by LP Lovell
“Sweet.”
She shakes her head. Like she’s any better. I used to be good once upon a time. It was her and Felix who corrupted me. Granted I don’t think they knew quite what they were unleashing, but still.
I check my watch. It’s eleven o’ clock and I had to face my mother today for the first time in over a year. I should be blind drunk by now and probably a good few lines into a gram of coke, but I’m not, and that’s just fucking tragic.
I rummage in my clutch because I’m sure I must have a Mandy in here somewhere. Ah ha! I hold the little pink pill up in front of my face, trying to decipher what I think it is. It could be mandy, speed or a sleeping pill. Ah, fuck it. I pop it in my mouth and down the rest of my drink, heading for a group of people in the middle of the room who are dancing. I don’t know any of them. I don’t care.
A few minutes in and I’m so hot, my skin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m just so…horny. Okay, mandy, that pill was definitely mandy. My body moves with the music, and I smile as that weightlessness washes over me. I don’t care about anything but the music.
A guy moves closer to me, our bodies brushing against each other as we dance in sync.
Swaying my hips, I drag my hand through my hair. His eyes trace over my barely-there dress, which hikes further up my thighs as I lift my arms. Two semi-circles are cut out of the material, leaving enormous patches of bare skin that span from my ribs to my hips. He moves behind me gripping my bare hip as he grinds against my body. Sex. Lust. Love. They are the most potent of human reactions because they are wild, uncontrollable, animal. These are the emotions that drive us. These are life’s natural highs.
I glance across the room and lock eyes with Rhett, as though I’m magnetically drawn to him, I look up and there he is.
The guy’s lips brush my neck before he whispers in my ear. “Come home with me.” It’s not really even a question so much as a demand. I roll my eyes and an amused smirk touches Rhett’s lips.
I turn and face him, placing a hand on his chest. “A few minutes of dirty dancing and you think I want to fuck you?” He says nothing and I lean closer to his ear. “Sweetheart, I’m Blake McQueen. I slut drop on everyone. Don’t take it personally.” I smile and pat his shoulder as I walk away. I glance back at Rhett, but he’s gone.
A sheen of sweat clings to my skin and I scoop my hair off the back of my neck. God, I need some air and a cigarette.
I step outside onto the balcony, inhaling the cool spring air. There’s no one else out here, and it’s almost peaceful. The wind whips my hair away from my face and blocks out the sound of the party behind me. I look out over the London skyline, the lights below like a thousand scattered stars. My fingers grip the glass railing as I lean over it slightly. The world feels so open up here, and as I look down at the massive drop to the ground adrenaline pumps through my veins. I wonder what it would be like to jump? To free fall through the air? It must be a rush.
I fumble in my bag for a cigarette and my fingers brush over the small bag of blow sitting in the bottom of my clutch, so harmless, yet so enticing. I’m not an addict, but I’ll admit that I chase the high. It doesn’t need to be a particular high. It can be drink, sex, drugs, whatever. Normal, boring, quiet—these have become the things I cannot stand because it’s in the quiet of the low that I start to think, and I don’t want to think. I just want to be. I want to live. I want to feel alive.
I take out the cigarette and press it to my lips, holding it there as I search for my lighter. My fingers brush over every fucking item in my bag except the damn lighter. Why is it a tiny clutch suddenly feels like Mary Poppin’s bag when you’re looking for something? I sigh in frustration when I can’t find it. “Motherfucker.”
I jump when I hear a low rumble of laughter to my left. There’s a small alcove set into the side of the building, sheltered from the wind. Cloaked in shadows with his back to the wall is a guy, a stream of smoke billowing around him.
I narrow my eyes, watching as he straightens to his full height. He turns to face me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. He inhales on the smoke, and the end glows a bright red, illuminating his face slightly. In the low light, I see those honey gold eyes flash and then disappear as the burn dims. I can just make out the dark stubble covering his jaw, and lips that are almost too perfect to belong to a guy. He lowers the cigarette and that sexy wry smile pulls at his lips, a stream of smoke passing through them. There’s something about his quiet presence, the way I’m almost scared to be alone with him, that makes my pulse quicken and my pussy wet.
