When she slipped into the ladies room just behind the other woman, she held back for a moment. As she would have expected in such an establishment, the space was lavish. Fortunately, there was no-one else present, not even an attendant, and Karla went to the basins in front of a mirror, quickly removing her contacts and tying up her hair into a knot. As she was opening up the front of her dress to make it a little more revealing, she heard the other woman coming out of one of the cubicles.
The blonde was glamorous, that was for certain, and so wrapped up in her world of glamorous, sexy blonde things that she didn’t even pay much attention to Karla at first. She placed her bag on the marble surface between the two of them and turned on a tap to wash her hands.
“Busy night,” said Karla, adopting an Eastern European accent. In a place like this that could only mean one thing and the blonde looked daggers at her.
“Some of us don’t have to try,” blondie replied breezily, picking up one of the napkins next to the tap and drying her fingers daintily. Karla was impressed that the woman even managed to stay upright with a bosom like that and felt a slightly queer feeling inside her stomach. Is that what Hayden Carter went for?
“I saw,” she replied. “He looks a good catch.”
The blonde frowned at this and stared directly at Karla who returned her gaze. Green eyes instead of blue, thinner cheeks, hairstyle different. Yep, this woman was stupid enough not to recognise someone she’d seen ten minutes before. Jesus! So Hayden liked dumb blondes with big tits. She was going to enjoy making him pay.
“Do I know you?” the woman asked.
“No, but you’re an inspiration to me.” Bloody hell, thought Karla. What was her accent turning into? It was meant to be Russian but was in danger of transforming into the speech of a Bond villain. Better tone it down a little.
That made the blonde frown even more for a second, but then an atom in her brain registered it as some sort of compliment and she gave a little preening smile. Reaching into her bag, blondie took out a lipstick and began to apply it to her already violently rouged lips.
“Well, you know what they say, honey. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
Flaunt it any more, deerie, thought Karla, and they’ll have to close off Pall Mall because of incoming blimps. She said nothing, however, but simply smiled. “I’m Anastasia,” she said. She glimpsed the edge of a mobile phone in the bag.
The woman’s eyes flicked sideways, ceasing to regard herself for just a second. “Russian?” she said.
“Yes,” Karla replied, trying to make her voice humble. “I have not been here in your London for very long and I try to get by.”
“You and everyone else, honey,” muttered blondie. She had nearly finished applying her makeup and in a little while would walk back through the door.
“Your lipstick is very nice,” said Karla haltingly. “May I try some? It makes you look so beautiful.”
Blondie stared at her as though Karla had herpes, but then once again she recognised the faux compliment. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.”
As she passed it across, Karla deliberately fumbled and let the lipstick fall to the floor. Instinctively, the blonde bent down to pick it up and, as she did so, Karla’s hand snaked into the bag, clasping the phone which she whipped out and snuck behind her back.
“Oh, for god’s sake!” the woman snarled, retrieving her lipstick. Karla reached out with her free hand and immediately started to paw the blonde woman’s shoulders as she stood back up. “I’m so sorry! Oh, I am such the buttery fingers as you say! Oh, you are so beautiful! I’m so sorry—please let me help you!”
Looking at Karla as though she had gone stark raving bonkers, the blonde woman snatched up her bag and clasped it to her chest—not looking in it which was precisely what Karla had been hoping. “Why don’t you just fuck off back to Moscow, or wherever it is you come from?” she hissed. So much for sisterly love, thought Karla with a smirk.
“I come from Krasnodar. It is very beautiful. Do you know it? You are very beautiful too. You would make a lot of money there, no?”
“Stay the fuck away from me!” blondie hissed, backing away now.
Karla pursued her, yelling: “We make lots of money! Yes? We do the girl on girl fucky fucky. Lots of lesbian sex, yes? Russian men, they like that very much!”
