Mister X

by Shae Sullivan

  I swallow hard, then toss and turn from side to side. My head is swimming, and I wish I could think of something, anything, to clear it.

  But I’m stuck, and I have no idea how to un-stick myself.

  Other than finding the guy and discovering just what about him drives me so wild?

  Chapter 8

  Logan

  It’s an uncharitable thing to think, especially towards my handler who has spent so much time working on my image, but for once I really think that I could kill Peter. He’s managed to ruin yet another night, managed to make sure the blonde got away without my getting her name and number yet again, and I want to put my hands around his neck and strangle him.

  But if I go to prison, then I’ll never find her again.

  So, I paste a smile on my face and turn to him.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I’m supposed to be enjoying a solo meal, remember?”

  Peter glares at me. I can’t stop myself from smiling widely as he shakes his head.

  “A solo meal of pussy?” He asks disdainfully. “Logan, I leave you alone for thirty seconds and this is what happens?”

  “What did you think was going to happen, seriously?” I ask. “You knew I wasn’t into the idea. It was the girl from the other night,” I add, as if that little detail is going to make things all better. “You should be happy I slept with the same person more than once!”

  “The two of you, enough!” A man in uniform snaps, and it takes me a minute to realize that he must be the maitre d. “Do I need to call the cops to get you out of here?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Peter says quickly. He puts a hand on my arm and hustles me out of the supply closet into the glaring bright light of the back hallway. When we get back into the restaurant, I swivel my head from side to side, looking for the blonde.

  But she’s nowhere to be seen, and my heart sinks when I realize that I’ve missed yet another chance to find my mystery woman.

  Peter’s talking under his breath, a stream of words that goes straight in one ear and out the other. I’m nodding and muttering along, but the truth is, I’m not paying attention, and I think he knows it. All I can think about is the blonde, and how I have to find her again.

  Part of me wonders if I’m not behaving this way on purpose, like if I’m deliberately trying to torpedo any measure of success that Peter is trying to carve out for me in the world.

  That can’t be it, though – there’s something about her that’s so captivating, so riveting that I can’t stand the thought of never being with her again. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Vegas – or if I’ll be back at all after shooting that damned show – but I don’t want to waste any more time.

  “Hold on,” I say, stopping dead in my tracks and turning to Peter. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What? Where are you even going?” Peter demands.

  For once, I don’t answer him. There’s no lie that I could think of, nothing that would seem plausible in the situation. I’m grateful for the massive crowds streaming around me on the sidewalk, and grateful for Peter’s shorter-than-average height. There’s no way he’ll be able to chase me, and I stride quickly down the Strip, back to Tony’s.

  The hostess smiles at me – clearly, word hasn’t gotten back to her yet about my shenanigans in the closet.

  Or maybe it did, I think as a grin spreads across my face. Maybe she’s hoping it’ll be her next time.

  “Back for another steak?” She teases me.

  “Not exactly,” I say. “I was actually hoping you could help me out with something.”

  “Oh?” She smirks at me. “And what would that be?” Still smirking, the brunette leans over the hostess stand and bats her lashes at me.

  “Well, remember how I said that I was going to meet a woman here, but she ditched me?”

  The hostess’s smirk fades slightly as she nods.

  “She actually showed up, but I didn’t get her name,” I say, trying my hardest to look sincere and sad, like a boy who got dumped right before senior prom. “She’s blonde, about this high, and she was wearing a black dress.”

  The hostess frowns. “I did see a woman matching that description ...” She trails off and bites her lip. “But I’m not supposed to give out information like that. It’s confidential.”

  “I’m not a stranger,” I say, trying to charm her. “We’re friends. We talked earlier, didn’t we?”

  The hostess blushes, and inwardly I grin. She’s not immune to my charm. She just takes a little more working, that’s all.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know,” she says. With a sigh, she glances over her shoulder. “I’m really not supposed to do this. I could get in big trouble. I could even get fired,” she adds, lowering her voice and making her eyes big.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my wallet and take a few hundred-dollar bills. They’re crisp and papery in my hands, and I crumple them slightly before handing them over.

  “Would this help? If you do wind up losing your job,” I tell her in a silken voice normally reserved for my submissive's.

  The girl’s eyes widen slightly and she nods. “Yes, well, I think that would help a lot,” she says. She glances down at the reservation book in front of her. “That woman, your blonde, she was with a party reserved for something called AngelDate.”

  My blonde, I think.

  “What’s her name?”

  “There’s no name here, I’m sorry,” the brunette says with a smile. I have sudden flashbacks to the casino waitress, and I feel like kicking the hostess stand. I can’t tell if she’s lying or not, but either way, this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.

  “You sure?” I ask, taking out my wallet and opening it again. The brunette watches expectantly as I peel off two more bills and hand them over.

  “I’m sure.” She gives me a sweet smile. “Unless her name is Jeff,” she adds with a giggle.

