Page 82 of Wicked Court

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

Wilder goes silent, chewing on his cheek. “Alright, man. Coming right up.”

Initiates fall away from me like a rippling wave as I carve a path to the staircase and up the stairs without looking at the girl again.

If I can’t have Elara, I’ll just use this one until the tight, relentless ache in my cock goes away.

Ascending the staircase, I reach my hand into the pocket of my finely tailored suit, retrieving a gold-plated key. The sound of chatter and laughter from the parlor below fades as I march along the second-floor corridor, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet underfoot. My muscles twitch in anticipation, the pain from my arousal throbbing insistently. The notion of Elara lingers in my mind—her scent, her touch, her taste—but it’s an indulgence I no longer have access to.

The room designated for me is at the end of the corridor, sequestered from the rest of the bedrooms. With a swift turn of the key, the door swings open, revealing a stark interior. A king bed is shoved against the far wall, its crisp white sheets untouched. A black entertainment center contains my computers, electronics and the like, casting the room in a bluish, blinking light.

I unbutton my suit jacket, discarding it on a nearby chair before rolling up my shirt sleeves to my forearms and moving towards a drawer by the bedside table and retrieving a bottle of lube.

Upon opening it, a flowery scent wafts in the air, an expensive aphrodisiac oil, though price is irrelevant when in the pursuit of pleasure.

As I prep myself, coating my dick in the slippery wetness, there’s a soft knock on the door. Ten minutes exactly. The girl enters entirely naked, her long-red hair cascading down her naked back and sparks of nervousness reflecting in her eyes. She is pretty in a simple sort of way, without the flash of intelligence Elara has, or that warm glow promising curiosity and delight regardless of my fetishes.

No matter. Elara isn’t here. Time to get over it.

“Close the door,” I order tersely while pouring more oil onto my palm.

Her lips part to utter a word, but then close abruptly as she complies with my command, shutting us off from the world outside.

This girl knows nothing of what lies ahead, but will partake in this ritual nonetheless.

Her wide green eyes meet mine for the first time since she entered this room.

Not the same luscious amber.

“Turn around,” I order, one hand wrapping around my cock. I’ve opened my fly enough to allow it to spear forward.

She complies, her hands coming up to the wall for balance. A deep sense of satisfaction washes over me. If Elara denies me her body, I will simply take my fill from those who don’t.

Grunting, I jerk off while staring at this girl’s flat ass, unlike the pert little melons that round out Elara’s figure. My lips twist as the lube wears off, the friction becoming painful, but I don’t fix it. I just want these blue balls to end, which doesn’t make sense, considering I had Elara in all the ways I wanted her mere hours ago.

It wasn’t enough.

Gritting out a suppressed roar, I give up, my dick now a throbbing, angry red.

“Get out,” I say, turning my back to her.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out.”

“But you…” She’s silenced by the glare I toss her. “Okay. Um … sorry?”

My lips peel back to shame her so ferociously, she’ll have trauma for the rest of her life for speaking to me that way, when something in her clenched hand catches my eye.

“What is that?”

“Oh—right.” Her shoulders slope in relief, likely at the fact there’s still an opening to please me. “My escort to your room gave me this. It’s for you.”

“Who was your escort?”

“I don’t know. He was in a mask and hood-robe thing.”

Frowning, with my pissed-off dick bobbing, I come close enough to take the piece of paper from her and unfold it.

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