by LP Lovell
I thrust my phone in her face. “My dad emailed and said he demands my presence. Demands.”
She squints at the screen. “The Primrose Gala.” She laughs. “Is that the one we crashed last year?”
“Yep. But you know what ‘demands’ means.”
She grins. “Oh, you have to go or they’ll cut you off.” She says, sitting up. “Sucks to be you, doll.”
Yes, yes, it fucking does. I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than attend that shit, but I don’t like to poke the bear too much with the ‘we will cut you off’ thing.
“When is it?”
“Um…” I read the invite again. “Ah, shit, this was sent two days ago. It’s tonight.” Fuck me. I am not going to this shower of shit on my own, they can go fuck themselves.
I pick up my phone and call Felix. He picks up on the second ring.
“B, how are you?”
“I’m good, drunk, but good. I need a favour—”
“I’m out of blow until tonight.” He interrupts.
“Okay, firstly, what kind of dealer are you? You never. Ever. Run out of blow. Secondly, I’m not after any. I need Rhett’s number.” He sighs. “Look, I just need to ask him for a favour.”
“A favour? That’s what you’re calling it nowadays?” He laughs.
“Shush, just help me out.”
“You and Rhett Torres. There’s a combination that screams trouble.” He sighs.
I grin. “Exactly.”
I’m standing in my underwear putting my makeup on when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in!” I shout over the music.
I’m fully expecting it to be Milly, so when all six and a half foot of Rhett suddenly takes up my bathroom doorway, I get a bit flustered.
“You’re early.” I watch in the mirror as a slow smile pulls at his lips, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body. Damn him. My skin bursts into goose bumps whilst over-heating at the same time.
“I see I can add creeper to your list of flaws.” I mumble.
“I prefer the term appreciative.” He smiles and I’m pretty sure I just felt an ovary twinge. “And as for flaws…perfection is so boring.” Uh, he looks pretty fucking perfect to me. He makes that tuxedo look good, really fucking good. Let’s just say it’s clinging to all the right places.
“Well, thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” Oh, god. What if he thinks this is a date? I mean, we fucked, and it was good, but damn I hate those needy, clingy bitches that fuck a guy and think they’re dating or some shit. “But I need to put it out there that this is not a date.” I blurt.
He smiles. “Duchess…”
“And if anyone asks, we’re acquaintances…”
“Duchess…”
“I mean, neither confirm or deny, allow them to speculate. But you know better. You’re hot and everything, but I don’t really date, it’s bad for my reputation…”
“Blake!”
I stop. “What?”
He holds out a small piece of paper. “I was already going.” I skim over the invitation with his name written in perfect calligraphy. “It’s not a date.” He says.
“Oh, okay. Well good.” I turn away from him and focus on my reflection as I put my earring in. He chuckles and slides up behind me, placing his hands on my bare hips and bringing his lips so close to my neck that I can feel his steady breath on my skin. “You’re cute.” He mumbles, the roughness of his voice making me shiver. “And just so you know, there’s no one worse for a reputation than me.”
Oh, god. Which makes him perfect. I take a deep breath and turn around, but he doesn’t move. I slowly lift my eyes to his and immediately feel weak, imprisoned under his gaze. His fingers flex, digging into my hips as he pulls me flush to his body. I can feel his hard dick pressing against my stomach, his breath on my face, the heat of his body through his shirt.
There’s this pull between us that seems to crackle to life, and then, my hand is on his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart under my palm. He doesn’t move, but the look in his eyes becomes so intense I feel like I can’t breathe. All I can hear is the hammering of my own heart beat in my ears and feel the steady thrum of his. I want him to kiss me and fuck me, dominate and own me. I fucking crave it.
I blink and try to focus on anything but him. “We…I need to get ready.”
He flashes me a small smile and steps away. I suck in a deep breath and it’s like I’ve been under water and just come up for air. What the fuck is that shit he does?
“Do you?”
Do I? I could just stay here and fuck him all night. That sounds much more appealing. Wait, what? I called him here for a reason and it wasn’t a booty call.
