by Susan Stoker
It was about fucking time.
And as she entered through the mahogany double doors of the exclusive, members-only club, Spiked Roses, I knew that pussy of hers would soon be mine. Silas followed close behind her tiny frame as my dutiful servant, as if preventing her from turning around and fleeing, but I didn’t care. I was going to imagine that she entered the club of her own free will because she wanted me. She wanted to fuck me, as I wanted to fuck her. I was going to imagine she had never left me without saying goodbye. And that she hadn’t ripped my soul into a million pieces the day I had found her gone.
Maybe she didn’t want to fuck me yet. But no matter… when I was done with her, she would demand for me to take her. Insisting for me to do to her what I hadn’t had the skill and experience to do so many years ago. She would beg, she would plead, and she would be mine, and stay mine forever. I would not lose her again.
A black dress that showed off every single curve of her body had me doing a double take. When did Cheri get curves? And her hair… when did her luscious blonde curls shape her heart-shaped face making her appear like a seductive angel—a siren calling me toward my death? Her shapely legs in those black heels went on forever. Straight to that pussy I had yet to see. Fuck me; she was hot as hell. When did her blue eyes sparkle so much? Even in the shadowed room of Spiked Roses, I could see them. I could feel them. Those damn eyes. She appeared so pure and innocent. Perfect for me to dirty up. She would be fucking filthy by the time I was done with her.
Cheri was taking it all in. I could see her examine every detail of the room. Her eyes scanned the red and black leather furniture, the black bar with red barstools, and the black spiked vases cast all around that held two to three dozen roses in each ostentatious urn. She glanced up to look at the huge crystal chandeliers that appeared as if they were dripping diamonds onto the clients below. The large overhead fixtures reflected the gas lanterns that dotted the damasked wallpapered walls, giving off a warm and seductive vibe. Cheri’s eyes scrutinized the men who sat around sipping on top-shelf booze and smoking hand-rolled cigars as if she were looking for me amongst the powerful players of the room.
Silas placed his hand on Cheri’s upper back to lead her to where I sat. I hated it. I didn’t want anyone else touching what was mine. Even old man Silas. No one touched what belonged to me. I knew women were not allowed past the guarded doors without an escort unless you worked at the club, so Silas was a necessity, and he knew exactly where I would be. It was the spot I liked most—up on the iron-railed balcony so I could see all the action below. The club is where I spent most of my nights when I resided in Monaco. It was my kingdom where I preferred to rule. It was opulent, luxurious, exclusive, and only opened its doors to the wealthiest men. Power sizzled through the air, and I fucking got off on it. Spiked Roses was a membership only club for the monarchs, the presidents, the captains of industry, and for the most ruthless fucks in the world.
“What has you scowling over there?” my friend Lennon asked in his pristine British accent as he sipped on bourbon and smoked a cigar without a care in the world. And what was there to care about? We were rich, affluent, and dominant. We had everything that made a man, but could also destroy him. We had it all.
But I didn’t have her. Not until now.
“My wife just walked in the door,” I said as I puffed on my cigar and swirled the bourbon against the inside of the glass I held.
“Your wife? What the fuck are you talking about?” Lennon asked, smirking.
“She will be. She’ll be my fucking wife soon.”
“Is that your new dickhead way of saying the girl you plan to fuck tonight just entered the room?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I don’t think I’d be calling any girl in this room my wife. Fuck buddy, yes. Even an expensive whore. But wife? No.”
Lennon was right. Normally, I wouldn’t be calling any female in this place my wife. Not here. Not ever. Spiked Roses was notorious for its beautiful women who worked at this fine establishment I frequented. The waitresses, the bartenders, the wine and cigar sommeliers, and the high-priced courtesans were all exquisitely gorgeous. Like everything in this men’s club, no expense was spared, and they had the very best—women included. And I sampled my fair share. But I still wouldn’t call a single one of them my future wife. That title belonged to one person. It had belonged to one person since I was ten years old. It would always belong to my sweet Cheri. Whether she liked it or not, she would be my wife.
