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Authors: Angelica Chase

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Opulence

BOOK: Opulence
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OPULENCE

The Excess Series, Book 1

Copyright© 2015 Angelica Chase

All rights reserved

 

Kindle Edition

 

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

The use of artists, song titles, and brand names throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and please purchase your own copy.

 

Cover Design by Staci Brillhart, Quirky Bird

Editing by Edee M. Fallon, Mad Spark Editing

Interior Design and Formatting by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Graphics

 

 

For my fellow erotica writers, thank you for the corruption and inspiration. I am humbled to be amongst you, and thankful to call a few of you friends.

 

 

 

 

"F
ucking ride it," he ordered, digging his fingers into my hips. I took in his lusty gaze as he eyed my bouncing chest. His wavy, dark brown hair glistened with a small amount of moisture from his exertion, sweat trickling down the front of his tuxedo shirt. His dilated pupils were a far cry from the dark blue depths that normally mirrored a stormy deep sea. He licked his full bottom lip as he thrust up hard, making me scream out. "This is what
you
wanted," he chided as he battered me with his cock, pounding it in from underneath me as I whimpered through the intensity of his thrusts. He made use of the leather chair he sat on, using the firm cushion to piston his hips upward and bury his length inside of me. He was beyond a skilled lover, and when Devin wanted to punish you, you damn sure knew it.

Feeling him on the brink, I moaned in protest as he pulled out quickly and ordered me to my knees. "Suck me off."

Kneeling in front of him now, I looked up to see him eye me expectantly. Without waiting for me to fully open my mouth, he pushed to the back of my throat as he came in hot spurts, and I choked it down willingly. "So fucking dirty," he murmured, massaging up and down my throat with his fingertips as his pumping slowed. He pulled out, rubbing the last drop over my lips.

"Every drop," he demanded, pushing his tip back slightly inside my mouth, forcing me to take the last of it in. "Nothing better than you, Nina," he whispered sweetly, though the words were anything but. The truth was, I hated this beautiful man. I hated that I wanted him so desperately. At one time, he’d meant everything to me. Now I longed for the day I could break free, but I craved him like a drug.

I fed his need for dominance; he fed my inner whore.

I pulled up my dress that was now wrinkled from the burden of my knees and looked him over. As usual, he withdrew without a second thought, completely apathetic. This was sex for him, a fix for me. I didn’t ask him for more and he had no intention of giving it. I was a game he had played and won, and I knew it. It had been over months ago when I caught him fucking his wife. That’s right, his wife.

He fixed his jacket and ran his hands through his hair, looking flawless as he turned to me with a wicked grin.

"Something on your mind?" I asked, quickly pretending to admire my new eighteen-carat tennis bracelet.

"Why haven’t you moved on?" he asked curiously. I knew secretly that was the last thing he wanted me to do. Though he could not care less about my wellbeing, owning me was still a priority to him. He made sure of it with every heart stopping orgasm.

I walked up to stand by his side then turned my head as I leaned in. "What makes you think I haven’t? It’s only your cock I crave now, Devin. The sex I still have nostalgia for, and obviously the feeling is mutual."

"No longer in love with me?" His smirk made my blood boil, but I had learned to hide it well.

"No longer willing to do more talking than fucking," I said dryly as I made my way out of the room. The truth was, I wanted to turn around and beg for the man I met to somehow reemerge, but it would have been pointless. The man I met had always been a shark, had always bared his teeth, but had done it so subtly that by the time he had sunk his teeth into me and brought me down to the bottom, it was way too late.

He was the very last nail in my naive coffin.

Devin was another price I paid for my wealth, another reminder that with each dollar earned a part of my humanity was stripped away from me. I had joined the elite like Devin when I had still believed in the good in people.

Fucking people.

Rejoining the party, I made my way toward Devin’s wife, Eileen, purposefully meeting her eyes as I lifted a flute of champagne off the tray closest to her. She appraised me greedily, her deep hate showing in her eyes. She was perfect in every way: a petite blonde with a tight...everything. I hated her. Not because she belonged to Devin, but because of what she represented. She was the very definition of pretentious.

"Nina, how good of you to come," she bit out as she eyed me over her tipped glass of Krug, the same champagne I had spit out when Devin introduced it to me. He decided it would be better used to shower me in, before fucking me mercilessly.