“Right, that’s it.” I scowl and slap him on the chest. “Out. You are not helpful to the getting dressed situation.”
He laughs, tracing a finger along the edge of my bra, just above my nipple. I feel like a fucking pendulum around him. I find some resolve, he touches me, and I’m drawn right back in. His finger hooks under my bra strap, slipping it off my shoulder.
“Agent Provocateur. Doesn’t get better dressed than that.” He smirks, his eyes daring me.
What kind of guy has an in depth knowledge of women’s underwear? Oh, wait, the one who looks like he was put on this earth for the single purpose of getting them out of said underwear. “Creeper.” I say. “I swear to god if my knickers start going missing, I’m coming for you.” He laughs again. “Out.”
He turns and slowly strolls out of the bathroom. “I’ll be in here, going through your knicker drawer, and Duchess…remember to wear floor length.” He winks. “Not that I don’t like to see your ass cheeks making an appearance every time you bend over.”
I roll my eyes and close the door so I can finish getting ready without the risk of slipping over in my own fucking juices. I’m going to use him to piss off my father, and if he uses me a little in the process, I can’t say I’ll be disappointed.
I look in the mirror at my finished product. The dress is perfect.
The floor length skirt is a dove-grey lace with a slit all the way up the thigh, stopping at the edge of the ‘other’ skirt which just covers mid-thigh. It also shows a lot of cleavage and my entire back, including the enormous phoenix tattooed across the width of my shoulder blades—all covered by lace, of course. Black tie is all about semantics.
Rhett will want to fuck me senseless and my father will shit himself. Winning.
I swipe some bright red lipstick across my lips and I’m done. It’s slut chic.
I step into the hotel and immediately want to turn around and walk back out. I can pretty much smell the pretentious bullshit before I’ve even spoken to anyone.
“I changed my mind.” I say. Rhett wraps his fingers around my arm, squeezing and forcing me to keep walking.
“It’s just a party, Blake. I know you love a party.”
“Correction. I like the kind of parties where hallucinations, stripping, and public sex are very real possibilities.”
He laughs. “Well, I might be able to make at least one of those happen, but unlike you, I actually need to come to this. You know the upper class social scene better than most, so rub shoulders.” He slaps my arse and I yelp. “And maybe you’ll get your public sex.”
Oh, promises, promises.
A waiter passes us with a tray of champagne glasses. I grab two and down them in quick succession. He raises his eyebrows and I glare at him. “Sobriety gives me hives.” I say.
I was happily fucking trashed before I found out I had to come to this shit, and now I’m riding the fine line between drunk and high. You get too drunk, you take a little cocaine to sober back up, but not so much that you’re off your face. I’ve counter balanced myself back to sober, I think, and I hate sober.
He drags me through the fucking party, stopping to talk to people. They smile and nod, the women touch him at every available opportunity while the men stare at my tits. It’s a fucking joy.
&
nbsp; I’m pretending to listen to some old dude and about ready to go and face plant a bag of blow when I spot my mother and father across the room. I smile as I tighten my hold on Rhett’s arm.
I stand on tip toes until my lips are at his ear. “Kiss me.” I whisper.
He stops mid conversation and glances down at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the romance kind of girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m not, and I didn’t mean a polite peck on the lips. Kiss me like you’re about to fuck me, I’ll throw in a little dry humping.” He shrugs, a sexy smile fixed on his lips as he grabs my wrist, pulling me against him and locking one hand around the back of my neck. His golden eyes meet mine, sparking violently before he slams his lips over mine.
I cup his face, dragging my nails over the short stubble of his jaw as his mouth moves against mine in a kiss so violent my lips already feel bruised. He literally steals my breath, and my heart slams against my ribs as my lungs scream for oxygen. Everything falls away until we’re the only people in the room. I barely know this man, and yet, right here with his lips on mine, I don’t care about anything that isn’t him touching me.
His tongue swipes over my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, and then releases me. I’m panting like I just ran a marathon. I’ll give it to the guy, he fucks my shit up.