Blondie did not even reply but, with panic in her eyes, fled through the door, Karla close behind. Once she was back in the casino, however, Karla shut her mouth and hurried away in the opposite direction from the blonde, walking as quickly as she could without attracting attention.
In a quiet corner, she pulled out the phone, a sleek mobile that (Karla noted with a hint of smugness) was not quite as fashionable a model as her own. “You’re not quite the miss fancy pants you think you are,” she sneered, opening up the contacts list, “‘Chantelle’.” There was a list of names and numbers, a few of which she recognised as MPs and minor television celebrities. If the worst came to the worst, she had a good few hundred thousand in blackmail fees in her hand.
Then she found what she was looking for. Simply listed as “Charles”, the indication that this was her prey came in the form of a handsome mugshot attached to the contact entry. Quickly lifting her eyes to check that no-one was watching her, Karla made her way as discreetly as possible towards the exit. Hayden Carter was going to pay—and he was going to pay hard.
Chapter Ten: Hayden
Hayden was somewhat surprised when he opened the door. Instead of Chantelle, another woman, one darker-haired and smaller than he’d been expecting. She was almost certainly under five-six in her bare feet, but the pair of stilettos she wore pushed her up to about level with his shoulders. She was dressed in an expensive red dress, a fur stole pulled over her shoulders, and though Hayden was surprised to see her standing there the curves of her figure caused a certain thrill in his stomach.
“Yes?” he asked noncommittally. “Can I help you?” He had some pretty good ideas how he was going to help this beautiful, young woman, even if it was a little early in the day, but it would only be polite to check first. He had some vague notion that he had seen her before, which in itself wouldn’t be too surprising.
She turned to face him, pulling down her shades slightly. Her eyes were bright blue and piercing, in a way that made his heart beat more quickly. The amount of makeup she wore slightly ruined the effect, but with her black-bob hairstyle and fine cheekbones, he felt himself stirring even more.
“Charles Peace?” she asked. For a second Hayden forgot that was the name he used with certain people but then nodded.
“Chantelle can’t come,” the woman said with a French accent. Nonetheless, this was unexpected and he could feel that lust was clouding his thoughts.
“Oh,” he said, a little warily although he was still smiling. “That’s a shame. She didn’t say anything in the text she sent."
The woman shrugged, the fur across her shoulders rising and falling with Gallic nonchalance. “Something came up. A former... boyfriend.” The intonation she placed on the last word made Hayden suspect Chantelle was having problems with a pimp. He’d have to do something about that guy one day—something involving a large piece of iron piping directed against Chantelle’s “boyfriend”. “If it’s a problem,” the woman continued, “I can go.”
“No, I didn’t say that.” His smile broadened and he stood to one side, opening the door. “It was just unexpected, that’s all.” What the hell, he thought. It would be a shame to let this one go without seeing what she was capable of. In any case, he felt as horny as hell, and the way she sashayed past him on those high heels, her hips swaying from side to side, her breasts tightly bound up in her dress, was having an incredible effect on him. Around her neck was a red scarf tied up tightly around her throat.
Indeed, as she continued into his living room, past the black, Vendome table and towards the grey, Barcelona sofa, he could barely take his eyes off her ass. As she sat down, crossing one elegant leg
over the other, she reached into the designer handbag she carried and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked, peering around above the top of her shades. “I can’t see...”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he replied. For a moment he felt bad denying this woman anything: although a certain amount of cleavage was on display, on the whole she was not dressed anywhere near as tartily as Chantelle or her usual friends. How had he missed this one until now?
She smiled and shrugged again, replacing the cigarette she had retrieved back in the pack. “A healthy man,” she remarked. “But then, I can see that from looking at you.”
Hayden dipped his eyes away at this. Hell, that was the kind of line girls like this one used on any number of punters, but for an instant his chest puffed up slightly. “I can get you a drink if you’d like.”
