Lord of London Town

As Cheska took one last look at me over her shoulder, I flicked my cig overboard and walked from the sun deck to follow my mates. As I hit the pavement on the marina, all my brothers were waiting. I glanced up at Cheska’s yacht, and like five years ago, in the top window stood Chelsea Girl, green-brown eyes fixed on me, watching me go.

The coke and molly ran thick in my blood. Coloured lights circled the dancefloor, and trance music pounded from the speakers all around us. Some bird in a short blue dress climbed all over me, her over-filled lips kissing my neck as I drank whisky and smoked my joint. I was too fucking wasted to push her off. I rolled my head to the dancefloor, watching people grinding against each other from our table in the VIP room as the slut’s hand slipped inside my shorts and ran over my boxers, stroking my dick. Everyone was off their tits on drugs and booze and the freedom that came with their two weeks’ holiday in the sun, away from England’s grey skies and their fucking mundane lives.

The slut on my lap cupped my dick just as a group of people moved to a table beside us. The green laser lights in the club reflected off my glasses, blurring my sight … but as I narrowed my gaze, I saw a brunette in a fitted pink dress … and then she was all I could fucking see. Brown hair down her back, long legs, tight-as-fuck body … and her focus right on me.

Cheska.

When the lights switched from green to yellow, she became crystal clear. I smirked, only for that smirk to drop when Twatface from the yacht grabbed her face and kissed her. My heartbeat pounded in my ears; the drugs swelled my veins and fucked my brain. Cheska kissed him back, half-arsed. Her eyes were open. They were fixed on me.

“Fuck me,” the whore on my lap said. She was a total slapper. And she was gagging for my cock. In truth, she’d seen us in the VIP and wanted to escape the rammed main dancefloor for a night and be around the men who could give her free drinks. But she hadn’t stopped touching me since she clapped eyes on me. “Touch me,” she said again. I didn’t want to touch this rancid bitch. I just couldn’t be arsed to fight her off. The drugs were quick and she was here, nothing more to it. I wasn’t fucking this slut’s hole for all the money in the world … but now Cheska was here.

And I wanted to see her burn.

Eyes locked on Cheska, whose mouth was getting sloppily fucked by Twatface’s tongue, I slid my hand under the slut’s dress. Cheska’s gaze followed my every move. My attention never moved from her. I pushed the slut’s thong aside and slipped a finger inside her. The whore on my lap screamed, her nails digging into my shoulders.

Twatface kissed down Cheska’s neck, sucking on her skin, giving her full view of me and what my hand was doing. Cheska’s eyes widened, and her cheeks blazed. Her chest lifted up and down, fucking breathless, as I plunged my fingers into the slut’s pussy. I couldn’t give a fuck about getting this bitch off. But I wanted Cheska to see this whore as her. Her on my fucking lap, not getting slobbered on by the prick currently trying to eat her neck.

The slut screamed out and her pussy tightened around my fingers as I made her come. The loud music drowned out her screams, but I knew Cheska had heard her by the parting of her lips. The slapper tried to collapse against me, but I pushed her back from me by her forehead, done with having her anywhere near me. “Get the fuck off,” I said, not even looking in her direction. I pushed her arse off me, dumping her in the chair, and got to my feet.

I needed a fucking cig.

I crossed the room and pushed outside into the alleyway. I pulled a cig from my pocket and sparked up, inhaling deep. The door opened beside me, and I looked up and saw Chelsea Girl slip through. It slammed shut behind her, making her jump. I put my cig in my mouth and faced her, leaning against the wall. Like she felt the weight of my stare, she turned from the door and faced me.

She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why I followed you …” She took a step closer. Fuck, the drugs were good. Ours, of course, so I knew they were pure. But they made this posh bird I first saw years ago look like a fucking angel. “Arthur Adley,” she said and smiled. I felt something pull in my chest at my name on her lips.