Strife: Part Three (The Strife Series Book 3)

Strife

Part Three

SKY CORGAN

Text copyright 2015 by Sky Corgan.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

DMITRI

I pace back and forth in my hotel room, wondering if I made a mistake.
I have no business calling to request Alexis' presence again. She didn't seem to enjoy herself last night, and the last thing I need is to get involved with an escort.

Just friends. You're doing this to be friendly. For the company, nothing more. There's no harm in it as long as you don't get caught.

How long will that be though? Paparazzi swarm around me like flies on shit now that I'm in Hollywood. I wouldn't doubt it if they snapped a picture of me bringing Alexis into the hotel yesterday. Now I wish I wouldn't have stayed at the Chateau Silverbridge—the place of Hollywood royalty.

When I came here, I wanted to be seen. Now I just want to disappear, be a normal guy and do normal things without the worry of someone watching every move that I make. I'm not a normal guy though—haven't been for a long time. And if thrusting myself further into the spotlight is what I want, then this is just something I'll have to deal with.

It's harrowing to think that one mistake could damage my career so significantly. The tabloids wouldn't know the truth, and so they'd twist it in the worst way possible. If I was lucky, the headlines would read
Dmitri Strife seen with unknown beauty
. If I was unlucky,
Dmirtri Strife seen taking prostitute to his hotel room
.

No. I definitely shouldn't have called for her again.

I frown at my feet, crossing my arms over my chest. It's been a long time since I felt this nervous about anything. But it's not just one thing, it's many. Actually being excited to see Alexis again. Worrying about getting caught with her. Concern over what would have happened to her had I not requested her services. I hate the conflict I'm feeling inside.

There's a knock on the door, and I take a deep breath as I approach it and peer out the peephole. Somehow, a few fans found out I was staying on this floor and showed up at random. I never open the door to strangers. Hopefully, I won't have to speak to the front desk about putting security on my floor. It has happened before in the past.

Thankfully, it's Alexis. I feel my heart thrum in my chest as I lay eyes on her golden curls. She's wearing that lost expression again, and I can't help but grin. So out of practice for this.

I summon my confidence and open the door, smiling down at her. She looks like a starlet tonight, so beautiful that it takes my breath away.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Her eyes are wide, the dark eyeliner surrounding them making them seem almost larger than life. Then her gaze softens, and her cheeks take on the slightest shade of pink as she lowers her head.

“Good evening, Alexis.” I lean against the door frame.

“Good evening, Mister Strife.” Her lips curl into a knowing smirk.

“I see you've discovered my secret identity.” I step aside so that she can enter.

“Mhm.” She keeps her head bowed as she walks past me. Once she's inside, her eyes explore as if it's the first time she's seen the place.

I close the door, admiring her from behind. Her dress appears to be expensive, and it's far too nice on her for me to want to keep her hidden away. While there's a risk of leaving the hotel with her, I think I'm willing to take it. Spending all night here will probably get boring quickly. Not only that, but it will also lead my mind to wander in impure directions.

“You look lovely.” I flank her side, resisting the urge to touch her. Hell, I can barely look at her without getting turned on.

“And you're more handsome in person than I would have thought. I guess it wasn't all Photoshop after all.” She casts a sideways glance at me, highly amused.

“Oh really?” I quirk an eyebrow, chuckling lightly. “You didn't even recognize me yesterday.”

“I didn't know who to expect.” She shrugs, the smirk finally leaving her lips. I'm sad to see it go. In the past few minutes, she has seemed happier than she was all of last night. “I honestly didn't think Mister Sumner had such high-profile clients.”

“I liked it when you didn't recognize me.” It's the truth. For once in a very long time, I felt like a regular guy. Now I'm worried that she'll treat me differently. Girls always do once they figure out who I am.

“Would you prefer for me to keep calling you Brodie?”

“When we're out in public, yes. It will keep the fans away.” I nod decidedly.

“I highly doubt that. Someone showed me a picture they took of you drinking at some bar. I recognized you by the Crown and coke.” She winks at me.

“Predictable already,” I laugh, enjoying that she doesn't seem as tense as she did the night before. Maybe she's getting comfortable with me.

“Why didn't you just tell me who you are?” She turns to face me, her expression serious as if the lie offended her.

A small smile creeps across my lips. “Because I didn't want you to treat me differently. Sometimes a man just wants to be a man, you know?”

“I wouldn't know. For one, I'm not a man. And for two, I'm not famous.” She sighs and walks away, running a fingertip across the top of the big screen TV in the living room, her hips swaying from side to side and drawing my attention to her perfect ass. “I've spent my entire life pretending to be a normal girl. Trying to be invisible.”

