Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [17]
‘Oh, Armand,’ she gasped, flushed and breathless. ‘We shouldn’t be doing . . .’
A little late for objections. Too late.
He shoved her down onto the bed and thought about Martin Constantine and the concealed camera recording every moment. His thoughts made him as hard as he’d ever been.
Dipping into his bedside table drawer he withdrew a glassine bag of cocaine, and sprinkled some of the white powder on her erect nipples.
She writhed beneath him as he snorted the powder from her breasts. Then, as she begged him to fuck her, he gave it to her hard, ramming his penis into her with considerable force, then turning her over and taking her from behind – ignoring her objections and sudden cries of pain.
Realizing this was not going the way she’d hoped for, she struggled to escape his relentless attack, but he was having none of it as he rode her hard, punishing her with his penis for being an unfaithful bitch.
He felt invincible and powerful. He was the man and once again a female had proved to him that all women were dirty whores.
Except perhaps his wife. But who cared about her? He certainly didn’t.
* * *
Later, after relentlessly fucking Nona Constantine in every possible way, he informed her she was a cheating filthy prostitute, physically dragged her from his bedroom, and threw her out.
The shock on her face was palpable as he hustled her out of his front door, flinging her designer clothes after her.
‘What? What did I do?’ she sobbed, red in the face as he slammed the door on her.
He didn’t bother replying.
It was satisfying to know that there was nobody she could complain to, nothing she could do. She was fucked in more ways than one.
Once rid of his conquest, Armand snorted more coke and summoned Fouad, who worked downstairs in a different apartment. ‘Come up here,’ Armand commanded. ‘Right now.’
Fouad hurried up to the penthouse.
‘What’s happening with The Keys?’ Armand demanded as soon as Fouad walked in.
‘There is a half-naked woman crying outside your door,’ Fouad remarked, noting that the Prince wore only a bathrobe, and that there was a telltale residue of white powder under his nose. Armand’s use of cocaine was escalating, and it worried Fouad as he watched Armand become even more irrational and moody.
‘I trust you ignored her,’ Armand said, striding purposefully toward his palatial bathroom.
‘Who is she?’ Fouad asked.
‘Martin Constantine’s wife,’ Armand boasted. ‘I told you I can have any woman I want. They’re all whores.’
Fouad shrugged and followed him into the bathroom. He was well aware of Armand’s predilections when it came to women. Privately he considered it a sickness, but he would never dare say anything. Although lately Armand’s sickness, coupled with his excessive use of drugs, was becoming almost dangerous.
‘That crying bitch deserved everything she got,’ Armand said, dropping his robe. ‘I took care of her in ways she won’t soon forget.’
‘Does it not worry you that she might tell her husband?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fouad. She came here of her own free will. She wanted it. She was begging for it. Now remove the DVD from the camera, make two copies and put them in my safe.’
‘Yes, Armand,’ Fouad said. He would make three copies and keep one for himself. Nothing like insurance when dealing with a man such as Armand.
‘And The Keys?’ Armand said, quite unabashedly naked as he stepped into the all-marble shower. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I have several calls in,’ Fouad said, not wishing to reveal that he’d spoken to the owner’s attorney, and that he’d been informed that it was highly unlikely The Keys was for sale.
‘What is taking so long?’ Armand demanded, as four powerful showerheads rained down on his body.
‘You only told me you wanted to buy it two days ago,’ Fouad pointed out. ‘There are times it is prudent to be patient.’
Armand stepped out of the shower, dripping wet. ‘I am not a prudent man, Fouad. You, above all, people should know that.’
Fouad noted the Prince’s large appendage and attempted to avert his eyes, even though he’d seen it many