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Rhett flashes me that sexy smirk and those gold eyes trace over my body, making me feel stripped and dirty and sexy.
Damn, he’s good
. Underneath the looks though is something else, an edge of danger that sings to me on every thrill seeking level. When he looks at me, he instils art lust with just a thread of fear that has me clenching my thighs together.

He’s a walking contradiction, a blade wrapped in silk.

“You wanted to talk to me, Rhett?” Felix asks him, pulling him away.

“Yes, I do.” His eyes hold mine for a beat longer before he turns from me and they disappear into the party.

“Who the fuck is that?” Milly hisses when he leaves, death gripping my arm.

“Oh, that… is hot guy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Way to point out the obvious.”

I sigh and turn to face her scrutiny. She’s barely five two, but with her arms crossed over her chest and a glare on her face , Milly reminds me of a terrier. “Hot guy, as in New York a few weeks ago. We did that shoot.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “I was wearing his shirt.”

“Oh, my god. The guy with the sexy voice. Yes.” She glances at his retreating back over my shoulder. “Well damn, I wouldn’t have kicked him out of bed for any photo shoot. You’re a good friend.”

“I know, I really am. And before you ask, no recollection.”

“Nothing? Not even a kiss?”

“Well, he kissed me before I left in the morning. Does that count?”

“Your brain is fried from too much coke.” She grumbles.

“Actually, that night entailed a bottle of Jack…I think.” I hold up a finger. “And probably some pills.”

She takes my hand, leading me towards the bar. “You recall nothing, and this is you, so yeah, there would have been pills and coke. But he seems to recall perfectly well, so much so that he already calls you by a pet name.” She says smugly.

“Nope. Already 
implies
this is ongoing, and it’s not.”

“Oh, please. I can practically feel the condensation coming off your knickers from here.” She snorts.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And right.”

“Crass. Your mother would be mortified.” I retort.

She laughs. Her mother would cheer her on, whilst necking her bucket of wine. I pour a glass of whiskey and take a burning gulp of the amber liquid.

“I’m going to find Toby. Try and remain conscious until I get back.” She says sardonically, eyeing my glass.

“Well, you’re no fun.”

She rolls her eyes and turns away. “I’ll be back soon, then you can comatose yourself.” She throws over her shoulder.

“Sweet.”

She shakes her head. Like she’s any better. I used to be good once upon a time. It was her and Felix who corrupted me. Granted I don’t think they knew quite what they were unleashing, but still.

I check my watch. It’s eleven o’ clock and I had to face my mother today for the first time in over a year. I should be blind drunk by now and probably a good few lines into a gram of coke, but I’m not, and that’s just fucking tragic.

I rummage in my clutch because I’m sure I must have a Mandy in here somewhere. Ah ha! I hold the little pink pill up in front of my face, trying to decipher what I think it is. It could be mandy, speed or a sleeping pill. Ah, fuck it. I pop it in my mouth and down the rest of my drink, heading for a group of people in the middle of the room who are dancing. I don’t know any of them. I don’t care.

A few minutes in and I’m so hot, my skin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m just so…horny. Okay, mandy, that pill was definitely mandy. My body moves with the music, and I smile as that weightlessness washes over me. I don’t care about anything but the music.

A guy moves closer to me, our bodies brushing against each other as we dance in sync.

Swaying my hips, I drag my hand through my hair. His eyes trace over my barely-there dress, which hikes further up my thighs as I lift my arms. Two semi-circles are cut out of the material, leaving enormous patches of bare skin that span from my ribs to my hips. He moves behind me gripping my bare hip as he grinds against my body. Sex. Lust. Love. They are the most potent of human reactions because they are wild, uncontrollable, animal. These are the emotions that drive us. These are life’s natural highs. 

I glance across the room and lock eyes with Rhett, as though I’m magnetically drawn to him, I look up and there he is.

The guy’s lips brush my neck before he whispers in my ear. “Come home with me.” It’s not really even a question so much as a demand. I roll my eyes and an amused smirk touches Rhett’s lips.

I turn and face him, placing a hand on his chest. “A few minutes of dirty dancing and you think I want to fuck you?” He says nothing and I lean closer to his ear. “Sweetheart, I’m Blake McQueen. I slut drop on everyone. Don’t take it personally.” I smile and pat his shoulder as I walk away. I glance back at Rhett, but he’s gone.

A sheen of sweat clings to my skin and I scoop my hair off the back of my neck. God, I need some air and a cigarette.

I step outside onto the balcony, inhaling the cool spring air. There’s no one else out here, and it’s almost peaceful. The wind whips my hair away from my face and blocks out the sound of the party behind me. I look out over the London skyline, the lights below like a thousand scattered stars. My fingers grip the glass railing as I lean over it slightly. The world feels so open up here, and as I look down at the massive drop to the ground adrenaline pumps through my veins. I wonder what it would be like to jump? To free fall through the air? It must be a rush.

I fumble in my bag for a cigarette and my fingers brush over the small bag of blow sitting in the bottom of my clutch, so harmless, yet so enticing. I’m not an addict, but I’ll admit that I chase the high. It doesn’t need to be a particular high. It can be drink, sex, drugs, whatever. Normal, boring, quiet—these have become the things I cannot stand because it’s in the quiet of the low that I start to think, and I don’t want to think. I just want to be. I want to live. I want to 
feel 
alive.

I take out the cigarette and press it to my lips, holding it there as I search for my lighter. My fingers brush over every fucking item in my bag except the damn lighter. Why is it a tiny clutch suddenly feels like Mary Poppin’s bag when you’re looking for something? I sigh in frustration when I can’t find it. “Motherfucker.”

