Prince Hunter: A Prince of Tease Novel (Princes of Tease Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  P rince hunter

  By Xavier Neal

  Prince Hunter

  Prince of Tease Novel

  By Xavier Neal

  © Xavier Neal 2016

  Cover by Angie Merriam

  All rights reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental .

  *** Warning: Content contains extremely foul language, sexually explicit scenes, and adult sit uations. 18 and over is advised***

  Dedication: To the Universe... Thank you for keeping me tied to my dream.

  Hunter

  I've got one chick ridin' my cock and the other my face. Life doesn't really get any better than this...

  All of a sudden the sounds of tongues being rolled around each other echoes throughout the room.

  I was mistaken.

  The dark haired woman on my mouth moans louder as she begins to come apart on my tongue. “Prince H!”

  Clients only know us by our titles. If I'm being completely honest with you, other than my boss, no one in this city even knows my real name. It's for the best. Hard to discover who it is you wanna be in life with a reputation already branded to you without your consent. Don't ask if it's good or bad or hell, even what it is. I'm a little busy here...

  Her thin body abandons my mouth and crumbles into a heap on the hotel bed beside us.

  One down. One to go...

  The woman still connected to my body lowers her attention back to mine. For the first time since the three of us stumbled into this hotel room, I'm given an actual chance to drink her in.

  Technically, tonight isn't about her. It's about her friend who is supposed be getting married in a couple months. It's her friend who I was hired to entertain out of the sheets, but persuaded me free of charge to join her in them. Believe it or not, I hesitated quite a bit before actually agreeing. She's not my type. Not her looks. Not her nasty attitude. Not the way she behaved like I was a buffet item instead of a person. Hell, it wasn't until she upped the ante by offerin' a threesome, an experience I hadn't had a chance to try before, that I even began to consider it. Why are you lookin' at me like that? You didn't really think it was jus' men who slept with the strippers at their parties, did you? Ha. No. Women are jus' better about pretending it never happened.

  From the cream color of her silky smooth skin to her svelte stature, she radiates an organic flawlessness. Unlike her friend who's over processed, with the dye in her hair and the layer of makeup that rubbed off on my shirt, this woman is naturally beautiful. Her light blonde, shoulder length hair, isn't full of products any more than her glowin' face is. But then there's the way she keeps dippin' her head slightly to the side, implying innocence. A hint of shyness. It's a strange combination I can't say I've come across.

  Most women this beautiful are stuck-up as shit. For the price they pay for my services I guess they feel entitled to be. Most who look this groomed and prestigious I only meet through work anyway. I don't date clients. There are rules in place, which would prevent that from being a possibility even if I wanted to. And the last thing I would ever wanna do is break a rule at work. The queen isn't a fan of them bent or broken. She doesn't budge for much. Jus' between you and me? I don't think anyone's ever actually lived to talk about what happens if you do. There's been some stories, some speculation, but nothin' with certainty, all jus' heavily remindin' us to keep our mouths shut when we're told. Yeah, yeah, could be a bunch of tall tales, but my money's on it being the truth.

  She innocently bites her bottom lip while her head rolls around to the other side.

  I try to date. Do my bes' to avoid women who remind me of where I work and set my eyes on ones who come across like they haven't had too many miles put on them yet. I don't jus' mean sexually. I mean scorned by lovers too. We've all got baggage and I don't mind sharin' the load, but I ain't lookin' to be a pack mule. Problem with women who look this untouched is they typically flee when they get any sort of knowledge about what I do. The fact one is freely on my dick has my curiosity kickin'.

  The blonde bucks her hips again, beautiful blue eyes falling shut as she seems swept away in her surrender. Lost in the freedom of her limited mobility. Shooting my body up, I wind one hand around the back of her neck and use the other to tug at the rope that's secured around her wrists. A soft yet raw noise escapes her parted plump, pink lips. My cock eagerly throbs from the combination of the sight and sound.

  Not sure I've ever heard a sound so damn sexy. And trust me. I've heard a lot of women moan.

  Her head falls forward at the same time her pussy grips my dick tighter. The lustful way her muscles are beginning to lock, causes me to crack a small smile over the success on the horizon. In a light whisper she declares, “I'm gonna come...”

  My face drops into the crook of her neck where I gingerly drag my teeth. All of a sudden she lets go and her pussy is gripping as if pleading for its life. I sharply tug on the rope once more, her trembles immediately increase from the action. The quaking from her swollen pussy is so tightly intertwined with her erotic gasps, I'm not sure I can hold on much longer.

