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Alchemy’s ruined me, obviously. That much is true. Sleeping with a nice, sensible guy after being fucked by the animals at the club is like trying to sate yourself with a cosy mystery after reading the most disgusting dark romance you can get your hands on. In a word… Underwhelming.
Things could be worse. As I mentioned, I have the sex life and I have the glittering dating life. Just not together. But, quite frankly, ‘could be worse’ is not good enough for me.
Fucking TikTok. You look up someone once to perform a little professional due diligence, and its algorithm won’t let you move on. It has the memory of an elephant and the unwelcome stickiness of gum stuck to the sole of your shoe.
Everything comes at a price, and everyone has a price. And if the prize is worth the price, then I have no regrets. Because regret and resistance and rumination and recrimination are a fucking waste of time and head space.
‘It can be hard to find someone who ticks every box,’ he continues. He twists his mouth and gestures around the room. ‘Especially this box. You know?’ Better than you realise, mate. His tone, his demeanour, and his gaze are all confiding. This is why guys like him are so successful, right? They draw you in, make you feel like you have their confidence and they have yours. They make you feel like the only person in the room. He’s good.
man of God unleashed. Fucking and fucking and fucking the repression out of his system. On me. Holy fuck. I blame Rafe for the priest thing. He and Belle have done far too much of that here. I clear my throat. ‘Would you like to share any preferences or fetishes you may have with me at this point?’ I swear it’s getting hot in here. He steeples his fingers together as he surveys me. ‘Control.’
The back view is quite as spectacular as the front. This woman has the old-world curves of a Hollywood bombshell, and she certainly knows how to dress to show them off. She’s in a sleek, form-fitting pencil skirt that nips in at the waist and stretches over her fantastic arse, and whose rear slit hints at a tantalising sliver of thigh. Nude stockings. High heels and fucking amazing legs. Her platinum-blonde hair is perfectly coiffed in some kind of up-do, and the silk shirt she’s wearing is palest lavender and sleeveless, showcasing toned arms. The pussy-bow tie at the front gives off a
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‘God, yes,’ she moans, and I smile in satisfaction. ‘Good girl.’
His thrusts don’t falter. They’re flawless. Smooth and rhythmic and unwavering. But I can see in his expression, in the dark eyes that are usually calculating and are growing more wild, that he’s close to losing control, and that’s the thing I really cannot handle. Because it’s too cruel.
And I hate that he’s making me feel this way.
I don’t fucking think so. I do the only thing I have any power to do under the circumstances, which is also the thing I know will piss him off more than anything else. I shoot him my best look of utter contempt, and I turn on my heel and walk away.
The guy was an angry bull, and I need precisely that. I push through the crowd, through the throng of people dancing and naked bodies, to the bar.
there’s something in his arrogant expression and cruel mouth that tells me he’ll give it to me good. Our eyes lock. I put down my empty shot glass and lean an elbow on the bar, letting my body curve as my hip juts out. Sure enough, his eyes travel from my face to my tits, all the way down and back up again. I raise my eyebrows in silent challenge, and he takes it, coming towards me.
He’s definitely hot, and he looks dirty as fuck. He’s not Anton Wolff, but two out of three ain’t bad.
‘Fuck me,’ he says, his voice strangled, and I can tell my lingerie has hit home. Black lace bra. Matching suspender belt that rises to my waist and gives me definition. No knickers. Easy access.
I saw that on his face a few minutes ago. He may not have been inside me, but the ravaged look on his face was that of a man about to go under. About to be subsumed by his needs. The thought of it has me burning up. As this guy pumps me, dragging his sizeable dick up and down against the nerve endings of my internal walls, the fantasy of Anton struggling to contain himself, to fight this, to quash the demons of lust that I know consume him as much as they consume me, engulfs me. It’s not my temporary fuck-buddy’s ragged breaths and grunts I hear behind me, but Anton’s. And as the heat ignites
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Sometimes your life choices really do come back to bite you in the arse.
Maddy holds out a white envelope bearing the double C logo and my name. ‘Who delivered these?’ I ask her. She shrugs. ‘Courier.’ I break open the black wax seal and pull out the card. It reads: I wish it had been you last night. And if you think this is me playing games, I can assure you I’m doing precisely the opposite. A. PS these flowers remind me of you Fuck fuck fuck.
God, I am king of subtext today. I let that image linger between us for a moment. ‘Fine,’ she grits out. I nearly say good girl, but stop myself just in time. ‘Excellent. I’ll get my assistants to set something up. Now, what are you wearing?’ ‘Stop being a creepy old man. What the hell is wrong with you?’ I snigger. I can’t help it.
