Embittered by betrayal, Greek Tycoon Dionysius Plutarch finally tracks down the elusive Makenna Lewasi five years and eighty-two days after she vanished. In her absence, Dionysius discovered her true motives-Makenna had been involved with one of his...
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Miranda stares at the huge mansion in awe as a servant in a tuxedo, or at least it looks like one, opens the French doors. The muscular back of the man who had flown her here faces her sensually as Dionysius Plutarch leads her into what seems to be a pool side lounge in dark tangerine and different shades of orange.
'Ring Nikos. She's in Edinburgh.' Dionysius states as he walks into the house
By morning he'll be flying to Edinburgh to her doorstep and finally his plans...
Miranda smiles at the sheer opulence of the entire room, the paisley walls which had been hand crafted from what she could tell, the tall man leading her further into the house which was phantasmagorical gorgeous to say the least
'I love your interior designer.' She whispers shyly, Dionysius smiling bitterly
'I did too.'
He coolly states, his tone suggesting an innuendo as he leads her past the corridor which was thick stripes of pale rose and sea blue to a grand staircase in bronze and cloudy white. The sheer opulence of the house itself couldn't be explained with the floors styled and patterned in ways she could borrow as print for designer dresses. Rich rags lay here and there, the furniture most antique-looking, the doors all double doors which seem carved out of flawless gigantic trees that had elements of marble or semi-precious gems, the door knobs all looking positively like white topaz drooping from platinum handles to say the least.
Dionysius walks into the room, removing his coat casually. He turns to the woman with a dry smile, not that she would know what a smile looked like when he was genuine. Miranda tries not to faint from the beautiful smile directed at her
'how do you prefer it?'
he asks throwing down his bow tie and looking down at her gladiator high heels and thinking she should keep those when she undresses. Miranda blushes shyly
'any way's fine with me.'
she decides, sure she would flex herself as bent as he needed her to be and face the consequences tomorrow or never again. The thought of sleeping with Dionysius Plutarch was more exciting than losing her ability to walk!
Dionysius studies the short metallic gown, the grey of it having caught his eye from before, his favourite colour. He settles on the bed, removing his vest and reaching for his bib front shirt as he studies her
'get naked.'
He instructs wondering what she was waiting for. Miranda quickly reaches for the zip of her dress, unzipping it and pulling it over her hair, throwing it to the floor beside his coat and tie. The smile on her face considers how unbelievable it will be telling her friends where she had disappeared to.
He sighs softly at the sight of the body, tensing his muscles and warning his mind against the comparison that was bound to happen. Focusing instead on the ridged translucent bra and underwear she was wearing, he summons her to him, finding it completely irritating that he had to apply energy to focus on other women's bodies. The one woman who once had him hard from a winky emoji she sent him was a wench to say the least... a wench running a fucking perfumery in Edinburgh.
