Prince Chance (Prince of Tease Book 4)

by Xavier Neal

  “Easier to say when you make a shit ton of it.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  The fact he didn’t sugar coat the truth takes me by pleasant surprise.

  “But I didn’t always.” His body moves a little closer to mine. “I didn’t come from money. My parents are middle class, more upper now than when I was younger. My first job was a nature tour guide. Made shit pay, but I loved it, so I kept doing it. To me life is more about enjoying the days you’re given rather than trying to muddle through them in hopes you get to a perfect oasis. Each day is your oasis. Just swim.”

  My heart thrums so loudly it stuns the rest of my body into shock.

  It’s incredible how he feels exactly the way I do….

  Chance lets go of my hand to give my chin a gentle touch. “We good, babe?”

  I sweetly smirk. “Let’s swim.”

  Once we’re settled towards the back of the park on top of the old navy blanket, I unzip my sparkly pink waist purse and slip my cell phone inside.

  Chance leans over and playfully pretends to look. “What else ya got in that thing? Passport? Tour guide book? Keys to the DeLorean?”

  Don’t you laugh, too!

  “I’ll have you know this thing is amazing. It has room for basically everything I need. My phone, my keys, my lip gloss, a to go-protein bar-”

  “Your plans for a time machine?”

  My eyes snap up to see his filled with mirth. “You’re just jealous of my waist purse.”

  “Fanny pack.”

  “Waist purse.” I zip it closed and move it to the side. “Though, more like a hip purse for me because I like to keep mine positioned slightly to the side.”

  Chance tries to hold back his chuckle.

  “Birdie thinks it’s adorable.”

  He scrunches his face, snickers breaking free. “Not helping your case.”

  I fold my legs and drop my hands into my lap. “Would it help my case to know I basically got it for a steal from my favorite thrift shop?”

  More laughter graces the air. “You mean that thing isn’t a curse bestowed upon you by an evil witch when you wouldn’t eat the apple or to keep you from trying on the glass slipper she knew you would fit into?”

  It’s my turn to tease. “You know an odd amount about fairy tales for a straight guy.”

  “Hey!” Chance abruptly points. “Nothing wrong with guys who grew up learning about that stuff. Our parents preferred to tell the tales around the campfire or when tucking us into bed rather than reading us the books. They liked the classic versions from around the world better than what they called the watered down American spins. Plus, my parents have a flare for the dramatic so it kept the stories lively.”

  The small sliver of information slips a smile onto my face.

  “What about you?” He casually asks. “Your parents read the books or just turn on the movies?”

  I try to prevent my expression from falling. “There wasn’t usually time to read to me before bed. Both of my parents typically worked really long and late hours, and my older sisters weren’t exactly big fans of having a younger sibling, so they couldn’t be bothered to play with me let alone read to me. I ended up making the stories up until I learned to read. Both sets of grandparents emphasized the early importance of children having books and reading. I loved books, but my sisters used theirs to make decks for their Barbies.”

  Yeah, they’ve had the luxury life mentality for as long as I can remember.

  Not prepared to divulge any more of my past, I promptly change the subject, “You ever seen this movie?”

  Chance shakes his head as he reaches for the popcorn bag. “Not a huge fan of violence. More of a comedy guy. You?”

  “Um…Like a million times. Casino Royale with Daniel Craig is one of my favorite spy movies. I actually love pretty much all spy movies. The more fight scenes the better! Stunt choreography is pretty much just dancing, and I love dancing. It’s a very close second to my love of yoga.”

  His grin grows. “You dance?”

  “Wonderfully.”

  “Can I see?”

  “If you stick around long enough.”

  The flirtation receives a wicked smirk. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, babe.”

  Dear Venus, I hope not….

  My face flushes, but I redirect the conversation to the original topic. “While I love basically any and all spy related movies, Birdie only loves the James Bond ones. They remind her of her late husband who was oddly enough named James. To her he looked like Sean Connery in his prime. To me? Not so much.”

