“Tell me, Rhett, are you still feeling chivalrous? Would you be averse to me putting my tongue on you now?” 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 shamelessly. Damn.
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 vodka and smoke tinged breath dances across my tongue. Skimming my lips across her cheek, I inhale the scent of her perfume and graze 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 turn, pinning her against the side of the building and slamming my mouth over hers. A moan falls from her lips and her fingernails scratch over 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.
Damn. I’m like a sixteen-year old boy getting over excited about his first pair of tits. Clenching my jaw, I tilt my head back and inhale the cool evening air, trying to rein myself in. Blake’s palm lands on my chest, her warm breath skating over my throat before her teeth graze my skin.
I’m done.
11
Blake
He opens the door and grabs my wrist, pulling me through it.
“The 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.
Mere seconds pass and 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.
Grabbing his wrist, I force his hand down until it’s resting on my thigh. A low chuckle slips from his throat, 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 grind my arse against his hard erection because I refuse 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.
“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 shock.
“Shit!” 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 gaze in the mirror. His eyes burn into mine, his fingers snaking around my throat as he brings his lips to my ear as he continues to fuck 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 shouldn’t be hot. It should be mildly disturbing, but a moan slips past my lips as the image enters my mind.
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.
Pulling my dress down, I turn around and lean 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. Turning around, I check my reflection in the mirror. Oh, I look like I just got royally fucked.
I know my behaviour is slutty. 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 wouldn’t?
I wait a few seconds before I walk out after him, and am immediately blinded by a white flash. Squinting, I 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.” Rhett’s low, gravelly voice ca
lms me somewhat. I look up to see Felix scruffing the photographer and dragging him out.
Glancing around, I look for Toby and find him leaning against the nearby wall. 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.
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, arms crossed over his chest and a blank expression on his face. His eyes lock with 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 know.
12
Blake
I’m woken up the next morning by Milly jumping on my bed.
“Morning, sunshine,” she says, her voice sounding shrill and downright offensive at this time in the morning. She bounces the mattress again.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, cracking one eye open. She’s propped up against the headboard with a plate of toast resting on her lap.
“Such a delight.”
“I hate mornings.” I yank the duvet up over my head and try to block her out.
“Well, this must be the first time in a long time that you’re not hung over in the morning, so really, you should be feeling great. Also, your dad’s driver is in the front room.”
“What?” I throw the duvet back and frown at her. “Why?”
“Apparently your father has requested your presence. Probably has something to do with this.” She throws her iPad on the bed between us. “And don’t think that I won’t want all the inside information.”
Picking up the tablet, I roll my eyes before glancing at it. There’s a series of pictures plastered all across Google images. There’s one of me following Rhett out of the bathroom, and one of those pictures where they’ve zoomed in on the open doorway with the camera focused on the pair of discarded knickers I apparently forgot to pick up.
I sigh. “We fucked in a bathroom. It was dirty and hot and I can officially say that the hot stranger is a lot more than pretty packaging. Happy?”
“For now.” She smirks.
I shrug. “At least it’s not my vagina on show this time.”
“True.” She snorts. “That bitch could have her own Facebook page. Like, fan appreciation for Blake McQueen’s pussy. That shit would have more page likes than Jaimie Dornan.” She puts her plate down and picks her coffee up from the bedside table. “However, I don’t think it’s what is in the picture so much as who.”
“It’s before midday! Stop speaking in riddles.” I whine.
She rolls her eyes. “Rhett Torres. It would appear he has some unsavoury contacts.”
She swipes at something on the screen and hands the tablet back to me. I skim over the article quickly. It’s just a gossip site. I guess the big papers would get fucked in the arse for slander if they printed this, but it makes for interesting reading.
“He’s dirty?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, I made some calls this morning. His businesses are legit, but his family had some dodgy shit going with the Cartel years ago, and it’s said that his first couple of properties were bought with dirty money—all speculation of course. His brother is in prison for drug trafficking though, so I guess that gives it some weight.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“This inexplicable need to hump him like a stray dog.” She cocks an eyebrow. “He’s a bad boy. A real, down and dirty bad boy. My ovaries can’t help but insist he get in my vagina.”
“Blake, the same could be said for half the male population of London.”
“True, but they’re extra demanding over this one.”
She holds her hands up. “Trust me, no explanation needed with that one.” She stands, swiping the crumbs from her lap. “Anyway, I’m guessing that’s why Daddy dearest suddenly wants to spend some quality time with you.”
