Empire of Sin (Empire #2)(10)

“You better have a good fucking reason for calling me this early in the morning.”

“Her Majesty the Queen called and said, “Excuse your bloody French.””

“I’m sure she also told you to go take a wank.”

He feigns a gasp. “How dare you put such foul language in her mouth?”

“Is there a reason behind your call, Dan?”

“Blasphemy! What’s more important than the Queen?”

“My sleeping time.” Though he did wake me up from the nightmare, so I should be thankful, really. “Now, are you dead?”

“Obviously not.”

“Are you in a compromised position and need help?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then call me back when it’s not early morning. If by any chance, you have an emergency before that, call 911.”

“First of all, fuck you. Second, I think I told you we’re playing golf with the mayor today and you should’ve been here about…fifteen bloody minutes ago. And finally, it’s not early fucking morning.”

I slide my arm away from my eyes and peek at the time on my phone. Sure enough, it’s past ten.

Considering I’m not the type who sleeps in, this is as weird as a sideways fuck.

“Where the fuck are you anyway?” Daniel asks, sounding more impatient by the minute. He’s all fun and games until things don’t go according to his plan.

Though most of his plans suck, and they’re a bit impulsive sometimes, which might play a role in the sheer number of people he attracts on a daily basis.

He’s my only British friend in the States. We studied law together, graduated together, and we now work together.

We’ve even shagged together. Not he and I. There was always a woman in between.

We don’t make a habit out of it, but it’s something for when we’re bored and need extra endorphins.

“Somewhere…” I squint again due to the light slipping from between my fingers.

Where am I really? A piece is missing from my head, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is.

“At least tell me you’re back from Jersey?”

“Jersey? Oh, yeah, Jersey. No, I’m still here.”

“What the fuck, mate? Weren’t you supposed to come back last night after meeting a client?”

“I had a change of plans.”

“What about golf?”

“There’s been a change of plan for that, too.”

“What?”

“Golf is boring and so is the mayor. Now, screw off.”

I end the call and stare to my side, expecting to find the woman from last night.

Anastasia, she said her name was.

I don’t usually care about their names since they’re erased from my head after the night is over, but the fact that she was the one who demanded anonymity was what got my wheels turning.

Usually, they don’t.

Usually, I would have to tell them beforehand that this is a one-time thing and then it’s over.

I didn’t have to with Anastasia since she was the one who practically demanded it.

It’s thrilling, she said.

And it was.

Having her completely compliant underneath me as she struggled with holding in her noises got my dick hardening in an instant.

I fuck a lot of women—like, a lot, so many that I’ve lost count—but none of them have been as memorable as the girl who gave me complete rein.

Not only did she not complain, but she also fell into my rough, fast rhythm as if she enjoyed it as well. As if she couldn’t get enough of it.

I knew there was something about her from the time we were at the bar, and I had to explore it, had to get my hands on her and see it until the end. I was supposed to go back to New York last night, but then I decided I would fuck her.

I decided I would have her writhing and screaming beneath me as I held on to her icy blonde hair.

She’s easily the best fuck I’ve had in a long bloody time.

Maybe it’s because of that, or curiosity, or another illogical reason, but I didn’t leave right after, like I usually do, especially since she gave me an opening by falling asleep.

But for some reason, I couldn’t just walk away.

Partly because, despite the powerful release from last night, my dick still demands more. Which is why I was planning to pick up where we left off this morning.

That plan is demolished, however, when I find her side of the bed empty. I run my hand over where she slept, but it’s cold, so that means she left some time ago.

Huh.

I sit up, all the sleep vanishing from my eyelids.

She’s gone.

Anastasia, the girl who wore red and was mouthy, is no longer here.

Under normal circumstances, I’d let it go. In fact, I should be glad that I don’t have one of the clingy ones who demand to have my phone number or tells me to call her.

But the fact that she left without a word sends sparks of fire through my veins.

Women don’t disappear on me. Ever.

And yet, this Anastasia didn’t think twice about it.

That’s a fucking first.

I stand up, pushing the sheet away, and don’t bother with putting on clothes.

My foot collides with something and I bend down to inspect what it is. It’s the butterfly pendant she had dangling against her creamy white back last night.