The Surrey-Mark Hotel is famous for three things.
One- the opulent appointments of its guest rooms and private clubs. Situated in a hidden nook in the heart of Knightsbridge, the Nash-inspired architecture highlights the ultra-luxe decor, marked by pristine antiques, lush textiles, and warm lighting. Each of its fifty-five suites is filled daily with fresh flowers (personally chosen by each guest), beds made with the highest thread count available, and stocked with the rarest wine and spirits. The top three floors are a combination of privately owned lofts and leased apartments occupied by everything from a tech billionaire to a Middle-Eastern prince.
The second, is the Surrey’s stringent promise of absolute discretion. Employees are put through rigorous background checks, social media monitoring, and several non-disclosure agreements. So important is this vow of prudence, that some workers don’t even tell their families where they work. Guests can be assured that all of their deeds (good and bad) will be studiously ignored, making the hotel a favorite of visiting diplomats and the Hollywood elite.
Lastly is the ‘Campus’—a clubby bar with high-backed leather booths and a selective clientele. Billion-dollar deals and noble marriages have been arranged inside of its walls; it’s not unusual to hear plans for ending wars or the next electric car being spoken of in hushed tones. It’s not a place for the newbie: the Steward closely guards the entrance to the Campus- a position gained only by heredity or decree. In the two-hundred and thirty-five-year history of the hotel, only four families: The Soames, The Westons, The Mayerlys, and the Thackers have held that role- a source of pride and distinction. The current Steward- A Soames/Thacker offspring- is a veritable lion with his entree cocktail- simultaneously rejecting and granting admittance with a ruthless relish.
So you can understand my utter confusion when I overhear the absolute bullshit coming from the two knobs sitting behind me. I’m in the process of nursing my fifty-year scotch and debating on taking home the hot little blonde who’s been eye-fucking me the last hour, but I keep getting sidetracked by their nonsense. I’ve been halfway listening to these two idiots blathering about this and that for the past hour- and I’m tempted to have the Steward kick them straight to the street. I managed to block out most of what they were saying until I unwittingly tuned back in.
“It’s her. I would know those lips anywhere,” Arsehole Number One says excitedly. He has a flat American accent, along with a sickening tendency to form foamy spitballs at the corner of his mouth. The first time I turned around, he had two large ones sponging his lips together.
“No way, dude. She’s supposed to be what-five-ten or eleven? She’s a supermodel for chrissakes. This chick is nowhere near that tall,” Arsehole Number Two replies. “Plus, what would she be doing here? Chicks like that are like on the Riviera or Ibiza—not in an old ass hotel in London.”
Alright, first, he mispronounced Ibiza (as most Americans do), and second, did he call the Surrey-Mark an ‘old-ass hotel’? I glance/glare over my shoulder again, but they are both oblivious. Their attention is focused squarely on a booth to the left of all of us. I crane my neck to see who they are talking about, but all I see is the very top of a dark head of hair.
“I’m telling you she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I’m about to go over there and ask for her autograph,” Spitty is practically bouncing off of his stool. His top-shelf whiskey sloshing all over the tabletop, and the spitballs have returned. I can feel my top lip curling involuntarily as I take in his ill-fitting suit and sweat-stuck hair. The two fingers that are clutching his rock glass are stubbed with dirty fingernails, and ink stains his palm. His partner is no better with a shiny bald head and smarmy smirk glued to his face.
“You’re drunk, bro. That ain’t Melina M, and that chick is nowhere near as hot. Hey, maybe she’s an escort? I read an article about how hookers in Europe post up in tony places like this and look for rich men. That whole nerdy thing she has going on is probably just a front. Listen, how much cash do you have on you?” He pulls a pitiful stack of notes mixed with American dollars, and his friend does the same. They whisper loudly, predicting what kind of service their money can buy, while the object of their focus remains blissfully ignorant to the hell about to be unleashed upon her.
I take the last sip of my scotch and sigh deeply. There’s no way I can let this poor girl be subject to these two twats. I throw a few fifty-pound notes down and slide out of my chair. I know Melina M personally— she runs in the same fast circles that I do. There’s no way she would be caught dead in Campus. It’s too quiet, too cerebral for her. She prefers the flashy lights and stormy scenery in Chelsea, Mahiki in Mayfair, or Notting Hill. Areshole Number Two is partially correct, at least.
