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He opens the door and grabs my wrist, pulling me through it.

“Bathroom. Classy guy.” I smirk.

“There’s nothing classy about what I’m going to do to you.” He spins me around in the small room, forcing me against the sink. Even through my dress, I can feel the cold porcelain press against my lower stomach. I watch him in the mirror above the sink as he scoops the hair off my neck and grips it in his hand. He tugs until I tilt my head back, allowing his lips to gently glide down the side of my neck. All I feel is his warm breath touching my skin, and I tremble as goose bumps prickle the back of my neck, my breath hitching. First his breath, then his lips, tongue, teeth. Never has a man made me so weak with kisses, and he hasn’t even touched my lips yet.

He must be a master at what he does because I’m desperate for him, dying for more. His other hand slides from my hip to my front, his fingers splaying across my stomach, pulling me back against his erection. He rolls his hips against me, sinking his teeth into my shoulder at the same time. I’m panting like a fucking animal, pressing my arse against him and imagining how it would feel to be fucked by him.

I grab his wrist and force his hand down until it’s resting on my thigh. He chuckles in my ear, and his fingers grip my thigh hard enough that I feel his short nails bite into my skin.

“Impatient.” He growls, the sound reverberating over my senses.

I press my arse back against his cock because he can go fuck himself if I’m going to be the only impatient one here. He hisses in my ear and nips at my earlobe while shoving his hand up my skirt and trailing a finger across the lace of my knickers. I spread my legs wider and watch his darkening expression in the mirror as he slips one finger beneath the lace, pushing inside my shamelessly wet pussy. Our eyes lock and my breath gets caught in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever felt innocent in my life, but as he watches me, I feel like the innocent girl having her virtue stolen by the Big Bad Wolf. The way he looks at me, the intensity in his eyes it makes me feel possessed and owned in a way that I’m not exactly unhappy about.

I roll my hips, riding his hand, trying to seek just a little more friction, a little more depth, width…he just needs to fuck me already.

“Fuck me.” It’s a demand and a plea really, and he responds, ripping his hand away from me and shoving my skirt up over my arse. Cold air hits the back of my thighs before I feel the lace of my underwear bite into my skin and disappear altogether. Material tearing, stitching popping, a fly being lowered, ripping foil, the sounds send my heartbeat into overdrive.

His hand slams around the back of my neck, shoving me forward roughly until my hands are braced on the mirror, my hips bent over the sink. There're no warning or niceties, he just slams into me, taking my breath away. My head falls forward as I try to breathe, try to adjust. My pussy clamps down around him, probably out of fucking shock.

“Fuck!” He groans, pulling out and thrusting back in. “Look, Duchess.” He commands. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

I lift my head and meet his reflection in the mirror. His eyes burn into mine, and he snakes his fingers around my throat gently, bringing his lips to my ear as he continues to fuck me, grinding deep inside me. Oh god, it’s so primal and feral, and a moan slips from my lips as I watch him dominate my body.

“I have wanted to fuck you ever since I laid eyes on you.” He bites down on my neck and I moan. “Your pussy’s even better than I imagined.”

I grit my teeth as he thrusts harder, his fingers twitching on my neck. “Did you spank one out…” I hiss as he fucks me even harder. “...thinking about me?” I smile breathlessly.

His lips brush my ear again. “I blew my load right next to you while you were sleeping.”

Fuck. That’s so hot. I moan, pushing back against him.

He releases his grip on my throat, and grabs my hips with both hands, fucking me relentlessly, until I’m moaning and pleading, and I don’t know if I’m begging him to stop or keep going. Everything tightens as my body hits the pleasure pain barrier. My core locks and my pussy clamps down around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes!” He fucks me faster, harder, and the entire time I’m screaming his name as wave after wave of sensation rips through every muscle in my body.

I hear his guttural growl and feel his body stiffen behind me. He presses his forehead between my shoulder blades, his hot breath blowing across my skin.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I feel completely numb and thoroughly fucked in the best kind of way. I’ve had a lot of sex. Sex is a high for me, the lust, the need, the wild passion. If sex is a drug, then he’s pure heroin. One hit and I feel addicted in the most destructive way.

He pulls out of me and steps away. My underwear is a tattered scrap of lace on the floor. There’s no hope for it.

I pull my dress down and turn around, leaning against the sink, because I don’t trust my legs to support me.

He tucks his shirt in and fastens his jeans. Glancing up at me, a wry smile plays over his lips and he gently wraps his fingers around my throat, bringing my face close to his.

“You might be a problem,
Duchess
.” He purrs, before leaning in and nipping my bottom lip. I stand there like a fucking idiot and say nothing.

He pulls the door open and walks out. I turn around and check my reflection in the mirror. Oh, I look like I just got royally fucked.

I know what you’re thinking. Am I a slut? Fuck yes. Do I care? Hell no. They say there are girls you fuck and girls you marry. Uh, I want to be the girl who gets fucked. Who the fuck wouldn’t?

I wait a few seconds before I walk out after him, and am immediately blinded by a white flash. I squint and hold my hand up in front of my face.

The flashes continue, and I shove my hands against the chest of the guy with the camera. “What the fuck? Were you seriously creeping outside the bathroom? Fucking pervert!” I shove him again and he falls backwards onto the floor.

He holds his camera close to his chest and then the motherfucker takes another picture. “Fucking a guy in a bathroom, this is Blake McQueen gold.” He laughs.

Oh, that is it. I grab his camera and try to yank it from his grip. I’m about to kick him in the balls when a thick arm wraps around my waist, pulling me off my feet and dragging me back against a broad chest. I dig an elbow into whoever it is. “Let go!”