I shook my head. “You are about to meet my new princess.”
I studied Cheri as she sashayed her way up the stairs, her hips moving in such a seductive way that my mouth watered. She appeared irritated, but it didn’t hinder her beauty in the slightest.
Cheri’s first words as she approached us proved how very unlike a princess she really was. “Are you fucking kidding me, Roman? What the fuck kind of place is this?”
Her dirty mouth…
I prayed to God that everything about her was dirty.
But I would punish her for her behavior. Yes, I would spank that tight little ass like the naughty girl she was and then lick her heated flesh inch by inch as I took away the burn. I would teach her what happens when she was a dirty girl around me. And I would love every fucking moment of it. She would beg for forgiveness all while pleading for me to fuck her at the same time.
Yes, I had so many plans for my dirty, foul-mouthed girl.
Cheri looked around at all the women in disgust. Her eyes and expressions always gave away her thoughts. I could read her. I could feel her. I could fucking smell her. And in a few short hours, I would taste her. That pussy would be mine. She just didn’t know it yet.
Or maybe she did.
“I thought you were better than this overly masculine display of assholeness. Sipping bourbon with a cigar in your hand as scantily-clad women work the room? Is this who you’ve become? Really?”
Clearly, Cheri was not a fan of the costumes the staff wore. There were two. One costume was a black leather leotard worn with a collar attached to a jeweled leash hanging for any of the dirtier clientele to take hold of at will. Black, slick, delicious. The other costume was a short red lace dress accentuated with diamonds, classier for the more upscale and prudish guests. Sexy, sensual, mouthwatering. The women were everywhere, just waiting to serve every man’s needs and desires.
I shrugged and gave a smirk. I refused to give her comment a verbal response. I took a pull of my cigar and slowly exhaled in her direction as I casually slung my arm over the back of my black leather chair and stared into her azure, yet fiery eyes.
“And sending Silas to come fetch me for you,” she continued, “like some dog. Would you like me to wear one of these collars as well?”
My cock twitched at the image, and I had to sip on my bourbon to attempt to keep my ravenous thoughts to myself. But fuck yes, I wanted Cheri to wear one of those collars. Though only I would hold the leash.
“Are you going to sit there and just stare at me, or at least offer me a seat and a drink?”
Lennon—who I had forgotten was sitting next to me—stood up and placed his empty glass on the table. “I’m going to leave you alone to deal with your marital problems in private,” my cunty friend said with a smirk and a light chuckle.
I gave him a nod, trying to hide my amusement with his statement. I then pointed to his red leather chair he vacated, and said to Cheri, “Of course. What can I get for you to drink?” I pointed to another chair. “Silas, please have a seat as well. I’m sure you could use a stiff cocktail after your long travels.” No doubt the man got an earful from this little pistol the entire way. He deserved not only a drink, but also a raise for his troubles.
“I’ll have what you’re having,” Cheri said as she sat down and crossed her shapely legs.
I wanted them open—wide. But that would come later.
“Silas?” I asked.
“The same, sir. Thank you.” The older man sat down wearily as if he had traveled f
or years on his quest to bring me my long lost prize.
I signaled for three new bourbons since I could already tell I would need another simply to extinguish the flames burning inside of me. I was in the same room with her again. And just like that, she had my insides gripped in her hands, twisting them until I was nothing but a prisoner under her control.
“Why did you bring me here?” Cheri asked.
“I like Spiked Roses. So many of those other exclusive clubs are entirely too stuffy. Too many rules, too many old bloods—”
“I wasn’t talking about the club,” she interrupted with annoyance lacing every syllable of her words. “To Monaco. To you!”
I glanced at Silas who was watching a waitress wearing a leather leotard dip elegantly down to her knees as she submissively delivered drinks to a nearby table. I could see the devilish twinkle in his eye. Dirty old bastard.
