Page 6 of The Consequence of You
As I swapped my books over in my locker, memories of previous years swirl around my mind. Our ritual when the new term started was to spend a few days in London, buying uniform and supplies. We’d shop and stay in a nice hotel. Go to the hairdressers. Catch a show. Not this year, though. Papa was away, and lately, Luca was always out drinking with his friends. I did all my stationery shopping online. I let my usually shoulder length hair grow out and just hacked at my bangs myself. I didn’t bother buying new uniform. I’m regretting that choice now as I tugged at the hem of my skirt. I thought I’d get away with it for a few more months, but clearly not. My shoes are scuffed, too. I didn’t even bother to polish them.
I was so focused on feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t realise I was no longer alone in the hallway until a voice startled me.
“You look like shit, Messina.” Something about hearing Asher curse in his crisp English accent made it seem even more coarse. I turned around to face him. It was on the tip of my tongue to offer him a similar retort in response, except we both knew it wouldn’t be true. I mean, look at him. He’d redressed in his academy uniform, not a hair out of place. Not a button misaligned. So, instead of insulting him, I stood there, clutchingmy books to my chest, practically drooling, just as I said I wouldn’t. “You’re embarrassing,” he sneered, looking at me with his forest green eyes through his glasses. As he said the words, my books slipped from my hand and crashed onto the floor. I flinched as they landed around our feet. He pulled his foot out from under them and stepped onto one, stamping down on it, deliberately trying to mark it, before kicking it under the lockers and stomping away.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASHER
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Surely they have their bloody shot by now? They’ve taken enough of them. My parents are lapping it up. Every time I think we’re finished, they suggest another pose. Christ, you would think I’m the prince of bloody England the way they’re going on. Human interest story, my arse. They should photograph someone who has achieved results like mine against the odds, not someone who had everything handed to them from birth.
I genuinely can’t understand who wants to read this kind of story. It’ll no doubt bring on a slew of messages from the usual socialites trying to get a ring on their finger or to snag a date organised by my parents, trying to find me a suitable match. Don’t get me wrong, posh girls can suck dick as well as the next person, but lately, they all seem to be under the misapprehension that a quickblowjob somehow equates to a promise of something long-term.
Feigning a yawn, I cover my mouth and whisper to my mother,
“I need to use the bathroom. I must have eaten some dodgy lobster; may I be excused?”
“Really, son? That is quite vulgar. Go straight to the bathroom now before you embarrass us,” she hisses under her breath.
I flash the journalists a grin and wink at the female runner who’s been carrying equipment all afternoon.
“Fancy a pot of tea on the back lawn?” She blushes at my invitation, and her eyes widen almost comically. She appears surprised, but she’s been salivating over me for the last three hours, so I know she’s up for it. She turns to her boss, but before she can ask, he shakes his head furiously.
“Absolutely not. That is completely unprofessional. You can say goodbye to your apprenticeship if you even think about going with him.” Her face falls.
“I’ll have the chef prepare some finger sandwiches?” I counter, running my fingers through my hair casually. She checks out my bare bicep, and her eyes fix on my expensive wristwatch. I’m not sure if it’s my body or wealth that finally convinces her, but she drops the bags she’s holding and all but runs over to me. I reward her with a kiss on the back of her hand and lead her to the back lawn.
“What is your favourite petit-four? Our chef makes a delectable croustillant a la framboise.” Lily, Lila or Louise, I didn’t catch her name, gazes at me like she’s never seen a good-looking man this close before and for a moment I wonder if seducing her is a mistake. I do hope she’s not a virgin. Nothing wrong with that; I just can’t be botheredmaking sure this is special. I want a little flirty conversation and a quick hand job, not to be this woman’s first sexual experience.
Fuck it, she’s cute, and she has a decent figure. If it turns out she’s never seen a dick before, at least she won’t have picked up any bad habits. I can get her to do it exactly how I like it. After my expert instruction, I will send her out into the world as a gift to other men. Having fully convinced myself I’m doing the world a favour, I call out our afternoon tea order to George and drag her into the greenhouse to show her the Pennington’s prize-winning cucumbers.
