Blood Rites

By: Amity Cross

I pumped my cock harder in my hand, my skin heating with my imminent orgasm. When I blew, my cum hit the tiles and I snorted at the irony. I jacked off plenty of times, but my load usually ended up on a woman rather than on the wall.

Turning off the taps, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. Wiping the condensation from the mirror with the palm of my hand, I stared at my reflection.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Vaughn.

I couldn’t deny that I’d felt something different when I’d laid eyes on Lorelei. I’d pursued women before, bent their will and gotten them into bed, but that’s all it was. Just a game.

I didn’t do relationships. I couldn’t in my line of work. Attachments could be used to get to me. I had to be un-fucking-touchable.

The more I tried to convince myself, the more my thoughts kept turning back to Lorelei. Sweet, innocent Lorelei. How she would scream in ecstasy when I finally fucked her.

I was a man who would do whatever it took to get what I wanted. I would fucking kill if it meant getting my way.

I wanted to fuck Lorelei Lansford and I’d do whatever it took to have her.



A few days passed and I couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian.

Which was quite ridiculous since I didn’t know anything else about him, other than he was hot and obviously rich.

The way his fingers brushed against mine, his smile. I shook my head to clear it. Damn fantasies.

I stood in the middle of the vast white space of the gallery, supervising as Bill and Jude, the guys from the warehouse, hung a painting on the wall for our newest showing. Original abstracts by a new French painter who was all the rage at the moment. Bold black and grey studies of the human consciousness or some such. Score one for the gallery and score one for the woman who secured it. Me. Bloody right.

“Perfect, guys,” I declared, clapping my hands together.

The boys jumped down from their ladders and began clearing their equipment. This opening was going to be bloody amazing. We had a whole week to get things organized and it was going to be the place to be in the art scene. Space Gallery was already on the map, but it was about to be the map. Galleries would be following our lead for months.

The outside door opened, letting in traffic noise and I turned to see a delivery man hovering at the front desk. Wandering over, I smiled.

“I’ve got a delivery for Lorelei Lansford?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied, wondering what it could be. I signed the slip and the delivery guy handed me a letter before leaving.

Bex materialized from the office, her heels clicking across the polished concrete floors. “Who’s that from?”

I turned it over, but there was no reply address on the envelope. It was some posh, oversized letter that screamed party invite. Who did I know that would send an invite to the gallery?

“I have no bloody clue.”

“Looks fancy,” Bex said. “Open it then!”

Breaking the seal with a fingernail, I pulled out a card printed on heavy, cream-colored, stock paper. Turning it over, I realized it was handwritten in some fancy calligraphy. Black and gold, my full name right at the top.

It was a party invitation, but not the kind I was expecting. My gaze ran over the words Sebastian and Vaughn and I almost died right there on the spot. So, that’s who he was. The bad boy of the West End. Bloody hell, and he made my knickers wet! I felt myself flushing. Was I outraged or excited that he’d flirted with me? I decided on outraged.

“Shit, Bex,” I declared, my mouth dropping open.

She snatched the invitation from my fingers. “Fancy,” she said, then her jaw dropped. “Sebastian Vaughn? The Sebastian Vaughn?”

“It’s just a party invite,” I said, trying to be flippant about it. Should I tell her about our disastrous interlude on the street yesterday? No, knowing Bex she wouldn’t shut up about it. That, she would say, is fate. Hopeless more like it.

“Black tie,” she said with a whistle. “How do you know him?”

I flushed.

“Lorrie! Are you holding out on me?”

I sighed. “I don’t know him at all,” I said, trying to downplay the whole thing. Because I didn’t. I spoke to the guy for five seconds, he made me all kinds of horny with a brush of his fingers and… He sought me out to invite me to a party. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? He was interested? If he was interested, he would’ve asked you on a date.

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