I paste a smile on my face as the unmistakable hand of my father lands on my shoulder. Sitting at his fourth dinner as Mayor of Serenity, I have never felt more like a piece of meat or an overdressed commodity at the very least. "Lana, Sweetheart, May I introduce you to a friend of the campaign?" I turn slowly, preparing myself for further boredom, the pasted smile, I'm sure, looking more fake than ever now. "Lana, this is Damian Knight, CEO of Phoenix Technologies. He has donated over three million dollars to the campaign." I nod attentively to my father's spiel, his warm brown eyes glitter with excitement. Dollar signs would be the cartoon equivalent to his current expression. I open my mouth to speak and promptly close it when I am caught in the depths of eyes deep enough to drown in.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Miss Ellison, your father talks about you profusely." I feel my cheeks flush bright red as I realise he's been holding out his hand and I still haven't shaken it.

"I... Thank you..." I clear my throat and grip his large hand gently. "That is an extraordinarily generous donation, Mr Knight," I somehow manage to stammer, clearing my throat again.

"Well, it's a worthy cause. You're father's a good man. There's no one I would rather see as mayor of this place." He says, not like the others who gush and fluster over it, but with complete sincerity born of what appears to be a steely determination and confidence of a man so sure of himself he needs no one to tell him anything otherwise. My father, conversely, blusters. Despite his own confidence, this man, this entrepreneur has him like putty in his hands.

"Well, without your support this campaign would be nothing," my father says, his eyes crinkling with pride in himself. "Of course, Lana here is bored, as usual. She's not a fan of the shmoozing. She'd rather be reading her books or working. We don't often get to see her beautiful face." He smiles at me and I feel a blush heat my cheeks.

"Dad, that's enough. It's a busy time of year for me." He nods with a wry smile curving his lips.

"Well I'm glad to meet you. You certainly lend a degree of natural beauty to the room, but also, I believe, a sharp critical mind like your father." I flush again, shaking my head as I hear my dad hum in agreement.

"Ha, well set me down with some paintings or pieces of art and then you'll find your critical mind. Which reminds me that I should have your art installation for the office by next week," I murmur, turning to my father whose eyes sparkle and away from the keen, wolf like green eyes of Mr Knight.

"Damian, you should see the art my girl picks out for me, utterly beautiful, though I know nothing about art. She has a keen eye for beauty and style, as well as a good investment," says my father, squeezing my arm and looking at Mr Knight until someone catches his eye and he waves. He kisses my cheek. "Sorry, darling, your mother has just walked in. I'll speak with you soon, Damian." He shakes Mr Knight's hand firmly.

"I'll come with you." I begin to follow.

"No, no, Darling. It's nearly speech time. I know where you like to be at speech time. Your mother and I will see you at home." He smiles, squeezing my hand again. A warmth of being closely watched drifts up my spine and I turn to find the gentle, yet predatory gaze of Mr Knight still watching me. I smile nervously.

"I should... Excuse me, Mr Knight. I need to be somewhere." I excuse myself, holding out my hand to him to shake. "It was lovely to meet you, really it was. I only ever read of you in the gossip and business columns so putting a face and voice to the name has been very pleasant." I say, more confidently than I feel. Suddenly those calm, sharp eyes begin to glitter with mirth and his sharp, handsome lips tilt into a deliciously crooked smile which would melt the heart of every woman in the room had they all been looking. I steal myself against him. He isn't my kind and neither am I his. He can stay very far away from me.

He takes my hand very gently in his, just holding my fingers and turns it so my knuckles face upwards. His eyes never leave mine as he lowers those same lips to brush against the top of my hand. "We'll see each other again I am certain." He promises, I'm sure seeing the panic in my eyes and he begins to let go of my hand, his fingers trailing over the tips of mine.

"Good evening," I stammer, before turning away and slipping through the crowd, the feeling of those wolf-like eyes still on my back until I finally turn out of his view into the corridor leading to the cloak room, or my destination, the upper balcony. I lean against the wall, and for the first time, I discover I am shaking. My whole body glows hot and adrenalin rushes through my veins and most startlingly of all, the touch of his lips against the top of my hand has left a burning caress there the likes of which I've never known.

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I watch her as the utterly understated beauty walks away from me in her meek, reserved knee length black dress which hints at curves rather than hiding them. Her pale skin in stark contrast to the rest of her, her flaming red hair, which curls in a waterfall of violent red, coils down her back, held back from her face just slightly by an elegant silver clip in the shape of a Celtic knot. Her ice blue eyes still burn in the back of my mind as I watch where she goes. I knew she was beautiful, but pictures don't do her justice. She isn't just another beauty of the tabloid pages, she's a reluctant celebrity with an astounding level of selfless, unknown beauty and I want her. As I watch her I feel it like a tug around my chest. I have to have her and I have to have her now.

