by Alexis Angel
When I walk through my door, I barely register the multi-million-dollar view through the glass that completely encases my apartment, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on Manhattan as if it’s my own personal kingdom. Practically is. Tonight I don’t give a fuck.
All I want to do is lose myself in my memories of Sapphire and that perfect pussy. That perfect body. Every fucking thing about her is pure perfection.
What does it mean that I can’t get her out of my head?
I don’t know how to handle what’s going on with me. First I talk to her like she’s more than just a quick fuck, then I get her number, and now I’m desperate to be back inside her.
Not once in my life has this happened before.
I pace the length of my condo, bracing my hands on the glass that looks out over Central Park, but all I see is her. That body writhing in pleasure. That face lost in the moment, my cock buried so deep inside of her.
I groan, rock-hard from just the memory. I’m too keyed up to sleep, so I push away from the window and stride to my bar to make a drink. Just as I lift it to my lips, my phone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket in a frenzy, hoping it’s her. But fuck, she didn’t get my number. I just have hers.
When I see the name and picture on the screen, I want to hurl the damn thing across the room.
Melissa.
Why the fuck will she not stop calling me? It’s been over a year, and she still thinks things are going to work out. She’s the absolute worst of all the clingy, desperate women wanting a piece of me, and I never ever fucked her.
As part of the Court of St. Albans, she’s one of the few eligible women my father picked out for me to marry. I grind my teeth at the thought. No fucking way will I marry her. Ever. She’s needy and manipulative. A total bitch.
Always pissy because I won’t fuck her. So certain she could sink her claws into me if I did, thinking that would guarantee her place by my side. All she wants is to be the princess. Just like all the rest.
That’s why they’re all so expendable. No need keeping them around for more than one good fuck when all they really want is a way in. A ticket to the good life.
I silence my phone and toss it aside. Not wanting to let her ruin my mood, I pull Sapphire’s thong from my pocket, fingering the delicate lace.
She’s different. She seemed genuinely interested in me. Asking questions like she actually cared. And she doesn’t have a clue who I am.
A smile tugs at my mouth. I can’t wait to see her again. Lifting the thong to my nose, I breathe in deeply, inhaling her scent.
The perfect aroma of sweetness and sex, her scent sinks into my bones and I sigh.
I miss her already.
10
Ella
Backstage again, the club is closed now, and I suddenly remember I’m not wearing a thong. I smile. That went home with Derek. A shiver races over my body as I remember him lifting it to his nose and smelling it, telling me he could smell me. A look of lust on his face like he loved my scent.
God, I feel crazy. I can’t believe I had sex with a client. It was totally stupid. Totally irresponsible. But I can’t bring myself to regret it. I’d do it all over again. He was so good, so huge, and thick. I’ve never cum like that before, and I know I won’t be satisfied until I have his cock inside me again.
I hear commotion around the corner, and my stomach clenches. Not having on a thong is suddenly the least of my problems. I’m about to come face-to-face with the House Mom and I have to answer for why I didn’t go out on stage when I was called. Dancers have to go on stage. Always.
I could lose my job for this. Even though I have a ton of money set aside, I still need this job. I don’t want to start all over, especially not somewhere else. This is the best club in Manhattan.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and reach up to smooth my hair. I can’t let anyone know what actually went down tonight. Sleeping with Derek is even worse of a mistake than not going onstage. But somehow, that feels wrong. How could being with him like that be a mistake?
It can’t be. It’s not. I realize I’d do it all over again in spite of the consequences I might be about to face.
But I still have to figure out how I’m going to get out of this mess.
Because I just realized I didn’t collect any money from Derek. Not once the whole night. Not after the outrageously expensive private dance I gave him, and not after what happened later. Though I would never collect money for sex.
I hang back while the other girls report to the House Mom and tip out on all of their earnings from the night, trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of this.
“Ella,” she says, her eyes falling on me, full of scrutiny. “Come here.”
I slowly approach her as she consults her clipboard that has every client and every dance accounted for.
Her sharp eyes snap back to me. “You were missing from the stage.”
“I had a VIP client,” I stammer, hoping she can’t see how nervous I am.
“Hmm, I see that. You telling me you were giving him a private dance that entire time? For hours?”
I shrug. “He wanted the most expensive dance I could provide.”
Her eyes narrow like she’s not sure she believes me, and she tells me how much I owe. It’s more than I’ve ever had to tip out before because of the obscene cost of that dance. “And I’m adding on more as a fine for you going missing from the stage.”
A sigh of relief works its way up—I’m not getting fired!—before my throat locks up with the realization that I can’t tip out that much. It’s more than I collected from all my other clients combined from the first half of the night.
“I— um— I can’t—” the words won’t come, and the suspicions the House Mom has had all over her face from the minute I walked up seem to solidify in her mind.
Her expression hardens and she puts a hand on her hip. “Did you collect the money?”
