“Not much of a choice, I’m afraid.”
“New in town and trying to make friends, is he?” I fix my cuffs as I fish for information. Neven knows I’m fishing.
“Something like that. What’s your flavor?”
“Sex on the beach, please.”
He stares.
“Yes?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. Why?”
“That’s a frat-boy-on-spring-break drink.”
“I’m feeling nostalgic.”
Neven sighs and makes me the drink. The sweet-and-sour taste coats my tongue. Looking around, I’m wondering what exactly my brother got himself into and, by default, got me into. Five minutes at the bar, and I’m checking my watch.
Time is flying while I passively order another drink. Patience is not a virtue no matter what they say. It’s a waste of time, and I’ve never been to an event that’s not mine where things start on time or even close to the agreed-upon time. Scanning the walls, I search for interesting art and find black-and-white pictures of men, a row of them stacked up the staircase.
Something pretty disrupts my view. Women dressed in pink baby-doll outfits start their descent from the top of the stairs. The ladies on the floor ascend, and the men quiet down and start fidgeting in that I’m-not-fidgeting-way alpha males do. Fixing the collar, unbuttoning the suit jacket, shifting on the couch, chair, near the wall as if to present themselves in the best possible position. I resist the urge.
“Is this trafficked merchandise?” I ask Neven, because I have hard limits.
Neven taps the bar as if he has to think about it. “No.”
I rephrase. “Are the ladies here by choice?”
He’s thinking again. “Yes.”
“The pause before you answer is disturbing,” I say, but I recognize the charity for what it is. Lovely young women I’m gonna treat well. Perhaps I’ll even find my everlasting love. What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart and at cock. My cock loves romancing the pussy.
The full hips and thighs of the last woman on the stairs catch my eye. Locks of brown hair curtain a sweet round face and drape over her big tits. She’s about five three with heels on and has baby-blue eyes and rosy cheeks. A fucking doll. I love baby dolls. I fix my cuff links. There, I fidgeted.
Now, for all intents and purposes, I’m a harmless well-groomed billionaire playboy. The rest of the men are murdering lunatics. They each pack a 9mm. I pack a nine inch. Clearly, I’m the choice that carries least amount of risk and a guaranteed good time.
The women linger on the stairs for a bit, each one looking around, and then the girl next to my girl walks down and straight up to the man I recognize as Gavril, head of marketing and design for Tobos, a massive grocery chain.
Other ladies follow and hand the men they’ve picked an envelope. Each man opens their envelope and either nods or returns it to the woman. Reluctant, my girl still stands on the steps, biting her bottom lip. I still have no fucking clue what’s going on here, but I’m rolling with the event. When our eyes lock, I smile a wide one. She returns the smile.
“Come here,” I say and motion her over, because if I don’t tell her what to do, I think she might flee up the stairs, in which case I’d make an ass of myself chasing after her.
She licks her bottom lip, and I think of how her mouth’s gonna stretch around my cock later this evening. Is she selling her hymen with her heart, I wonder. I would certainly buy both. She descends (finally), heading straight for me.
A blush spreads all over her face, and patches of it show on her neck. Poor thing. I wouldn’t put it past the Italians to have forced this girl into whatever this is. One never knows with these guys, and therefore, I must ask.
“Hi,” I say to break the ice and also so she doesn’t faint. Nobody wants to call the ambulance to this place.
“H-hi,” she stammers.
“Blake.” I extend a hand, and when she clasps it, I bring the top of it to my lips, making sure I lock eyes with her as I brush my lips over her soft skin.
“Vanessa,” she says with a smile. She’s pleased with my greeting. Of course she is. Women love a gentleman, especially a man who treats them well in public. They love a gentleman who fucks them like they’re sluts and buys them nice things even more. I’m it.
Meanwhile, I love shy blushing baby dolls, and so we’re a match. I don’t release her hand. Instead, I swipe her palm with my thumb. “Would you like a drink? It gives courage, I’m told.”