I slip past them to the right and make my way in a full circle, passing acquaintances and the hot blonde who I’m still taking with me. I give her a quick wink and a nod, and she squeals something to her friend. I’ll remember to have her repeat that sound when I’m stroking into her later.
Not-Melina’s booth is curved into a corner, almost facing the wall. As I round the curved seat, I see that her tousled dark head is bent over a laptop and that she is simultaneously typing and making notes onto a ratty pad of paper. She’s all dressed in black and utterly unaware of the fact that someone is standing in front of her. I clear my throat loudly and wait.
Nothing.
I clear it again and knock lightly on the table.
Still nothing.
I lean over and see that she has headphones in her ears and can faintly hear the steady beat of a dance track. Her fingers are flying over the keyboard, and she whips a calculator out of nowhere, punching in numbers at a record pace. An accountant, perhaps? A student? I move closer to get a look at the writing on the pad, jostling the table a bit, and her head shoots up in surprise. Her eyes lock onto mine, and her mouth forms a soft “O” in shock.
Fuck me standing. She’s gorgeous.
I can see where the resemblance to Melina is causing spasms in the bloke at the bar. Melina is famous for her abundant pout and brilliant blue eyes. I can’t tell the exact color behind her thick glasses, but her pillowy and wide lips are the stuff of dreams. Her skin is like heavy cream, and even with the dim light, I can see a flush creep up her cheeks. Her thick dark hair is full of curls and bumps, spilling in wild abandon around her shoulders. I know I’m staring like a fool, and I mentally shake myself out of my inspection. I glance up and see the Twin Terrors about to make their way to her table.
“I don’t have time to explain, but trust me, just follow my lead,” I hurry and slide in close to her, draping my arm around her shoulders. She fits perfectly under my arm, and I feel her stiffen. Leaning in, I place my lips close to her lobe. The scent of her- heady vanilla mixed with fresh lavender tickles my nose. “There are two men who are headed this way- and trust me; you do not want to face them alone.” Her breath quickens, and she nods once. I keep my face buried in her fragrant hair as she quickly flips over her papers and shuts her laptop. She turns her body toward mine slightly and curls into me.
“Excuse me, are you Melina M?” Arsehole One asks without preamble. His friend is standing slightly behind him, that smarmy expression creasing his mouth. His eyes flit over us and lock onto me. He takes in my tailored suit and zeroes in on my Rolex Daytona watch. His mouth opens slightly, and he takes a little step back. Smart man.
The vision in my arms turns her head slightly and gives the duo a hard look. “Excuse me?” Her voice is a bit raspy but sweet. The biggest surprise- she’s American.
“I said, are you Melina M? Ya know, the model. Are you her?” Spitty’s voice is grating and loud, and sure enough, a round spector of saliva is growing at the corner of his mouth. I can see her eyes zoom in on it, and feel her spine stiffen in disgust.
“No. I’m not.” She turns back into my chest with a huff, but the two won’t leave.
“Are you sure? I mean, you look just like her,” the fool rambles while whipping out an outdated cell phone with a cracked screen, “See?” He shoves the phone close to her face, and I feel a growl crawl up my throat. The blurry picture is one of Melina—and yes, the resemblance is uncanny, but this sod is pissing me off with his rudeness. He’s pushing himself into what I consider her personal space, and any minute he’s going to be touching her. Fuck this.
“She said no, mate. I suggest you leave before I have you removed, or I will do it myself.” I grit out the last bit and lift my hand in a slight gesture. I see the Steward quickly take in the scene and lift his antique phone. After a few words, he nods at me, and I turn my eyes back to the soon-to-be-departed. “That wasn’t a request. She’s not who you think she is. Now kindly leave.” I lock eyes with his friend, and my threat is clear—I’m not one to be messed with. My eyes flit over his shoulder, and I watch as two hulking yet discreet security post themselves at the entrance. All I need to do is lift an eyebrow, and they will be tossed onto the street.
“C’mon Sid. It’s not her like I said.” Arsehole Two pulls at his friend’s arm and whispers something low. Spitty sniffs nastily and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Nah, you’re not her. My bad.” His wet lip curls up, and they turn to amble drunkenly toward the exit. The two guards follow them at a distance while I once again meet eyes with the Steward. With a quirk of my mouth, I ensure they will never be allowed back.
“Thank you.”
