Page 3 of Legacy of Succession

CHAPTER TWO

NICHOLAS

The Ferrari 448GTB, in the obligatory red color, skids to a halt, and I’m out of the vehicle before the footman even has a chance to react. I throw him the keys and stomp into the house. I need coffee, preferably intravenously. I’ve got a herd of fucking elephants in my head along with a severe case of flashbacks to what was the best twenty-ninth birthday party, ever. Another one hits me when I shut my eyes and slump down into my favorite comfortable chair in the ostentatious room that my father calls the waiting room. It’s a blonde this time and a brunette. The blonde is riding my dick like a cowgirl while my friend, Prince John, is doing her up the ass. I’ve got the brunette on my face, and she’s bathing me in her cum. I love a woman’s orgasm — it’s the sweetest flavor in the world, especially when she’s soaking your chin. My dick gets hard again at the thought.

“Down boy,” I tell him. “Any more action for you, and you're going to end up with burns. We're taking the day off.” I’m sure he’s sulking in my pants.

“Lord Lullington.” I reluctantly open my bloodshot eyes to see my elderly butler standing over me with the ever-present stern expression on his face.

“This had better be good, Reggie, and it better come with coffee.”

“It comes with a bacon sandwich, My Lord.” He steps back to reveal the glorious delicacy placed on fine china and resting on my father’s sixteenth century, carved oak chest.

“You're sent from heaven.” I jump up and sink my teeth into the first juicy bite. “Hmm. Ketchup. This is the best.”

“You'll need the strength it gives you.” I finish the sandwich in a few bites and pick up the cup of steaming coffee. I know it’ll be the King’s blend, from Fortnum & Mason, because that’s the only one I'll drink since I discovered it at fourteen. I’m not a tea person, unlike the rest of my family.

“Are you going to tell me that my father wants me?”

“He’s been shouting obscenities and then your name since the sun rose. He says I’m to inform him the minute you return home.” I rub a hand over my unshaven chin and groan.

“I better go and find him before he has an aneurysm.”

“It would be wise, My Lord.”

Reginald coughs.

“What is it?” I ask, knowing the sudden frog in his throat means he wants to voice his opinion on something.

“May I speak without consequence?” He bows his head.

“Don’t you usually around me?” I chuckle and grab my head when it hurts.

“Only when I know you need a bit of fatherly advice.”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t fight your father on this. You can’t stop what’s about to happen. It’s bigger than anything you know. It’s the future of your name and of what governs us.”

“Why does it have to be, though?” I sit back in the chair and place my head in my hands. My mahogany hair hasn’t been brushed and has a definite recently fucked look.

“History, Nicholas. It’s too ingrained in your family to change. To try now would destroy everything. You’re implicit in the crimes of the generations past. Blood stains your hands — it can never be cleaned off.”

I know that the old man, who’s been within my household since I can remember, is right. I have no choice, and I nod acceptance.

“To my death, I go.” I get back to my feet and leave him to clear up my empty plate while I search for the man who holds my future in his hands. No sooner do I think of the devil than he appears in front of me, from his office.

“Nicholas, finally. Where have you been?” He stares at me from behind dead eyes. No emotion belies the torture that he’s, likely, about to commit.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” I’ve never once called him Father. I was taught at an early age with a wooden cane that he would demand his title, even from his son. “I was enjoying the celebrations for my birthday. I knew it would be the last one I can enjoy as a free man — they may have gone on longer than I’d anticipated.”

“You mean that you were sticking your cock in as many women as possible.” He raises an eyebrow, which makes me feel like a ten-year-old boy about to get the cane again for stealing a sweet. I’m not, though, I’m a grown man of twenty-nine and should be able to make my own decisions.

“Only two women. My friends shared the other ones.”

“You're disgusting,” he scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t do the same when you were younger, or indeed that you wouldn’t do it still, given half the chance.” I go to walk away. I’ve had enough of this. I need a shit, shave, and shower before a long sleep.

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