Exigence Ep. 01

She was close.

As she kissed the tip of my cock, I worked slower. As she kissed it again, I picked up speed. She made her mouth into an O and suckled on the sensitive crown. As she descended, taking more and more of me, my pace changed.

With the entrance to her throat inviting my full hard length, the time was ripe, and I flicked my tongue with an intensity I knew she adored. Her back arched, and gravity saw her take all of me just as her body climbed onto that rollercoaster. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her throat flexed around my shaft, squeezing me with a divine grip as I felt the tip of her nose touch my balls.

My cousin's shoulders seized up, and her legs shook as she experienced orgasm after orgasm. Climax after climax. She began sucking my cock like it was her divine mission. She was needy to please; desperate to compensate the man who'd brought her to heaven and made her see the light.

I felt my balls tighten and whispered to warn her. She didn't listen; she didn't even hear. Jets of cum coated her throat as she gagged and struggled to swallow every last drop. Her mind was so caught up in her pleasure that she must've been operating on automatic. Swallowing every last drop... No, gulping it all down like a girl who'd found water in the desert, Natasha took it all.

When she regained her senses, she pulled herself off my slick cock and leaned back against my mouth. My tongue hadn't stopped working. She licked her lips before biting down hard. She glanced down at my cock and saw it hadn't gone soft. It was semi-cocked and ready for another round if she'd just nurse it a little.

I could go forever, and she could go for hours.

Sadly, it wasn't a long flight.

03 • Scarlet

I smiled at Lauren's wide-eyed amazement as she watched Alicia and Skylar arm themselves before disembarking. She looked a bit like a poodle, with cheekbones that advanced towards her nose. It was a look that worked for her, especially when you considered her platinum blonde hair and the cute vacant expression she seemed able to summon at a whim.

Firearms were simply tools to the staff, but Lauren saw them as mysterious and full of fearsome power. You could tell from her expression she wanted to hold one, feeling its weight, gauging how much force it would take to pull the trigger... People are like that with guns -- pretty girls, especially.

"Do you have more than one?" she asked her girlfriend.

"Not really," Skylar responded. "I used to carry a Glock, but Alicia convinced me to switch to a Sig. So I gave my old pistol to Mr Orwell."

I added, "I keep it beside my bed for emergencies."

"Oh," Lauren nodded slowly, taking in the information. "Is one brand better than the other?"

"No--"

"Yes," Alicia interrupted with a smirk.

Holstering her pistol, Skylar offered to take Lauren shooting. The offer was eagerly accepted, with Lauren's face lighting up like a Christmas tree at the prospect.

Naturally, my bodyguard liked her girlfriend's reaction. She tried to hide the lovesick smile that would no doubt give away the extreme extent of her infatuation. But the bright pink lipstick she liked to wear made it hard to hide any expression, including the one that followed her smile. I sensed a trace of worry -- a speck of concern -- as she pondered the future of her relationship.

I hoped she was being over-cautious.

With all our belongings collected, we made our way down the stairs and onto the tarmac. We expected to find Tash's bodyguard, Trixie, and my driver, Isabelle, waiting for us. As expected, the former arrived in a black Range Rover that she'd use to ferry Lauren and my cousin around town. My ultra-expensive Rolls-Royce Ghost would serve as my ride, having been flown in from Switzerland.

Skylar was first down the stairs, with me following. We walked fast with places to go and things to do, but it seemed there was already a complication to our London trip...

There was a third car on the runway -- one we hadn't been expecting.

Waiting for us, a grey Jaguar XJ signalled the presence of a senior government official. As her protection officer opened the door for her, I immediately recognised the passenger as Baroness Trent from MI6. I'd met her once before, in Downing Street, where she convinced me to become the chairman of Pellinore. Precisely as on that day, she wore a scarlet pantsuit that made her unmissable.

"Mr Orwell," she greeted in her raspy voice, extending an aged but well-manicured hand. "It's good to see you again, old friend."

