Roxana's POV:

Almost two weeks had passed since my encounter with Harry. After a three day binge drinking and drugging marathon, I had been relatively sober for the last couple of days, spending as much time as possible lazily lounging around our rooftop garden. I scribbled stuff into my notebook here and there, and entertained random friends who stopped by. Needless to say my tan was phenomenal. My phone rang and I didn't even bother checking the caller ID.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Rox, you have to come with me to this club tonight! Reptile Youth is playing a surprise show!” a female voice said excitedly.

“Who is this?” I asked completely calm.

“Rox! It's Flo, your supposedly best friend?” Florence said, obviously offended.

“Yeah, right. Sorry, Flo, bad acoustics,” I didn't even try to sound convincing.

“Geez, how high are you?”

“I'm on the rooftop,” I stated.

“Literally or metaphorically?”

“Both, I guess,” I chuckled lowly.

“Well, anyways, you gonna come tonight?” she changed the topic.

“Will there be booze and drugs and good music?” I said dryly.

“Absolutely,” I could practically hear her grinning through the phone.

“Perfect. Pick me up at 10,” I said and hung up. I guess you could say I was sort of a bitch to my best friend sometimes, but she could also count on me whenever she needed me. Just because we don't declare our love for each other every chance we get doesn't mean we're not close.

I checked the time and sighed lazily, closing my eyes and letting the sun kiss my face. I asked myself whether I really wanted to go out tonight, and couldn't really decide. The last days had been fun, I liked being alone and doing whatever I wanted. I was sick of people staring at me while I was out. Apparently, my behaviour was somewhat 'shocking' at times. Besides, going out required wearing clothes, and I quite liked running around in my underwear or bikini. Less clothes, less worries.

“Miss Blackwood, your mother is on the phone,” our town butler, Reginald, stood in front of me with a phone in his hand. I sighed heavily and picked it up.

“Maman,” I said calmly.

“Cherie, how are you? I'm just ringing in to say your father and I are having an absolutely thrilling vacation,” the sulky voice of my french-born mother filled my ears.

“That's lovely to hear,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Frankly, I didn't give a fuck.

“How is that new book of yours coming along? And university?” her tone became sharper. I groaned silently.

“Splendid, maman, just splendid,” I said curtly. Ever since my surprise top-selling novel 2 year back, my parents expected me to write a sequel.

“That's fantastic! Remember: you cannot embarrass the Blackwood name. Great things will come to great people,” she gave me one of her supposedly wise sayings.

“Of course, maman. I have to continue working now,” I lied through my teeth.

“Then do that, cherie. I'll call you again soon. Bisous!” she chirped happily. I swear, half of the time my mother was on at least 50 pills.

“Salut, maman,” I sighed and hung up. I hated it when they called in. I wanted nothing to do with the people who had me raised by nannies. I never experienced parental love, which might be the reason I cannot express love either.

I returned the phone to Reginald and got up. The day was ruined now, might as well go out and drink myself into oblivion. Good times.


Florence's POV:

I honked for the third time when Roxana finally showed her face. Letting herself fall onto the passenger seat of my new Jaguar F-Type, she put one of her black cigarettes between her blood-red lips and lit it.

“Nice outfit,” I complimented her feathered skirt, which she had managed to fit into an otherwise rather Rock'n'Roll ensemble.



“Cheers, Flo. Like your dress,” she said back and we curtly smiled at each other. Yep, that was it. Massive display of affection.

I pulled up in front of the club, parking on the other side of the road without giving any damn about parking laws. I wasn't gonna drive home anyways, so it might as well get towed. The security let is in immediately and we made our way to the bar, where Rox ordered her beloved Whisky and I settled on Vodka. The club was dark and gross, with maybe-Hipsters running around, desperately on the search of someone famous to cling onto. A few of them eyed us curiously, but we were ignoring them. Since the tabloids crowned us 'London's underground royalty', our faces appeared in their pages on a weekly basis, but we tried not to let it faze us. It also didn't help that Rox had been photographed with Grimmy and that popstar about a week ago, wearing nothing more than a shirt and boots. Speculations were running high.

“By the way, Rox. You never told me what went on with Grimmy and that popstar,” I made casual conversation.

