High (10 page)

My father is a handsome man, distinguished I suppose you could say. As always, his tux is immaculate, his bow tie perfectly tied by my mother. My father looks the part, but the truth is, he’s merely a puppet. They say that behind every powerful man is a powerful woman. Never has this been truer than with my mother. Arabella McQueen is a force that few will dare take on, and least of all, my father. I’ve learnt over the years that every move he makes has been carefully planned and orchestrated by her. Not least of all, the way he handles me. Personally, I prefer to just deal with the shebitch herself, cut out the middle man. I do so love to see him flounder, though.

“Rhett, this is my father, Miles McQueen. Daddy, this is Rhett Torres.”

Rhett releases me, but not before he winks at me. He turns to my father and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I smile as my father shakes Rhett’s hand.

“You too.”

Ah, the ballache that is social graces and ever watching eyes. I know my father hates Rhett, and yet he will sit here and kiss the ring, because Rhett, no matter what he has come from, has money. Money comes with contacts and influence, and the number one rule of the business world is never piss anyone off because you never know who you might need or when. Rhett, it would seem, possesses all these things.

Yeah, okay, so I Google stalked. I had to. I needed to know what I was dealing with, after all, Rhett Torres was enough to make my estranged father pick up the phone just to warn me off him. Some opportunities are just too good to pass up. Nothing piques my interest quite like my parents feigned concern for my well-being.

My father turns away, and I follow, like the good little daughter I am. He walks out of the main room and into a quiet hallway before he stops and turns to face me.

Now I’m closer to him he looks older, more worn than he used to. Living with my mother will do that to a guy.

“So, let me guess…Mother isn’t happy about Rhett?”

“Why would you bring
him
here?” He says through a clenched jaw. I haven’t laid eyes on my father in over a year and this is his primary concern? Touching.

“I didn’t. He was coming. You invited me, so he gave me a lift.” I smile. “Isn’t that nice of him?”

He pulls at his bow tie, trying to loosen it. “Blake, this man will ruin you.”

I laugh and pat down the lapels of his jacket.  “Oh, Daddy, I think that ship has sailed, don’t you? I’d say I was ruined ever since the first time The Sun printed that picture of me snorting a line off that girl’s tits.” He opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand. “Or maybe the time I was pictured dancing topless on the bar in that strip joint, and
definitely
the time I had an ‘affair’ with Russell Brand.” I never did by the way, but you know, I’m never one to downplay a scandal.

“He’s a criminal.” He hisses. “There’s a difference between acting out and being associated with the likes of him.”

“Harsh, Daddy. I thought you were a man of the people. You shouldn’t judge.”

“He will soil your reputation forever.” He shouts, before swiping a hand over his mouth.

“And yours.”

“I cannot have my daughter associated with criminals. This will cripple my campaign.” He almost sounds like he’s pleading a little.

I smile. “Exactly.”

Now, you might think I sound like a fucking brat, but trust me, I have my reasons. I walk away and go back to the party, leaving him huffing and puffing and reminiscing on how the fuck he raised such a letdown child.

Rhett is waiting for me and hands me a glass of champagne before swiping a strand of hair off my face.

“Your father really hates me.” He says.

I take a gulp of the champagne and smile. “I would say loathes.”

He moves closer to me and our eyes lock. “Is that what you’re into Duchess? Fucking guys that daddy disapproves of?” His voice is so deep and rough it makes my skin heat. Dangerous, he’s so fucking dangerous. A girl could easily lose her morals to Rhett Torres, and seeing as I have no morals, that’s saying something. His lips inch closer until they’re so close, so painfully close.

“He disapproves of everyone.” I smirk and cock an eyebrow. “But I would say you take the prize, so…”

He skims his lips across my cheek until they’re at my ear. “So, you owe me.”
Yes, I fucking do
.

He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I have to speak to someone quickly, but meet me in ten minutes.” He places a plastic card into my hand—a room key for the hotel. “Room 612.” And then he walks away without a word.

Well, don’t ever let it be said that Blake McQueen doesn’t pay her debts.

I swipe the key across the door and it clicks open. I push the handle down and slip into the room. It’s dark and silent inside and I assume Rhett isn’t here yet. It’s pitch black, so I’m fumbling for the light switch when an arm snakes around my waist. I let out a breathless squeak.

“Shit.” I gasp.

His weight hits my back, pressing me up against the door as he fists my hair, yanking my head to the side. That thrill of fear spikes my adrenaline, making my heart hammer against my ribs until all I can hear is my own pulse thrumming desperately in my ears. His hot breath caresses the side of my neck and my skin breaks out in goose bumps, hoping, anticipating.

I buck against him. “Patience.” He says with a throaty chuckle.

I slam my palm against the door. “Fuck off.”

Spinning me around, he slams his hand around my throat, pressing my back into the wood. “That’s not nice, Duchess.” He purrs against my lips.

I slide my palms over his chest and inside the collar of his shirt, yanking it open. The buttons scatter like rain drops against the wall. There’s a beat of silence, like the calm before the storm, and then his lips are on mine, his fingers digging into my thighs as he lifts me, sliding between my legs with enough force that the material of my dress shreds apart. I moan as he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth, and I bite down on his bottom lip. His hips grind against me, pressing his cock against my pussy. I throw my head back and drag my nails down his bare chest, making him hiss as he tears me away from the door.

