That was fine because I did. I kissed him again and this time he didn't push me away. One of his hands got lost in my hair, and the other went around my waist and pulled me into him. My dress rode up around my hips as I straddled his lap. He groaned, his hands going straight to my ass, squeezing. We were both a little buzzed but that was pure lust.
It felt amazing. After essentially being tossed by my husband, this was just what my self-esteem… and a lot
of my other parts needed.
We were on the sofa, and then he hoisted me into the air and turned, lowering me to the sofa where he had been sitting. I watched breathlessly as he got down on his knees in front of me. He looked me in the eye, running his hands up my thighs. They stopped shy of my panties. He looked at me with a question in his eyes.
Yes, yes, I wanted him to take them off. I raised my hips and pulled them off. He threw them across the room and grabbed my thighs, pulling me towards him. I laughed, falling back into the couch.
“What’s funny?” he asked. His lips on my clitoris took the words right out of my mouth. I grabbed his head, arching my back. It had been a little while. There was nothing in the way of passion with my husband. I didn’t even blame him; we weren’t in love. We had sex because according to him, sex from me was his conjugal right but he never did this for me.
Niall’s tongue worked shapes over my clitoris, and then his fingers pressed against my entrance. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push him away and pull him in at the same time. I could feel my orgasm coming.
“Niall,” I whispered. He didn’t stop, pushing me right off the edge. I lost it. I cried out, my legs quaking. My whole body ignited. I fell limp, feeling like he had hollowed me out. I was barely aware of him getting up and standing between my legs.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. He grinned.
“I’m taking you with me.”
Niall
Present Day
Dearest Niall,
I trust that you have been keeping well. The household is fine. I would never write simply to trouble you. Make your way home this month. You're needed on family business. We expect you on the first.
All my love,
Father.
The letter was written on his personal stationery in fine calligraphy. The letter. My father sent me a letter. Who the hell even did that anymore? But then again, a text message from him would have been more of a shock. The fact that he addressed it ‘dearest Niall’ was enough of an indicator that he hadn’t written it himself.
The letter was short and managed to tell me exactly nothing. I seldom came home. It didn't really feel like home, so what was the use? I balled the letter up and launched it across the room, narrowly missing the wastepaper basket. I was at a hotel. Who the hell came back to their hometown and stayed at a hotel? With just one word from me, my living quarters would have been arranged at the family home, but again, it wasn't really a family home if you didn't feel like family.
It wasn't the first yet. I had flown into London early so that I could have some time alone before facing him. It was just him. My mother had died a long time ago. I didn’t know how much better she was because she was married to him, but at the very least, she had more patience than he did. Maybe that was just me remembering her fondly and wanting some connection, any connection with my so-called family.
I knew better by now than to look for it. What was wrong with me? I was strangely sentimental all of a sudden. Must have been being back in rainy old London again. The weather in New York had its moments but London’s constant precipitation was something I had never missed. It was already night time. I had slept on the flight here from New York, so I wasn't tired. I was restless. I didn't want to stay here, and I certainly didn't want to look my dad up, not even to tell him that I had gotten here safely. Let's face it, he didn't care.
I went up to the bar. I liked this hotel. Compared to other chain places, it was smaller but a hundred times more exclusive. Their presidential suite was always ready for me whenever I needed it, which granted wasn't often. If I wanted though, I could have my own personal bartender up here mixing drinks for me.
I never did anything too fancy. I mixed myself a quick gin and soda and downed it. I was heading out tonight. London was full of places to go and get into trouble if that was what you were looking for. I preferred New York, but that was just because of the distance mostly. American girls loved the accent and there was so much you could get away with once they knew you were a any kind of titled gentleman. They loved that British aristocracy shit. I never used the title to get girls these days. I wasn’t really on the hunt anymore.
My suite was huge but I still felt strangely closed in. After one more drink, enough to get a little bit of a buzz going, I headed out. Right across the street from the hotel was a casino. There was a fine drizzle coming down as usual. I put a jacket on and went. I was greeted at the entrance by name. This place was exclusive, exclusive and old. The members list featured international businessmen, celebrities and members of various countries’ royal families. Hobbyists didn't come here, only people hoping to do some serious damage. All the men in my family were members but as far as I knew, I got the most mileage out of mine.
There was something about casinos that felt like home to me. The chandeliers and opulent interiors weren't my thing, but I like to play with fire. I liked it when the odds were not in my favor. I went straight for the poker tables and got out some cash. There were a couple of guys at the table already and they grunted in admiration. I didn't play small. I hailed the passing waiter and ordered a scotch, and then the game began.
“All in,” I said.
“Are you sure?” the dealer asked. Yes, I was sure. I was chronically lucky. It was a problem. I didn’t care about the money. I didn’t care that the house always won. I was yet to see it since that didn’t seem to be the case with me. I had more money than I could hope to burn through in this or several more lifetimes.
In a perfect world, I was disinherited for being such a fuck up. That perfect world would have been crafted by my father. My worst crime against him had been going against my purpose as his son and heir to his estate. He could still do whatever he wanted to me; I had the mother of all safety notes. When my mother died, I got everything, and it was a lot. It was ungrateful to say, but fuck it, I was just ungrateful then. I had never had to worry about money in my life and I never would, but I always wondered what my life would look like without it.
Normal parents who let me be myself. Who loved me, who were interested in what I wanted and who I was? I was desperate for that as a kid and never got it. As far as I was concerned, it was the money’s fault. The money meant expectations and tradition. Duty, my least favorite word in the English Language. All of those things were more important to my parents than I was. So I gave up. I never chose that life so I just did what I wanted. It had mostly worked out for me since I didn’t give a shit either way what it did to my dad’s blood pressure. He was past the point of stopping me anyhow. I did whatever I wanted every day. Woke up in a different time zone whenever the fancy took me. Never had to try hard for women. Bought anything, and I do mean anything I wanted whenever I wanted.
Yeah. I was living the dream.
My interest in the game went in and out. Lose, I thought. If nothing else that would be a nice change of pace. I threw my drink back, draining it and looked around the room. The typical crowd was out tonight. Men and their suits who had come straight from work. The female partners who were beautifully crafted and dressed for the occasion.A few obvious foreigners who were there to try their luck. And then I saw her.