I glance past him to where my parents were standing. My father is gone, but my mother is staring at me, shaking her head in disgust. I smile and wink at her. I’d give her the middle finger, but well, that’s just too obvious, and she did teach me to always be stealthy in your insults.
“Blake, a word, please.” I look over Rhett’s shoulder to see my father standing there, red faced. I know him well enough to know that he’s about two point five seconds away from going postal. Of course, it’s all a load of shit. He flaps and huffs, but bottom line, he has no idea how to handle me and don’t I just love to test him on that.
My father is a handsome man, distinguished I suppose you could say. As always, his tux is immaculate, his bow tie perfectly tied by my mother. My father looks the part, but the truth is, he’s merely a puppet. They say that behind every powerful man is a powerful woman. Never has this been truer than with my mother. Arabella McQueen is a force that few will dare take on, and least of all, my father. I’ve learnt over the years that every move he makes has been carefully planned and orchestrated by her. Not least of all, the way he handles me. Personally, I prefer to just deal with the shebitch herself, cut out the middle man. I do so love to see him flounder, though.
“Rhett, this is my father, Miles McQueen. Daddy, this is Rhett Torres.”
Rhett releases me, but not before he winks at me. He turns to my father and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I smile as my father shakes Rhett’s hand.
“You too.”
Ah, the ballache that is social graces and ever watching eyes. I know my father hates Rhett, and yet he will sit here and kiss the ring, because Rhett, no matter what he has come from, has money. Money comes with contacts and influence, and the number one rule of the business world is never piss anyone off because you never know who you might need or when. Rhett, it would seem, possesses all these things.
Yeah, okay, so I Google stalked. I had to. I needed to know what I was dealing with, after all, Rhett Torres was enough to make my estranged father pick up the phone just to warn me off him. Some opportunities are just too good to pass up. Nothing piques my interest quite like my parents feigned concern for my well-being.
My father turns away, and I follow, like the good little daughter I am. He walks out of the main room and into a quiet hallway before he stops and turns to face me.
Now I’m closer to him he looks older, more worn than he used to. Living with my mother will do that to a guy.
“So, let me guess…Mother isn’t happy about Rhett?”
“Why would you bring him here?” He says through a clenched jaw. I haven’t laid eyes on my father in over a year and this is his primary concern? Touching.
“I didn’t. He was coming. You invited me, so he gave me a lift.” I smile. “Isn’t that nice of him?”
He pulls at his bow tie, trying to loosen it. “Blake, this man will ruin you.”
I laugh and pat down the lapels of his jacket. “Oh, Daddy, I think that ship has sailed, don’t you? I’d say I was ruined ever since the first time The Sun printed that picture of me snorting a line off that girl’s tits.” He opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand. “Or maybe the time I was pictured dancing topless on the bar in that strip joint, and definitely the time I had an ‘affair’ with Russell Brand.” I never did by the way, but you know, I’m never one to downplay a scandal.
“He’s a criminal.” He hisses. “There’s a difference between acting out and being associated with the likes of him.”
“Harsh, Daddy. I thought you were a man of the people. You shouldn’t judge.”
“He will soil your reputation forever.” He shouts, before swiping a hand over his mouth.
“And yours.”
“I cannot have my daughter associated with criminals. This will cripple my campaign.” He almost sounds like he’s pleading a little.
I smile. “Exactly.”
Now, you might think I sound like a fucking brat, but trust me, I have my reasons. I walk away and go back to the party, leaving him huffing and puffing and reminiscing on how the fuck he raised such a letdown child.
Rhett is waiting for me and hands me a glass of champagne before swiping a strand of hair off my face.
“Your father really hates me.” He says.
I take a gulp of the champagne and smile. “I would say loathes.”
He moves closer to me and our eyes lock. “Is that what you’re into Duchess? Fucking guys that daddy disapproves of?” His voice is so deep and rough it makes my skin heat. Dangerous, he’s so fucking dangerous. A girl could easily lose her morals to Rhett Torres, and seeing as I have no morals, that’s saying something. His lips inch closer until they’re so close, so painfully close.
