For the next two minutes they wrestled on the sofa until, with a surprise knee to his groin, Karla made him fall off. Still he clasped onto her, however, genuinely worried that she would attempt to cause him more serious harm as he dragged her down to the floor. He was also aware that the feeling of Karla’s small, compact body beneath his had resulted in a serious disconnect between his loins and his brain: indeed, his erection was so large now and his balls contracted so tightly against his body that her lucky blow between his legs hadn’t hurt him anywhere as near as much as he would have expected.
Karla seemed to have realised this as well. For a few seconds she hung above him, her face flushed red and her eyes blazing with something more than hate as she glared down at him.
“You’re a bloody bastard, Hayden Carter!” she hissed.
And then she kissed him.
Chapter Two: Karla
Karla was barely able to contain her fury as she entered their apartment, light streaming from the windows and filling the room with a warmth that did not match the ice in her heart. How could he have been so irresponsible—so stupid? She didn’t look back as she marched ahead of him, leaving him to close the door behind them. Certainly his latest character, Sebastian Rider, was meant to have something of the bumbling Englishman about him, but they’d never agreed to that kind of idiocy. A hundred thousand!
“Darling,” she heard him say. There was something so smug about his voice. Goddamit! He was pleased with what he’d done! Karla felt something snap inside and her hand reached across a nearby table, fingers clasping around a hard, cold object. “Jeanne. About last night, there’s something I need to tell you.”
As Hayden came into view she yelled: “You’re damn right you need to tell me!” There was no need for the pretence of Jeanne Duval now, and as she gave full vent to the anger in her lungs, so she flung the lamp she had grabbed hold of, scowling as he ducked and the bulb shattered against the wall.
“Karla! For God’s sake! Stop! Listen! I can explain!”
She was in no mood for reconciliation, instead launching herself forward with a punch aimed at the side of his head. At least she had the satisfaction this time of connecting and heard him yell and stagger back slightly. Following through immediately she registered a moment’s surprise as one of his hands flew up and caught her wrist—he’d always been fast, thinking instinctively. Now Karla was barely thinking at all. Instead she tried to throw blow after blow, her frustration increasing all the time as Hayden towered above her, a look of panic on his face as he struggled to hold her.
“A hundred thousand, Hayden! How could you? Don’t you know, we’re down to our last million?”
“Great!” she heard him mutter sarcastically. “If I knew I’d be living with an accountant, I wouldn’t have bothered!”
That was when Karla really saw red.
“You pig!” she screamed and lashed out with a foot, jabbing a heel into his leg and enjoying watching him semi-collapse. His own grip weakened and she managed to hit him again before, with a dumb, almost goofy expression on his face, he lost his balance and fell forward, collapsing on top of her and knocking her over onto a sofa.
Karla continued to try and rain blows against him, but she was unable to hit him with full force in this position. Instead her fists thudded as dull drops against the solid muscle of his chest. She tried to bite him, yanking and pulling at the fabric of his jacket, searching out some vulnerable spot where she could do him real damage. She could feel her own clothes tearing but was oblivious to everything other than causing Hayden Carter some serious damage.
A lucky head butt, followed by a knee to his groin made him fall off her, but still he held onto her with a tenacious grip that surprised her. He’d made no attempt to hit her back and all the violence was in one direction only. As she slithered on top of him, attempting to pull free so that she could get a better strike, she was aware of something hard and hot in his trousers. The bastard was enjoying this! His muscles, so taut and perfect beneath his torn clothes, seemed impervious to her blows and now she could feel his erection pressing against her thigh, hungry for her.
At that moment, Karla felt her ovaries pop.
Staring down at him, she took in the bruise on his handsome face where she’d landed a luck punch. His dark eyes were staring up at her with a mixture of apprehension and... concern. He didn’t want to hurt her. Yet despite everything, there was something more in his gaze, a hunger that matched her own.
“You’re a bloody bastard, Hayden Carter!” she hissed.
