Rocks
M. J. Lawless
© M. J. Lawless 2013
The right of M. J. Lawless to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author and her publisher is strictly prohibited.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Black Orion Press, 2013.
Cover design by Arkangel Media.
All rights reserved.
Other books by M.J. Lawless
The Crystal Fragments Trilogy
Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission
Fragile Crystal: Rubies and Rivalries
Refracted Crystal: Diamonds and Desire
Orfeo
As Miriam Lawless
The Long Last Summer
Contents
Chapter One: Karla
Chapter Two: Maarten
Chapter Three: Hayden
Chapter Four: Maarten
Chapter Five: Hayden
Chapter Six: Lars
Chapter Seven: Karla
Chapter Eight: Lars
Chapter Nine: Karla
Chapter Ten: Hayden
Chapter Eleven: Hayden
Chapter Twelve: Karla
Chapter Thirteen: Lars
Chapter Fourteen: Karla
Chapter Fifteen: Hayden
Chapter Sixteen: Karla
Other books by M. J. Lawless
To Laura – for all those nights dancing to Primal Scream.
I never hated a man enough to give him his diamonds back.
Zsa Zsa Gabor
Diamonds, to put it delicately, are bullshit.
Rohin Dhar
Chapter One: Karla
“You do realise, don’t you, that basically diamonds are bullshit.”
His head snapped up as she said this, and the look on his face was worth it. He was her kind of man: wealthy, too good-looking for his own sake—but not too bright. He was precisely the kind of man she liked to wrap around her little finger while she wrapped her lips around something less metaphorical.
“What?” he asked, his slightly accented English adding to the fizz between her thighs. “Don’t you like it?”
She lifted the ring between her thumb and forefinger and stared at it with her clear, green eyes. His question made her smile: right on queue. This wasn’t setting a trap—it wasn’t even shooting fish in a barrel. It was filling a tin bucket with overweight carp and then tossing in a grenade to finish the job.
“I didn’t say that. I love it, but then I’m a sucker for diamonds. That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about things objectively. You do know what objective means, don’t you? I mean, wasn’t this basically where the Enlightenment and all that started?” If he’d been listening closely, he’d have perhaps realised that her Nordic accent—as carefully cultivated as the stone in her fingers—had slipped slightly.
“Yes,” he replied testily. Good, she thought. He wasn’t really listening. Like all men, he was thinking of himself and, in this case, his hurt pride.
“Excellent,” she continued quickly, taking more care with her pronunciation this time as well as offering him a flash of a smile. Knock them down then feed them a little titbit to build them back up again. After all, this hunk of loveliness would have to go to work before long. She just wanted to tease him a little, not make him leave in a funk.
Still holding the diamond in her long, delicate fingers with their perfectly manicured nails, she crossed to the window. On her way she caught sight of herself in the mirror—the thick waves of her auburn hair like burnished copper. Her face, so she was told often enough to believe it, was exquisite. Like the rest of her, she treated it as an asset to be used, investing heavily to ensure that it would pay dividends. Mind you, she thought, it was very pleasant to have her natural colouring again: after two months she was only just becoming used to it.
Standing by the window, she looked down over the canal below which stretched so elegantly between the seventeenth-century houses. Diamonds and canals, she mused for a moment, lifting the ring to the sunlight and watching how rays glittered across its surface. Whores and money, uptight bourgeoisie and cannabis coffee shops. She liked Amsterdam, she decided. She liked the contradictions. It was just a shame she’d have to leave so soon.
She stood there for a moment contemplating the ring, the cut edges of the diamond as sharp as her mind, her back to her latest companion. She could feel his eyes on her, hungering for the curves of her torso, the swell of her buttocks in her Saint Laurent suit (personally, she preferred Alexander McQueen, but it didn’t pay to be too flashy, not just yet). She knew she was blocking his sun, a shadow etched against the bright square of the window, as perfect as a Vermeer. She also knew he didn’t give a damn that she was between him and the sunlight outside. He’d have locked himself away in a dungeon without daylight for a thousand years just to have one night with her.
For a second she was distracted. She imagined him coming behind her, lifting the ringlets that fell onto the collar of her jacket, pushing her forward as he kissed the nape of her neck, biting her, hands forcing her forward across the sill.
He wouldn’t dare of course. They never did.
“What’s so excellent about it?” he asked, bringing her back to earth with a thud of his thickening vowels. Oh, you Dutch business-types, she thought, smiling to herself. You want everything spelt out, don’t you, everything as explicit as your porn and your drug laws. Not like the French. No delight in ambiguity. She liked fucking French men—but getting rid of them afterwards could be a royal pain in the ass which was why she avoided them on the whole.
She turned and smiled at him, her brightly painted lips parting to reveal gleaming white teeth, prettier than pearls and smarter than any stereotype. She would be his sun, just for one afternoon. She could already see him softening, his dark brown hair flopping across his forehead like a little boy’s. Again there was that fizz between her legs: if she wasn’t the mistress of self-control, she would have rushed across and jumped on that hunk of man-boy there and then.