The next thing I know, my back hits the mattress and he wrenches my legs apart before his lips hit the inside of my thigh. My underwear is ripped from my body, and then his mouth is on my pussy, his hot tongue lashing my clit until I’m writhing on the bed. He slams his forearm over my hips, pinning me down. I fist the sheets and scream as a violent tremor rips through me. This need, this rabid desperation claws at me until words are falling from my lips in a jumbled plea and I’m begging him to fuck me.

And just when I’m sure I can take no more, he leaves me and I lie here, my breathing too loud,  my heart beating so hard that I’m sure he must be able to hear it. He messes me up completely. There’s something about him that’s just primal, animalistic, without an ounce of control to be seen. He makes me forget about anything that isn’t him, his hands, his tongue, his cock. Pretty impressive for a guy I’ve only met a handful of times.

Seconds pass, and then I feel his fingers wrap around my ankles and yank me down the bed until my legs are hanging off the end. I’m flipped over so violently that it knocks the breath out of me. He pushes the tattered lace of my dress up until it pools around my waist, and then he slowly drags his fingers tips over my pussy. I drop my head forward, biting my lip to stifle a moan. I have never been this desperate for a man’s cock.
Never.

He grips my hips and pulls me up until my knees are on the mattress and my arse is in the air. His palm squeezes my arse and his thighs brush against the back of mine before I feel his cock sliding against my me. He teases back and forth, dragging his cock over my pussy and between my arse cheeks before he slides inside me. So good, he feels so fucking good. He leisurely pulls out and thrusts back in slowly, torturously. My entire body is shaking with desperation, with the need for more.

“Harder, fuck me harder!” I beg.

He laughs “Your wish, my command.” He growls as he slams inside me. My arms give way until I’m braced on my elbows, my face buried in the duvet as he fucks me. His thighs are smacking against mine as his fingers dig into my hips. His cock pounds into me harder and harder. My pussy is trembling around him, teetering on the brink, and then, his fingers slowly wind around my neck, and he pulls me upright until my back is pressed to his chest. His grip around my throat tightens and my pulse quickens, my lungs faltering at the promise, the possibility, the danger, because that’s what Rhett is, a walking threat, the element of danger that puts a rush of adrenaline in my veins. Danger that makes me feel alive.

His teeth nip at my earlobe as he groans in my ear and slides a hand down my body, between my legs.

“Come for me, Duchess.” He growls, pinching my clit and slamming deep inside me. My scream is cut off by his vice grip on my neck. My vision dips and I literally see stars as my entire body trembles with wave after wave of pleasure, and Rhett hisses dirty words in my ear the entire time, pumping his cock inside me.

When he’s done, he tosses me on the bed like a used toy and I smile.

He goes straight into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on. As soon as my legs stop shaking, I get up and shrug off the remains of my destroyed dress. I manage to find one of his shirts and slip it on. I check my reflection in the mirror, wipe the make up from under my eyes, fluff my hair a little, and slap on a fresh coat of lipstick. He’s still not out of the shower, but I’m not a small talk kind of girl. That said, he is hands down the best fuck I’ve ever had. He’s a unicorn man. You know, mythical, famed, too good to be true…the holy grail of men that can make you lose your shit with a look. That allows for some exceptions, and believe me, I’ve already allowed him many, but one more…I smile and take the lipstick, scrawling my number over the glass, before pressing my lips to it, leaving a kiss mark. Something to remember me by. And then I pick up my bag and leave.

The next morning my phone is going fucking nuts. Every gossip magazine, journalist, blogger— anyone who is anyone wants an interview, and a couple are even offering big money for exclusive photos of Rhett and me. You’ve got to love the social scene. One night at a party with a guy I barely even know and we’re apparently the new ‘it’ couple. My father’s publicist is flipping her shit, which means my dad has crawled up her arsehole for letting this get out. It’s perfect.

I stare at the picture that is fucking everywhere and smile. It’s the perfect amount of dirty with an edge of ‘they’re clearly about to fuck each other’s brains out’.

Rhett screams bad, even in his tux, and it makes him so fucking hot. The way he grips the back of my neck, my fingers clawing at his face like I can’t get close enough…I can practically feel the chemistry just looking at it.

Rhett Torres seems to be able to kick me in the vagina like no other.

I’m not the kind of girl to get attached. It’s not my style. So, what happens when you meet this sacred man that makes you want to strip naked, climb him like a tree and high five his face with your vagina? You fuck him of course, but I already fucking did that, and I’m still thinking about him. I see, I want, I fuck. Then I’m usually done. This…this—whatever, is messing with my mojo because for the first time in my life, I get the urge to call a guy.

I stare at my phone, fighting with myself. I have never called a fucking bloke in my life. What would I even say? Hey, you’re really hot and I’ve decided I want to fuck you because you’re the unicorn man.
Fuck me.

Nope, nope, nope. He has my number, he can call, and if he doesn’t then that’s good, right? Gah! I’m fucking Blake McQueen. I don’t get weird about guys or phone calls. What is wrong with me? I throw the phone across my bed like it’s a spider and flop back on the pillows.

That’s it, I am locking myself in my room for the entire day. Me, my vibrator, James Deen, and a bag of blow have a date.