Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle (57 page)

Now Shaw’s demeanor changed entirely. He said nothing more but lowered his face to my pussy, trailing his tongue only just barely along my wetness, the tip of his hot, hungry tongue only barely touching my pussy lips.

“Oh, god…” I whimpered, pressing my hips forward once again, arching my back in desperation and trying, against all odds, to get him to lick me, to eat me. But he was determined to tease me—just because he was being gentle didn’t mean he was going to be easy on me, I realized.

He dragged his tongue down the soft inner part of my thigh, along the joint of my hip. The feeling of his warm, wet tongue exploring, tasting my dark, moist flesh, his breath and warmth so close to my pussy—it was amazing, and I could have orgasmed right then and there. But instead, I held on, closing my eyes, riding the pleasure, riding the teasing.

Finally, I felt the stubble dotting his cheeks rubbing against my clit, scratching me gently, little pinpricks pressing into my precious nub of warm, swollen pleasure.

“Oh, Mr. Shaw…” I whimpered again, once more trying to drive my hips up and into his mouth. But his practiced movements kept me from getting the satisfaction I aimed at, and he pulled his mouth back ever so slightly, just barely out of reach of my swollen lips. It was only when I lowered my hips that his lips descended on my wetness again.

He would eat me, but it would be on his own terms, I realized. I had to play his game, had to let him tease me—I had no choice.

“Please…” I whimpered heavily, huskily. “I need it… I need to cum…”

Still, he said nothing. He began, however, to trace the hood of my clit with the tip of his tongue. I squeezed my eyes shut, shuddering in delight at the feeling of that wet tongue exploring me, exploring my wet folds as he guided it down, down into my cum-filled cavern.

“Oh, god, please… Eat it…” I whispered, reaching my hands down to grab him by the head. That was a big no-no. He grabbed my hands and forced them to my sides, holding them in his tight, vice-like grip as he lapped at my clit, lapped at my hole, cleaning my cave and working up to my clit before descending once more to suckle at my swollen, aching pussy lips.

Each second was ecstasy and agony. Ecstasy for obvious reasons and agony because I ached to cum, wanted to cum, and somehow, he kept me from cumming. He was almost supernaturally good at this, able to bring me to the point of climax and then guide me back down. The ascents and descents came faster and faster in succession now and I found my hips shaking in anxious pleasure as he worked over my wet hole.

“Please… Please… Please…” I gasped hungrily, needily. “Please, Mr. Shaw. I need to cum so bad…”

Of course, I knew that wouldn’t be of any use, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t bother trying to grab his head anymore, didn’t bother trying to force my pussy hard into his face. I was helpless beneath the ministrations of his skilled tongue and all I could do now was squeeze my own thighs, driving my nails into my flesh as I suffered and luxuriated beneath his tongue.

I gripped the bed sheets hard, positive that I was about to tear them in two as he stroked my torn, brutalized, gaped asshole, running his finger around my swollen ring of muscle as he lapped at my clit, lapped hard at it, desperately. Faster and faster his tongue worked my nub of pleasure, never letting up, no longer trying to bring me back down from my height.

Finally, I arched my back and let out a piercing, glass-shattering scream as my body released, waves of pleasure bursting through my veins and arteries, spreading across my entire body. I saw random flashes of lights, as if the room were full of exploding stars in the dark night sky, as if I had ascended from earth into space. I all but lost consciousness and for a moment, I even forgot about Shaw between my legs, doing something to me that no man had ever done to me.

It was several minutes later when I was once again finally able to process thoughts. My heart was still pounding deep in my chest and my head still felt vaguely like I was underwater.

“That… That was…”

“Quite good,” Mr. Shaw said. He had his suit back on and was on the other side of the room, fixing his tie in a mirror. His movements were clean, precise, practiced. Not unlike the way he ate me out. Everything he did seemed clean, precise, and practiced, as if he had rehearsed each moment already a million times.

“I know,” he said with a smile as I struggled to form words. He reached into his brief case and pulled out an envelope. He laid it on the black walnut nightstand beside me and grinned a smooth as espresso smirk.

“That’s for you. A little extra. Consider it a tip.”

A tip. Yes. Of course. I forgot.

I was a whore.

I reached out for it numbly but I couldn’t bring myself to open it in his presence. I felt ashamed, felt like a little, young fool. What had meant so much to me, what had been so extraordinary for me—it was all nothing to him. He probably did this three or four times a week. He probably had a dozen girls or more at the club, and he made them all feel this way, tricked them into thinking that maybe, just maybe, there would be something more to what transpired between the sheets.

