I poured myself a generous measure of Scotch and downed it in one before walking to the window of my hotel suite. I had a beautiful house in Bel Air but I rarely spent any time there. I preferred being here to my quiet house that had too many rooms and not enough people to fill them.
I owned this hotel. I worked here. I fucked women here – and plenty of them.
I’d considered going to the hotel bar and striking up a conversation with one of the many women who frequented the place on a regular basis. It would have taken less than half an hour to get one of them up here to my suite. I had no time for small talk or the art of seduction. Most of the time, much like tonight, all I wanted was to fuck someone.
Uncomplicated, no strings, fucking was my favorite way to unwind, and the women that I did that with understood the rules of the game.
But, this was my wedding night, wasn’t it? I was supposed to be at home seeing to my new bride rather than trawling my bar looking for a hook up. And I had to make this marriage seem at least halfway believable.
I felt my cell vibrating in my pocket, Taking it out, I looked at the screen and saw a text from Jackson Decker, better known as Jax. He was my second in command, my most trusted soldier and my best buddy.
I’ve sent you a wedding gift, amigo. Enjoy!
I frowned at the screen wondering what he could possibly mean by that. Jax was one of the few people who knew that my marriage to Alana Carmichael was a business arrangement and nothing more.
Before I could text him back, there was a knock at the door.
I walked over and opened it to my gift. Tall, blonde, long legs, big tits and the tiniest dress I had ever seen. I smiled at her. Jax knew me too well.
‘Come in,’ I said as I held the door wider.
She strutted into the room in her high heels. ‘Mr. Decker thought you might be lonely up here on your own,’ she purred. ‘So, he’s sent me to take care of you.’
‘How thoughtful of him,’ I said as I closed the door behind us. ‘And you are?’
She looked at me, her lips pulled into a pout. ‘Princess,’ she said with a flutter of her eyelashes.
‘Princess?’ I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. If I couldn’t have a spoiled New York princess tonight, then a different type of princess would have to do.
I sat in the armchair with a glass of Scotch in my hand as Princess slipped off her skimpy dress and stood before me wearing only a pink G-string.
She had a decent body. Tanned skin and long blonde hair. She was tall and thin and her huge tits were obviously fake. I preferred the real deal, but I wasn’t going to object. She was fuckable enough and that was all that mattered to me.
‘What can I do for you tonight, Mr. Montoya?’ she purred as she walked closer to me.
‘Take off the panties and come here,’ I ordered.
She obeyed immediately. That was the thing I liked about paying for sex, or in this case, having my buddy pay for it for me. The women did exactly what they were told to do, when they were told to do it. There were no expectations. No complaints.
Princess slipped her G-string over her hips and down her long legs until it lay in a tiny pool at her feet. She stepped out of it and walked towards me, stopping directly in front of me. She was so close that I could smell her cream and it made my cock throb.
‘Turn around and bend over so I can see what my buddy is paying for,’ I growled and she obeyed, bending over until her waxed pussy was only inches from my face.
‘Do you like what you see, Mr. Montoya?’ she asked in a low, husky voice.
I ignored her question. I didn’t give compliments. ‘It looks like you’re already dripping wet for me, Princess? Do you enjoy being paid to let men fuck you?’
‘I enjoy being paid to let you fuck me, Sir. In fact, I’d let you do me for free,’ she giggled.
I wrapped my hand around my cock and squeezed it through my trousers. It was rock hard. Why wouldn’t it be? I had a naked woman bending over in front of me with her pussy in my face.
‘What are you waiting for? From what I’ve heard, you’re not usually so shy,’ she purred.
What was I waiting for? Why was I sitting looking at her instead of burying my cock, my tongue, or my fingers inside her?
‘Get dressed, Princess,’ I said with a sigh as I downed my Scotch.
She stood up and turned around, blinking at me. ‘Have I done something wrong, Mr. Montoya?’ she asked, her voice trembling as though she was fighting back the tears.
‘No.’ I growled. ‘I’m just not in the mood.’
‘Well, I could get you in the mood?’ she offered. ‘I don’t mind whatever you want to do?’
I shook my head. What the fuck was wrong with me? My cock was throbbing so hard it was painful, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch her.
‘Just get dressed and go.’
She nodded as she picked up her clothes from the floor and dressed quickly. Then a few seconds later, she was gone.
I sat back in my chair and sighed. It was my wedding night and I was sitting alone in a hotel room while my wife was on the other side of the city. Not that I thought I’d care about that fact.
I didn’t particularly like Alana Carmichael. She was certainly fuckable, with her long curly hair, her thick thighs and curvy ass, but she was far too much like hard work. Not to mention, she was a spoiled brat.
So, why was I thinking about her instead of fucking Princess? A woman who would know exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it.
Despite Alana being my wife in name alone, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t bring myself to cheat on her on our wedding night.
I threw my empty glass at the wall and watched as it shattered into pieces.
Damn my catholic upbringing!
And fuck Alana Carmichael!