I immediately turned to Skylar and whispered instructions. "Send my cousin and Lauren to the house and keep an eye on the time. It looks like we're going to be delayed."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Trent responded, having eavesdropped. "I don't intend to keep you for long, but there are some matters we must discuss before you can proceed into the city. First and foremost, you will note a pack of my men accompanying you while you're here. To secure your safety, of course."

The offer made elicited an eye roll. "I don't need babysitters, baroness. I also know MI6 has no authority to operate on British soil."

"We are facing unique challenges that require extraordinary measures," she smirked. "The very existence of the Doomsday Archive and the presence of their agents in our government require a firm response. A response that's unlike anything we've done before."

"You believe your domestic counterparts are compromised? MI5? The police?"

Trent remained silent and waited for me to redirect myself onto other topics. She knew when to speak and when to listen, and she wasn't about to give too much away.

"You make the Archive sound scarier than they are," I remarked. "We've crossed swords several times, and they've yet to strike a blow."

"The scar on your cheek and the way you lean into one leg as you walk suggest otherwise--"

"Minor inconveniences," I countered harshly. "Your job is a straightforward one, baroness. Remove your corrupt prime minister, identify the group's leadership, and liquidate them."

Putting her hands in the pockets of her expensive blazer, the spymaster shook her head dismissively. "You make it sound effortless, but I can forgive your ignorance because of your inexperience. You're still new to geopolitics, espionage and grand strategy."

I was quick to interject. "When we first met, you convinced me to take a position I didn't want. I'm not falling for it again. Your world isn't my world; I have no desire to play secret agent."

"Oh? That's not my impression. If anything, you enjoy being part of the action, even if you won't admit it. That is understandable, really. The power that comes with being entwined in mystery and violence makes us all crave more of it. You could become a central figure, Oliver. We have a plan for you..."

Turning to her body man, Trent signalled him to hand me a brown dossier marked in large lettering: MOST SECRET. It was a thin document, and the cover page offered a quick bullet-point summary.

They dubbed their plan Operation Gossamer -- an initiative to establish a private intelligence network with me as its head. Of course, its first order of business would be orchestrating a de facto coup in the United Kingdom. It was something MI6 themselves could never do, no matter how desperate the situation was.

"There are constitutional limits to our capabilities," Trent remarked. "Such concerns would not bind you. You can do things we can't, and we would support you, keeping a healthy distance."

"Why me?" I asked.

Trent looked at me as though it was obvious. "You're already in the game, Oliver. So let's not kid around and pretend we're not playing for the same ball. When my officers began talking about some secret society that collects atom bombs, I laughed in their faces. I thought they'd gone mad. I thought secret societies were nothing more than silly little clubs. Now, one of them seems to be angling for world domination. You could start your own little organisation, working on the side of the angels."

"That's what you want? What about the storage device?"

The baroness shook her head. "I couldn't care less. If the device were in the hands of someone less noble, I would certainly be concerned. After all, we believe it holds tremendous destructive potential. But, when the time comes, I know you'll destroy it."

I raised an eyebrow. "You trust me that much?"

"I have no choice, so I might as well comfort myself with an assumption that you're sound. Your proclivity for blood relations aside--"

"How do you know about that?!"

Trent shrugged. "I know everything, and I don't care. You're entitled to your tastes. Play the cards as you'd like, but be kind enough not to destroy the Western world while at it.

"We'll keep your enemies occupied while you make your decisions, but we can't hold them off forever. The Americans have revived their kill order for Edward Sardonis, but we doubt they'll find him. As for this Archive... I'd be lying if I said we know where to start."

Keeping the dossier Trent gave me close to my chest, I decided the trip to London would take a little longer than we'd initially intended. Before I made any big decisions, I had to talk to someone who could give me the right advice.

We postponed the meeting with the newspaper and began making our way to my company's Canary Wharf headquarters.

• • •

I was strangely anxious before I met with Cassandra Nash. It would only be the second time we sat down face-to-face. I'd grown to rely on her, accepting the wise CEO's counsel on various topics and learning from her experience. At one stage, she seemed to have all the answers, but we both realised our ignorance as the scale of the shadow world became apparent.

