Prince Arik: A Prince of Tease Novel (Princes of Tease Book 1)

by Xavier Neal

“Call him,” Liz demands from the corner of my couch.

  “I can't,” I lie.

  “Can't or won't?”

  “Either.”

  She kicks me with the edge of her newly pedicured toes.

  Her damn feet are always kept as painted as her face. Swear the paint job on them is never older than a week. She treats her fingers with the same luxury. It's just the way she is. Woman puts on water proof mascara to go to the gym. The gym. No. I 've never seen her without make up. Part of me swears she sleeps in it just in case there's a fire in the middle of the night.

  “Ou!” Scooting further away from her I sigh, “Look, I have expense reports I have to do.”

  “You have dick you need to do.” The correction is met with a stern expression. “I don't give a shit if you give me that look or not. Your original dick high is over and you need another hit, so get to it.”

  Quietly I mutter, “I wasn't on a dick high.”

  I so was. Masturbated like a fiend to him every night before bed. Think I broke my vibrator.

  “You are the world's worst liar.” She swings her feet off the couch and reaches for my phone. Once it's in her possession she grips it tightly in the hand furthest from me. “Now you have two choices. You can call him like you're an adult who wants her pussy fed properly or I can text him like a horny housewife with a new boy toy that she can't wait to take out of the box again.”

  I gently put my tablet down. “Terrorist.”

  Excited by my reaction, she giggles, “Choose wisely.”

  Why wasn't there a third fucking option? Like...we just wait until he calls me. Obviously he wasn't as interested in me as I hoped. Well, not like hoped hoped. Just a little hoped. Like I'm a good screw kind of hoped. Whatever. It was a one and done. We both knew that. We both wanted that. How come Liz doesn't seem to grasp that concept?

  Suddenly there's movement out of the corner of my eye, which causes me to turn to see Liz with her fingers typing across my phone. “Liz!”

  “You took too long.”

  “Liz!”

  “Sh,” she demands. “Almost done.”

  “How do you even know my password?”

  A sarcastic look comes from her mid-type. “Please...”

  Sometimes I wonder if she's the girlfriend to a James Bond villain.

  “Done.” Liz smirks proudly. “You can have it back now.”

  “What exactly did you say?”

  She stands to her feet and shrugs. “I don't remember.”

  “You just typed it!”

  “Yeah, I kinda blacked out.”

  “Liz...”

  Her snicker is echoed by the sound of my vibrating phone with an incoming call.

  With a simple wave she says, “Enjoy your night.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I grumble before answering the phone cheerfully. “Um..hello.”

  “That was one helluva a hello,” Arik's smooth voice fills my ears.

  Instantly it pushes my back against the couch.

  Why does that have to be as sexy as the rest of him? I don't think that's fair.

  Nervous, I clear my throat. “Was it?”

  “I don't usually get chicks that demand I call them or bodily harm might be done.”

  She lied...bitch...

  “Well,” my attempt to play it off cool feels like it's going to fail already. “Why hadn't you called?”

  “I told you to.”

  “And you make the rules?”

  He slightly chuckles. “No. But you came after me. You invited me over for the night. I figured it'd be best to let you keep callin' the shots.”

  A bit relieved by the response, I question, “Oh yeah?”

  “If you wanted a one nightstand, I wasn't going to blow up your phone like a stalker.”

  The last guy I slept with could've been called that. After denying his proposal he kept calling from random numbers to leave me numbers. It got so bad I thought about changing my number.

  There's a small pause before he adds, “If it makes up for it, I wanted to call. I wanted to text. Hell, I almost did after work that first night.”

  In a faint voice, I ask, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why'd you wanna call?”

  “'Cause I'm not fucking insane. Because when you have hands down the best sex you've ever had with the hottest chick you've ever met, you'd have to be a fucking idiot to at least not want to call.”

  Flattered I can't stop myself from smiling.

  You know there's a high chance that that was a bunch of bullshit, but frankly after the nightmare of a day I had, a little bullshit to ease the pain is welcomed.

  Still grinning, I throw out the idea. “Dinner?”

  “Something with our clothes on?” Arik teases.

  “I never said that.” This time when he laughs I joke, “And I rather enjoy you naked but most restaurants have a no shirt, no shoes policy. Come to think of it, most of them don't say anything about pants. I guess that's just implied.”

  There's another chuckle. “I've noticed that too.”

  “You work at a restaurant. I'm assuming you know the policy better than I do.”

  Arik clears his throat and announces, “I was actually just about to start cooking.”

  “You can make more than eggs?”

  He laughs, “I can. Not much more, but a few staples to get by.”

  Disappointment starts to settle in. “Well, maybe another night then?”