I cringe, not knowing what to say. I can’t lie about it. I’m sure the truth is written all over my face. I didn’t collect any money. I think part of me simply couldn’t take anything from him, even for the private dance, after what happened between us. It would have cheapened it when I feel like it was so much more than a random hookup.
“You had sex with him, didn’t you, Ella?” she demands.
I drop my head, not even bothering trying to answer or offer an excuse. She won’t understand that what happened tonight wasn’t normal. That something different—something special—happened. She doesn’t care about any of that. All she cares about is collecting the money and making sure we follow the rules.
Rules that I’ve broken left and right all night. Unable to stop myself.
I’m fired.
I know it. She doesn’t tolerate anyone fucking a client. And still, in spite of all of it, knowing I’ve lost my job, I don’t regret it.
She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Give me your phone, Ella.”
And that’s that. It’s that simple. And that complicated. Because I just gave up my job for a night with Derek.
I swallow hard and blink back my tears. Then I nod and turn silently, going toward the dressing room where my phone is stored in my locker.
I take her the phone, then return to the dressing room to change and clean out my stuff, knowing it will be my last time in here.
“What’s going on, Ella?” my friend Misti says as she peels off her fake eyelashes.
“I just got fired,” I say miserably.
Misti and some other girls gasp. “What? You’re the best one here. What happened?”
“I slept with Derek.”
Her eyes go wide. “Derek? As in the guy you did the private dance for? Derek, Prince of St. Albans?”
My eyebrows draw together in confusion. “What? No. I mean, yeah, the guy I danced for, but he’s just Derek.”
Misti shakes her head excitedly. “No, Ella. He’s not just Derek. He’s a fucking prince.�
�� She looks at me in awe like I’m the celebrity here.
I’m so confused. A prince? He didn’t tell me that. How is that even possible? I mean, he did act like he owned the whole damn world, but still. A prince?
I feel like my whole world has been rocked, and not just because he totally rocked it with that magic cock.
In a daze, I change clothes and pull my wig off, staring at myself in the mirror as my long blonde hair tumbles down around my shoulders.
This night has been the craziest of my entire life.
11
Derek
Seated in a roped off booth in an exclusive rooftop restaurant with my friend, Ryder, one of the guys from the club last night, I look over the lunch menu. But I barely see it. My mind is still fully consumed with Sapphire.
“You’re kidding, right?” Ryder asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.
Not at all. I shake my head, about to tell him my plan, when the waitress appears. I pick something at random.
“I’m dead serious, man,” I say when the waitress is gone. I take a sip of my own drink. I thought about this all night long, not able to sleep. Sapphire’s special. It was obvious from the minute we first locked eyes across the club. Even more so the more time I spent with her.
“You want to marry a girl you just met? A stripper, no less.” Ryder shakes his head and laughs. “I think you’ve lost one too many brain cells. All that blood draining to your dick 23 hours of the day has seriously impaired your judgment.”
“Say what you want, dude. I think she’s the one.”
It’s so perfect. It makes total sense to me. The whole reason I’ve been resisting going back to St. Albans and marrying isn’t because I’m opposed to marriage like I thought. It isn’t even because I want to live it up and enjoy my freedom, finding a new pussy to spear every night. The only reason I’ve been living my life like this is because I’ve never found a girl that I would be happy to settle down with.
Until now.
Now I can’t even imagine going out and finding some gold-digger just to get my dick wet. All I want is her. I shove my hand in my pocket, caressing that lace thong like it’s a lifeline tying me to Sapphire.
“Look,” I continue, “you know I have to do it at some point. My time is running out. It only makes sense that I do it with the one girl who has gotten to me like no one else. Fuck, no one’s even come close. I’m telling you, Ryder,” I tip my glass at him, stabbing a finger in his direction, “I’m going to marry this girl and take her back to St. Albans and make her my princess.”
I smile. Sapphire looks like a princess. Those eyes. That body. Gorgeous. And I feel like I could talk to her for hours. That’s happened, like, never.
Ryder holds up his hands. “Okay, I get that this chick was obviously the best lay you’ve ever had. That much is clear.”
I cut my eyes at him, pissed that he’s talking about her like that.
“But, Derek,” he continues, “you’ve got to use your head here. The one on your shoulders, not the one on your shaft.” He scrapes his hand over his jaw. “Think about this for just a minute. She’s probably just trying to milk you for money. I bet you ten grand she knows exactly who you are. She saw an opportunity and took advantage of it.”
I sit back, trying to make myself consider his words. Evaluating if they have any merit. But it doesn’t make sense. How could she be playing me? I was the one who wanted to spend more time with her. I was the one who couldn’t keep my hands off her even after she told me I wasn’t supposed to touch her. I was the one who had a fucking conversation with her when all I ever do is get in, get wet, and get the hell out.
Ryder won’t let up, leaning forward as he says, “She figured she could get you on the hook, get you wanting more, then fuck your brains out and clean up. She probably makes a fortune sleeping with suckers just like you.”
Something about his words trigger a memory. But not in a way that makes me agree with him. Something is telling me that wasn’t it at all, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I shake my head. “No, dude. I swear it wasn’t like that. I got her number. There’s something there.”
