Besotted
Georgia Le Carre
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Besotted
(Book 3 of The Billionaire Banker series)
Published by Georgia Le Carre
Copyright © 2014 by Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9928249-4-5
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The way to make money is to buy when blood is running in the street.
John D. Rockefeller
Table of Contents
Blake Law Barrington
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Bonus Material
Blake Law Barrington
April, 2014
The knock on the Lanesborough Suite’s door is firm and unhesitant. I glance at my watch. Very punctual. I like that. I open the door and… My, my, she is a beauty: waist-length, straight blonde hair, gorgeous big eyes. And scarlet lips. Lana almost never colors her lips so red. A pity. She is wearing a long, white coat belted at the waist and really, really high heels. They remind me of the shoes Lana wore the first night I met her.
She is chewing gum, though. I hate that. She must watch too many movies about big-hearted hookers. I put my hand out, palm outstretched. For a moment she looks at me, clueless. I raise my eyebrows and she hurriedly takes the gum out of her mouth and drops it into my hand. Then she raises her own eyebrows and cheekily stretches her hand out.
‘Don’t you want to come in first?’ I ask, amused but not showing it.
‘Of course,’ she says and walks past me. Her accent is odd. She must be making it up as she goes along.
I close the door and watch her walk ahead of me. She has a good walk. I like a woman who can walk with grace. She stops in front of the low table where there is a platter of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne cooling in an ice bucket, and turns around to face me. For a moment I am distracted by the picture she makes standing in the agreeably English decor of traditional prints and chintzes teamed with bold choices of acid greens and Schiaparelli pinks. I put the gum on the sideboard.
‘I’m sorry, what’s your name?’
‘Rumor.’
I smile. The name suits her. She looks like a rumor. Couldn’t possibly be true.
‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’
She lifts one foot and lets it swing back. It is impossibly erotic. ‘I’d like to be paid first.’
I don’t react to the provocation. ‘The money is by the lamp.’
She glances at the neat pile of money as she works the two buttons on her coat. The coat lands on the sofa behind her. She is wearing a very short white dress. Wordlessly, she turns away from me and bends from the waist, so her ass is pushed out and her skirt rides up to where her smooth thighs indent and I glimpse the other thing I had specified—a freshly waxed pussy. The lips are already swollen and reddened, and as I watch moisture starts to gather.
Immediately I am hard as hell.
Slowly, holding that position, she counts the money. The desire to ram her while she is counting her money is strong, but I resist. She puts the last note on top of the pile she has counted, and turns to face me.
‘All there?’
‘Yeah,’ she says slowly, her acquired accent undergoing another change. ‘All there.’
I move towards her and put my hand between her legs. Obligingly, she parts them and my fingers start to play with the soaking flesh.
‘So Rumor, what shall we do with you?’
‘Mr. Barrington—’
‘Blake,’ I say persuasively, as I continue to explore the silky, wet folds.
She takes a steadying breath. ‘Blake, we can do anything you want to do, so long as you remember anything kinky is extra.’
‘What kind of kinky things are on offer?’ I plunge my middle finger into her.
She gasps and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. I watch with amusement.
‘You’re the customer. Tell me what kinky things you want and I’ll do them.’
‘Have you been on many callouts?’
‘Not really. Just one other time.’
‘Tell me—what did he do to you?’
‘He fucked me really hard.’
‘How hard?’
‘So hard I was too sore to go to my next appointment.’
‘Have you got another appointment after this?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
She turns around, lifts the heavy curtain of golden hair and offers me her zip. I pull it down and she wriggles out of her dress. It falls on the pink carpet. I run my hand along the nude flesh. She shivers. I turn her around to face me. Her body is very beautiful and her pupils are so dilated that her irises are almost black. I lift her up—she is as light as a feather—and carry her into the lavish, blue bedroom. I lay her down gently on the king-sized, four-poster bed. I look down on her pale body. I have bought her. For the next hour she is mine to do anything I please with. The thought electrifies me.
‘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.