“Diversified. You just said it yourself. That’s what we’re doing,” Ludo called over his shoulder, getting milk from the fridge. “And we are prepared for a fight to get the Board to see things our way, that we have to modernise.”
“There’s modernise and then there’s handing out capital to pie-in-the-sky ventures and handing over valuable family property to your friends to play designers and architects with! Do you know how much revenue you’re losing with your token-rent serviced apartments for interns and trainees coming to work in London, and the new public space you’re creating for your hub, the ‘co-operative community of independent retail, crafts and well-being entrepreneurs’?” Michael half-shouted.
“Yep. Down to the last penny. We’ll be in to see you and discuss this, and your objections, in person.” Jago’s tone promised he wouldn’t give an inch. He closed the laptop lid.
Ellie blinked. “You’re bankrolling a bio-fuels start-up? And you gave another friend his first interior design project. And you’re not creating more high-end retail outlets in Mayfair.” She snorted, imagining a central courtyard full of hipster stores and cafés and alternative medicine and therapy practitioners in the heart of London’s snobbiest borough. “And I’d love to know what you’re planning to do with the old family house. But won’t that just enrage Michael more?”
“Oh, he’s one of the old guard. Stuck in his ways to look after company interests. He’ll see the light,” Ludo assured her, pouring tea. “Now, let’s get some ideas together to combat the anti-shifter attacks.”
Ellie wasn’t so sure about that. The Calters had known the man since they were children and so perhaps didn’t see his true nature. She, however, thought she did. The man was against the Calters coming out, and so jeopardising their business empire, yes, but he was angrier about the new direction they were taking said business in. Was the materialistic man, enraged at seeing profits and his bonus and share values slip, using the anti-shifter feelings as a cover for his own agenda? And her next question was, how far would Michael go to drag things back to business as usual?
And with the twins blind to the depths of Michael Langton’s anger and greed, it was up to her to do something about it. And she’d start with a phone call to her ex, Justin.
Chapter Seven
“Ellie!”
Of course, the downside to having asked Justin for his help was that she was forced into contact with him. Ellie wondered again if it had been the best thing to do, especially with Justin still begging for another chance, and trying various ways to get her back, but who else could she have asked to dig into Michael Langton? Justin was a researcher, albeit into social policy, and right there on the spot in central London, whereas she’d been tucked away in Hadshire, ‘matching’ for almost a week. She was quite pleased about the twins’ no-phone policy, part of the matching—she’d been able to avoid speaking to Justin. Today, however, she had her mobile switched on, and he’d caught her.
“Anything?” she queried, dashing across the busy Knightsbridge road, almost dropping her phone as she dodged a Routemaster bus.
“Nothing. As in, Langton goes to work, stays at work, goes out to meetings—all in well-known public places—with investors or bankers or planners or councillors, sometimes accompanied by his assistant, who has a lot of her own meetings at all hours of the day and night and—”
“Yeah, I get it.” He’d whine on and on if she let him.
“And I can hardly see his email or listen in on his phone calls, can I? Ellie, listen. I have my own theories about this. The NGO’s been getting hate mail and—”
“We always do.” Ellie ducked into the boutique hotel where the interview she’d almost forgotten about was scheduled to take place.
“This is from the shifter isolationists. They’re getting more and more disgruntled about the ‘forced integration’ of it all. Want to be acknowledged and left alone, like the Calters.”
“What?” She couldn’t catch it in the din.
“And there’s the species-separatists faction. Getting more vocal.”
“Oh.” Phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, Ellie scanned the small 1920s-style lobby. “The whole ‘we’re not one people’ issue? Different treatment for different species? It is a valid point.”
“There’s a lot of ferment brewing about preferential types, and some classes getting erased in the legislation.” Justin’s voice rose with the fervour. “Can you meet some reps?”
“I…could.” Ellie mouthed who she was and why she was there to the receptionist and took the sheet of paper the woman passed her. “Although I’m not up on the finer details of each claim.”