  That's different. I don't typically blow a load during business hours. It doesn't usually last long enough to. What? No. I'm not an escort. Stripping to slipping into the sheets is always an unclear line, but the decision always remains with us. We're booked to put on a helluva performance. What happens after, money or no money, is our choice. French, our boss or as I usually call her The Queen, is too controlling 95% of the time, but even she knows when to hand over the reins. No. I don't take money for them to take dick. I take money for the dance and once in a while, the need to get laid leads me to give it up free of charge. No-huh. I never said I didn't sleep with women from work. I said I didn't date them. It's important to not assume anything about anything.

  The woman continues to rock relentlessly. Although she's in a surrender state, she seems to understand she's not powerless. She arches into me further, wedging my cock deeper. Her pussy continues to control the situation with every delicious quiver. The wetness continuously drowns my dick until my own body is teetering on the edge of release. Another breath of a moan reaches my ears. The tiny gesture breaks me. A viscous, throaty groan is freed while my cock is hungrily milked by the first woman in months.

  Being the only one to get yourself off isn't somethin' to brag about. And to answer the question that's probably on your pretty lips, it isn't because I've been on a dry streak. More like an unsuccessful hunt. The lovers herd is rather thin outside of one-night stands. Not sayin' I'm against 'em. Current situation as evidence. My unique taste jus' requires a little more trust than I'm typically gonna find with some random woman I met two-steppin' at a bar.

  Our breathing begins to stabilize, which is when I lift my face, eyes immediately tied up once more by a crystal glare.

  Damn those are beautiful.

  She curves her lips into a sweet smirk. “Worth every penny...”

  I give her a wink.

  Won't complain about another satisfied customer even if I'm wishin' it's the last thing she was. Oh....they're always satisfied. It's guaranteed. I'll go until you can't remember what letter your own name starts wit
h when needed. I love the hell out of what I do on stage as well as off. Fucked up thing is, I've only got a few months to decide whether to rejoin the family business or ask French if we get retirement plans. Past couple of years have been one long wet dream come true. Endless money. Endless women. Endless parties. No mention of my past or expected future responsibilities. For the past couple of years I've managed to wrangle myself into a lifetime unlike the one I ran from. Too bad reality has got the damn alarm set. Even worse is it's set for what feels like the ass crack of dawn. Can't say I'm lookin' forward to it, but I guess we all have to wake up sometime.

  Rory

  Megan, one of my best friends, leans forward, mocha colored elbows resting on the glass counter of the bakery she works in. Her voice drops to a whisper, “So....have you ever done that before?”

  “Sleep with a stripper?”

  “No- Well...that too. Wait. Have you slept with a stripper before?”

  “No. But I don't have anything against sleeping with them.”

  “Obviously.”

  I adjust the grip on my coffee cup. “Obviously.”

  It's just a job to me. Hell if he knew what I did for a living he'd probably would've changed his mind like most men. Then again there were two women involved, so maybe not.

  “But I meant the other thing...” She bites her bottom lip and looks around the empty store. “You know....the threesome thing.”

  The dancing curiosity in her brown eyes makes me giggle.

  How hard do you think her jaw would hit the counter if I admitted I've had basically two a year since I graduated high school? Hey! It's just about having a no strings attached kinda fun. You know. The thing my entire life is based on.

  Rather than possibly give her a heart attack, I simply nod.

  “Like...more than once?”

  I nod again.

  As predicted her jaw unhinges and she squeaks, “That's insane! Oh my gosh! I-I-I-I-”

  While she continues to stumble over her response, I giggle and have another sip of my warm coffee.

  Is it bad I love people's reactions when they find out how carefree I am?

  “If it makes you feel any better, I hadn't had sex in a while.”

  Which in my opinion makes it that much harder to remember to take those little 'keep babies away' pills every day.

  “I don't think I could ever do it,” she sighs as she regains her composure. “I mean it's not like I think girl on girl is gross or don't think other women are attractive-” The abrupt way she stops herself makes me smirk. “Not saying that I do find them attractive in a sexual sense- I just- I-” When her fumbling finally stops she states, “Bottom line is I don't really wanna share. I don't like to share.”

  “Yeah, neither does that overly protective boyfriend of yours.”

  Immediately, Megan blushes and lowers her face.

  Over protective doesn't even start to describe how Dean feels about her. For me, it would be beyond too much. I would've hit the hills the minute he got remotely too attached. It's the way I live life. I'm a little more free spirited than most. Dating and relationships are too many tangles. Too many promises. Too much commitment.

  The sound of the door chiming drags our attention to it.

  Dean warmly greets, “Ladies.”