“Rhett.” I breathe.
“Need a light?” He asks in that deep American accent. I can hear the amusement in his voice. Probably because I’m looking at him as though I’m going to climb him like a tree.
“Yeah.” I step forward, and the closer I get to him, the faster my pulse thrums. God-fucking-damn, the man is like a drug all of his own. I come to a stop right in front of his enormous frame. He towers over me, holding out a lighter, cupping the flame with his hand as he brings it to my face. My eyes lock with his as the flame kisses the end of the cigarette. He watches me carefully, a small smile touching his lips and sinking a dimple into an otherwise hard face.
Okay, so I was already horny before I came out here. It’s a wonder I haven’t started dry humping him by now.
“Thanks.” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
His eyes flick down my body, and the man might as well have doused me in petrol and thrown a match. I want him, and that rush, that pure animal magnetism, it’s alluring.
He says nothing, just watches me watching him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar. I catch a glimpse of his muscular chest, and never mind licking it, I want to wipe my fucking vagina all over him. Damn.
He flashes me a smirk and turns away, strolling over to the railing and resting his elbows on it. I take up position next to him, quietly smoking my cigarette.
“So, what’s your story, Duchess?” He asks, glancing sideways at me.
I look at him and release another small cloud of smoke. “I’m Blake McQueen. You want the story, read the papers. And what is with this Duchess thing?”
He lets out a throaty chuckle that makes my skin prickle. His eyes meet mine, amusement twinkling in them. “Call it irony.” I decide to ignore his cryptic bullshit.
He holds the cigarette to his mouth, pursing his lips around it, drawing my eyes to his mouth. He really is the hottest fucking guy I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve fucked the best of them.
“You would think I’d remember fucking you.” I blurt.
He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re right.” His eyes flick over my body. “You would.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wait, so we didn’t fuck?”
I cock a brow. “You really can’t remember anything?”
She shrugs. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Huh, well I like my women coherent and consenting.”
She bites her bottom lip and blatantly drops her eyes to my crotch. “Pretty sure I would have consented.” She mumbles under her breath.
I laugh. “Oh, I know.”
Holding one finger up, she opens her bag. “I’m sorry, I think I might have a tissue somewhere in here, you know, so you can go and wipe your vagina.”
I shake my head and laugh. Harder than I’ve laughed in a long time. “Call it an egotistical preference.”
She drops her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her designer shoe. “Well, drunk Blake is a whore, so I’ll apologise for any leg humping or face licking that may have taken place.” She laughs. “Or indeed face sitting. That uh, that happens. Sometimes.” The thought of her pussy on my tongue and her thighs wrapped around my face has my cock pressing against my fly uncomfortably. “Though really you’d only have yourself to blame. Has no one told you? Chivalry is dead, dear.”
It fucking is when you’re dealing with women like her. That dress is c
linging to every curve and her hair has that just fucked thing going on, exactly the same as the night I met her. The second she opened her mouth I had a hard-on for her accent. She sounds like the Queen of England, and yet she drinks like a fish, swears like a sailor, and dances like a stripper. It’s quite a combination.
She slowly raises her eyes to mine, and for the second time in the last five minutes, her eyes focus on my lips. I smirk because I have her where I want her, where I need her. But she also has me by the balls because damn do I want to fuck her. She steps closer to me, and presses her hand against my chest, scratching her nails over the material of my shirt. And then she tilts her face up until her lips are so fucking close to mine.
“Tell me, Rhett, are you still feeling chivalrous? Would you be averse to me putting my tongue on you?” Her voice drops to a breathy whisper as her lips pull into a seductive smile and all I can see is her on her knees, her tongue on my cock. “How about me riding your face?” She bites her bottom lip as she smiles.