The uniformed pageboy took her to the lift, meaning Ellie needed to end the call, making her agree to meet Justin later to go over the topic, prior to meeting any leaders. She frowned on reaching the hotel suite, once the tiny box of a lift took her there. “Wardrobe and makeup? I’m not a movie star!” she protested. “And that’s a point: why here and not the office, anyway?”
But the newspaper insisted, and she must have agreed at some point, and so she was dressed in a tight pencil skirt and matching blazer over a clinging black bodysuit she thought must be underwear or swimwear, her hair sleeked into a severe chignon bun, secured with two decorative sticks. Oh, for God’s sake, it’s a fluff piece! she realized two minutes into the interview, when the questions, now for the weekend lifestyle supplement of the weekly paper and not its analysis section, had nothing to do with policy or laws but everything to do with shifter-human co-existence.
The NGO needs funding. The NGO needs publicity, Ellie told herself trying not to wince when the questions hit nerves whose twanging she’d been ignoring. Because things were good with Ludo and Jago—they treated her like a princess. And that was the problem. She didn’t particularly want to be pampered and shielded and locked away in a tower. Oh, they touched her, pleasured her, had her screaming her fulfilment loud and long. She blushed, thinking back to last night, them all in Jago’s huge bed, the twins tying her wrists to the ornate headboard and then her ankles to the bed’s legs—the latter because she’d kicked. Kicked when her body had gone up in flames, at their play… Jago on one side, sucking and nibbling on her breasts before slipping a plastic mini vibe onto one fingertip to torment her nipple, and Ludo laving her pussy with his tongue before finger-fucking her hard. They’d set out to make her scream and make her cream, as they’d so poetically put it. And they’d kept their word—she’d dripped with honey and yelled her pleasure into the night. She was still hoarse.
But they were always in control. Never lost themselves to mind-blowing pleasure, like she did. Or, more precisely, she had never been able to make them lose themselves, to dissolve into the fire and fury of the moment. And more and more, she wondered what that would be like.
The jazz-age suite came with a cocktail bar, and a bartender stationed there to mix authentic period drinks, obviously to loosen her up for the nature of the questions the interviewer was asking. By the time Ellie had sampled a gin rickey, she’d mellowed enough to find the enquiries a bit of a giggle. After a bee’s knees, she felt bold enough to pose draped over the suite’s fabric-covered sofa, and a sidecar later, against the sumptuous silk curtains. And when the interview ended, after she’d tried an old-fashioned and a gimlet, she felt bold enough to try…anything.
She waved the journalist and photographer off in the small lift, and helped their assistants find the stairs. Curious, she wandered along the corridor. The next door along led to a library or study, beautifully appointed, all walnut and leather. She couldn’t resist going in, to check out the books, and almost screamed. The room contained not just one handsome man, lounging at his ease in a wing-back chair, but two. Jago and Ludo.
“What are you… Let me guess. You own this hotel, right? What? What…” She backed away as they rose and prowled towards her.
“Ellie,” Jago breathed. “Look at you.”
“Like every man’s fantasy.” Ludo to
ok her arm and led her to the ornate mirror above the mantlepiece.
“Every…” Ellie stared at herself, at her severe hairstyle and prim glasses, her smokey eyes and bright-red lips, and the tight blazer, tighter skirt and sky-high black patent leather heels. “Oh.” The two men stood behind her, their eyes hooded, and she turned, preening. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like the way they stared at her. “It’s warm in here, don’t you think?” And with that, she slipped off her grey blazer, to reveal her tight black bodysuit. With the jacket on, the turtleneck had looked respectable, business-like, but now, its sleeveless design and the way it clung to her body and disappeared under the short, tight skirt screamed fuck me.
“You do look hot,” Jago murmured. “Close the doors.” This to his brother.
“Ummm.” Ellie unzipped the skirt and stepped out, flinging it to join the jacket. She’d almost forgotten the outfit included thigh-high stay-up stockings, and stood to look at them in the mirror. Ludo crowded behind her.
