by Angel Devlin
The second her taste explodes on my tongue I realise why I needed her so badly. She tastes like fucking heaven.
Releasing her clit, I lick around it, teasing her until I drop lower and dip my tongue just slightly inside her. Her pussy clenches, trying to drag me deeper, but she’s not the one calling the shots here. That’s me, and as long as I’ve got my hands on her then it will always be me. The sooner she realises that the better.
I focus back on her clit while plunging two fingers into her soaked pussy. I push them as high as the angle will allow and bend them until she cries out my name, telling me that I’ve hit the spot.
Her fingers find my hair once again and she tugs until she almost pulls it out but at no point do I let up. I lick her, suck her, and finger-fuck her into a frenzy until she’s crying out for God in between chanting my name.
I’ll be the first to admit I’ve got an obsession with power. It’s in my blood. And I can’t deny that this right now is the biggest fucking power trip ever with her laid out before me desperate for my touch.
My cock weeps to feel how tight she is when she comes, but she can wait for that. I need her to fall apart beneath me before she gets the pleasure of me filling her in a way she never has been before.
“Come for me, Ms. Hamilton,” I groan against her pussy. The vibrations that race through her have her fingers tightening once again.
I thrust harder and graze my teeth over her clit. She screams and her body quakes as her release slams into her. Her hips roll and I keep up my movements against her as she rides it out. Her pussy squeezes my fingers impossibly tight making me desperate to slide into her.
I don’t pull back until she’s finished. Then I sit up, wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and look down at her.
Her breasts are still exposed, her nipples hard with desire, her chest heaving. Her skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat and I can’t help wanting to lean forward and lick up the column of her neck to find out how she tastes.
Ignoring what I want to do, I stand, my eyes never leaving her.
“Which is your bedroom?”
“It’s… uh… that one.” She points over my shoulder and I turn my back on her and head in that direction. If she was waiting for me to lovingly carry her to her bed then she needs to think again. Nothing about what’s going to happen next will be loving or sweet. We’re going to fuck. It’s going to be rough and hard and give us both the release we need.
I leave her fighting to catch her breath and push her bedroom door open. I find a room exactly as I was expecting. Everything is white distressed wood, gold accents, and the bed is covered in more cushions than any one person needs in their entire life. My first instinct is to swipe the whole lot from the bed to make space but my need to find out a little more about the woman who was just screaming my name for the entire building to hear gets the better of me.
I find romance novels on a bookcase, jewellery sitting in a little dish on top of a chest of drawers, and then a whole line of photo frames sitting on the mantelpiece of an open fire.
There are ones of her and Karla in their bikinis on holiday, others with friends while out drinking, and a couple of her and her mother.
Her movement behind me drags my eyes away. When I turn, I find her standing in the doorway, still only wearing her rearranged bra.
“Find anything interesting?”
“The only thing of interest to me right now is between your legs.”
She blanches, but she doesn’t say anything. We both know that the one thing she wants from me right now is also between my legs. It’s also obviously tenting my trousers in its need to get to her.
Her eyes drop and she stares as if she’s trying to magically make the fabric disappear.
Something crackles between the two of us. The room suddenly feels much smaller and hotter than it really is.
“Take it off.” I nod down to her chest and she immediately lifts her arms behind her and releases the fabric. It falls from her body and I get my first look at her bare. Her arms hesitate at her sides; she’s desperate to cover up. I’m sure the fact I’m still fully dressed doesn’t help that situation.
“Get on your bed. Spread your legs. Let me see your cunt.” Her cheeks heat but she follows my orders.
I watch her move, her tits bouncing, her hips swaying.
Fuck, I need her.
Once she’s settled, I turn back to her photographs to finish what I started before she joined me, while her heavy breathing behind me fills my ears.
There are more of friends before one makes me stop and my fingers curl into fists at my sides.
I stare at a man that I’d rather never see again. I’d especially happily not see him in a bedroom of a woman I’m about to fuck.
The haze of lust that I was in previously fades as reality and anger descend over me.
Why would Mia have a photo of my father in her bedroom? The answer to that question has dread sitting heavily in my stomach.
“Deacon?” Her soft, needy voice does little to drag me from my inner turmoil.
My hand trembles while I grip onto the ceramic frame tighter.
Motherfucker.
I smash it through another load of the frames, revelling in the sound of breaking, much like I wish my memories would. But no, it seems he’s always here taunting me, showing me exactly how fucked up my life really is. How fucked up I am.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screeches, scrambling from the bed and going to rescue her beloved photos, but she doesn’t get that far. My fingers wrap around her upper arm and I back her to the wall.
Her eyes are wide, the green sparkling as I stare down at her. It’s no longer with need but with fear. It seems I was right earlier when I wondered if it would be her I was going to break instead of her friend. After discovering this, I know for a fact I’m going to break her. She’s not got a fucking clue what’s coming her way.
Not. A. Fucking. Clue.
Chapter Six
Mia
Fear mixes with lust as I look up at Deacon’s cold, dead gaze. His hand on me loosens and he steps away from me.
“I think we’re done here.”
