Lord of London Town

I went to turn my head again, when someone walked out from below deck and toward the two sunbathers. The hand holding my cig stopped en route to my mouth when I saw her long legs and olive skin. The dark hair that was pulled up on top of her head. She was wearing a white bikini, fucking curves like an hourglass.

As if she was feeling my stare, she looked over, and the minute she did, I recognised those eyes. Those big fucking eyes that were fixed on me and widening by the second. Green-brown eyes that I never fucking forgot …

Cheska Harlow-Wright …

The memory smashed into my brain like a crowbar. The memory of her posh accent sank like talons into my eardrums. Chelsea Girl. In all these years, I’d never forgotten this posh-as-shit Chelsea girl.

Cheska stopped dead, the fancy red drink in her hand spilling over the sides. “Cheska!” one of her friends said, wiping the drink off her stomach. But Cheska didn’t move. She just kept staring at me.

My eyes dropped to her body, devouring every inch. Chelsea Girl was all grown up. And she was even more fucking gorgeous than she had been back then. I finally took a drag of my cig, eyes never off her, and moved near my friends. Cheska’s eyes followed me the whole way, red bursting on her cheeks. I’d thought of this girl often. And here she was, standing right before me, in Marbella.

I stopped next to Charlie, my dick swelling just looking at Chelsea Girl’s cock-sucking red lips. My cousin leaned in close. “A friend of yours, old boy?” he asked, nudging his chin at Cheska. I narrowed my eyes at my cousin; Charlie laughed knowingly. I wasn’t laughing. I was imagining her underneath me, imagining fucking tearing her apart, pushing three of my fingers into her wet cunt.

Charlie dropped down on the lounger behind us. “Wake me up when something interesting happens.” He lay out on the cream lounger and shut his eyes. I smirked at the dark-skinned bird staring at Charlie like he was her next meal. Poor bitch had nothing on her menu that Charlie wanted. Pussy did nothing but offend him. But women always wanted him. He had brown hair and brown eyes, six feet three and cut with muscle. Freddie called him a bird’s wet dream. My cousin was also the most ruthless motherfucker I had ever met. No one fucked with Charlie Adley and lived to see the next day. It was why he was my right-hand man and best mate. I trusted him with my life.

“What’s your names, ladies?” Eric shouted over to Cheska and her friends. The redhead stuck her middle finger in the air in response. Eric held his hand over his chest. “You wound me, beautiful. You fucking wound me!”

“Then piss off!” she shouted back. Eric laughed, but the bird had no idea she’d just become his next conquest.

I tracked Cheska as she placed her drink down on the table beside her friends. Her eyes kept flicking away from mine before snapping back. I took a swig of my beer. She seemed to breathe faster as I kept my gaze on her. I watched her nipples harden and wanted nothing more than to feel them against my tongue—I wanted to taste all of her. Her tits, her tanned skin, and her posh pussy.

I flicked my cig to the floor when engines roared to my right. Four blokes were riding jet skis toward Cheska’s yacht. I narrowed my eyes on the arseholes as they turned off their engines at the side of the yacht, climbed the ladder and walked onto the deck.

A blond pretty boy moved to Cheska and kissed her on the cheek. My blood boiled. I had the sudden need to rip his fucking head off his shoulders. Cheska’s eyes stayed locked on mine even as the fucker put his hand on her arse and squeezed. Chelsea Girl had a boyfriend.

To me, he only looked like dead meat.

Then the shitstain looked over at my yacht.

“Who the fuck are these guys?” he asked the girls, his pathetic friends coming to stand behind him like they thought they could be threatening. They had no fucking idea who they were eyeballing.

As if my thoughts were a command, the shitstains before us seemed to suddenly see Eric’s ink. His bright tattoos were picture after picture of deranged and psychotic clowns—sharp teeth and claws, mouths sadistic and dripping with blood. Eric’s smile turned from dirty for the redhead to fucking crazed in one second, and their smirks melted off their aristocratic faces.

“Happy to introduce ourselves,” Eric said, a dark edge to his voice, his cockney accent thickening.

Freddie kicked Charlie’s lounger, and my cousin opened his eyes. “You wanted to be woken up when something interesting happened.” Freddie pointed to the other yacht’s arseholes. “Well, something fucking interesting is happening.”