“As sexy as this is—and it is, to the point that I’m buying you one in every colour and material I can find—it’s got to go.” He unsnapped the poppers at her shoulder, the clicks loud in the quiet room, then moved for Jago to ease the garment down and off her body. They stood one on either side of her, simply staring into the mirror. In those shoes, she was almost their height, and the high heels and black stockings elongated her legs and contrasted with her prim and proper glasses and chignon.
“Undo your hair,” Ludo said, and she obeyed, pulling the sticks loose to let it tumble long and free. He groaned. “The scent of your arousal is overpowering.”
He spun her round and bent his head to hers. She tasted whiskey and something sweeter and gripped him tightly, afraid she’d fall when he broke the kiss. But she wouldn’t, not with Jago at her back, his lips warm on the curve of her neck, his teeth sharp on her earlobe. Ludo cupped a breast and Jago palmed an ass cheek, a perfect symphony. Ellie glanced into the mirror, entranced at the sight—her almost naked and the men fully clothed. When she realized how aroused both men were, her nipples distended into painful tight peaks. The feeling of power over them, that her sexy outfit had stirred them and that her almost-nakedness was inflaming them, was heady. Prim and prudish had left the building; wild and wanton taking its place.
“What would you like us to do?” Jago asked, his voice a low throb.
“Sit down and shut up,” Ellie answered, surprising herself. She pushed them both, making them stumble a little, to a leather sofa, forcing them to sit when their knees hit it. “I would like… I want…” She gave up on words in favour of action, kneeling at their feet and reaching out to unfasten Jago’s fly, having to tug as his erection made her task difficult. She slapped his hands away when he tried to help, and fixed both men with a glare.
Ludo held up a hand. “I’m shutting up, but just to say, this is better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.” He mimed zipping his lips.
Ellie licked hers as Jago’s cock sprang free.
“Eldest first.” Jago elbowed Ludo, who groaned.
“She should make you wait, for that.”
But Ellie couldn’t. She pulled Jago’s thick, heavy cock from its confinement and stroked its growing length. The stylist had painted her nails, and their white tips wrapped around Jago’s reddened flesh fascinated her. His shaft entranced her more, however. She used a manicured nail to trace the pulsing veins running from root to tip of the thickness, then made a fist of her hand to work the bulbous crown, exclaiming when a clear droplet seeped from the slit.
“Slow down, love,” Jago begged. “I don’t want this to be over too soon.”
Ellie widened the opening she’d made in his trousers, to see his sac had pulled up tight to his body, that his balls hung heavy and hard. “Fine,” she conceded, turning to Ludo and fumbling with his zip to release his cock as well. It was just as throbbing, and just as enticing, begging her to taste. She dabbed at the precum and smeared it over her bottom lip. Frowning, she bent to brush the head of Jago’s cock against her upper lip, then rubbed her lips together, delighting in the soul-deep groans she pulled from both men.
She sat back on her heels and looked from one twin to the other, drinking in their rumpled curls, dilated, heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips, delighting that she’d caused it. “I can’t decide. It will have to be alphabetical.” She removed her glasses and ducked to lick over the swollen head of Jago’s cock, scooping up as much liquid as she could, then closed her lips around his length.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled low. “Take me all the way down.”
She pulled on him hard, taking him as deep into the back of her throat as she was able, humming a moan of contentment around his length. The taste, the heat, the salt and sweet of him was incredible, and she sucked hard, encouraging him to thrust even harder.
“Not fair.” Ludo pouted. “Take me in your hand.”
When she did, he pushed into her fingers, and the sight was so wonderful she switched to him, suckling the tip of his cock she held, laving the eager, wet crown and caressing underneath the shaft. Ludo moaned and pressed his hips forward. Closing her lips around the firm flesh, Ellie sucked him deep, learning his unique flavour, too. She felt a hand at her hair—Jago had caught back the tresses to have an unobstructed view. His hand at her nape, he encouraged her down, whispering words of praise or instructions, she couldn’t be sure. Whatever; within minutes, she’d brought Ludo to the edge.
