by LP Lovell
His teeth nip at my earlobe as he groans in my ear and slides a hand down my body, between my legs.
“Come for me, Duchess.” He growls, pinching my clit and slamming deep inside me. My scream is cut off by his vice grip on my neck. My vision dips and I literally see stars as my entire body trembles with wave after wave of pleasure, and Rhett hisses dirty words in my ear the entire time, pumping his cock inside me.
When he’s done, he tosses me on the bed like a used toy and I smile.
He goes straight into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on. As soon as my legs stop shaking, I get up and shrug off the remains of my destroyed dress. I manage to find one of his shirts and slip it on. I check my reflection in the mirror, wipe the make up from under my eyes, fluff my hair a little, and slap on a fresh coat of lipstick. He’s still not out of the shower, but I’m not a small talk kind of girl. That said, he is hands down the best fuck I’ve ever had. He’s a unicorn man. You know, mythical, famed, too good to be true…the holy grail of men that can make you lose your shit with a look. That allows for some exceptions, and believe me, I’ve already allowed him many, but one more…I smile and take the lipstick, scrawling my number over the glass, before pressing my lips to it, leaving a kiss mark. Something to remember me by. And then I pick up my bag and leave.
The next morning my phone is going fucking nuts. Every gossip magazine, journalist, blogger— anyone who is anyone wants an interview, and a couple are even offering big money for exclusive photos of Rhett and me. You’ve got to love the social scene. One night at a party with a guy I barely even know and we’re apparently the new ‘it’ couple. My father’s publicist is flipping her shit, which means my dad has crawled up her arsehole for letting this get out. It’s perfect.
I stare at the picture that is fucking everywhere and smile. It’s the perfect amount of dirty with an edge of ‘they’re clearly about to fuck each other’s brains out’.
Rhett screams bad, even in his tux, and it makes him so fucking hot. The way he grips the back of my neck, my fingers clawing at his face like I can’t get close enough…I can practically feel the chemistry just looking at it.
Rhett Torres seems to be able to kick me in the vagina like no other.
I’m not the kind of girl to get attached. It’s not my style. So, what happens when you meet this sacred man that makes you want to strip naked, climb him like a tree and high five his face with your vagina? You fuck him of course, but I already fucking did that, and I’m still thinking about him. I see, I want, I fuck. Then I’m usually done. This…this—whatever, is messing with my mojo because for the first time in my life, I get the urge to call a guy.
I stare at my phone, fighting with myself. I have never called a fucking bloke in my life. What would I even say? Hey, you’re really hot and I’ve decided I want to fuck you because you’re the unicorn man. Fuck me.
Nope, nope, nope. He has my number, he can call, and if he doesn’t then that’s good, right? Gah! I’m fucking Blake McQueen. I don’t get weird about guys or phone calls. What is wrong with me? I throw the phone across my bed like it’s a spider and flop back on the pillows.
That’s it, I am locking myself in my room for the entire day. Me, my vibrator, James Deen, and a bag of blow have a date.
There’s a bang on the door and I drag my arse off the sofa to answer it. I open the door, frowning when I see Rhett standing there holding a pizza box and a pack of beer. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt that I swear is a size too small, I mean, really? He looks like he’s about to rip out of it. I stare at his broad chest straining against the material.
He clears his throat and I slowly lift my eyes up to his face, an amused smirk plastered all over it. “You answer the door like that often?” He says.
I glance down at my hoody, knickers and knee high socks.
“Do you randomly turn up on people’s doorsteps often?” I ask.
“You left your number. Let’s not pretend that wasn’t an invitation.”
“To call…”
“I’m more of a take action kind of guy. Besides, I brought pizza.” He holds up the pizza box and the bottles of beer.
“Uh, like a…is this some kind of date?” He drops his eyes to the ground, fighting a smile. “Because I’m not a girl you date.”
“No. You’re not. It’s just pizza and a beer with a hot girl.” Flattery will get you everywhere.
The pizza smells amazing. “Fine, but only because you have pizza.” And I might be happy to see him. God, why is that? He’s hot. That has to be it. I’m always happy to see a hot man.
I open the door wider and he steps through, pressing way closer than necessary as he moves past. “You sure that’s all it is, Duchess?” He says, lowering his voice.
I shrug. “You’re pretty to look at.”
He smiles, shaking his head as he follows me into the apartment. I take the beers from him and put two in the fridge before searching for a bottle opener for the other two.
“Wow, you just leave that there with the dishes, huh?” I follow his gaze to my vibrator which I totally forgot was on the draining board. Our eyes meet and there’s an awkward moment before I just shrug. It’s not like I can pretend it’s anything other than what it is.
“It needed cleaning.” I tell him.
He cocks a brow. “Overuse?”
I find a bottle opener and pop the top off a beer. “Sometimes a girl has to take matters into her own hands.”
“You have my number...”
I roll my eyes and pick up the pizza box, walking around the breakfast bar and into the living area. Little does he know it’s having his fucking number that has pushed me to an entire day of self-love and porn. The buzz is dying down now, but Rhett gives off his own weird buzz. I drop onto the sofa, folding my legs underneath me and setting the pizza on the coffee table.
