AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My hotel, as well as my club.
"But I don't have anything to change into," she whispers, barely audible, sounding guilty as if she was required to have a spare dress in her bag.
"I'll give you my shirt, and then I'll ask my driver to get you home," I say strictly, trying not to look at her anymore.
This girl attracts me and, for some reason, terrifies me at the same time. The way she walks, as if she's never been kissed, much less had sex; the way she looks at me with those huge green eyes like a cartoon princess from a Disney movie. I want to touch her if only to make sure she's real; the way she tucks her hair behind her ears, exposing a long, gorgeous neck with pale skin as if made for monsters like me to taste. The way she nervously bites her full rose lips, causing them to swell.
All of it makes my dick jump in anticipation.
I haven't even touched her. She's not even naked yet, but my cock is already half hard.Only from looking at her.As if we're going to my suite to have sex.Which we're not, I remind myself.
She's too young for me, way too immature, too innocent; it's evident that she’s barely twenty-one, which is the minimum age to get an invitation.
I glance at her once again because, obviously, I can't force myself not to. She's looking down at the floor, nervously playing with the bracelets on her wrist and trembling slightly in fear.
I want to touch her, to calm her down, press her body against mine, taste those full rose lips, and make her understand that no one will hurt her when she's with me.
No one but me.
She doesn't know it yet, but the real monster, the darkest devil in this club, is the person she’s following right now. If she only knew what I'm capable of and how cruel I can be, she would run away from me as soon as possible and never look back.
But she doesn't know me; she’s never even heard of me. When she looks up again, I see interest and desire rather than fear and lust, like other women have when they see me. Women are terrified of me but still want to taste me as if I'm some kind of monster they dream of taming.
I am a monster, obviously, but no one in this world can tame me.
Not anymore.
But this girl is different. She obviously grew up rich. It's not because of her Gucci bag or Louboutin shoes; most women dress up for this club as if they can afford stuff like that. No, it's something different. It's the way she handles things, even her torn dress. Obviously to her it's just a dress that can be replaced easily. She doesn't bother.
She’s used to things like that. She has never needed to think about where to get money. A Gucci bag is just a bag for her, like any other. Girls who can't afford such brands but still wear them are always terrified to ruin them, which gives them away.
Rich girls like her come to the club, too, but they act differently. They come with friends, make a reservation for the table, and order at least a dozen bottles of Cristal champagne as an appetizer. They look for one-night stands and book a room at our hotel in advance, usually hiring one of my manager's male models to please them during the night.
Rich women are not much different than rich men in their fantasies. They love sex, too; they want to be fucked professionally, they want to have time to talk. They like intimate massages and all that kind of inappropriate stuff that you cannot buy in a regular night club or hotel.
They all want to find love at some point, but when they realize that love can't be bought, they come to places like this one and replace it with the hottest, mind-blowing sex they can find.
And what they do like the most about places like mine is the privacy that we guarantee while they're here.
"I don't want to go home." She shakes her head, walking out of the elevator and freezing in place. "I can't, it's too soon, I haven't..."
"I don't care what you want," I bark in response without letting her finish, "You just cost me fifty thousand dollars." I open the door to my suite and stretch out a hand for her to come in.
"But why? I had only one glass of champagne...I...don't have that much money..." she mumbles. Her lower lip is trembling, and her eyes start filling with tears.
That's good; she has to be afraid of me so she won't ever come into this club again.
"That guy usually spends forty to sixty thousand dollars in this club per night," I say, calmer this time, and her eyes go round in amazement.
To be honest, I don't care about the money. I make a lot more in one night than most Hollywood producers make in a month. I just want to scare her to get her out of here as soon as possible and never come back.
Because I don't trust myself when I'm with her.
My reaction to this girl is inexplicable: wild, primal, irresistible passion, which has grown so fast and intense, like a rolling snowball during an avalanche.
And I am almost not capable of fighting it.
Almost.