“That would be very pleasant. Scotch, if you have some.” Her accent purred in his ears. “Of course,” he replied, moving towards where he kept the spirits and pouring her a whisky—as well as one for himself.
“Where are you from?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as light and easygoing as possible. Nonetheless, as he passed a glass to her he could see the shadows deep in the valley of her breasts, the pale flesh of her thighs, and he swelled up a little more.
She noticed that as she took the whisky from him. “It’s where I’m going that’s more important.”
“And where’s that?” he asked, swigging a mouthful of whisky, letting it burn the back of his throat.
“Every woman has a mountain to climb,” she answered before knocking back her own glass. Placing it on the table, she stood up and moved closer to him. Hayden was as stiff as a board in more ways than one, even more so when she stepped within inches of him and let her hand rest on his crotch. “My mountain is very close tonight,” she whispered. Again he saw a flash of blue eyes and had to stifle a groan.
“Where’s your bedroom?” she asked, looking at the doors that led away elsewhere in his apartment.
“Over there.” As she began to move away from him, lifting her bag with a motion that hypnotised him, Hayden reached out and caught her other hand. “Wait! What’s your name?”
She paused and looked back at him, half smiling, her lips full and red. “You can call me Sabine, Charles.” Deftly, so that he hardly noticed, she twisted her hand so that he was no longer holding her and seemed to float towards the door he’d indicated, letting the stole fall to the floor as she went.
“Hold on!” This was crazy. The scent of her perfume which lingered even though she no longer stood beside him, the way she walked, that voice—everything was driving Hayden a little nuts. More than that, he was going to bust a nut if he didn’t regain control soon. She paused again.
“Shouldn’t we... you know, talk about a price first?”
She stared around the room. Again, that half smile. “You can afford me, chéri,” she replied before turning and opening the door.
Hayden’s head was on fire—along with plenty of other parts of his body—as he followed Sabine into the bedroom. Damn! She was right. He could afford anything he had to pay for her.
The bedroom was dominated by a large bed with an ornate, wrought-iron bedstead, with two lamps casting a warm, yellow glow about the room. Sabine was looking around her, though Hayden could not recognise her expression, half-hidden as it was by her shades. She’d placed her bag on the sheets. Fuck it! he told himself with a shudder of lust. He was going to have to take charge here.
Moving behind her, he placed one hand on her shoulder, feeling the muscle and bone of her body, warm to his touch.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
She lifted one hand to his and squeezed it softly. “Anything you want, chéri,” she replied. Then she half turned and lifted herself on her heels to kiss his cheek. “But why don’t I show you?”
So much for taking charge. Hayden was frozen to the spot as the woman let herself slide down his body onto her knees. Her fingers were quick and expert as she raised them to the belt of his trousers, unbuckling him and reaching inside.
“Chéri,” she said, her smile broadening. “This mountain I have to climb... c’est magnifique! Here, let me help you relax.”
His eyes lifted to the ceiling at first as she drew him out of his trousers, holding his long, heavy shaft in her fingers, then he looked down at her. She still had those shades on as she stroked him slowly and, irritated for a second, he reached out to take them off. Her other hand came up quickly, however, and she batted him away.
“Patience,” she replied, her lips parting as she licked her lips. “Good things come to those who wait, chéri.”
With that, she hovered her mouth above his cock. “Si grand,” he heard her whisper, and then she brought her lips to the tip of him, flicking her tongue across his glans before taking an inch—and then another—into her mouth.
Her mouth was like a furnace, hot about his shaft as she sank deeper onto him, and Hayden groaned, grabbing Sabine’s hair and holding her in place as she fucked him orally. “Oh shit! Oh shit!” he began to gasp. She moved up and down him expertly, the fingers of one hand cupping his balls and squeezing them with enough pressure that he thought his sperm was going to rise up immediately. Sensing this, she eased off for a moment, but when her other hand reached up between his thighs and began to hunt around his rear, his cock seemed to gain another inch in length.
