Mr. Big Ego (Dirty South Book 3)

by Kat Addams

  “She is! Well, your events are always amazing. I guess that means she’s special.” Her eyes twinkled.

  How do little old ladies always know this stuff? Is this all-knowing wisdom just a thing that comes with age?

  My mouth was too full to answer her. I didn’t have a clue how to answer her anyway. Of course, Samantha was special. She was special enough that when I had seen her with Dude, I’d become instantly jealous and sad, consequently stuffing my face with all Nola had to offer—including this praline stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  “Mmhmm,” I mumbled as we took off again. This time, I stood straight and went slow.

  I could dodge the drunks and the poles, and I, Victor Beaumont, could also dodge the feels.

  The bar was packed for a Monday evening, but if I thought about it, Mondays were the best day to go to the bar—because who the heck didn’t want to drink on a Monday?

  I whispered my order of whiskey on the rocks to the bartender. I rarely drank my rum. Truth be told, I loved whiskey as much as I loved rum. Blasphemy, my parents would say, but it was true. Chalk it up to another one of my quirks that my family tried to hide.

  “How the heck did you manage to secure two seats here? I’ve never been able to snag an actual seat at the Carousel Bar!” Samantha squeezed in beside me.

  She had changed her clothes. Her blanket scarf had come off, and now, she wore a tight sweater—a tight and low-cut sweater. Her cleavage bounced with her excitement.

  “I called in ahead and reserved them,” I told her chest.

  “We can do that?” She reached out and tilted my face up to meet her gaze.

  “I can do that.”

  “Of course you can.” She rolled her eyes and picked up a menu. “So, about this circus. You’re right. It is good inspiration here.” She ran her hand along the bar and nodded toward the lights overhead. “But I’ve always wondered whose bright idea it was to make a bar that spins. I mean, sure, it sounds cool. But a spinning bar is the last place I’d want to be when I’m getting shit-faced.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s here to get shit-faced though.” I shrugged.

  The bartender, overhearing our conversation, cocked his head to the side. “Sir, it’s New Orleans. We’re all getting shit-faced.” He took her order.

  “Fair enough.” I couldn’t argue with that. I was the owner of the largest rum distillery here.

  “Let’s not get shit-faced and instead get down to business.” Samantha turned in her seat toward me. Her knee knocked against mine, sending a vibe straight up my leg and out my dick.

  Here we go again.

  “All right, business,” I breathed out.

  Our meeting hadn’t even started yet, and I was already wondering if I could walk to the lobby and reserve a room.

  “You’re going to play the role of the ringmaster, not the magician. Well, you’re still magic, but a magic ringmaster and not just the magician. A circus has to have a ringmaster, and since you are the man—insert eye roll—it has to be you. Agreed?” She took a sip of her fruity cocktail.

  “Agreed.”

  “Okay.” She tapped the straw on the rim of her glass. “Also, we should really go with a big top, but it will be cold out, so a tent is out of the question. So, I am thinking—”

  “Who was that guy anyway?” I asked. My foot fidgeted against the barstool. I’d held out on that question long enough. My inquiring mind had to know.

  “Huh?”

  “The one from this morning. The Dude who asked if I was all right when I did that sweet scooter trick that looked like I fell, but in actuality, that was supposed to happen. Magic skills.”

  “Oh. You mean, when you busted your ass in front of Mike and me?”

  “Sure. Whatever. Mike.” My jaw tightened. Mike.

  The corners of her mouth turned up. She loved this.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I … I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I was just curious, is all.”

  “You mean, jealous. I think that’s what you mean. I’m sure that’s a new feeling for you, Mr. Have It All.”

  “No, not at all. I know what we have is just business.” I shook my head. I turned my attention to the bartender, and I ordered us another round.

  “If what we have is just business, then why would it matter? He could be my brother, a client, a vendor, my boyfriend.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Back to business. But … is Mike your boyfriend?” I slammed back the rest of my whiskey as the bartender brought over a new glass.