Releasing his rigid shaft, she turned her head to take Jago’s cock inside her mouth, savouring the nuances of his taste and scent compared to his twin’s, working to bring him to the brink too, when she stopped. Looking from one brother to another, she ran her tongue along her swollen lips. “Both of you taste so good,” she purred. She took both their cocks in her hands, to bring them as close together as possible. Before they could guess, or wish, she opened her mouth as wide as she could, and took the heads of both their cocks into her mouth at the same time.
It wasn’t easy, but she flicked her tongue around the smooth crowns and then drew the two shafts in as much as she was able. God, she was dripping wet, the twins’ hisses and growls adding to the sensations, and trying to rub her thighs together wasn’t cutting it. She let go with one hand to slip it between her thighs and plunge her fingers into her pussy. It only took a few strokes, the merest rubs of her clit and she came, sucking them and looking into their eyes all the time. Within seconds she was biting her lip and sighing her pleasure. And when she returned that hand to their shafts, it was sticky and shiny with her juices.
“You wanton little miracle,” Jago gasped. “Wish I could let you have your way with me all night, but I really need to come.”
She had to let Ludo slip free to suck Jago, working her tongue around his thick shaft, enormous and so sensuous in her mouth. Ellie managed to keep a hand around Ludo, working him up and down, even when Jago thrust himself deeper still, hitting the back of her throat, and the first splash of semen tickled her tongue. He gripped her head hard, holding it in place, his entire body taut, the muscles of his neck corded as he spurted into her mouth, a long, hot stream that slid down her throat, some escaping her lips although she did her best to swallow it.
The moment she pulled off to breathe, Ludo shouted out, perhaps a warning. His body arched, hard and unstoppable, and he jetted hot spurts of cum over her breasts. She held him through it, helped milk him onto her.
“Je-sus, Ellie!” Ludo pulled her up and onto his lap, then slumped back, panting. Ellie reached for her glasses.
Jago wrapped his arms around her, moving her to sit partly on him too. “I’d carry you to the mirror to see how fucking sexy you look, if I could,” he panted, wiping at her lips where wetness trickled.
“Ho-ly fuck.” Ludo finished swearing and shook his head. He stroked a hand down her stockinged legs and caressed the pointed toes of her stilettos. “You are one hell of a dirty little surprise, Dr Eleanor Maxwell. I can’t wait to sixty-nine with
you, find exactly how far down your throat you can take me.” He walked his fingers back up to ease inside her stocking tops, ignoring the buzzing of his phone.
Ellie was elated at having initiated and led their play, at having made them cede control. She was also proud she’d reduced them to such wrecks. Then she frowned and indicated the three of them. “Sixty-nine? Wouldn’t that be seventy-five? Or seventy-eight, depending on which way round?”
“I think if you’re capable of doing maths and geometry, you didn’t come hard enough.” Jago leaned her top half back, sliding his hand up as he did so to the underside of her breast. “You need a much harder fuck.” He ignored his phone too.
Ellie widened her legs. Christ, she was sticky from her face down, from three difference sources, and it felt delicious. “I— Arggh! Answer your damn phones!” She couldn’t bear letting calls or emails pile up.
“Sorry. They’re both on voicemail only.” Ludo slid his cell free, held it to his ear and froze.
“What? Ludo, what?” Ellie grew alarmed.
“It’s Vikram. Calling from Haliford House. I can hardly make it out, but he says a suspicious package has been delivered there and he doesn’t know what to do.”
Chapter Eight
“The hell?” Jago swore. “Ludo, move. Take Ellie—”
“With you.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You promised. I’m a part of things.”
“Are you crazy, woman? It’s much too—”
“Dangerous? Then it is for you too.” Their faces were still set, stonelike. “It’s probably just an empty threat, and if it isn’t, the police will make everyone stay back anyway. We can discuss it on the way.”
“Erm…” Outside, she waited for an introduction to the giant of a man who held open the car door. Surely there was no parking there?
Paranormal Dating Agency: Think of England (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Roar Britannia Book 1) Page 6