His lips were warm and wet, opening eagerly as she slid her tongue into him. Her hands, which only moments before had been fists striving to pummel his body, now moved eagerly across his chest, almost shredding his shirt as she yanked it open, not caring that he half-gasped, half-cried as the fabric dug into him. He was going to feel much more pain than that before she was done with him.
His own hands were moving across her, stripping her blouse from her shoulders. Her breasts, so firm and round, fell free immediately and pressed into his stronger, firmer chest as they kissed wildly, the warmth of their two bodies igniting as she sought out the waistband of his trousers, almost yelling in frustration as she fumbled to release his cock. Then she was inside and her eager fingertips clasped around the iron heat of his erection.
Oh god—ohbloodyfuckingmercifulgod!
Even after a year, Karla couldn’t get enough of Hayden’s manhood. It was truly magnificent. It was one of the reasons (one among many) that he was such an arrogant prick, and also one of the reasons why Karla forgave him so much. She was still angry with him, but now she wanted him. The reasons as to her anger, the whys and wherefores could wait. There was only one thing she wanted now. In truth, she was also dimly aware that her real anger was directed against herself. It wasn’t meant to be like this: Karla Steel had always taken great pride in dominating any man easily and completely.
Nowadays she only had to look at Hayden and she’d be wet.
He was yanking at her trousers, his blue eyes blazing with an almost blind lust that simply made her gush as she fell sideways, one hand still like a vice gripping his immense cock as he tugged her trousers free. Kicking her feet to try and get the rest of her clothes off, she connected—accidentally this time—with Hayden’s stomach and heard him grunt as the air left his body. Her own shriek of frustration came from the fact she no longer held onto his magnificent, engorged erection, but at least one leg of her culottes was free now and she let the other flap around as she leaped onto him, her hand a heat-seeking missile—and there was a lot of heat emanating from Hayden’s loins.
There was no time—no need—for further foreplay as she guided him to the proper target. Instead, her body half-collapsed on top of his, his hands holding onto her shoulders as her breasts were squashed against the firm pecs of his chest. Their mouths connected, devouring each other, while she rubbed the massive tip of him against her wet sex, slathering it with her juices. So big, so fucking big she repeated inside her skull, unable to do anything more than kiss and moan as she pushed herself down. He was so big, but she was so hungry, open for him.
Her eyes went wide as she forced him inside her. Sex with Hayden was always amazing, but this time there was something different. Perhaps it was the anger, the force of her frustration that made her body throb with desperation. Whatever it was, she began to climax immediately, her limbs shaking and trembling as he pushed up into her. For a few seconds she could do nothing more than lie on top of him, holding onto his broad shoulders as he bucked up beneath her. Lights flashed across her closed eyelids, and she whimpered as the head of his cock touched the neck of her womb.
She had no idea how long her orgasm lasted—it didn’t matter. Eventually, however, she became used to wave after wave of bliss and carefully, firmly, she lifted herself up against his resisting arms. Strength wasn’t a matter of muscle, but of determination, and not even Hayden Carter could hold down Karla Steel when she set her mind on some
thing. It was time for her to take control.
In an upright position now, she clenched the muscles of her abdomen, squeezing Hayden’s erection inside her and making him gasp. His naked torso, so proud and muscular, was drenched in sweat now, and she was dimly aware of the perspiration on her own body, her nipples glistening and hard. She was still angry with him, but she intended to make him pay in a different way now.
“You’re a bloody idiot,” she growled, watching him through slitted eyes. Another squeeze of her internal muscles made Hayden groan.
“I can explain,” he gasped. She slapped him across the face, which made her spasm on top of him. Oh, that was very nice. Very slowly, she lifted up her hips before bringing them down hard on him. It was her turn to gasp.
Rotating her buttocks slowly now, taking him all in, she managed to bring her orgasm under control again. “So, start... explaining. A hundred thousand, Hayden. That’s a lot of money.”
“How... how did you know? Oh god! Yes!”
