by LP Lovell
The silence seems to reign between us as we get in the lift, and once inside it’s as though that invisible power of his beats away at me, affecting me in ways that it shouldn’t. It’s a strange mix of exciting and infuriating. I force myself to stand as far away from him as possible, pressing my bare arm against the mirrored wall.
He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, fixing his gaze on the floor. “Angus likes you.” He says, almost to himself.
“You sound surprised.”
“He rarely takes such a personal interest in an employee.” He drags his eyes over me again as though trying to work me out.
“I’m good at what I do, Mr Banks. I make money.” I say a little too abruptly.
He narrows his eyes. “So I hear.”
The lift comes to a stop, and the doors glide open silently. He maintains his position beside me as I stride across the lobby.
London hums with life as I step outside, pausing at the top of the steps, trying to spot a taxi. I know there’s a taxi rank around the corner.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr Banks.” I hold my hand out to him.
He eyes it, cocking an eyebrow and making me feel self-conscious, as though simply shaking his hand is some awkward event.
I lower it, and he steps close to me, taking my hand and lifting it. He dips, and my breath seizes in my lungs when his lips brush over my knuckles. He lingers just a little too long, and I allow it, standing there numbly with my pulse hammering in my ears like an idiot. I snatch my hand away, tucking it behind me, but I swear I can still feel where his lips have imprinted on my skin.
“A pleasure, Miss Roberts.” He says, a distinctly calculating look in his eyes.
Without another word I turn away from him, heading down the street in search of a taxi.
“You’re walking home?” He calls after me. I turn back to face him.
“These are five hundred pound shoes.” His expression remains blank and this time, I do roll my eyes. “Taxi.” I say as a way of explanation.
He sighs and steps up to the black car lingering at the curb, opening the back door wide and stepping to the side. “Get in.”
“Honestly, I’m fine with a taxi, but thank you.” I argue.
His eyes lock with mine, and he flashes me a look that brooks no argument. “Get in the car, Georgia.” There’s just a hint of a growl in his voice, and when he says my name, it makes me shiver. The fact that he just ordered me to get in the car, coupled with the fact that he affects me has my hackles rising fast. My temper overrides rational thought, and I find myself stepping closer to him until we’re toe to toe. I tilt my head back, meeting his dark gaze.
“Sorry, boss, I don’t take instructions well outside of the office, and uh, stranger danger and all that.” His eyes spark with something dark and dangerous, and I find myself being drawn towards him. I catch myself and stagger back a step. “See you soon.” I say, flashing him a blinding smile before turning on my heel and walking away. I have somewhere I need to be and no one, not even Landon Banks is going to keep me from going.
I grab a taxi and head into Mayfair, the heart of London’s secretive and elite social circle. This is the part of my life that no one knows about, the sordid and beautifully dark underbelly of the city’s wealthy upper class. In this city, everyone knows someone and everyone talks. People like me, we’re obsessive. It’s what makes us so good at what we do. But that obsession often leaves a person open to many vices. The places that I go after dark, they feed every conceivable vice in every possible way.
Masque is where all manner of creatures come to play, to fulfil warped desires without judgement or persecution. After all, you can’t judge what you can’t see.
I slip the mask out of my handbag and tie the ribbons at the back of my head, pinning them into my hair with some grips. I knock on the door of what looks like a respectable and extremely expensive townhouse in the centre of London’s most affluent area. The door opens, revealing a guy in a black suit, a plain black mask covering his eyes. He glances at my membership card, and he waves me through.
Inside it looks exactly how you’d expect a high-end sex club to look. Dark, luxurious, sensual. Rock music fills the room, contrasting wildly with the velvet chaise lounges and crystal chandeliers. Within the club, people resume a new identity. Their masks become their identity. Mine looks like a cat, the faint stripes of a tiger painted along the delicate lines that outline my face and accentuate my sharp cheekbones. There’s a certain thrill in hiding, because in hiding who I am, it allows me to be who I really am. I come here for one reason, to be liberated on every level.
