by Vanna King
He made me take up Economics instead, something he could use while he served the country. He wanted me to eventually become his chief-of-staff.
His entire political career has been mapped out at the expense of my own dreams, but I’ve resigned myself to it. I owe him and Mom for the life they’ve given me. I’ve been more privileged growing up than millions of other children around the world. But for them to ask me to marry Bill just killed something inside me.
I toss the remaining contents of the Margarita down my throat and hand the glass back to the passing waiter. I feel light-headed but I’m not drunk. Not yet anyway. That’s the last glass, I promise myself.
I spin round and round, grinding to the music. It’s like I’m shaking off layers and layers of repression from my body, making me feel light as a feather. I didn’t know how closed up I’ve been all these years, until this night.
Being the only child of two over-achievers who expect no less from me, studying in an Ivy League school, and maintaining grades had left me with an almost zero social life. It was all eaten up by my pursuit for excellence. What remained of it was spent for my father’s public-image building.
I’ve almost never been to clubs before. There was just one time when I went clubbing with Aria, my best friend, but some people recognized me downing Tequila at the bar and I was front page in the local rags the next day. Dad was so furious. I was very contrite and promised never to do it again.
I’ve been very sheltered. My day to day existence revolved around making sure our family looked good to the public. I was the perfect daughter of Congressman Albert Spencer and his lovely philanthropist wife, Ruby.
Tonight however, I’m simply Leigh. Imperfect. No, very flawed. And I don’t care who sees me like this.
I’m myself.
Free!
Then I see him across the dancing lights.
Chapter Two
LEIGH
My God, he’s gorgeous!
But his aura is dark and dangerous, staring at me like he owns every inch of me, sitting there like a king, legs indolently open, arms resting on the backrest of the sofa while five overly made-up Barbies vie for his attention.
He’s elegantly dressed in a black suit and even sitting down, it fits him perfectly, hinting of a big, hard body underneath. He looks powerful, like he holds the world in the palm of his hand, including me. He’s precisely the kind of man I should run away from. But I’m not running away.
Our eyes are clashing across the dance floor amid the frenziedly moving bodies. Our gazes have locked several times during the night, but it’s me who breaks the electric connection every time, unable to withstand the intensity of it.
My body is humming with a strange awareness. Of HIM. A total stranger. I throb in the most scandalous places. He’s got all of my senses attuned to him. I want to know how he smells. How he tastes. How he feels.
Before I succumb to the urge of actually finding out, I look away from him and fall back into the thick of the crowd.
But I can’t help it. He’s drawing me in like a moth to a fire. I come out so we can connect again. It’s elemental, this communion of our senses.
I know what my body is telling me. What my soul is urging me.
I want him.
Finally, I want a man. Want him so much my core is clenching with a need I’ve never felt before, heightened by my movements on the dance floor and probably the Margarita I’ve consumed. My chest hurts just looking at him, regretting the things I’ll never have when I’m already married.
Him. This stranger who’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. And I want to be devoured, consumed by him. Tonight.
I didn’t come here to lose my morals. I asked three nights from my parents on my own. Three nights of freedom before I’d commit five years of my life to a business arrangement.
They agreed on one condition: that I won’t do anything that will compromise the Spencer family’s reputation.
But the devil’s advocate within me is whispering like that serpent in the Garden of Eden. What is one night? One mistake? It’s nothing compared to five years within a loveless marriage. You owe this to yourself. Just one walk on the wild side, Leigh. Just one taste of real passion with someone you desire with every fiber of your being.
You want him?
Take him.
Just once.
BRON
She knows it.
She fully knows I want her. That I’m dying to fuck her. But she’s teasing me. Holding out. Drawing the tension tighter and tighter.
I play her little game. I know she wants me as much as I want her. I bet she’s soaking wet right now from thinking about us. My thick cock in her wet cunt. Me driving all my pent-up lust into her willing body.
She’s young. Probably barely legal. Too young for you. I tell myself this, but my boner says, “I don’t give a fuck. I want her.”
The club’s full tonight. I normally prefer the privacy of my penthouse when I want to think, or the quiet decadence of The Boudoir when I want to get laid. Annika called a while back, informing me of a new girl I might want to check out at her club. Luc and I always get first dibs on her new girls. She runs a dating service called Sublime Arrangements. It caters to loaded bachelors like my brother and me who don’t want drama mixed with their sexual pleasures.
So what am I still doing here? My meeting with Jerold Dee was over almost two hours ago. The young, casino kingpin from Singapore liked to talk big business in a noisy, rowdy club and I had to oblige him with barely concealed tolerance in order to close the fucking deal. I even brought in five beautiful blondes from Annika’s club to entertain him, but he left with three dusky-skinned Asian girls he’d spotted on the dance floor.
That was when I saw HER.
One moment I was bored shitless with the women trying to get themselves into my pants, the next moment she was there, and my pants were suddenly on fire.
I usually go by my three moves when I’ve spotted a woman I want to play with for the night: I see. I want. I take. That usually happens within a few minutes. I don’t believe in delaying my pleasure.
