by Alexis Angel
It sounds crazy, right? Saying no to these three amazing men is like denying yourself. I don’t even fucking know because I doubt anyone has ever done it—it’s voluntary torture!
I walked to the other side of my desk, needing distance from Charles, and lean on the granite desktop.
“Yep. I’m saying no.” Shit, that hurts.
“I don’t know what to do with you: worship at your feet for being so damn strong or slap you across the face because you’re a fucking idiot.”
Whoa. I put my hands up in defense, feeling like he actually did hit me. It’s probably because I know I should do it and give in to my wildest dreams.
But I also know I can’t.
“I guess that’s fair,” I say, finally finding my words. “Please, go and tell him before it’s too late.”
“Tell him what?” A low, masculine voice rumbles through the office, and my pussy clenches instinctively.
David.
Fuck. His voice alone melts my panties off. He folds his arms and leans against the door frame.
I lose my breath, consuming the vision of him. Everything about him is so damn erotic.
Charles clears his throat and moves out of our view, and I cross my arms, mimicking his stance.
“I won’t be going to the gala tonight. Take back the clothes,” I blurt out.
His gaze gradually scrolls up and down my body, and I feel my ache for him intensify.
It’s so not fair how fucking hot he is.
“You’ll be coming with me, love. Accept the dress as a replacement for yesterday’s, though I can’t promise I won’t ruin this one.”
He winks and leaves.
Chapter 7
David
The way Vivienne turns me on is like flipping a fucking switch.
One minute, I’m standing at the bottom of the staircase in my hand-stitched vicuna wool tuxedo, with my thick, heavy cock tucked safely against my muscular thigh. The next, she’s standing at the top of the stairway, and I’m practically creaming through a pair of sixty-thousand-dollar tuxedo pants.
You’ve heard of vicuna wool, I’m sure. Terribly fucking expensive—it can only be shorn every three years, and the fabric that comprises it is often laced with real gold.
So, for obvious reasons, I like this tuxedo. You’d like it too—trust me. It’s tight in all the right places and tailored to perfection.
Broad shoulders on the jacket to accommodate my hard, thick muscles. Nice, tight trousers.
So, it’s a shame that as soon as I see Vivienne in her ball gown, my cock goes so hard it nearly rips right through my fucking slacks.
“You look…lovely,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
She looks so much more than lovely. In this dress, with those heels, and that body, she looks like a Michelin 3-star meal that I’m about to devour course by fucking course.
“Lovely?” she repeats, calling my bluff as she descends down the staircase in a pair of fuck me stilettos and a skirt that has a slit going all the way up to her hip bone. “Someone’s minding their manners.”
But then her eyes trail down my pant leg where my cock is threatening to start bursting seams, and a wicked look registers in her gaze.
“From the waist up, anyway.”
“Half a gentleman is progress,” I remind her, watching the way her hips sway as she approaches me.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she teases. Those pretty eyes haven’t left my sizeable bulge yet. “Looks like you’ve progressed well past the halfway point.”
Christ. If she doesn’t meet my gaze, I won’t meet hers, either. The dress I’ve got her in has a neckline that’s cut all the way down to her navel—and, good Lord, the tits on Vivienne Taylor could make a Playboy centerfold shed tears of envy.
I bet they’re real, too—and the way they’re nearly popping out of this gown, it would just take a little twitch of my fingers along the seam of her bust to find out for sure.
Easy access, the way I like it.
She dismounts the stairs and all I can think about is, how the hell am I not fucking her already? She wants me. I want her. Usually, the only thing that’s hard at this point is the twelve inches of cock I’m about to sink into the cunt of my choosing; but Vivienne is something else.
She might look easy at first glance, but the second she opens that pretty mouth, she proves to be more difficult than anyone would ever imagine.
“You can stare all you like,” she reminds me, leaning in. Her breath is hot and humid against my ear. It makes me think about how fucking good her breath would feel a little further south—catch my drift? “But it won’t make this dress any less opaque.”
“Lucky me, then,” I counter. “You’re not leaving much to the imagination.”
“You’re a King, David. I’m sure you’re familiar with charity work.” She sashays past me and I follow on her heels like the hungry dog that I am. “Imagining me out of this dress is as far as you’ll get.”
We’ll see about that.
Vivienne Taylor. She fucking excites me. In a world full of women who will throw themselves at my royal boots just for a chance to slob the royal knob, she’s a challenge.
What kind of King would I be if I wasn’t willing to rise to the occasion?
In more ways than one, for that matter.
Walking isn’t easy with twelve inches of hard, throbbing dick pressed against your thigh, but I manage. Vivienne moves like a fucking dream, and I move like a caveman preparing to club her over the head and drag her back to my fire to have my way with her—but it’s the only way to reach the royal limousine.
There are benefits to having a driver after all, and one of them is that for the entire ride to the ball, I have Vivienne and her perfectly slutty ball gown all to myself.
“So,” I say, climbing in next to her. “if there’s no chance of getting you out of this gown…what does a King have to do to get into it?”