As we drove, I laid back in the plush seat of my Rolls-Royce, staring out the window as though enlightenment was hidden somewhere in the distance. Whether it was finding a home or deciding if I wanted to be the purveyor of my own secret society... It seemed the world was offering me yes-no questions I couldn't answer.

Forunately, the Carpenters were playing over the expensive speakers in the back. That soothed my throbbing head.

"What's that thing?" I asked, pointing to a massive tower under construction, looming large over the city.

Alicia was surprised I didn't know. "Apparently, it will be the world's tallest skyscraper when it's done."

"In London? I thought they were against that sort of thing here. It looks odd..."

"There were massive protests against its construction, but the government didn't yield on the planning permission. They've even introduced new laws to try and curtail the activists."

"It's hideously ugly," I chuckled, assuming corruption played a big part in getting it approved.

As we pulled up to the offices of Pellinore, I insisted we use the front entrance. It was about making a statement, showing the boss was back and unafraid of his doubters. Our friends from MI6 had kept a close tail on us from the airport, but they didn't accompany us into the giant glass tower.

Walking through the doors, I quickly sensed every set of eyes in the building turn to me. All the animosity people felt when I first took over faded over the months. We'd cleaned house and made lots of employees very happy as good change made their lives easier and saw their salaries rise. Without any scorn thrown my way, I was comfortable strutting forward to greet Nash, who'd come to welcome me.

"Mr Chairman! It's a pleasure having you here," she declared loud enough for the whole lobby to hear before introducing me to her assistants and a few department heads.

Twisting my arm, Nash convinced me to take a brief tour of the building so I could meet and greet critical employees. Considering I'd never even seen my secretary, it was an offer that seemed hard to refuse, so I followed her lead.

The people in the finance department were soft-spoken, the marketing cubicles smelled of menthol cigarettes, and the human resources team seemed to smile too much. It was brilliant.

I suddenly realised how much I missed working in an office surrounded by other professionals. What was supposed to be a short tour became much longer as every corner of the enormous corporate headquarters drew my fascination. More than once, I started a chat with one of the cleaners or a junior manager who had some brilliant idea they wanted me to consider. I treasured every moment of it, having to be reminded time and time again by Alicia that we were trying to keep a schedule.

As we finally made our way to Nash's office, another distraction presented itself.

"Mr O!" a voice cheered at me from behind. "OMG! I didn't know you were coming!"

Turning to face the voice, I found the former influencer and all-around firecracker, Dey Shapiro, running up to me. Having heard how her life threatened to spiral out of control, I offered her a position as an intern at the company, and it seemed she was thriving. Gone were her curated outfits and perfect hairstyles. They'd been replaced by smart business attire and a genuine smile bigger and more authentic than anything she could muster when we first met. As the petite and bubbly girl moved to embrace me, she stopped halfway and held herself back, extending her hand instead. It was part professionalism and part her noticing all my injuries; reluctant to squeeze a body that looked a little sore.

Dey Shapiro was a strange name for a girl whose mother was an African-American civil rights activist from Georgia, but not so strange if you considered her father was a hotshot LA movie producer. Her biracial heritage afforded her a combination of features that made the petite 18-year-old a true stunner. I fondly recalled the night we'd spent together on my yacht... But now she was my employee. Off-limits.

I shook her hand and asked how she was.

"I'm loving it, Mr O! It's like you said it would be: They're making me work super-hard, but I feel like I'm learning so much!"

I was happy for her, but I also took the time to play boss. "It's not every day someone without a degree gets an internship here. I'm sure you've been putting in extra effort."

"Yes, sir! I never thought working in an office would be for me, but it's weirdly glamorous. Did you know a little more than half of the employees here are women? That's like massive compared to other firms in the city!"

Cassandra Nash took the question as an opportunity to move us along. "It's a statistic that makes us very proud. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to be going."

Breaking away, we finally found our way to Nash's office, where she immediately handed me a straight gin with ice and dropped a bombshell.

"We need to discuss succession," she said. "I'm at the end of my career."

"Fuck, Cassandra," I exhaled, trying to take a sip of the booze she'd given me but recoiling as I tasted it. "Now isn't a good time."

