Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
It was weird. Hardly believable, because I wanted something I hadn’t wanted since I was a little girl wishing on a fairy tale life ahead, with a noble prince on a noble steed charging into my world to claim me.
This wasn’t a noble prince on a noble steed, he was an evil beast, charging into my world to destroy me, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not to me.
I couldn’t want it. But I did. I wanted it with every little tingle in my veins.
I wanted Lucian Morelli to fall in love with me.
13
Lucian
Monday was usually one of my favorite days of the week. I was in my usual role, in my usual empire, lording it over every lowly person at my feet.
I loved the ruthlessness of corporate business, takeovers and pursuit of official worldwide presence, laying so powerfully over our underworld presence below. Yet, I didn’t love it that day. The thrill was lost to me, underneath that same damn itch for some other pleasure. Jesus Christ, that damn itch could get the fuck away from me.
Trenton Alto had been pushing for a meet up, keen to catch up with me as to the success of arms dealings and shipments of girls over the weekend. I’d satisfied him with nothing more than a grunt of approval over the cell when he’d called.
I was in meetings all through the afternoon, listening to my CEOs giving updates, bored enough to simmer with frustration inside.
I wanted Constantine blood and little else.
It was late into the evening when I finally gave in to the inevitable temptation and called up Elaine’s calendar for the week ahead. She’d refreshed it, with a listing of Harriet in front of almost every activity that week. There was another ridiculously glossy charity gig on Wednesday for some low paid workers education fundraiser, and some Roosevelt social dinner on Thursday. Friday had a stylist’s appointment with some overpriced Hemmings designer dress shop and a girly afternoon in the aftermath.
Then Saturday was simple. Simple but vague.
Tristan.
A touch base on dick status, no doubt.
I had plenty of social events of my own to be attending. We had a Morellis casino night scheduled for Thursday. Me, Leo, Elliot, and Kit. I had a bullshit meal arranged with Hunter and his university friends, showing my face with fake handshakes as though I gave two shits for his social circle, and I had an evening with my parents on Saturday, touching base about Morelli Holdings and what a success I was making of it, as usual.
I didn’t want to do any of them.
Hunter sent me a text as I finally left the office that night. A simple news? and nothing more.
I knew exactly what he was referring to.
My response was a one-worder. None.
His reply instant. Thank fuck for that.
I opted for some sensibility at least, and went straight from Morelli Holdings to another of my business places. One I should’ve been attending more often, in an attempt to quell some of my spiking base level urges.
Clark wasn’t around when I stepped into the bar at Violent Delights, but I didn’t head through to the back office to track him down. I went straight to a table overlooking the main stage and clicked my fingers for service. The slut on serving duties didn’t need to ask what I was drinking. She presented my mineral water on a tray, bending down low enough that I caught sight of her cleavage in her lacy little bra.
I didn’t bother holding back, just grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair and tugged her over my lap, sending the tray tumbling along with my drink. The bar was quiet apart from the smash of glass on the tiled floor, only a few submissive sluts hovering around on the dancefloor, and some dirty couples playing their games in the booths. They turned to stare, every pair of eyes in the place seeking out a sight to behold, but I hardly even noticed, just kept my attention fixed on the whore over my knees.
Her position was for me, not for the onlookers.
“Take it,” I growled, and she whimpered. She knew.
My palms were hard and heavy, landing over her miniskirt in a few painful blows before I tugged up the fabric and ripped down her panties. Her ass cheeks were already pink and asking for more, and I gave it. I gave her slaps laced with rage, focusing on the blonde of her hair and little else. Elaine. Her thighs were pale, asking for torment. I delivered it. Her pussy was wet, and begging for my fingers. I delivered them.
I stretched her until she was tense and hissing out curses, then slammed my fist in up to the knuckles. I made her gasp and writhe, her belly squirming on the solid bulge in my pants.