The angel in my arms has pulled back from my tight embrace, peering up at me through her glasses. A thick strand of her hair has fallen over her cheek, and I unconsciously tuck it behind her ear. I take in her unbelievable features from a smooth forehead, down her slim, straight nose locking onto that mouth. Her lips are upturned with a dark pink color, a slight indent in the middle of the lower one. They look like cotton candy and wet dreams. I can already picture them wrapped around my cock, and it twitches hard with the mental image.
“Are you ok?”
Her rough little voice is puzzled as I shake myself and realize that I’ve not only been twirling her hair around my finger, but I’ve also been staring at her from a very short distance. I probably look like a complete lunatic.
“I’m fine, love. How are you? They didn’t frighten you too much, did they?” I find that I don’t like the idea of her being upset. At all.
She snorts, rather undaintily, and waves a slim hand. Her baggy black jumper slides around, and I see a tattoo of something on the inside of her wrist. “Nope. Guys like that are a dime a dozen back home. Just your normal dudebros. How did you know they were going to come over here?” Her glasses slide a bit down her nose, and she shoves them back up.
“I was sitting at the bar and overheard them. Do you often get mistaken for Melina?” I can’t believe that this is the first time. Though we are seated, I can tell that my new friend isn’t very tall compared to Melina’s stature, but that face… The resemblance is unreal.
She shakes her head, and her glasses slide down again. I reach out and slide them up myself. Her breath catches, and she clears her throat. “I don’t even know who that is, so no.”
“She’s a model—a rather famous one. We have mutual friends, so I can assure you that yes, you do look alike. I’m amazed that this is the first time someone has mistaken you.”
Her mouth is slightly open, and her eyes widen. “A model? Me?” A giggle bursts from her lips, and I watch as twin deep dimples pop out of her cheeks. Sweet fuck. This woman is lethal. She needs to put those away before she hurts someone.
“I can barely walk across a room without tripping, let alone down a catwalk. Agh! I’m only five foot two. How can I be a model?” Her laughter is infectious, and I find myself chuckling along. “Well, you are outrageously beautiful. It’s not that hard to imagine.” I reach out and gently trace one of her dimples with my pinkie. Her smile widens, and her blush is delicious. “Bifid zygomaticus,” she blurts out, and I blink. “What?”
“Um, bifid zygomaticus. Dimples. A non-dominant genetic trait.” She points at her face; I laugh quietly. “I see. Well, I rather fancy your bifid…things. They only make you more gorgeous.”
“I don’t know about all of that, but thank you.” Her head dips, and she fiddles with the frame of her glasses. Talking about her looks makes her nervous. Interesting. I find that once you start complimenting a woman, she either preens or pretends modesty while transparently seeking more praise. But this quirky little bundle of beauty is genuinely embarrassed. I lift her chin with two of my fingers and meet her gaze. I wish the lighting was better so that I tell the exact color of her eyes; I want to see if they change with desire and pleasure. And I want to be the one to cause it.
“You don’t have to thank me for stating the obvious, love.” Her lips part and I can feel the little puff of her breath against my mouth. My tongue makes a brief appearance in response, and her breathing quickens. I slide the hand that is propping up her chin down her silky throat and around to the back of her neck. Her thick hair curls around my fingers and I tilt her head intending to devour her.
That is until a rather irate throat-clearing interrupts us.
We jump apart guiltily, both realizing how entwined we had been, and rather publicly. Campus is not the type of place for this level of intimacy, and I’m shocked at my behavior. I just met this woman, and I’m already trying to caveman stomp my way into her knickers.
“Hullo?” The throat clearing belongs to the blonde in the red dress that I had marked for the evening. Up close, she is more on the hard-looking side, but she would have made a suitable throwaway. Her arms are crossed her thin chest, and she is glaring at the woman sitting next to me. Any minute now, she is going to say something that I absolutely do not want her to say, so I head her off.
“Leave your direction with the Steward, sweetheart.” She perks up, the anger draining away immediately. I have no doubt she knows who I am, and all she wants is reassurance that she will get her turn. “Go on now.”
She bobs in some odd semblance of a curtsy and clatters off to the Stewards station. I can see her gesturing excitedly, while his genetically placid expression never changes. I turn back to the beauty in my arms, who is frowning at me. Fuck.