  Amusement hits his eyes once more.

  “He passed away the week I moved in. I was um….I was actually the last person to see James alive. I was leaving to teach a class, and he was coming home from grocery shopping. He had two bags and told me Birdie was out having lunch with her Bridge Club, so he was going to have a beer and bear claw.”

  Chance gags. “That’s a terrible combination.”

  I shrug. “Moot point in the end, unfortunately. James had his treat and fell asleep in his favorite chair, the recliner where you grabbed the blankets from. He had a heart attack in it while napping. Birdie found him a couple hours later. I honestly think the reason she likes to be around me so much is because I was the last person to see her husband alive. Like attaching herself onto me allows her to stay attached to the last piece of him.”

  “Like you hold the last of his essence in your eyes because you were the last one to see him.”

  Not surprised he understands exactly what she most likely feels, I nod.

  “It’s common in death. Did they not have any kids?”

  I quickly shake my head. “She had trouble getting pregnant.”

  Chance grows a sympathetic expression and opens the snack pouch. “I’m glad she’s not alone in the world. I’m glad she has someone as wonderful as you.”

  Instead of focusing on the impact the compliment is having to my system, I pop his hand that’s wandering into the bag.

  “Ow!” He swiftly removes it and shakes away the sting. “Less wonderful now.”

  A short giggle is proceeded with an explanation. “The popcorn isn’t for you. It’s for the birds.”

  “They can share.”

  I reach for the bag, but he grips it tighter, a challenging smirk appearing on his perfect lips. We childishly wrestle over the object. My nudges are gentle while his retaliation of holding the bag out of reach is comical. Eventually, I win the bag and begin to feed the winged creatures that are impatiently waiting nearby. Chance joins in just as the movie begins. We spend a few more minutes tossing pieces at them and each other, trying to catch them with wide open mouths. We do our best to keep our laughter at a low volume, not to distract or ruin the movie for others but have a hard time. After too many dirty looks, we abandon our game, and he encourages me to sit between his legs with the blanket draped over us.

  The instant my back is pressed against his front a heavy, heated sigh is stolen from my lips.

  Chance’s grip settles around my waist at the same time he whispers into my ear, “I fucking love that sound, babe.”

  My thighs attempt to travel together to dull the ache his words created when his legs trap them open.

  “Can I have you here?” His hot breath bumps against my ear again. “Right now?”

  Temptation causes my temperature to rise.

  So not needed underneath in the later part of summer, just like this light blanket. But the evenings have been much cooler, making this accessory more purposeful for my eighty eight year old companion and apparently for my deliciously dirty date….

  “You can say no,” Chance softly reassures, hands still stationed on my waist. “I’ll understand.”

  I let my body make the reckless decision rather than my mind. Taking one of Chance’s hands, I lead it lower to the button of my high waist jean shorts. He doesn’t hesitate to undo it. Drop the zipper. Guide his palm underneath my thong. As soon as his finger grazes my cli
t I begin to bow forward, but am braced closer to him, once again, caged by his hold.

  “Stay still or everyone will know,” he warns, digit piercing my pussy while his palm stays pressed against my clit.

  My eyes fall shut, and I willingly surrender to the situation.

  Chance’s thick finger begins a steady, slow pump. Having his touch reunited with me in ways I’ve been dreaming about for days has me prematurely panting. He gradually, glides his finger in and out, lightly grazing my clit each time. My mouth cracks open to release a loud moan when he digs his teeth into the side of my neck, preventing the sound from escaping. The sting sends shivers across my body, and my pussy clamps down, encouraging him to repeat the action. Chance’s tongue languorously rolls around the spot he’s claimed. Presses against the puncture marks. My pulse. He increases the pressure of the muscle and the strength of his bite. More wetness drowns his finger, and I have to anchor my nails into his thighs to prevent from hurling myself over the edge of ecstasy too soon. When the movements between his lips begin to match the ones he’s conducting between mine, I know I don’t have long left. My entire body begins to swelter from his frantic finger…his seemingly insatiable hunger…the lingering warmth left behind by the sun.