He felt the slight sharpness of her fingernail as she slid into him, but that simply added to his excitement as she licked along his shaft and fingered him from behind.
“Oh Christ! Oh, bloody hell!” Hayden groaned. He was still holding her hair, but part of him wanted to pick her up, throw her on the bed, and screw her through the mattress until they both fell into the apartment below.
“You like that, chéri?” she asked, her one finger still buried deep inside him as she masturbated him slowly with the other hand.
“I fucking love it!” he growled. “Come here, I want you now!”
She laughed at this and, after carefully removing her finger from his rectum, she allowed him to pull her up to stand beside him. His arms were strong and desperate around her, dragging her close as his mouth moved and worked against her, sucking in her tongue, drinking her up.
He started to push her to the bed, but once again she made a fluid, nimble motion and broke free of his grasp. Lifting the bag, she reached inside and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. It was Hayden’s turn to grin now—his cock sticking out, hard and red, in front of him.
“Kinky,” he said. “I like it.”
He came forward and began to reach out for them. “You don’t know what you’ve got coming,” he began to tell her, stumbling slightly as he caught his trousers around his shins.
“Non, chéri,” she said, laughing—a delicate, crystal sound. “These are not for me. They’re for you.”
That made him frown, but Sabine came to stand beside him, holding his arm with one free hand and dragging herself up so that she could whisper in his ear: “Let me put these on you, and you can fuck me in the ass.”
Goddamn! Hayden’s cock was painful now, throbbing, desperate, utterly out of his control. Before he even knew what he was doing he nodded his head. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he told her.
She stood to one side of the bed, watching him with one eyebrow raised. “You are very handsome, chéri,” she said. “Even better without your clothes.”
“Then why don’t you join me?” he asked with a grin. Jesus! He was like a teenager on heat. Ever since he’d stolen the Wallenstein he’d been rutting like a wild boar, and now he was going to fuck a very beautiful woman in the ass.
He felt something was wrong, however, not long after Sabine leaned across and clicked the handcuffs into place. Instead of stripping off to join him, she reached into her bag. He’d never been dominated by a woman before, and could still hardly believe he’d left himself so vulnerable, but his desper
ation to try something new was overriding any caution.
As she began to tie one foot to the bottom of the bed, however, while his erection showed no signs of diminishing in the slightest some of the fog of lust began to clear from his head. “You don’t need to do that,” he told her. “Just jump up here on top of me and give some of that sweet cul I know you have.”
Sabine made no reply, however. Her eyes were still hidden behind her shades, her expression neutral now. Crossing to his other foot, the sense that something was dreadfully wrong began to grow in him. “Hey! I mean it. Just leave it and come and fuck me!”
He tried to kick out at her but, with a sudden movement that left him stunned she reached out and hit him straight in the balls. Her blow wasn’t particularly powerful (though he suspected she could hit him a lot harder if she desired) but it was enough to cause him pain and even make his hard-on wilt for a moment.
“What the hell was that for?” he yelled. “Okay, okay, enough of this dominatrix shit already! Untie me!”
Instead, Sabine yanked harder on the cord she’d tied around his last foot, spreadeagling him on the bed. “Well, chéri,” she purred. “I think we’re ready to begin.”
As she moved to the bedside table, Hayden followed her wildly with his eyes. “What are you doing? What the hell is going on?”
“Wow! You keep yourself well-prepared.” Suddenly the French accent was gone, and with a sense of horror Hayden recognised the Irish voice that had replaced it.
“You!” he cried out. “What are you doing here?”
“I would have thought that was immediately obvious,” Karla replied. “You come into my life, fuck me senseless, and then run off with the Wallenstein.” She removed her sunglasses and stared at him with bright, blue eyes. Looking past her makeup now, and the hair, he recognised her immediately. His own desires had clouded his brain. Only the eyes looked wrong. “You men are all the same: one promise of anal and you’ll do anything.
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