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Authors: Georgia Le Carre

Dirty Aristocrat

BOOK: Dirty Aristocrat
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Georgia Le Carre

ALSO BY GEORGIA

The Billionaire Banker Series

Owned

42 Days

Besotted

Seduce Me

Love’s Sacrifice

Masquerade

Pretty Wicked (novella)

Disfigured Love

Hypnotized

Crystal Jake

Sexy Beast

Wounded Beast

Beautiful Beast

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Dirty Aristocrat

Published by Georgia Le Carre

Copyright © 2015 by Georgia Le Carre

The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN
:
978-1-910575-25-3

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Author’s Note

Please note that this special edition of Dirty Aristocrat contains additional bonus material at the end that will be available only for a limited time.

It includes an exclusive sneak peak of my next release:

You Don’t Own Me

Which, I think may just be my steamiest book to date
.

And Bonus Book:

Crystal Jake Eden Series, Book 1

Hope you enjoy the
Dirty Aristocrat
 and your complimentary content!

Dedication

To all my readers who like it hot and hotter!

‘A secret’s worth depends on the people from it must be kept.’

                    —Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

CHAPTER 1

Ivan de Greystoke

The Dirty Aristocrat club, London

‘L
ord Greystoke? You wouldn’t be related to Tarzan, would you? You sure look a lot like him,’ she said with a brainless little giggle.

‘I could be, if you’re into that sort of thing,’ I drawled lazily.

‘I am,’ she said eagerly, her hands greedily skimming the muscles of my upper-arms.

So I pulled her, I think her name might have been Kitty, into the dark shadows of the club, and slammed her up against the wall.

‘Oooo,’ she cooed, her breath reeking of peppermint and alcohol, and her eyes wide and begging me to fuck her. Against the thin material of her outfit her nipples were straining.

I grabbed her dress—well it could have been a dress if it had not had such a drastic hemline: the poor girl had to fight all night to keep it down—and pulled it right up to her waist, exposing a black satin thong. The material had crept into her pussy and sliced her lips into two juicy pieces of luscious flesh.

Nice.

I got down on my haunches, and with her pussy at eye level, curled my fingers around her sweaty waistband and pulled the ridiculous scrap of cloth down. The lips had been shaved bald, but she’d left a small triangle of curly dark hair above them.

Awww … fuck. Not another fake blonde.

Still she was plenty sexy with a big red mouth that looked like it loved being stretched over a cock, real boobs, a round ass, and extra long legs, but her golden hair was the thing that had pulled me to her like a magnet.

It would just have to be doggy style.

She stepped out of her thong. It was still warm from her body heat. I brought it to my nose and inhaled. The wonderful musk from a night spent rubbing up to a lusty, moist vagina filled my nostrils. I became hard immediately.

‘Oh kinky,’ she squealed. It occurred to me then that her voice was too high and a tiny bit irritating.

Honey, you don’t know the half. I stood up and pulled her dress down over her ass cheeks and gave one of the round globes a good slap. ‘Now, get back on the dance floor, you dirty little slut,’ I growled.

‘Pervert,’ she accused.

‘I like to think so,’ I said and stepped aside.

She giggled and pushing herself off the wall, began her bottom-wriggling walk towards the dance floor. Already her dress was beginning to ride up her ass, and I could see a glimpse of one smooth ass cheek peaking out from under the material. She made no effort to pull her dress back down. Instead she looked back over her shoulder at me, sultry as a summer night in Istanbul.

I smiled slowly, approvingly.

She pretended to drop her purse and with her legs apart and bottom pushed up and out, bent down from the waist to pick it. Yup, both her pussy and asshole were on full display. The flash of so much pink drove my cock crazy.

She made it to the edge of the dance floor and turned to face me, pushed her breasts out, and started rubbing her nipples as she gyrated her hips. With every movement she made, her skirt was creeping higher and higher. There was something animalistic and raw about the way she stood, her thighs spread apart and glistening with sweat, utterly unashamed of the fact that she was making a spectacle of herself.

Looking intently at me, she deliberately lifted her hands over her head so her pussy lips poked out from under her dress. She was giving every man in that club a show. I looked around. Hundreds of eyes were crawling all over her body. Who doesn’t recognize wet pussy? A man dancing next to her accidentally/purposely rubbed his hand along her bare ass cheek.

Crude drunk.

That ass was made for this dick.

I gave him the stink eye as I prowled towards her, hornets in my blood. He jumped out of the way as if he had come across a rabid dog. It was hot and crowded on the dance floor and the beat of the music was as relentless as jungle drums. I stuck my leg between her spread thighs and she ground her hungry pussy onto the leather of my trousers. Her tits were bouncing and shaking with excitement.

