by Amity Cross
That vixen I ran into on the street two days ago.
“Lorelei Lansford,” Hawkes declared, dumping a folder on the desk in front of me.
I leaned forward in my chair and pulled the folder toward me. It’d only taken two days to compile and I was itching to see what was inside.
It wasn’t the first time I’d asked my bodyguard slash business associate to snoop on a woman I was thinking about fucking. Well, more than just fucking, playing with. There were the one-night stands, the quick bangs at a party, the blowjobs in a bathroom someplace… Those women I could just kick out and never see again. The ones I played with stuck around a lot longer. They might see things…and they might complain when I wanted to get rough. Trouble wasn’t something I needed in my line of work.
Ever since running into Lorelei on the street, I couldn’t stop thinking about what her pussy would feel like. It was obvious she found me attractive and she looked sweet…the straight-laced kind of sweet. Those were usually the most fun to play.
“Lansford… Why does that name sound familiar?” I asked, picking up the file.
“The Lansford’s are self-made billionaires,” Hawkes explained. “The father made his money in Corporate Resale. Still does.”
I flipped through the first few pages and stopped when I saw her picture. Lorelei Lansford. “No title?”
“No title.”
Title was everything to society in these parts. Barons, Dukes, Duchesses, Baronesses and what-fucking-evers. The middle fucking ages never ended in this country and it was still all about breeding. I glanced at the photograph once more before closing the folder. The Lansford’s were the wave of the future. I could respect a man who worked his way up from the commons and dragged himself through shit to get to the top. I could also respect a woman who was brought up to respect the wealth her father had worked so hard to acquire.
Hawkes was still hovering and I glanced up at him. “What?”
“Mr. Sykes has agreed to meet with you.”
I sat up straight in my chair. “Really? The bad man finally wants to come and play?”
Sykes was the same age as me, late twenties, and had the same drive to succeed in the criminal underworld. Where I dealt with high society and pricy merchandise, he dealt with the more gritty aspects. He was the leader of the Necromancers who, on the surface, were nothing more than a regular thuggish Motorcycle Club. Underneath all of that, their President had more precise aspirations. He wanted to take his Club and turn it into a slick cartel scaled operation. Together, we had a chance of taking both our operations to the next level.
Sykes could help me expand my drug trade and push our biggest competitor, rival bikers Royal Blood, out completely. Not to mention, I could help him reach international clients who were aligned with much darker passions. It was the ultimate corporate merger of the underworld.
“He would like to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience,” Hawkes said.
I leaned back in my chair. Scratch my Lorelei itch or meet with Sykes? Which would come first?
“Get Marcia on the phone,” I said, a devious plan hatching in my mind.
Hawkes frowned. “A party? Now?”
“Yes, Hawkes. I’ve got a itch that needs scratching.”
He glanced at me, his frown giving away that he disapproved. He usually got some pussy out of it, so why he gave a shit, I didn’t know.
“Her father mightn’t be titled, but he could financially ruin you within months.”
“I understand, Hawkes,” I snapped. Gregory Lansford was a ruthless man. He had to be to get to where he was.
“She’s not like the others.”
I glared up at him. “Is there something I should know?”
He narrowed his eyes. “No, Sir.”
I leaned back in my chair. He knew who paid him above award fucking wage.
“Is that all, Vaughn?” He wasn’t happy about my parties, but that wasn’t anything new.
I waved my hand to dismiss him. “Yeah, fuck off.”
Flipping open the file, I began to learn all I could about sweet, little, Lorelei Lansford.
Hot water pounded over my head as I stood in my shower, thinking about Lorelei’s tight little pussy.
Of course, I had no idea how tight she was, but I had a vivid imagination. Art Gallery curator, rich, demure, not even a parking ticket to her name… She was begging for me to corrupt her.
Wrapping my fingers around my erect cock, I began to stroke myself, wondering what it would be like to have her in this very shower. I let my head fall back, a moan escaping between my parted lips. Lorelei on her knees, her mouth wrapped around me. I pumped harder, my balls aching.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d masturbated thinking about a woman. It would have to be a long time ago because if I wanted to fuck, I just went out and found a willing participant. I’d have my dick in a pretty little thing in under an hour, but the thought of going out and fucking someone else when I was so fixated on Lorelei, didn’t hold my interest.
I pumped my cock harder in my hand, my skin heating with my imminent orgasm. When I blew, my cum hit the tiles and I snorted at the irony. I jacked off plenty of times, but my load usually ended up on a woman rather than on the wall.
Turning off the taps, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. Wiping the condensation from the mirror with the palm of my hand, I stared at my reflection.
It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Vaughn.
I couldn’t deny that I’d felt something different when I’d laid eyes on Lorelei. I’d pursued women before, bent their will and gotten them into bed, but that’s all it was. Just a game.
I didn’t do relationships. I couldn’t in my line of work. Attachments could be used to get to me. I had to be un-fucking-touchable.
The more I tried to convince myself, the more my thoughts kept turning back to Lorelei. Sweet, innocent Lorelei. How she would scream in ecstasy when I finally fucked her.