I’m standing there undressed while he’s fully clothed and I sober up pretty fucking fast realising that I’m just another poor fucker who has fallen for his charms. The champagne lowered my resolve, but sheer unbridled lust had led me here. Now I shiver; from cold or fear I don’t know. I turn my head to the side, looking at my smashed photo frames.
“What’s the problem? What did you see?” I ask, raising myself straight and tall. I won’t show him my vulnerability.
“Get some clothes on, you look ridiculous.” His voice is like fingernails down a chalkboard to me now, whereas only a few minutes ago it felt like the caress of feathers.
“Can’t say I give a shit what you think I look like, but I am getting cold.” I walk over to get a robe and slip it around me, my back to him. “Thanks for the orgasm, you can leave now.”
He rushes me, picking me up so quickly I squeal a little. Then dropping me to the bed he pulls my newly fastened robe apart and he runs his fingertip down my pussy, lingering in my juices and rubbing it around my clit. I can’t help myself and I moan, my hips tilting up despite my hating this man’s guts.
Then his hand leaves me and he turns and starts to walk out. Pausing in the doorway he licks his finger clean, smirks, and is gone.
I’m lying on the bed, my cunt bare, and he’s gone.
After pulling my robe back over me, my fingers clutch at my hair. What the fuck just happened? I make my way to the floor and carefully pick up the frames. Was it that he saw Karla? Did he decide he preferred her after all? Maybe another of my friends? I’m so confused. I spend the next fifteen minutes or so taking my photos from the broken frames and sweeping up broken ceramic and glass, then I slip on some pyjamas and make my way down to my friend’s room.
My cheeks heat when I see my discarded clothes lying on the floor outsi
de her door. After quickly gathering them up and placing them in the laundry, I realise my ripped panties aren’t there. The fucker must have taken them. My mind flashes with the images of him busy between my legs and I feel a pulse at my core, as I once again feel slick thinking about his tongue. I hate him, but I don’t hate what he did to me and I can’t rule out that I wouldn’t do it all again. Just for the rush.
Eventually pushing open the door to Karla’s room, I see she’s still sleeping. I head to the kitchen to get her a glass of water and some painkillers for when she wakes and then after putting them at the side of her bed on her bedside table, I walk around her bed and climb in at the other side of her. I wrap myself around my best friend’s body to keep her warm and to comfort myself.
I’m disturbed by my bestie’s hoarse voice. “Oh it’s you. I was fucking hoping to find it was Deacon King wrapped around me.”
Her words slam me straight out of my half-asleep state and into the present and recent past.
“Fuck, trust me to pass out when I could have had a really good time. So what happened after I went to bed?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “He helped me make sure you were comfortable. I ordered him a scotch while he asked me a couple more interview questions, and then he left.”
“Did he say anything else about me?” Karla’s dark brown eyes look huge and doe-like. I want to shake her for being so pathetic, but then I’d need to shake myself too, wouldn’t I?
“He just said to tell you he hoped your hangover wasn’t too bad.” Another lie. I was getting good at it.
“You have his number, don’t you? Get it for me so I can let him know I’m okay.”
“Get the painkillers and the water at the side of the bed while I grab my phone.” I tell her and I hutch myself off the bed and go back to my own room.
The now bare mantle shelf of my fireplace mocks me as I walk in. As I pick up my phone and look at it, I feel my disappointment that there’s no message from him. What the hell is going on with me? The man is a cold-hearted arsehole. Who could turn your world upside down in the bedroom. Sighing, I text Karla his number and I go through to my shower where I turn the temperature to almost scalding in an attempt to wake myself up and knock some sense into me.
We order Thai for dinner, both hungry now that the booze has gone from our system. “Do you think he’ll turn up for the shoot tomorrow?” Karla asks.
“Karla, babes. No offence, but will you shut up about Deacon fucking King?”
Her eyes widen.
“Sorry, but you’ve been like a CD stuck on one track. I get he’s good looking, I get he’s probably good in bed, but we’re about to start filming our reality show in two days. Two days.” I re-emphasise. “It’s about Park Lane and the elite we hang around with, not womanising celebrity interviewers.”
“He’s rich in his own right, you know? I’m sure he’d be a draw.”
I’m wasting my time. She won’t be put off, and when my best friend sets her mind to something, she’s one determined woman. It comes from the fact that people rarely say no to her—me included.
I stick a film on our large screen TV and once it’s finished I make my excuses, saying I want an early night before tomorrow’s photoshoot. Really, I just don’t want to listen to Karla’s planned mission to bag the man who parted my own legs and made me come so hard I saw stars right outside her bedroom door.
The photoshoot is taking place at the B.A.D. Inc building. The offices overlook the Thames and the 02 Arena. A stunningly modern, glass-fronted building leads into a sleek, modern entranceway. The ground floor has nothing but a couple of cover photos on the wall of their issues with Kylie Jenner and Taylor Swift, and security guards walking around. They tell us reception is on the first floor. Once through security we head up in the lifts to meet Oliver Ward, the Creative Director; and his team.
