Chapter Eight.
1864 Words
~ Alistair's Pov~
The air in my dimly lit exclusive hotel suite is thick with the scent of coconut and white florals.
Brielle, a sub is already on her knees in front of me wearing a black lingerie set with her hands resting obediently on her thighs.
She is a professional at what she does, which is to take whatever it is given to her by men who have too much money and too many demons.
I am seated on the black sofa with a glass of whiskey in my hand.
My blood is too hot. It feels like battery acid running through my veins. Despite taking everything away from Thomas Miller, I feel nothing but a restless, violent itch under my skin.
I need to scratch it. I need to tear something apart.
Brielle unbuckles my belt while I take a sip from my glass.
She shoves my trousers down, freeing my length.
I am already hard—a painful, throbbing erection that has nothing to do with arousal.
I don't do vanilla s*x. I prefer the rough and primal kind of release.
She leans forward and begins to run her tongue up and down my length before taking the tip into her mouth and sucking it.
I groan in frustration as she repeats the motion twice. “Enough of that soft s**t," I growl, tightening my grip on her skull. “Just take it. All of it."
She opens her mouth and takes it all in at once.
“f**k”
The sensation is a sudden blinding white light behind my eyelids as the warmth of her mouth runs through me.
My grip on her hair tightens as she takes me deeper into her mouth. She knows her craft.
“Eyes on me,” I command.
She obeys. Her lips stretch wide around my thick shaft as her tongue swirls hot and wet against the underside as she sucks me deep.
I pull back just enough to let her gasp a single breath, then I pull her head back in.
"You like being used, don't you?" my voice is a rough rasp.
She moans around me with tears running from the corners of her eyes as she bobs her head with her eyes on me while her hands rests on my thighs for balance as she tries to keep up with my brutal pace.
"f**k, that's it, choke on it," I groan, feeling the vibrations of her muffled moans travel straight up my length.
My hips raise as she continues her ministrations and I can feel the release building.
"Don't you dare pull away," I warn, my voice guttural.
I pull her head further down as I spill deep down her throat, jet after jet of hot seed.
She makes gagging sounds, her eyes watering, her body jerking with the reflex as she takes it all in.
"Good girl"
I hold her there for another ten seconds, milking the aftershocks.
When she raises her head, her face is a hot mess of my c*m mixed with her mouth fluid. It drips off her chin and flows down to her breasts.
But just as I'm about to pull her up and take her on all four, my phone rings.
The caller is Dante.
With a wave of my hand, I dismiss Brielle who stands and walks into the one of the bathroom to freshen up.
Grabbing a towel from the table beside the sofa, I wipe myself as I hit the call button.
"Do we have a name?” I answer, tossing the towel onto the cushion.
“Vincent's wife details have just been forwarded to your email” Dante's voice is muffled as though he is currently stuffing his mouth with food.
I hear a distinct sound in the background, the clinking of silverware on a plate.
I frown.
"Dante, tell me that you're not currently eating in my house?”
“Where else will I be?," Dante replies, the sound of him chewing clearly audible. "And I’m not just eating, I’m taste-testing."
He lowers his voice, though the amusement in it is hard to miss. "Also I'm not alone, Olivia and Eleanor are here. Your mother insisted on a surprise dinner. Something about you looking 'gaunt' in your last press conference."
Shit.
"They're waiting for me?" My voice softens instantly, losing its guttural edge.
"Waiting? Alistair, they've been here for thirty minutes. The table is already set. And honestly, thank God I showed up just in time, I was starving."
A chuckle escapes my lips. "You earn six figures, Dante. Hire a chef. Or learn to use a stove."
"Too much effort. Why cook when my best friend has a mother who thinks feeding people is a love language?"
"Just tell them I will be there in an hour.
I hang up, drop the phone on the nightstand and head into my bathroom to freshen up.
I need to get home. I have a dinner to attend.
~~~~~
The rain is pouring as I step into the car.
Inside the car, a text from Vivian pops up on my tab the second I power it on.
‘The marbles are currently being installed in VA hotels. IronClad failed.’
What the hell.
I immediately dial the number of my vp of logistics at IronClad. He picks in the second ring.
“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!”
“Sir... we... we issued the compliance hold just like you ordered. The docks were locked down. The marble was grounded.”
“Then why,” I say, as I try to control my anger, “did I just get a notification that the marbles are currently being installed at VA Hotels?”
Silence.