  Go ahead. Drool. I did when we first met. It's hard not to. He's tall, tanned, ripped, and has a very well-known reputation for dealing out orgasms like they're after dinner mints. Between the blue eyes and charming smile ladies are always lining up to take a number, even now. Even when he's made it very clear there is only one adorable nerdy girl he will love for the rest of his life. It's a strange notion I can't, nor do I wanna try, to wrap my mind around. The whole love you forever nonsense. Who decides when forever ends? Who decides when those strings get cut? More importantly what happens when one person cuts them before you're ready? Blubbering mess is not exactly a look I wanna try on any time soon. Doesn't look fun. Bet it doesn't feel fun either. I'm a huge fan of fun. Can you tell?

  “Speak of the devil,” I mumble under my breath.

  Megan's smile expands. “Hey.”

  Dean crosses over to the counter, leans over, and gives her a sweet but solid kiss.

  He does this all the time. It's like an odd mixture of marking his territory and making sure she's actually real. If you knew their story you would understand why he feels he has to. Hell, the little bit I know it makes me grateful I've never had a boyfriend before. Not sure I want a prince charming riding in to try to save me. I don't actually need saving. I'm quite happy like this.

  He pulls away with a cocky smirk. “Fuck, I missed you.”

  Megan rolls her eyes. “You saw me three hours ago.”

  “I did more than see you three hours ago.”

  “Dean!”

  “Now that's closer to what was happening three hours ago.”

  She gives him a playful swat as I snicker into my coffee.

  His attention falls on me at the same time he braces himself against the counter. “Morning Rory.”

  “Dean.”

  “You don't look as bad as I figured you would from the bachelorette party. Guess you recovered alright yesterday?”

  I give him a small shrug. “Guess so. Not like I had a hangover to nurse.” Seeing his eyes fill with concern I quickly add, “Relax. Megan barely drank. Trust me, I would remember. I was completely sober.”

  Yes. My threesome was with completely conscious consent. No liquor cop outs from my end.

  In an annoyed huff she snaps, “I already told you that, Dean. Repeatedly.”

  He tries to hide his discomfort.

  Just watching them have this argument is making me feel constricted. Like being strangled to death by a baby boa constrictor. Oh and that happens by the way. The whole being strangled to death by your pet snake. Hard lines to cover.

  Uneasy, I give the side of my neck a small rub.

  Megan folds her arms firmly against her chest. “Why is it so damn hard for you to believe me?”

  “I never said I don't believe you,” he sighs looking her direction. “I just know what happens at bachelor parties and to think about you that drunk or that horned up without me around fucks with my head. We're not talking normal fucks with my head either. We're talking Defcon level 1 shit, baby.”

  Megan whispers, “Why? Where in the hell is trust?”

  “Can we not have this conversation again right now?” His eyes dart up with a plea. “Please?”

  She shakes her head, which is when I interrupt in hopes of calming the situation back down. “Can I go ahead and get my muffins?”

  Her mocha face tilts to the side. “Is it time for you to go already?”

  “Probably. Not like my clients are going anywhere but Brian gets crabby if he hasn't had his Monday morning muffin.”

  She giggles while Dean says, “It's so fucking weird what you do for a living. And I know I've said it a hundred times before-”

  “101,” Megan adds, putting my two muffins in a bakery box.

  “-but nothing about you gives any sorts of clues to your chosen profession.”

  I place the coffee cup down and offer my best friend my debit card.

  “You scream receptionist. Flight attendant. Kindergarten teacher.”

  “All blonde women stereotypes,” I scold.

  “Well fuck, Rory. What do you expect? When I think mortician I think black and gloom, not bright and cheerful. How you're as fucking happy as you always are is a goddamn mystery.”

  Yeah, I get this all the time. Not just from Dean, who for the record has been around me for almost a year, but from the families when they come in to begin the process of services. People come in initially expecting to meet someone very pale and one more listen of Mad World away from joining the corpses in their presence, not Death Guide Barbie. I get it. Death is a hard subject for most. A grim reality almost unbearable to think about. Naturally you would expect someone who constantly has to be surrounded by it to b
e affected. And I am. Just not in the way you think. Death is the ultimate strings attached relationship. No getting away from it no matter how hard you fucking try.

  “Being happy is a choice, Dean.” My reminder is met with an eye roll. “Be happy you're still alive. Be happy you've got great people in your life. And at this moment, be more than happy Megan is willing to put up with you every day.”

  He gives me a crooked smile. “You coming by for dinner?”

  “Doesn't your mom have enough mouths to feed?”

  Dean winks. “You know the Kellar rule. Doors always open.”

  The Kellars have to be the sweetest, most amazing family I've ever met. Well, them and all the extended pieces they've tied to them. Family lifestyles aren't exactly where I'm comfortable. Haven't had one to call my own in almost two decades. The Kellars are the closest to successfully keeping me linked to them. They welcome everyone brought in with open arms. They love you unconditionally. They're the kind of family you never feel alone in. It's beautifully suffocating.