I growl and slowly wrap my hand around her nape, bringing her lips a whisper away from mine. There’s a beat of silence, a heartbeat, a staggered breath. Her whisky and smoke tinged breath dances across my tongue. I skim my lips across her cheek, inhaling the scent of her perfume and grazing her earlobe with my teeth. “Careful, Duchess.” I warn. “The second your tongue touches me, I will fuck you.” I whisper the promise against her ear.
“So fuck me.” She dares. It’s like a red rag to a bull, and I spin, pinning her back up against the side of the building and slamming my mouth over hers. She moans, her fingernails scratching the back of my neck. Her tits are rubbing all over me and her body bows away from the wall. I yank the skirt of her dress up over her thighs, running my hand across her smooth skin. My fingers just brush the lace of her underwear when a group of voices come onto the balcony. I pull away and her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen and parted as she struggles for breath, eyes wild.
I clench my jaw, trying to rein myself in. I’m like a fucking sixteen-year old boy getting over excited about his first pair of tits. Shit.
He opens the door and grabs my wrist, pulling me through it.
“Bathroom. Classy guy.” I smirk.
“There’s nothing classy about what I’m going to do to you.” He spins me around in the small room, forcing me against the sink. Even through my dress, I can feel the cold porcelain press against my lower stomach. I watch him in the mirror above the sink as he scoops the hair off my neck and grips it in his hand. He tugs until I tilt my head back, allowing his lips to gently glide down the side of my neck. All I feel is his warm breath touching my skin, and I tremble as goose bumps prickle the back of my neck, my breath hitching. First his breath, then his lips, tongue, teeth. Never has a man made me so weak with kisses, and he hasn’t even touched my lips yet.
He must be a master at what he does because I’m desperate for him, dying for more. His other hand slides from my hip to my front, his fingers splaying across my stomach, pulling me back against his erection. He rolls his hips against me, sinking his teeth into my shoulder at the same time. I’m panting like a fucking animal, pressing my arse against him and imagining how it would feel to be fucked by him.
I grab his wrist and force his hand down until it’s resting on my thigh. He chuckles in my ear, and his fingers grip my thigh hard enough that I feel his short nails bite into my skin.
“Impatient.” He growls, the sound reverberating over my senses.
I press my arse back against his cock because he can go fuck himself if I’m going to be the only impatient one here. He hisses in my ear and nips at my earlobe while shoving his hand up my skirt and trailing a finger across the lace of my knickers. I spread my legs wider and watch his darkening expression in the mirror as he slips one finger beneath the lace, pushing inside my shamelessly wet pussy. Our eyes lock and my breath gets caught in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever felt innocent in my life, but as he watches me, I feel like the innocent girl having her virtue stolen by the Big Bad Wolf. The way he looks at me, the intensity in his eyes it makes me feel possessed and owned in a way that I’m not exactly unhappy about.
I roll my hips, riding his hand, trying to seek just a little more friction, a little more depth, width…he just needs to fuck me already.
“Fuck me.” It’s a demand and a plea really, and he responds, ripping his hand away from me and shoving my skirt up over my arse. Cold air hits the back of my thighs before I feel the lace of my underwear bite into my skin and disappear altogether. Material tearing, stitching popping, a fly being lowered, ripping foil, the sounds send my heartbeat into overdrive.
His hand slams around the back of my neck, shoving me forward roughly until my hands are braced on the mirror, my hips bent over the sink. There're no warning or niceties, he just slams into me, taking my breath away. My head falls forward as I try to breathe, try to adjust. My pussy clamps down around him, probably out of fucking shock.
“Fuck!” He groans, pulling out and thrusting back in. “Look, Duchess.” He commands. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”
I lift my head and meet his reflection in the mirror. His eyes burn into mine, and he snakes his fingers around my throat gently, bringing his lips to my ear as he continues to fuck me, grinding deep inside me. Oh god, it’s so primal and feral, and a moan slips from my lips as I watch him dominate my body.
“I have wanted to fuck you ever since I laid eyes on you.” He bites down on my neck and I moan. “Your pussy’s even better than I imagined.”