“Didn’t Silas tell you?” I asked as I took one last puff of the cigar and put it out so I wouldn’t blow the smoke into Cheri’s face.
“His reason why is absolutely ridiculous.”
“I wouldn’t say ridiculous. Archaic maybe, but regardless, it is part of royalty. You know this. You have always known this.”
“That was years ago. We were children. I’ve left. I haven’t been in this world for years.” Cheri paused when another waitress, dressed in red lace this time, delivered our glasses of bourbon. After we all took our drinks, Cheri continued by saying, “You can’t possibly be all right with this whole arranged marriage idea.” She glanced around. “You don’t seem like marriage material to me.” She took a swig of her bourbon. “Hell, I’m not marriage material.”
“You might think you aren’t marriage material. But you are definitely fucking material,” I stated bluntly. “And that is all that matters to me. I couldn’t care less about all the wifely duties or royal princess obligations that would be expected of you. That is everyone else’s job to be concerned about. All I care about is if you are fuckable.” I smiled at her shocked expression. “And yes, my sweet Cheri, you most certainly are fuckable in every way.”
“You are still the same asshole you always were.” She took another drink of her bourbon.
I had to hand it to her. She didn’t lose her temper. In fact, she was so calm that I wondered if she was plotting her next move for the kill.
I raised an eyebrow before sipping my own drink. “And if I remember correctly, you were fuckable way back when. And I was fuckable to you as well.”
“Because we fucked?” she asked with a devilish grin. “If you call missionary position under the blankets with the lights out fucking,” she chuckled against the glass to her lips, “then I feel sorry for you and the sex life you must live now.”
Touché. The girl was still as witty as ever. And once again, my cock jerked with the knowledge that she too wanted more out of fucking than vanilla, concealed, bashful banging. She just revealed to me that she wanted to really fuck. And I was just the man to give it to her.
Silas cleared his throat. “Sir, if you don’t mind. I think I will go find a seat at the bar and give you two some time to catch up.”
I nodded at Silas with a large smile. “Go right ahead, my man. Order whatever you want. Just add it to my account. Cigars, booze,” I cleared my own throat, “ladies. Whatever you want. You earned it. You delivered my soon-to-be wife safe and sound. There’s vodka and caviar in the ice room. Also, I have my own keep in the humidor room that you are free to utilize. I do know you enjoy those luxuries from time to time.”
I didn’t have to tell Silas twice. Before I could continue, he was up and excusing himself with as much etiquette as a dirty old bastard on a mission could do.
“I see you are still the spoiled rich boy you always were,” Cheri said as Silas left.
“Rich man,” I corrected with some force. “I am an extremely rich man. And it won’t be long until you’ll see how much of a man I truly am.”
“By forcing me to marry you? Or by forcing me to fuck you?”
“Oh trust me, my Cheri. I won’t be forcing the fucking. You’ll be begging for it.”
“Ha!” she snorted. “You are so full of yourself, Roman.” She shook her head, but I could see the smile she was struggling to hide. She’d always liked when I was an arrogant asshole. It had amused her.
“You miss me. Admit it,” I said as I reached out for her thin and delicate fingers.
She glanced at my hand but didn’t take it. “No. Not in the slightest.” Her lip quivered. It always quivered when she lied. She was still so easy to read. Some things never changed.
“You do. You may have left to play hobo in Mexico, but you miss this. You miss me.”
She shook her head again, but her lip still quivered. “Costa Rica. I was in Costa Rica, and no, I didn’t miss you one bit.” She looked around the club and sighed. “I definitely didn’t miss this opulent bullshit. That’s for sure.”
I watched her eyes as she perused the room again. “No, you never did like all the fancy shit. But I know you missed me.”
She glanced my way and shrugged as she finished the last of her bourbon in one sensual gulp. I couldn’t help but imagine her swallowing my seed instead.
“Welcome back to royalty, Cheri. Welcome back to me.”