I go to the bar and perch on a stool, crossing my legs and allowing my short black dress to ride up my thigh. The waiter slides a martini in front of me, and I thank him. I allow my gaze to drift around the room, shopping because everyone in here is on the menu. My gaze stops on a guy sitting on one of the sofas, his fingers buried in the pussy of the woman straddling him. His mask is distinctive, made of white porcelain and depicting a Greek god. I know from experience that he has a body like a god as well. Sometimes I like to be surprised by a new partner, but other times I like to know that I’m going to be satisfied. Apollo, as I call him, always satisfies my more aggressive appetites, and tonight I feeling positively savage after my interaction with Banks. There’s nothing like a powerful man to make my inner alpha bitch rear her head with bared teeth.
I down the martini and stand, swaying my hips a little as I make my way to Apollo. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine through the mask that covers his eyes and nose. His lips kick up slightly on one side as he assesses me with a cockiness I’ve come to expect of him. The woman moans, her fingers clinging to his shoulders and scratching over the material of his open shirt.
“Come.” I say to him.
“Well, it would be rude not to finish the lady.” He says, humour lacing his voice.
I tilt my head to the side and study the girl; her long blonde hair cascades down her bare back as she throws her head back. I step close to her and grab a handful of her hair, fisting it. She moans, pushing her chest out. He watches me intensely as his bicep tenses, his fingers sinking deeper inside her.
I bend over, dropping my face into the crook of her neck and placing a kiss on her soft skin before sweeping my tongue up the side of her throat. Her breath hitches and she trembles gently. I lift my eyes to meet his, and I see the spark of lust in them, the need eating away at him as I wrench her head back even further and slide my free hand down her chest, pinching her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She bucks and writhes, moaning like a wanton slut as she rides his hand.
“Fuck.” He says, completely enraptured by the sight of her coming apart under our combined touch. When she’s done, he practically throws her off him and rises to his feet. My eyes instantly hone in on the bulge straining against the material of his trousers. His shirt remains open, the hard planes of his stomach on display. I jerk my head towards the stairs, and he follows me without question.
This house has twenty rooms, each one identical to the other. For those who like their play a little rougher, there’s the basement which houses a dungeon. I have certain tastes, but they don’t venture into ‘chain me up and beat me’ territory.
We pass a line of doors, all with a red ribbon tied on the door. These are the occupied rooms, although some people don’t bother with the ribbon in the hope that someone walks in on them. To each their own. Then, of course, there are those who like to be watched, like that girl, they just fuck in one of the many public rooms downstairs.
I push open the door and step inside, watching him close it behind him with a resounding click.
I take slow steps backwards into the room until a chaise bumps the backs of my knees. He pushes his shirt over his shoulders and allows it to fall to the floor. Apollo is a good looking guy, and he’s utterly shameless. He likes sex anyway he can get it, and if it makes him come, he’s game. The harder, the better. Any means necessary.
/> I reach behind me and lower the zip on my dress, shrugging the straps off my shoulders and allowing the material to pool at my ankles.
Of course with that mask, I can’t make out his expression clearly. It makes him seem hard and implacable. For some reason, it makes me think of Landon. It shouldn’t be a turn on but it is.
I step out of the dress at my feet and hook my thumbs into my knickers. I pause for a second, call it dramatic effect if you like, before slowly sliding them down my legs. Still he doesn’t make a move or breathe a sound.
Lowering myself onto the chaise lounge behind me, I smile and beckon him forward with a crook of my finger. He obliges, crossing the room and coming to a halt right in front of me. I reach up and trail my fingers down his firm stomach before I unfasten his trousers and shove them down his thighs, exposing his hard cock just inches from my face. I’ll suck dick like a pro when the feeling strikes me, but right now, it doesn’t.
“Get on your knees.” I command. He steps out of the material at his feet, kicking off his shoes and socks quickly before he does as I say and gets on his knees, completely naked in front of me. I reach behind me and unhook my bra, sliding it down my arms slowly. He watches my every move as I strip until I’m left wearing nothing but my Louboutins.
