Prince Hunter: A Prince of Tease Novel (Princes of Tease Book 2) Read online

  “Last person you can call a prude, Sugar.” I waggle my eyebrows. After she rolls her eyes again, I lift up my fork, “But I'm willin' to give this shit a try for you. Who knows...maybe someday you'll be willin' to do the same for me.”

  The corner of Rory's mouth tugs upward. “So we're going to cut it like this,” she demonstrates, cutting off one of its legs. “Then we're going to pick it up like this,” the instructions continue despite the disgusted look on my face, “And pry it open like this...” Once she's successfully done that, she motions her head at it, “See that stuff. That's the meat. You can use a spoon or a fork to grab it or dig it out with your tongue like this.” While the sight of her swirling her tongue around a creature I'm certain God didn't mean for man to eat should kick my gag reflexes, it does the opposite. Watching her suck and devour it with excitement and freedom causes me to groan as my cock grows in my jeans.

  Fuck food. I want her suckin' and enjoyin' me instead.

  When Rory's finished, she drops the piece, and points. “Your turn.”

  Reluctantly, I repeat each of her actions, including using my tongue instead of a fork. At the ends of my first taste, I say, “Not bad, but not great...kinda mushy.”

  “An acquired taste,” she announces, licking one of her fingers. “Just glad you were willing to try it.” Before I can reply, her free hand slides across my lap underneath the table. “Willing to try something else?”

  The moment her hand curls around the outline of my cock, I croak, “What uh...what'd you have in mind, Sugar?”

  “Lean back,” her voice commands.

  Thankful the white table cloth is as long as it is, I follow her request and slide down a bit, spreading my legs.

  In an impressively swift maneuver, she undoes my belt, slides down my zipper and frees my stiffened cock from its hell.

  Nothin' worse than havin' a hard on with no fuckin' room to breathe.

  As soon as her soft hand delivers the first stroke, my eyes roll in to the back of my head, yanked down the cliff of rapture without a lifeline. With every pump, exhilaration is fed to the sexual rascal I've managed to cultivate over the past couple of weeks. I push down the groans growing in my throat while her tongue dances across her lips. The jerking shifts from slow and deliberate to fast. Hard. Keen. My hands grip the arms of the chair to keep me from tossing her on top of the table like my eager dick is demanding. Her disregard for getting caught combined with her desperation to make me come, swells my cock. A pleased expression covers her face. Sensing how close I am to breaking, she tightens her grip, and increases speed until my entire body is mercilessly rocking into the action, dying for release.

  “Waitress is on her way over...” In a quiet, hortatory voice she says, “Come for me, Cowboy. Let her see what it looks like when you're free...”

  Suddenly, I come in smooth bursts, coating her fingers while heavy breaths drop from my mouth in unison.

  By the time Sarah arrives at the table, my body's paralyzed in gratulation.

  Merrily, she states my direction, “You look pleased. I take it you're enjoying your meal.”

  I cock a smirk.

  Definitely enjoyin' somethin' in my life...And ya know what? It's about fuckin' time.

  Hunter

  Only thing worse than having to work when you're beyond exhausted is having to work while you're exhausted with a goddamn migraine. Do you have any idea how fucking loud and obnoxious music is right now?

  Entering the locker room, I head straight for my locker, thankful my night is finally over. The minute I round the corner, the sight waiting for me causes me to grouse, “Fuck...”

  Chance cheerfully appears over my shoulder. “Gold card, huh?”

  I repeat my voiced displeasure. “Fuck.”

  A gold card on your locker means you've been requested for a private dance in one of the VIP rooms. You rent ours for no less than ten grand a night and any money made or agreements concluded on the inside are never mentioned to anyone besides its occupants. Most of the time I add a few passionate kisses on the mouth, the neck, the shoulder...occasionally the thigh just to keep the cash flowing, but I've never fucked one of the clients before. Hey, to each their own.

  “Why am I picking up some negative vibes, bro?”

  Chance's hippie bullshit is met with a scowl.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Hostility, bro.”

  Wiggling into a spare pair of jeans, I keep in my locker, I gripe, “I have a migraine strong enough to take down a fucking blue whale.”

  “Do you know how heavy those are?” He mindlessly questions, leaning on the locker beside mine. “I mean they're fucking tonnes.”

  Brock's voice calls from the other side of the lockers. “Why the fuck do you know that?”

  “I like nature shit.”

  Shaking my head, I snatch the card, and sigh, “Yet you won't fish.”

  “Natures natural ecosystem is fucked up enough without unnecessary poaching.”

  “What about necessary punching?” Brock's comment makes me chuckle.

  Fuck that hurts.

  “You need to realign your chi.”

  “I'm gonna realign your goddamn face if I hear one more idealistic, idotic sentence fall from your over used mouth.”

  As I hustle out of the locker room, Chance pretends to tip a hat at me. “Good luck.”

