Scent of the Dragon Queen

By David Cousland

"You're too slow etc" were the words Matt (Crack) Stewart did not want to hear from his boss. Within a week his life has changed, a gorgeous, sexy new boss and team, investigation, deception, a traitor or two. The search begins, from his bed in London to Hong Kong, mainland China to New Zealand. The needle in the haystack has to be found, but who and where? Who or what is the Dragon Queen? What is the scent? The beautiful Sophia and her new team cannot fail on their first mission. A "Crack" in the orient, a giant of a man, could he be the key to unlock the secrets?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Cousland
• Release date: May 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311853691

David Cousland

Born in the industrial Midlands in 1950, I was educated at Dudley Grammar School (to the best of their abilities)before going on to work in the banking industry. The latter years working on plastic card payment schemes. Married (twice) with two daughters and three grand-children, my hobbies outside of the family and writing include golf and travel, occasionally combining the two when searching for golf balls that have strayed way off line. Although I have no musical ability whatsoever, I do love listening to music be it live or recorded. Highlights- seeing Cher in Las Vegas; Stevie Wonder in Brisbane and meeting Rick Wakeman.

Book preview

Introducing MATT STEWART as CRACK

in

Scent of the Dragon Queen

By David Cousland

Copyright © 2014 by David Cousland

Smashwords Edition

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral right of David Cousland has been asserted.

The story is one of fiction, all characters are fictitious. Any similarity with character names is purely coincidental.

With gratitude and thanks to:

Cover model: –Jess Wong, StarNow.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

You're putting on too much weight and getting a little slow, said my boss. You're not fit for the job. We're putting you on a three month intensive fitness plan as from one week next Saturday. Pack your bags and be at Terminal four, your flight leaves at three twenty Monday afternoon. Your tickets will be waiting.

What she failed to give me were the details.

Where to?

It seemed a reasonable question to me, but she just glared at me with steely eyes. I knew I would get no answer. She could freeze a bucket of hot water at midday in the Sahara with that stare. I would get nothing more than a lukewarm smile and a shake of the head from her secretary Carmen, either. She has one of those faces that you can't decide whether she's attractive or not, a lovely smile occasionally, but more often, not so much as a glimmer. Maybe that depended on her mood. I had no idea, but her body wasn't bad for a forty something mother of two teenage tearaways. I'd have had them put away or shot if they were mine.

So I walk away from the office in a bit of a huff.

Why do I need to fly anywhere for a fitness programme?

But then it gave me Friday evening to do what Fridays are for, followed by Saturday afternoon for a bruising game of rugby. Yes, I really was more than just a little grumpy and someone was going to cop it. Then there was Saturday evening, which was going to be pretty similar to Friday hopefully.

Okay, so is there a problem with a thirty-one year old good looking, single bloke having a great weekend? Not if your name's Matthew (Matt) Stewart, you happen to be six feet four and around eighteen stones, (two hundred and eighty-eight pounds) of muscle, there's no fat to be seen anywhere on my body. Who's going to argue?

The first thing I do when I get home is call a couple of mates, Trott and Gallop. Agreed, these are stupid nicknames but Trott has never rushed for anything in his life, where Gallop does nothing slowly. My nickname, by the way, is Crack, not because I'm a great shot or that I indulge in the stuff, but a few years ago I cracked a few ribs with a couple of thumping tackles in the same game. Not my ribs you understand but those belonging to the other two blokes, who just about survived being mullered, a fair bit of treatment and a few months off.

So, if I'm being sent God knows where to get myself fit, then some lucky lady or maybe ladies are going to benefit from Crack's last stand (or hopefully two).

We're on then lads, Carpenters it is. Wall to wall totty. At least it was, the last time I was there a couple of years ago.

See you in the Nags around nine for a few first.

It's bloody marvellous not to have to be out trailing some potential low-life, would be terrorist, gun runner or drug dealer all night for a change. A few drinks with the mates followed by a nice warm bed with a randy bird sounds a better prospect than sitting in a Mondeo for far too many hours, freezing my dick off, fighting to stay awake or dying of thirst.

Yeah, a Mondeo, I'm not senior enough to get a Beemer yet, not high enough up the ladder, and we don't have an 007, a Bond, Miss Moneypenny or an M in our squad either.