  I smile tightly. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  AngelDate, AngelDate, AngelDate ... what the fuck does that even mean? Is she some kind of hooker? That would explain why she’s so good, but no, she can’t be. A hooker would be a seasoned pro, not someone who flushes and blushes and complies so easily, I think as I walk out of Tony’s, disappointed for the second time that night.

  I know Peter has to be back at the hotel, so I wander the Strip for a couple of hours. Eventually, I go into a fancy-looking Taco Bell, order a diet soda, and sit down at one of the back tables. The place is crowded with drunks and I’m practically invisible as I take out my phone and start hunting for the mystery woman. I Google AngelDate, expecting a stripper or even a service that provides “dates”, but to my immense surprise, I see a photo of the blonde and another girl, posed with their phones, their eyes glued to the screen.

  Something BIG Is Coming ... the caption at the top of the screen reads.

  Below it, there’s contact information listed for someone named A. Amano based at an address listed several blocks from where I’m sitting.

  Instantly, I know it’s her. I screenshot the information – as much as I want to talk to her now, I don’t want to seem greedy or desperate. Besides, I want to send the perfect message.

  Something that says, I like you, and I want to see you again.

  And I want to fuck your brains out, possibly for the rest of my life.

  Knowing that I found her fills me with intense joy. I feel revived, completely satisfied, and ready to take on the world. I chuck my soda in the trash and then leave, wandering down the Strip back to my hotel. I don’t care if Peter is there with an army of angry men, or even my father.

  I found the blonde, and now I can rest easy.

  To my surprise, the hotel room is empty when I let myself in. After taking a long, hot shower, I change into pajama pants and an Indiana Bandits t-shirt. Lounging on the bed, I flip through the hundreds of channels on the hotel TV and think about what I’m going to say to A. Amano, when I finally decide to text her.

 
I can’t help but grin as I think about just showing up at her place. Would that creep her out? It would probably bother a lot of women ... but a lot of women wouldn’t chase a stranger through a restaurant hoping for a second fuck. A. Amano clearly knows how to play.

  And dear god, do I want to keep playing with her for quite some time.

  When the door opens, I don’t even turn my head. I expect Peter to come in and start yelling at me again, but instead when he calls my name, he sounds almost excited.

  “In here,” I call.

  Seconds later, Peter appears. He’s smiling in a weird little way, almost like he’s got a secret for me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter says. He takes a deep breath. “As much as I want to control you, I know that sometimes, you must chafe at my instructions.”

  I stare, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “So, I have a little ... apology present for you,” Peter continues. He snaps his fingers, and seconds later, a girl comes into the room. Her eyes are lowered and she’s clad in a purple satin corset with matching panties, fishnet thigh-high stockings, and purple platform heels.

  “I know that you’re going to be following all the rules when you’re Mr. America the Bachelor,” Peter says, and I don’t fail to miss the implied threat in his wording. “But tonight, you should be you. You should have fun,” he adds. “It’s all taken care of and paid for.”

  Peter shows himself out of the room and I hear the door to his adjoining suite open and close.

  “Hi,” the girl says. She steps closer, her hands clasped in front of her narrow hips. “Your manager thought you’d like to have a little fun.” Lifting her head, I watch as she licks her lips and fastens her eyes on mine before blushing and submissively dropping her head.

  I don’t know what to do. Ordinarily, a situation like this would turn me on beyond belief: a girl waiting and wanting me, already dressed in lingerie that’s begging to be cut off her body with a pair of scissors. She’s objectively stunning, with large tits and a tiny little waist. I could see the old Logan doing just what I do best: taking out my suitcase of fun and stuffing her holes with toys, making her beg for me for hours before spanking and caning and fucking her, filling her with my cock and making her wish that the night could last forever.

  But right now, it’s not happening. I feel just as apathetic to her as I felt towards the last girl Peter brought me ... and now, I know it’s not just because I’m dealing with professional sex workers in Vegas.

  It’s because someone else has caught my eye.

  Someone real, someone who gets as much out of the exchanges we’ve had as I do. Someone who clearly has a hard time cutting back in real life.

  Someone who needs me to introduce her to a dark world of pleasure, a dark world where the two of us would dwell forever.

  “I can’t wait to be all yours,” the girl simpers, stepping closer to the bed. I can smell her fragrant perfume, and again, it does nothing for me.

  Sitting up, I sigh.

  The girl’s sweet little smile fades and she looks up at me with big eyes.

  “What’s wrong? That man said you’d want me,” she says.

  “It’s not you,” I tell her. For once, I feel that I can afford to be charitable.

  The girl flushes. “Well, look,” she says. “I have a lot of friends ... if you’re into that kind of thing.” She pulls a phone from her corset and opens the screen to a picture of a man wearing leather chaps and a sailor’s hat.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not into that, either. Look, he paid you already, yeah?”

  The girl nods. She blinks. “I’ll do anything you want,” she says. “You can fuck me in the ass, if you want.” She turns in a slow circle, sticking her butt in the air and wiggling it.

  “It’s not that,” I tell her. “Just go home, okay? Enjoy the night off.”