He drops onto the sofa next to me, lifting the beer to his lips. I watch as he swallows heavily and then swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. I have come at least four times today, and yet, just a flash of his tongue makes me feel like a whore in a nunnery.
“What are we watching?” He says, nodding towards the TV, the screen paused on the opening credits.
“Legend. Tom Hardy as a hot cockney gangster.”
He takes a bite of pizza, and I take that as an okay—not that he has a choice. Me and Tom had a date before he interrupted though the beer and pizza probably make up for it.
“You think he’s hot?” He asks when the film starts.
“Shh.” I hiss. “Don’t be a talker. No one likes a talker.”
He chuckles and falls into silence again.
I actually have a good time with Rhett…fully clothed as well. Who knew?
We watch the film, we drink, we talk about nothing of any consequence, we make out like sixteen-year olds at prom, and eventually, I fall asleep on him while watching Lockstock. Apparently, I like cockney gangsters. Rhett thinks I have an unhealthy obsession and that he has the wrong accent. Jesus, if he were cockney, my ovaries would fall out.
I wake up when he carries me to bed, and it’s kind of sweet. Wait, did I actually just think that?
I’m groggy and incoherent as he places a kiss on my forehead and leaves. He doesn’t try to have sex with me, makes no move to stay, and doesn’t that make this fucking confusing because sex is sex. I know sex. This is unchartered ground.
One week later and two ‘dates’ later…
I laugh as I roll around on the fur rug, stroking my fingers through the fluffiness. It feels so nice, I never want to leave. My phone rings and I fumble for it, squinting at the screen and trying to force my eyes to focus.
“Hello.” My tongue feels too thick for my mouth, and talking is just—it’s effort.
“B, where are you?” Milly asks, giggling.
I shrug. “It’s furry.”
She sighs. “Again?” I hear her talk to someone else. “Find somewhere with something furry or fluffy, it could be anything from
a dog to a fucking plant and anything in between. She can’t be far, she’s too high to move.”
“So are you.” The male voice replies to her.
I drop the phone on the floor and roll over, pressing my cheek into the fluffy. I don’t know how long I’m there, but the door opens and someone comes in. I expect Felix because he always finds me, but it’s not Felix.
“Hey, sweetheart.” The guy looms over me, looking down at me with a smile on his face. I can’t make out his features silhouetted by the light from the door. “What are you doing?” He asks.
“Stroking the fluffy.” I laugh, running my palms over the rug again.
“You want to stroke something else?” He chuckles.
I push up onto my hands and knees and stagger to my feet. The room pitches and spins in a swirl of colour. I close my eyes for a second and reopen them. The guy takes a step towards me and I hold up my hand.
“I’m high, not blind.” Well…my vision isn’t exactly fucking straight. I close one eye. Okay, yeah, he’s unattractive.
He closes in on me, pressing me against the wall and groping at my tits. “You’re a bitch.” He hisses. Ugh! Men and their egos. He tries to slide a hand inside my dress, and I sigh, jabbing two fingers into his throat. He coughs and staggers away, ripping the strap on my shoulder as he does.
“No.” I frown. “I’m Blake McQueen, you fucking pervert.” He leans back against the wall, trying to catch his breath as I collect my clutch and phone from the floor.
I walk out on shaky legs. I can’t feel my arms or legs, and I have to lean against the walls as I stagger through the house. I end up in a room full of people, and as I frown at the scene in front of me, trying desperately to work out where I even am, I wonder what in the hell could possibly have brought me to this particular moment in my life.
This is obviously some kind of house party with a room full of people who have cleared a space in the middle to allow two fully grown men to wrestle in their boxers. I’m so fucking high that for some reason it makes sense, even though it shouldn’t. I mean, why not? Right?
And where is Milly, or Felix? Or…someone I recognise?
I find the lift and take it down to the lobby. The doorman eyes me like a cheap hooker that might give him AIDS. Stepping outside, I glance up and down the street. I have no idea where I am, or what time it is. There’s barely any traffic on the road, and I definitely won’t be able to hail a cab from here.
I find my phone and press redial, not really caring who I get. “Blake?” Felix answers.
“Are you in the party?” I ask, slumping against the side of the building.
“What party? I’m at the club.”
I giggle. “But you’re always at the party.”
He sighs into the receiver. “For fuck’s sake. Where are you?”
I look around again, trying to recognize anything, but I don’t. “I don’t know.”
“Can you ask someone where you are?”
“I left. I’m outside.” I tell him. A cold wind blows and I shiver.
“On your own?” His voice lowers.
“There’s a man here. He’s looking at me funny.” I glance back through the glass door and the doorman glares at me from inside.
“A man?”
“The doorman.”
“Okay, ask him where you are. But don’t let him touch you, okay?” He talks to me like I’m a child.
“No, he thinks I have AIDS.”
“What? Look, just ask him.”
I push open the glass door into the building and stagger up to the man, holding the phone at my side. “Where am I?” I blurt.
“Camden.” He says.
“Please, can you give my friend the address?” I hand him the phone and he takes it, a look of distaste all over his face.