Scotch and dry for me please Trott, I don't want to be in and out of bed all night for yet another pee, do I?

Strangely for a Scot, I can't drink the stuff without a mixer. Trott delivers mine with a Canada Dry while they both have a pint.

They haven't thought this through, have they?

Around eleven Gallop sorts out a cab, it's only twenty minutes’ walk to Carpenters but it's uphill all the way and Trott will take forever with his bad foot. Just time to complete the circle of our drinks rounds, it’s only fair after all.

The bouncer gives me a bit of an eyeball but says nothing as we slowly make our way inside, along with the rest of the queue, mostly teenage girls it seems, half cut and wearing not too much. The tiny bird right in front has a great arse, but gives me the sod off look as soon as my hand just innocently brushes against it.

Sorry love, keeps wandering on its own. I say with one of my special how about it smiles.

Piss off Grandad, was her less than friendly response, Grandad indeed!

So I'm at the bar getting our next rip-you-off round in, as Gallop already has his hands full with a tasty brunette. Trott watches him in action.

How the hell does he do this every time? We’ve only been here two bloody minutes. Trott asks.

See you later Trott, the blonde's mine. At least she'd better be, double sodding Vodka something, I want a good return on that.

He shakes his head, either in disbelief or jealousy, holding their two bottles.

I make my way across the heaving dance floor, having to manhandle any number of eager young bodies on the way through, always a good first opportunity to test out some gorgeous young thing. No-one complains to a guy of my size, despite what my boss thinks, I'm fit enough for this.

Sophia is twenty-five apparently. Did you see how quickly I got that detail? It’s always important to know who you’re talking to and their age of course. You can’t be certain these days.

Anyway, she has those come and take me to bed, deep blue eyes, perfect sparkling white, film star teeth, she must be a size eight or ten maybe and about five feet sixish. Her shoulder length blonde hair with a few streaks dances wildly around to yet another boom boom sound. Is there really more than one of those records? It or they go on and on and everything sounds the same to me. As she stands there shaking everything she has, her eyes follow me from the bar to her table, the rest of her catches up in a few seconds. In that time, I look her up and down a couple of times as she takes no more than a few wiggly steps to the table. I think I’m drooling, and no matter how sexy and wow that dress is, and very expensive I reckon, it's going to have to go, and quickly too. Her chest looks so excited already, it seems to be trying to break free of it’s restraint and is just going to need my assistance and a lot of attention.

I'll be happy to help out soon, my brain tells me. Of course I wouldn't say that, but she knows what I'm thinking and what my dick is thinking. Her hand is soon squeezing my thigh with her long, pianist fingers working some kind of magic.

You’re in my son, it looks like being a good night.

We can't hear ourselves think, let alone talk, over the damned thudding bass, and after a couple of token shuffles on the floor, I pick up my jacket, take her hand and we're out of there.

Trott gives me a smile on the way out.

Good God, that was loud. I say as her arm reaches part way round my waist.

Where to Sophia, yours or mine?

How far? She asks.

All the way, hopefully. I reply.

Ok, so it's corny, but say it with a smile, a kiss to test the water and a squeeze of her ample breast and it works. It's never failed yet. Well actually it did, I took a real heavy slap just before Christmas last year, the mistletoe failed miserably. Sometimes it pays to be honest and up front, then you know where you stand. She's been very up front in that dress, as I saw straight away. It's my training that does it, always stay alert and observant.

Mine's in Bristol, I guess you're closer.

Very appropriate.

What is? She asks innocently.

You having such a wonderful....... you know and coming from Bristol.

She did laugh but I wasn't sure she got it. Never mind, she soon had a good taste of my tongue, her mouth had just had a spray of something minty. She tasted sweet, this was going to be so good. Anyway, Bristol was definitely out so it had to be mine. A top floor (yeah, yeah, so there are only two floors) apartment in Putney, bloody expensive but I can't be too far out. My mates call my pad minimalist but that's only because I buy just what I need. What's the point of filling it with junk? Two bedrooms with a double and a king (that's mine) and those tiny cabinets big enough to hold a pair of socks and a tooth-pick, useless things they are, one sofa, a couple of comfy chairs, small dining table and three chairs (the fourth was wrecked during a party), usual stuff in the kitchen and bathroom, what else do I need? Oh, and one of those giant TVs that could fill Trafalgar Square with all the usual paraphernalia that comes with it.