  “No. Just a date. I … recently put myself back on the market. Not that any of this is your business or this whatever business we have together.”

  “Oh. Right. Cool. So, how did it go?” I took another sip of my whiskey.

  She was right. This spinning bar was a bad idea.

  “It went great. He’s charming.” She rested her head on her palm and sighed. It wasn’t a lousy sigh, not a cry of boredom. No, she sighed out of longing.

  I’d heard that sigh before, and it usually came from women who looked at me like that.

  “So, you’re putting yourself back on the market? Why did you take yourself off of it?”

  She sucked in her breath and took a long sip of her drink. “Back to business.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s okay. I was married once. Long ago. It was a very short marriage but a terrible one. I don’t like to talk about it much. After the divorce, I used my free time as an opportunity to focus on me and my career instead of dating—until now.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I have heard divorce is tough. I really hope Mike works out for you. You’re lucky to get someone sweet for a first date. Lots of asshole-in-chiefs out there.”

  “You ain’t lying about that!” She laughed while reaching to squeeze my knee.

  The surge of heat shot straight up my body and out my dick again. She must have felt the heat, too, because she pulled back like she had touched a hot stove. I tugged at my collar. It was burning up in here.

  “Sorry. I—this cocktail—” Her cheeks flushed.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I like it, Samantha.” I took her hand and put it back on my knee, dragging it higher up until she gripped my inner thigh. “I know this is just business. But you’re the best damn business I’ve ever had. And I need you—I want you again,” I whispered, leaning into her, my lips barely touching her ear.

  “We’re supposed to be discussing the circus.” She pulled back from me. “You can’t be seen canoodling out in public with me. I’m your employee. Put your mask back on.”

  “Fuck the circus and fuck the mask. Look at me. I’m desperate for you.” I looked down at the thick bulge in my pants and flexed it.

  “Are you making it jump out at me like that? What the hell, Victor?” she whispered, glancing around and then right back down at my package.

  “Working on my magic tricks. Wanna see?”

  I watched her bite her lip. She was contemplating it.

  “Do I get Victor or Phantom Man Victor?”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Phantom Man.”

  “As you wish. Be right back.” I slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and ran to the front desk to secure a room before returning to grab Samantha’s hand to get down to business.

  “You said you picked this place, so we wouldn’t be in a position to do this again.”

  “I didn’t think it would happen. Okay, maybe I hoped it would happen, but it hasn’t happened—yet. Want to stop?” I asked, tugging her into the elevator.

  “Hell no.” She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my lips to her mouth as soon as the elevator doors shut.

  I tasted the fruity cocktail on her lips, and it was divine.

  I pulled her toward the room, fumbled with my key, and opened the door. It smelled like my grandmother’s house in here, clean and vintage.

  “Oh my gosh, this is gorgeous! Are
all the rooms like this?” She shuffled her feet on the thin carpet and made her way to the window, peeking through the heavy drapes.

  “We’re in the Faulkner Suite.” I came up behind her and placed my arms around her middle, kissing her neck.

  She opened the drapes wider, peering out over the French Quarter.

  “Let me get the lights and do my condom trick again.” I flicked off the lamps, making it dark.

  “I know this isn’t sexy talk, but I have an IUD now. I’m also clean because you’re the only person I’ve slept with in a very long time.” She hung her head. “What about you?”

  “I’ve been too busy to bone anyone else. It’s been a while for me, and last I checked at my physical, I’m all clean too.”

  “So …”

  I could barely see her smile in the dark, but I knew it was there by the change in her voice.

  “I have magic tricks too, Phantom Man.”

  “Is that right? Let’s see them.” I grinned.

  She slid her finger between my hips and my pants and pulled me toward her. My heart pounded in my chest as she began to unbutton my pants, letting them and my boxers fall to the floor.

