by Zoe Blake
“I’m jumping in the shower first,” announced Jane as she snatched up my shoes and headed out the door with my dress over her arm. On her way, she picked up a small brass handle mirror I had on my vanity and held it up to me. “There is also this… Angelina Jolie!”
Taking the mirror from her hand, I looked at my reflection. As Jane’s laughter drifted down the hallway to the bathroom, I slowly sat down on my bed and stared. My lips were dark pink and swollen. With my tousled hair and huge pouty lips, I looked like I had just spent the better part of a week screwing in bed. With a huff, I fell back amongst the covers.
Dragging the blankets aside, I reached for Richard’s coat and hugged it to me. Inhaling deeply, I felt a stir between my legs at the spicy masculine scent that still clung to the fabric. Pulling my knees up, I rolled on my side and closed my eyes. Memories of him pushing me up against that rock wall and kissing me senseless danced across my mind. The taste of him as his tongue sparred with my own. I have never been kissed so passionately… so forcefully before. It was something straight out of a romance novel. And the feel of his thick fingers as he kept pushing one, then another, then another inside me. My body felt stretched to the limit and yet wanted more.
Still, there was this sense of unease in the back of my mind. At first, I just thought it was me practically giving it up on the first date but now I knew there was more to it.
As much as he excited me… he frightened me a little bit too.
His grip on my wrist at dinner when I didn’t immediately obey him. The dark way he insisted I touch myself under the table. The way he refused to stop the assault of his fingers even when I told him it hurt.
In some sick, twisted way, I found his domineering forcefulness sexy. It took a pretty powerful and confident man to boldly toss a woman up against a wall and take whatever he wanted. Let’s face it, that kind of arrogant confidence was hot as hell in a man. But still, there was a reason you only saw stuff like that in the movies or read about it in books. In real life, it should be a red flag.
Richard might just be too intense for me.
He talked about playing games, but I wasn’t so sure I was playing at his level.
Is there anything in this world that feels as good as a long, hot shower?
Richard’s cock?
Stop that!
I would never be able to concentrate on classes today if all I could think about was Richard.
Wrapping my hair in a towel, I padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen to put the kettle on. Jane was leaning over the sofa straightening our picture of Audrey Hepburn. Every time she put the sofa bed away, our canvas pictures of Audrey, Marilyn Monroe, and Brigitte Bardot all blowing bubblegum bubbles went all crooked.
“I keep telling you to pull the sofa bed away from the wall an inch or two and it won’t jar the pictures.” Cutting a scone in half, I buttered both sides and spooned on some lemon curd before handing half to Jane.
“We can’t afford to lose an inch or two in this place,” grumbled Jane as she slumped down on the sofa.
Taking a seat at my drafting table, I spared our tiny flat a rather jaundiced glance. Jaundiced being the right word since the walls were covered in a rather sickly yellow lime color. The rent was not too outrageous and we were very close to school, which was mainly what mattered. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t dream of living in someplace grander. Perhaps the estate where Downton Abbey was filmed? Imagine being able to swoop down a grand staircase every morning as I made my way into a parlor or drawing room for breakfast. Or telling a butler I would have tea in the library that day. If I lived in a place like that, I would wear gorgeous sweeping gowns with long trails and hand-embroidered shawls every day.
“When do you start?” asked Jane as she picked a crumb off her shirt and popped it into her mouth.
Turning on my swivel chair, I looked down at my printed schedule. “I have Introduction to Costume for Performance at two.”
“Yikes. Professor Hands!”
“It says here Professor Handleson.”
“Yes, but everyone calls him Professor Hands. Let’s just say, don’t wear any low necklines or skirts in his class.”
I scrunched my nose in distaste. As a first-year student going for my BA in Costume for Performance, I listened to every bit of Jane’s advice. She was in her second year and although she was going for her BA in Fashion Buying and Merchandising, there were some cross-over courses.
“So, are you going to tell me about your mystery date last night?”
The electric kettle started to whistle. Jumping up, I made my way to the kitchen. Reaching into a cabinet for the mugs and teabags, I said evasively, “I’m not sure it was even a date.”
I don’t know why I was being coy about telling Jane about Richard. It was almost as if I wasn’t certain he was real. If I talked about it, I might ruin the dream.
“Come on. Spill.”
Walking back to the living area with two cups of tea, I handed her one and sat down on the sofa next to her. Sighing, I realized it might help calm all the chaotic back and forth thoughts in my head if I hashed them out with someone.
“Promise not to get all judge-y?”
“Girl. I told you about that time in the pub loo, right?”
Laughing, I said, “Point made. Okay, so I met him when I almost got run over by a cab yesterday.”
Jane shook her head. “Forgot to look right again?”
“Judge-y!”
She threw up her hand. “Sorry. Continue.”
I told her the whole story, even the part about the panties although leaving out the part about the spanking. A girl had to keep some secrets. I left it at that insanely hot kiss against the wall and him saying he wanted to take me out to dinner tonight.
Biting my lip, I asked, “So what do you think?”