  “Or I can just pack up this shit and come cook it at your place.” The suggestion returns the smile. “Your pots and pans suck less.”

  “Well, you do already know where they are...” I reply. “Door's open.”

  “I'll see you in a bit.”

  The line goes dead and I fly off the couch to get ready.

  Worst look a woman has to accomplish? The one that looks like you're not trying very hard, super casual thing. Annoyingly that takes the longest.

  **

  After a quick, hot shower, light make up application, and wardrobe adjustment to sleep shorts and a tank top, I'm stretched back out on my couch with my tablet in my lap pretending to work.

  Come on. I've got dick on the brain at this point. There's no actual work about to get done. Besides the only thing that might even remotely need attention are the emails from Helen with songs for the set list. Not really a pressing issue.

  Arik strolls through the front door in such a comfortable nature it stiffens my body.

  He doesn't live here! This isn't his place! I know, I know, I said the door was unlocked, which is fine, but the way he looks walking through my door is like this is the only place he calls home. That is weird. I'm not a relationship guru, by any means, I'm just saying the fact there's no anxiety having him in my home. No stranger danger fear. None of that is normal. After a few hours in the sack there's no logical reason to be this comfortable. Hell, Liz doesn't even just stroll in. She always knocks. She doesn't live here! She lives across the hall! No. We can't have another night after this one. Definitely not. Shut up. I know what I said before, but there's an itch and my imagination is apparently tired of scratching it. One more taste and I'll be fine.

  He lifts up Tupperware. “Hungry?”

  “You have Tupperware?”

  “I wasn't raised in a barn,” Arik replies and steps up into my kitchen. “Housewarming gift from my mom.”

  Letting my eyes drift the direction he's moving, I drink in the sight of him in sweat pants and a white t-shirt.

  T-shirts are a staple to his wardrobe I'm sensing.

  His sweats are hung low on his hips implying another underwear less night while his t-shirt has no intention of letting go by the way it's clinging onto him. Knowing the feeling, I bite my bottom lip to stifle the moan.

  Arik plants his hands on the counter as he looks at me with a burning expression. “Like what you see?”

  Every. Goddamn. Thing.

  I wink. “It's alright.”

  He wets his li
ps, smirks, and continues to mess with whatever it is he brought over.

  “What's for dinner?”

  “Grilled chicken salad with a sesame vinaigrette.”

  The instinct to gag forces me to say, “Health nut?”

  “You don't look like this eating cheeseburgers every night for dinner.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “However.” He stops the cutting motion and looks up. “I do love a good fucking cheeseburger if you’d rather go do that.”

  With a simple shake of the head, I say, “Nah. I like you cooking for me.”

  “You can get used to it if you want.”

  The comment pastes our eyes together.

  Do I want? Didn't he just come over for sex? We...we don't...we don't need more. I don't need more. I don't have time for more. I don't like the result of what happens when people get involved more. No. Just one more night together. You...yeah...you...zip it. Lock it. Put it in your pocket.

  Arik caves and pushes his attention down back to the task. “How was work?”

  “Busy,” I answer, putting my tablet back on the coffee table.

  Just as I slide down onto my couch he asks, “What exactly do you do again?”

  “Party bitch for Helen.”

  He laughs and my eyes close in response to the beautiful sound.

  Why is that soothing?

  Arik proceeds to ask questions, typical date style, while he cooks and eventually as we start eating dinner. Instead of finding it annoying, the entire process is easier than it's ever been. His combination of jokes and requests for details feeds the inexplicable feeling of comfort that comes from being around him.

  And why does this feel like what a couple does after a long day? When did we skip the fuck buddy section and land here? Better yet why is it I know we should tread backwards to it, yet part of me actually enjoys the exchange?

  “Tell me.” Arik pushes his empty plate across the coffee table. “Did you always wanna be an event planner?”

  After mimicking his action, I answer, “Actually, I wanted to be a wedding planner.”

  “So then what happened to that dream?”

  I divert my attention elsewhere, which is when he runs his fingers down my legs and lifts my feet into his lap.

  “Tell me.”

  With a soft smile I snap, "You're pushy.”

  “You like it.”

  After a small hum from his fingers digging into the arch of my foot, I sigh, “During my first wedding, about eight months in, I choked. I couldn't handle it any more. Her tantrums. Constant crying. Indecisiveness. Undermining every decision I made. It got to me. I stopped fucking sleeping. Was barely eating. The weight of it all finally got to me while we were finalizing the drink menu and I quit. Two months before the wedding and I had a meltdown of epic proportions in front of an audience and quit.”

  “We talking toddler without a nap in the middle of a grocery store melt down?”

