectably curvy goddess. Thick, dark hair falls to her chest in large waves. She's wearing a dark cocktail dress with a low neckline, revealing the kind of cleavage that would inspire a million poems. I trace a finger on my screen while the other hand moves to my lap. The woman smiles at something Maria says, but that smile doesn't reach her dark eyes. She's being polite, but there's an undeniable sadness in her. She looks lost, like she doesn't want to be here.

  A feeling I know all too well.

  I'm overcome with an urge to make things right for her. To see her smile, a genuine smile. Never have I been so floored by the mere sight of a woman, that I owe it to myself to at least say hello.

  I need her.

  The filthiest images cross my mind of the things I'd like to do with her body. Standing up, I re adjust my cock so it doesn't protrude so obscenely through my trousers. I grab my suit jacket on the way out, slamming the office door shut.

  I'm going to meet this woman, come hell or high water. And if there's even a glimmer of hope written in my fate, I'm going to be burying myself in her right up to the hilt.

  I'll fucking bring the stars out of the sky for her.

  I'll give her so much happiness that whatever it is that's causing her to look so lonely will be eradicated off the face of this Earth.

  3

  Lizzie

  "And another one!" Maria squeals as the pretty bartender places a second bottle of Prosecco in front of us.

  "I really can't," I say. The first bottle's already doing a number on me. I feel a little woozy, unsteady on my feet. Trust my best friend to drag me out and attempt to get me hammered on the day I end an engagement. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she's actually celebrating the fact that I'm not with Jack anymore. Maria has always been polite with him and never spoke badly of him when we were together. However, I've always suspected she isn't his biggest fan. Now that my rose coloured glasses are well and truly removed, I can see how Jack's old money sense of entitlement and better than you attitude rubs of on others the wrong way. I'm ashamed to admit that it was what drew me in to begin with. As someone who grew up self conscious about her weight, to have a rich and popular boy show me interest was a blessing, and I lapped it up greedily.

  I suppose the cracks in our relationship were always there. Even when I'd made a success of myself, Jack always found little ways to put me down while making it seem unintentional. I remember when I paid myself my very first bonus a couple of years ago, I wanted to treat him to a lovely dinner. I bought some lovely cuts of steak, a nice bottle of wine and some gorgeous selections of cheese. When Jack came home from work, he didn't even try to hide his disappointment about having a home cooked meal. "Oh that's lovely dear, but I thought we should go out to celebrate your milestone. I've made reservations at Le Fille."

  Le Fille, of course, is an exclusive restaurant nestled in the heart of Soho. Even if I hadn't spent most of my bonus on all the fresh ingredients, there was no way I could afford to treat us both to a full meal at that place. So, Jack picked up the tab. And my food went towards a picnic basket for his cousin's baby shower.

  "Oh, hello." Maria suddenly nudges me.

  "What?" I ask, annoyed at the intrusion on my self wallowing pity party.

  "We've got company."

  I follow her gaze towards the dance floor. It's dark and heaving with bodies. I'm glad we avoided it, though I know it won't be long until Maria drags me there.

  But the mass of writhing bodies isn't what catches my eye. It's the flint of blue cutting through them that does.

  A man emerges slowly in front of us, walking with a quiet sense of confidence. Like he owns the place. His eyes glimmer dangerously in this dim bar, the stunning blue being accentuated by his navy suit which seems to be wrapped around a body made of iron.

  My mouth dries when I notice he's heading straight for us. Unhurried. Determined.

  This man is gorgeous.

  He's far from a pretty London boy, that's for sure.

  His hair is buzzed short and dark stubble lines a masculine jaw. What's most interesting, however, is the thin scar that drags across his face from eyebrow to cheek. I can't help but stare at it. The mark gives so much character to his overall look.

  He's dangerous, yet refined.

  His body screams raw power, but the smile on his face betrays a gentleness in him.

  "Hey Connor," Maria hops off her stool, giving him a big hug.

  For some unknown reason, I'm hit with a pang of jealousy. Has Maria hooked up with this guy? I've always envied her independent spirit, and how she never holds back from satiating her desires. But the sight of her around this bloke, Connor, gives me a sudden urge to pull her away.

  Connor's eyes are glued on mine as he returns Maria's hug.

  "This is my friend, Lizzie," Maria finally introduces us.

  I accept his outstretched hand, which all but swallows my tiny one. He holds on to me, and I relish in the feel of his roughness.

  "Pleasure," he says, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. He smells of fire and musk, and my thighs begin to tremble in his presence. I hope he doesn't notice. Maria's only dress which can be considered modest is already more revealing than any item of clothing I own.

  I catch Connor's eyes doing a quick sweep of my body. Appraising me.

  But for what?

  "Lizzie here is recently single," Maria says, to my horror.

  "Is that so?" Connor asks.

  "Yep. And we are out celebrating her freedom." She
hands him a glass of champagne.

  Connor's smile suggests he's happy to hear the news. And for some bizarre reason, I'm actually happy for him to know I'm single.

  I have absolutely zero interest in jumping into any kind of relationship right now, but a girl can have a little flirt can't she? A cheeky snog, maybe?

  Connor turns to Maria and whispers something in her ear, making her giggle. That pang of jealousy strikes again. Seriously, I need to get a grip.

  "No," Maria replies loudly, "Lizzie is far too innocent for that."

  "What?" I ask.

  I'm slightly irritated that my friend chose to tell this handsome man I'm innocent. Makes me sound like some kind of repressed virgin. Fine, I've only ever been with one man, but that doesn't make me innocent does it?

  Connor and Maria both look at me. I can see a mischievous grin on their faces. What are they up to?

  "You tell her," Connor finally says.

  "So," Maria leans in, "you know you've often asked about those marks on my legs and arms?"

  I cringe. Of course I remember. Knowing your best friend is into some kinky BDSM stuff always makes for an awkward conversation. I always wondered how she seemed to earn those new bruises, especially when she's always hooking up with new guys. Surely not every guy is some kind of master Dominator? Jack certainly wasn't.

  My cheeks heat when I remember how terrified he looked when I suggested he spank me in bed once. I may as well have asked if he would be interested in getting teabagged by a rugby team.

  "I remember," I eventually reply.

  "Well, I earned those little trophies here," Maria says.

  "You what now?" I ask, certain I've misheard her over the music.

  "You see that little door opposite the dance floor?"

  Straining my eyes, I can just about make out something that looks like a door. It's so dark that the door looks like part of the wall there.

  "I see it."

  "Well, that door leads to a stairway," Maria says, "which then leads into a whole new club. Beneath your feet right now is a bunch of people living out their darkest fantasies."