“Oh, fucking joy.” I climb out of bed and go out into the living room, wearing only a thin white tank top and a pair of lace knickers.
My father’s driver, Charles is standing in the middle of the room looking uncomfortable and very out of place in his uniform. He turns when he hears me and immediately his face turns crimson. I smile as I watch him try to look anywhere but at me.
“Hey, Charlie.”
“Um…Miss McQueen,” he stammers.
“Tell my father I won’t be attending his…well, whatever this is. I’m too busy. He can email me if he wants to talk, or heaven forbid, pick up a phone.” My father almost never calls. I get the occasional email explaining his extreme discontent with one antic or another, sometimes a messenger. Yes, an actual person to relay a message. Hell, I’m surprised I haven’t received a carrier pigeon before now.
“He was very insistent.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor and his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back.
I grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and take a bite. “I’m sure he was.” I smirk around my mouthful, turning away. “Tell him to call me,” I throw over my shoulder as I walk back to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
I take one step, and my foot almost lands on something small and furry. Screaming involuntarily, I drop my apple as the little brown and white rodent runs underneath the bed.
“Jesus, fuck, Blake!” Milly chokes, clutching her chest.
“Sorry. Sorry! I knew I saw a bloody hamster!”
She lifts her eyebrows. “A hamster?” she says slowly.
“Uh, did you miss the screaming? I knew I wasn’t that drunk. Little fucker’s been living here since we came back! I as convinced I was hallucinating.”
“Again. A hamster. I think you’ve lost it. All that partying has fucked your head.”
“I promise you.” I get on my knees and press my cheek to the carpet, searching under the bed, but I can’t see shit for all the crap stashed under there. “Motherfucker.”
Milly clears her throat. “I’m not sure I should give you this, seeing as you’re exhibiting signs of psychosis, but…”
I pop my head up and she’s holding a joint, with a grin I know well plastered across her face.
“Oh, my god, where did you get that?” We haven’t smoked weed since we were sixteen.
“Well, we ran out of coffee, so I went to The Coffee Bean this morning, and as I was coming back in, I caught the night doorman making out with one of the maids.”
“Okay, firstly, what the hell were you doing up before the night guy leaves? Secondly, which maid? Was it the pudgy middle-aged one? Because she scares me and between you and me, I really think she could do with some dick.”
“I was awake because I’m still six hours behind, and no, it was that hot Latino one. Anyway, he bribed me not to drop him in it.” She holds up the joint, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“With weed? He bribed you with weed?” I laugh. “Amazing.”
She pulls a lighter from her pocket and lights the joint, taking a long drag. She holds it out to me, coughing slightly as she laughs.
I inhale the smoke, letting it fill my lungs and then holding it. The smell reminds me of sitting on my windowsill in my bedroom and blowing smoke out the window, trying not to set the fire alarms in my parents’ house off. In hindsight, maybe not the best move fr
om my third story window, but I haven’t died yet.
Milly turns my TV on and puts on the kid’s channel because obviously you have to watch cartoons when you’re stoned. There is no other way. So we sit and watch SpongeBob while we smoke because no, we don’t have anything better to do. We have rich parents. Milly does actually write a weekly article for a magazine, which is something. I occasionally do a photo shoot for the odd magazine, but that’s it. I’m…figuring it out. People say that they have to discover themselves, well, yeah…that.
Believe it or not, I did actually want to do something with my life at one time, but that’s gone to shit. Long story short, I used to be the good little politician’s daughter until I woke the fuck up. What started as a rebellious way to stick it to my parents has become a way of life now. It’s just who I am.
So I sit with my bestie, watch cartoons and smoke a joint, because why not? That is until my phone rings. I glance at the screen and see my father’s name flashing in bold letters. I laugh, because of all the times he calls, it’s when I’m stoned. “I guess it must be bad if he’s actually worked out how to call me.”
Milly mutes the TV and I answer it. “Daddy, so nice of you to call and say hello. You know, since you haven’t spoken to me in over a year.”
“Five minutes, Blake. You’ve been back in London five minutes and my PR team has issued more gag orders and paid off more press than we have for months,” he snaps. My father has this ability to sound ridiculously polite even when he’s fuming angry. I can totally see why my mother wipes her feet on him on a daily basis.
“I can’t help that they follow me around. Stop issuing gag orders. They have nothing to print anyway.”
“They have Rhett Torres to print!” he shouts, an edge of hysteria in his voice, and I can picture his face turning red as a vein in his temple throbs.
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