Marbella Cool

by Oster, Camille

  “Guess us arseholes don’t like you getting away.” The lights were flashing across her defiant face. She looked adorable and Felix had to laugh. “So what arsehole has you all worked up?”

  “A total dick,” she said. He could taste the slightly sour note of alcohol on her breath as she stood there in her cheap, tawdry dress. She looked good though, a body on par with Shania’s, hot and tempting—what these girls were made for. She was dancing ever so slightly.

  “So, what’s his name?”

  “Cory,” she said tartly.

  Realisation dawned. “I know that guy. The lifeguard at the Athletic Club.” Felix was amused. “Currently running around with Mirabel Sunning.”

  “That tennis slut.” This girl was actually quite drunk.

  “Aren’t they the worst?”

  “No, that’s unfair. She’s probably a really nice person, falling for his bullshit.”

  “No, she’s an all-round bitch, actually. Most likely she is making him run circles around her.”

  “Good,” she said, “he deserves it.”

  “Now about Shania.”

  “What about fucking Shania,” the girl said. “I don’t know her. She’s American; they have weird habits. She actually had this quite sleazy boyfriend. I’d thought she’d run off with him before you said she was hanging with you.”

  “Not me, my sister.”

  Trish, her name was, didn’t care. “Sorry, mate, there is nothing else I can tell you, but she knew how to dance when she turned up, and like more on the twerking side—not a ballerina if you catch me.”

  He knew it.

  “She’s not a bad girl, though. Just different, you know. I didn’t really know her well.”

  “You said that already.”

  Someone bumped into her and she fell into him. “Arsehole,” she yelled.

  He actually liked her, he decided. She held nothing back. “You want to get out of here?”

  “No,” she said like it was the most ridiculous thing he could say, then she looked him up and down.

  “I’m pretty cute,” he said and she gave him a look for being cheeky. “Nothing would probably piss Cory off more.”

  “I don’t sleep with guys to piss some guy off. What do you take me for?”

  “Too cute to spend the night alone.” She gave him a sideways glance and he knew he’d have her if he worked her a bit more.

  She stumbled when she walked into his hotel room and her heels were dangling off her finger. “You’re bad news, Felix whatever-your-name-is, not that it matters. I’m going to completely ignore you in the morning, you know.”

  “And I’ll act hurt.” He grabbed her to him. Her arse was the pertest he’d ever felt. There was no give, all muscle. Jesus, he was turned on. Running his hands down, he dragged up the hem of her skirt, over lovely, tanned legs, revealing lacy, white underwear. “You’re trouble, Trish Daly. Anyone ever told you that?”

  “Surprisingly, yes, but it’s not true. I’m really nice.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Of course not. You’re probably a bigger arsehole than anyone I’d ever known.”

  He couldn’t rightly argue. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled her knee to him so she straddled him. It had been a while since he’d been this hot for a girl, maybe because she was forbidden, even to his own moral code. Moral might not be the right word, but it was a code that firmly believed like should be with like. Okay, he really was an arsehole and he knew it. Snobbery, bigotry, whatever you wanted to call it. He hadn’t always been that way, or maybe he had—raised to see themselves as the ones who organised the world to their liking.

  Her hips ground to his and he flipped her over. “I’m so going to regret this in the morning,” she said.

  “Probably, he smiled, nestling down between her thighs. “But for right now, you’re going to love it.”

  “Lofty promises.”

  “Let’s see if I can deliver.”

  He pushed the stretchy top half of her dress down over her arms and shoulders, leaving the garment scrunched up around her waist. Her breasts were perfect too, the same even tone as the rest of her body, perfect round mounds. He took a nipple in his mouth and she groaned through a bitten lip. Responsive too. Lovely.

  Two fingers slipped inside her and she moaned. He couldn’t wait to be lodged in that warm, heavenly heat. Her skin tasted slightly of coconuts, some kind of lotion. Her lips were parted in ecstasy. She loved it as he firmly stroked her insides with his fingers, parting her legs further for him. It was a beautiful sight. Cory might be insane, but then Mirabel Sunning had an absolutely awesome body too.