“Give us a kiss now,” he whispered, and my cheeks flushed with shame once more as he leaned in to kiss my stony lips. I didn’t want to fall into the kiss, didn’t want to melt into his strong chest, but he had somehow gotten his cologne on without my noticing and I found myself intoxicated by his scent—clean, fragrant, with hints of pine and citrus. My senses overwhelmed, I kissed him back, losing all sense of myself, forgetting who I was and what I had just thought about…

Exclusive

“I want you all to myself,” he growled in my ear as we broke apart. His lips sought out my earlobe and he bit it hard. I yelped softly, leaning back but then leaning my ear into his mouth, inviting him to bite me more, to start it all over again…

“Don’t seek out any new clients here,” he whispered.

“I… I don’t know if I can do that…” I confessed. “I think I have to do whatever I’m told…”

“That’s right,” he whispered, dragging a finger up my belly, in between my breasts, to my throat. I gasped, feeling the pressure of him choking me, and I fell back onto the bed as he climbed on top of me, pressing his weight into me as he choked me gently—not enough that I couldn’t breathe, of course, but enough that my natural instincts were to get aware, as adrenaline brought on by the danger flooded my body.

But I suppressed those instincts, as I suppressed so many other natural urges and feelings to be with him.

“That’s right. But I’m telling you now that I don’t want you to be with any other man. I want you all to myself. And by the logic of this place… You have to do what I say.”

He pressed his lips to my trembling ones as I writhed in his hands. Finally, our embrace was broken by his phone vibrating. He smirked once more at me.

“Clients. So difficult, aren’t they?”

Yes. Yes, they were.

~

I went home lost in a funk. The club paid for a car to pick me up after my shift. Shaw had been my only client, just as he had wanted.

But there was always next weekend. Would I be able to continue to be exclusive to him? Did I even want that?

It seemed unfair—it seemed like he was allowed to fuck whoever he wanted, and I had to stay chaste for him, remain his own little sex toy. The thought of him doing what he did to me to Priya, which he almost certainly had done in the past, made me sick to my stomach. That little pit of anxiety which had been my constant companion before performing on the stage hit me now and I found myself staring out the car window, glum and nervous, watching the even New York City sky turn cloudy as a storm moved in.

A crackle of thunder rolling overhead announced the storm’s arrival and I sighed, shuddering as the water began to batter the car windows.

“Terrible weather out there,” the driver muttered to me from beyond the partition. “Glad you’re not walking?”

“Absolutely,” I said with a sigh

“You seem sad,” he continued.

“Trouble with boys,” I replied, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible. He glanced at me from over his shoulder as he guided us through the busy, stormy city streets, water washing off the car as he delicately and skillfully brought us around a tight left.

“That’s what the girls I pick up from there always say,” he murmured. “They get in like you, sad and all, not smiling, and say it’s boy trouble.”

“Oh really?”

“Sure thing. It’s the same every time, I promise you that,” he replied, as if it were simply a fact of life.

So, I wasn’t crazy. This happened to other girls. Maybe other girls Mr. Shaw had been with at the club?

I imagined him on top of Priya, whispering the nasty things in her ear that he had whispered to me, fucking her in the ass for the first time and making her groan and scream for him, making her beg to cum, slapping her and choking her when she came without his permission, making her suck his cock and making her beg him for the privilege… I hated her. Hated that bitch for taking Mr. Shaw.

I stopped myself and shook my head. This was crazy talk. I was acting crazy. Priya wasn’t the problem. She was a co-worker, a comrade in this strange new workplace I had joined. And besides, she clearly wasn’t exclusive with Mr. Shaw because I had seen her with another man, seen her suck him off professionally and pleasure him as if there were nothing personal to it.

Don’t miss professional and personal lives, I imagined her telling me.

But how can I be professional when my professional life makes demands on my personal life? How can I do what Mr. Shaw wants and keep my contract with the club?

The car pulled up to my apartment and I numbly tumbled out, trying to tip the driver but he politely refused.

“Please, darling. If you knew what that place pays me to keep my mouth shut about the types who come and go… I’ve put three kids through college just on what the club pays me.”

Well, at least someone was happy with his position.

When I got upstairs to my apartment—a far cry from the Old World luxury of the club, a fact which only became apparent to me when I sank into my bed which, despite being so familiar to my skin, now felt uncomfortable and rough—I had gotten so used to the effortless luxury in which I had been immersed for only a few hours—I felt myself exhausted, physically and emotionally. The damage done to my body was only apparent to me now: Mr. Shaw had devoured me, leaving my fleshy aching and sore and swollen.

In spite of that, if he were here, here in my apartment, I would submit to him immediately, without a second thought. I would do whatever he wanted me to, do nasty, filthy, degrading things, simply for a chance to hear his voice, to hear him whisper “good girl” in my ear as he sodomized me, as he spanked my needy ass, as he pounded me harder than I had ever been pounded before or forced my mouth down onto his hardness, choking me till I cried…

What had happened to me? How had I changed so much, so quickly? I was never the type of girl to get hung up over a man, much less over sex with a man…

I needed to sleep. Everything would be clear in the morning.

