“Your wife? What the fuck are you talking about?” Lennon asked, smirking.
“She will be. She’ll be my fucking wife soon.”
“Is that your new dickhead way of saying the girl you plan to fuck tonight just entered the room?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I don’t think I’d be calling any girl in this room my wife. Fuck buddy, yes. Even an expensive whore. But wife? No.”
Lennon was right. Normally, I wouldn’t be calling any female in this place my wife. Not here. Not ever. Spiked Roses was notorious for its beautiful women who worked at this fine establishment I had a seventh ownership in. Six other men and I had joined forces to create a haven for our wicked desires and opulent tastes. The waitresses, the bartenders, the wine and cigar sommeliers, and the high-priced courtesans were all exquisitely gorgeous. Like everything in this men’s club, no expense was spared, and we had the very best—women included. And I sampled my fair share. But I still wouldn’t call a single one of them my future wife. That title belonged to one person. It had belonged to one person since I was ten years old. It would always belong to my sweet Cheri. Whether she liked it or not, she would be my wife.
I shook my head. “You are about to meet my new princess.”
I studied Cheri as she sashayed her way up the stairs, her hips moving in such a seductive way that my mouth watered. She appeared irritated, but it didn’t hinder her beauty in the slightest.
Cheri’s first words as she approached us proved how very unlike a princess she really was. “Are you fucking kidding me, Roman? What the fuck kind of place is this?”
Her dirty mouth…
I prayed to God that everything about her was dirty.
But I would punish her for her behavior. Yes, I would spank that tight little ass like the naughty girl she was and then lick her heated flesh inch by inch as I took away the burn. I would teach her what happens when she was a dirty girl around me. And I would love every fucking moment of it. She would beg for forgiveness all while pleading for me to fuck her at the same time.
Yes, I had so many plans for my dirty, foul-mouthed girl.
Cheri looked around at all the working women in disgust. Her eyes and expressions always gave away her thoughts. I could read her. I could feel her. I could fucking smell her. And very shortly, I would taste her. That pussy would be mine. She just didn’t know it yet.
Or maybe she did.
“I thought you were better than this overly masculine display of assholeness. Sipping bourbon with a cigar in your hand as scantily-clad women work the room? Is this who you’ve become? Really?”
Clearly, Cheri was not a fan of the costumes the staff wore. There were two. One costume was a back leather leotard worn with a collar attached to a jeweled leash hanging for any of the dirtier clientele to take hold of at will. Black, slick, delicious. The other costume was a short red lace dress accentuated with diamonds, classier for the more upscale and prudish guests. Sexy, sensual, mouthwatering. The women were everywhere, just waiting to serve every man’s needs and desires.
I shrugged and gave a smirk. I refused to give her comment a verbal response. I took a pull of my cigar and slowly exhaled in her direction as I casually slung my arm over the back of my black leather chair and stared into her azure, yet fiery eyes.
“And sending Silas to come fetch me for you,” she continued, “like some dog. Would you like me to wear one of these collars as well?”
My cock twitched at the image in my head, and I had to sip on my bourbon to attempt to keep my ravenous thoughts to myself. But fuck yes, I wanted Cheri to wear one of those collars. Though only I would hold the leash.
“Are you going to sit there and just stare at me, or at least offer me a seat and a drink?”
Lennon—who I had forgotten was sitting next to me—stood up and placed his empty glass on the table. “I’m going to leave you alone to deal with your marital problems in private,” my cunty friend said with a smirk and a light chuckle.
I gave him a nod, trying to hide my amusement with his statement. I then pointed to his red leather chair he vacated, and said to Cheri, “Of course. What can I get for you to drink?” I pointed to another chair. “Silas, please have a seat as well. I’m sure you could use a stiff cocktail after your long travels.” No doubt the man got an earful from this little pistol the entire way. He deserved not only a drink, but also a raise for his troubles.
“I’ll have what you’re having,” Cheri said as she sat down and crossed her shapely legs.
I wanted them open—wide. But that would come later.
“Silas?” I asked.
“The same, sir. Thank you.” The older man sat down wearily as if he had traveled for years on his quest to bring me my long-lost prize.
I signaled for three new bourbons since I could already tell I would need another simply to extinguish the flames burning inside of me. I was in the same room with her again. And just like that, she had my insides gripped in her hands, twisting them until I was nothing but a prisoner under her control.
“Why did you bring me here?” Cheri asked.
“I like Spiked Roses. So many of those other exclusive clubs are entirely too stuffy. Too many rules, too many old bloods—”
“I wasn’t talking about the club,” she interrupted with annoyance lacing every syllable of her words. “To New Orleans. To you!”
I glanced at Silas who was watching a waitress wearing a leather leotard dip elegantly down to her knees as she submissively delivered drinks to a nearby table. I could see the devilish twinkle in his eye. Dirty old bastard.
“Didn’t Silas tell you?” I asked as I took one last puff of the cigar and put it out so I wouldn’t blow the smoke into Cheri’s face.
“His reason why is absolutely ridiculous.”
“I wouldn’t say ridiculous. Archaic maybe, but regardless, it is part of royalty. You know this. You have always known this.”
“That was years ago. We were children. I’ve left. I haven’t been in this world for years.” Cheri paused when another waitress, dressed in red lace this time, delivered our glasses of bourbon. After we all took our drinks, Cheri continued by saying, “You can’t possibly be all right with this whole arranged marriage idea.” She glanced around. “You don’t seem like marriage material to me.” She took a swig of her bourbon. “Hell, I’m not marriage material.”
“You might think you aren’t marriage material. But you are definitely fucking material,” I stated bluntly. “And that is all that matters to me. I couldn’t care less about all the wifely duties or royal princess obligations that would be expected of you. That is everyone else’s job to be concerned about. All I care about is if you are fuckable.” I smiled at her shocked expression. “And yes, my sweet Cheri, you most certainly are fuckable in every way.”
“You are still the same asshole you always were.” She took another drink of her bourbon.
I had to hand it to her. She didn’t lose her temper. My crass words hadn’t upset her at the level I expected them to. In fact, she was so calm that I wondered if she was plotting her next move for the kill.
I raised an eyebrow before sipping my own drink. “And if I remember correctly, you were fuckable way back when. And I was fuckable to you as well.”