Vik

Chapter 2   

Vik Sitting in the VIP lounge and waiting for my flight until the society girl (I was terrible with names, you had to make an impression on me for me to remember your name), my mom set me up with showed up here too. Here on forward, we will call her society girl; I'm not going to risk asking her name because, at this moment, her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I mean another family event with these insufferable people and their fake politeness. She looked prettier when I was drunk; I didn't notice the Fake veneers, the fake lash, and the fillers when we went to dinner last night and when we ended up in her Room, where she sucked me off. I fucked her brains out; her fake pron star moans weren't as annoying as her voice sounded now. She was skilled, but now she was insufferable. There's a reason why I left without a word when she slept exhausted and didn't leave my number or even a note. I guess all those highlights and hair product has made her brain pretty dense to catch on to the signs. She was going on and on about her latest diet, where she ate a grain of rice every time she got hungry or something like that, and her last trip to Turkey left her nose and jaw sharper than the knife I was currently eyeing to slice open something to get my annoyance out. I could ask her to FUCK-OFF, but Mom won't be happy.

Her father is on the board of directors of some pharmaceutical firms owned by the Dillon family. They are the family I'd like to socialize with, but they have always been less social and secretive. I have only seen the OLD man Dillon with his son Gary who was a major stakeholder in all their businesses and the current front runner for the CEO of the whole corporation. Still, for some reason, the old man wasn't naming anyone the heir to the throne. It is the throne because he is one of the wealthiest people in our community. He once had a famous pop star perform on a 15th birthday because the birthday kid was a super fan. Rumor has it that she charged upwards of 5 million for a one-hour performance. That's the only nonbusiness-related news anyone has ever heard from that family. I'm about to ask her to leave, not faking a headache, when she bends over and bats her fake eyelashed and runs her fake red long-nailed finger over my dick, and says," Vik, I'd love to join the mile-high club with you," and I shut up, It was a long flight, and I don't mind bringing along a plaything. I smirk and raise an eyebrow at her, and she continues with her story, and I down another scotch.

A movement caught my eye, and I saw a tall, slender, but not stick-thin stiletto of a girl; she was trying to hide it under her baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants. Her long waist-length brown hair shone like silk stands, almost making me want to twirl them around my finger, flawless porcelain skin, and big beautiful hazel eyes covered with thick-rimmed librarian glasses. She smiled at the person next to her, probably asking if the seat was taken, and then I saw her Dimples, sexy and cute like Miranda Kerr. I could see she had meat in all the right places and would spill out of my hand if I tried to grab her in the throes of passion. What the fuck is wrong with me???? Throes of passion, what am I, English? 65? Simp? I never talked like this, but something about her is so familiar that I can't put a finger on it. Where have I seen her before? I'd have remembered if I had fucked her(I don't make love, I fuck...pure unadulterated primal fuck); body and face like her isn't forgettable no matter how wasted I was. Our eyes met when she scanned the Room; something instantly passed between us. She faces back to the book, and I can't help but laugh at her innocent display as a blush creeps up her neck. She was fucking gorgeous; I guess under my heated gaze, she felt the heat, and once she took off her oversized YALE sweatshirt...I was a goner; her perky tits, tiny waist, and long, lean legs were perfect for wrapping around my waist. All I could think about was to get her under me and how.