Besotted (The Billionaire Banker Series)

By: Georgia Le Carre

‘Open your legs,’ I command.

Immediately she lifts her knees and lets them fall open so her swollen reddened sex is exposed to me. I have one hour to fuck, and that is exactly what I do. I fuck her until she is panting, her slim young body slipping against mine. Until she screams. She lies on her back, her eyes closed.

I cup her breast in the palm of my hand. It fits perfectly. ‘That was great. Thanks.’

She sits up. I watch the curve her waist and hips make and I feel like pulling her down and having her all over again, but I have an appointment in less than thirty minutes. She goes into the bathroom.

‘Don’t wash,’ I tell her.

She says nothing. Just nods.

I hear water running. By the time she comes out I am already fully dressed.

‘I’ll book you again next week,’ I tell her.

‘Sure. Arrange it with the agency.’ She seems oddly shy.


‘I need to use the toilet.’

By the time I come out she is fully dressed and waiting in the sitting room.

‘Do you need a ride back? The hotel offers a complimentary chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.’

She shakes her head.

A thought. She is wearing nothing under the dress. ‘Lift your dress.’

She doesn’t appear surprised, just quietly parts her coat and lifts her dress, and exposes her sex to me. My seed is still leaking out of her. I walk up to her, gently cup her buttocks and drop to my knees. I look up at her. She is watching me curiously. Bending my head I lick her slit, puffy with engorged, glistening flesh. She moans. I could have her again if I wanted to. I pull her dress back down and walk her to the door.

‘See you then,’ she calls.

I close the door and go to stand at the triple-glazed, floor to ceiling window. It has a marvelous view of Wellington Arch. I look at my watch and I catch sight of the pile of money sitting on the low table. I pick it up and put it into my jacket pocket, then I take my mobile out, and call her.

‘You forgot your money.’

She laughs. ‘Give it to me tonight,’ she says.

‘You’re spoiling my fantasy,’ I tell her.

‘Oh yeah?’ Her voice is challenging, full of life.

‘Yeah, but nice touch—the blonde wig.’

‘Thought you might like a change.’

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ she says softly. I imagine her sitting in the back of the Bentley.

‘Text me when you get home.’

‘I will.’

She makes a kissing sound and then she is gone.

I look at my watch. Ten minutes left before my next appointment with the Crown Prince Muqrin Bin Abdel-Aziz of the House of Saud. I ring the twenty-hour butler service and ask them to summon housekeeping. The Head Butler, Daniel Jordan arrives in less than five minutes with three foreign-looking chambermaids in tow.

In two minutes they have put right the bed and bathroom and out of the door, smiling broadly, their tips snug inside their tight fists. Daniel discreetly removes the gum from the sideboard, and perfumes the air with attar of roses. Afterwards, he takes up his position in the dining room, which is actually my favorite part of this particular suite. Soon food arrives on trolleys and waiters start gathering in the kitchen. Laura calls—His Highness and his entourage are in the lobby and on their way up. The butler starts walking towards the door.

I shoot my cuffs.

October, 2013

We build our temples for tomorrow,

strong as we know how,

And we stand on top of the mountain,

free within ourselves.

Langston Hughes


Lana Bloom

When I come back from the church, Blake is awake. He must have heard the car in the driveway. He is standing in the living room waiting for me. There are bluish shadows under his eyes, which make his eyes seem as if the entire sky has been boiled down and rendered in those two small points. He smiles faintly, like he does not quite know how to react to me, and my heart breaks for him. I remember reading George Orwell: You wear a mask and your face grows to fit it.

I go up to him and lay my cheek on his chest. He has had a shower and he smells clean and fresh. Like my idea of heaven. I feel him nuzzle my hair. It is like a prayer for which there are no words, and my love increases and ripens, the way fruit does in the autumn. He will never again have to pretend to be anything he is not. Or wear his mask with me. I think of Beauty dancing in the great ballroom with Beast. I am madly in love with Beast.

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