Rebel

by Lauren Lovell

  The music outside the room grows louder and then quiets again. When I glance up away from the back of Stevie’s head, I see Rush, standing, watching. My eyes lock with his, and all I can see is pure, raging lust. He’s going to watch her fuck me, and it’s hot.

  My eyes never leave his as Stevie spears me with her tongue, making my mouth drop open in a silent moan. Rush groans, biting his bottom lip until his lip piercing clicks against his teeth. She turns and glances at him for a split second before going straight back to what she was doing.

  He yanks his belt open, shoving his jeans and boxers down like they’re on fire. My eyes drop to his cock—his big, pierced cock. He fists it, stroking over the skin violently.

  Stevie forces my thighs further apart, flicking her tongue over me until I’m nothing but sensation, chasing that blissful high. Rolling my hips, I grip her hair, riding her face shamelessly.

  “Fuck!” Rush growls, stepping up behind her. My own breathy moans intertwine with the sound of material tearing before he grabs her hips and slams into her. On a long groan, her nails sink into my thighs. I whimper as her hot breath blows over me, and then she’s licking, sucking kissing me frantically, whilst Rush pounds into her. His eyes hold mine the entire time. I watch him fuck her and he watches her fuck me. It’s so dirty.

  “Fuck. Come for me, babe,” he growls pounding into her, but it’s not her he’s talking to. The harder he fucks her, the harder her tongue is fucking me, until I fall apart, shattering. I scream as my entire body tenses and then explodes outwards. The orgasm seems to go on forever, that much more intense with his eyes on me. Rush snarls like a feral animal and then stiffens, thrusting into Stevie and gripping her hips on a roar.

  I lean my head back against the bathroom tile, trying to catch my breath as my pulse hammers in my ears. I don’t know what just happened, but it was really fucking good. I climb off the back of the toilet while Stevie rearranges her dress. Rush leans against the vanity, dick still hanging out as he lights a cigarette. I find my thong and hot pants and put them back on before putting my tits away. I still have no idea where my top is, but fuck it. Glancing up, I find Rush watching me, a wry smile on his lips as he exhales smoke through his nose.

  Stevie places a quick kiss on my cheek and leaves without a word. And then it’s just him and me, in a bathroom together. Me, with my bra on, and him with his dick still out, still hard, and that piercing glinting under the bright bathroom lights.

  Moving closer to him, I take the cigarette from his fingers, stealing a drag. His eyes drop to my lips, and as I pull the cigarette away from my mouth, he grabs my waist, yanking me close to him. His lips touch mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. I should step away because he’s a rock star, and as much of a slut as I am, even I don’t like herpes. Usually, I would, I should, and yet something about him makes me want him.

  “Cushion?” He breathes against my lips.

  “Such a gentleman.”

  4

  Blake

  I wake up and roll over, wincing when something hard and very uncomfortable presses against my spine. Reaching underneath me, I pull out a ball—a pool ball, because, yep, I’m on a pool table. I sit up slowly, squinting as I glance around me. The pool table is littered with used condom’s. I don’t know what day or time it is. I’ve lost track. All I know is that I’ve been in a non-stop cycle of tequila, partying, and Rush Wilder for days now. Rush is passed out next to me, his dick still hanging out…standard protocol for him. What the fuck? Oh, God…no. I reach up, pulling a sticky condom away from my cheek. I grimace as I remove another one from the back of my thigh. That’s gross.

  I slide off the table and stagger through the suite because I really need to pee. Bodies are everywhere, and when I push the bathroom door open, there are two more people in here. One passed out in the bath, the other asleep with their cheek pressed against the toilet seat. I shove him with my foot and he falls to the side, smacking his head on the tile. He doesn’t even wake up. I pee and wash my hands, glancing in the mirror at my reflection. God, I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I don’t think I’ve washed. I’m wearing an over sized band t-shirt, nothing else, and there are thick, scabbed over claw lines down my thighs.