  I shut my eyes so tight I can see stars dancing in the darkness.

  My pussy rapidly starts to pulsate, and I tuck my bottom lip behind my top teeth to keep from screaming his name.

  He groans his delight against my neck. The vibration reverberates throughout system, adding to the force of my climax. My entire frame relentlessly shakes with such magnitude the ground underneath us is in danger of concaving. Chance holds his finger completely still to ensure he absorbs each and every wet wave.

  Completely spent, my body sags, eyelids now too heavy to even open.

  Chance lightly licks the nicks on my neck before planting soft kisses on top of them. Afterwards, he gently removes his hand, zips, and buttons my shorts. His physical form relinquishes the hold it had on mine, but it doesn’t matter. I’m too tired to move an inch.

  Wonder how long we can keep the sexual energy this high between us.

  He drops another sweet kiss on my shoulder blade just as there’s the sound of gun fire from the movie. “Does this thing have a happy ending?”

  The ambiguous question lingers in the front of my mind.

  I can’t stop myself from asking the same thing…. What do you think?

  7

  Chance

  Aside from being paid to be naked, the best part of being a stripper is the performance. I love pleasing people, and when given the opportunity to perform, I’m allowed to do it on a much bigger scale. I love the smiles on the ladies’ faces. Their eyes light up with joy or burn with excitement. It’s always amazing to know I can leave them satisfied, which is something most don’t get outside of this place. Fuck, it’s the reason why almost every one of them is here to begin with.

  “Last Prince of the night, ladies,” Clayton, the MC, announces. “And he’s known for being very charming….” There are a few squeals from the audience. “Get ready to be swept off your feet….”

  Opening notes to “Single” by Ne-Yo start thrumming through the speakers, but the room remains dark. Swiftly, I slide off the edge of the stage, and prop myself against it to wait for the music cue.

  The basic stage shape never changes; however, we’ve all mastered the art of giving the illusion that it does. The square area where I was just standing is its main base, which is furthest from the crowd. There are runway like paths that branch out on each side and eventually connect, but the center is left as an open pit for women to be seated in. On the outskirts of the same paths are more places for women to congregate. At the corner of the runways are poles and ramps for us to use to grind our way through the remaining crowd. The few pillars that are positioned throughout the remainder of the room often double as poles or props as well. Like I briefly mentioned during rehearsal, Little Sami as we all call her, spends hours assisting us in the challenge of creating the fantasies we want to deliver. Her job is to make the shows unique and our performances fitted to our personal styles. Our job, other than the obvious, is to cover the entire room. It doesn’t matter where a chick sits. No woman is to ever feel unwanted in this room.

  As soon as Ne-Yo’s voice begins, the spotlight drops onto where I’m standing. A smile hits my face at the uproar of screams. I tilt my head to the side and slowly approach the woman closest to me. Her eyes instantly sparkle from the attention. She grips the rose in her possession a little tighter and keeps her attention pinned completely on me.

  Every lady in the audience tonight has a rose and the floor around the room is littered with them as well.

  When I extend my hand for her to take, she can’t scramble to her feet fast enough. I give her a gentle twirl, so her back is pressed to my front and roll my body to the side. Her face eagerly snaps to watch me repeat the motion. Smoothly, I grab her hand for the second time, spin her around, and assist her in sitting back in her seat. She swoons as I slide over to the woman beside her to sweetly caress her face. She reaches out in hopes of keeping me longer than I planned to stay.

  Gotta get the whole room, remember?

  Through a series of strategically placed stops where I prop women on the edge of their seats or tables to grind on them forwards and backwards, I migrate towards the middle of the room just as the song hits the first bridge. At that point, I ditch the button up white shirt I’m wearing with several sharp tugs to the beat. Screams flood the room and bills are thrown at my feet like some sort of sacrificial ritual.