She wanted a show.

And fuck was she going to get one.

Picking up her left leg, I curled it around my waist. Her naked pussy splayed open. With one smooth movement my hand slipped down her stomach. Here kitty, kitty. I cupped her pussy.

Fuck she was wet! I ran my middle finger down her slick slit and slipped it into her. I had planned to be subtle, but she grasped my hand with both hers and shoved my finger deeper into her hot, hungry hole. I pushed another two digits in and she groaned in ecstasy and frenziedly ground herself on me.

The other dancers stopped their pathetic little moves and stood in a circle to cheer me on. It was that kind of club, seedy. And this was her thing. Exhibitionism. Letting people watch while strangers finger fucked her. This was what she whispered into my ear at the bar earlier.

Music crashed and lights flashed around us while she rode my hand. She didn’t last long. The heat. The music. The audience. She climaxed all over my hand. Her juices squirting on the dance floor.

I pulled my fingers out of her and looked down at the hot, sticky mess I had made between her open thighs. Her legs were still trembling and her pussy lips were red and swollen from the vigorous finger fucking I had just given her.

Yeah, she’ll do nicely.

I released her leg, and with a satisfied smirk she pulled her dress over her dripping bits. She’d had her fun and now it was my turn. I dragged her off the dance floor towards the men’s toilets. Unlike her I like a bit of privacy when I get my rocks off.

Here I wasn’t Lord Ivan De Greystoke. Here I was Ivan the Terrible. 

Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

‘Whatever you do, don’t
ever
trust them. Not one of them,’ Robert whispered. His voice was so faint I had to strain to catch it.

‘I won’t,’ I said softly.

‘They are my own flesh and blood so they are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down.’

‘OK,’ I agreed immediately. I just wanted him to stop talking about his children. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

‘All right I won’t,’ I said in a placating voice.

‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

‘I won’t,’ I cried passionately and reached for his hand. The contrast between our hands couldn’t be greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver spotted. His nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a sixty-year old dying man. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it tenderly.

His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I cried desperately. I felt frightened. I didn’t want to lose him. The world stretched out as a cruel and lonely place without him.

‘Keep our secret and they cannot touch you,’ he said calmly.

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I promised.

‘No one,’ he insisted.

‘No one,’ I agreed, shaking my head.

He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’

‘Don’t say that,’ I urged even though I knew he was right.

His eyes moved to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’

My gaze swung to the window. It was closed. The heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples ran up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’

‘Just wait a while.’

‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me. Looking straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, he left this world.

For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the January wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and give them the bad news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelled strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to die and leave me to the wolves?

In that moment I felt so close to him I wished this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the real world. I heard the clock ticking. The fire in the massive hearth cracked and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked.

I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful, at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp. I let my finger run down his prominent nose and it shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him will be stone cold.

I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning?

My sorrow was so complete I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. I had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliant bright and when he smiled it seemed as if he was lit from within. He seemed so much stronger. I asked him if he wanted to eat.

‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.

But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’

At that moment I knew. Even so it was incomprehensible that he was really gone. I never wanted to believe it.

‘In the end you wanted to go, didn’t you?’

There was no answer.

‘It’s OK. I know you were tired. It was only me holding you back. You go on ahead. Find a place for me.’

He lay as still as a corpse. Oh god! I already missed him so much.

‘I understand you can’t talk. But you can hear me. When it is my turn I want you to come and get me. I’ll be expecting you to come in through the window. Go in peace now. All will be well. They will never know the truth. I will never tell them. To the day you come back to collect me.’

I opened up my nail kit and began to do his nails. With gentle care I filed and polished the yellowed nails.

‘There you go. That will last you forever. No one will ever be able to say I did not do a good job.’

Then I began to cry, not loud ugly sobs, but a quiet weeping. I didn’t want the servants to hear. To come rushing in or call the doctor waiting downstairs to come in and pronounce him dead. I knew what waited for me outside this room. Another hour … or two won’t make a difference. This was my time. My final hour with my husband.

The time before I became the hated gold digger.

Ivan De Greystoke

Mayfair, London

I closed the door and turned to her. She was looking up at me with a secret little smile. As if she knew something I didn’t. Quite frankly, I profoundly disliked girls who played these kinds of mind games.

‘Can I take your coat?’ I offered, shrugging out of my leather jacket and throwing it onto a chair nearby.

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