Read The Seduction Online

Authors: Roxy Sloane

Tags: #hm ward, #alpha men, #kristen proby, #js cooper, #roxy sloane, #the seduction

The Seduction

The Seduction

Part 1 of a filthy,
seductive new serial

by Roxy Sloane

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Roxy Sloane

Cover Photo: Dylan Borgman

Cover Design: Louisa Maggio at LM Creations

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.




















All women look the same on their knees with
their mouth wrapped around my cock.

You like to think you’re different, special
somehow. You spend all that time fixing your hair and makeup,
picking out a dress that your annoying friend swears makes you look
like a million bucks. But you want to know the truth? I don’t give
a fuck. After a hundred lays, you all look the same to me. Blonde,
redhead, brunette-- the view’s the same from up here. The crown of
your head bobbing, the round globes of your naked ass. The only
thing that’s different is how you suck me off.

The woman down there right now is no pro,
I’ll tell you that much. I’d bet she hasn’t been on her knees in
years. No wonder her husband hired me, dealing with this bullshit.
She’s eager though, lapping away at me, fumbling with my balls,
letting out little breathy moans as she struggles to take my
massive dick deeper in her mouth. She can’t get up a rhythm to save
her life, so I save her the trouble: fisting my hands in her hair
and yanking her closer, fucking her mouth, deep and hard, until I’m
hitting the back of her throat and she’s whimpering like crazy,
sucking me down, desperate for more.

Fuck yeah, like that baby.

I feel the tightness in my balls, that
shiver in the base of my cock. I’m close, but fuck it, I’m not
getting paid to cum all over her naked breasts. With a growl, I
yank her off me and throw her face-down over the couch. She gasps
in surprise, but I don’t wait a minute before grabbing her hips and
slamming into her from behind, all the way to the fucking hilt.

She screams, arching back against me,
grinding desperately on my cock. I shove her down again, trapping
her in place as I piston in and out of her wet pussy, over and

“God!” she cries, gasping beneath me. “Oh my
god! Vaughn! That feels so good!”

Her voice is irritating me now, distracting
me from the warm, wet clench of her cunt, so I pull her body up
against me, gagging her with one hand while I squeeze and pinch at
her breasts. They’re damn fine too, big and ripe, bouncing with the
impact every time I slam into her, impaling her with my cock,
driving so goddamn deep I can feel her walls with every thrust.

Her pussy starts trembling. She’s close. I
thrust, again and again, until the world goes dark and there’s
nothing but the slide of my cock and the friction of her dripping
channel. She comes with a scream, clenching around me, and I
finally let go. She falls to her back, those gorgeous tits bouncing
in rhythm. I let out a roar, fucking one final thrust then pull
out, coming in a hot spurt all over her.

. I pump with my fist, spilling my milky seed all over her
chest, her hair, her face until finally it ebbs away and I’m

She pants, her face flushed, staring at me
adoringly. “That was amazing,” she breathes.

I’ve had better, but she
doesn’t need to know.. “It was all you.,” I tell her with one of my
trademark grins – the kind that would melt her panties right off,
if she wasn’t already naked and dripping with my cum.


I zip my jeans up and take two strides to
the console, picking up the digital camera I have waiting there.
Before she can wipe me from her chest, I snap a photo.

“What are you doing?” she frowns,

“Just something for my private collection,”
I wink. “Smile and say, ‘pussy’.”

She bites her lip, but then strikes a pose,
pouting her lips and pushing her breasts up with both hands.
“Promise you won’t show them to anyone,” she says, spreading her
knees and giving the camera what she thinks is a sultry look.

“Promise,” I lie, snapping off a whole dozen
more. Naked breasts, shaved pussy, even the moles on her right hip
in case she tries to cry Photoshop. “These will just keep me
company, every time I think of you.”

“Why don’t you come pose with me?” She licks
her lips again, but I’ve got no interest in a second go at her
pussy. My job here is done. “I’m going out,” I tell her, turning

“But...” Her eyes fill with tears as she
realizes she’s naked and covered in cum in some stranger’s
apartment. “I thought... I thought...”

“What? That I love you?” I ask. Goddamn,
these women are so fucking naive. “I knew from the start, I could
never have you,” I explain, trying to look regretful. “You’re
married. This can never be real. I should go now,” I add grabbing
my jacket and head for the door. “Don’t make this harder on me than
it has to be.”

It’s the same bullshit line
I give all the women, like I want nothing more than to make this
random fuck into something meaningful – and
the one’s keeping us apart.
But the truth is, sex is always a lie. I learned that the hard way
a long time ago, and this is my payment for ever caring. Caring is
not worth the pain. So I changed. I became who I am today. A
fucking machine.

“I’ll remember you, always,” her voice
follows me out, cracking with regret.

I hide a grin. I won’t remember her name
come tomorrow. This might have been the best fucking night of her
life, but for me, it’s just another client.

Seducing women is my job. And I’m damn good
at it.



“I’m good at my job.”

“Try and sound a little more

I take a deep breath and say it with
determination. “I’m good at my job.”

