Sin Tropez Read Online Free Page B

pearls. Sitting primly in the front row of the Union’s grand main hall, she gazed up at her target just as Abena’s dark,
feline eyes bore down on the speaker from the balcony above. At the end of the discourse, the room emptied until the only participants left were Abena, Tara, the dashing speaker himself, and Giles,
the gangling Oxford Union president who slept with a postcard of William Hague under his pillow to inspire him to greater heights. Tara could see it was going to be tough to shake off the other
two. Giles grandly led the way into the Union bar and the speaker turned to insist that she and Abena join them to further discuss the ‘exciting’ political issues he’d been
talking about. Abena, with her sexily slanting eyes, unnaturally long, wavy black hair, perfectly smooth dark skin and full seductive mouth was starting to irritate Tara. As was her toned and tiny
five-foot-three frame, which, from the look on the speaker and the Union president’s faces, rendered her irresistibly cutesy and adorable to boys – something that Tara, in all her
elegant cool, had never managed.
    Abena winked at Tara and ordered a magnum of Moët from the bar. She then made a point of continuously filling the glass of the Union president, who didn’t notice how fast he was
drinking, being so engrossed in his own rants about cash for peerages in the Labour party, and ‘sexing-up’ various political dossiers that were not sexy and never would be. Because
drinking was fairly new to him, his stringy body was unable to take the quantities Abena smilingly pressed upon him and he was soon face down on the bar muttering something incoherent about poll
tax.
    With Giles out of the picture, it was a stand-off between the two girls. Tara peeled off her demure cardigan to expose the exceptionally low front of her dress, while Abena leaned forward and,
pressing the deputy prime minister’s leg, gently asked how it felt to be one of the most powerful men in the world. The politician, growing increasingly excitable with the abundance of
champagne and gorgeous young flesh beside him, seemed at a genuine loss as to whether he was more turned on by the Western threat, baring its breast in front of him, or by the dark and mysterious
excitement of Africa to his left.
    And so it was that the two girls spent their first drunken evening together. As it progressed into the early hours of the morning, each recognized in the other a far more feisty and fun
proposition than the deputy prime minister, who was now dribbling in the corner of his chauffeur-driven limousine. It was unclear whose idea it had been to risk scuppering the poor man’s
chances of ever making it to the Top Job, but in the morning he was found by his concerned driver, slumped in the corner of the vehicle and dressed in nothing but his socks, with his navy tie tied
neatly around his cock. Neither girl was anywhere to be seen.
    Three years later, Tara and Abena, now relocated to the bright lights of London and determined to make their mark on the city, were the best of friends and still as mischievous as ever.
    ****
    Having accepted the invitation to the South of France, Abena and Tara were growing more and more excited about the impending excess that awaited them there. Finally, at the
start of the first May bank holiday, it was time to set off. Scrambling into the black chauffeur-driven Mercedes that Reza had sent to the apartment, Abena asked for her Nikki Beach CD to be pumped
up as they headed off to Farnborough, the private airport where Reza’s plane awaited them.
    Pulling up at Farnborough, she tried not to gawp at the scene unfolding before them. Stepping out of an assortment of vehicles, each of which alone might have cost more than her rented
apartment, was an array of some of the most breathtaking beauties she had ever seen. She glanced at Tara, who was looking stonily ahead at the surreal sight. They had both been among the bigger
fish in the small