“It’s excellent that you understand me, that we can share this between us.” Her tones were clipped: she’d even learned Danish the better to match her adopted persona, Karla Pietersen. Trying to pass herself off as Dutch would have been tempting fate, but everyone expected a Danish woman to speak more or less perfect English. In any case, she liked cussing in Danish. Din mor sutter pik i helvede! She had no idea if his mother did, indeed, suck cocks in hell, but it rolled off the tongue very nicely.
“I knew the moment I saw you that you’d understand—” Just for a second she hesitated. Damn! What was his name again? Oh well, it didn’t matter. Osteged! she cursed herself. Goats cheese! Why the fuck was goats cheese an insult? That didn’t matter either—she just liked the word.
“I mean,” she continued, as though the pause was simply a gathering of her thoughts, “it’s not even as though diamonds are particularly rare. Crush a bit of carbon for a few thousand years,” (like I’m going to crush you beneath my thighs) “wait for a volcanic eruption to bring it to the surface” (like you’re going to erupt inside me) “and you have an abundance of perfection itself.”
She was feeling slightly flushed as she slowly moved towards the table beside the bed, placing the ring down on the cool, wooden su
rface. “It’s you Dutch who keep the prices high. Like this ring. What did it cost you? Twenty thousand Euros in Antwerp? If you tried to sell it again you’d be lucky to get, what, eight thousand back?”
He was blushing furiously as she looked down at him. This nameless businessman had towered above her in the lobby of the hotel, but sitting on the edge of the bed he looked utterly uncomfortable, in need of the not so tender loving she was about to give him.
“If you didn’t want it,” he grumbled, “you should have said.”
“I didn’t say that, sweetheart,” she replied, taking off her jacket before leaning over him and placing one hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, the expression of hurt in his dark eyes making something twitch deep in her belly. Who had he bought that ring for? A girlfriend? His wife? Like so much, that didn’t matter either. In a moment of madcap folly he’d handed it to her—and she wanted it, just as she wanted him. “It’s just...” She paused. In this position, she realised very clearly that he could see down the opening of her blouse, the sensuous curve of her breasts confined for only a little while longer by the firmness of her bra. As she bent over, the pendant she was wearing—at it’s centre an exquisite marquis diamond set in platinum—swung forward. Another lover, another time.
“It’s just what?”
“It’s just that several decades ago, when things weren’t going so well for them, De Beers decided to hire an advertising agency to convince men that buying a diamond ring was the only way to tell the woman you loved you were a real man.” As she spoke, she let her hand fall to his crotch and gave a squeeze. He jumped slightly at her touch, but he also responded in a delicious manner to her warm caress.
“As for me, there are other ways I prefer to judge if you’re a real man or not.”
The look he gave her at that moment sent a thrill through her belly and up her spine. Karla wasn’t the religious type, but when she saw that look in certain men she was willing to get down on her knees and pray. Her companion reached forwards, his hands rising towards her breasts, and she let him slide his fingers beneath her bra, teasing out one nipple and pinching it gently as she applied more pressure on his crotch, feeling him stiffen under her hand.
“Oh, lieve hemel,” the man breathed, making Karla’s smile widen as her deft fingers moved to the buttons of his waistband, expertly flicking them open as he began to pull at his suit jacket.
“Sweet heaven indeed,” she said, kicking off her Givenchy shoes. Without them, she was even more petite but when her partner started to rise, to pull her towards him onto the bed, she had no trouble pushing him back in place. It wasn’t a question of strength—more one of self-assurance. She’d been in this position many times before: for all that he was a good-looking man, even more so with his broad shoulders clearly visible beneath his white shirt, she suspected that it had been far too long since he’d had a liaison like this.
Dropping to her knees, her skirt hitching slightly further up her thighs, she knelt between his legs and placed her small hands on his thighs. Again, she parted them easily. If Archimedes could move the world with a lever, she could move any man with the lever of desire. Her companion’s trousers were half undone and, biting her lip slightly with anticipation, she drew her face nearer to to his crotch, lifting her fingers to the zip which she tugged down before sliding a hand inside.
Bingo! Not the largest she’d ever seen, but with a good heft and weight to it, the warm solidness of his flesh filling her fingers as she slid down into the fabric of his trousers. As she drew him out, he let out a gasp and hurriedly raised his hands to her head, trying to pull her forward. A rank amateur this one, which was a shame in some respects. Not that Karla minded too much: all she wanted was some fun before she had to go to work.
His cock was a very respectable size, the head clean and smooth, his glans glistening slightly in the sunlight that streamed through the window and the veins of his shaft standing out as blood pulsed into the hot flesh. She let him draw her nearer to it—he so wanted to fuck her mouth that, if she wasn’t careful, he’d let loose all the family fortune before she had chance to pleasure herself. As such, she gave her head a twist at the last minute, taking not that glorious, swollen tip between her lips but instead letting her mouth fall to the side of him, rubbing along his shaft as she looked up at him serenely with her large, green eyes.