As it is, I needn’t have worried. The blushing redhead is not as inexperienced as I feared. As soon as I get her in the greenhouse, she drops to her knees and gives me a pretty skilful blow job. Seven out of ten. Maybe even an eight. Just the right amount of suction, and she barely flinches when I abruptly pull out and spray cum onto the floor.
I never finish in their mouths. You can never be too careful. I cannot risk her spitting my little swimmers into a container she has stashed somewhere and finding out the hard way in nine months’ time. It happens more often than you’d think and it’s one thing to be reckless with my own life, but even I must draw a line somewhere.
Tucking myself back into my trousers, I lead her back across the lawn so she can finish her cup of tea and smoked salmon sandwiches before I send her on her way. I’m not interested in seeing her again. Hooking up is a one-time deal with me. Much easier for everyone that way.
Once she’s finished her drink, I pass her my phone. “Can you write your full name on the top line and sign there, and there, please?” I point to the documentdisplayed on the screen. A crease appears on Lily-Lila-Louise’s face in confusion.
“What is this?”
“It’s a non-disclosure agreement. Very standard when entering any kind of relationship in our circles.” At the word relationship, her eyes light up and she quickly fills in the document. What she’d have seen, if she bothered reading it, is a section that states she agrees to never contact me again, and if she does, she’ll be in breach of contract and on the receiving end of a very unpleasant lawsuit. I’ll have a member of staff tell her before she leaves. Sobbing women, so soon after eating, have a way of bringing on indigestion. It never fails to surprise me how quickly some ladies get attached. Ideally, I’d have this signedbeforeI let anyone near my cock, but I rarely do, and I’ve not had anyone refuse to sign it yet. Half an hour with me, and they are so dickmatised, they’re willing to sign up for pretty much anything. Who can blame them? It’s a high-quality dick.
As she hands me back my phone, I glance down to check she’s completed it properly.Lucy.I was close enough. All completed correctly. Good girl. Standing, I offer her my hand, and she quickly stands with me, brushing the crumbs off her skirt. I can’t help but smirk at the dirt on her knees. Nothing like filthying up someone who’s trying to act the lady.
As we cross the lawn, I nod to George. He knows me well enough to take this as a signal a driver is required to take Lucy home. I won’t be accompanying her myself, but I’ll make sure she gets home safe and sound all the same. I’m a gentleman like that.
She settles in the rear of one of the family vehicles, abig smile stretched across her face. Blowing her a kiss, I step away.
“Asher.” My father’s disapproving voice makes me tense. “Really? In the greenhouse? The chef grows those vegetables for our bloody dinner! It really is extremely unhygienic. And she works for the press! I hope you got her to sign the NDA. Your mother worked damn hard arranging that photoshoot and you sabotage it by doing God knows what with one of their staff! Really, son? It is not acceptable.”
“They have plenty of useable photographs. The woman signed the NDA, and no bodily fluids went anywhere near your lemons. Don’t have a coronary,” I drawl, already over this conversation. “It might have escaped your notice, but my results mean I ranked top in the entire academy. I should be out celebrating with friends. Not posing for happy fucking family photographs for five hours straight. I took an hour to celebrate. Think yourself lucky I didn’t have her pleasure me in front of yourguests.” Steam is practically billowing from my father’s ears as I stroll back towards the house.
Not for the first time, I’m jealous of my sister Aurelia. With less than twelve months gap between us, we’re in the same school year, so she also sat her final exams earlier in the summer. However, unlike me, she avoided today’s shitshow. She was due to return home from the prestigious Swiss boarding school she attended. However, she secured a seat in one of Europe’s most eminent orchestras for a year, so she deferred her place at Heathley University until next year.
It was apparent very early in our childhood that Aurelia was musically gifted. With perfect pitch and an aptitude for reading music, she has both a beautiful voiceand the ability to play several instruments at an incredibly high level. At age eleven, she was offered a place to study atInstitut Le Merra,where she had one-to-one music tuition and a level of privacy unrivalled in this country. Without doubt, Aurelia is our mother’s favourite child, and as such, she was gifted a freedom neither me, nor Sebastian, had been afforded.