  Opening the bathroom door, I pass through the living room and halt in horror at what I see. Right there, in the middle of the coffee table, is a human shit. Someone took a fucking shit on the coffee table.

  I guess there are moments in life that make you re-evaluate yourself. This is one of them. I have lowered myself to socialising with people who would take a shit on a table. I mean, it’s not like I have high standards for these things, but a human shit? A. Shit.

  I’m done.

  I need to go home.

  5

  Blake

  When I wake up, I have no clue where I am. It takes me a second to catch up. Milly’s flat. London. I glance at my phone and it’s one in the morning. Jet lag is a bitch, and to top it off I’m suffering from some god awful three day hangover in the aftermath of the three day party. The human turd may have saved my liver.

  I pick up my phone and a text flashes on the screen.

  Felix: Yo bitch! I hear you’re back. Come see me ASAP. Xx

  I try to go back to sleep but I’m wide awake. Sod it. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and go to the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. God, I look like something that just fell out of a dying animals prolapsed bowel. I splash cold water on my face and drag my fingers through my hair in an attempt to disrupt the birds nest. I jump when I catch sight of something in the mirror and whirl around to catch a tiny furry bum nip around the corner of the door frame. What the fuck? Is that a hamster? I go after it, but when I poke my head around the door, it’s gone. Okay, way too much tequila. Apparently I’m now hallucinating.

  Opening the wardrobe, I pull out random items of clothing because almost everything I usually wear is in my suitcase and I can’t be bothered to unpack. I pull out a pair of leather trousers that were sent to me by some designer to wear. I yank them on, as well as a turtle neck that stops just short of my belly button. Shoving my feet into a pair of heels, I grab my bag and keys then head for the door. A quick glance in the mirror in the hallway tells me that I vaguely resemble a high end hooker—a zombie hooker.

  I pull into the parking lot of Red, Felix’s club, and spot his Range Rover parked right by the back door. Paul is on the door tonight, and his face breaks into a brilliant smile when he sees me.

  “Hey, baby girl.” His white smile stands out against his ebony skin. I smile back, despite my awful mood.

  “Hey you.” I say as he hugs me and wraps his thick arms around my waist. “I have to see Felix real quick, but I’ll be out in a bit.”

  I cut through the club, the music throbbing and pulsing around me. The punters sit in shadowed booths, watching the dancers move, their bodies twisting erotically on the stages. Red is a strip bar, but there are no poles. These girls are employed because they turn sex into an art. Felix is a genius at making money, and this place makes a fortune. Wealthy guys like to pretend they’re more sophisticated than the average Joe in a strip bar, but really, all they’re doing is spending more money to see less skin. These girls don’t do extras—actually, that’s a lie. I know Lila once gave a guy a blowie for ten grand, but that kind of money will bring most girls to their knees. Hell, I know straight guys who would suck a cock for that money.

  I head for the door at the back and type in the security code: 1234. It clicks open immediately and my lips pull into a smile.

  The music mutes to a low hum when the door closes behind me. I don’t even knock on the door to Felix’s office, just push it open.

  He looks up with a frown on his face until he sees who it is, and then his steely mask breaks into a wide smile. Felix always was the hot guy that all the girls wanted to bang. But he was too busy hanging around with Milly and I, and fucking girls five years older than him to bother with them. He inherited the chestnut h
air and the laughing green eyes from his Irish father. No matter what, Felix always looks like he’s up to something.

  “Fuck me!” He stands up and closes the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me tightly and lifting me off my feet. Milly is my best friend, but Felix is like a brother, well, except that one time, when I lost my virginity to him, but we don’t talk about that. Ever.

  Putting me down, he steps back, and his eyes meet mine. “You look like shit.” His eyebrows drop into a frown as he studies my face.