I hoped.

As I unpacked my bag, my fingers grasped, almost involuntarily, the envelope Shaw had given me. I swallowed hard and opened it.

A thick wad of bills greeted me. All hundred dollar bills. There were at least fifteen of them. No, twenty. He had tipped me two-thousand dollars for our time together.

I felt sick. I was a whore, after all. I hated it but I wanted to see him again, wanted to feel him on me again, wanted to feel him inside of me and to serve him…

~

The next week was a blur. It was all I could do to force myself to go to classes and rehearsals. I was too tired, too depressed to go to my part-time job and I got a voicemail after I missed work for the third time, an angry, terse message excoriating me for my lack of responsibility, informing me that I had been fired.

So what. I had just made more money in a single day that I made all month at that job.

Thursday evening, I got out of a particularly draining rehearsal, in which I couldn’t seem to remember any of my lines or blocking, to find a message on my phone. It was a voicemail and as I listened to it, I recognized the voice of Annie, the girl who had met me at the door to the club.

“Hi, Ayesha. I just wanted to let you know that you made quite an impression on Mr. Shaw. So much so that he’s specially requested you for Friday evening. I wanted to make sure you would be coming in. If you would give me a call back and confirm…”

And then she rattled off the club’s phone number.

My heart leapt up into my throat. What should I do? Should I say I was never coming back? I knew I should, knew I should run… But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t say the words, because I knew that would mean that I would never be with him again, never make love to him again…

And even if it meant I had to be… to be a whore… his whore… I wasn’t sure I could live with that, live with the knowledge that he was paying for me to be his. All his.

I called Annie back. Her chipper voice greeted me.

“Did you have a chance to listen to my message, Ayesha?” she asked. I heard a note of concern in her voice, a note of tension. Did she know what was happening, that Mr. Shaw wanted me to serve him exclusively?

“I did,” I replied. “And… Yes, I’ll be in. You can let Mr. Shaw know that.”

“Ayesha, you have to know… He’s gone through our girls before. Chewed them up and spit them out. We almost revoked his membership because of the… Drama… He’s experienced with our girls. Instigated, really. Cat fights. Ugly spats. Fighting with the other members.”

I couldn’t speak. My heart stopped in my chest.

“Be careful with him. He’s drunk on his power. He’s possessive beyond belief.”

“I… I will…” I stuttered out, barely able to form the words as they spilled out of my trembling lips. He had done this before. He had probably demanded exclusivity with girls before. I was just another whore in his line of succession, another girl du jour for him.

I hung up after saying goodbye to Annie and collapsed into bed, weeping. But then, I pulled myself together, told myself I would be strong.

I would play his game.

I would play Mr. Shaw’s game and I would take his money, as much of it as he wanted to give me. If he wanted to make me his whore, I would be a goddamned expensive whore. This was my lot in life, as it had been for many women before me, and I would use my skills and attributes—my body, my heart, my wit and sensuality—to make the best of the situation.

At the very least, I told myself, I could pay my way through college and never have to think about Mr. Shaw again.

The idea of never seeing him again, never thinking about him again, though—that broke me inside. God, could I live with that? I had no idea if I could.

Maybe, just maybe…

Maybe I could change him?

Was that even possible? Aren’t you supposed to never try to change a man?

Still, the fantasy was there and god, was it a seductive one… The idea that maybe, just maybe, I could change him, make him good to me, teach him to love me and treat me like I wanted to be treated… While still being submissive, while still luxuriating in his profound, controlling dominance—the dominance that made me weak in my knees, that made my insides tie themselves up into a squishy, wet knot.

God, but it was so difficult—the temptation, the belief that maybe, I could have it all—have the man I wanted, have him touch me like he did, have him fuck me like he did, have him…

Did I dare say it? Or even think it?

To have him love me like he did?

Could I have it? Was it possible? Did I dare?

I wanted to. God, but I wanted to. Everything I thought I knew about myself, myself as a strong, independent woman, a woman who forged her own destiny, who wasn’t beholden to anyone, much less a man, it had all gone out the window.

I wanted to serve him, but I wanted to be the only one serving him. He had given me something I had never had in my life, but I wanted it exclusively.

Wasn’t that fair? For me to demand exclusivity from him in return?

It made sense to me. And after a certain point… Well, I wasn’t really a whore anymore. We were…

Again—did I dare say or think it?

Dating.

No, I was getting ahead of myself. I forced the thoughts, seductive and tempting as they were, from my exhausted mind. I would go to the club the next evening and I would see him again.

And I would work, just like I was supposed to.