Chapter 10
I’m annoyed that it took me this long to find her fucking number.
I’m even more pissed to learn how long she’s been in London for. What’s worse? She skipped out on me without as much as a goodbye.
I had no fucking way of finding her. Unlucky for her, I have friends in low places, and I can get anything I want. Anything. I. Want.
It doesn’t matter that her number is private, or if she even wants to hear from me again. It’s happening. There are things to say and in any case, after what happened at my party, I need to make sure she’s okay.
Am I worried Charlize will go to the tabloids and sell our story? Not in a heartbeat.
She may think I don’t know her, but that’s where she’s mistaken. I know enough.
I know my mother and father wouldn’t approve, that’s a given, but that can’t be helped.
I can’t even confess to Devon or any of the boys. I had to lie and say it was the best night of my life and she rocked my world. I’m not saying she didn’t, but it just wasn’t in the way I expected.
Fucking Prescott family curses. That’s what Abigail used to call it, and I can’t say I disagree on that. There was a time when I thought that maybe what the Prescott’s had was bad luck, but now I’m starting to reevaluate that assumption.
What would’ve happened if I had fucked her?
I run a hand down my face, tapping my fingers on the desk impatiently.
I don’t even think about what I’m going to say, I thumb out a text and press send before I can change my mind.
Me
Charlize. It’s Alistair. We need to talk. Meet me tonight for dinner. I’ll send a car at eight.
It’s formal and to the point. And there’s no need to ask her for her address. I know she’s living in fucking Blakefield. It’s not the worst area of London, but it certainly isn’t the nicest either.
I don’t doubt that her grandmother left her with nothing, but I truly had no idea that was the case until last night. And that makes me mad. I don’t understand what was wrong with that old bag. When I looked it up this morning, it said the estate was in severe debt and everything was sold during probate to cover the losses. She wasn’t lying about that, then.
I sit at my desk in my home, waiting for a reply.
Normally, I’d pass the time on Sundays by having a low-key morning. Go collect the paper. Eat out at my favourite brunch spot, and then hit the gym for a couple of hours. It’s the one day of the week that I don’t go into work, so I do what I want.
This morning, however, I barely read two lines of the paper. My coffee is still sitting in the paper cup, long since cold, and my stomach is telling me it’s time to eat.
I can’t eat at a time like this. I need to see her.
The fact she ran out on me makes me all the more angry with myself. I should’ve made sure she got home safe. When I checked my security footage. I was surprised to find her stopping at my bedroom door. She just stood in the doorway, and since only the hallway, entryway and outside have cameras, I’ve no idea what she was doing. I watched with surprise as eventually she disappeared into my bedroom and came out with one of my jumpers slung over her arm. Damn thief. My lips curl up in a smile. At least she has good taste.
An hour later, I get a reply.
An hour!
The very idea she’s ignoring me makes me wild.
Charlize
Good morning to you, too. Did we sleep well?
My nostrils flare. I don’t know why she insists on playing these games with me. I can’t say I appreciate it. I thought after all these years she’d have grown up a little bit and lost the attitude, but I can clearly see that’s not the case.
Me
I think you already know the answer to that. I’ll be waiting at Cruz. The car will bring you there.
I don’t ask. I swear to God if she disobeys then I’ll have no choice but to go to Blakefield and hunt her down. And she doesn’t want that. I know she doesn’t.
Charlize
Is there a ‘pretty please’ with that? If so, I might consider it.
She always did have a smart mouth. Little bitch.
Me
No, but if you bring a better attitude with you, it’d be greatly appreciated.
I can just imagine her giving me the middle finger. That would be just like the Charlize I remember. The rest? I’m not so sure.
I head downstairs to the cafe next door for a quick omelette, then hit it out at the gym — two fucking hours late — all because I couldn’t move from my seat until Charlize messaged me back.
I cringe when I think about my dirty talk.
I also cannot bring myself to think about what else I did and how that made me feel. If I let myself, then I know I’ll be rock hard all over again and that won’t do.
Ramming my cock down her throat was supposed to be a release, not a goddamn sin that I’d have to repent for all of eternity.
Charlize
I can’t promise anything.
I know she’s just trying to get a rise out of me. But I have the upper hand here. Not her.
Me
My jumper can also be returned at your leisure.
A reply comes back immediately, and it makes me chuckle.
Charlize
Why? I like that jumper. It’s Dior.
Me
Because you stole it. And it’s one of my favourites.
It’s not really. I don’t give a fuck about it, or anything she wants to have. That protective surge flows through me once more, lighting my veins on fire. I like it when she has my shit, I realise. And I want her to have more of it. Maybe it’s my conscience calling — or the fact I just feel guilty that she’s grown up poor, but I want her to have the best of everything.
She deserves it.
Charlize
I’ll be sure to return it when I’m done ??
I’m tense and edgy for the rest of the day until I’m getting ready for dinner. I already took a drive to Blakefield and I don’t like the area. It’s dull and lifeless and has too much graffiti. Furthermore, Charlize shouldn’t be living in a neighbourhood like that. It isn’t safe. What kind of money is she earning in her day job? She claimed that meeting with me last night was her first time. I don’t know if I believe her, but the thought of her with some other man makes my blood curdle.
She’s too good for this, and for me. She’s better than that.
Though I know why some women seek that kind of work out or try OnlyFans; it’s for the quick cash. And that’s great, as long as you’re not Charlize Prescott. No way in God’s earth is she going to bare her body for all to see. I’ll make sure of it.