I follow in the direction she disappears, shaking hands and making excuses as I pass, contemplating what I know of her. An art curator and gallery owner, her gallery has been open for six years, opened when she was twenty years old and had become one of the most reputable and celebrated galleries even before her father's rise to fame four years ago as a politician. She, despite her small and self-deprecating demeanor, has still been the target of the tabloid fashion police, proclaiming her a plain Jane, untalented and unoriginal in her choice of clothing and not one for the public to watch, unlike her mother. She'll no doubt be targeted for her clothing tonight as being dark and non-celebratory, but the unintentional sultry nature of her appearance tonight has a lot more appeal than that of the young peacock birds here, parading themselves among the wealthy.

By the time I reach the corridor she disappeared down, I find she has gone. I move casually towards the cloakroom and frown, seeing nothing of her. I step up to the counter and the attendant looks at me in awe. "Hi, the mayor's daughter hasn't come to collect her coat has she? Her father would like to see her before she goes," I ask, leaning against the desk and smiling my trademark poster boy smile which my PR assistants say makes me look more human than wolf-like. The girl nods her head, looking almost overwhelmed and raises a hand to point in the direction of a small door on the right hand side of the corridor. Her awe continues as I drop a ten dollar bill on the counter in front of her. She blinks and looks at it.

"Thank you?" she squeaks and slides the bill into her pocket.

“No, thank you, Jane." I murmur, reading the name tag on her white blouse. She gasps as I turn away and I almost permit myself to laugh as the woman stares after me.

Strangely, as I open the small door, I feel my heart begin to pound. Rubbing my hand against my chest, I begin to climb the narrow stairs as silently as I can, a slow grin curving my lips as I step onto the balcony above the ballroom. Pushing the door open silently, I see her at the balcony edge, pacing slightly, wringing her hands gently and shaking her head. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," she mutters to herself. "Just a man," I catch her saying and I frown, hovering back in the shadows as she continues to pace. "Calm down, woman," she says, abruptly halting her pacing and turning to grip the bannister. Her knuckles turn white. Could she possibly be talking about me or is that me just being very full of myself?

Her hips sway, demonstrating her need to still pace, but she is stopping herself with impeccable self control. "Come on, Dad, hurry up I need to go home," she mutters looking down. A long, elegant hand pulls her fiery curls over her shoulder, exposing a column of porcelain skin. "Fuck," she mutters and she squeezes her legs together, which takes me by surprise. Her hands run up and down her arms. "Come on, Dad," she mutters again, "this is your fault so get on with your stupid speech so I can get away from these people," she mutters, her right hand moving up over her arm to caress her neck. Could it be? Could she, right now, be turned on? "Ugh, fuck this," she mutters, turning violently from the bannister and walking towards where I am standing, she stops just as violently when she spots me, her eyes widening. "What're you doing here?" she asks, her voice leaving her in a surprised whisper.

"The same reason as you, to get away from the crowds," I reply, stepping towards her. She takes an automatic step back.

"I don't believe you. You never avoid the crowds or the women.," she says with a wry, almost cruel smile. "I've read about you, Mr Knight. Chronic Lady's Man, billionaire playboy. I like being alone to listen to my father's speeches," she mutters, turning back to the bannister. I notice how tense she is as her shoulders arch slightly. She doesn't like me being here.

"But you were about to leave. Something has you shaken up, Miss Ellison," I murmur, stepping closer behind her. I notice her press her thighs together again as her body heats, the blush running up over the back of her neck. "Why would you specifically want to get away from me, I wonder?" I murmur, trapping her against the bannister, a hand on either side of her before she can move, her tiny frame trapped and tense in front of me. She is frozen and I can just hear, over the chatter and music from below, her breath leaving her in short sharp puffs of air. "Let me tell you a theory." I can't help myself from inhaling her scent of coconut and musk from her skin. Her hair brushes like silk over my cheek as I lean in towards her neck.

"Let me go, Mr Knight. You're over stepping the mark," she murmurs, pushing away from the bannister, backwards into me in an attempt at forcing her way out of my trap. But instead, I spin her towards me, wrapping her in my arms, her small, soft, curvaceous frame pressed to me. She eyes look at me in terror. "Let go of me this instant," she says, her eyes flicking from mine to my lips and back to mine again. "Other women may willingly fall into your arms, but I'm not one of them. So let me go," she orders, beginning to push against me. She freezes as she brushes against the erection that has been growing since Malcolm introduced us. "Don't do this. It's a mistake to get involved with your friend's daughter," she says, tightening her thighs again.