‘Goodbye, Anton.’ ‘I meant what I said on that card,’ I tell her, and I end the call before she can respond.
Fair play to him—she’s a stunner, if a little on the slim side for my liking. The immaculate blonde in the curve-skimming sleeveless dress is far more my style. She’s fucking magnificent, and she even deigned to break her no-touching policy long enough to give me a brisk, schoolmarmish handshake when I came in that did nothing to dent my interest level.
Anyway, I’m armoured up in a fitted black Dolce and Gabbana shift dress, my highest black heels, and beautiful black lace underwear from Fleur du Mal. I feel elegant and competent. Empowered. I have no idea if I’ll even see the Big Bad Wolff today, but I always like to be mentally ready, and channeling my inner goddess is always a good way to prepare for going head to head with the patriarchy. Besides, there’s never an excuse for a bad lingerie game. Ever.
‘Genevieve,’ he says. ‘It’s good of you to come.’ He rounds the desk, a hand extended, and I shake. It would be incredibly rude not to, and I managed it last week, after all. Besides, the sky won’t fall because I shake the guy’s hand. My no-touching policy doesn’t need to affect my basic professional demeanour. Anton’s grip is warm and strong, and for some reason, I feel engulfed by it. His deep brown eyes hold mine as we shake, and I have to force myself to hold eye contact. Even fucking eye contact with this guy is a lot.
I push down a wave of jealousy that these two twats will get to taste her before me. Long game. Remember? David stands in front of her, preparing to relieve her of her dress and partially blocking my view. ‘Move,’ I order. He steps aside. Max’s hands go to the neckline. ‘Okay. Slowly,’ I tell him. I only get to unwrap Genevieve for the first time once.
She’s quite perfect, but still. There’s an image in my head, and it’s been stuck there since that first moment I walked into Alchemy’s office and her cool beauty assaulted me. The image is of what she’ll look like after. After two or more orgasms. After being licked and bitten and sucked and fucked. After choking down Max’s huge cock. I need her hair mussed and her mascara smudged and that pretty coral pink lipstick smeared and her body relaxed, sated. Marked. And I want every last drop of pleasure and satisfaction reflected on her face. That’s what I need. And I know she won’t disappoint me.
‘Soaked,’ he tells Anton. ‘And soft. Perfect. She’s so ready for my cock.’ ‘Not so fast,’ Anton warns, and I realise the sadistic arsehole probably has a grand master plan. ‘Keep her held wide open like this so she feels everything. You’ll be tongue fucking her in a second—’ Yes. ‘—but she doesn’t get anything unless she begs. Genevieve?’ he asks sharply, and I jolt.
‘How do I like them?’ I may be spreadeagled for him, but I muster up every ounce of dignity I possess when I answer him. ‘Debased and begging, I believe.’ I manage a smirk as I finish, and amusement flashes across his face in response. ‘Good girl. And do you know why that is?’
‘Fuck, I knew I liked you. Nice try, gorgeous. I may be all of the above but I actually adore women. And when I see a woman like you, who’s successful and beautiful and uptight as fuck, I know I’m the man to help you unwind. But I can only do that when you let go’—he leans in closer and enunciates—‘and embrace your shame. It’s only when you give into being dirty and shameless and wanton, and name your desires, and ask for what you need, that you can feel fully liberated. Am I right?’
It’s how I show him that I’ve allowed him to unveil the real me.
My body is on fire, my only conscious thought is my need to get off as violently as possible. Anton watches my face. I come. Hard. So hard, as the guys work every erogenous zone and hit me with an orgasm so hard it’s less a wave than a wall, practically knocking me out as white-hot pleasure radiates from my pussy outwards, coursing through my bloodstream and setting my nerve endings on fire, so I’m conscious of little else except his eyes on me and this brick wall of sensation. I’m gasping, and crying out, and full-on convulsing on the table as my nails scrape against its smooth surface and my
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I lead her by the hand over to the expanse of carpet where Genevieve is now on her hands and knees on two cushions. Jesus fucking Christ. The sight of her is quite extraordinary. I want to cast her in bronze. No—marble. Marble for her smooth, pale skin and perfect curves.
I stand far enough away from them that Athena can get to her knees in front of me, but close enough to take in every last ounce of Genevieve’s great beauty in this provocative stance. She’s perfect in profile, tits swaying heavily below her, back arched and flawless arse in the air, shooting me a look that manages to be coquettish and smug and hungry as she awaits Max’s cock. Smug because she knows the effect she’s having on me. And she knows I can’t go near her. I’ll show her.
At my signal, they begin to move in sync, a sensual feast. Just for me.