I pick out a new, white button down and a navy blue jacket and pair it with jeans.
Cruz is a high-end restaurant in my neighbourhood, but jeans are acceptable. I take a shower, ignoring my cock as it hangs heavily between my legs, needing attention.
I may have time to bust a nut, but that doesn’t mean I should. The main reason being I still have Charlize on my mind, and her touch on my skin. Still. I don’t have to picture her while I’m pleasuring myself. I’ve been jerking off my entire life, I’m pretty sure I can get the job done without crossing any more morally grey lines.
My hand reaches for my cock and I give it a tug. Once. Twice. Then I grab the soap, lathering it in my hands as I wash my body clean. My hand moves back between my legs, unable to ignore my raging cock any longer. I tug on it once more. Then I squeeze and start to pleasure myself, bracing one hand against the shower tile as the warm spray hits me from all angles. I fucking love this shower and the pressure.
It hits just right. Just like my hand… I work myself harder, jerking in long, hard pulls as the vision of Charlize on her knees flashes before my eyes. A groan leaves my chest.
Her taking my cock with those pretty pink lips. She enjoyed it, and I fucking loved it. I close my eyes. No. But it’s like my mind— or my conscience — won’t let me forget.
She’s a dirty little whore. But I’ll be fucked if she’s gonna be anyone else’s whore. No goddamn way. I may not have ruined her for any other man like I promised, but I sure as fuck am not gonna let her continue as an escort. Not on my watch. I’ll make sure she never has to lift a pretty little finger for the rest of her life. And I don’t want shit for it. I want to see her happy, not struggling. Living the life that she deserves.
I remember her little whimpers as I pulled her nipple, tweaking the little bud between my fingers. Perfect tits. Perfect pussy. Perfect little ass. Perfect fucking everything.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself when I imagine shoving my cock into that tight, little hole. The one I already fucked with my tongue.
A low growl leaves my throat as I tighten my grip and quicken my pace. Everything about last night was wrong, but my body tells me otherwise.
My body tells me it was the hottest night I’ve had in a very, very long time.
My body tells me this woman is under my skin, able to get to the heart of me quickly.
My body twitches as I close my eyes and I let myself have this moment of unbridled passion. Of want and lust that is not only forbidden but completely wrong.
But like the sadistic bastard I am, I take it anyway, revelling in the fact that I made her come so quickly and easily. When I imagine sinking my fat cock inside her, I lose it, and I know I’m going to hell when I spurt my hot cum all over myself and the shower wall. I milk myself until every last drop is expelled from my body.
I utter no words. None are needed.
The water washes away all the evidence of my sins — and I chuckle. If only it were that simple. I’m not even fucking sorry; how’s that for repenting?
I turn the taps off and run my hands through my wet hair.
Tonight is solely about setting the record straight.
I’ll give Charlize a check so she’ll never have to work that fucking escort job ever again — or any job for that matter. It’s high time Charlize Prescott realised her worth. I know that terrible upbringing has played a part in the reason why she’s basically living in squalor right now, and that makes me mad. I had something to do with that. A big something. And it’s now my job to rectify it.
If I can’t do something good with my fucking money, then what is the point after all?
Charlize is no charity case, I get that — but she should not be suffering like this. Not ever. And I know by where she lives and what she’s doing for work that she needs money. Money her grandmother should have given her if she’d been able to manage her finances better.
Again, guilt washes over me. I can’t help it. Charlize is no longer a girl — she’s a woman. A woman who isn’t living how she should. How she deserves.
This feeling—it’s like a slowly, seeping poison finding its way into my system. Snaking up inside my veins to wrap around everything inside me.
I should leave it well alone. No good can come from this. But then I reason with myself that Charlize deserves it. The money will help. Maybe it is a bargaining chip to get her out of my life once and for all — she did tell me she wanted to travel and hadn’t been able to do that since arriving in London. Times are tough.
As I dry myself off with a towel and begin to dress, I feel that feeling pounding in my chest; the excitement of seeing her again.
In all sincerity, I want to know how she’s doing. If she’s enjoying her life and doing all the things she set out to do, despite being poor. Of course, my version of poor and hers are probably light years away, but I won’t apologise for my wealth. I’ve earned all the perks that money can buy, and I didn’t do it by ripping anyone off.
We’ve never even had a real conversation about her mother, not since that day at the funeral. It was one of the last times I ever saw her. She was just a kid when her world turned upside down; she didn’t deserve any of what happened or what fate had in store for her in Australia. That’s what makes me persevere with this dinner— so I can make amends. I never expected that we’d ever be family — or even friends — but if we can end things civilly and she goes her way and I go mine, that would be the best outcome.
I don’t like worrying about her.
I don’t like thinking about her.
And I sure as fuck don’t like jerking myself off in the shower recapping everything about her and that body that was never made for me.
Yes. It may be a fact that Charlize Prescott is under my skin, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on it. It would be irresponsible of me to knowingly leave her in a worse situation than she was in before. The money she got for last night will only go so far.
And knowing her, she’ll like the money. She’ll want to do it again… with some other guy.
I’ve no right to feel anger or resentment, but that’s exactly how I feel when I think about another man with his dirty paws all over my princess.
My princess?
Am I delusional? She’s no more mine than the fucking Crown Jewels. But none of these things will stop me.
Dinner. Check. Goodbye, Charlize.
It’s as simple as that.