  I don't need luck. Right now I need a goddamn aspirin, a bottle of water, and a beautiful blonde with delicate features wrapped up in my arms. I can hardly believe we're dating. Like actually dating. I haven' dated since....well let's just say it's been a few years. Yeah, I've taken chicks out, had dinner, seen them a couple times, but nothing like this. Nothing this steady and believe me it's fucking steady. Any chance one of us gets to be in, on, or around the other one, we are. Most nights end with us in my bed, which works for me. Her apartment’s not exactly far from mine, not that I've actually seen it. She hasn't even offered. Even with all the time we spend together there's an arm's length she's not dropping. Rory is similar to the perfect knot. Gorgeous and firm. Secure in itself, but add too much stress and it tightens to the point of harmful intent. Last thing I ever wanna do is harm someone like her. Hell, the very thought that might happen when I have to decide what to do with my life has me putting back shots of Jack. Granddaddy always said there were very few problems a good shot of Jack couldn't cure. Falling for some chick at the worst possible time needs to go on that list.

  Once I've swung by medical and tossed back a couple aspirin, I take the stairs to the second level where the V.I.P. rooms are. With a simple swipe of the key card I'm granted access to the dark room where an older female is waiting on the black, cushioned bench built into the wall.

  “Prince H,” her voice purrs.

  I stalk over to the pole in the middle of the room and wrap my hand around it. “And how can I please you this evening, ma'am?”

  The woman who I would guess is in her late forties, leans forward, and commands, “You can start by coming closer.”

  I plaster on the politest smile I can and move my frame her direction. “You don't want a private performance? You want a lap dance?”

  “More than that,” she states, her hand grazing the outside of my jeans right next to my crotch. “I want a private fuck.”

  Did you really expect them to be less crass just because they seem like higher class people? Newsflash. Sex brings us all to equal levels.

  Catching her hand before it can stroke the goods, I kindly clarify, “I don't do that, ma'am.”

  Fine. I don't usually do that. The bachelorette party threesome was out of the ordinary for me. But the bride begged and offered an additional toy who was willing to be tied up. It's hard to say no to a good rope session. And yeah, it was a risk I'm glad I took. However, I don't fuck clients in these rooms. And the list of clients I have outside of this building is very very few.

  The woman tries to move her hand again. “That's what I paid for.”

  Taking a preemptive step bac
kwards, I keep my voice calm, “Ma'am you paid for a private room. What happens inside of it is a mutual decision. I am willing to offer you a private performance or a private dance, but sleeping with me is not an option.”

  She sneers, “You're a fucking whore. You do what I pay you to do. I paid to get fucked and I expect it to happen. Now, unbuckle those jeans and show me what the hell you're worth.”

  I give my nose a minor rub with the tip of my thumb.

  She's not the first disgruntled woman to ever enter The Castle. It's why we have the signal I just gave. Thankfully, they're few and far between. Most women only want a few moments to feel sexy. Appreciated. To have some sort of fantasy become their reality for just enough time to make it through another week of their loveless marriage. Those ladies, I am more than willing to fulfill their wishes. Ones like her on the other hand? I'd rather be a steer than the bull who has to put up with their entitled shit. I may be a goddamn stripper, but I'm still a human being.

  There's a heavy knock on the door seconds before it opens.

  French's intense presence fills the room, the sound of her heels hitting the floor as if to declare her disapproval before the words have the opportunity to leave her mouth.

  Sexy? Yes. Scary as shit? Hell yes. Sure, you see her long brown legs, her tits squeezed into a business jacket with no shirt underneath, her wavy brown hair pinned to one side of her face and think, you'd invite her into your bed no questions asked. Your first mistake is assumin' she'd want an invitation. Your second mistake is assuming you're ever in charge of anything when she's around, including where your balls are currently danglin'. Not a woman you ever wanna cross, but definitely one you want coming to your protection.

  She gives me a hard look. “Problem?”

  It's not like I'm the boy who cried wolf or some shit. She just wants verification before removing a member potentially from the list on a permanent basis.

  “I have offered this lovely woman the options of a performance or private dance. She is insisting on otherwise despite my repeated decline.”

  French gives me a curt nod and shifts her attention to the guest. “Miscommunication?”

  “I paid for a service.” The woman stands. She slaps her hand onto her hip. “I expect it to be given.”

  Never seen French have to get nasty with a client. Not gonna lie. I kinda want to.

  “You paid for a room. What happens inside is an agreed upon decision. You were made aware of the rules before you took the space. Any misconceptions you created in your own mind are your own fault.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am not accustomed to repeating myself.”

  Unless it's to Brock. She's always yellin' the same old shit at him. Then again, I think he does shit on purpose just to see her frustrated. Their relationship is odd. But never question it. Trust me. Chance did once and almost lost a testicle to each of 'em.

  The woman stomps her foot. “I am a client here!”