I can sense there's a double meaning to her words, but I'll save my questions for later. “I thought we'd go out to dinner tonight.”

“Downstairs?” She perks up, looking at me over her shoulder.

“No. Somewhere quieter. More private.”

“Oh,” there's the faintest hint of disappointment in her voice.

I ignore it. It's not her career on the line if we get caught.

I sit down on the sofa to make a few phone calls, first contacting the front desk to ask for a list of private restaurants. Since they cater to so many famous people, I'm sure they'll have some good recommendations. Thankfully, I wasn't wrong with that assumption. The next thing I do is call a taxi. Most wealthy people would take a limo, but when discretion is the key, seeming more pedestrian is always the better choice.

Alexis continues to stand by the television, resting her arm on the top of it and making eyes at me. She is treating me differently, and I can't tell if it's because she knows I'm famous now or because she's trying to be a better escort. Either way, I don't like it.

“Well, we're all set. The taxi will call me when it arrives,” I tell her after ending the call.

She takes long strides towards me, closing the distance between us. Her expression is that of a predator stalking prey. I have no idea how to react, so I just sit there. It feels like the world is moving in slow motion. She stops in front of me, hiking up her skirt, showing her perfectly shaped calves. Then she crawls on top of me, straddling my lap.

“Maybe I'd rather stay in for dinner.” She traces a circle on my chest with her fingertip.

“I'm kind of hungry,” I mumble, desperately trying to keep my desire for her at bay. Just feeling the warmth of her body on top of mine is getting me aroused.

“I'm hungry too, but not for food.” She leans in to kiss me.

My heart is pounding in my chest, my cock pressing hard against my jeans. The scent of her perfume envelopes me as her soft curls brush against my face. It takes everything in me to resist. I slide my fingers into her hair, tightening my grip just before her lips make contact with mine. She lets out a tiny pained gasp, which only turns me on more. I redirect her head, my mouth stopping only a centimeter away from her ear.

“I don't want to do this,” I try to keep my tone as gentle as possible.

“You're breathing heavily,” she whispers back. “That means you do want to do this.”

I feel her hand slip between my legs, her palm tracing the outline of my dick. It twitches in response, my testosterone revving from the stimulation. If there was any question about what I really want, it's gone now. I can't even pretend to lie anymore. I swallow hard, my grip loosening on her hair, my eyes growing hooded as I begin to surrender.

Get it together, Dmitri. You can't do this. She only wants you because she's being paid. And if not that, then she only wants you because you're famous.

I summon up what tiny bit of resolve I have left and grab her wrists. The sexual need in me is too strong, though, the desire to dominate her and make her mine. I force her down onto the sofa, holding her arms above her head. The tight fit of her dress is keeping me from getting between her legs, making the position awkward. It's probably the only saving grace.

The heat in her eyes is almost palpable. Her body writhes up to greet mine. My cock aches from being so close to her. Seeing her lying helpless beneath me does things to me, things I can't control or deny.

Her little pink tongue flicks out to trace over her top lip, and I lose it completely. I want to kiss her. Need to kiss her. I hesitate for but a moment before my last shred of resistance finally falls away. This is happening, whether she's paid or not. I don't care anymore.

I lean in to kiss her, closing my eyes, every fiber of my being bent on tasting those soft, perfect lips.

And then my phone rings.

PEPPER

God. Fucking. Dammit!

I don't think I've ever been hornier in my entire life.

Dmitri crawls off of me like my body is on fire, leaving me a wanton mess on the sofa. My lips are still puckered, my eyes still closed, waiting for the kiss to happen. I have half a mind to grab his phone and chuck it across the room. Why did he have to answer it? Why couldn't he have just ignored it and kissed me? He was so close to being mine. Right in my grasp. But now...

I sit up and stare at his backside. Not only did he get off of me, but he also walked several feet away. I scowl at him. There's no harm in it if he can't see it. And besides, I'm pissed.

He ends the call and turns to me, looking a bit flustered. “The taxi is here. We should go.”

“That was quick,” I grumble, standing and straightening my dress.

My panties are so wet that I worry they might have soaked through. The way that Dmitri forced me down onto the sofa had every nerve in my core firing off with premature contractions. I liked that he held my wrists—loved the smoldering look in his eyes. His cock was so hard. It still is, by the looks of it. I want to peel those jeans off of him and wrap my hand around it, wrap my mouth around it. Stupid phone call. Stupid taxi. Stupid hunger.

“Come on.” He opens the door for me, ushering me out in a hurry.

From the moment we're inside the elevator, I keep glancing over at him, my mind going back into the gutter. Now would be the perfect time to advance on him again, to have some kinky elevator sex.