Sophia's jacket is taken, very gentlemanly I thought, and hung behind the door, I direct her to the drinks cabinet as I need to take a leak and freshen my mouth somewhat.

I'm only in there a few minutes but walk out to find the bedroom door open, she's sitting up starkers under my duvet holding two glasses.

That was quick, I was hoping to help you out of that dress myself.

I’m thinking that’s it always been me having to do the chasing, this is a rare event, then I notice the large packet of twelve she has open on the cabinet.

Christ, she is expecting a lot. I thought.

You'll have to be quicker than that then, come on big boy, get that extra-large specimen of a body in here. Scotch and dry wasn't it?

Cheers. I replied, holding my glass out for that chink sound.

I was hoping for bottoms up. She said, giggling like a naughty school kid, throwing down the duvet and turning on to her front.

Nice bum, I'll see to it in a minute. I comment as my fingers tug at my shirt and want to fling it somewhere, my brain is already twenty minutes ahead of me.

I still haven’t got rid of my shirt and trousers yet as she watches my clumsy fingers fumbling about. Why do shirt buttons have to be such a pain in the ass when you're in a rush? I'm hurrying so much that my feet get tangled in my boxers and trousers, which are now wrapped around my ankles. I'm hopping about like a loony on a pogo stick. A very seductive sight I'm sure. She's watching my dick bouncing up and down and laughing like it's a scene from a Charlie Chaplin movie, maybe it was.

Eventually I go to turn out the light. Leave it on, she tells me, if you're no good, I might want to get out quick, besides, I want to see your eyes.

My eyes? That wasn’t where you were looking and if that's what you expected, you wouldn't be here at all, would you Sophia? So, bottoms up - mine or yours? Only polite to ask isn't it?

My big hand almost covers one cheek as I roll her onto me. Then I thought about her dress forcing her breasts to maintain some form of dignity, while all the time they just wanted to escape and draw my hands to them.

That's it then. I thought as we rolled back over, my hand was enjoying this almost as much as my tongue. Her back arched as my lips, tongue and teeth frolicked around her very firm nipple.

They’ve been like this for hours. I mumbled. Well, I couldn't move my mouth away could I?

Her right leg moved across mine inviting my hand to get on with it, her bottom lifted and turned towards me a little.

Yet again, it would have been impolite to ignore her unspoken demands. My fingers easily do their business for some time as she writhes along to my touch, getting hotter and wetter by the second. I think I’m getting the hang of this.

Something else has been like that for hours as well. She said, having a firm grip on what she wanted next, my equipment was getting more attention than for many weeks. I rolled my large mass onto her tiny, in comparison, gorgeously fabulous frame. I'm sure her eyes lit up as I pushed inside.

Not bad for starters. She said after I'd given her the best half hour, (alright twenty minutes then) she could ever have had.

While I'm finishing my scotch and disposing of the little rubber item, she's sitting up sending a text message.

Great, you've just experienced the best body in London and you're sending a text, thanks a bunch. I wasn't chuffed as you can tell.

Just letting my pals know I'm ok, that's all. They'll worry and phone me otherwise.

Ok, ok, just seems odd that's the first thing you think of.

She disappears to the bathroom, coming back as her phone beeps.

Please do excuse me Matthew, may I have your permission to see what it says? A bit sarky but she has a sexy laugh as she tosses her mass of fluffy blonde hair back, holding it with her right hand.

Joss says she hopes I'm shagging you senseless and tells me to keep her updated with the score.

What score? I naively ask as she types a reply, it makes little sense to me. 8 to 9 maybe, VT and 1 plus, 10 + 8.

Have you got a ruler please? she asks.

Now I am confused, I can only guess why she wants that. Yes, of course I have, in the top drawer in the other bedroom that doubles as an office sometimes. Now it sits on the cabinet alongside the pack of eleven and her empty glass.

Bottoms up next then. I suggest and watch closely as that fabulously neat bum turns to face me, my hands had barely started to move her legs apart when she told me to turn out the light.

I guess that means you're staying then. I always was quick on the uptake.