  I roll my eyes. “Nice to see you too dickhead, but yes, I look like shit. It’s actually Milly’s fault this time. She wanted to fuck some rock star, so we partied with the band for a few days. I thought I was a party girl, but damn.” I shake my head. “There was a chick called Stevie, a pierced cock, a hot threesome, and a human turd involved—not all at the same time—and now here I am, hanging out of my arse and bringing a whole new meaning to Tragic Tuesday.”

  He laughs. “Some things never change.”

  His smile falters, his eyes flicking over my shoulder before I hear a throat clear. I whirl around to face the person that has clearly been here the entire time, watching my tirade.

  “Blake, this is Rhett Torres, a friend of mine.” Felix introduces me.

  My eyes work up a broad chest, straining against the material of his shirt before I meet his golden honey eyes—eyes so distinctive I could never forget them.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” I groan. I can’t deal with this crap right now.

  His lips kick up at the sides slightly and an infuriatingly sexy smirk makes an appearance. I’m tired and grumpy as shit, but that smirk has my insides clenching and my skin breaking out in goose bumps.

  “Wait, you know each other?” Felix is frowning, his gaze flicking between Rhett and I. God, even his name is sexy as fuck.

  “We’ve met,” Rhett says at the same time as I blurt. “We fucked.” And Felix laughs.

  Rhett’s gaze swings to mine and he cocks an eyebrow. “Eloquent.”

  “Yeah, that’s Blake,” Felix says. “Classy as fuck.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and one of the girls hovers in the doorway. “Felix, you got a second?” she asks.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says to me before following her out.

  Great. Now I’m alone with Mr. Golden eyes.

  6

  Rhett

  Blake? Huh, I was sure she’d be called Elizabeth or some shit.

  But then, there’s nothing clean or polished about this girl other than her accent. Those leather pants cling to her ass like a second skin, and everything about her screams rebel.

  She moves around the desk, her hips swaying before she drops into the chair and props her long legs on the desk. Taking a cigarette out, she places it to her lips.

  “You got a light?”

  I push off the wall, and take the silver lighter from my inside pocket, flipping the lid and leaning over the desk. Her eyes lock with mine as she inhales, making the end of the cigarette glow a bright cherry red.

  “Well, I didn’t expect to see you in London,” she says, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “Business or pleasure?” She teases the word, and her lips pulling into a playful smile.

  “Both.”

  “Well, let me know if you need any help with that.” Her eyes drag over my body, those mismatched green and brown irises flashing. Full lips pull up into a sensual smirk as she cocks an eyebrow. She’s like a walking challenge, defiance and sensuality rolling off her in waves. It’s…refreshing.

  Just when I’m ready to throw her down on the desk and let her ‘help’ me, Felix walks back in. His gaze flicks between the two of us. She holds out her palm and he hands her a small paper bag, her eyes still not leaving mine as she stuffs it in her purse.

  Standing, she finally turns to Felix. “Thanks.”

  He offers her an indulgent smile. “Look after yourself, B. You look like shit.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Love you.” She pushes up on tiptoes and kisses his cheek. I narrow my eyes and she flashes me one last look before she leaves.

  The door clicks shut and I tilt my head back against the wall, releasing a long breath.

  Felix lets out a low throaty chuckle. “Yeah, she gets you like that.”

  “You’re her dealer?” I ask, ignoring him.

  His eyebrows drop into a deep frown. “No!” He snaps too quickly. “She’s one of my best friends. More like a sister really.”

  “But you do deal to her…” There’s a thinly veiled accusation in my voice. I don’t judge people who take drugs. Hell, I wouldn’t be where I am without drugs, but for some reason, it bothers me that he’s giving her drugs.

  His eyes snap to mine, his jaw ticking in aggravation. “No, I do not deal to her.” He drags a hand down his face. “It’s sleeping pills. She struggles sleeping, and given who she is, she won’t go to a doctor.”

  “Given who she is?”

  His lips twist into a small smile. “Torres, you should know who she is. You did fuck her after all.”