Ryder scoffs. “You got her fucking number? Dude, you are so fucked. You’ve got it bad. Never thought I’d see the day.” He narrows his gaze at me. “But still, watch yourself. I’m certain she’s playing you. In fact, I bet now that she cashed in on your horny ass, she won’t even pick up the phone.” He grins, crossing his arms and leaning back, then repeats his earlier statement. “Ten grand says she won’t.”
This fucker here has me pissed now. “Fine, I’ll take that bet. Because I guarantee you it wasn’t just me. Sapphire and I had a connection.”
He grins, spreading his hands wide. “Prove it.”
I glare at him and pull Sapphire’s thong from my pocket, resisting the urge to lift it to my nose again, to get another whiff of that intoxicating scent.
Ryder snorts as he leans over to get a better look. “She gave you her number on her thong? Nice.”
Grabbing my phone, I tap out the number scrawled across the crotch of her panties. Pressing it to my ear, I give him a cocky smile. “Prepare to be schooled, asshole.”
The grin slips from my face when I’m immediately hit with a beep and a computerized voice informing me the line has been disconnected. What the fuck?
Ryder lifts a brow, and I slowly lower the phone, ending the call. “Something isn’t right,” I say.
He shakes his head like he feels sorry for me, the bastard. “You keep telling yourself that, man. It’s like I told you, she lured you in for a good fuck, then raked in the dough. Bet you that number wasn’t even real to begin with.”
That’s when that nagging thought clicks into place. I push back from the table, no longer interested in lunch. I don’t have time for it, anyway. I have a princess to woo.
“What are you doing, man?” Ryder asks, confused. “You owe me ten grand.”
I point at him. “That’s what you think. I’m going back to that club.”
“What? Why? To toss out more of your money on a piece of ass? Shit, just give it to me instead.”
I shake my head, a smile spreading across my face in spite of this fucker’s mocking. “Sapphire wasn’t playing me for money. Not at all. She never took any.”
Not a fucking cent. Which can only mean one thing. Everything about last night was just as real for her as it was for me.
Time to go claim my woman.
12
Ella
Climbing the last of the stairs leading to my apartment, I huff out a breath. Not only did I just put in a killer workout at the gym, but I climbed ten flights of stairs to top it off.
I unlock my door and walk in, dropping my gym bag by the door and heading to the kitchen for a cold bottle of water. I pushed myself hard today, trying to work off some of my lingering tension. That always makes for a good workout, and I pride myself on staying in the best shape. It’s part of the job, after all.
I grimace as it hits me all over again. I have no job. No work to do. I’m going to have to get out there and start all over again, working my way up from the bottom to reach the top spot in a brand new club.
A frustrated groan falls from my lips. I don’t want to work in a brand new club. I want to work in the best club. But that’s no longer an option.
Grabbing my laptop, I carry it into my room and sink down on my bed. At least my apartment is paid for. One of the perks of leveraging my talents into fat stacks of cash over the years. It’s nice, too.
With a few clicks, I pull up the cloud that stores my information from my phone. I scan through the contacts, disappointed that I didn’t add Derek’s number. What if he tried to call? I can’t check my voicemail remotely, so I have no way of knowing.
I have no idea how I’ll get in contact with him again now. But I want to let him know I won’t be back at the club. What if he goes back there looking for me? What if someone else snags him and tries to keep him for themselves?
I want to believe that what happened last night was special. But I don’t even really know him. I mean, fuck, I didn’t even know he was a prince! What makes me think that what happened between us meant anything to him?
Still, in my heart, I know it had to. Experiences like that don’t just come along every day. It’s like his body was made for mine.
My pussy throbs with the memory of it. God, his cock felt so good. So big and thick and long as he slammed into me over and over again, making me cum harder than I ever have in my entire life.
A moan slips from my lips as my pussy clenches tight like a vise, but I feel hollow and empty, needing his cock there to fill me up.
Images of our night together flash through my mind. I miss him so much already. I need him again.
Closing my eyes, I set my laptop aside and let my fingers trail down to my tits, rubbing them lightly through the fabric of my workout clothes. My nipples are instantly hard, puckered and aching. I bite my lip as I remember how it felt to have his hands and mouth on them.
Pretending it’s him, I pull my tits from my bra, letting the spandex fabric push them up and together. They’re so big and round I can actually get my nipples in my mouth. Cupping them in my palms, I squeeze them together, lifting them up until my hard, pink nipples are in front of my lips. My tongue darts out, flicking the sensitive flesh until I’m moaning, my breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.
More. I need more.
Wriggling out of my shorts, I toss them aside and run a hand down my stomach, the other still playing with my tits.
“Derek,” I moan, imagining it’s his fingers that tease the top of my inner thighs, barely brushing against my aching pussy.
My hips buck up involuntarily, my body needing to cum. I swipe my fingers through my soaked folds, still light and teasing, driving myself crazy with desire and white-hot need.