“He disapproves of everyone.” I smirk and cock an eyebrow. “But I would say you take the prize, so…”
He skims his lips across my cheek until they’re at my ear. “So, you owe me.” Yes, I fucking do.
He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I have to speak to someone quickly, but meet me in ten minutes.” He places a plastic card into my hand—a room key for the hotel. “Room 612.” And then he walks away without a word.
Well, don’t ever let it be said that Blake McQueen doesn’t pay her debts.
I swipe the key across the door and it clicks open. I push the handle down and slip into the room. It’s dark and silent inside and I assume Rhett isn’t here yet. It’s pitch black, so I’m fumbling for the light switch when an arm snakes around my waist. I let out a breathless squeak.
“Shit.” I gasp.
His weight hits my back, pressing me up against the door as he fists my hair, yanking my head to the side. That thrill of fear spikes my adrenaline, making my heart hammer against my ribs until all I can hear is my own pulse thrumming desperately in my ears. His hot breath caresses the side of my neck and my skin breaks out in goose bumps, hoping, anticipating.
I buck against him. “Patience.” He says with a throaty chuckle.
I slam my palm against the door. “Fuck off.”
Spinning me around, he slams his hand around my throat, pressing my back into the wood. “That’s not nice, Duchess.” He purrs against my lips.
I slide my palms over his chest and inside the collar of his shirt, yanking it open. The buttons scatter like rain drops against the wall. There’s a beat of silence, like the calm before the storm, and then his lips are on mine, his fingers digging into my thighs as he lifts me, sliding between my legs with enough force that the material of my dress shreds apart. I moan as he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, and I bite down on his bottom lip. His hips grind against me, pre
ssing his cock against my pussy. I throw my head back and drag my nails down his bare chest, making him hiss as he tears me away from the door.
The next thing I know, my back hits the mattress and he wrenches my legs apart before his lips hit the inside of my thigh. My underwear is ripped from my body, and then his mouth is on my pussy, his hot tongue lashing my clit until I’m writhing on the bed. He slams his forearm over my hips, pinning me down. I fist the sheets and scream as a violent tremor rips through me. This need, this rabid desperation claws at me until words are falling from my lips in a jumbled plea and I’m begging him to fuck me.
And just when I’m sure I can take no more, he leaves me and I lie here, my breathing too loud, my heart beating so hard that I’m sure he must be able to hear it. He messes me up completely. There’s something about him that’s just primal, animalistic, without an ounce of control to be seen. He makes me forget about anything that isn’t him, his hands, his tongue, his cock. Pretty impressive for a guy I’ve only met a handful of times.
Seconds pass, and then I feel his fingers wrap around my ankles and yank me down the bed until my legs are hanging off the end. I’m flipped over so violently that it knocks the breath out of me. He pushes the tattered lace of my dress up until it pools around my waist, and then he slowly drags his fingers tips over my pussy. I drop my head forward, biting my lip to stifle a moan. I have never been this desperate for a man’s cock. Never.
He grips my hips and pulls me up until my knees are on the mattress and my arse is in the air. His palm squeezes my arse and his thighs brush against the back of mine before I feel his cock sliding against my me. He teases back and forth, dragging his cock over my pussy and between my arse cheeks before he slides inside me. So good, he feels so fucking good. He leisurely pulls out and thrusts back in slowly, torturously. My entire body is shaking with desperation, with the need for more.
“Harder, fuck me harder!” I beg.
He laughs “Your wish, my command.” He growls as he slams inside me. My arms give way until I’m braced on my elbows, my face buried in the duvet as he fucks me. His thighs are smacking against mine as his fingers dig into my hips. His cock pounds into me harder and harder. My pussy is trembling around him, teetering on the brink, and then, his fingers slowly wind around my neck, and he pulls me upright until my back is pressed to his chest. His grip around my throat tightens and my pulse quickens, my lungs faltering at the promise, the possibility, the danger, because that’s what Rhett is, a walking threat, the element of danger that puts a rush of adrenaline in my veins. Danger that makes me feel alive.