I trail my fingers over my thighs and slowly spread my legs open. Wide open. His eyes lock on my pussy, and I see his breaths pick up with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“Kiss me.” I say quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate as he grips the insides of my thighs with both hands and leans in. I feel his hot breath hit my pussy before his lips do, brushing gently across my clit. I bite my lip and lean back, raking my nails into the unforgiving material beneath me. His fingers dig into the sensitive skin of my thighs as he lashes me with his tongue. This is why I pick him. No questions, no bullshit. Just pleasure and compliance. He works his tongue over my clit until I’m trembling, lingering on that beautiful precipice and just waiting to go tumbling off the edge. One more flick of his tongue, and I break, rolling my hips against his mouth as I ride out the orgasm. Aftershocks ripple through my torso as I lean my head against the back of the chaise, trying to catch my breath. I close my eyes, a small smile on my lips because that was good, but what’s about to come is even better. Sex is about physical and mental satisfaction, and I like to release in every way before I leave this club.
My eyes flash open as I drag myself upright. His hands are still on my thighs, and my orgasm is all over his lips. I close my legs, pushing to my feet and dragging a hand through my hair as I step around him. He doesn’t move. I go to my discarded handbag and take out my favourite toy, also know as The Destroyer. I clip the harness in place around my pelvis and yank the straps tight—don’t want it slipping now. I browse the shelf that’s mounted in the corner, browsing over the range of lubes. This club is extremely accommodating. I pick up one called Sex Water, the slogan written on the bottle reads; ‘for when spit and courage isn’t enough’. It couldn’t be more apt.
Apollo glances over his shoulder, watching as I move toward him with the big purple cock protruding from between my hips.
He smirks. “You could at least suck a guy’s dick first.”
I laugh as I move beside him, raking my fingers through his short hair. “You know I make you come harder with a cock in your arse.”
He shrugs. “True.” The thing about coming to a sex club is that all the taboos that are unacceptable outside this room are completely acceptable inside it. Apollo likes a dick in his arse. He likes me to fuck him. He gets off on it. Simple. Apollo gets an orgasm out of it, and me? I get to plough the fuck out of a guy. I get to own him and make him my bitch for the small amount of time that I’m in here with him. Trust me, to a girl who is constantly bowing and scraping to men inside the office, fucking him is extremely empowering.
“Stand up and bend over.” I order
He stands up and bends over, grabbing the back of the chaise lounge firmly. “Spread your legs,” I tell him and he does without hesitation.
His cheeks spread, and I get a view of his waxed balls and arsehole. I guess if you’re into this kind of shit then you need to make sure the grass is cut.
I squirt a generous helping of lube on The Destroyer before putting some on my finger and smearing it along his crack, pressing against his hole slightly and going lower until I cup his balls, rolling them in the palm of my hand. He moans as I squeeze them gently and then release them.
I grab his hips, his hot skin burning against my fingers as I line up the purple cock and push forward, pressing against him until the tip of it disappears inside him. He drops his head forward, a ragged gasp leaving his lips as I push just a little more. I wait, letting him adjust. When I feel him relax completely, I slam home until my thighs brush the backs of his. A choked groan fills the air as he pants heavily, trying to catch his breath.
“Take it.” I tell him, my voice laced with warning. Of course, he’s twice my size, and could tell me to fuck off easily, but he won’t, because this is what he likes, and I give it to him.