I jump when I hear a low rumble of laughter to my left. There’s a small alcove set into the side of the building, sheltered from the wind. Cloaked in shadows with his back to the wall is a guy, a stream of smoke billowing around him.

I narrow my eyes, watching as he straightens to his full height. He turns to face me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. He inhales on the smoke, and the end glows a bright red, illuminating his face slightly. In the low light, I see those honey gold eyes flash and then disappear as the burn dims. I can just make out the dark stubble covering his jaw, and lips that are almost too perfect to belong to a guy. He lowers the cigarette and that sexy wry smile pulls at his lips, a stream of smoke passing through them. There’s something about his quiet presence, the way I’m almost scared to be alone with him, that makes my pulse quicken and my pussy wet.

“Rhett.” I breathe.

“Need a light?” He asks in that deep American accent. I can hear the amusement in his voice. Probably because I’m looking at him as though I’m going to climb him like a tree.

“Yeah.” I step forward, and the closer I get to him, the faster my pulse thrums. God-fucking-damn, the man is like a drug all of his own. I come to a stop right in front of his enormous frame. He towers over me, holding out a lighter, cupping the flame with his hand as he brings it to my face. My eyes lock with his as the flame kisses the end of the cigarette. He watches me carefully, a small smile touching his lips and sinking a dimple into an otherwise hard face.

Okay, so I was already horny before I came out here. It’s a wonder I haven’t started dry humping him by now.

“Thanks.” I whisper, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

His eyes flick down my body, and the man might as well have doused me in petrol and thrown a match. I want him, and that rush, that pure animal magnetism, it’s alluring.

He says nothing, just watches me watching him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar. I catch a glimpse of his muscular chest, and never mind licking it, I want to wipe my fucking vagina all over him.
Damn.

He flashes me a smirk and turns away, strolling over to the railing and resting his elbows on it. I take up position next to him, quietly smoking my cigarette.

“So, what’s your story,
Duchess
?” He asks, glancing sideways at me.

I look at him and release another small cloud of smoke. “I’m Blake McQueen. You want the story, read the papers. And what is with this Duchess thing?”

He lets out a throaty chuckle that makes my skin prickle. His eyes meet mine, amusement twinkling in them. “Call it irony.” I decide to ignore his cryptic bullshit.

He holds the cigarette to his mouth, pursing his lips around it, drawing my eyes to his mouth. He really is the hottest fucking guy I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve fucked the best of them.

“You would think I’d remember fucking you.” I blurt.

 He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re right.” His eyes flick over my body. “You would.”

Her eyes narrow. “Wait, so we didn’t fuck?”

I cock a brow. “You really can’t remember
anything
?”

She shrugs. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Huh, well I like my women coherent and consenting.”

She bites her bottom lip and blatantly drops her eyes to my crotch. “Pretty sure I would have consented.” She mumbles under her breath.

I laugh. “Oh, I know.”

Holding one finger up, she opens her bag. “I’m sorry, I think I might have a tissue somewhere in here, you know, so you can go and wipe your vagina.”

I shake my head and laugh. Harder than I’ve laughed in a long time. “Call it an egotistical preference.”

She drops her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her designer shoe. “Well, drunk Blake is a whore, so I’ll apologise for any leg humping or face licking that may have taken place.” She laughs. “Or indeed face sitting. That uh, that happens. Sometimes.” The thought of her pussy on my tongue and her thighs wrapped around my face has my cock pressing against my fly uncomfortably. “Though really you’d only have yourself to blame. Has no one told you? Chivalry is dead, dear.”

It fucking is when you’re dealing with women like her. That dress is clinging to every curve and her hair has that just fucked thing going on, exactly the same as the night I met her. The second she opened her mouth I had a hard-on for her accent. She sounds like the Queen of England, and yet she drinks like a fish, swears like a sailor, and dances like a stripper. It’s quite a combination.

She slowly raises her eyes to mine, and for the second time in the last five minutes, her eyes focus on my lips. I smirk because I have her where I want her, where I need her. But she also has me by the balls because damn do I want to fuck her. She steps closer to me, and presses her hand against my chest, scratching her nails over the material of my shirt. And then she tilts her face up until her lips are so fucking close to mine.

“Tell me, Rhett, are you still feeling chivalrous? Would you be averse to me putting my tongue on you?” Her voice drops to a breathy whisper as her lips pull into a seductive smile and all I can see is her on her knees, her tongue on my cock. “How about me riding your face?” She bites her bottom lip as she smiles.

I growl and slowly wrap my hand around her nape, bringing her lips a whisper away from mine. There’s a beat of silence, a heartbeat, a staggered breath. Her whisky and smoke tinged breath dances across my tongue. I skim my lips across her cheek, inhaling the scent of her perfume and grazing her earlobe with my teeth. “Careful, Duchess.” I warn. “The second your tongue touches me, I 
will
 fuck you.” I whisper the promise against her ear.

“So fuck me.” She dares. It’s like a red rag to a bull, and I spin, pinning her back up against the side of the building and slamming my mouth over hers. She moans, her fingernails scratching the back of my neck. Her tits are rubbing all over me and her body bows away from the wall. I yank the skirt of her dress up over her thighs, running my hand across her smooth skin. My fingers just brush the lace of her underwear when a group of voices come onto the balcony. I pull away and her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen and parted as she struggles for breath, eyes wild.

I clench my jaw, trying to rein myself in. I’m like a fucking sixteen-year old boy getting over excited about his first pair of tits.
Shit.