  She looked up at me, softly pecking me on the lips over and over again between whispers. “I can make your cock disappear on the count of three. One.” She kissed me again. “Two.” She kissed me harder. “Three.” She dropped to her knees and took me deep into her mouth.

  “Fuck. Best. Magic. Trick. Ever,” I groaned, reaching out to steady myself on the window.

  Her back was toward the street, but getting a blow job right out in the open was still a risk worth taking—with Samantha fucking Masson. She worked her mouth, sliding her tongue up and down while looking up at me. She knew she had me by the balls. Literally. She grabbed my balls and caressed them, gently tugging while still smiling up at me.

  I pushed my palm harder into the window, barely keeping myself from falling over with each little twirl of her tongue. The way she moaned her little sighs while playing with every bit of my junk made me dizzy—or was that the aftereffects of that damn spinning Carousel Bar?

  “I have an idea,” I said.

  “You have an idea while I’m sucking your cock? What the hell? Is this about the circus?” She stopped what she had been doing and stood up.

  “No, no. Gosh. A sexy idea. Turn around and look out the window.” I slowly tilted her body toward the French Quarter view. “Now, just play like you’re looking at that gorgeous view, and I’m going to look at this gorgeous view.” I lowered her leggings down and pulled the back of her sweater up before I spread her thighs with my knee and pushed myself in.

  “Oh … damn,” she gasped, tugging at the front of her sweater to cover herself.

  Her hands pushed against the windowpane as I pushed against her.

  “What if someone sees my naughty bits?” she whispered as I reached around to circle her clit. Her breath left fog on the glass.

  I put my arm across her shoulders, hugging her into me as tight as I could while I let my other hand play with her.

  “They’ve probably been enjoying the show already. We’re just prepping”—I grunted—“for the circus.”

  “What”—she started to breathe faster—“kind of circus … does this?” She turned her head and reached back for me, pulling my face toward her until her lips were on mine.

  We began to work up a sweat, leaving smudged handprints on the window.

  “Fucking—Victor Beaumont’s—circus,” I said, thrusting into her hard and biting her ear.

  “Oh, jeez. I get Phantom Man, remember? It’s Phantom Man or Voodoo Victor! I … I—” Her moans grew louder as she tossed her head back.

  I could feel her pussy clenching around my dick. Wave after wave after wave gripped me as I hammered her into the window. I couldn’t hold back any longer either. I needed to release Voodoo Victor’s magic juice.

  “Bippity—boppity—boom!” I cried out as I curled into her and plunged myself deeper, filling her up.

  There was an awkward silence as I rested my head against the back of her neck.

  “Bippity, boppity, boom?” she finally asked, turning around and making my dick fall out of her.

  “I thought we were doing magic tricks. My brain apparently doesn’t work when you’re nearby.” I stepped back toward the bed, suddenly feeling like I needed to lie down.

  “It doesn’t! Look at that terrible bruise on your ass!” She laughed, pointing toward my hip.

  I hadn’t even noticed it until now. “Shit! That looks bad, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d say, no more scooters for you.” She fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. “But you can ride me anytime.”

  My dick was still hard. He wasn’t ready yet to pack his balls up and go home.

  Samantha propped herself up on her elbow and pointed at my cock that stood, sticking straight out. “Does it ever go down? How the hell do you do that?”

  “I told you I was full of magic tricks.” I cupped her chin in my palm and nuzzled her lips with mine.

  “Best magic trick ever!” she said, reaching down and grabbing my wand.

  Five

  Samantha

  I rubbed my eyes and stretched, noticing just how messy we had made the room last night. Both beds were disheveled, clothes scattered everywhere, and even the ice bucket was turned over and dripping on the floor. My eyes lit up as I remembered the ice cube he had trailed down between my breasts, stopping to let the water pool at my navel and bringing it down further between my legs before he put his warm mouth on me.