The two guys exchange a triumphant look over her head. I’ve been there plenty of times, mainly with Max and Athena, but fuck knows I’d be high-fiving right now if that was me sheathed in the tight, wet heat of her pussy or her mouth. Scratch that. If she let me touch her, there’d be no one else in the room with us. End of story. Just look at her. The glacial, normally impassive blonde who only lets others see what she chooses to disclose, unwrapped for us. For me.
she releases a little whimper that is a hundred times better for sounding strangled around David’s cock. I want that. Need more of it. Max pulls slowly out without releasing his grip on Genevieve’s hips before ramming back in, and it’s like a twisted, stunning game of dominos as she bucks and gasps again and jolts straight towards David’s balls.
That I’m not the only one of us with FOMO makes something swell inside me. ‘Go on,’ I bark as I wrap a tangle of Athena’s curls around my fist. ‘Fuck her harder. Both of you.’
I observe through my haze of need that she’s stopped jolting forward as much. Rather, she’s meeting Max thrust for thrust like that greedy cunt of hers needs every last fucking millimetre of dick it can get. I fucking love that.
He pulls out so she can swallow, then he’s sinking down so his bum rests on his heels. He kisses the top of her head and his hands snake around her sides so he can play with her tits. That’s my boy. She moans and arches her back harder and I watch through hooded, heavy eyes as he works her tits with squeezes of her flesh and pinches of her nipples. I can’t see her face—David’s bloody shoulder’s in the way—but she’s writhing wantonly, her moans no longer gagged by his cock but ringing clear. ‘Move so I can see her face,’ I bark at David. He shifts, and she turns her head and looks straight at
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‘That’s it,’ I croon. ‘I know how much you like to come, you dirty little thing. Rub your clit against me as hard as you can. I want to hear you.’ ‘Oh God,’ she gasps against my neck as she squirms and rides my thigh.
The woman who’s on my office carpet as Max rails the living daylights out of her. The guy knows how to fuck, and it fucking disgusts me to see him wind her higher and higher. But I’m a beggar, and beggars can’t be choosers. Speaking of which… ‘Make her beg,’ I say stonily to Max, my voice far more authoritative now I’ve taken the edge off my frustration with Athena’s world-class blowjob.
She may be begging Max, but her eyes are fixed on me. On the blindfolded woman grinding against me, using my leg to chase her own base pleasure. On my arm around her waist. She’s my fucking ice queen, and she knows it. I hope she also knows that, with a single word, this could have been her.
I hope she’s fantasising that it’s me fucking her senseless right now. I hope it’s fucking killing her the way it’s killing me.
#HornyJealousAndSad
And then she’s coming, crying out with a voice so raw and pure and greedy as she drinks me in with her eyes, and I’m stock still, frozen with desire and awe. It’s not my cock that’s giving her this pleasure, but I have the distinct sense that she’s giving this spectacular orgasm to me. Max is still going, feeding her hunger, driving her further and further over the abyss into fucking oblivion, and her climax draws impossibly out before she squeezes her eyes shut and mouths a single, strangled word at me. Anton. Not Max. Anton.
Nothing we’ve done here this evening has reduced her. It’s elevated her to the queen I knew she was. Because, as she lies there after Max has come, with her head resting on David’s thigh and her sated face turned to me, she has never looked so majestic.
I apply my serums and moisturiser and pad through to my apartment’s spacious reception area. This is my favourite room on this planet.
This makes me feel weird and sad and idk why
Not you were magnificent. But you are magnificent.
‘Mr Wolff would like a quick word.’ ‘That’s not—’ I begin. That’s not… necessary. Advisable. ‘Genevieve.’ His voice comes down the line, saying my name in his trademark tone. Clipped. Deep. Commanding. Just how he said it last night, when he was instructing his guys how to fuck me. Just how he said it when he was ordering me to beg. I despise that I’m not strong enough to withstand the Pavlovian response I have to it. I sigh. ‘Anton. What can I do for you?’
‘I promise you, Genevieve, I won’t try any funny business with hotel rooms,’ he says. ‘That good enough for you?’
That’s loophole-billionaire speak for “we’re not staying at a hotel, we’re staying at my villa where I can make all the sketchy accommodations I’d like because I promised not to fuck around accommodations at a hotel.” Come on, Gen 🤣
‘Both times. And he wasn’t just looking at me, he was also making his EA blow him and then letting her hump his leg, and calling out instructions to the other guys and generally being a revoltingly dominant, sexy, multi-tasking motherfucker.’
And I’ve definitely never had the kind of sexual and emotional and physical intensity with a bystander of a sexual act like that. The whole thing was a total headfuck. Twenty-four hours later, I’m still reeling.