“Hmm, I guess if I get bored with Deacon, I could always try this one.” Karla winks at me. I look over at Oliver recognising that he is indeed a damn fine-looking specimen. The truth is she hasn’t heard anything from Deacon except for a reply of, ‘I doubt it’ in response to her asking if he’d be at the shoot. I see her eyes dart around the third floor as we make our way out, following Oliver to the studio where they’ll take our photographs.
Oliver introduces us to the team working with us that day: the stylists, make-up artists, photographers, and his team of staff. Then he bids us farewell, saying he’ll try to pop back before we leave.
“Busy guy,” I comment.
“Huh, I bet he didn’t abandon Taylor Swift when she had her shoot.” Karla’s expression looks like she’s sucking a lemon so hard it’s gonna be one of her five a day.
I raise a brow. “I don’t think we’re Taylor Swift level, do you?”
“We will be,” Karla says defiantly. It makes a shiver run down my spine. I don’t want to be that level. I just want to see if I can use the show as a springboard to other things.
We’re dressed by the fashion crew in outrageously expensive ballgowns. Karla’s in a Ralph & Russo strapless gown. It has a boned crepe bodice covered in crystals and a skirt of black tulle. I’m dressed in a 1995 Chanel Ballerina dress with a black mesh bustier, and a tulle skirt with bows on each hip. My body is given a coat of fake tan to emphasis my toned bare legs, given the skirt comes above my knees at the front while hanging down at both sides. They play up Karla’s pale skin, giving her cat flick eyeliner and a red lip. It reminds me of a boxset I watched called Gossip Girl. It’s like she’s Blair and I’m Serena. Perhaps that’s how they view us—the spoiled, rich children—but of London rather than the Upper East Side.
I find out I’m right when I’m told by one of the photographers that they’re going for a Move Over Park Avenue, the Park Lane Princesses have arrived angle. I wonder what Deacon’s accompanying words will be like, cruel or kind?
I’m between takes, checking out my DMs while enjoying a glass of water when a text comes through. My heart thuds in my chest as I see it’s from Deacon.
I press to open.
Deacon: Your friend looks so beautiful right now, don’t you think?
My eyes flit around the studio, searching for him, but to no avail. It pings again.
Deacon: You won’t find me, so there’s no point in trying. But I’m watching you. Have been watching you. I’ve been thinking about spreading those legs, pushing them wide, my tongue diving inside, tasting that honey…
Oh my god. My thighs clench together as I imagine yesterday like it’s happening right this second. I take another sip of water as my mouth has gone dry.
Ping.
Deacon: And then as I feast, Karla will moan and grasp my head, pulling me closer and begging me to fuck her.
Karla?
He means Karla.
My jaw sets. If he decides he wants to fuck my friend, well, I’m not going to be able to stop him and Karla certainly won’t take any notice of me given she’s talked about little else. It’s time to harden my resolve and forget about him. I send a text back.
Mia: As she’s talked about little else, she’ll be ecstatic. Let me know if you need to borrow a condom. I have some left from fucking Archie. I can always get some more for my next lover, hopefully a larger size.
Ping.
Deacon: If I’d fucked you there wouldn’t be condoms left and you’d be so desperate for more you’d let me ride you bare.
I smile and type my next message.
Mia: But you’re not fucking me, are you? You’re going to fuck my friend. Enjoy. Try not to think of me while you do her, will you?
Deacon: You can listen from the next room.
Mia: Oh no. I don’t get my kicks from watching others. And Archie wasn’t my only lover…
It’s a complete lie. I have no other lovers, but I felt a need to lash out and keep some power in this tug of war happening between us. It’s time to turn off my phone and concentrate on the shoot.
As I get changed between takes, I shed my nerves with my
clothes. Instead of getting changed hidden behind a curtain, I just let my clothes fall to the ground. If he’s watching, then I’ll give him a good show.
When they say it’s a wrap, I get dressed into my normal clothes and ask Karla if she wants to hit up a bar.
I see her bite her lip. “Oh, I would, but guess what?” she squeals excitedly. I already know what she’s going to say before she says it.
“I’m going out to dinner with Deacon King.”
Chapter Seven
Deacon
Fuck knows how I manage to find the exit of that fucking penthouse without smashing everything on the way out.
My fists are curled into tight balls as my chest heaves with my need to hurt someone.
I should have stayed to fuck her, that would have used up some of this pent-up tension but fuck if that was happening when his picture was sitting amongst a load of smashed glass on the floor. I don’t want to be anywhere near that cunt, even if it is a printed image.
My hand trembles as I summon a car and stand on the pavement outside the princess' palace.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid whore?” The harsh words make me turn to my right. I find a man staring down at a woman he’s backed up against the railings.
“I… I… I’m sorry,” she stutters, tears streaming down her face. Her entire body shaking with fear.
The man pulls his arm back and I see red.
I slam my body into his, knocking him off balance and he stumbles away as the woman screams bloody murder in my ear.
With him off guard, I wrap my fingers around the fabric at the front of his coat and pull him until he’s standing in front of me.
“Ever heard of respecting women, arsehole?” I rear my fist back, much like he just did to his missus and I slam my fist into the cunt’s nose. I know my words might be a little hypocritical after how I’ve treated Mia and her friend tonight, but at no point would I have ever raised a hand to them.