  I should have known staying at the hotel was a bad idea for my dignity, but it had been a good idea for my awakening sexual appetite. The moment Victor had seen me last night, he’d smiled so wide that it crinkled the corners of his eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile right back at him. But the second he’d told me how awesome he was at reserving the bar seats, I’d felt that nagging tug of my brain telling me, We don’t want this douche canoe. Still, that hadn’t stopped me. When I had brushed up against his knee and caught the look in his eyes—the same one that he had given me under his phantom mask and in his office—I’d told my brain that I would deal with her later.

  I had finally given up on my brain last night. Completely. Victor and I had talked and fucked and talked and fucked and talked again until the wee hours of the morning. By that time, I had been so delirious that I’d told him everything. Everything. I had even told him about the Douche Who Must Not Be Named—aka my ex-husband.

  “What did he do to you?” Victor asked after I mentioned never wanting to date a man again after my divorce. He was lying on his side, facing me and entirely in my personal space—and my headspace.

  I sat up in the bed and sighed, realizing it had been years since I told anyone or spoke his name aloud.

  “His name is William.” I felt the chill creep up my spine and settle in my throat. “We married shortly after meeting in college. The marriage lasted less than a year.” I swallowed.

  Victor rubbed his palm up and along my back, as if trying to help me push the words out.

  “William was everything I thought I wanted. He was sexy, intelligent, funny, charming. He’d come from a good background, and he was driven in life and motivated, thoughtful and kind. He was all of those things … Mr. Perfect … until we got married.”

  I looked over at Victor to see if he was still listening, half-hoping he wasn’t.

  “Narcissist.” He shook his head.

  “How did you know I was going there? So, you know the type? The alpha-male, grandiose-narcissist, Mr. Perfect asshole?”

  “I do. I have worked with them and dated one myself. There are alpha females too, ya know.” He sat up beside me. “So, let me guess. He turned into a big asshole and—”

  “Cheated on me—with my best friend. Ex-best friend. She’s not someone I ever speak about either. They didn’t last long—not as long as I’d lasted with him anyway.”

  “Yep.
A lot of them do that. The narcs, not the best friends. They were probably both narcs—or at least both assholes. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Narcissists are the worst of the worst. I caught my narcissist ex-girlfriend cheating too. It rips out your heart, doesn’t it?”

  Victor Beaumont has a heart? I wondered.

  “I caught mine cheating on me at a nightclub. It was raining, and he had been drinking when he left the house. William wouldn’t return my calls. He kept bitch-buttoning me. I was worried at first, but then I got pissed. So, I went to check if he was at this club we frequented. I wanted to see just why he was ghosting me—his wife. When I walked in, I saw them from across the room. He was nuzzling her neck, and she had her hand between his legs. I’ll never forget that. It’s like it is ingrained in my brain. Both of these people were important to me, and in a matter of seconds, they both became my worst enemies. I left the club without saying a word. I just went home, loaded my car up in the pouring down rain, and went to a hotel. I filed for divorce and rented an apartment the next day. I holed myself up for a while, just focusing on getting through school and my career. Now … five years later, I’m emerging from my cage. It’s a pretty shitty cage, complete with dumb birds. I’m hoping to expand it to a cave soon. That’s the goal. Homeownership and no more assholes.”

  My cheeks grew hot as I realized I’d put my foot in my mouth. Not only had I fucked the asshole-in-chief, but I’d also told him my sob story—and I wasn’t even drunk. Just high on the endorphins from our marathon sex, I guessed.

  “That’s a pretty good goal to have, Ms. Independent. But back up a minute. So, you’ve been single for five years? How did you manage that? You’re stunning and smart and the whole package!”

  “I wasn’t completely single the whole time. I had a few short-term boyfriends but never got serious with them. They meant nothing. I was too busy with myself to give them enough attention.”

  “Good for you for building yourself up like that, Samantha.”

  “I don’t know why I told you all of that. I think I’ll hide under these covers now.” I pulled the sheet up and over me and scooted down, somehow ending up right back in his arms.