by Loki Renard
Her mother smiled indulgently. “So you’re saying you don’t want us to visit every weekend? Or call every hour?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Mika said. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Her father wrapped her in a bear hug. “Be good,” he murmured. “Remember, we love you very much.”
“I’ll be good,” she promised. “I always am.”
She pushed the rising guilt away and plastered a smile on her face as her mother and father waved her down the stairs toward the waiting cab—and the rest of her life.
Chapter Three
“The subject is on the move.”
A man wearing a slim suit and dark glasses spoke into his lapel. He was stationed across the street from Mika’s home, one of many men located up and down the block and further afield as well. If the heiress to the Ferrier fortune noticed the stiff men wearing suits complete with suspect bulges flanking and following her cab, she didn’t show any signs of it. Her cab continued into traffic while she glued herself to her phone, swiping through social media with such intense concentration she could have been followed by a phalanx of tanks and not noticed.
“Roger that,” his handler’s voice came over the piece in his ear. “We’ll pick her up when an opportunity presents itself in Ibiza. Best to do it off US soil. Keep an eye out for the others. We know we’re not the only ones out here. Do this as quietly as possible. Draw no attention. And don’t get impatient. If anyone else makes a move before we do, take them out. This needs to be clean.”
As Mika’s cab swept away from her house, one, two, three other cars carrying personnel from different agencies and different countries followed in her wake. Mika Ferrier was not famous in a classic sense. She had a few thousand followers on social media, more than most of her friends, but not enough to catapult her into the limelight. What she did not know was that she had quite a few followers who weren’t interested in anything so superficial as her latest selfies. Their interest was deeper—much, much deeper. It went all the way to the level of her DNA.
Taking a young woman from her home in the middle of New York was out of the question. Nobody would risk that kind of exposure. The Ferriers were well connected and their home was incredibly secure. However, with her departure for Ibiza, she had become a blithely unaware target for a hundred different people with a hundred unpleasant agendas.
The waters of her world were churning with unseen danger as she chatted with her friends via text, letting them know she was just an hour away from the airport and total freedom.
Chapter Four
“I’m so glad you came, Mikkie!” Traci hugged her tight as their plane taxied down the runway. They had first class seats, none of which had been paid for thanks to Traci’s parents’ interest in the airline. Mika and Traci and everyone else they knew had never had to really deal with the concept of working and paying for things. They had a vague idea of it, of course. Mika had even worked in her father’s store over the summers sometimes, but even then it was nothing like the existence that so many people lived. She felt a little guilty about that sometimes, knowing that she didn’t deserve it any more than anyone else. It was her mother’s influence that made her aware of that. Her mother had not grown up rich, and was often indifferent to the kinds of luxuries Mika enjoyed. Her father was likewise disconnected at times, but in different ways. Sometimes Mika almost felt like her parents were from another world completely.
The force of the engines pressed her back into her comfortable seat. There was the moment of lightness as the craft left the ground and her stomach churned with the certainty that what she was doing was not a good idea. It wasn’t the juvenile feeling she’d had in the past, where she knew she was up to something her parents wouldn’t approve of. It was a deeper, more adult anxiety that she really was not used to.
She looked out the window at the receding city, trying to quiet her concerns. She was allowed to travel, she was an adult woman in her own right. Her parents didn’t own her and she could make decisions as she pleased. So why did she feel so bad?
“Mikkie!” Traci yelled in her ear. “Come back, Mikkie. Have a cocktail!”
“They’re letting us drink?” Mika looked around and saw the air hostess handing a cocktail to Mandy, another one of their friends who was nineteen.
“This is a European airline and we’re going to Europe. Cocktail hour is every hour there,” Traci beamed. “The party starts now!”
* * *
Three days later, the party had not stopped starting. The moment the first sips of tequila and vodka had hit Mika’s bloodstream, caution had been thrown to the wind. She and Traci and Kiera and Mandy and Chad and Tom and Brody had taken three suites in one of the best hotels on the island and were making the most of the nightlife.
The others had already hooked up several times, but though Mika had danced with what felt like hundreds of guys, she hadn’t wanted to sleep with any of them. No matter how hot they were, it just didn’t feel right.
Maybe there was something wrong with her. Traci had already slept with one guy, and had another in her sights. Kiera and Chad were together already and Tom and Brody—well, they hung around her a lot, trying to outdo one another. They were both cute guys, but she’d known them her whole life and they were more like brothers to her than potential boyfriends.
She laid back beside the hotel pool, answering a text message from her mother, lying about how good the science tutor was, while Tom and Brody threw themselves into the pool over and over again, getting louder and sillier by the minute in a bid to get her attention.
“Mikkie!” Brody shouted to her. “Tom says he can jump from our room’s balcony into the pool.”
“It’s ten stories up. He’ll kill himself,” Mika sighed. “Why don’t you guys come sunbathe with me.”
Her invitation worked. In less than thirty seconds, two muscled young bodies were laid out on either side of her. She laid back and pulled her shades over her eyes, closing them to the filtered sun as the masculine posturing continued verbally over her.