  Like a second coming of Eros….

  I continue the slick, crisp execution of my actions to loosen my pants, which flows me right into the chorus. On the initial introduction of it, I grab the nearest pair of women by their hands and tug them close. We rock together with me looking longingly at one before switching directions to stare into the eyes of the other. Like the roses they’re holding, I cradle them both, determined to make them each feel as if they are the only women in the whole world who matter despite the fact their hands are dangerously close to breaking Castle rules. When the chorus starts to repeat, I allow them to slip out of my grip to glide myself to another table where I hold the hand of another woman and roll my crotch towards her open mouth.

  Please, hold all blow job jokes ‘til the set is finished.

  Spinning around the back of her chair, I relocate to a few of the women close by and repeat the same erotic action. The song continues, dragging out the music between the chorus and the next verse, which is the time I prepared to move my body along to its next starting point behind a pillar. The second chorus hits louder than the first accompanied with flashy lights. Seductively, I snake my body around it and down onto my knees. Once I’m there, I slide to the nearest woman, spread her legs apart, and guide my hands up her thighs. She gives me a shy giggle. Immediately after, I roll over to another woman and slip back onto my feet, though I leave my face lingering close to hers. My path of pleasing proceeds with a few minor stops for short burst of romantic dancing with their hands around my neck, dirty dancing with me bending them backwards at the waist, and teasing caresses with the prop they all share.

  Money feverishly soars around me as I rhythmically glide back onto the main stage. By the reappearance of the chorus, I’m sporting just my thong and charming smile. I slink down into the pit. Allow them to grind and grab and cling onto me. The move I practiced a few weeks back with Bev proves to be effective and more profitable than I originally imagined.

  What can I say? She was right. Ladies love it deep and slow.

  My performance wraps without a hitch, and I leave the stage with plenty of bills secured in my string.

  No need to worry about what’s all over the floor. It makes it back to us. There’s a cash cleanup crew and before you even bother wasting your breath, no. We don’t worry about being stolen from. Wait until you see the security cameras in Queen’s office, not to
mention she’s just not the type of woman you would ever wanna double cross. To keep the comparisons easy to follow, betraying her would be like betraying Zeus. Not gonna bode well for anyone, deity, demi, or mortal.

  After I quickly rinse off in the locker room, change into my gym clothes, and have received the cash the crew collected, I head for the Queen’s office to check out for the night.

  One of the newest dancers, Holt, jogs to catch up to me.

  Fresh Meat. That’s the fucked up nickname Brock gave to him. It fits. And I know just looking at him you’re thinking he’s not the dude you wanna see naked, but over the past few months he’s really learned to work that whole professor nerdy thing he has going. Most of his sets revolve around that. It’s totally the school teacher fantasy thing. Yeah, chicks have that shit, too.

  “Clean up or what, Fresh Meat?” I ask as we trek up the stairs.

  He flashes me a bashful grin. “Not as good as you I bet. You closed the show and had a gold card for the night. You’re about to go home with an ass load of cash.” There’s a short pause in which he chuckles. “Ha. Ass load.”

  I’m tempted to smirk at the juvenile joke but find myself challenging what caused it instead. “I didn’t have a gold card tonight.”

  A gold card on your locker means you've been requested for a private dance in one of the VIP rooms. Like everything else about The Castle it comes at a high price. It’s never less than ten grand a night to rent and any money made or arrangements agreed upon inside it are never mentioned to anyone besides its occupants. Queen has the footage yet never interferes without the given signal. While some of the other Princes use that time to cross a line I can honestly say I haven’t crossed and won’t cross, the money you make from simply stepping behind those closed doors is insane. And would have me taking home far more than an ass load.

  “You sure? I swore I saw it on your locker.”

  The two of us enter our boss’ office to see her watching the security monitors from her favorite red chair.