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When Sydney said she had the fashion for the night covered, she wasn’t joking. She pulled in favors from her clients and voila, I’m as pretty as a princess. Our glam squad included an army of fairy godmothers and godfathers who gave us the A-listers’ treatment, courtesy of students from a well-known beauty school. Five hours later and we’re all glammed up.
Considering I can’t even remember the last time I even bothered with mascara, I barely recognize myself. Swept away by the exhilarating moment, I agreed to get my hair cut. Even though I lost twelve inches—which I donated to cancer patients—my honey-blonde hair still falls past the middle of my back.
We ended our magical day at a Beverly Hills boutique where we were able to rent the runway––we’re talking showstopper gown, bejeweled evening clutch and fabulous jewelry. We lucked out on a shoe sale—Syd’s treat.
“Although I’m pretty happy with my couture, I reckon you’re going to turn heads,” Syd says.
Since this is last minute and a favor, we had to be content with the selection of dresses available in our sizes. At five-five, Syd is two inches shorter than I am and she’s much curvier. As a natural redhead with freckles, there are a lot of colors that are a no go. She selected the only viable option—a stunning beaded black dress with a dangerously plunging neckline that showcases her boobies. In that hot number, she went from girl-next-door pretty to sex bomb. There was only one dress in my size—not that I’m complaining. The vibrant shade brings out the gold specs in my hazel green eyes. Not to mention my blonde hair—which is styled in loose waves—stands out like crazy. My breasts aren’t as generous as Syd’s, which is okay because this design is all about legs and back.
“As long as I turn the head of guys I might be remotely attracted to,” I worry the inside of my lip. “Just because these men are ridiculously rich and successful doesn’t automatically mean they’re attractive or even good looking, or even smell good. I didn’t get a Brazilian to settle for the wrong match. No way did I endure that much fucking pain just to hook up with a fugly guy, or a seventy-year-old doped up on Viagra looking to be my Daddy—I guess, Grand Daddy—nor do I want to get stuck with a taciturn dot com tech nerd with no game, regardless of how much money he has. If my pussy is going to get Ruined, it better be by a smoking hot guy or I’ll hang out at the buffet table and stuff my face with exceptionally expensive food I’m unlikely to ever be able to afford.”
Sydney laughs her head off.
“God, that was funny,” she says, regaining her composure.
“I’m not joking, Syd.”
“I hear you, but keep an open mind, Jules, and let Lady Luck do her thing.”
“Yeah, well, my experience with Lady Luck hasn’t been the greatest in recent years.” Losing my parents the way I did is proof. So is being forced to live with Hillary.
“Shit, poor choice of words,” she apologizes.
“Don’t worry about it,” I brush it off. “I’m just warning you,” I stress. “I don’t spread my legs for a stuffed bank account.”
“I heard you loud and clear. This night isn’t about pimping your body like a common whore—or even a high-class escort—it’s about raging lust and burning passion. If you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it. It’s okay for you to sit your pretty little ass on the sidelines and not play.”
It’s my turn to laugh.
“Good,” I nod.
“Come on, let’s finish the tour and join the naughty party,” she says, grabbing my hand into hers.
Chapter 3
Levi
“I can feel it coming in the air tonight,” my buddy Jace says as we queue up behind a line of people. Three security guards built like Mack Trucks, posted side-by-side in a military stance in front of Dark Compulsion, man the doorway to heaven, aka the exclusive adult club we frequently visit for a night of hedonistic pleasure. My buddies and I are members. “I’ve been too consumed with work and my son lately to come here, so I intend on making up for it. My dick is fucking ready.”
“So is mine,” my buddy Rod says.
“Theme parties promise a lot of fun,” my buddy Beckett says.
“Wicked. Dirty. Filthy fun,” Jace stresses.
“Fresh pussy to conquer. You can’t go wrong with that,” Rod chimes in.
“You mean, fresh pussy to get Ruined,” Beckett corrects.
The guys laugh.
“Personally, I’m so jetlagged, I’m really here for the spectacular food,” I say.
Jace’s head swings to me, his blue eyes widen in shock.
Rod’s head jerks back, his incredulous brown eyes peering at me. “Did you leave your dick in Europe, Levi?” he enquires.
“It was a joke,” I defend.