I was a man who would do whatever it took to get what I wanted. I would fucking kill if it meant getting my way.
I wanted to fuck Lorelei Lansford and I’d do whatever it took to have her.
Four
Lorelei
A few days passed and I couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian.
Which was quite ridiculous since I didn’t know anything else about him, other than he was hot and obviously rich.
The way his fingers brushed against mine, his smile. I shook my head to clear it. Damn fantasies.
I stood in the middle of the vast white space of the gallery, supervising as Bill and Jude, the guys from the warehouse, hung a painting on the wall for our newest showing. Original abstracts by a new French painter who was all the rage at the moment. Bold black and grey studies of the human consciousness or some such. Score one for the gallery and score one for the woman who secured it. Me. Bloody right.
“Perfect, guys,” I declared, clapping my hands together.
The boys jumped down from their ladders and began clearing their equipment. This opening was going to be bloody amazing. We had a whole week to get things organized and it was going to be the place to be in the art scene. Space Gallery was already on the map, but it was about to be the map. Galleries would be following our lead for months.
The outside door opened, letting in traffic noise and I turned to see a delivery man hovering at the front desk. Wandering over, I smiled.
“I’ve got a delivery for Lorelei Lansford?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied, wondering what it could be. I signed the slip and the delivery guy handed me a letter before leaving.
Bex materialized from the office, her heels clicking across the polished concrete floors. “Who’s that from?”
I turned it over, but there was no reply address on the envelope. It was some posh, oversized letter that screamed party invite. Who did I know that would send an invite to the gallery?
“I have no bloody clue.”
Breaking the seal with a fingernail, I pulled out a card printed on heavy, cream-colored, stock paper. Turning it over, I realized it was handwritten in some fancy calligraphy. Black and gold, my full name right at the top.
It was a party invitation, but not the kind I was expecting. My gaze ran over the words Sebastian and Vaughn and I almost died right there on the spot. So, that’s who he was. The bad boy of the West End. Bloody hell, and he made my knickers wet! I felt myself flushing. Was I outraged or excited that he’d flirted with me? I decided on outraged.
“Shit, Bex,” I declared, my mouth dropping open.
She snatched the invitation from my fingers. “Fancy,” she said, then her jaw dropped. “Sebastian Vaughn? The Sebastian Vaughn?”
“It’s just a party invite,” I said, trying to be flippant about it. Should I tell her about our disastrous interlude on the street yesterday? No, knowing Bex she wouldn’t shut up about it. That, she would say, is fate. Hopeless more like it.
“Black tie,” she said with a whistle. “How do you know him?”
I flushed.
“Lorrie! Are you holding out on me?”
I sighed. “I don’t know him at all,” I said, trying to downplay the whole thing. Because I didn’t. I spoke to the guy for five seconds, he made me all kinds of horny with a brush of his fingers and… He sought me out to invite me to a party. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? He was interested? If he was interested, he would’ve asked you on a date.
“Then why is he inviting you to a party?”
“I bumped into him on the street the other day,” I replied, exasperated. “Quite literally. I smashed his phone because I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Bex’s face began to change and I knew she was about to go all matchmaker on me. “Don’t you dare, Rebecca Hemsworth.”
“Rich, handsome, ruthless… That guy has a bad reputation,” she said. “Your mum is going to have a coronary.”
“Nonsense,” I said, snatching the invitation from her. “I’m twenty-five years old.”
“Yeah, and still single. It’s a wonder she hasn’t arranged an alliance with some uptight Lord already.”
I groaned, crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t remind me.”
“You’ve been lucky so far, Lorrie. My parents have me on constant rotation with all the eligible bachelors in this town. It’s suffocating.” She shook her arms, making a face. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”
The gallery phone began ringing in the office and Bex rolled her eyes. “Saved by the bell,” she declared. “We're going to continue this when I get back.”
The moment Bex disappeared to answer the phone, I picked up the laptop from the front desk, cracked it open and fired up a web browser. I typed in 'Sebastian Vaughn’, then clicked to the images. A whole bunch appeared on the screen, mostly black tie events, red carpets and some business oriented shots. He was a big shot Financial Investor in the City. He’d get along well with my father. I rolled my eyes and kept looking…or rather, ogling.
I scrolled through the photos, occasionally stopping to enlarge one. He really was handsome…and those women he was photographed with… I couldn’t help it when I felt a stab of jealousy. They were all beautiful and impeccably dressed. Flawless, even. I wasn’t anything like that and he wanted me to come to his party? Maybe it was just because of my father and his business dealings. Maybe this was about money.
You’re such an incurable romantic, Lorelei.
That's it, I couldn’t go. I had to decline. This was obviously about business alliances, not romance. I wanted romance. No, I was staying away from this, no matter how much my body wanted Sebastian Vaughn to ravish it.
“Lorrie!”
I jerked upright, slamming the laptop closed with a snap. Bex was standing in front of me, her hands on her hips.
“You were Googling that hot Sebastian guy, weren’t you?”
I flushed. Shit.