“Did you need to leave with her? I hope I’m not causing any problems for you?” She begins to nervously pack her computer and that ratty notebook, her face splotchy with what I can only deem as embarrassed anger. Her movements are jerky, and I can see that she is about to bolt. There is no fucking way I am letting her go anywhere.
“I don’t know her at all,” I tell her calmly. “I didn’t buy her a drink; I didn’t pay for her meal—I know nothing about her. She mistakenly thought that I was going to approach her, so I did what I thought was necessary to make her leave without causing a scene. Now, are you ready to leave?” I gesture to the coat she now has draped over her arm, and an ancient leather bag slung over her back.
She stares at me, her eyes darting over my face searching for honesty. I never lie to women, ever. I prefer my dalliances brief, true, but I am always brutal with my upfrontness—I find that it lessens the sting when I move on to the next flower. Too, my mum always says that women can sniff out a lie faster than a bloodhound.
“You mean ready to leave with you?” She puts it right out there, so I see no reason to put up any pretense. “Yes.”
She blinks at my response, and I can see the wheels turning. “I…don’t …why?” She can’t be serious? I was about one minute away from stripping her down in front of everyone in this place.
“Why? Because we need privacy for what I want to do to you.” More honesty.
Her pupils dilate, and she gulps. “We just met like fifteen minutes ago.”
“True. But I knew in the first minute that I wanted you. And if we hadn’t just been interrupted, I’m quite sure everyone in here would have known it as well.”
I slide out of the booth and hold my hand out to her. “Come.” She stares at my hand, teeth nibbling violently on her bottom lip. She moves to stand without taking my offer, and I move closer. I tug her lip out from her teeth and ghost a kiss over the tortured mound.
“Come, love. Let’s go.”
I brush another kiss over her cheekbone, eyelid, and forehead. Her breath catches while she nods once. Slipping the surprisingly heavy leather bag from her shoulder, I drape it over my own while lacing her fingers with mine. We pass the Steward, who discreetly avoids eye contact and slip through a small hallway to a private elevator. I use my left hand and press a keycard against the rosewood panel. The doors slide open, and I board while pulling her behind me. “You live here?”
“Sometimes.” I touch the keycard to another console, and it lights up gently with the letter “P.” I peek at her from the corner of my eye and see that she is staring at the floor- her bottom lip retaking punishment. I reach over with my free hand and slowly stroke the side of her face. Her head snaps up, and her light-colored eyes focus on mine. We stare at each other in silence, a tight rope of desire-and something else I can’t name- tying us together. I barely hear the chime of the lift reaching our floor as the door opens to the spacious flat that I keep here. I flick a switch in the foyer, and the ample open space floods with light. Leading her like a small child, I drop her case onto the antique settee and turn toward her. She is standing still, arms still clutching her overcoat, body language screaming that she wants to run. Her precious face is turned away, eyes taking in the luxurious appointments before finally settling on me. Walking toward her slowly, I unbutton my jacket and reach up to remove her eyeglasses. I place them on the small table next to me and tug the coat off of her arm. Cupping her face in my hands, I tilt her head back and get a first look at her eyes. They are an unimaginable blue-green, the color morphing the longer I stare. She is truly a magnificent specimen, and the lust mixed with innocence shining from her warms me rapidly.
“I don’t normally do this,” she blurts out. “I mean I don’t meet men, and then just leave with them. Like never.” Her fresh breath dances across my lips, and I can’t wait any longer. Pulling her toward me, I nip first her top, then bottom lip, before slipping my tongue in between. Her plump mouth molds under mine and I twist and plunder inside of it, my hands tightening on her cheeks and pushing into her thick black hair. We kiss for long minutes before I pull back and answer her.
“You didn’t need to tell me that, love. I already knew.” Despite her heartbreaking beauty, there was a sincere naivete about her-she seemed so oblivious to her appeal, yet strong enough not to care when confronted with it. So different than the viciously self-aware women I usually fuck. I dive back into her mouth, licking and salving as she responds sensuously, soft groans humming in her throat. I can’t control my hands as they stroke her throat and slowly travel down her sides, sliding under the oversized black jumper and land on her satiny skin.
Her waist dips in deeply, and I tease the curve with light circles before moving up to the full flesh of her breasts. I rest my fingers just below her nipples and continue my assault on her mouth. Our tongues are twisting and dancing, with me biting on her lips before pulling away to nip at her throat. Her head drops back, pushing my hands a little further onto her breasts, and I can feel the hard nubs nudging my palms in need. I want to pull and suck on them, taste them, and roll them between my teeth, but I wait.