“Seriously? You have to ask?” Ticking the items off on her fingers, Jane replied, “He’s hot as hell, knows how to dress, took you for a super posh meal, and is a good kisser? If you don’t want him, send him my way.”
Warming up to the topic, I smiled over my mug. “He has a cool name too, Richard Payne.”
Jane dropped her mug. Hot tea splattered over both of our laps and the sofa cushion between us. Leaping to my feet, I put my mug on the coffee table and ran to grab the rag we left over the kitchen faucet. Kneeling before the sofa, I began to blot the cushions.
“Are you okay? Did it burn you?”
“Forget about the tea! Did you seriously just say Richard Payne? Payne? Richard Payne?”
My brow furrowed as I scrubbed at the cushions with more ferocity than was necessary. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I exclaimed, “Stop saying his name like that, yes, I said Richard Payne—why?”
Jane raced over to her laptop and brought up Google. I watched as she typed his name into the search bar. Instantly there were countless photos of Richard.
Richard in a tuxedo attending a large gala event.
Richard on a yacht surrounded by celebrities.
Richard at a polo event sitting next to the queen.
Richard looking incredibly handsome in a suit at Prince Harry and Meghan’s wedding, sitting in one of the front pews with the royal family.
Richard skiing in Aspen.
My stomach somersaulted as I pulled the laptop closer.
“Is this your Richard?”
I hated the way Jane emphasized your; obviously he wasn’t mine. I already knew he was probably out of my league, but I didn’t realize we weren’t even in the same solar system.
“How? Who?” I couldn’t even form the question, as I just helplessly scrolled through the countless photos and articles about Richard.
“Girl, he is one of the richest men in the world and a freakin’ duke!”
Looking at Jane aghast, I could only parrot back her words. “A duke?”
“Yes, as in practically royalty, he probably has the queen’s personal mobile number.”
My eyes rested on the bold print under
one image, Richard Frederick Payne III, Duke of Winterbourne. He’s a freakin’ duke.
That certainly explained all the odd looks and hopping about everyone was doing both at the museum and the restaurant as well as the cab driver’s reaction.
There was now absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was never going to see him again.
It just kept playing over and over in my head. A duke! A freakin’ duke!
What could a duke possibly see in a first-year fashion student at uni?
Nothing.
I bit my lip and blinked back the tears that were quickly forming. It was silly, of course. I had only just met the man. It’s that he was just so… so… Mr. Darcy!
Not wanting to give away too much to Jane, I shrugged as I grabbed our mugs and headed to the kitchen, “Whatever. It was a fun pseudo one-night stand.”
Jane came up behind me. “This is the first guy you’ve shown the slightest interest in since I’ve known you and he happens to be the catch of the century and all of sudden you’re acting like you’re not interested? Bullshit.”
Not wanting her to read my reaction, I kept my back turned and poured way too much dish detergent into my mug, watching as a mini volcano of suds erupted over the edge. “I can’t compete with all that,” I said, gesturing to the laptop she still held in her hand. “Let’s just leave it.”
Putting the laptop down, Jane grabbed me by the shoulders and ushered me out of the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
Jane marched me into the bedroom and didn’t stop till we were both standing in front of my long mirror.
Nodding over my shoulder as she gave my reflection the once-over, she reflected, “You’re right. You can’t compete.”
“Ouch! Judge-y!”
“Because there is no competition! Girl, you have no idea how beautiful you are both on the inside and out. That man would be lucky to date someone like you. I don’t care if he is a rich duke who’s super tall and hot as hell.”
I turned and gave her a hug. “You rock.”
Wrapping her arms around me, she slapped my ass. I hid my wince since it was still a little sore from the kinky spanking Richard had given me the night before. “You’re a hot piece of ass, Lizzie. You’re just going to have to accept it.”
Laughing, I hooked an arm around her shoulder and turned toward my closet. “Help me pick out an outfit for today since you stole one of my favorite dresses already.”
We were halfway through picking apart my wardrobe when my hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, no!”
“What?”
“I never gave him my number!”
Jane’s mouth opened in shock. “What?”
“I can’t even remember him looking at his mobile the entire time he was with me. It was almost like he didn’t own one.”
“So, you didn’t exchange numbers? What about Facebook? Or Instagram?”
I shook my head no.
“I mean at some point I must have told him what street I lived on, although I don’t remember doing so. Still, this building has over fifty apartments, there is no way he’d know which one I was in.”
“Maybe he gave you his card?”
Shaking my head no, I said, “The only thing I remember is him saying he wanted to take me out to dinner tonight but I don’t know how that’s going to be possible if he can’t contact me to make arrangements.”
“Well, you told him what school you go to… maybe he’ll track you down that way?”
I half-heartedly agreed, not even trying to hide my disappointment. I really wanted to see Richard again, if only to see if the intense vibe I was feeling was real or imagined.
“I mean you could try contacting him. Seize the moment. We could call one of his companies,” offered Jane.
“And say what? I’m the girl you saved from a cab, fancy buying me another posh dinner?”
No. I couldn’t do that. If I was ever going to know if Richard genuinely was interested in me, he would have to make an effort to contact me. It was a small confidence boost but one I needed. After all, the man was a freakin’ duke!