  Unzipping, Felix stroked along his rock hard cock, anticipating something much more heady in a moment. He lined himself up and pushed in. She was slick with need and he buried himself in her velvet heat. Rolling his hips, he pushed in again and she made little whining noises, shifting her hips to receive him.

  She might regret him in the morning, but she certainly wouldn’t regret this. Hands grabbed his backside, demanding more and he was happy to oblige, pushing into her harder. This was going to be over too soon if he kept this up, so he slowed down, pulled out. She groaned her disappointment, staring up at him with cloudy, lust-filled eyes. Okay, Cory was a fucking idiot.

  “Turn over,” he said and she did, the wonderful curves of her arse waiting for him. She raised it as he sought entrance again, driving her down into the mattress. The round curves of her bum arched further, trying to get him deeper and he felt her tight insides clasp firmly around his cock. She moaned uncontrollably now as he rammed into her, freezing in bliss as he came.

  Chapter 29

  The trip to the Amalfi coast had in some way left Alexi unsatisfied. Rosalie and her brother had been thoroughly polite, but he knew enough about the English to know they were—in all circumstances. You could chop of one of their limbs and they’d still be polite about it. Still, he couldn’t shake the slight note of disapproval from Rosalie and it infuriated him. All he had achieved and she turned her straight, English nose up at him.

  Her boring, understated clothes, absent in both colour and design. Her brother was equally drab, obviously intolerant of silence. Malin had announced her relief to see the back of their drab guests. “They were just boring, darling,” she’d said. “They talked about the most inane things. Who cares what some obscure socialist said back in the seventies about the construct of society? Everything they said was just meaningless gabbing.”

  It wasn’t meaningless; it was just above Malin’s head. Pointless was a better word. None of these constructs had any real impact on society, just the abstract observations of someone who lived too much in their own head.

  The business school fund raising invitation sat on his desk—stiff, white board with fine black printing. He knew an invitation just like it was sent to the most prominent residents in Marbella, a chunk of their offspring taking classes there.

  Somehow the school had gotten its claws into him and now they weren’t letting go for dear life. He should just ignore it and every other attempt to interact with him, but there was something challenging in the plain little invitation. Rosalie would be there, in the thick of what Marbella had in terms of academic society.

  They were all awed by his wealth but dismissive of his intelligence. Making money did not equate to intelligence in their view of the world. To them, he was a curiosity of a very foreign sort—a source of money for a new building or grant, or whatever it was they sucked up money for.

  Picking up the invitation, he considered it, unable to bring himself to bin it. The event was tonight.

  “Malin,” he called down the length of the apartment. He didn’t actually know if she was there.

  “Yes,” she said, appearing from wherever she spent time.

  “Dress for tonight. We’re going out?”

  “Where?” she said, walking into his office, wearing white capri pants and a dark pink shirt. She looked so exotic with her white hair and beautiful fe
atures.

  “The business school function.”

  Annoyance swept over her features before she wiped it away, replacing it with a smile. “Of course. Sounds like a lovely evening. What time?”

  He told her and watched as she walked away. The unguarded expression on her face showed she wouldn’t go if she had a choice. Perhaps he should care, but he didn’t. He wanted to go and she did whatever he wanted—that was the deal and always had been. Her little slip showed she was growing comfortable in her position, which was probably less established than she expected. The only reason she was still here was because he couldn’t be bothered getting a new one, and also that he had noticed how slyly Rosalie considered Malin whenever she walked into their midst, with her exquisite dresses, expensive shoes and willowy figure.

  Rosalie was not stupid enough to know that there were ways, important to many here, in which she could never compete with Malin, and that counted for something right now.

  As expected, Marbella turned out for a fund raiser. The Cartrights, the Melliers and the Sampsons, Fellworths and an endless array of the most prominent members were there. Alexi knew what each man was worth in terms of empire. Some had small empires, but gravitas amongst the old families. Rosalie was right in that money didn’t count for everything, but money made him equal in this society who kept to their own.