  Now, she looks offended and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t get it,” she says. “I’ve never been rejected before.”

  I get to my feet and put my hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly pushing her to the door of my suite.

  “Don’t take it personally,” I tell her. “Just please, leave.”

  The girl huffs, clearly not having taken my words to heart. She stomps out of the room and slams the door behind her. When Peter rushes in from his suite, he’s glaring at me and red in the face.

  “What the hell, Logan,” Peter says. “I spent a fortune on her – she’s a dancer at Crazy Horse, for fuck’s sake!”

  I shrug. “She could be the most famous stripper in the world and I wouldn’t be interested.”

  “I went to a lot of trouble for that,” Peter grumbles. “You have no idea how expensive she was.”

  I answer him with another shrug. “Look,” I say. “I tracked down the blonde – you know, the girl from the party ... and from the closet at Tony’s. And it’s her I want. If I can’t have her, I don’t want anyone at all.”

  Peter sighs. He puts his red face in his hands and for a second, I almost feel bad for him – clearly, he doesn’t enjoy being my handler any more than I enjoy being handled.

  “I’m serious,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in random women anymore.”

  “Logan, this is a terrible idea. It’s very dangerous – this blonde of yours, she’s not a pro. She could ruin everything.”

  I don’t know what to say: there’s nothing to tell Peter that I haven’t told him before.

  “You know, your father is seriously hoping that you’ll marry one of the Bachelor girls,” Peter says. “And how is that going to look, if it comes out that you have a secret mistress? No one is going to want that.”

  “I doubt those girls really give a fuck about me,” I say. “That’s the point: they don’t know anything about me before the show. They just want their fifteen minutes.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Peter snaps. “Think of how disappointed your father will be!”

  “I have,” I tell him. “And I don’t care.”

  Chapter 9

  Alyssa

  After the disaster at Tony’s, I spend the next several days working as hard as I can. I check in with Caro twice a day and spend hours on the phone with Jeff and Ned, working on the schedule for rolling out AngelDate. Their infusion of money is enough for Caro and me to hire a skeleton staff: a web developer and three programmers, people who are all eager for money and promise insanely fast deadlines.

  It really feels that I’m going somewhere with this, and I’m happy.

  But deep down, I’m not really content. I keep wishing that I’d run into that guy again, the hot stranger who knows just how to touch my body and make me want him.

  I’m probably never going to see him again, but god, what I wouldn’t give just for another chance meeting.

  One night, I’m relaxing at home when there’s a knock on the door. I figure it’s Caro – she’s made a habit of stopping by unannounced, likely to make sure that I’m actually working. Yawning, I stretch and pad across the room to open the door.

  “I’m here,” I say, rolling my eyes as I yank open my front door. “What do you—”

  The sight of the man makes me stop dead in my tracks. In a navy button-down shirt and a pair of dark pairs with his hair slicked back, he looks as hot as ever. My mouth goes dry and my heart starts to thud in my chest.

  “How ... how did you find me?” I ask softly, stepping back and allowing him entry to my apartment.

  He doesn’t answer. There’s a dark gleam in his blue eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. I wish that I was wearing something other than a pair of plaid yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice my sloppy appearance. I step backwards and cross my arms over my body, making to pull my shirt over my head, but he reaches out and stops me.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head.

  Then why are you here, I think, swallowing hard.

  “I would normally tell you about myself,
” he says, pressing his lips together and walking over to my couch where he sits down as if he owns the place. “But that could be dangerous.”

  I laugh awkwardly. “What are you, James Bond or something?”

  Unamused, he shakes his head. “No,” he says.

  “Well, you like fucking strangers in public places,” I say, raising an eyebrow and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “So, it’s not like you care tremendously about your public image.”

  The man sighs heavily. “I ... I’ve gotten carried away with you,” he says. “That’s why I’m here now.”

  I blink. “I don’t get it.”

  “I want very much to keep seeing you,” he says. “But there have to be rules.”

  The serious tone of his voice makes me giggle nervously. When he glares at me, the laughter dies in my throat.

  “I’ll start,” I say. “I’m Alyssa. Alyssa Amano.”

  “A. Amano,” he echoes.

  “What?”

  “AngelDate,” he says. “I found the website for your start-up. That’s how I found your address.”

  “Oh,” I say awkwardly as a blush spreads up from my neck and covers my cheeks. “Um, yeah. I ... I actually forgot that I put that online.”

  He glares at me and a shiver of lust runs down my spine.

  “You should be careful, Alyssa,” he says in a dark voice. “Anyone looking for you could find where you live, you know.”

  “You found me,” I shoot back. “So, it can’t be all bad, can it?”

  The man sighs, and again I wonder what he’s doing here. This is the most time we’ve spent together without touching or kissing or fucking, and my body is tingling and trembling with anticipation.

  “I have something for you, something that could help you tremendously,” the man says.

  I press my lips together. “What?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls a file folder out of a leather briefcase and hands it over.