“It’s not your color, darling—and you don’t have the legs to pull it off, I’m afraid.”
Ouch. Ice cold, Ms. Taylor.
I can tell I have to up my game with this woman. But, luckily, getting it up has never been a problem for me.
“Why don’t you pull it off for me, then?” I take her gorgeously shaped chin between my index finger and thumb, so I can turn her face toward mine. “I’m sure you’d look just as lovely with your skirt over your head.”
I place my hand on her exposed knee and start moving it north, up the long, slender expanse of her warm, smooth thigh.
“Mmm, King David…” she moans, and I’m sure that I’ve got her. But then, she looks at me in that way—with a sparkle in her eye that I know means she’s far from surrendering quite yet. “If only you looked so dashing with your foot in your mouth.”
She catches me inches from my destination and twists my arm hard enough that I know I’ll feel the tremendous pain in the morning.
Worth it.
“Let me remind you of our ground rules, David.”
“King David. I’m not overly fond of rules, love.”
“That’s exactly why I’m reminding you of them,” she says, leaning into me with a smug little whisper on her lips. “No fucking anyone. No alcohol. And you’re going to play nice tonight.”
“Darling,” I coo at her, leaning in even closer. Now our lips are just fractions of an inch apart—a gap that I’ll make her close before this ride is over. “You should know by now—I always play nice.”
She still has hold of my wrist—one of her many mistakes tonight, the first of which was to accept the invitation to this event in the first place. I grab her wrist in return and turn it over beneath my strong, broad palm. Vivienne might like to play tough—but I know how to play tougher.
She hisses as I do it—seems that my little pet for the evening doesn’t like receiving the way that she’s giving.
“You call that nice?” she asks, scowling at me. But there’s a hunger in her eyes that she can’t deny, an
d, as I inhale, it’s only further confirmed.
“I do, especially considering how naughty you’ve been.”
“Naughty? Me?”
She raises an eyebrow at me in question, and I grin, teasing the hem of her skirt once again.
“Word to the wise, love.” I dip my nose to the crook of her neck, breathing her in—but it’s not just her skin that I’m smelling. “If you’re going to get this wet around me…wear panties next time. You smell like a bitch in heat.”
I expect her to stiffen at my mention of how fucking dripping she is with desire right now. But instead, as I slip my fingers beneath her skirt, she gives me a single, coy smile and shifts her knees a little further apart.
Well, well.
Looks like I’ve got a long night ahead of me—and the first of Vivienne’s rules is ready to be broken.
Chapter 8
Vivienne
“Ms. Taylor,” the driver says, opening my door.
I slide out, my pussy leaving a trail of wetness on the leather seat.
That was one of the longest and most difficult limo rides I’ve ever had in my life.
I smooth the satin fabric of my dress down, and I stretch my body, hoping to smoothen the fire trapped underneath it.
God, he’s so...damn good.
I roll my neck to release some of the built-up tension, and a hand starts to massage my shoulders.
I turn to see David behind me, with that royally handsome smile.
“Too bad I couldn’t work these kinks out.” He pretends to pout and applies more pressure.
A soft moan spills from my lips as a wave of relief washes over me. I hear it before I can close my mouth.
I look around, hoping no one else heard that. This is definitely not the time or the place to start moaning out loud.
“Don’t worry, love. Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers, and the tension comes back and intensifies into a gnawing ache.
Really, I’m proud—and slightly amazed—that I didn’t fuck him in the back of the limo. Christ knows I wanted to, and I still do.
But we have to play this safe and professional, especially tonight at the gala.
Unfortunately, like taking a stiff drink, it’s hard to recover and act unaffected afterwards.
“Your arm, love.” He stands by my side and presents his fitted wool-covered bicep.
I wrap my arm under his, making sure my fingers linger ever-so-slowly over the strained fabric.
“King David, you’re such a gentleman.”
“When you have a lady, who looks as lovely as you do, how should one act?” The corner of his mouth curls up into a deliciously devious smile, and my cunt moistens, imagining their fullness curl around my clit.
He pulls me closer, placing his other hand over mine, and I revel in the delicate touch.
The doors open for us, and we enter a gorgeous estate dripping in elegance and refinement.
To the right, there are floor-to-ceiling windows draped with rich velvet cream curtains. There’s a lace overlay as well so when the sun shines it projects a beautiful shadow on the marble flooring. There’s a row of chandeliers, similar to Versailles’s hall of mirrors.
It’s breathtaking but strikingly ostentatious.
“Welcome to the land of mirrors,” he whispers into the crux of my neck.
I look at him and smile. It’s like he read my mind or something.
He continues, “It’s a land where everyone acts the same, looks the same, and if they don’t, they’ll order the right polish to fix their blemishes.” He winks.
“Let me guess, I’m your polish?” I tease him.
“Oh, love. You’re not a polish, though some might think you are. To me, you’re a rare gem. Just look at them gawk at you.” He nods his head to the crowd in front of us and I take a gander.
He isn’t wrong. Everyone is staring at me, measuring me up to the man on my arm. I nod at them, giving them my most charming smile. Though I feel my cheeks blush slightly, I then remember who they’re actually looking at—the king.