But I haven’t gotten past step 1. I’ve been busy silently waxing poetic over her beauty while tossing whiskey down my throat.
I didn’t want to interrupt her fun. Watching her dance in wild abandon is a rare pleasure I indulge myself into. And I’ve been watching her like an idiot for what seemed like an eternity now, waiting. Waiting for her to come to me. She’s certainly taking her fucking time.
I hate waiting. Nobody has made me wait for more than a decade now. I co-own a multi-billion gambling empire that spans from Vegas to Asia. I can afford to make people wait. Especially the women. And I’ve had plenty of women coming and going over the years.
When I ruled the octagon, they patiently lined up at the locker rooms, in my hotel rooms, in my press cons and wherever they could catch me not kicking someone’s ass to a bloody pulp. And now that I’m a fucking billionaire who doesn’t fight for a living anymore but controls the business of the sport, they want something more. They want my dick and my money, preferably with a fucking ring on their fingers.
This casino, the flagship of my family’s business in Vegas is full of women just waiting for me to shift my attention toward them. Even this club is teeming with them, eager to cater to my every pleasure. I have five hopefuls sitting at my table. My time is precious, and getting a piece of it, even just for a quickie is a jackpot for them. But I don’t see them tonight. They have all vanished.
Only that girl remains.
She’s a magnetic force pulling me in against my resolve. Not many women can do that, especially a girl who indeed looks like she’s barely out of high school. But she’s asking for it by shaking her bootie for all these horny assholes to see. They’re staring at her like hounds that haven’t been fed by their masters in a week, crazed with hunger, ready to pounce and devour her at the slightest opportunity.
The only thing stopping this girl fro
m getting molested by these motherfuckers are my two bodyguards who I’ve asked to guard her. They’re hovering around her discreetly, glaring at the animals. Thankfully the horndogs could sense the stronger forces guarding the girl, and no one has dared to cross the line. Not yet anyway. But it’s just a matter of time before the pressure breaks, and one or two motherfuckers would risk getting broken bones just to touch her.
They can only dream of it. Nobody’s touching her. Except me.
Nature generously formed her. The little white elastic number she’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. High, perky breasts that would fit well into my hands. Not too big, but certainly not small. Just perfect.
I wonder what color her nipples are. Would they be as pink as her pussy? My two hands could span her waist, but her hips are wide and curvy. And her ass. Fuck, that ass. I itch to squeeze those fleshy globes or spank them. I imagine my fingers combing through those thick, silky tresses, gripping hard as she sucks my cock deep into her mouth. She’d be so hot and wet for me, and she’s going to beg me to fuck her hard and fast and deep.
My dick twitches painfully within the confines of my pants. I haven’t been this hard in a long time. I’ve missed this kind of arousal. The kind that makes me breathless, tightens my chest, pumps blood through my veins like a potent drug, making me swell where it hurts so good. I know my orgasms with her are going to be epic.
Sex is just a game I play, always have been, just like my gambling business. I intend to be on top. Dominating. All the time.
I always play to win.
Tonight is no different. This girl is just a set of cards I’m going to deal with, play with, my fucking way.
Chapter Three
LEIGH
I feel someone touch my hips.
I freeze. Then I’m pulled against a body. A hard, warm body.
I know it’s HIM. And he smells like my dream man. His woodsy scent surrounds me immediately, and I lose my tongue.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers in my ear, his warm breath fanning the side of my neck, sending flickers of electricity slithering down my spine. The hairs on my nape rise in reaction. My skin prickles, breaking out in goose bumps.
I’m not used to a man’s touch. My self-preservation instinctively wants to scream bloody murder. But I’m rendered immobile by the unique feel of him. So warm and solid behind me. So strong.
I don’t feel threatened at all. In fact, I feel excited.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, my sweet goddess. Trust me.”
I smile. He calls me “goddess”. Nobody has called me that before. I like it coming from him. His voice is a raspy baritone but soothing amid the loud music.
Trust me.
He’s finally making his intentions clear. He’s no longer just looking at me but touching me.
It’s absurd to trust anybody in this place, especially if his hands are already on my body. Yes, I’m very attracted to him, but he’s a total stranger! It’s one thing to want him in my mind, but to want him to actually lay his hands on me like this…
I should be afraid. I should be kicking and screaming for him to let me go, but I do none of those things. I remain still as his warmth seeps into my skin, making me an extension of his body.
He feels so good against my back. His hands span my narrow waist, his fingers idly drawing circles on my stomach. Butterflies seem to come alive in my tummy all of a sudden, flapping their wings wildly.
Oh. My. God. The proverbial butterflies. I’m finally experiencing it. It’s real!
My limbs are going weak as I stand there in the middle of the dance floor with him. I’m vaguely aware that people are now circling us, dancing around us like we are a raging bonfire.
Indeed, flames start to consume me. I feel hotter than I was a few minutes ago and in a different way.
“Dance for me,” he murmurs close to my ear again.
His sexy voice pushes energy back into my system. I feel weak and yet doubly excited. More alive than I’ve ever been.
