Running to the kitchen, I grab the phone that sits on the counter and a knife from the butcher block. I go to my room, not hearing anything behind me as I scurry into the back of my closet and hide in the crawlspace where I used to play when I was little. Breathing heavily, I dial nine-one-one on the phone and wait only one ring for the operator to pick up.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Clutching the knife to my chest, my voice chokes as I whisper, “My mom just killed my dad.”
Chapter 1
Sven
You’re a Lint-Licker
“GET ON YOUR knees,” I tell the blonde in front of me. One thing the women who want me to fuck them learn right away is that I don’t say anything twice. Watching her eyes flare, she drops to her knees and her hands go behind her back. Her thighs spread, showing off her bare pussy.
“Open your mouth,” I murmur, running my hand softly along her jaw in approval. When her head lifts and she looks up, I feed her my dick inch by inch until it hits the back of her throat. Hearing her gag, I pull back, only to surge forward again. “Lick it, just the tip,” I command, watching her tongue swirl around the crown then press into her mouth, letting my head fall back as she bobs up and down along my length until I feel that familiar rush in my spine.
“Stop,” I growl, pulling her to her feet, turning her to face my desk and bending her over the top. Hearing her moan I kick her feet apart and roll the condom on. My hands slide around her waist, one cupping her breasts and the other zeroing in on her clit, skimming over it as her hips tip back and I slide in. This is only about one thing; it’s only ever about one thing. Stroking in and out of her, I feel her walls begin to spasm as I plant myself to the hilt and drop forward, coming hard. I take a second to catch my breath, and I can still feel her shaking in my arms as I pull out and step back.
“You can go,” I tell her, pulling off the condom and tying it off before walking into the adjoining bathroom, tossing it in the toilet, and then washing my hands and dick.
“I can go?” she repeats, not moving away from my desk or adjusting her dress that is still up around her waist. Turning to look at her, I’m sure she’s someone’s daughter or sister; she may even be a nice girl, but she means nothing to me. Like all the other women that my security asks to come up here, they come without knowing anything about me except what the rumors are.
“Yes, you can go,” I tell her, tucking myself back in and adjusting my shirt before walking over to my desk and taking a seat.
“You’re a prick,” she mumbles, wiggling her dress back down over her ass and stomping in her heels across the carpet to her bag that she dropped on the couch when she came in.
“You got what you wanted,” I remind her as she angrily shoves her arm through the strap of her bag. I may be a dick, but I didn’t fill her head with false expectations before fucking her and telling her to get out. She knew what was going to happen before she walked her ass up the stairs to my office, or at least she had a good idea of what was going to occur, and I sure as hell didn’t force her to her knees to suck me off.
“Whatever,” she says, looking at me once more, and I know from the look in her eyes that all I’d have to do is call her back and she would come. Annoyed by that, I look down at the spreadsheet in front of me, hearing the door slam hard.
Turning my chair, I look out over the club through the large window. There are hundreds of people below and some nights, like tonight, I’ll scan the floor and tell my security which woman I want. They’ll approach her and give her the choice to come to me or not. I have never had a woman say no, and most of the time they leave happy. But then there are times they leave pissed, because they think their pussy is made of gold and I should ask for seconds or drop a ring on their finger. Scanning the club, a flash of light catches my attention, and my eyes land on a woman who is between two guys with her phone in her hand. She is pointing at them then her cell phone. Normally, I wouldn’t think much about it, but something in the woman’s eyes isn’t right. Picking the phone up off my desk, I dial two.
“Already on it,” Zack, the head of my security, states and hangs up. Moving back to the window, I watch Zack and Lane approach her through the crowd then frown. She’s not dressed like she’s out for a night of fun with her friends; she looks like she’s wearing pajamas, and not even the sexy kind. Living in Sin City, you see a lot of shit, and chicks show up to the club in the strangest outfits, especially if they are having a bachelorette party.
Once Zack reaches her, he shoves one of the guys toward Lane then bends his face toward the woman, who lifts her phone to him. Squinting, I try to make out what’s on the screen, but the distance and lighting in the club makes it difficult to see anything. Shaking his head, the woman points at the phone again, and Zack touches his ear as my desk phone rings.
“Yeah?”
“She’s looking for someone who drugged her sister,” Zack says over the music and the crowd downstairs.
“Drugged and beat the crap out of my sister, at this club,” the woman screams into the mic.
“Bring her up,” I snarl, hanging up the phone, lifting my jacket from the back of my chair, slipping it on, and then straightening my tie. I don’t need this shit—not right now, not while all this other shit is going on around me. Over the last few months, a multitude of women have been drugged while partying here, but no one has ever gotten hurt—no one I’m aware of anyway.