  “Felix,” I growl.

  He sighs. “Fine. Blake McQueen.” Blake McQueen. I know the name, but why? “Daughter of Miles McQueen.”

  My eyes widen. “As in…” He nods, a wide grin on his face. “Fuck.” Blake is the daughter of the British Minister of Justice.

  I smile at the irony, watching as Felix takes out a cigarette, lighting it. “Well, the apple fell very fucking far from the tree.”

  He laughs. “Tell me about it. It’s a long story that involves one night, a proposal, a bottle of tequila, and a fucking epic exit, followed by a few months of some seriously messy shit. Blake lives and breathes as a giant middle finger to her parents.” He shrugs.

  “Interesting.”

  “I can’t believe that you managed to fuck one of my best friend’s half way across the world.” He shakes his head.

  “Friends.” I snort and pull out my own packet of cigarettes, placing one between my lips and lighting it. I drag a heavy lungful of smoke into my lungs. “No man with a working dick would just be friends with that girl.”

  He laughs. “Well, there was that one time…”

  “Good. I was starting to worry about you. Thought maybe I was more your type.”

  He slaps my shoulder. “You’d still be too pretty.”

  I glance at my watch. “I need to go, but I’m in London for a couple of months.”

  “Alright, man. I’ll see you soon.”

  I turn and leave the office, winding through the packed strip bar. Women writhe, their hips swinging seductively as they move around the stages.

  Felix has a good thing going here; an up market strip bar bought and paid for by his family. Why he runs drugs I don’t know, but I guess it’s easy money for very low risk, not to mention the certain thrill that often comes with the illegal. I know that feeling better than anyone.

  7

  Blake

  As soon as they hear I’m back in London, the press are like vultures. Wherever I go, there they are. I left England in a hurry after I wrapped my car around a lamp post while drunk, and nearly killed myself. Fun times. My parents wanted to keep me quiet. Apparently having a daughter who knows how to have a good time isn’t positive PR when your father is a minister. So, I was packed off travelling until it died down and a gag order was issued to the press. But they forgot that I’m Blake McQueen, and the Americans do so love us Brits. Sending me away was probably the worst thing dear old Daddy could have done. New York is a giant playground for someone like me, so, of course, I drew attention.

  My father and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. He thinks I should marry some influential dickhead while I increasingly think that he’s an arsehole, and seek to piss him off at every available opportunity. Got to love a bit of family drama.

  My new found socialite status seems to have followed me back to London, and as much as I love anything that pisses my father off, their constant attention
is irritating.

  I approach the coffee shop on Bond Street where I’m supposed to be meeting Felix for coffee and am greeted by flashing cameras.

  “Blake, is it true you ran away because you were pregnant?”

  “Reports suggest you were drunk when you crashed your car last year. Is this true?”

  “Did your father pay off the authorities?”

  “Tell us about your relationship with Vincent Le Blanc.”

  Really? Vincent? Shit, that’s old news.

  Question after question. I’m about to answer them when a black limo pulls up to the curb, and my father’s driver gets out, opening the back door.

  “Miss McQueen,” he greets me with a nod and gestures for me to get in.

  I smile. “Oh, Charles, give Daddy a message from me.” I give him the middle finger and he drops his eyes to the ground.

  The cameras go wild. The questions come thick and fast, all shouting over each other until I can’t hear any of them. I wink and blow a kiss at the photographers who are furiously shoving each other, all scrambling to get their shot. Someone hooks an arm around my waist and I look to my right to see Felix grinning as he pulls me towards the coffee shop.

  “Meet me in the shop I said.” He sighs. “You and the press.”

  I shrug. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”

  He holds the door open for me. “I see your Dad is trying to do damage control.”

  “Standard.” I order a Latte and follow Felix to a table in the corner.

  He lowers himself into the leather chair, propping his ankle on his knee as he drags a hand through his chestnut hair. I missed him.