“Sway those sexy hips for me, goddess.”
The energy comes with electrifying heat, and it’s rapidly spreading all over me.
“You smell so good.” He inhales deeply in my neck and rubs his lower body against my behind.
I gasp, feeling him. That part of him. A very hard ridge pushing at the softness of my bum cheeks. Oh my, that’s his—
He starts swaying us together, guiding my hips to rub against him.
I can’t believe what’s happening. I don’t even know him, and he’s rubbing his erection against me!
But I feel powerless to stop what he’s doing. My body is responding to him against my better judgment. My breasts suddenly feel full and heavy, my nipples itchy against the material of my bra, and there’s a pulse building at the pit of my belly. It’s all new to me, but I know what it is. I’m getting sexually aroused by a total stranger in the middle of a dance floor, in front of all these people.
“Can you feel how much I want you, goddess? I’ve been hard for you all evening, watching you dance. You’ve bewitched me.”
His words are like gasoline to my fire. I suddenly find the strength to turn around and face him.
My eyes collide with the darkest pools of mystery. I’m caught in his sorcerer’s gaze, and I can’t look away. His eyes are so dark, but the edge of his irises are golden so that I’m staring into the eyes of a beast— a lion.
How fascinating.
His stare sears me with such smoldering intensity I feel even weaker than before. I don’t think my legs can support me if he’s not holding me.
My hands creep up to his chest, spreading my fingers over the crisp material of his suit. I can feel his heart beating erratically against my palm.
He’s so tall that I need to look up to meet his eyes even in my 4-inch peep-toes. His shoulders are so broad, and by the feel of him against my palms, he’s all hard muscles underneath his tailored suit. I’m suddenly jealous of his clothes. I want to rip them off his body.
God, my thoughts are scandalous. I’ve never entertained such sexual thoughts for a man before, but tonight is different. I’m in another dimension. I can think whatever I want, do whatever I want, and I damn well want him naked.
“You’re so beautiful. And you’re mine.”
Mine.
The absolute certainty in his voice should repulse me. I’m about to marry a man who bought me with his power and money and this man in front of me is exhibiting another form of masculine disregard for a woman’s freedom to choose. But somehow, there’s a difference. Big difference.
This man, I want. God, yes, I do.
I want him. I want him with every fiber of my being.
I want him to be my first lover.
At that moment, I decide to make him mine, too. Even just for tonight.
My hands move to frame his handsome face. His five o’clock shadow tickle my palms, and I feel the sensation between my legs.
His lips are so sinfully sexy, too full for a man and I want to kiss him so bad.
“Yes, I’m yours. And you’re mine. You hear me? MINE!” I say back fiercely.
A smile slowly broke on his lips. Now I know what those romance books mean by ‘panties melting’. I feel liquid heat gush out of me from just staring at him. I’m getting wet for him, my body readying for him. I’m feeling all sexy woman under his masculine appraisal; sexy as hell woman, and I love it.
I love myself so much right this minute, and I want him to love me, too. I want him to discover me. Make me discover myself. This man has awakened my sensuality to the fullest, and I welcome it. It’s so liberating.
“My feisty little goddess. Where have you been hiding all my life?”
I smile back at him. Now that I’m sure what I want, my confidence soars. I don’t know anything about seducing a man, but if this is the only chance I’d get from here to my wedding day, I’ll do it.
I deserve this. I need this experience to get me through five years.
Maybe this is a mistake I’d regret in the end, but I want it. I want this mistake. For once in my life, I’m going to do what a good girl shouldn’t do in this situation.
I’m going to take a risk. I’m going to have sex with this stranger. I’m going to give him my virginity. I’m going to allow him to do all those dirty stuff they describe in romance books. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.
“In your dreams,” I answer his question.
His smile broadens.
Then his face descends on me.
His lips claim mine.
I’ve kissed a boy in high school, two guys in college, when I actually got the chance to socialize a bit, but they were nothing like this, like I’m getting sucked out of my body and into his. His kiss is creating a havoc of the most wicked sensations within me, and yet his lips are nothing but the gentlest, playing unhurriedly against mine, soft and warm. He tastes like nothing I’ve ever tasted, and I want more.
I push my tongue past his teeth.
I feel him freeze, sucking in his breath sharply.
I pull away, afraid that I might have done something wrong. I’ve never shoved my tongue down a guy’s throat before in my impatience to get more out of a kiss. “I’m sorry…“ I say, my face flaming in embarrassment.
But he kisses me again, and this time, his tongue is in command. I sigh in surrender. He tips my head backward, supporting my spine as he ravishes my lips like a conqueror for all to see, and I don’t care if the world caves in on us right now. I just want him to go on kissing me until I become mindless, until I forget everything.
He pulls away and straightens me. I stare at him wide-eyed, lightheaded.
“Dance for me,” he commands.
And I do. I step back a few feet away from him and start to sway my hips again. I run my hands down my sides slowly, rolling my hips to the beat, letting them travel up my body seductively, framing the sides of my breasts.