  Alexi sat at a table with his ankle across his knee, watching people. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone and more or less ignored people who approached him to discuss their affairs and proposition. Beyond an initial acknowledgement, Alexi tuned out. The unease in his chest wouldn’t lift.

  After spotting some women she wanted to impress, Malin was off charming her targets, women who she wanted to be accepted by, included in their group, and invited to their exclusive events. She was in her element here as the event was more prominent than she had realised, and she loved having access to these people. At least the night served some purpose for her.

  Looking up, Alexi saw the dean of the school approach.

  “Mr. Sumneroff, it’s such a pleasure to see you here.”

  He could see the hope shining in her eyes, the hope that a fat donation would accompany his attendance. She spoke about the growth of the school and the importance of the work they did here, to the community and to the youth of Marbella. Even the opportunity to give back was mentioned. Give back for what? Alexi wanted to ask.

  The woman continued speaking, her grey hair short and set, wearing red lipstick. It was the only make up she wore, like an ode to her predominantly ignored femininity.

  Alexi’s attention was stolen away from the dean by the appearance of Rosalie, who walked in wearing a green dress with a pleated skirt that swayed slightly when she walked. Malin wouldn’t be caught dead in that dress. It looked reserved and conservative, but Alexi still found it sexy with its barest deference to the curves of the body underneath. He hated how he found her sexy when she wasn’t even trying.

  Then he noticed the man; a slim, tall guy who had his hand on Rosalie’s back. He wore a tux with a purple cumber band. They looked comfortable together and Alexi wondered if they were an item. There had been no mention of a boyfriend during the trip, so this was either a recent development, or Rosalie was oblivious to this guy’s intentions. Only Rosalie would be so caught up in herself she didn’t notice a guy checking out her body.

  A smile grazed her lips. No, she was aware, and she wasn’t discouraging him. This was definitely something new.

  “Who is that man?” he asked the dean, interrupting her speech on the importance of matching the curriculum with industry needs. The woman turned in the direction he indicated.

  “Ah, that is Jasper Bunting. A junior professor in strategic management. Good man, good academic, I mean. Has done some wonderful work in utilising governmental regulations.”

  “I don’t like him,” Alexi said.

  The dean stopped short, blinking as if she didn’t know what to say. “He’s only been here a short time, I’m sure… ”

  “I’m sure another institution would suit him better,” Alexi said, giving the dean a raised eyebrow.

  “Of course,” she said, red colouring her cheeks.

  Blatantly exerting power was still fun—that flustered look when people understood what he wanted. They tried to think it through, but in the end decided not to risk upsetting him, exactly like the dean was right now. “We will see what can be arranged,” she said with a smile. He would have to donate now—a donation for a favour.

  This request was perhaps not something that made sense. Not giving a donation was out of the question. It would become known and since he had accepted the invitation, a donation was very much expected. That considered, he might as well get something out of it, and this was the concession he’d chosen.

  The offending academic asked Rosalie to dance and she agreed. Little did she know that this potential relationship had just been sunk. Was this the kind of man she was interested in, a colourless academic with no power, no prospects other than his pittance of a salary; a man whose existence here was so easily dismissed.

  Alexi watched as Rosalie danced, trying to analyse what he’d just done. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to see her happy with someone, a man she determined was suited to her quiet and reserved sensibilities. Alexi’s father would have approved of her. They would have gotten on well, the old man curious and impressed with her inane field of study, spending hours talking about Soviet policies and the impact of the mistakes made.

  Running his tongue over his teeth, Alexi wondered if it was time to leave. On some level, he should feel bad about what he’d just done, but conscience was not what had gotten him to the place he was—pure ruthlessness had.

  Chapter 30

  Walking into the sports bar, Cory found the boys sitting around a table, large glasses of beers in front of them. He nodded his greeting and headed to the bar to get his own. It had been a hard day at work; Mirabel having been grumpy and demanding today.

