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But I got her number. No fucking way was I leaving without it. For the first time ever, I want to go back for more. I will go back for more. Because a taste of her wasn’t enough. It’s like she seeped into my blood tonight, a drug that I’m hooked on instantly, unable to think of anything but my next fix.
The limo pulls up to One57, and I jump out and head for the elevators leading up to my penthouse. Nothing but the best for the billionaire Prince of St. Albans.
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.