She slapped him again—not so very hard, but enough to cause her to throb inside.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course... oh fuck! Of course I was going to know. It’s my money, Hayden.”
“Your money?” There was a flash of genuine anger in Hayden’s eyes, which excited Karla more than she could possibly have imagined, and she rotated her hips once more, lifting herself slightly before slamming back down onto him. It was Hayden’s turn to whimper.
“What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine as well... oh god! But that... that’s beside the point... oooh! Why... why so much money?”
“It... it wasn’t... planned.”
“That’s clear!” She dug her nails into his chest. Never had torture been so sweet.
“I... met him last night. Oh yes! There, that’s good. Oh fuck! That’s really good!”
She slapped him again, but almost tenderly this time.
“Concentrate, Hayden.” She began to ride him—regular, rhythmic strokes, her buttocks rising and falling, her eyes fixed on him, her breasts swollen and firm with excitement.
“He’s a roller, a whale. He goes in... deep. Oh! So fucking deep!” He was watching her now, his eyes suddenly clear and full of intelligence. Fuck! thought Karla to herself. It was such a turn on to watch him planning a con.
“I had to lure him in... Remember our plan? Sebastian... Sebastian Rider... a bumbling English playboy with... with more money than sense.”
“Not such a difficult role,” she gasped. She was so wet that she was having trouble keeping even that massive cock inside her, but she would endure to the very bittersweet end.
He ignored her sarcasm, his hands instead rising to her breasts, cradling and caressing them. His eyes were dark with lust now, half-lidded, his voice thick with desire as he spoke. Occasionally he would buck his hips beneath her, causing her sex to pulse with another spasm.
“He’s hooked. He thinks he can take me for every cent but... but I’m playing him. And he’s rich, Karla... oh god... so unbelievably rich. We’re going to take him for millions!”
“We?” her motions became faster now, rising and falling, stretching about him. She could feel him swelling, becoming thicker. They were both close now.
Hayden nodded, unable to speak for a few moments. “The two of us. Oh god! Yes! Faster. The two of... us. It needs... both of us to... work. Oh, shit!”
“What’s... what’s his name, this whale... of ours?”
“The Marquis... the Marquis de Valmont. You... you wouldn’t believe... how much money he has. We’re going to... oh hell! We’re going to be rich!”
As he throbbed and pulsed, the ripples of his orgasm bursting inside her, Karla threw her head back and howled, her nails digging into Hayden’s flesh as he grasped her arms, locking her in place so that neither of them could move. Their mutual climax seemed to last an age until, at last, she collapsed on top of him, her head resting on his chest, watching his breath as it came in pants, his chest rising and falling.
He was covered in small cuts from where she had clawed him and she almost regretted the pain she’d caused him. Almost. Kissing him softly, she held his faltering erection inside herself, enjoying the sensation as he slowly melted. He was stroking her hair gently.
“You should have told me,” she said at last. “We’re a team, remember?”
“Yes.” His voice was quiet, abashed. “I was going to, but an opportunity presented itself and...” He left the rest unsaid. She wasn’t angry any more. In the end, Karla knew enough about taking chances.
She lifted her face to look at him and, catching that tender expression in his eyes she felt warmth and wetness flood through her again.
“I want to meet him,” she said.
“You will. Tonight. He wants to meet you.”
That caught her by surprise. “Me?” she asked.
Hayden nodded. Another surprise was that she could feel his cock stirring again, blood pulsing along it as he drew her arms around her, rolling her sideways so that now he was on top of her, pressing her naked back against the carpet.
“He’s heard of an incredibly beautiful woman named Jeanne Duval, and has come to the conclusion that the only reason she could possibly associate with a fool such as Sebastian Rider is because of the Englishman’s money.” Hayden began to move his hips slowly, filling Karla once more. “He thinks he can offer her something better.”
Her breath started to come in short, sharp pants as excitement rose inside her. “It sounds... promising.”