He reels off the address and then pauses for a moment, his eyes going wide as he looks at me again. “Yes, sir.” He says politely before hanging up the phone. “Your friend will be fifteen minutes. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’ll wait outside.” I snatch the phone from him and push through the glass door. I slide down the wall and lean back against the building, closing my eyes for a second. The cold wind lashes against me, making me shiver, pulling me down from my ivory, cocaine induced tower. I could move, but it seems like so much effort, so I close my eyes and wait for Felix.
Eventually, a black BMW rolls up to the curb, and I’m sure I’m about to be propositioned for sex, but instead of a window rolling down, the engine cuts and the driver’s door opens. I don’t know who I expected to see, but it wasn’t Rhett.
“Shit, Blake. What are you doing out here?” He scowls at me, crossing the pavement and dropping to a crouch in front of me.
I frown. “Where’s Felix?”
“He called me.” His eyes flick over me. “I guess clothes give you hives too, huh?” What the fuck is he on about? “And why the fuck is your bra strap broken?”
“What?” I glance down at myself, and I’m wearing just a bra, the broken bra strap hanging loosely from one shoulder. “Oh, I really liked that top.” I say through clenched teeth.
He inhales sharply and releases a long breath. “Okay, up.” He takes my hand and drags me to my feet. I wobble and lean into his side as he guides me to the car. I fall into the leather seat and he leans over me, buckling my seat belt. Mmm, he smells good. Manly. His hair is so dark and shiny and it looks so thick. I have the urge to touch it.
I reach out and run my fingers through the silky strands. He cocks an eyebrow and an amused smirk crosses his features. “You done?” He asks.
I pull my hand away and scowl at him for ruining my fun.
He closes the door and gets in the driver’s side. “You’re fucking blue, Blake.” He chastises, cranking up the heat in the car. The hot air hits my exposed skin and I wince away from the sting of the sudden temperature change. He places a hand on my bare thigh as he drives, rubbing his palm over the skin exposed by my short skirt. I know he’s trying to warm me up, but his hand is having more than just a heating effect.
The cocaine is still firing around my veins, making even the lightest of caresses feel entirely too much, and it’s Rhett—the hot stranger with the beautiful face and the hypnotic eyes. I mean, if I had to create a male sex doll I would base it on this guy. He’s pure temptation and his hand on my thigh has my pussy feeling like a tsunami just hit home. Yes, his hand. On. My Thigh. His hand! Even for me that’s ridiculous, but a girl cannot be held accountable for her actions when under the influence and in the presence of that.
I want to touch him, taste him, fuck him. So I do. I turn my body to face him and trail my hand over his chest as he drives. He offers me a sideways glance and in the dim light of the dashboard, I can see the small smile on his lips.
He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans with a leather jacket. It looks good on him, really good. My fingertips brush over the material of his t-shirt, feeling each bump of every ab as I go, and never mind butterflies, it’s like a swarm of condors just took flight in my stomach. I inch my fingers under the material and press my hand against his hot skin.
He hisses a breath, his muscles tensing. “Shit, you’re cold.”
I laugh. “I hear ice cubes are considered erotic.”
He glances at me briefly. “Well, they’re not.” He grumbles but makes no attempt to remove my hand. I scratch my nails lightly over his smooth skin.
I release his seat belt and slide my finger beneath the waist band of his jeans, unfastening the button and lowering his fly. Again he says nothing and it only eggs me on, determined to get a reaction from him. I shove the elastic of his boxers down, only enough to expose half his cock, but well, I don’t need more than that. He glances at me and cocks an eyebrow, a blatant challenge. My head is still spinning as I lower my face to his lap and flick my tongue over the head of his semi-hard cock, which jerks, growing as I wrap my lips around the head and suck.
I spit on his bell end and he groans. “S
hit, Blake.”
I wrap my lips around him and gently scrape my teeth over his length, making his entire body shudder. I’m high as fuck and making Rhett Torres squirm, I feel like fucking God.
The car stops moving, and then his hand is in my hair, the other tugging his boxers and jeans further down. He pushes lightly on the back of my head, and maybe I should be indignant about it but I’m not. I love that he knows what he wants, that he takes it without apology, without any of the niceties and bullshit. He hits the back of my throat and I swallow, trying not to gag. I bob up and back down, and this time, I do gag. He groans, rolling his hips up towards me.
“Choke on my dick, Duchess.” He groans. My pussy clenches at his words and I moan around his cock. His hips move in rhythm, meeting my mouth with every thrust until he’s fucking my face.
My nails dig into the tops of his thighs, and again I offer just a hint of teeth. He stiffens, calling me every filthy name under the sun as his salty come hits the back of my throat. I swallow everything he gives me and then lick him clean.
When I sit up, his head is thrown back against the head rest. His broad chest rises and falls on heavy breaths. I watch as he swallows, his Adams apple bobbing up and down in a way that makes me want to drag my teeth over every inch of him. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find just a little friction, and then decide it’s best not to look at him. His looks are not helping.
I hear him zip his fly, and then he’s pulling away from the side alley he parked in. Neither of us says anything until he stops outside the Carlton hotel.