Page 9 of Depraved Royals
The man beside me is a total stranger.
He’s still asleep, his powerful chest rising and falling rhythmically. The morning light filters through the blinds, giving the room a dreamlike haze.
I slip quietly from the bed and into the ensuite, glancing at the shower. My pussy throbs at the memory.
The dull ache in my core will be with me for days.
I open the suitcase and rummage through the outfit choices. Boot-cut jeans, a black roll-neck sweater, and some clean underwear. Everything seems to fit, which is kind of weird, although the Chelsea boots are a little on the narrow side.
I wonder how often the concierge has assembled an entire wardrobe based on nothing more than a glance at his subject. I guess Kal brings a lot of women here.
I feel a sudden wave of nausea. All that vodka on an empty stomach. Kal gave me his body but didn’t give me anything to eat…
I dress quickly, scraping my hair into a high ponytail. There’s a makeup palette in the suitcase, and with a quick swipe of lipstick and a fresh application of mascara, I look like an average woman rather than one who was fucked hard twice last night. I sneak into the lounge and grab my jacket.
Time to get coffee. Can you evenbuycoffee in London? Maybe it’s just tea and tiny breakfast muffins. Either way, I’ll bring some back for Kal.
The private elevator stops in the reception area, and the doors glide open without a sound. I glance at the lobby window and sigh.
Rain. Of course. How could it not be raining?
The girl on the desk is about my age. She smiles at me as I pass, holding out an espresso cup.
“Hey there, Miss. This is for you, it’s complimentary. And don’t you want any breakfast?”
I stop and frown, taking the cup from her. “What? Sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”
She gestures at the bar area, and I look over. On a table is a single place setting with a vase of carnations and a carafe of fresh orange juice.
“Our chef is here early. You can order anything from Huevos Rancheros to a good old English fry-up.”
“Amazing,” I say. “Thank you, I’m starving.” I look again. “There’s only one place setting, though. Isn’t Kal joining me?”
“No,” the receptionist says, tapping the computer, “Mr. Antonov doesn’t eat in the morning.”
There’s a smash as the espresso shatters on the marble floor, shards of porcelain flying everywhere. The receptionist gives a yelp of surprise.
Antonov? No. Tell me I misheard her…
The receptionist is at my feet, brushing the splintered pottery into a small pan and reassuring me as she does so.
It’s alright, Miss, don’t worry. Accidents happen. You just take a seat, and we’ll get you more coffee.”
I duck down to her height and grab her shoulder. She recoils, staring at me.
“Did you sayAntonov?”
The receptionist looks at me like she’s sure I’m out of my mind. “The man whose…hospitality you’ve been enjoying is Mikhail Antonov, yes. He asked us to make sure you could get breakfast here this morning. Is something wrong?”
I get to my feet and stumble away towards the revolving door that leads into the street, ignoring the receptionist calling after me.
I was right the first time.
IknewI needed to get away from him. If I’d listened to my intuition and not my lust, I wouldn’t be here now, my pussy sore from being fucked by the man who represents everything that’s sick and twisted in my world.
How did he seem so normal? The devil came to me and stoked my desire, and I didn’t suspect it for a moment.
I’m every bit as fucking naïve as he thinks I am.