Good times.

"You have no idea," I replied with obvious meaning as I brushed past her, leaving her to draw her own conclusion. I couldn’t resist a look over my shoulder and was rewarded as she gaped at me openly. I gave a smug smile and looked behind me to see Devin’s eyes grow cold as he realized our word exchange would cost him the latter part of his evening.

Their argument wouldn’t be the confrontation that a wife should have with a cheating husband. She wouldn’t cry about her broken heart or his complete lack of respect for their marital vows. No, there would be no love lost between them. For that to happen, the relationship would have to be based on love itself. No, this argument would more than likely be a tongue lashing with a few tsk, tsks on the etiquette of extra marital affairs and a repeat of the do’s and the don’ts. And when she says don’t, she means me.

I gave Devin a sly wink then quickly made my exit as he rushed to his wife’s side to mitigate. Their heated whispers faded into oblivion as I walked down the dock and away from the hotel-sized yacht towards my town car. I texted my driver, Carson, and saw that he was already waiting for me with the door open. I gave him a warm smile.

"Carson," I said with a nod as I made my way into the plush, leather backseat, kicking off my heels with a satisfied groan.

"Ms. Scott, how was the party?"

"Uneventful," I said quickly before he shut the door.

I had taken a huge risk tonight confessing to Devin’s wife. I’d never purposefully started a fire where Devin was concerned, and I was sure the outcome wouldn’t be a pleasant one. I tried to ride the high of my deceit, but couldn’t manage to keep it.

Nothing, I felt...nothing. I purposefully thought about the fact that my latest evil deed might have cost me Devin.

Still...nothing.

Maybe I had finally rid myself of my addiction after all. I didn’t have to worry about facing his wrath tonight, assured that whatever the outcome of my play, the circumstances would never change.

So the question remained: Why hadn’t I moved on? The answer was always right behind my mind’s eye, a whisper in my ear, a tap on my shoulder.

I had become one of them. I had no soul to save. I found pleasure now in what used to disgust me. I had begun mingling with the shark’s years ago and had the choice to sink or swim.

I had chosen to swim, and it cost me everything.

 

 

 

 

I
wasn’t born rich, and I worked for everything I ever had. My wealth had come to me later in life with a simple idea. Once upon a time, I was a housewife to a veterinarian. Sound boring? It was. It wasn’t until it all fell apart that I realized that I could have wasted the rest of my life in that cell without knowing any differently.

I no longer had the desire to confine myself to that type of prison, having never felt validated when I was married. It took me years to discover the bigger picture, and it had nothing to do with marriage.

I was a coupon clipping, Pinterest stalking, hobby enthusiast with entirely too much time on my hands. I was always doing what was trending, and eventually that enthusiasm led me down an insane road: a fast track to wealth I could never have imagined.

I was born in Charleston, South Carolina, where I still lived. My parents were blue collar. My mother was a flight attendant for nearly thirty years, while my father worked as a crew chief for a general contractor. My brother Aaron and I never really hurt for anything, but we didn’t live large. My mother’s idea of extravagance was dining out on steak. I wasn’t gifted a car on my sixteenth birthday. I had to work to buy my own car and was rewarded with an affordable, used truck while my friends paraded around in their gifted BMWs.

I could not have cared less about designer jeans back then, or what labels I wore. Now I had a personal shopper, wardrobe consultant, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a BMW.

The fine lines of class and stature were made clear to me when I was young. The elite of Charleston would shun my mother publicly, though she tried desperately to fit in where she could. One of my first memories was my mother taking me to a community pool in a posh neighborhood a few miles away from our apartment.

I remember walking into the clubhouse and all eyes landing on my mother. Being the proud woman she was, she grabbed my hand and quickly started to introduce herself to the women gathered. The shrewd women quickly picked her apart as they sipped their martinis in their designer swimsuits. My mother became embarrassed quickly and was on the verge of tears. She guided me out to the pool and let me swim for as long as she could handle their hostile glares.

"Come on, baby," she prompted as what looked like the clubhouse manager approached us.