  She teased mercilessly, but didn’t put out. Cory’s balls felt as hard as rocks after watching her run around the court in that tiny skirt all day, her muscular thighs working and straining as she smashed the ball, groaning with effort each time. It was enough to keep him in a constant state of arousal. All he could see in his mind’s eye were those thighs around his hips, riding him hard. She knew full well that she made him drool and she played on it. He served her every need, following her to her room where she’d undress in front of him as she prepared for her shower, teasing him further as she walked around. Her body was insane and he’d waited on bated breath, wishing for an opportunity to sink into her firm and toned body—all along his desire amusing her as she toyed with it.

  “How’s the goddess?” Lachlan asked.

  “Demanding,” Cory said and the boys chuckled. Unfortunately she wasn’t demanding in the way he wanted her to be. The teasing amused her more than anything Cory could do for her. “She’s a bit of a bitch, actually.”

  “Still, you wouldn’t say no, though.”

  He’d like to think he could walk away, but knew he really couldn’t. If she spread her legs for him, his desire would far outweigh any pride he had. Spreading her legs would be submission enough, but she wasn’t going there—not yet. He still had hope. Until then, he would just have to live with the tension. “Hell, no,” he said with a smile.

  Mirabel was off to Germany doing some TV show and interviews, so Cory had a day off and planned to spend it with the boys. The sun shone outside and the breeze coming through the door was nice. Shimmering currents rose off the asphalt outside. The day was heating up and the asphalt would be hot enough to soften the tar later in the day. A swim might be on the cards later. Shame there were no real waves here. Thoughts of home crept in as they occasionally did.

  “What’s happening tonight?” Lachlan asked. The girls were back from their little trip, which meant they weren’t as free to cruise the bars as they had been last week. Cory had missed most
of it, because Mirabel had wanted to go to dinner with some journalist and had taken Cory along. She didn’t need him there, but apparently she liked having him around—to tease if nothing else. She really was a bitch.

  “The girls will be at Emperor at some point tonight. Chrissy texted before,” Nathan said, twisting his phone around in his palm. In the end, they were always drawn to the girls, primarily because Nathan wanted to end the night in Chrissy’s tight little body.

  Trish stole into his thoughts, like a small, accusing incendiary, judging and reprimanding. It wasn’t necessarily her reprimanding him, more himself. There was a part of him that knew he would be with her, instead of running around, getting into anything that would let him. Trish; just the thought of her sent mixed emotions chasing around his mind.

  “Apparently they had an awesome time in Berlin. The nightlife is a whole other beast there, Chrissy says. Kind of sorry I missed it now. They lost Trish, though.”

  Cory’s senses sharpened. Lost Trish? Is she not back? Did they return without her? A slight panic washed through him before he realised he was being ridiculous.

  “No, she hooked up with some guy. Some guy who had followed them there.”

  Dread or something close to it washed over his body, prickling his skin and the little hairs on his arm. Trish had what? “What guy?” he asked. What guy had followed her there? And she’d hooked up with him? Heat flared through him now. He wanted to hit something, or run. Agitation stole through his legs.

  “One of those rich blokes. Some dude who’s friends with Adelaide’s current.”

  “What’s his name?” Cory said, steadying his voice.

  “Felix, Chrissy said. Apparently they were dancing and flirting all night, then they disappeared for the rest of the night. She turned up the next day just before they were flying home.”

  Cory sat completely still, his mind forming images for him of Trish and Felix. Cory knew Felix; he was a member at the club. They’d spoken cordially a few times. She’d fucked him? his mind was screaming. A clammy hand gripped his glass of beer, but he didn’t lift it. It felt like his throat had closed over. She’d fucked some guy. Were they an item now? Felix wasn’t some passing tourist; he was a local, and one of the rich, arrogant crowd—and she’d fucked him. Cory had thought better of her than to fall for the rich prick’s bullshit, but apparently he was wrong.