* * *
“Just pick one of them and get it over with,” Traci advised later on that afternoon. The girls had taken refuge in Traci’s hotel room as they all got ready for the night ahead. “Once you know how good sex feels, you’re going to feel so stupid for having waited this long. You don’t even have to pick one of them. Just choose one to go first, and then have the other.”
“Traci!” Mika shook her head. “Don’t be gross. I don’t want sex just to have sex. I want romance.”
“You want a fairytale,” Traci mocked her gently. “That’s not what life is actually like, Mikkie, and even if it was, it would be boring, and even if it wasn’t boring, you still wouldn’t be interested. You’ve got guys throwing themselves at you and you ignore them. All of them. Even that prince we met in the club. He wanted you!”
“I’m not moving to the Middle East to be a princess,” Mika said with a sigh.
“You don’t have to move to his country! You don’t have to marry him! It’s time you got laid, Mikkie. He’s hot, he’s rich, he wants you.” Traci shrugged with wide eyes. “Your virginity is holding you back. You know he invited us to go to his hotel whenever we want. You should go. Tonight. Just do it.”
The guy was handsome, rich, and yes, literally a prince. Mika was curious as to what sex would be like. Traci was forever going on about it, and had been for years. At eighteen years of age, Mika knew that she was going to have to have sex sooner or later. It may as well be with a prince in Ibiza.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I think I will.”
“Oh, Mikkie, finally!” Traci clapped her hands. “I’m going to help you get ready, you’re going to look so good! He won’t be able to stop himself from fucking you!”
Over the next hour or so, Mika gave herself up to Traci’s better judgment and allowed herself to be swept away in a tide of things Traci thought were appealing to the male gaze. When she was done, Mika barely recognized herself.
/> Her makeup was much heavier than she would usually have worn it, her lipstick a deep crimson red, her lips lined to make the most of their fullness. Her eyes were smoky, like a forest fire, thick black slabs of tone gradating out to thick smog near her perfectly plucked brows.
She was wearing a very short black leather skirt and a pale sequined tank top that flashed a hundred colors as it caught the light. The look in its entirety lacked grace, but Traci said men liked obvious displays of sexual appeal—which was why the tank top was cut in such a way that the sides of Mika’s breasts were intermittently visible when she moved.
“Do you think this is maybe, I don’t know, a bit…” Mika lowered her voice. “Slutty?”
“There’s no such thing,” Traci said. “Don’t slut-shame yourself, Mikkie. You’re allowed to be hot. You don’t have to apologize for being beautiful. God! You’re so repressed! Look how hot you are!”
Looking in the mirror, Mika didn’t deny that she looked appealing. She just wondered what kind of appeal she really had in that moment.
“Okay, there’s a cab downstairs waiting to take you to him,” Traci said, interrupting her thoughts with more words. “Good luck!”
Mika made her way down to the cab feeling a bit like an automaton. This was what pretty girls were supposed to do. They were supposed to find their princes and get laid. That was how this worked. It didn’t matter how weird or awkward it felt. It had to be right, everybody said so, after all.
She got into the cab and made the short journey to the prince’s hotel without incident. As she stepped out after paying the driver, she could feel eyes on her. Every male in the area seemed to be drawn toward her, their heads swiveling to watch her walk into the lobby.
Being noticed by men wasn’t a totally foreign experience, but she had never felt it so intensely before. They seemed to hang on every move she made, and she understood more powerfully than ever what it meant to be a beautiful young woman, an object of pure desire.
Back in New York things had been different. She had usually been wearing a lot more clothing, for starters. And she was still three years away from being able to drink legally, or go to clubs. In Ibiza, she had suddenly become fully adult.
She wondered how she hadn’t noticed before. Then she realized she had never been out like this alone before, dressed like this. All the other outings she had been part of a gaggle and the attention had been spread between them. Now that she was on her own, it was all focused on her—and not in the way it was on a photo shoot. That was professional, protected. This was the erotic wild. This was a realm where masculine desire was held in check only by limited social mores.
Making her way to the elevator, she pressed the button for the top floor. The prince had the penthouse. She remembered that, as he’d told her and Traci that about a thousand times. When she reached the top, his guards let her past without question. Apparently it wasn’t uncommon for the prince to receive scantily clad female company.
She found the young man they’d met in one of the clubs lounging on a cheetah suede chaise, waving his fingers to the accompaniment of a concerto playing on his phone. It was tinny and pretentious and silly all at the same time, but it made her smile.
He was handsome, traditionally handsome but with a veneer of slickness over his visage that made him look a little bit airbrushed. He smiled aimlessly in her direction, his teeth pristine white like bits of kitchen tile. She was used to attractive, polished people, but the prince looked as though he had been professionally constructed somewhere.
He was hot, she told herself. Everybody said so. From the tips of his frosted black hair to the many rings on his fingers, he was hot.
“Beauty, you came,” he said with a broad smile. He was quite charming, this prince. He rose from the chaise and came forward with a sway she wasn’t sure was entirely masculine or not, but didn’t want to question. He was elegant, she told herself. Yes, that’s what he was. Elegant and suave and princely. She should probably be aroused.
“I came,” she agreed. She was standing sort of stiffly, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “You invited me.”