I give him a few seconds and then I move, pulling out and thrusting back in slowly. “Fuck.” He hisses, his muscles tensing and rolling beneath his skin. I drag my nails over his back, relishing in the way he shivers, and then I grip his hips and I fuck him. Hard. The straps of the toy rub against my clit and a low moan escapes my lips. I fuck him until a thin sheen of sweat covers my body, and he’s pushing back against me, panting and groaning whilst he fists his cock with one hand, his arm jerking furiously. I slow the pace, thrusting deeper, harder. The straps move over my sensitive clit again and again. He lets out a long guttural groan as every muscle tenses and then quivers violently. I keep going, so close to the edge of oblivion that I can practically taste it. My muscles clench and a bolt of pleasure rips through me making me see stars. I fuck him until he’s begging me to stop, slamming his hand on the back of the chaise like he’s tapping out. His legs give way, and he collapses, laying on his back on the thick carpet, breathing heavily. His come is all over the chaise and the carpet. I smile with a strange sort of satisfaction at having made such a mess.
I go to the adjoining en-suite and take the strap-on off, rinsing it in the sink. When I walk back into the room, Apollo has climbed to his feet and is getting dressed. He looks a little worse for wear, but then he always does and yet he always comes back for more the next week. I pick my dress up before slipping it back on, fastening the zip and turning to check my reflection in the mirror beside the door. I straighten my mask slightly, throw the strap-on in my handbag before I stride out of the room without a backwards glance.
This is what I do every Friday night. It’s my release and at times my salvation, hell, I’d even call it therapy. We all find different ways of coping with the stress of life; this is mine.
I spend the weekend hanging out with Quinn. We go for a run in Hyde Park, binge watch Netflix and hit the city hard on Saturday night. It’s a standard weekend.
Its Monday morning and I follow my usual routine, stopping on the way into the office and picking up an espresso. I’m always one of the first people into the office and when I step out of the lift on the thirty-ninth floor it’s quiet, dare I say peaceful as I make my way to my corner office. I close the door behind me and shrug out of my suit jacket, tossing it over the back of my chair. Every morning I go through the same routine. I print off my current stocks and shares and the rates and take them to Angus. It’s an almost impossible task, but we try to stay ahead of the market as best we can.
I take the papers out of the printer and leave my office, taking the stairs to the floor above where Angus’ office is.
His secretary is already there, the same as every morning. She smiles brightly at me but says nothing as I pass her. I knock once and open the door, focusing on the papers in my hand as I walk across the massive office.
“McClellan seems to have taken a dive this morning, but it’ll pick back up by tomorrow. I t
hink we should push for investments into Suntech. SolarX just went down, so there will be a market shift. I’ll call…” I look up half way through my run down and realise that the figure sat at Angus’ desk is not Angus. It’s Landon. His dark hair is still damp as though he hasn’t long been out of the shower. His suit is a charcoal grey today but fits him every bit as well as the navy one. His eyes fix on mine as he leans back in his chair casually, twirling a silver pen between his fingers. He places his elbows on the armrests, steepling his fingers in front of him as his eyes move subtly over my body. I swallow heavily as I feel the flush threatening to creep over my cheeks.
“How do you know McClellan will pick up tomorrow?” He asks.
It takes me a few seconds to remember what he’s talking about. “Call it a feeling. Intuition. Experience, whatever you want.”
He says nothing, and I fidget uncomfortably, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. His eyes track the movement. “And is that how you make decisions, Ms Roberts? Intuition? Guess work?”
I cross my arms over my chest and mimic his arsehole expression. “It’s done me well so far. No one can predict the future.”
His eyes narrow and his lips press into a flat line. In the heavy silence, I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears, and it fucking shouldn’t be. What is it about him? I’ll admit that he intimidates me, but I’m Georgia Roberts, I don’t get intimidated by anyone. The air seems to crackle between us, and it makes me uncomfortable. He’s my boss, except he’s not. He’s just a guy who owns part of the company and stops in every now and then. He leans forward and drops the pen on the desk, the metallic thud sounding far too loud in the silence.
“Angus will be in shortly. I’ll tell him you wanted to speak with him.” He says, tearing his eyes away from me and focusing on his computer screen.
“No need.” I turn on my heel. “He trusts me to do my job.” I throw over my shoulder as a parting blow. He says nothing as I leave the room, slamming the door a little too loudly behind me.
