Cindersmellya 1(20)

He looks a little surprised that I’m alone. But what the fuck am I going to do? Grab some slut and fuck her in the limo while I still have the smell of Sapphire all over me? Hell no. Even though I might've before. But after Sapphire? I can’t even.

Shit, she was so fucking wet, cumming all over me, that I’m sure my cock is coated in her scent. My cock twitches with the thought.

I shove my hand in my pocket and finger the lacy thong she gave me, a cocky grin spreading across my lips. The fact I got her number has me reeling.

What, you think I have a phone full of hot chicks at the ready? I could if I wanted to. But I don’t. It’s not fucking necessary. I don’t fuck the same pussy twice, and if I want to get some, all I have to do is step out my door. They’re always there begging, everywhere I go.

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.