“Yes, of course, Cindy.”
“It’s, uhm, Mika,” she said.
“Mika, right, of course…” He leaned over to a nearby tray coated in a fine white powder and casually inhaled a line via a little gold cylinder. “You’re so beautiful words can’t name you.” He extended the cylinder toward her. “Want some?”
“Er, maybe later,” Mika said, wanting to be polite. This was sort of exciting and sort of scary. It didn’t quite feel like she thought her first time would feel like. There was a certain lack of romance, but maybe that’s not how sex really was. Traci was always telling her that she was too romantic and that life didn’t work the way she thought it did.
“Want some of this?” His hand went to his crotch and grasped at the fabric.
“Uhm… well…” Mika really wasn’t sure she’d made a good decision in coming here. The prince was attractive, but something really didn’t feel right. She had to remind herself that she was there to lose her virginity to a handsome, rich man.
“Of course you do,” he laughed as if he’d told a joke. Before Mika’s bewildered gaze, he pulled the front of his pants down and let his genitals spill out.
His cock was not as fearsome as she had imagined it would be. It didn’t look much like any cock she’d seen on the internet either. It wasn’t just that it was smaller, it was that it was floppier, a bit like a pool noodle that had seen better days, sort of hanging limply over the waistband, with bits of testicle hanging similarly askew.
“Suck me,” he suggested. “Make me hard.”
Mika’s experimentation had not extended to oral activities. She’d never quite seen the point of it, but standing before the prince, she guessed it was probably necessary to take things to the next level.
“Okay, uhm…”
He went to the end of his bed and laid back, assuming a position that seemed familiar to him, his legs splayed in a way that reminded her of a frog kicking through water, his cock twitching like a dying thing. Part of her wanted to leave, but she knew she couldn’t go back to her hotel still a virgin. This was what everyone did. Maybe if she did it too, she’d understand what the fuss was about. Maybe it was like beer, gross at first, but sort of good if you drank enough of it.
She went to her knees at the end of the bed and wrapped her hand around his member.
“Yeah, suck me,” the prince grunted.
Hesitantly, Mika put her lips to his cock. It was sort of soft against her mouth, not at all threatening, but not terribly interesting either. There was a masculine scent to it though, and a definite taboo to the act. She could not stop thinking about how she was in Ibiza, about to have sex with a prince. This was the sort of thing girls dreamed about.
As she let her lips press to the very head of him, she started to feel a little more excited, a little more turned on. It wasn’t about him. It was about her, and what she was doing. She was pleasuring a member of the royal family of somewhere or other. This was the story she’d tell whenever anyone asked her how she lost her virginity.
“Oh, baby, yeah, that’s so fucking hot,” he grunted.
Mika let her tongue extend, licking along the shaft of his cock. He was starting to get a little firmer, but things were far from rock hard. The prince seemed to enjoy it though, and she was beginning to think of herself as a seducer of royals, which was exciting in itself.
“Fuck, yea, that’s hot…” he groaned, arching his hips up. “Oh, my god… that’s fucking hotttt….” he sucked the words between his teeth as she lapped at his stiffening rod. “So fucking… hot… Ow! Hell, fucking hell, that burns!”
It suddenly dawned on Mika that the sounds emerging from the prince were not ones of pleasure. She wasn’t sure how blowjobs usually went, but she was absolutely sure that the man wasn’t supposed to be pushing her away and grasping at his crotch with watery-eyed desperation.
&
nbsp; She pulled her mouth away and let out a gasp of horror. His erection was bright red and starting to peel slightly along the shaft, as if it had been subjected to an extended dose of sun.
“God! What’s wrong with you!” She stared at him.
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you!” He squealed the words, clutching at his junk with cupped hands and staring at her with watering eyes. “What did you just do to me?!”
“Nothing!” Mika blushed deep red with embarrassment. Her very first attempt at oral sex was ending in utter disaster. “I don’t know went wrong. I’m sorry!”
“You burned my dick!”
“I can’t have… maybe you got sunburned before I got down there or something…” She rose to her feet, panicked and wanting to make a quick exit. This was the most mortifying thing that had ever happened in her life. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I really don’t know what…”
He was already calling for his attendant. She could hear footsteps on the stairs, the precursors to the room being filled with obsequious servants who clustered about asking the prince what was wrong and how they could help and just to be calm, and it wouldn’t be a moment, and the medics were on their way…
Mika slipped out in the confusion, half afraid she might be arrested for accidental assault or some such thing. The last she saw, the prince was whimpering and whining, clutching at his junk and complaining about some crazy girl whose mouth was on fire.
She called a cab and got back to her hotel, where she took refuge in Traci’s suite.
Traci was half dressed, applying eyeliner when Mika kicked off her shoes and dived beneath the covers of her bed, groaning to herself.
“So, how did it go? Did you fuck him?” Traci asked the question, blithely unaware of Mika’s keen embarrassment.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mika said, pushing back the covers. She was deeply embarrassed, scared, and confused. Blowjobs had always looked so easy when the porn actors Traci insisted on showing everyone, because she thought they were edgy and hot, did them. It was just putting your mouth on a penis. How had it gone so wrong?