“It is.” He was kissing her neck now, moving more deeply inside her. “And you’ll meet him tonight. We’re a team, remember.”
And Karla began to orgasm all over again.
Chapter Three: Valmont
Donatien Alphonse François, nineteenth Marquis de Valmont, was bored.
Around him sat a tawdry group of gamblers (Valmont shuddered at the thought of calling them “fellow” gamblers) that he had seen far too many times before. The German banker, the Lithuanian businessman, the prissy French lawyer who twitched and quivered at the thought of being a compatriot (compatriot!) with a notable member of the aristocracy. Taking money from them was tedious and all too easy—particularly with Eloise at his side—that there wasn’t even the thrill of winning.
Eloise had only joined him that day and in this company (so bourgeois, so mundane) he had half a mind to tell her to wait for him in his room. The others at the table looked at her so greedily that it was far too easy to tell what each one thought. Even the lure of the substantial sums tossed casually by Valmont onto the table failed to concentrate their minds.
She was certainly a piece of work, Eloise. Tall and blonde, with a figure best described as pneumatic, when Valmont had first met Eloise her chosen career had awakened in him a voracity for peculiar appetites that had been most promising. She was at a tipping point in her life: one way led to a grinding endurance that would end in the sewer; at the other extreme, she could be companion to a Marquis.
She was clever, Eloise. It was all too easy for others to underestimate her, especially when, as now, she sat there silently and apparently completely passive, with no trace of thoughts wrinkling her ageless brow. A million men had anointed images of Eloise with their incense and it was tempting to project all their deepest, all their darkest desire onto that flawless perfection.
Valmont knew better.
She was sitting at the table, speaking only when spoken to, her rich, luscious blonde hair pulled tightly to the crown of her head before cascading down the back of her dress, cut low to reveal a sinuous spine, just as the front flowed down so that it appeared to cover those twin, magnificent globes as though by magic. Not even the keenest eye would be able to perceive the subtle techniques used to sharpen her cheekbones, to fill out her lips or add youth to the corners of her eyes—Valmont had made sure of that, sparing no expense to sculpt her body in the best surgeries across Europe and America. He had toned down some of the more wilful excesses
of her previous lifestyle, manicuring her form as exquisitely as one of his ancestors had designed the gardens of Versailles. There were no scars on Eloise’s body that were not placed there by Valmont himself.
She was the most delightful creation of nature and artifice in delicious equipoise, but while for other men Eloise was a dumb goddess, a blonde statue waiting for the crudest of worship, Valmont trusted her to watch, listen and observe. She would know everything that happened in the room that night, and there was no-one else, not even Latour, whom he depended on more to be his eyes and ears.
Yet if Eloise couldn’t be distracted, it was very clear that her presence was distracting everyone else. Perhaps he should send her away. It was after ten and the Englishman—Sebastian Rider—had not arrived. Valmont flared his nostrils and shrugged away his mild annoyance.
Rider had promised a moment’s relief from ennui, though Valmont was hard pressed to explain exactly why. The man was clearly something of a buffoon, and yet Valmont wondered whether this was an elaborate series of mimes and gestures designed to obscure a deeper intelligence, which itself piqued the curiosity of the Marquis. Rider was handsome—surprisingly so in many ways, and if he turned up at the tables this evening for a brief second Valmont hoped that Eloise herself wouldn’t be distracted. Not that Valmont was jealous: he considered himself too philosophical for such trivial emotions, and indeed a life spent in the saddle, on the fencing court and in a succession of women’s beds had kept his own body lean and strong, suitable accompaniment to his dark, handsome and sardonic face.
Dismissing the thought, Valmont returned his attention briefly to Rider. There were two things, he decided, that intrigued him most. First of all, he had never met a gambler so reckless. The Englishman seemed ready to trust everything to luck, and indeed some spectacular successes the previous evening had made Valmont wonder whether he would be the evening’s loser—an event so rare that he had felt the blood pulsing through his veins in a way that had eluded him for a very long time.
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