  “And he is a prince.” She folds her hands together behind her back. “They are royalty in this building. Not property. You are to treat them with the appropriate appreciation as such. If you would like an escort who would be willing to meet your needs, I have several contacts I can give you, but if you ever disrespect me or one of my princes again, not getting fucked will be the least of your worries Mrs. Daye. I'm sure the last thing the Daye family needs is one more scandal this close to the last one. Wasn't your husband caught having drinks at the bar with a well-known call girl? How awful it would be if the media got wind that his wife was behaving in a similar fashion just a few weeks after the speech she made on the importance of trust, honesty, and faithfulness in marriage.”

  Her mouth slightly cracks yet she doesn't argue.

  “I believe I've made myself crystal clear.”

  Mrs. Daye nods.

  “Wood, will escort you out.” French turns her attention back to me. “You are free to go for the night, Prince H.”

  I nod my head at her. “Queen.”

  Slipping around French and Wood, her massive sized bodyguard in height as well as build, I speedily make my way back for the stairs, actually relieved the night has been cut short.

  Hell, it's not like I needed the extra pay. It was a good night. Correction. It's always a good night at The Castle. For only workin' three nights of the week since that's all we're open, what I bring home is something you'll never hear me complain about. This fuckin' brain splittin' headache on the other hand. I could definitely do without this shit.

  Rory

  “You've gotta put your ass into it, Sugar. Trust me.”

  Not a phrase I hear too often. During sex, I don't need the reminder. Shit! Speaking of reminders, will you remind me to take my birth control pill when we get back? I was about to take it before we left Hunter's place but caught a good whiff of his cologne and my mind went elsewhere. We almost missed the spot he had booked for us here.

  I do as instructed while he grips my hips tightly. “Stay here. Jus' like this. Now aim, like I taught ya.” My eye closes to focus seconds before he says, “Breathe through the shot. Remember stay in control.”

  I give a small squeeze to the trigger and the sound of the bullet being fired revs up my heart in a familiar way.

  God I love that feeling.

  To my surprise it pierces the target. “I did it!”

  “You did,” he chuckles yet promptly adds, “and before you turn around to hug me, put the loaded weapon down.”

  I gently put the gun down before turning around to toss my arms around him. He hugs back warmly, arms securing themselves around me as if double checking I'm actually here.

  Which I almost wasn't. There was this band I was hoping to go see instead, but Megan and Dean bailed last night because his little sister is sick and apparently trying to spread it to the rest of the house the way they were feeling. I wasn't mad or anything. I don't get made over canceled ideas. It's one reason I make ideas rather than concrete decisions. No one's heart's broken when it falls through for unforeseen circumstances.

  He pulls back with a wide smile. “Ready to go again?”

  “I'll finish what's in it now. Then it's your turn. Wanna see whatcha got, Cowboy.”

  Hunter cockily replies, “You'll see. And if you weren’t wet before you will be.”

  Put that in the win category for things I adore about him. Sweet yet cocky. Considerate yet dominating. Somehow he continuously grabs the best of both sides of men and ties them together. Then ties me together. Ha.

  I wink, turn my body, and exaggerate the pushing of my ass against his crotch. The feeling of his buried groan vibrating in his chest tugs my lips into a smug smirk.

  Also love that I can break out the savage sleeping somewhere inside of him with the simplest touch.

  I lift the 9mm up and extend my arms once more. Each time I fire a round the kickback ripples a delicious thrill through my system. The kind I can't get enough of. The kind I live for.

  With the gun finally empty, I place it gently down and turn to say, “You're up, Cowboy. Show me what you can do with your big gun.”

  As I slide out of the way, Hunter slyly comments, “You've already got an idea or do you need to see your panties I've got tucked in my front pocket for a reminder?”

  Gonna have to stop wearing underwear if we keep this up. He's collecting all my favorite pairs.

  After helping me put away the rental weapon, he lifts up his case, and carefully unzips it. The second the rifle is exposed he beams an unmistakable, heartfelt grin. For a moment, he simply stares at it almost as if afraid to touch it.

  I don't think I've ever had anything I'm attached to the way he seems to be attached to that.

  I lean cautiously against the counter space beside him. “Special gun?”

  Hunter swallows whatever pent up emotion he had. “You could say that. I bought it the last time we went huntin'. It was gonna be jus' me and Pop, but I managed to convince Sam to tag along. He hated how Pop spent m
ore time naggin' at him then encouragin' him. But he needed that trip. Some...shit had happened and he needed to know we were there for him.” He drags a finger along the side. “He took down a helluva buck. I was proud especially since I didn't get dick. Pop on the other hand...” There's a drop in his voice. “Couldn't even muster up a congrats.”

  “You um...you still close to your brother? Even though you moved away?”

  “Not exactly.” To my surprise he locks himself back up. “Let me load this beauty and show you what I remember how to do almost as good as ropin'.”

  I drop the subject and watch him quickly load it. He motions his head to step back. As soon as he's got enough space, he pushes the button to replace the target with a fresh one, and sends it much further downrange. Once it's in position, he lifts the gun, and effortlessly fires. The first shot hits dead center. The next manages to pierce the first hole. Slug after slug soars, ripping apart the target demonstrating years of dedication to a strange sort of art.