Power Games. Victoria Fox
turn then,’ he answered. ‘Wanna blow my cock?’
Jacob Lyle was widely regarded as the savviest businessman of his generation. He had embarked on his first transaction aged twelve, when he had uncovered the clever knack of emptying his father’s Lucky Strike filters and re-rolling the tobacco in cheap cigarette papers, bought for a dollar and sold on in the schoolyard for several times that amount. His dad never missed a pack or two, and one Strike stretched up to three smokes if he was careful—most of his buyers didn’t know the difference anyhow. He remembered looking at the Strikes and thinking: I could shift these at mark-up as they are, or I could make more by trebling my profit. So Jacob did more, and the more Jacob pocketed, the more Jacob sold. At a young age he grasped that the world turned on the clean and straightforward principle that money, when channelled to effect, could make a shitload more money. It was simple when you looked at it right.
It was ever since his involvement with a world-changing social network site that his personal profile had rocketed. A young entrepreneur by the name of Leith Friedman had pitched his idea for an online hub whereby friends and followers could travel-share. It was smart, clean and most importantly green: a security-screened, 100% legitimised, twenty-first-century hitchhiking. Jacob had known how to make it fly: money and balls—and since Leith was lacking in both departments (especially the latter, but then he was a computer programmer), he had pushed for a sixty–forty split. OK, so he’d be getting more than half the business, but there wouldn’t be a business without him, just some fat kid sitting in his bedroom jerking off into his babysitter’s panties.
MoveFriends had been born—Join the Ride, ran the strapline—and both Jacob and Leith, in the space of eighteen months, had become billionaires. Since then Jacob had been invited onto every talk show, to attend every party, to speak on every panel, and last month had been summoned to the White House to meet the president. He had addressed a group of post-grad entrepreneurs in a scheme set up by the Republican senator Mitch Corrigan. After the show Jacob had nailed two blondes in the cleaning closet, both of whom had certainly known what to do with his rich investment.
‘You totally messed me up,’ Lilly-Sue purred as they arrived at Hollywood’s Rieux Lounge, patting the back of her head and throwing him a naughty smile.
They exited the car and were hit by a barrage of sound.
‘Jacob! Lilly! Give us a smile!’
Lilly-Sue primed and posed for the cameras, holding his hand and nuzzling his neck. Jacob decided he would dump her. She was a decent screw but way too clingy.
Kiss my cock and tell it you love it. Just don’t tell me.
He dragged her through the doors. The Rieux was LA’s number-one spotlight. Everyone who was anyone got photographed. Many a wasted selfie got tweeted in the small hours, only to be rapidly deleted by management next morning. Heavy beats thrummed. Bodies wound. VIP spaces were roped off, flanked by security.
Without warning Lilly-Sue pulled him into a toilet cubicle and gave him his second blowie of the evening. As Jacob watched her tongue attending to his hard-on, he leaned back against the marble and felt faintly bored. Truth was, he could only operate on half a tank unless there was a camera in the room. Shit, he knew it was wrong but he was a sucker for the buzz. He was as addicted to this as he was to the kick of investment. The one thing that turned Jacob Lyle on more than horny girls was watching horny girls fuck—more specifically, watching horny girls fuck him. As a result he had his personal cars, and several classified suites across town, rigged. He kept a record of every encounter. From Amy through Zara, the library grew and grew.
Was it legal? He wasn’t sure, but Jacob showed them a fine enough time to not feel totally bad about it—always they left with dreamy-eyed avowals that they had never spent a night (or morning, or afternoon, or any time of the day, really) like it.
The girls wouldn’t find out. Nobody would.
After all, he was Jacob Lyle—and Jacob Lyle was invincible.
Lilly-Sue stood, wiped her mouth and kissed his face off, which was kind of gross because she tasted of his come. They emerged from the bathroom and she spotted a friend, from here just a squealing flap of arms, and sprang off to join her.
Jacob headed for his booth, thinking the Rieux was at least a fresher vibe than that stodgy Boston gala. It had been worth it to get the Boy Scout points, but the whole thing had been a ball-ache. Pop embryo Kevin Chase had been up in his grill all night, and now it transpired Kevin’s people wanted to set up a meeting. Was the kid gay? No big wow if so. Jacob affected both sexes. As it went he had dabbled with men, the odd hand job, the odd coked-up grope. One guy at Frat College had even sucked him off—he could still recall the sweat smell in the men’s locker room, the sticky bench, the graze of stubble against his nut sac and the man’s hot, strained breath, and, if he were honest, it still kind of turned him on. End of the day, though, he preferred pussy.
‘Watch where you’re going, asshole!’
Jacob held his hands up. The woman had appeared from nowhere, stepping straight into his path. Her hair smelled like coconut. Her blue eyes were scowling.
Whoa.
Instantly his cock stiffened. Who was that?
But, of course, Jacob already knew. Who didn’t?
Tawny Lascelles. He had thought she was fine, but up close the supermodel was unlawfully gorgeous. He had to have her. There was no question.
Long tanned legs in a pair of cute, butt-clinging shorts, killer black heels and a mane of blonde hair that tumbled round her shoulders. Her eyes were enormous.
Her blouse was loose and he could tell that she wore no bra. He wondered what her nipples were like, and imagined them to be pink and satiny, the sort of nipple that took up most of a small breast, until he tasted one in his mouth and licked till it hardened, shrinking and puckering between his teeth …
‘Sorry,’ he flashed a wicked smile, ‘didn’t see you.’
‘Obviously not.’
She had thick, dark eyebrows and he wanted to know if she had a thick, dark bush to match, and if he asked her whether she’d slap him or let him eat it.
‘I’m Jacob.’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Likewise. Wanna get out of here?’
He yearned to film her. Watch it again and again. Get her from every angle.
The scowl hardened. ‘You think I’m easy?’
‘Are you?’
‘Bite me.’
‘Love to.’ He blocked her path. ‘Come on,’ he chanced, ‘let me take you back to mine and I’ll make you come so many times you pass out.’
‘Thanks, I already have a date.’
‘Lose him.’
‘So you can continue charming me out of my knickers?’
‘I don’t think you’re wearing any.’
Tawny was outraged. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Trust me. I’m the best you’ll ever have.’
‘I sincerely doubt it.’
He watched her, black eyes on blue, until she looked away.
‘Hey, baby, what’s going on?’
Jacob flinched as Lilly-Sue returned to his side. On seeing the famous model she raised herself a little taller. Tawny looked between them.
‘Prick,’ she muttered, before melting off and getting lost in the crowd.
Tawny posed for a flurry of photographs before ditching her date, vanishing into the Mercedes and zooming back to the Four Seasons. Her skin was crawling and she scratched furiously, nearly drawing blood, her manicured