“Neuken hel!” he gasped. “Ik wil je.” From heaven to hell in less than five minutes. She had that effect on men. She also realised, with another thrill down below, that she’d never been fucked in Dutch before. Another experience to chalk up alongside all the others.
With one hand she fondled his balls, squeezing them gently and letting them roll around in her fingers as she moved her mouth up and down the shaft of his cock. Saliva coated it, streaking the veined length and making it glisten more as she changed from side to side, all the time her companion stroking her hair. It was a good length now, and so stiff that she wanted to taste it deep inside her.
Shuffling forward slightly, she raised herself up more on her knees so that her head was above his erection. Inside her blouse, her nipples were hard as they poked above her bra, and she could feel her underwear starting to become sticky. Letting one hand fall down she lifted up the front of her skirt and began to rub along the satin fabric of her knickers, feeling her lips as they opened beneath their flimsy protection.
Her mouth descending, she nibbled and licked the glans of his cock, tasting a clear drop of salty precum as it shone like a pearl from the pretty, pink slit. For his part, his fingers tightened in her hair, holding her head as she lowered her mouth, taking in his head and flicking her tongue around its underside, pumping him with one hand as she continued to stroke herself with the other.
“Oh, shit!” he said. “Your mouth... oh my god! God nog aan toe!” He continued to moan in Dutch as she pushed herself down, easily taking nearly all of him into her throat and letting her tongue lick against his balls. She was enjoying this: it would be a lie to say she couldn’t remember the last time she’d deepthroated a guy, but it was far too long. She’d had to play the role of a prim and pretty girl for too many weeks now, and this was a chance to let go for a while. The thought of that made her shimmy her buttocks with pleasure.
As she pulled him out of her, droplets of saliva pearled like a string between her red lips and the tip of him, nature’s jewellery. Her own knickers must be translucent by now, her sweet pussy ready for its pleasure, and she stood before him, bending to take them off before casting them casually to one side.
“Your turn, sweetheart,” she said with a sly smile.
While he may not have been the brightest of men, he certainly required no further instruction as she lay down on the bed. As she unhitched her skirt, casting it onto the floor somewhere near her underwear, he fumbled with his shirt, revealing a well made body, a little sleek perhaps with too many business lunches but certainly very handsomely proportioned. Stretching apart her willing thighs, the muscles on his shoulders, arms and chests moving in such a way as to make her sex blossom with lust, he bent down his head and began to lap between her legs.
His technique wasn’t the most proficient, but he made up for that with enthusiasm and it was Karla’s turn to reach down with her hands and grasp his hair, knotting it between her fingers as she lifted up her feet and rubbed them across his shoulders. “Oh, fuck!” she groaned, enjoying the sensation of his tongue working into her, his lips rubbing and sucking her clitoris. “Oh, yes, that’s it.” She ground against him, letting her juices smear against his mouth as a very pleasant orgasm began to build up inside her.
He worked doggedly in that posture, and she enjoyed watching him masturbate as he dined on her, his cock looking even better from this position.
“Come on,” she said at last, her hair mussed and her eyes shining with glee. “I want you to fuck me! Now!” Her tones were still clipped: even this pleasure was not one where she would drop her masquerade. She eagerly stripped off
her blouse and unhooked her bra, happy to be naked in the flesh for him so long as this nameless stranger made no attempt to gaze inside the soul that disguised itself as Karla Pietersen.
Luckily for her, her companion had no interest in matters of metaphysics. He was as eager as her to be naked, half ripping off his own clothes, his face looking for all the world like that of a horny teenager making a home run. He was also happy to be guided by her to the drawer beside the bed, pulling out a condom and letting her roll it onto his cock.
As he half fell onto her, she let her long fingers run up his biceps and triceps, her nails digging into his shoulders as she guided him on top of her. His puppy lust caused him to bash against her thigh, and scared once more that he would cum without finding a good home for that lust, she quickly and expertly shot one hand between the pair of them, guiding him to his target.
She was wet enough now for him to slide in easily, and she closed her eyes, her back arching as the walls of her sex began to close around him, rippling around his length. With her treasure secure, she pulled her hand back around and slid it and its partner down to his buttocks, which felt deliciously muscular beneath her nails, scratching him as he began to rise and fall on her, entering her more deeply with each thrust and causing her to moan.
He was sucking on her nipples, his mouth wet with desire. “Zo mooi! Zo mooi!” he murmured. “Beautiful!”
Biting her lip, holding back for a moment the pleasure that was bursting down below all the more to enjoy it when it exploded inside her, she moved one hand to his hair, fondling those baby-boy locks. She could see now that all thoughts other than this moment were banished from his mind, that his soul was clear and free in its lust. How delightful that must be, a voice said in the back of her mind from somewhere, and she felt a spasm of anger as she repressed it. This was not the moment to become analytical!
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