  “Times like twelve.”

  “Damn.” I give him a curt nod. “And two months before the big day? Damn....”

  “Their reaction was a little harsher.”

  With a sympathetic look he sighs, “Hard to blame 'em.”

  “I know...And I paid the price. They damn near got me black balled in the industry.”

  “Shit.”

  “Pretty much, but it was my fault. I should've never taken on something that big for my first time.” When Arik begins to snicker I kick him. “Shut up.”

  His fingers return to massaging me as he asks, “Was the wedding for a celebrity or something?”

  “Depends on the circles you run in, so let's just say close enough.” The side of my head hits the couch. “I couldn't get work even remotely close to the industry for a couple of years. Ended up taking small bullshit tasks just to try to make any money. Borrowed from my father, which he was completely fine with. I on the other hand hated the hell out of it. It was like a huge reminder of what a giant fucking failure I was. Eventually, my step mom passed my number onto Helen when she heard she was looking for someone to help with a small cocktail party. I got the job, made an impression, and have been with her ever since.”

  The realization that this is the first time I've told someone that story since it all happened tugs at a knot in the pit of my stomach.

  You win this round. Telling him something I keep close to the chest without hesitation does have to have some sort of meaning. But we're not gonna talk about that now. Sex. That's what this is about tonight.

  With a smirk, attention still on my toes, he mutters under his breath, “You do make a helluva an impression.”

  Unsure if he meant for me to hear that or not, I softly say, “So do you.”

  His eyes drag themselves back up to mine. “Maybe you should give it another go. Get back in the business. Go after what you want.”

  The words cause my thighs to clench together.

  Sex is what I want. Not career advice.

  Kindly he states, “If it makes you feel better, I choked once.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I was five. Turns out performing on Christmas for my entire family hopped up on sugar cookies wasn't the best idea.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “I take it you always wanted to be a musician.”

  “Pretty much.” His fingers slide down the front of my feet, towards my calves. “My parents joke that I came out of the womb using my umbilical cord like a keyboard.”

  Another giggle leaves me. “So what do you want ultimately want? Fame? Fortune? Platinum records?”

  His touch lightens as it strokes my knees. “Truth? I'd be happy if I just made enough to live off of and people came to hear me play because they liked my songs. I never needed the other bullshit.”

  “You write songs?”

  “Typically. I try to find a balance between creating my own and learning ones already out there.”

  The appeal to ask more about him and his profession is blinded by a stronger desire, to spread my thighs open for him to use those magical fingers to play me better than he does the piano.

  Arik cocks a smirk as if he's a mind reader. “You should've called sooner.” He digs his fingers deeper into my thighs arching my body off the couch. “I wanted you to call sooner...”

  On a whimper I argue, “I called now. That's all that should matter.”

  He pulls my body into his lap. “I called you.”

  “Picky. Picky.”

  Without another word our lips mesh together, tongues anxious to be reacquainted. Frantically our hands roam across each other's bodies. Mine helplessly slide under his shirt to caress the flawless creation known as his abs. Arik groans at my exploration and squeezes my ass in retaliation. Between moans, I slip my lips down to his neck where I suck hard.

  “Damn,” he grumbles, sliding his hand under the waist band of my shorts.

  My tongue continues to mimic the motions of a blowjob until desperation has him growling for more. Removing my mouth, I smirk at the vinous colored mark that's branded him.

  Maybe I don't wanna share him. Maybe I want the world to know....Forget I said that. That's just the horniness talking.

  Like he knows, he questions, “Did you just give me a hickey?”

  “Let's call it a reminder to call earlier next time.” He chuckles softly while I demand, “Shirt off.” Happy to oblige he tosses it away. Just the sight has me whimpering. “You look airbrushed.”

  On another laugh he trails his fingers down my arms. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

  After trailing my hands down his chest, I grab the waist of his sweats and help him slide them off. The second his cock is free my hand grips it roughly. A short hiss escapes at my touch, but fades the moment I hungrily swallow him.

  Didn't get the chance to do this last time. He was the one busy feasting the entire night.

  “Fuckin' A baby,” he moans and threads his fingers through my hair. “Keep this up and I'll come too early.”

  Intr
igued by the thought, I shut my eyes and suck harder. Immersing him to my limit elicits another slew of grumbled pleased curses of encouragement. Stroking him in the same rhythmic speed as my mouth, I'm entranced by the power I have. While Arik's hand originally tried to help set the pace, it's now his only support to stop himself from completely falling apart. He's banging it against the couch cushion. Burrowing his fingers into the seat for stability. The feeling of his cock swelling against my tongue turns me into a viscous votarist, eager to taste his overdue orgasm.