“Duchess, you’re about to have a law suit on your hands.” His low, gravelly voice calms me somewhat. I look up to see Felix scruffing the photographer and dragging him out.

I glance around for Toby and find him leaning against the wall near the entrance to the hallway. I shove away from Rhett and storm up to him. “You let a fucking photographer in here?”

He holds his hands out, swaying slightly. “I thought you liked photographers?” He slurs.

I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he has a point. I usually live for a sordid photo of a dirty bathroom fuck. I guess it just caught me by surprise. I like to play to the cameras, not have them play me.

I shoulder past Toby and he staggers back into the wall. I keep walking, straight out of the party.

Felix is standing by the lift, a scowl on his face. “Your brother’s a fucking dick.” I say.

His eyes lock with mine. “I don’t think it was him.” He shakes his head.

“Whatever. Look, you got anything on you?”

His frown deepens, but he nods and shoves his hand in his pocket. “Not much.”

He hands me the small bag and I give him a fifty. “Thanks.”

I step into the lift and turn around. Felix is watching me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. A few feet behind him stands Rhett, his arms crossed over his chest and a blank expression on his face. His eyes hold mine, refusing to release me until the lift doors slide shut, breaking his hold. I release the breath I didn’t even realise I’d been holding. That’s what he does to me. One look from him is more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. All this from a guy I don’t even fucking know.

I’m woken up the next morning by Milly jumping on my bed.

“Morning, sunshine.” She says, her voice sounding shrill and downright offensive at this time in the morning. She bounces the mattress again.

“Fuck off.” I grumble, cracking one eye open. She’s propped up against the headboard with a plate of toast resting on her lap.

“Such a delight.”

“I fucking hate mornings.” I yank the duvet up over my head and try to block her out.

“Well, this must be the first time in a long time that you’re not hung over in the morning, so really, you should be feeling great. Also, your dad’s driver is in the front room.”

“What?” I throw the duvet back and frown at her. “Why?”

“Apparently your father has requested your presence. Probably has something to do with this.” She throws her iPad on the bed between us. “And don’t think that I won’t want all the inside information.”

Picking up the tablet, I roll my eyes before glancing at it. There’s a series of pictures plastered all across Google images. There’s one of me following Rhett out of the bathroom, and one of those pictures where they’ve zoomed in on the open doorway with the camera focused on the pair of discarded knickers I apparently forgot to pick up.

I sigh. “We fucked in a bathroom. It was dirty and hot and I can officially say that Rhett Torres is a lot more than pretty packaging. Happy?”

“For now.” She smirks.

I shrug.  “At least it’s not my vagina on show this time.”

“True.” She snorts. “That bitch could have her own Facebook page. Like, fan appreciation for Blake McQueen’s pussy. That shit would have more page likes than Jaimie Dornan.” She puts her plate down and picks her coffee up from the bedside table. “However, I don’t think it’s what is in the picture so much as who.”

“It’s before midday! Stop speaking in riddles.” I whine.

She rolls her eyes. “Rhett. It would appear he has some unsavoury contacts.”

She swipes at something on the screen and hands the tablet back to me. I skim over the article quickly. It’s just a gossip site. I guess the big papers would get fucked in the arse for slander if they printed this, but it makes for interesting reading.

“He’s dirty?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I made some calls this morning. His businesses are legit, but his family had some dodgy shit going with the Cartel’s donkeys years ago, and it’s said that his first couple of properties were bought with dirty money—all speculation of course. His brother is in prison for drug trafficking though, so I guess that gives it some weight.”

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“This inexplicable need to hump him like a stray dog.” She cocks an eyebrow. “He’s a bad boy,” I say. “A real, down and dirty bad boy. My ovaries can’t help but insist he get in my vagina.”

“Blake, the same could be said for half the male population of London.”

“True, but they’re extra demanding over this one.”

She holds her hands up. “Trust me, no explanation needed with that one.” She stands, swiping the crumbs from her lap. “Anyway, I’m guessing that’s why Daddy dearest suddenly wants to spend some quality time with you.”

“Oh, fucking joy.” I climb out of bed and go out into the living room, wearing only a thin white tank top and a pair of lace knickers.

My father’s driver, Charles is standing in the middle of the room looking uncomfortable and very out of place in his uniform. He turns when he hears me and immediately, his face turns crimson. I smile as I watch him try to look anywhere but at me.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Um…Miss McQueen.” He stammers.

“Tell my father I won’t be attending his…well, whatever this is. I’m too busy. He can email me if he wants to talk, or heaven forbid, pick up a phone.” My father almost never calls. I get the occasional email explaining his extreme discontent with one antic or another, sometimes a messenger. Yes, an actual person to relay a message. Hell, I’m surprised I haven’t received a carrier pigeon before now.

“He was very insistent.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor and his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back.

I grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and take a bite. “I’m sure he was.” I smirk around my mouthful, turning away. “Tell him to call me.” I throw over my shoulder as I walk back to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

I take one step, and my foot almost lands on something small and furry. Screaming involuntarily, I drop my apple as the little brown and white rodent runs underneath the bed.

“Jesus, fuck, Blake!” Milly chokes, clutching her chest.

“Sorry. Sorry! I knew I saw a bloody hamster!”

She lifts her eyebrows. “A hamster?” She says slowly.

“Uh, did you miss the screaming? I knew I wasn’t that high. Little fucker’s been living here for weeks!”

“Again. A. Hamster. I think you’ve lost it. The cocaine has fucked your head.”

“I promise you.” I get on my knees and press my cheek to the carpet, searching under the bed, but I can’t see shit for all the crap stashed under there. “Motherfucker.”