“I am waiting, Davies.”
“They... they bypassed the sea route, sir. They chartered air freight. We didn’t anticipate—”
“You didn’t ANTICIPATE!?” I roar, cutting him off and slamming my hand against the leather armrest. Evans, my assistant who is driving, flinches visibly but keeps his eyes on the road.
“I don’t f*****g pay you to anticipate! Not only did you try to cover up your f**k up you are trying to make excuses?”
“You better get to the bottom of this or you can kiss your job goodbye!”
I hang up before he can offer another pathetic excuse and toss the phone onto the seat beside me.
Vincent Ashford. The man is a drunk, a narcissist, and a fool. He barely knows how to tie his own ties, let alone orchestrate a multi-modal freight pivot.
He didn’t do this.
I narrow my eyes at the blurring city lights.
Vincent is too stupid for this move. Someone else did this.
Someone smart.
“Drive faster, Evans,” I bark. “I want to be at the penthouse in ten.
“The visibility is poor, Sir,” Evans says, his voice tight. “The storm is—”
“I don’t care about the weather. Move.”
I rub my temples as my head starts to ache.
I hate losing. I hate it more than I hate bad scotch. And losing to a fool like Ashford?
It feels like swallowing glass.
I look down at my tablet, pulling up the information Dante sent to me.
Sienna Hayes.
I freeze. My finger hovers over the screen.
Sienna.
It can't be.
It can't be her.
I scroll down.
‘Assistant to Vincent Ashford for nine years, married for three years. Has a younger sister at St Philips, parents deceased.’
Shit.
Why does it have to be her?
Suddenly, Evans slams on the brakes.
The car lurches violently. The tires scream against the wet road.
A sickening, heavy sound follows as the car collides with something.
The car comes to a halt, resting at a crooked angle in the middle of the street.
“What the f**k was that?” I snap, ripping my seatbelt off.
Evans is shaking. “Sir... I... she just stepped out. I didn’t see her. The rain...”.
My blood runs cold.
“You hit a person?”
“She just... she walked right out. I swear, Sir!”
“Damn it.”
I kick the door open and step out into the rain. The rain hits me instantly, soaking my suit.
I feel the rage boiling over. First the Ironclad issue, now this. My night is turning into a catastrophe.
I walk to the front of the car.
A body is lying in the street, crumpled in a heap of wet fabric. One shoe is missing. Her hair is plastered across her face. She looks small.
I stare down at her with cold detachment. I’ve seen worse. I’ve caused worse.
“Check her pulse,” I order Evans as I pull out my phone to call Dante and Vivian.
I step closer, the beam of the headlights illuminating her face as Evans gently brushes the wet hair from her cheek.
And then, my world stops.
The phone slips from my hand. It clatters onto the wet asphalt, but I don’t hear it.
It's her
She looks paler than in her pictures. There’s a bruise blooming on her jaw that didn't come from my car. Her lips are blue.
But it’s her.
Vincent's wife and the girl from ten years ago.
“Sienna,” I whisper, my voice clouded with disbelief.
Evans, who has returned to my side, is saying something to me but I can't hear any of the words he is saying. My focus is on her.
She looks thin. Too thin.
She’s soaking wet. She looks like she’s been dragged through hell and thrown out the other side.
I drop to my knees next to her. My hands are shaking —something they never do as I turn her gently and place her head on my lap.
She’s freezing.
"Hey,– hey! Can you hear me? stay with me!”
“Open your eyes, Sienna. "Don’t you dare pass out on me. Come on. Stay awake.”
Her eyes flutter open. They are unfocused, glassy. She looks at me, but she doesn’t see me.
She tries to say something but all that comes out is a weak, choked sound.
I pull her closer, tightening my hands around her and shielding her from the rain with my body.
“I’ve got you,” I say, my voice dropping to a rumble against her ear. “You are going to be okay.”
I feel her body going limp, her breathing shallow as she closes her eyes.
"Don't…close your eyes," I beg, feeling her go limp in my arms. "Look at me. Just look at me!".
I stand up, carrying her in my hands. She weighs nothing.
“Open the door!” I bark at Evans as I head back to the car with Sienna in my arms.
“Call Dr. Iris and tell her I will be there in ten. Also ask Dante to tell my mom and Olivia to eat without me” I instruct Evans as he sits in the driver's seat and starts driving to the hospital.
Vincent Ashford is going to pay for this.
- Writer