"Ma’am, if you’re not a member—"

"We’re leaving," she snapped at the woman who seemed satisfied with my mother’s reaction. She quickly wrapped me in a towel, pleading with her eyes. "Let’s go to the beach, Ninabelle," she said, drying me quickly. With a smile, I nodded and saw my mother’s relief when I didn’t throw a fit. When we got into the car, my mother sniffled and I saw a lone tear trickle down her cheek. She wiped it away hastily then turned to me.

"Promise me, Nina. Promise me right now that no matter what happens, you will be nice to
everyone
, unless they give you a reason not to be."

"I will, Mommy," I answered back eagerly.

"You are such a good girl," she said, grabbing me and hugging me tightly.

That night I heard my parents fight for the first time as I was tucked in my bed, reading Shel Silverstein with my Strawberry Shortcake nightlight. It was my absolute favorite thing to do, my little indulgence. I was memorizing the poem "Clooney the Clown" for book day at school. I had never heard so much anger in my mother’s voice and was too afraid to shut off the light.

"Jesus, Jennifer. What the hell is your problem!?" my father yelled, sounding exasperated.

"This! It’s ten o’clock and you are just getting home! We haven’t seen each other in weeks. We both work our asses off and for what? Bills we still can’t afford to pay!"

"What do you want me to do?" I heard him say as he shut their bedroom door.

That fight was only the first of many. Their arguing was a constant occurrence that stayed consistent until I finally left home the minute I turned eighteen and could get the hell out that house. I hated the way my mother looked at my father, as if she blamed him for the life she was living. To this day, I had a hard time spending more than a few minutes with the two of them. They would never have to fight about money again, but years of arguments had led to a mutual resentment that refused to dissipate.

Money had ruined their marriage. Money had ruined mine as well, but not for lack of. It was just the opposite.

My husband had decided that new money and philandering went hand in hand. Once I had earned my first million, he had made it his mission to let me know he had supported me for years. It was if he assumed I would leave him. It was a total...fucking...nightmare.

My ex-husband Ryan had taken what he wanted off the top and invested it as he saw fit, so much so that there was only middle left by the time I had put a stop to it. Once he was completely cut off from me financially for pissing away hundreds of thousands of dollars, he began to resent me, though I kept him in a lavish lifestyle. I divorced him quickly and found out the hard way that I would forever be in debt to him for those few years he allowed me to stay at home while he worked. I was still paying him alimony.

Bastard.

The day I finally left him, he accused me of letting the money go to my head. I swore then, no matter the circumstances, I would never legally bind myself to another man. If it was love, it would last, regardless.

He never once apologized for the hurt his infidelity had caused, nor did he try to save our marriage in any capacity. He wanted my money, he made that clear. Ryan made it impossible to be excited about my new wealth. He left me jaded and bitter in less than a year of striking gold, and I would forever be wary of trusting anyone else with that much power over me.

And I have rarely been kind to
anyone
since.

I may have turned my back on the girl who grew up in this beautiful, hidden gem, but I could never turn my back on Charleston. The city filled with cotton candy sunsets, rich history, and natural beauty never grew old to me. No matter what exotic destination my wealth afforded me, I had only one home.

Charleston in its own right was definitely a playground to the wealthy. There was no shortage of culture, nor was there a shortage of places that catered to the rich. I considered it my little, comfortable corner of the world. It was my territory, and though the sharks had their cove, I still entertained the nooks and crannies to escape the world I was now drowning in. On nights specifically like these, I would make it a point to revisit the places that made me feel most humble despite my success.

I pushed the button for the security glass.

"Carson," I smiled in the rearview mirror. He was the one person in the world who deserved what was left of my kindness.

"Right away, Ms. Scott."

Carson was a kind, older man in his sixties with gentle eyes and an easy disposition. I had enough testosterone ramped men in my life, so I welcomed the way he regarded me. He had no personal opinion and his eyes never offered any judgment against me. He simply did his job well and with ease. His intuition to suit my needs didn’t hurt, either. We had a simplistic relationship that was mutually beneficial. It was the only uncomplicated relationship I had in my life. Pulling up to my favorite secluded spot, I slipped on my flip-flops as the sun was making its way down, knowing I only had an hour or so before it slipped beneath the horizon. I quickly made my way down the quarter mile of asphalt that led to the large sand dune that had to be tackled before I reached my view. This hour is what photographers called "the magic hour," and it was aptly named. The sky was painted perfectly in soft pinks and varying hues of blue with an underlying burst of brazen yellow. Staring out toward the Morris Island lighthouse, I sat in the sand in my five thousand dollar, Valentino dress without an ounce of concern. A few years ago, I would have never even looked at such an expensive piece of clothing.