Yeah, I want to see what you have in store for my bottom. She slapped her backside pretty loudly I thought, as I took another look before hitting the switch.

I never was in favour of that bum stuff, no attraction whatsoever, and after taking a second from the pack and manoeuvring a little, she had me exactly where she wanted me and I was equally delighted to be just where I was.

Come on Crack, she said a few minutes later as I tugged her legs down flat. My knees moved over to the outside as I gripped her as tightly as I could. Stuff me, she may have had slender thighs but bloody powerful they were, what a squeeze she gave me. As I rolled her onto her side I now had a hand free to enjoy those nipples again. She was making some very odd sounds, somewhere between a child crying and a timber wolf howling. That was turning me on as much as her body or the sex.

There is only so much turning on a man can take, all of the above combined in one, brought my body to a crescendo (can a body have a crescendo?). It felt like my dick was exploding and her bum was so tight against my groin as I, well you know what I was doing.

All she said was, my God, awesome - only ten left.

Two or three minutes later, another text ready to go - 8 to 9 tbc, still VT, from back, 2 + 1plus, 10 + 8.

Another reply, but at least five minutes later. Sorry, busy - 7+ b flop, VT, 2 + 0, 8 + 6 – expected more, have fun.

For the next ten, maybe more, minutes, she massaged life back into me.

This woman has far too much energy, I thought.

I felt the ruler pushed against me as she sat up in the dark, a bright flash of light smacked me somewhere in my head. I groaned.

What the hell was that about?

Evidence for the gals, 9.5 I reckon. She replied.

Are you lot having a competition or something?

Be quiet, were the last words she spoke for a while. Her mouth being active all over my body. She sent yet another text and kept that secret.

Anyway, she never had a reply to that one. I assume her pal or pals were asleep by now. It was close on two-thirty but now Sophia wanted to chat.

So we talk for a while. She may even come and watch me play at The Memorial Ground, Bristol this afternoon. I'm in Quin's thirds if I'm awake enough.

She encourages my knackered body to excite her twice more. I suppose she may well have been bored to death rather than excited, I never asked, but now I just needed sleep.

My alarm woke me at seven, no sign of Sophia anywhere. I couldn't have dreamt all of that could I? The bed was a mess and the ruler still where she left it.

Bloody hell, I cry as my whole body aches. I take a shower, the longest one ever, I don't have strength to wash my hair, but somehow, through continuous watery yawns I manage to complete this extreme challenge.

As I stumble into the kitchen my keenly trained eyes spot an A4 size note on top of one of those small laptop things - notebooks or something, God only knows where that came from.

Matt, Crack - whichever you prefer. Not bad for a first night, thanks, only eight left. Now open the file, read and remember it all. See you at half-time, I need this back. By the way - nice photo, you won overall - twenty-five quid is your share. Same again tonight if you have nothing better planned, call me before nine – this morning xxx.

My brain's so out of gear. Twenty-five quid? What? Who? Bugger. I'm sure it will make sense in a minute. First thing is tea, I never was a coffee drinker, the toaster is on at the same time. I pick up the notebook thing, it takes me a while to work out how to switch it on. Then the darned thing wants my code number and a password - at this time on a Saturday, after the night I've just had - someone (Sophia – yes, I knew that) has one hell of a sense of humour.

My code number is automatic, you can never forget that, a password is another matter. I read her note again - maybe I have to call her, but that's a challenge as I don't have a number or her name.

Directory enquiries - what name please? How the fuck do I know? Sophia from Bristol - that's going to be a great help.

I fiddle with my mobile phone, which was also conveniently on the table beneath the A4 sheet, I have yet another password there of course. I scroll down the list of over three hundred names, mostly fictitious in case some moron pinches it. I must have missed something, this sort of stuff is my job - working things out, piecing together scraps of evidence. More by luck than any skill, I'm in the S's - Sexy Sophia. I have to smile, I didn't add that, she must have, but how?

Who cares? I dial the number, it's an answerphone, just seems to be a string of letters and numbers - shit that must be it - I wasn't ready. I scramble around for a pen and redial, 8.529VT109dick says her soft voice in my ear. I'm smiling again.

The password works, just two files that I can see, I open the picture first - there it is in all its glory, my thingy with her hand and the ruler. The dick measured up quite well for a novice, read the