I stop my feast on her neck and swing down to swoop her into my arms. She buries her head in my throat, her warm breath sending chills down my body. I carry her to the bedroom, kicking the door open, and dropping her beside the large bed. She watches me—a heartbreaking combination of want with shyness. I step back and slowly unbutton my shirt, never taking my eyes from hers. It drops to the floor before I slid my belt out of my pant loops and undo them, letting them join my shirt on the floor. Her eyes widen and fasten onto my cock, which is straining hard toward her, its head already protruding from the waistband of my boxers.
“Come here, love.” A brief hesitation, and then she takes two steps forward into my arms. I push her jumper up and off before she can protest and drink in her gleaming skin and the lushness of her breasts. They are decidedly more substantial than I expected, and I immediately cup them, running my thumbs hard over her nipples and pinching gently. Her bra is sheer and I quickly unclasp it before continuing my torture. Her body is trembling and her head is buried against my shoulder, her short breaths and whimpers driving me onward. I dip my head a capture a begging nipple between my teeth lashing it gently with my tongue.
My hands slip down the back of her pants and grab her ripe arse and squeeze. Christ, it’s thick and firm, and I want nothing more than to sink my teeth into it. Releasing her nipple, I unzip her pants and slide them down, following them onto my knees. I lift one foot, and then the other removing them and tossing them behind me. Her legs are slim and healthy, and I run my hands up her calves and kiss her thighs before I settle on the deep shadow hidden by her modest underwear. I place a kiss on the top of her mound before I slip a finger into the side and stroke the back of it lightly across her clit. The warm wetness makes a growl jump out of my throat, met with an answering moan from her. I pull her knickers down, kissing my way across her stomach before standing and nudging her backward onto the bed. She’s swaying slightly, and I ease her down, her hair spreading like a thick black cloud.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I stroke myself leisurely while cataloging her unreal perfection. Her body is a wonderland of curves and valleys with flawless skin, dusky brown nipples, and delicate lines. The dampness leaking from my cock smooths my way and I lean forward and slip two fingers into her mouth, letting her taste my desire. Her tongue swirls around them suggestively and I smile. “Later.”
Impatiently shoving my boxers down, I kneel in front of her and push her legs up until her knees touch her chest. Without hesitation, I dive forward and fasten my lips to her clit, sucking hard. Her back bows, and a scream erupts from her mouth as I ruthlessly devour her, her legs shaking uncontrollably. Her head is thrashing on the pillow, and I can feel her body tightening. Her clit is throbbing in my mouth, and I lick all around it, her candied taste sliding down my throat. I pull off and hold her hips firmly. “Let go, baby.” Sucking once again, she detonates, raspy moans meeting the pulses from her body. I lap up her wetness and alternate licks with deep kisses as she pants, muttering something under her breath. Before she can recover, I slide a finger into her wetness, the tight walls of her pussy grabbing me greedily. She cries out as I add another finger, pumping slowly while kissing her still sensitive clit. I blow on it gently, keeping up my motions, before twisting my fingers slightly, searching for that small patch that will push her once again over the edge. I find it and stroke it softly.
“Good God, what are you doing?” Her slim fingers tangle into my hair as I smile devilishly and keep up my attack. “I…oh…fuck!” Her body convulses again, and her whimpers turn into a small yell. She falls back, breathing hard, head lolling to the side. I slide my fingers out, sucking on them lavishly. Her legs give out, and she is sprawled out like a starfish. I climb over her and brace my arms on either side of her head. Her eyes are tightly closed; luscious lips parted slightly. One eye opens and peeks at me before shutting quickly. I chuckle and run one hand down her face.
“Are you ready for me?”
Both eyes pop open and she grimaces.“I think you broke me.”
I laugh harder. “Well, let me put you back together.” I reach over to the small side table and grab a condom. Sitting back on my heels, I slide it on, watching her face and licking my lips. “Hold on to the headboard.” Her eyes widen, but she obeys. I grab the back of her left knee and drape her leg over my arm. I push forward until it’s straight up and then catch my considerable length. I urge the head until its notched at her entrance, the slickness guiding my way. I lean forward and slide my tongue into her mouth as I slide my way inside of her. My cock pulses in need, my breath halting as I fight for control. I want to pound into her, but I know I won’t last if I do. I rock back and forth until I’m entirely inside of her and slowly press hard against her clit.
