Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Maybe it’s all the dead bodies.” I smile. “Bodies, or snuff porn, or maybe a black magic temple in the cellar.”
“I’m being serious.”
So am I. I hope I’m going to find kinky sex toys and cock selfies rather than a couple of corpses, but Dean’s got me pretty psyched up about those online stories. Maybe I’m his next victim… hopefully not to bury me under his patio, but maybe he wants me in his house to humiliate me and turn me into his dirty little sex slave. The thought makes me grin and prickle at the same time, and Dean scowls at me.
“You’re gonna get yourself into a whole world of trouble with him, Lissa, you know that, right?”
I’m counting on it.
Alexander
Harley’s Tavern is a dingy little pub out past the M25 towards Harlow. A nothing place, that’s how it looks. That’s why Claude uses it more often than not as his venue of choice.
I take the Mercedes down into the underground car park, and pull in next to his sparkling BMW. Harley’s Tavern looks like a dive to the casual observer, just another spit and sawdust local showing football on the big screen at the weekends.
I wouldn’t be seen dead here under normal circumstances, but venture upstairs and it’s a whole different story.
I’ve called this meeting. I haven’t seen Claude in months, not since he schmoozed it up at the same charity ball I was at last summer and shot me a few too many overfamiliar glances across the crowd. I generally prefer distance in our business communications, but my requirements are… changing.
He meets me by the entrance to the rear hall, the same slick grin on his face he always wears for business. His handshake is firm and not at all clammy.
“Alexander, it’s been a while. I’ve booked us the bridal suite.” He laughs and slaps my back.
This kind of boys’ club camaraderie normally gets my hackles up, but I need Claude, so I let it lie. Every fucking time.
Need. It’s a fucking disgusting word.
He leads us upstairs and slides his card into the lock. Memories of Candice hammer my senses. Her pretty ass spread wide for me last week, her groans as I opened her up all the way. She stretched so willingly that girl.
But she gave me nothing.
Tense calves. A grimace. Moans that were borderline over-acting.
She gave me fuck all.
They’re always there for the money, and why wouldn’t they be? I’m no fucking idiot, but cash-hungry girls going through the motions are no longer enough.
I want more than a couple of ticked boxes showing their hard limits. I want more than a little slut on her knees pretending she’s loving everything I’m loving.
I want real.
And that’s what I tell Claude in no uncertain terms.
He offers me a whisky and I wave it aside as usual. He pours himself a healthy measure and takes a seat on the leather chaise longue. I pace, back and forth by the four poster, sifting through memories of all the times I’ve been in this room, all the women I’ve paid to tie to its posts and fuck until I’m sated and they’re considerably better off financially.
“The girls like it,” he tells me. “Candice, well, she asks for you, often. I think she’s got a real thing for you.”
“Because I tip,” I snap. “You know it and I know it.”
He shakes his head. “She’s a dirty girl, believe me. She was a star in the test run. She wants it one hundred percent. She wants you one hundred percent.”
“I’ve no doubt she gets her thrills, Claude, but she’s not really exposed. She doesn’t let go. She isn’t…”
His eyes glint like the black obsidian in my collection at home. “Isn’t what, Henley? Isn’t scared? Is that what you want? A girl who’s scared of you? Some little slip of a thing who’ll make you feel like your balls are made of fucking steel?” He takes a sip of whisky. “Is that what you’re after? Power? Real power? I’m sure I can deliver, just tell me how far you want to go.”
I shoot him a glare. “I’m not a total fucking psychopath.”
I hate that he knows me. I hate that he knows what I like. Most of all, I hate the way he judges me without even realising he’s fucking judging me.
He shrugs. “None of my business what gets you off, Henley. You just tell me what you want, I’ll find it.” He sighs. “Why the sudden dissatisfaction? You liked Candice last week, Elena, too. And Kimberly. You told me you liked Kimberly. You gave her two grand in tips last month, she told me.”
I did like Kimberly. Did.
“I’m tired of Kimberly,” I tell him. “Kimberly uses the first chance she gets to take it doggy style and get the kinky shit over with. Kimberly gets off that way, that’s her priority. I gave her two grand in tips last month because she pushed her limits. That’s all. She bolted like a smacked fucking horse afterwards.”