“We got high, then we fucked. He was quite good,” she said calmly. I chuckled and we cheered with our glasses.

“Let's find a good shag tonight, shall we?” I suggested as the band started playing. Roxy gave me a wicked smile and fumbled with the key-necklace around her neck. The one that contained a nice amount of coke, as I knew. She gestured to the bathrooms.

“Let's get wild for the night, Flo,” she grinned and we headed off to snort a few lines.


Roxana's POV:

I was enjoying myself. Sort of. The coke had kicked in, and along with the Whisky which never seemed to leave my hand, I swayed around ferociously, letting the music fill me up. There were sweaty, sticky bodies everywhere, making the already dirty and grimy location even more of a dump. But I didn't care. For once, I actually really enjoyed the music, and the second reason was the cute blonde guy grinding up against my behind. We had made eye-contact at the beginning of the concert, and after I smiled at him encouragingly, he had come over and put his hands on my hips.

I could feels his hot breath on my neck, and his stubble beard tickle, and I pressed myself tighter against him. I hadn't had sex in almost two weeks now, and the good old handjob was getting boring. He bit into my earlobe a bit forcefully, and I sighed contently. I could use a good, hard fuck tonight.

The band started playing their biggest hit, Speeddance and I practically went wild.



After jumping up and down a few times, I turned around and looked into the guy's beautiful blue eyes. They seemed to pierce right through me, even though they were slightly clouded from all the alcohol. I took his face in my hands and planted my lips on his, slipping my tongue in immediately. He responded to the kiss just as I'd hoped, rough and passionate, and his hands snaked around my waist, pushing me closer against him.

I could feel his obvious erection, and I slipped one hand down and into his pants, stroking it teasingly. He grinned against my lips and withdrew slightly. His teeth captured my bottom lip and he nibbled on it gently. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and it was almost like a stare-down. Something in his gaze touched my core, and I wanted nothing more than being fucked by this gorgeous individual tonight.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked when the song ended and my brows shot up in surprise. Irish, who knew?

“Absolutely,” I said and smiled teasingly, removing my hand from his pants. He took it in his and started leading me out of the club. We were greeted by paparazzi outside, which startled me immensely. I didn't think they would show up at such a gross location in the North of Camden just for a few pictures of Flo and me.

But it wasn't me they were interested in, it was the guy. They kept putting the cameras in his face, and I was more than relieved when we finally made it into a taxi.

“You're famous?” I asked dryly once we were inside, heading for my place. He eyed me for a second with a critical look, as if he were trying to read my mind.

“You have no idea who I am, right?” he said in that bourgeois accent of his. I crinkled my nose a bit at the sound of it.

“You're the lucky guy who gets to fuck me tonight. I do not need to know more,” I stated and he smiled a wicked smile. Slowly, his hand crept over to my lap, and under my skirt. I parted my legs slightly to give him access to my most intimate part.

“Excellent,” he almost purred and his hand made contact with my wet pussy. I let out a small moan and watched his grin get even wider when he realised I wasn't wearing any underwear. He started inserting two fingers and my eyes practically rolled into the back of my head.

“Had a good night, Miss?” the taxi driver suddenly asked and pulled us out of our sex-trance. That's why I hated driving publicly.

“It was alright,” I mumbled and looked at the guy. He was smiling like a little boy and his hand still hadn't left me. Thankfully, we arrived, and after he paid, we went inside. I carelessly kicked off my boots and flung my jacket on a big table in our entrance hall.

“Irish, stop staring and come on,” I said to him as he was standing there, practically with his mouth agape. I could tell he was new money, not used to the sort of luxury old money lived in.

“I have a name, you know?” he answered, staring at me again.

“I'm not particularly interested in it,” I said and dragged him upstairs, down the long hallway and various Monets and Renoirs, as well as a big family portrait. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at it, then at me.

“You're Roxana Blackwood,” he said, slightly shocked.

“Is that a problem?” my patience was running low at this point. He looked deep in thought for a second, before he came over, put his hands underneath my buttocks and lifted me up. I automatically wound my legs around his waist and connected our groins.

“Not at all,” he said in a dark and seductive voice before his mouth connected with mine again. Perfect.

Notes

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