"You are the most suitable replacement," she continued, unfazed. "The company has been doing well under your chairmanship."

"I've let you run things--"

"Which is proof of your good judgement," Nash grinned. "Who else can you trust? It's either you or me."

"Or Tecla..."

"Your sister seems bright, but she's too young. You've given her immense responsibility over your own dealings, but the board won't accept a teenage girl."

"In ten years--"

"Perhaps then, but not now. It's your time to lead, and judging by our little excursion around the building, you'd relish the opportunity."

I drank the godawful gin and tapped the back of my neck. It was the routine of a man looking for an answer to the third question he couldn't compute. First, Felix asked me to live in his country, essentially becoming a co-dictator. Next, baroness Trent asked me to lead a spy agency or secret society or world domination enterprise... Now, Cassandra Nash was asking me to take over her job. Each of these questions begged for a simple yes-no answer, but I found myself unable to make decisions.

My injuries began clawing at my brain from every part of my wounded body. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, downing the gin and bemoaning my position.

"I came here looking for answers, but I'll be leaving with more questions. It's not ideal, Cassandra... It's not ideal at all. Tragically, all the options ahead of me seem to be suggestions from other people."

"Well," Nash shrugged, "the best approach when confronted with too many options -- all of them undesirable -- is to make your own fate."

"That's not how fate works," I rebuffed.

"Fate doesn't exist, Mr Chairman. We all make our own destinies."

I wasn't sure, but I knew there was only one path forward. The pieces weren't aligned in my favour. So I had to sweep the knights, pawns and bishops off the board and change the game. There were no plays to be made with those pieces. Kings and queens and castles were what would give me the edge.

Rising to my feet, I promised Nash she would have an answer to the question of succession before I left London the next day. Alicia and Skylar rejoined me as we made our way downstairs. It was the same journey we'd taken when all this started: Into an elevator and through a hallway that led to the executive parking.

Dejavu hit me as I saw a courier walking in our direction. Alicia's hand rested on my back, and I remembered the first time she nudged me away from a potential threat. But months had passed, losses had been taken, and she guided me a little more firmly.

Suddenly, it was like time froze, and we both registered the same thing at once...

The courier heading our way had her head tucked forward like she was hiding her face. Her blonde hair was hidden under a hat bearing the name of her delivery company, but her high visibility jacket belonged to a construction firm that had been in the news months ago on account of it closing down.

She was an operative of some kind, haphazardly disguised and heading in our direction.

Alicia moved like the wind. Her protectiveness heightened her perception, and her reflexes were sharp on account of her training. She wasted no time getting the intruder on the ground.

To my other side, Skylar's muscle memory kicked in as she wrapped an arm around me. Her job was always to get me away from the situation when things got tough. We began to run for it, listening as the captured woman screamed bloody murder.

"Press! Press! I'm a journalist! Ouch!"

The pleas seemed too desperate not to be sincere. Skylar and I slowed our retreat, turning to face the wounded news hawk. Alicia helped her stand up, holding out her hand so she could inspect the faux courier's press card. Once she confirmed the woman's story, she growled.

"You're trespassing in a secure area under false pretences. You'll be handed to building security, and they will call the police."

The blonde reporter wasn't easily intimidated, speaking with a trans-Atlantic accent that inferred she was raised between the UK and US. "I wouldn't have to resort to silly costumes if you people answered emails."

Turning to me, the woman extended a hand and introduced herself. "Danika Dalton, London City Financial Examiner. It's nice to finally meet you, even if your attack dog sprained my ankle."

Danika's moxie made me smile. She was limping slightly, but it was more for theatric effect than anything else. "You look like you can walk it off," I said. "I assume you've ambushed me because you have a specific question to ask?"

"You've got me wrong," she replied. "Since inheriting your fortune, you've only done a handful of media appearances. I'd like to conduct your first proper interview with a proper newspaper."

Alicia scoffed with a hint of snobbery I'd previously not noticed in her demeanour. "The London City Financial Examiner is hardly a 'proper' newspaper."