I let my hand drift down her back to her thigh and she stiffens even more. "Who says your father is my friend?" I reply, before forcing my lips to hers and gripping her even tighter. She arches in my arms, even as she gives in, kissing me tentatively back as I coax her along. Keeping a tight hold on my control, which wavers as her pelvis grinds into mine. I run my hand around between her thighs, gently lifting the skirt of her dress and trailing my fingers over silky soft skin and lacy panties. My touch makes her flinch and pull away, panting.

"Mr Knight, no. Not here," she says, looking from me to the door behind us, causing a smile to curve my lips.

"I can think of no better place, Lana."

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My name drips from his lips like melted chocolate making me whimper. This is so, so wrong, but since I ended up on my own up here my own body had descended into a metaphorical puddle of hormones and lust. "Mr Knight, don't," I warn, biting my lip, even as his hands tighten around me. "Please," I begin to beg, "please, this is a mistake, let me go and we'll both be on our way," I say, beginning to push against him again. "I know nothing about you and you know nothing about me, let's keep it that way," I protest, as he grips me tighter. That crooked smile curves his lips again.

"I have no intention of letting that happen," he says, an arrogant smirk curving his smile. Who knew arrogance could be so sexy. Before I can renew my efforts to get away from him again his lips are back over mine, this time ravaging me rather than coaxing me. My whole world spins and I can do nothing but cling to him and my sorely neglected cunt begins to throb and pulse. I've never been so turned on and it is terrifying me. I feel him lift me against him, cradling me against his chest and forcing me to wind my arms around his neck. He breaks the kiss and I can do nothing but look at him.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice only just a whisper and his hands burn through me.

"To lock the door," he growls, nipping my lower lip as we reach the door, one of his hands leaving me as he locks the door with a decisive click. "There's no getting away from me now," he says, his predatory gaze travelling over my bruised lips, down over my dress. A magical thrill of excitement rushes through me. I shake my head, hypnotized by him. He chuckles gently above me before stepping away from the door. The chatter of the crowd below drifts into the background and he kisses me again, and this time everything around me is obliterated as he sets us onto the floor and begins an assault on my senses that has been so carefully practiced that I can do nothing but give in, arching and twisting and moaning against him as he touches me, his hands like flames, removing my clothes and caressing every inch of me. When he finally touches my cunt I almost explode with a scream. His fingers flicker over my clit and his lips press to mine sweetly as he takes me up and over a peek I didn't even know existed, my pleasure erupting from me in pulsing throbs of agony, which are muffled by the kiss which takes and takes and takes.

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Fuck me, she is more beautiful than I thought, with her hair spilling across the cream carpet beneath us, her fingers gripping me tightly and she cums hard, her cunt pulsing around my fingers which are buried deep inside her tight wet core. Kissing her is all I could do to avoid us being discovered from below as she came powerfully enough to gush her arousal over my hand. I've never seen beauty like that which lies naked before me, and trust me, I am very familiar with the female form lying beneath me. Her small puckered nipples top breasts which are unaltered by surgery and fit my hands perfectly. Her stomach is slender, but soft and I can't see her ribs. She is all softness and warmth. Her waist tapers out to full hips, which right now, my cock wishes to have sat over him.

Kissing down her neck and taking a nipple gently between my teeth makes her gasp as she comes down from her orgasm. I trail my lips back up to bite her ear softly. "I'm going to fuck you now, Lana, but before I cum you're going to cum again. Is that understood?" I pull back to find her watching me, her eyes wide once more. "Do you understand?" She nods her head slowly whilst opening her mouth, and I press my fingers against her soft, bruised lips. "You can and will cum again for me, Miss Ellison," I command. Instantly a light of excitement and anticipation enters her wide blue eyes, which, rather than ice, have turned the deep blue colour of the ocean. She nods, separating her legs beautifully for me. My cock throbs, trapped in my trousers and my hands shake as I release myself. I frown and she tenses beneath me. I find her watching my face, carefully.

"Somesthing's wrong?" she asks, pushing herself up on her elbows, her big, blue eyes searching my gaze. Her hand reaches out to touch me. Her concern has me suddenly taken aback and I look at her as her fingers brush my cheek. She leans closer and replaces my hand at the fastening of my trousers. My little nervous...