Dmitri grabs my hand once the elevator reaches the bottom floor, and we take long strides through the hotel to the taxi. It boggles my mind that we're not riding in a limo. He is
the
Dmitri Strife, right? James didn't lie to me, and I'm not just imagining it. Why would he want to travel around like a commoner?

I sit beside him in the backseat, resting my head on his shoulder. He smells deliciously masculine. My fingers want to wander back between his legs, to feel the firmness of his manhood, but I know that's too crude, and I don't want to anger him. He already seems uncomfortable as it is, his body rigid. Part of me is amused that I got him so worked up, but part of me is also concerned that I'm coming on too strong. Should an escort wait for the client to pursue her? I'm honestly not sure.

The cab ride is spent in silence. It might be awkward if not for my mind replaying the living room scene over and over again. I should probably stop thinking about it because it's just keeping me turned on and making me want to do naughty things to him. I wonder if this is how he thought the night would go, what he had planned for us. Surely, he can't keep requesting me without wanting sex. I refuse to believe that he's just that nice of a guy. All men have the deeply ingrained need to couple.

It feels like we're in the taxi forever. We drive through Los Angeles and into Claremont before the cab finally pulls up in front of a little Italian restaurant. Dmitri hands the driver a wad of bills, and we exit the vehicle before he walks around to stand beside me, placing his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward. Just feeling his fingers brush the back of my dress sends electricity shooting through me.

I can't believe I'm out on a date with Dmitri Strife. More than that, I can't believe that I like him. That he's not some perverted, junked out asshole. He's actually a decent guy. More than decent.

We step into the restaurant, and I'm completely underwhelmed. If Dmitri was going for low-key, he certainly got it with this place. The number of patrons is sparse, the lighting is dim, and the décor is old—and not in a good way.

A host suited up in a tuxedo and bowtie leads us to a table in the corner. He pulls out my chair for me, and my eyes instantly fall to the hideous flower-patterned carpet on a red background. This is definitely not the high-class place I thought Dmitri would take me to, and I'm honestly a bit disappointed.

“Do you want something to drink?” Dmitri asks as he seats himself across from me.

“This doesn't look like a Crown and coke place,” I tease, trying to sound impressed.

“It's more of a wine place.” He doesn't even glance at me as he picks up the wine list from the table, his tone void of amusement.

A waiter comes by to take our drink order. Since I'm underage, I just order water. Dmitri selects a bottle of wine for us, something I haven't heard of before. As soon as the waiter cards me, though, Dmitri downgrades to just a glass for himself.

“Let me see that.” He holds out his hand to take my ID.

I hesitate, feeling like I'll be giving away too much information if he sees it. He curls and uncurls his fingers a few times, staring across at me like my refusal isn't an option. With a soft sigh, I hand it over, completely expecting him to get upset at how young I am. Yesterday, I told him that I moved to California right after I graduated from high school. I don't think he really processed the numbers at the time.

“Pepper Kimbrough,” he reads my name back to me. “It looks like I'm not the only one who had a secret identity.”

He offers my ID back to me, and I take it with an internal sigh of relief. Perhaps he didn't bother to read my birth date. I doubt that though. Maybe he just likes younger girls. I hope he does. I have no idea about his dating history. All I know is that guys like him typically date models and movie stars. But there's no rock star on the face of the planet who hasn't made it with a few groupies, and his fan base is wide on the age scale.

“I'm sorry,” I say timidly, feeling a bit guilty as I remember being upset about him lying to me about his name.

“Why, Pepper?” He unrolls his tableware, placing his napkin across his lap before picking up his menu to look at it.

“Because it sounded expensive.” I shrug.

“I like Pepper better.”

“Really?” I quirk an eyebrow at him, unable to buy that.

“Really.” He continues to read his menu.

“It wasn't originally my real name.” I decide to follow suit, unrolling my silverware and opening the menu to see what looks good.

“What was your real name originally?”

“I don't know. My mother wouldn't tell me. She just said that she renamed me.”

“Well, I like it.” He closes his menu, leaning back in his chair to watch me.

The waiter returns with my water and Dmitri's wine. The liquid is so dark red that it's almost black. Dmitri swirls it in his glass, then sniffs it and takes a sip. I smirk at him. He looks nothing like a wine snob in his distressed jeans, a white t-shirt, and a gray cardigan.

He orders surf and turf for himself, grass-fed filet minion with lobster. And I choose pan seared sea bass paired with summer vegetables. My mouth waters just thinking about having another delicious meal that I'm not going to have to pay for. I could certainly get used to this lifestyle.