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Julian fought against plowing a fist into the man and instead returned his attention to the glass decanter of whiskey on the bar cart. He dropped ice into two snifters, then poured a few fingers over the ice. He took his time returning the stopper to the glass and a swift glance rewarded him with the sight of Rex’s growing irritation.
Finally, he turned around and handed the man his drink, then lounged across the chaise and sipped his whiskey as if the man wasn’t there. This frantic questioning by princess’s asshole fiancé was making him more and more intrigued by his mystery woman. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. Fantasizing about her. Imagining her between his legs, knowing he’d command her to suck his cock as he swirled his ice cube ‘round and ‘round his glass. She’d work his length until her lips were cherry red and oh so slick. He’d—
“I really just need to know, man.”
Julian lazily turned his head toward the fiancé, who was still standing, clutching his whiskey glass with both hands as if it were a sippy cup. He licked his lips, glad that he could still taste her even past the whiskey. What he’d do to dive back between the blonde’s legs once again. Get her to that point where she’d been flying, then push her even higher until she screamed his name and clutched his head, and drummed her heels on his back. “You’re still here?” he asked, grinning at Rex. “Make yourself comfortable if you’re staying.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m a fucking machine, not a fucking mind reader. Ask me what you want to know,” Julian said even as he lingered on a private fantasy of blonde hair between his legs, the sound of her choking on his cock, her long legs intertwined with his across the chaise. “Or get the fuck out.”
“Did you make her come or not?” Rex finally spat out.
Surprise made Julian jerk slightly. So that was the million-dollar question?
Why would Rex doubt it? He knew very well that to work as an escort tonight, Julian had to have already earned a fucking gold medal in bed. That he’d proven himself to be the very same Sex God of Manhattan that the press had dubbed him long ago.
Regardless, it was a question Julian wasn’t about to answer. Mostly because he wasn’t sure why Rex wanted to know. Did he simply want to hold the confirmation that she’d orgasmed over his fiancee’s head?
Julian figured he’d toy with the man for a while, see if the man tipped his hand. “You know your fiancée better than anyone, right? Why do you even have to ask?”
“So she told you why she was here, and nothing’s changed? You couldn’t make her come?”
As if the words weren’t shocking enough, the tone in which Rex spoke made Julian narrow his eyes. Was he . . . fuckinghappythat Julian had failed to make his woman come? Rex must’ve interpreted Julian’s silence as confirmation because he pumped his fist in the air. “Thank god,” Rex said in a rush of relief. “I was so worried you’d made her come.”
Julian barely stopped himself from wrapping his hands around Rex’s neck and squeezing until the man turned blue. “So that’s the answer you were hoping for?” Julian asked.
“Fuck, yes, it’s the answer I wanted. Now I can stop trying so damn hard.” The asshole—no, that was too tame for what the man was proving himself to be. The inhuman motherfucking needle-dick shit stain on humanity tossed back the watered-down whiskey.
“What do you mean?” Julian said. He caught himself leaning forward on the chaise, eager to learn more. The reporter in him sensed a story. He just didn’t think it would be a good story.
Rex shrugged, his wet lips curving into an unpleasant smile. “She’s never come,” he said.
“Never?” Julian frowned.
Impossible, he thought.
Rex shook his head, his grin turning cocky. “Not a goddamn time. And I started to wonder if it was me. I kept pushing, kept trying until one day, I realized something. If she really can’t come, not just with me but with anyone, that meant I’d landed the motherlode.”
What the fuck?
“Explain,” Julian snapped.
“If a sex escort, a paid professional, can’t make her come, then no one can. Now I have the proof I needed.” Rex laughed up at the ornate ceiling. “And now that I know she can’t come, that means I’m never going to have to worry about trying to get her there ever again. It’s every dude’s best wet dream. I don’t have to try at all. From now on, I’m just going to come when I’m good and ready, then roll over and check the stocks I traded earlier in the day or maybe turn on ESPN.”
Rage rose inside Julian. His hatred for this man grew in his chest with every word Rex spoke.
He was engaged to a princess. A queen. A goddess.
A woman who was so far out of his league, he should be kissing the ground she walked on and taking it up the ass if that’s what floated her boat.
And he no longer cared about giving the woman pleasure?
Worst of all, he seemed to think Julian would be of the same mind.
He thought Julian’s pleasure came from his own satisfaction and not his partner’s too.
This man seemed totally fine that his fiancée—his gorgeous, mysterious, intoxicating woman—would never know the same pleasure he felt with every fuck.