“But let’s get something straight. I don’t have any blemish.” He nudges me with his elbow, and I check him with my hip.
I snort and cover my mouth from the sudden outburst of laughter.
He’s kind of…fun.
“You think you’re so high and mighty, King. But I’ll have you know—” I start to whisper sweet nothings into his ear when a man in a matching wool suit interrupts me.
He doesn’t fill it out nearly as well as David though.
“David, I’m so glad to see you!” the man pulls out his hand to shake it.
David plays nice and returns the gesture. Good boy.
I excuse myself and go freshen up in the bathroom. But once I return, I find David at the bar, ordering a drink.
“Looks like old habits die hard, dear.” I brush up against his shoulder, and the magnetism sparks between us.
“What’s a boy to do when he’s left to his own devices?” He smiles and grabs the drink from the bartender, giving him a hundred-dollar tip.
For one drink? That’s absurd! But I’m sure he has more than enough to go around.
“I would’ve hoped that the man would listen and follow the rules.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he coos.
“I think I’ve made it clear that following or coloring inside the lines, if you will, can be very enjoyable.” My fingers trace up and down his arm, mirroring my coloring analogy. “But I guess we’re still learning, so that’ll be your one and only drink, so savor every last drop.”
I watch as his lips slide over the edge of the crystal glass. His tongue scoops up an ice cube, bringing it to his mouth. Fuck, I feel like I’m watching soft-core porn.
The temperature in my body rises, and I feel my cheeks blush at the thought—this wouldn’t be his first starring role.
“I’d rather enjoy something a little sweeter.” He leans in and brushes his lips over my heated cheeks, traveling to my ear. “Come with me.”
“Where?” I pull back, cocking my head in suspicion.
“Let me show you.” He takes my hand and tugs me forward, and I follow behind him, like the adoring fan that I am.
Though, he’ll never know that.
“David, where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere, so that I can savor every. Last. Drop.”
Before I can react, he pushes open a random door near the entrance, and I fall against the most luscious fur coats. I believe, mink and chinchilla?
Holy shit! I’m laying on at least twenty thousand dollars.
“Let me taste you,” he asks yet also demands in the most sensuous voice.
His lips crash into mine, and it breaks every rule I have. I push against him and grab his head, pulling at his hair.
If he’s going to break the rules, I suppose I should have some fun with it as well.
But just this once…
We kiss frantically, grasping onto each other, like we’re some fucking animals in the wild. I wrap my free leg around his waist, pinning him to me, wanting more friction between us.
His bulge stiffens, and teases the satin covering my groin.
I moan in his mouth, and he pulls away, catching his breath.
“Can I have another taste?”
“Do you think you deserve it?” I nip his bottom lip.
His hands roam my body, cupping my breasts and gliding down my waist.
“Definitely. What’s so bad about coloring outside of the lines anyway?” he asks, and his hand moves my dress out of the way so that his finger can trace the edge of my panties.
“Ahhh…” I grasp onto his shoulders. “If it’s for creative expression, then please, color away.”
He kisses and licks a path down my neck, playing with the strap of my dress with his tongue, and he continues to toy with my lace.
“Creative expression?” He chuckles against my skin, and the vibration jerks my hips against his hand. “Oh, I can get very
creative, love.”
Chapter 9
David
“Yes…David. Right there.”
It’s about time I hear her moan my name. I finally got her to let go, play against the rules, and color freely.
I knew it was a matter of time before she’d be under me, one way or the other. And if I have to show her that I’m worth breaking the rules for, then, I’ll do just about anything.
One thing I love more than getting my dick sucked is praising a woman with my tongue.
And fuck, Vivienne and that fucking body of hers needs to be praised.
“How about right here?” I push the lace to the side and glide a finger over her moist lips.
Her body jerks and her hips push forward, and I gradually insert a finger.
“Ahhh… again.”
“Love, I’m going to fuck you with my finger and then I’m going to lick your wet pussy until you come down my throat. I know what I’m doing.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes widen in shock, not expecting me to tell her to shut the fuck up…in a nice way, at least.
“Then do it already,” she challenges me.
“You going to wish you never said that.” I insert another finger and use the palm of my hand to rub her clit.
Gliding in and out of her wetness, she grabs my shoulders and begins to thrust against me.
“That’s better,” she moans out.
“You’re fucking insatiable.”
Her lips spread into a satisfied smile, and her head falls back. My fingers fuck her faster, adding more pressure to her clit, massaging it roughly.
“God damn it,” she cries out, yet in a hushed tone.
“I bet you wish you could scream.”
“Ahhh…” she moans against my mouth.
“Don’t you want everyone to know how fucking good you feel? With the King finger fucking you?”
“David…” she whimpers.
“I want to hear it. I want to hear you say name. Make me feel like the fucking King that I am.”
I move my lips down to her chest, licking her collar bone, and tracing a path to her tits. And like the good little girl she pretends to be, I’m greeted with two fully exposed breasts with no bra in sight.