Chapter Three
Cheri
Was it possible to hate a man but want to fuck him at the same time? I couldn’t blame tequila on this one, or the fact that he was a vagabond. Roman was definitely not a Costa Rican vagabond. He was simply an asshole. A sexy as fuck asshole. And the truth of the matter was, I didn’t hate him. I didn’t hate him at all. It practically killed me to admit that to myself. Things would have been so much easier had I truly hated the man.
And he was right. I did miss him. I hadn’t realized I did until the minute I laid eyes on his dark hair. I remembered how it used to curl at the ends after a day of hanging out at the pool sipping on lemon coolers squeezed from lemons we had picked fresh off the royal grounds ourselves. And his brown eyes. I remembered how they used to stare into mine with such a boyish naivety when we were young. And his smile. It had always been so easy to make him smile and laugh. There was no effort at all in getting Roman to release a big belly laugh that always made me giggle right alongside of him. He was my best friend. We sometimes would play with Roman’s brothers, but they were older than we were and always preoccupied with something else. We were basically all we had in the crazy and sheltered lives we were forced to live—almost as if we were rare birds trapped in a gilded cage. As children growing up—only two years apart in age—we knew we were arranged to be married. Everything was planned out for us to the finest detail. Not a single decision was to be our own. But we paid little attention to all that stuffy nonsense at that age. All we cared about was playing, having fun, and running wild while the palace staff had to chase us down. It had been the perfect childhood. Our idyllic kingdom.
Then we grew up. Friendship got confusing—really fucking confusing. We had sexual urges, and desires we couldn’t understand. Hanging out at the pool was different. It felt different. Our eyes wandered and lingered in places we both had never paid attention to before. We both wanted more. And eventually we had more. So much more. Prince Roman was my first kiss at the age of sixteen under a starry sky with the call of gulls and slap of waves in the background creating our soundtrack. He was my first sexual experience at the age of eighteen in one of the guest rooms in the palace during one of the many parties the palace hosted. We both had a little too much to drink, but it had felt right… it was right. Prince Roman was my first everything.
And here he was—years later. Sitting in a leather chair with the twinkling chandelier above his head casting little rays of light that highlighted his perfectly chiseled face. No doubt that beneath his black suit, with his collar opened just enough to show his rich sun-kissed skin beneath it, his body was just as chiseled.
I wanted him. More than I had ever wanted a vagabond in a coasta
l bar in the midnight hours, and that was truly saying something.
“My mother. Why?” I asked as a lump formed in the back of my throat. “Silas told me you purchased the estate to save it from foreclosure, and that you are funding her lifestyle.”
The cocky smirk washed off his face as he took a slow sip of his drink. Was he buying time to come up with the right answer? “It’s no big deal.”
But it was a big deal. A very big deal.
“May I have another drink?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. Should I thank him? I certainly couldn’t have saved the estate nor keep my mother in the lap of luxury. I had a trust that I’d sworn I’d never touch, determined I could make it on my own. But, even if I did liquidate it, the money wouldn’t have made a dent in what was no doubt owed. But then because of Roman’s act of kindness, he owned me. He had the control. He knew what he was doing. He knew. This was all a calculated plan. It was how the royals worked. Everything about them had always been calculated, and clearly Prince Roman was no different than the rest.
“So why? Why did you do it? So you could force me into marrying you? Blackmail of sorts?”
“Is that what you think?” he asked calmly. “That I would force you into marrying me?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Roman didn’t answer my question but rather signaled for the waitress to bring us more drinks. This was dangerous. Bourbon and Roman were going to lead to bad things. Very bad things. I could feel it.
“Are you still writing?” he asked.
“Some.”
“Isn’t that why you left? To try to find your Hemingway? Why are you only writing some?”
I shrugged. “Does it really matter? Clearly I’m destined for other things.” I lifted my hands up and pointed at my surroundings. “I get to be here. With you, instead. Lucky me.”