“Lorrie, seriously?” She rounded the table and opened the laptop. “Give us a look then.”
“Who was on the phone?” I asked, trying to distract her.
“Oh, no,” she declared, wigging her index finger at me. “You’re not getting out of this so easily.”
“What’s there to get out of?” I asked, coyly.
“You are going to that party, Lorelei Lansford, and that is final!” She rubbed her hands together in glee and my stomach churned.
“Oh, god,” I said with a groan.
“I’m making you over!”
I felt sick.
The next evening, I stood in the middle of Bex’s bedroom in her Notting Hill apartment, a pile of dresses on her bed.
The shrew, I mean my best friend, had come good on her promise. She meant well, but I wasn’t sure this was a good idea.
She’d preened and primped me, doing my hair in a fancy curled up-do, making my face up with all kinds of scary looking pencils, lipstick and powder, and finally dressing me in some Vera Wang dress that probably cost in excess of five thousand pounds. Top it off with a simple diamond necklace on a fine gold chain, matching earrings and red Manolo Blahnik heels, I felt like I was an overdone chicken.
I did like the dress, though. It was a sleek, blood red, silk that hung on my willowy frame just right, its low neckline simple, just skimming the top of my cleavage. Demure, yet elegant.
Bex looked me over. “You look hot.” She turned me around so I could look at myself in the full-length mirror. “I’m so jealous!”
I stared at my reflection and could hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. I ran my fingers over my face, which was usually devoid of most makeup, and pouted my lips. I never wore lipstick and the red that Bex had put on matched my skin tone perfectly.
Whenever Mother made me go to charity events, I always went for a natural look. I was uncomfortable as it was and being made up into something I wasn’t never helped. But right now, the woman who stared back at me with a full face of harlot red lips… Well, she looked like she was a bloody movie star.
“How did you do that?” I asked, open mouthed.
“I didn’t do anything,” she replied, laughing at my reaction. “You’re hot to begin with. Mr. Vaughn is going to cum in his pants when he sees you.”
“Bex!” I shrieked, trying not to laugh. Secretly, I hoped he did.
“Now, out you get and I want details. No holding out on me, you hear?”
I rolled my eyes and gave her a hug. “Thanks for the dress.”
As I escaped outside, where a car was waiting for me, I hoped that I was doing the right thing. I was a romantic, Sebastian was a playboy. In what world would that work out? Not this one, I was certain of it.
But maybe Bex was right? I needed a little fun. Maybe Sebastian was it.
Five
Vaughn
I sat in my office, in my house in Bloomsbury, listening to the commotion downstairs.
Marcia had been in and out all day, setting up for the party that was just starting to wind up. She was my event planner and obviously loved her job. I gave her money and told her to go wild with it. Planning rich, posh parties was her idea of doing crack. She was a neglected, fifty year old, trophy wife of a colleague at work, and was always glad for something to do. Her husband always shook my hand in the halls to thank me for keeping his wife happy. He obviously couldn’t, since all he did was fuck a string of whores behind her back, but I kept my mouth shut. Explaining how I knew about his extracurricular activities would involve revealing much more of myself than was necessary.
And Marcia? I looked up to her like a motherly figure, so there was no way I’d tap that and besides, she thought of me as the son she never had. I liked to dip my wick into someone much closer to my own age.
Tonight’s brief had been romantic. I told her that I wanted to impress a woman and to do her best with making the house look fit for a princess. Marcia had obviously swooned and the stars in her eyes had
sparked even brighter. If only she knew the truth about the real men I dealt with. What would she think of me then?
My phone began to ring, vibrating in the pocket of my tuxedo. Pulling it out, I saw that it was Sykes. He sure knew how to fuck up a man’s evening. I didn’t want to deal with this shit tonight, but if I didn’t answer, it would mean more trouble down the line. I’d yet to meet the man in person, but speaking to him on the phone was the next best thing. Our face-to-face would happen within the week and when it did, our deal would be struck.
Swiping my thumb across the screen, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Sykes,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“Vaughn,” came his deep voice. The man always sounded like he’d had one too many cigarettes and I wondered if he was as slimy in person as he sounded down the phone.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, eager to get away.
“I just wanted to make sure everything has been accounted for.”
We were trialing a small-time operation to see our men’s compatibility. Fucking annoying, but necessary. I never took unnecessary risks with my weapons, my drugs or my money. I only did that with my day job because it was required. I didn’t get this far by being a pansy-ass fuckwit. I got here because I was ruthless.
Glancing at my reflection in the windows, I scolded. “So far, everything is in order. How are things going with Baxter and his operation?” Baxter was the lead man for my London arm of my drug trade and he was currently trying to smooth things out with the Necromancers on his turf. Mergers were never easy and a sight more difficult in the criminal world.
“Royal Blood are making things difficult,” Sykes replied. “There might be some infighting on my side of things.”
“I trust that your men will deal with it? It would be unfortunate if anyone in my employ were to be harmed.” The threat was clear without ever saying it. If anyone under my protection were to be harmed or killed, then our deal would be off.