I grit my teeth as he thrusts harder, his fingers twitching on my neck. “Did you spank one out…” I hiss as he fucks me even harder. “...thinking about me?” I smile breathlessly.
His lips brush my ear again. “I blew my load right next to you while you were sleeping.”
Fuck. That’s so hot. I moan, pushing back against him.
He releases his grip on my throat, and grabs my hips with both hands, fucking me relentlessly, until I’m moaning and pleading, and I don’t know if I’m begging him to stop or keep going. Everything tightens as my body hits the pleasure pain barrier. My core locks and my pussy clamps down around him like a vice.
“Fuck, yes!” He fucks me faster, harder, and the entire time I’m screaming his name as wave after wave of sensation rips through every muscle in my body.
I hear his guttural growl and feel his body stiffen behind me. He presses his forehead between my shoulder blades, his hot breath blowing across my skin.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I feel completely numb and thoroughly fucked in the best kind of way. I’ve had a lot of sex. Sex is a high for me, the lust, the need, the wild passion. If sex is a drug, then he’s pure heroin. One hit and I feel addicted in the most destructive way.
He pulls out of me and steps away. My underwear is a tattered scrap of lace on the floor. There’s no hope for it.
I pull my dress down and turn around, leaning against the sink, because I don’t trust my legs to support me.
He tucks his shirt in and fastens his jeans. Glancing up at me, a wry smile plays over his lips and he gently wraps his fingers around my throat, bringing my face close to his.
“You might be a problem, Duchess.” He purrs, before leaning in and nipping my bottom lip. I stand there like a fucking idiot and say nothing.
He pulls the door open and walks out. I turn around and check my reflection in the mirror. Oh, I look like I just got royally fucked.
I know what you’re thinking. Am I a slut? Fuck yes. Do I care? Hell no. They say there are girls you fuck and girls you marry. Uh, I want to be the girl who gets fucked. Who the fuck wouldn’t?
I wait a few seconds before I walk out after him, and am immediately blinded by a white flash. I squint and hold my hand up in front of my face.
The flashes continue, and I shove my hands against the chest of the guy with the camera. “What the fuck? Were you seriously creeping outside the bathroom? Fucking pervert!” I shove him again and
he falls backwards onto the floor.
He holds his camera close to his chest and then the motherfucker takes another picture. “Fucking a guy in a bathroom, this is Blake McQueen gold.” He laughs.
Oh, that is it. I grab his camera and try to yank it from his grip. I’m about to kick him in the balls when a thick arm wraps around my waist, pulling me off my feet and dragging me back against a broad chest. I dig an elbow into whoever it is. “Let go!”
“Duchess, you’re about to have a law suit on your hands.” His low, gravelly voice calms me somewhat. I look up to see Felix scruffing the photographer and dragging him out.
I glance around for Toby and find him leaning against the wall near the entrance to the hallway. I shove away from Rhett and storm up to him. “You let a fucking photographer in here?”
He holds his hands out, swaying slightly. “I thought you liked photographers?” He slurs.
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he has a point. I usually live for a sordid photo of a dirty bathroom fuck. I guess it just caught me by surprise. I like to play to the cameras, not have them play me.
I shoulder past Toby and he staggers back into the wall. I keep walking, straight out of the party.
Felix is standing by the lift, a scowl on his face. “Your brother’s a fucking dick.” I say.
His eyes lock with mine. “I don’t think it was him.” He shakes his head.
“Whatever. Look, you got anything on you?”
His frown deepens, but he nods and shoves his hand in his pocket. “Not much.”
He hands me the small bag and I give him a fifty. “Thanks.”
I step into the lift and turn around. Felix is watching me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. A few feet behind him stands Rhett, his arms crossed over his chest and a blank expression on his face. His eyes hold mine, refusing to release me until the lift doors slide shut, breaking his hold. I release the breath I didn’t even realise I’d been holding. That’s what he does to me. One look from him is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. All this from a guy I don’t even fucking know.