Page 17 of London's Calling: Part 1
I screw my eyes tightly shut and hope he stops soon. No such fucking luck.
When he tugs at the bandeau top of my jumpsuit, trying to free my breasts, I’ve had enough. I wait for the perfect moment. After another foul probing swipe of his tongue, he draws back a little, giving me enough space to catch his tongue between my teeth. I bite down at the same time I use my free hand to shove him away.
He releases me with a roar of pain, but my momentary victory is shattered a moment later when he slaps me across the face, sending my head careening into the window with a thump. My vision fades in and out, and my breath seizes in my chest.
“Fucking bitch! I can see breaking you is going to be so much fucking fun.”
The car comes to a stop, but it doesn’t ease my nerves. If Clayton decides he wants to come in with me, that’s what he’ll do. There won’t be a damn thing I can do about it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fight, because my spirit isn’t broken yet, despite years of verbal and psychological abuse from my father, but it’s obvious Clayton has no hangups over hurting me physically. Why would he? He’s been abusing women for years and getting away with it, protected by his father and numerous high-ranking friends. Men like Clayton Simmonds believe they are untouchable.
When he comes at me a second time, I somehow manage to hold back the flinch thrumming behind a trembling shield, and I wait for what’s coming.
“I’ll pick you up on Friday at seven.” He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “Wear a dress, something sexy…” He retreats, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. His implied but unsaid words play over in my mind.
With easy access.
My door opens and I climb out, but not before Clayton slaps my arse. I bite back any retort, not wanting to give him any reason to change his mind about coming in.
I thank the driver, who gives me a nod and a weak smile. I imagine the man has seen some things but keeping his job and not ending up with a cracked skull are what keeps his mouth shut.
Carl’s car pulls up behind Clayton’s, and I feel his eyes watching me as I make my way to the front door, my legs a little shaky and my face and head smarting from the strike.
“See you Friday, sweetheart,” Clayton calls far too cheerily from the open window of the car as they drive away.
“Not if I can fucking help it,” I mutter as I enter the main door and head for the lift.
Inside the apartment, I begin undoing my jumpsuit as I climb the stairs, desperate to remove the outfit. I plan to burn it later. I don’t want anything that man has touched. Forgoing the ensuite shower, I seek out the main bathroom because I know there’s a deep bath in there. I’d love to just climb into bed and hide from my life, but I refuse to allow Clayton to soil anything else, including my bed sheets.
Once the bath is ready, I slip into it, allowing the hot water to work its magic and burn the evening from my skin. It will never remove the black mark on my soul. A spot I fear is only going to grow until it swallows me whole.
Chapter Thirteen
Mickey
I slip out of the bathroom as Roni turns her back on me and continues her shower, adjusting myself thanks to her little display. Damn! It was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.
Back in the guest room, I pause to listen and ensure Roni is still in the shower before allowing my eyes to scan over the boxes I dismissed earlier. Most of them are clothes and other girly shit, but I spot a box filled with paperwork. Lifting the first few pages on the top, I realise it’s essays and papers from uni. I’m about to leave it when something catches my eye. Pulling it free, it’s an article on losing a parent at a young age. Scanning the first few paragraphs, the sound of water running in the shower cuts off, and I know my time is up if I don’t want to give up my secret way in. I quickly duck back into the wardrobe, ensuring to close the door and lock the hidden door in the back.
It’s not until I’m back in my apartment I realise I’m still holding the article from Roni’s belongings. I toss it on the side in the kitchen and go take a shower. My dick hardens as I wash my hair, reminded of Roni’s wet body and the feel of her pussy hugging my cock as I fucked her. I don’t fuck the same woman twice, a lesson I learned after hooking up with some hot chick at one of Priest’s parties. Hot body, great sex and the conversation—what little there was that night—was good too. But after the third time we hooked up, she started banging on about meeting her family, moving in together and settling down. I dropped her like a fucking hot rock. I thought that was the end of it, but I’m not that lucky. I swear it’s every guy’s rite of passage to have one crazy, obsessed bitch who stalks you at least once in your lifetime.
It took a whole damn month before she finally got the message. I guess screwing her best friend and letting her catch us snapped her out of it. Moral of the story, don’t screw the same woman more than once.
Yet here I am, having just fucked Roni for a second time, going against my rule of one time only, but she’s not just anyone—she’s the daughter of the man my father hates, the man who goes out of his way to damage our business and reputation every chance he gets.
It has to be the thrill, having something forbidden. It’s why I enjoyed the hell out screwing my tutor at university. Christie Brooks, my own Mrs Robinson. That’s what it is just the thrill. Nothing else. It can’t be anything more.
Stepping out the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and grab my phone from the side.
Me
I need to fuck and drink tonight.
My phone pings instantly.
Priest
Aww, I thought you’d never ask. <3