I was the woman who
swore
she would never wear anything so costly, that I would do so much more with that kind of money. I chuckled now at the thought. Just out of spite, I might order a dozen of the same color tomorrow.

Nestled on the beautiful, white sand beach staring at the old, picturesque lighthouse, I could actually feel a familiar pull of something. Something that felt right and different from the everyday heaviness I had grown accustomed to dealing with. Instead of being consumed with thoughts of my next evil deed, or a way to one up the money driven predators in my circle, here I simply basked in the peace that surrounded me. The lull of the waves, the serenity, and infinite wisdom that the sea shared with me was one of the only constants in my life.

Nothing in the game of life really mattered, at least, nothing that I had grown to care about. I was just another hamster spinning the wheel. The world didn’t give a shit about my agenda, good or bad. And while money might buy me a better view of the ocean that humbled me, my money didn’t matter to the ocean one way or another. How I fared in life’s Monopoly game didn’t make one damn bit of difference.

Calm and clarity washed through me in that moment. I no longer wanted to be a one of
them
.

I was wasting my life
.

I let the air seep through my lungs and reveled in the sand that grew colder as the sun sank beneath the horizon while the tide quickly engulfed the small amount of sand that surrounded the base of the lighthouse. I loved this spot more than any other in Charleston, though I had never been able to pinpoint why. The strange and misplaced bone yard of old, pale tree limbs enclosed me in comfort as I noted the seagulls’ cries.

The sudden strum of a guitar interrupted the serenity of my Zen-filled spot, and I looked toward the direction of the intrusion. I heard a deep chuckle and squinted in the direction of it. Shielding my eyes from the setting sun, I saw the bare feet and tan, muscular legs first then moved my eyes up to a pair of cargo shorts. The white t-shirt was as far as I got before the sun completely blinded me from him as the strumming picked up and he began to sing.

"I keep pretending this is all a dream," he sang softly. My mouth fell open at the sound of his voice. I quickly scrambled to gain my senses and mask my shock by retreating in the direction of the sand dune in favor of hearing more. His voice was amazing and whispered over the expertly plucked guitar chords. What was even more alarming was his lazy stance against a tree stub, and the fact that he didn’t even seem to be trying. With the sun still blocking the view of his face, I mourned the soulful lilt in his voice as I made my way back to the car. His last artfully sung words brought a shiver down my spine.

"Your misery makes you beautiful," he rasped as I stood at the top of the dune to try for one more look. I had walked too far and was unable to see him from where I was now perched, but stood there anyway, listening to him finish his song. Deciding that what my songbird looked like was better left a mystery, I turned away, having felt enough disappointment for one evening.

For a lifetime.

It was very close to dark when I made it back to the car. Carson simply nodded, needing no explanation as to where I wanted to go. I thought it sad my routine had become predictable. Then again, it was what kept me safe and away from those who posed the biggest threat to me.

Pulling up to my circular drive, complete with an obscene sized water fountain, I smiled to myself. My home was the one thing I could never complain about. I had the most spectacular beach house imaginable. There wasn’t one room without a view, and I basked in the fact that I had designed every single one of them, with the right hired help, of course. I had lived in my dream home for two short years and not a day went by that I didn’t appreciate every detail put into it. It was rather ostentatious in size. The marble floor of the foyer, the obscene amount of crown molding, the dark metallics and rich woods all contributed to my need to have something tangible from my fortune. No one
needed
this much room, but the girl who was forced to share a bedroom with her little brother most of her childhood had no issues with the extra space. In fact, she had actually ramped up the original design to make sure there was enough room in every room, even the closets.

Stripping naked in my seven hundred square foot bathroom, I slipped into a whirlpool of soothing bubbles. My phone buzzed with an incoming message, but I ignored it. The good part about being completely independent was that I had the luxury of answering to no one. After a relaxing soak, I slipped on my robe and covered my skin in silk then lay in bed thinking about the orgasm Devin had given me.

BOOK: Opulence
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