Hours later, we opened our flat door only to almost trip over a large white box. Just over four feet long and about half as wide, it was a bit awkward lifting it up and over the threshold. Tucked into the thick black velvet ribbon securing the lid was a small cream-colored envelope with Elizabeth scrawled in heavily slanted, masculine script.
Jane’s eyes widened with anticipation. “Open it!”
Turning my shoulders slightly so she couldn’t read the card before me, I slid a fingertip under the envelope fold and pulled out the card.
Eight p.m. tonight.
Wear this.
—Richard
I couldn’t suppress the tremor of anticipation the authoritative, commanding tone of his note caused. He was just so… demanding in that awesome masculine sexy kind of way.
Pulling on the bow, I slowly lifted the lid. Nestled inside the box was layers upon layers of ethereal pale pink, washed silk organza. Lifting the dress by the shoulders, I held it up to myself. It was a floor-sweeping gown with several tiers of frills from the waist down. With its high neck and scallop-edged sleeves, it looked both timelessly elegant and chic.
“Is that a Vampire’s Wife gown?”
“I think it is…” I was in awe. With my love of historical gowns, I was obsessed with the designs from Vampire’s Wife. The gowns looked old-fashioned in a hip way. Once more, it was like Richard had read my mind, picking out the absolutely perfect gown for me. By the look of it, it would fit perfectly as well.
“Well, it looks like he tracked you down,” observed Jane with a smirk.
Holding the gown protectively against my middle, I couldn’t quite figure out if I was more anxious or excited for tonight.
Chapter 9
Richard
“I want you to buy up a controlling interest in a company called Shelton Pharmaceuticals.” Opening the center white-framed door behind my desk, I stepped out onto the expansive balcony. Leaning against the intricate wrought-iron railing, I listened as my broker rattled off current market pricing for shares.
“I don’t give a damn. Offer them over market price if necessary. And set up an appointment with a Dr. Leilend.”
“Is that the guy working on the memory drug?” came the disjointed voice on the other end of the line.
“You’re not paid to ask questions. Just do as I say.” Hanging up the cordless phone, I tossed it onto a nearby table and took in the view.
Staring absently as the London Eye Ferris wheel slowly turned, I caught glimpses of a murky grey Thames somberly ambling its way through the West End under an equally grey sky. Most would consider this view impressive and with my office’s prominent location on the west side of Robert Street, I certainly paid excessively for the privilege, but it didn’t compare to the landscape of my favorite estate in Staffordshire.
Returning to the warmth of my office, I sat back down and began to shift through the endless piles of reports and contracts that required my attention. The most important being the detailed report I had on Elizabeth’s every movement for the last several weeks, almost since she entered the country. Being a member of the House of Lords certainly had its benefits; no one questioned too deeply when you asked for all the CCTV footage on someone. There wasn’t a tiny corner in London she had gone to without being recorded, all to my benefit.
Unfortunately, my thoughts were elsewhere.
On a pair of vivid green eyes and a lush, cherry pink mouth to be precise.
Looking over the wide expanse of my rosewood English partner’s desk, I could just imagine Elizabeth spread out like a sacrificial offering. Her pale skin and chestnut hair given a warm glow from the gold-accented crimson leather desktop. The eighteenth-century chandelier I insisted on keeping when I restored this period home into my London flat and office would send shimmers of sparking light and tiny dancing rainbows across her generous curves.
Shifting in my
seat, I pulled on my trouser pants to adjust for my growing cock. Pressing down the length with the edge of my palm, the pressure eased my discomfort only marginally. Nothing would truly satisfy me until I was finally able to plunge balls deep into her tight, wet heat.
Still, I would have to wait.
Denial was part of the game.
As a man who could have whatever, whenever he wanted, restraint and control were the only true pleasures left to me. A prize easily won was no prize. The true pleasure was in savoring the feelings of fierce longing and need. The tension and buildup of anticipation as you slowly encircled your prey.
Elizabeth was a beautiful unique bird I planned to cage and make my own. The true strategy of the game came in doing so before my little bird even realized she was in danger.
From the moment I saw her several weeks ago, sitting in the sunshine at St. James’s Park reading a copy of Frankenstein, biting her lip as she absently twirled a lock of chestnut hair, I was drawn to her innocence and beauty.
While others divided their attention between phones and e-readers, only occasionally sparing a glance for their companions, Elizabeth remained absorbed in the physical book in her hand. Entranced, I watched her raise one delicate finger to those pretty lips and lick the tip before turning a page. For over two hours, I watched as she stayed within the moment, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun, inhaling the sweet grass scent around her, watching the glistening blue waters of the lake as shadows from the sweeping weeping willow trees that lined the edge began to deepen.
It was enthralling.
Finally, a woman who could appreciate the moments and life around her without the obsessive intrusions of modern life and technology, all of which I abhorred.
Pulling open my desk drawer, I withdrew a small royal blue box. Tracing circles on the soft fabric with the tips of my fingers, I thought about my plans for tonight.
Last night I had given Elizabeth just a taste of my expectations. Tonight I would demand an even deeper submission from her.