“Fuck. You’re huge.” She’s panting again, her arms straining upward. Her pupils are fully dilated and her whole body is painted with a rosy flush. Her nipples point straight up and I suck one into my mouth before letting it go with a pop.
“Yup. I am.” She rolls her eyes before releasing a breathy chuckle. I pull out and then surge forward hard, repeating the motion over and over, forgetting my earlier quest for control. Her pussy is tight as a fist, clasping and unclasping me, wetness spilling out of her and coating her thighs. The sheets are damp with our shared sweat as I rut harder and harder her cries getting louder. “That’s it, baby. Give me another.” She begs me incoherently - to never stop, to go harder, to make her come. I rub my thumb rapidly over her clit and she goes off. A burning sizzle gathers at the base of my body and zig-zags up my spine— I grip her arse so hard I know I will leave marks. I come violently, I swear my heart stutters as I stroke into her until the hot spurts stop. I collapse on top of her, her arms wrapping around me limply, hearts beating on top of the other. We both try to get our lungs back, and she makes a funny choking noise, letting me know that I’m too heavy. I roll off and onto my back, staring at the dark ceiling. “I think you broke me this time.”
She lets out a sugary giggle, and I smile back. I swing out of bed to dispose of the condom. Like the gentleman I am, I wet a washcloth with warm water, and head back to the bed. She has turned onto her stomach, a pillow on top of her head. “Can you breath under there?” She muffles something to me and shrugs. I nudge her open and wipe inside of her thighs. She squeaks a little and tries to close her legs. I smack her cheek and continue my cleaning. I reach under a bit and brush her abused nub, another squeak slash moan coming from under the pillow. I raise a brow that she can’t see and repeat the motion. She moans again and I toss the washcloth and replace it with my fingers. “You can’t possibly be ready to go already, are you love?’” I stroke her slowly and insistently, moving in and taking a hard bite of that arse. She yelps, but her hips move in time to my movements. “There she is. I love how soft you are. Your pussy is so wet and beautiful. Do you know how beautiful you are? Every bit of you,” I purr to her until I feel the waves of an orgasm flow through her- this one soft and easy. “Good?” I know it was, of course.
Her slim arm shoots out from under the pillow and gives me a thumbs up. I laugh hard as a twinge of something crawls across my chest. I rub it absently and settle in the bed next to her. Drawing the thick blanket over her, I drape a leg over the back of her thighs and maneuver over. Her skin beckons me, and I stroke her back quietly. “Take a nap, love. I’ll wake you when I’m ready for more.” An indignant noise floats up, and I slap her arse cheek again. I smile in the dark and let sleep overtake me.
* * *
The persistent sound of the house phone pulls me out of my deep slumber. I woke her up twice last night, taking her ferociously both times. I think I set a record for giving a woman orgasms, and I want to beat my chest like a Neanderthal. The phone is still ringing, and I rub my face and head, muscles sore and tight. A little bit of sunlight breaks through the thick drapes, and I turn my head. The space next to me is empty, but I can see that the bathroom door is closed. I swing my legs over and walk to the sitting room. I notice that her eyeglasses are missing and don’t think anything of it until I see that her handbag is also gone.
“Love? Are you alright?” I walk back into the bedroom and tap on the bathroom door.
“Love?” I twist the door handle, and it opens easily to a dark room. The light comes on as I enter and see the sterile space is undisturbed. I stand there confused and walk back into the bedroom, slipping my pants on. I look around the whole area and see that all traces of her are gone— I’m having a hard time computing what I am seeing. Because I know that what I am thinking is impossible, surely she didn’t …leave?
The phone rings again, and I snatch it up. “Yes?”
“My lord, you asked for an eight am wake-up. It’s eight oh two.” The polite and deferential voice grates on my growing nerves, but I contain it. “Thank you. Could you send up a pot of coffee and then someone from Security?” I will send out the entire army if that’s what it takes.
“At once, my lord. Is something amiss?” The voice is now politely worried.
“You could say that.” I hang up and prop my hands on my hips.
I can’t believe she’s gone.
And I can’t fucking believe I didn’t get her name.