“Atta girl.” My friend Justine hits the
elevator button. She swears by positive affirmations. She takes a
gulp of the venti-sized coffee I just bought her and yawns. I’m a
paralegal at the firm, not her assistant, but she’s the one who got
me this gig, so I try to repay her with lattes. I also do my best
to make sure she doesn’t go into work looking like she just got out
of bed from a weekend-long sex marathon.

“Your shirt’s done up wrong,” I tell her, as
the crowd of businessmen cram into the elevator with us. “And you
forgot to brush your hair.”

“Whoops.” Justine laughs. She holds out the
coffee for me to hold, and rebuttons her shirt. All the guys around
us stare, but she just winks. “Sorry boys, I’m all worn out,” she
says, as we reach our floor.

“Justine!” I hiss, as we walk past the
reception to Hudgens, Cartwright & Abrams, one of the top law
firms in LA. “You can’t say stuff like that, not if you want to be
taken seriously around here.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I bring in a
shit-ton of business and my billables are through the roof. They
respect me plenty.”

I sigh. I could only dream of having
Justine’s reputation as a cut-throat litigator and all round
ball-buster. As a paralegal, I’m the bottom of the food-chain
around here. It’s my goal to go to law-school and become a real
lawyer one day, but that’s going to take a stellar LSAT score and a
couple of hundred thousand dollars in student loans I can’t

For now, I’m stuck assisting the real
lawyers on their cases: doing all the research while they take the
glory. Most of the time, it’s not so bad: I’m learning a lot here.
But then there are the lawyers who treat me like their own personal


The yell makes me flinch. Carter Abrams IV,
son of the senior partner here, and all round jackass. I’ve told
him a hundred times my surname is Fawes, but he just likes to make
my life a living hell.

“Remember, you’ve got to stand up to him if
you want to be take seriously,” Justine reminds me. “Keep letting
him treat you like shit, and you’ll never earn his respect.”

I could single-handedly win every case on
the books right now, and Carter would still hate my guts, but I
give Justine a smile all the same. “Thanks, babe,” I sigh. “I
better get to it.”


I open the door to his office just as Carter
lets out another yell. “I’m right here.” I try to sound like
Justine: confident and in control. Carter just sneers.

“Old man Ashcroft is in Conference Room B.
He’s got more questions.”

I pause, confused. “It’s a simple will we’re
drawing up. I wonder what’s the problem.”

“I don’t give a shit what his problem is,”
Carter says. “Go handle it. That old fart rambles on, it makes me
want to blow my fucking brains out.”

“But you told me to gather case files for
the Montgomery appeal,” I start to reply. I’m buried with work as
it is -- not just from Carter, but three of the other associates

“So? I’m not your fucking mother.
Multitask!” Carter scowls at me. “Now don’t leave him waiting. He’s
an important client.”

Not important enough for
you to get off your fat ass and work for a
, I silently reply. But Carter is
already clicking at his computer again. As I turn to leave, I hear
the first moans from his speakers that mean he’s looking at porn

“Close the door!” he yells. I shut it behind
me with a shudder. One time I walked in on him without knocking and
found one of the assistants on her knees. Carter treats the office
like his personal playroom -- and because his daddy is the boss, he
gets away with it too.

But as I turn down the hall to the
conference room, my spirits lift again. Our client, Charles
Ashcroft, is a great guy. He made his fortune in paper mills and
shipping, back in the day. He’s in his late seventies now, and
needs a full-time nurse to wheel an oxygen tank behind him wherever
he goes, but he loves to chat and tell funny stories about his

“There’s my favorite future lawyer,”
Ashcroft greets me as I step into the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him. “Can I get
you tea or coffee, or something to eat?”

“Psh.” Ashcroft waves my offer away, his
blue eyes bright and full of life, even against the wrinkles of his
old, weathered face. “You shouldn’t be fetching and carrying for

“You sound like my friend, Justine,” I
laugh, pulling up a chair.

“She’s right you know.” Ashcroft nods. “That
mind’s too good to waste on these fools.”

“I’ll let the partners know you said hello.”
I smile. “Ready to get started?”

“Wait a moment. Before we get down to
business, I have something for you.” Ashcroft reaches into his
jacket pocket.

“For me?” I frown. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Here.” He pulls out a slim, rectangular
jewelry box and passes it to me. I open it, still confused.

Holy shit.

It’s a bracelet. An antique-looking piece
laid with sparkling stones that couldn’t be...?

“Are these diamonds?” I ask, stunned.

Ashcroft chuckles. “Wouldn’t be any good if
they weren’t. A token of my thanks for all your assistance on my

“I can’t accept this.” I regretfully snap
the box shut and place it back on the table. “But thank you, it’s
so nice of you.”

“Why ever not?” Ashcroft looks

“I can’t,” I insist again, unsettled.
“You’re a client. And a gentleman. But I wouldn’t feel right.”

“I send Cartwright whiskey every Christmas,”
he argues. “I’m allowed to give you gifts if I damn please. How is
this any different?”

“It just is.” I know he’s rich and
eccentric, but this is too weird. I wonder if he is losing it. “I’m
sorry,” I say quickly, “but I wouldn’t be comfortable taking this.
It looks like an heirloom.”

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