Bad Boy Romance Sample-1st Person (Erotic Scene)
The music was raging, the waves of electronic melody pulsating through the air and into my body. Maybe it was the vodka or the girl, or maybe it was just the fact that I could do pretty much anything I wanted. Whatever the reason, I had it made.
My eyes trembled over the hot blonde standing in front of me as she moved rhythmically to the sound of the music, sipping her fruity drink through a straw pressed against her luscious crimson lips. Her hair was long and straight, her eyes were painted with dark hues making their sky-blue color pop out at me, giving me that same rush in my chest that every guy got when their prey resembled some sort of hot science fiction movie fantasy. She leaned toward me, her breasts heaving from the top of her strapless dress, and whispered something, giggling.
I couldn’t hear a damn thing she was saying, but I smiled and laughed with her.
My drink was tasting almost too good as it rushed over my tongue and down my throat. I leaned forward toward…Shelly…no Sarah, whatever. She smiled, faking a shyness I knew was only a ploy to reel me in further. Leaning in with her tongue pressed vivaciously against her top lip, she kissed me on the neck, sending shivers down my back. This was definitely going to happen.
I had spent the last hour and a half sweet talking her, though she didn’t really seem to be interested in what I was saying. That being said, I really didn’t care what she had to say either, so I guess that put us on the same page. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, staring down at the number on the screen. It was my PR Manager, Aaron, probably making sure I wasn’t doing anything stupid. I rolled my eyes and stuck my phone back into my pocket, placing my drink on the tray a cocktail waitress was carrying.
The sexy blonde was still sipping the same drink, though I could see she was considerably looser in motion than when the dance of hooking up had begun. She looked up at me and bit the edge of her lower lip. God that drove me crazy. I moved in close to her, backing her against the large column in the middle of the dance floor. The room was dark, and the roving club lights made it hard to focus. Our bodies pressed together, pushing in toward each other, my eyes staring into hers, my lips just inches from that vibrant red pout, watching her reaction as I ran my hand down her side and up under her very short dress. I paused momentarily feeling nothing but soft skin, realizing she wasn’t wearing any panties. She raised one eyebrow and smirked, slipping a pair of panties into my other hand.
She was waiting for this.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” I whispered into her ear, pressing my growing cock against her leg and raising my eyebrows.
She smiled and winked, grabbing me by the tie and pulling me across the club. I watched her ass jiggle, barely covered by her skirt, as she sauntered in her six-inch heels through the crowd, catching the eye of several men. At the other end of the dancefloor was a door that led into the kitchen. She peeked around the corner and moved swiftly through the doorway and into a small room to the left.
I slowed down through the door, chuckling as I looked around, letting the stale incandescent lighting focus my eyes. It looked like some sort of storage area, boxes neatly piled against the wall and a small closet in the left corner. Closing the door behind me, I pulled my shirt off, flexing the muscles I killed myself creating every morning at the gym. She ran her hands down my chest, licking her lips. She stepped back, slowly unzipping the back of her dress and pulling down the front, her large, obviously augmented breasts spilling out. I reached forward to grab one, but she slapped my hand, smiling coyly.
“Do this a lot?” I laughed, looking around the room and back at her, who seemed to know exactly what course she wanted this to take.
She stepped forward and squatted down in front of me, unhinging my belt, my button, and zipper, and letting my pants fall to the floor around my ankles. My boxers were tight, and my shaft was so hard it was sticking out of the top of the band. She leaned her head forward and ran her tongue over the tip, forcing a small groan from my throat. Her crimson lips curled up into a smile, and she pulled my boxer briefs down, joining my pants in a pile at my feet. She stood up, taking my shaft in her hands and rubbing it up and down as she pushed me back against the wall. I stumbled slightly but leaned back, putting my hands behind my head.
Once back down on her knees she cupped my balls and wrapped her lips around my member, sliding it deep into her mouth. This girl knew what she was doing. Her tongue swirled around wildly as her head bobbed up and down. I reached one hand down and placed it on the back of her head, pushing in deeper as she came back in for more. She reached her hands up and grasped my tense cheeks for stabilization and started to move faster and faster. Just as I was about to grab her face for one last plunge before bending her over a pile of boxes, the closet door flew open, and a flash of light blinded me.
The girl stood up, covering her breasts as a man jumped out of the closet. I grabbed my pants and pulled them up, holding them in place while I pulled my shirt back over my head. He was snapping pictures with a relatively professional camera and yelling out questions. The girl didn’t seem too shocked by the occasion which was slightly strange to me. Either way, I didn’t have time to think about her as I turned toward the door to a growing group of people crowding into the room, snapping pictures with their phones and laughing to each other.
“Did he pay you?” The photographer from the closet asked the question, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was talking about. “Miss, did he pay you for sex?”
Though I didn’t really give a shit about the girl at that moment, I figured I might need to get her out of there to lessen the inevitable blowback from all of this. I struggled to get my belt fastened and took a deep breath as I grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room. I pushed through the crowd, trying to cover my face from the flashes going off everywhere. One thing about being a famous Media Mogul bachelor in the Big Apple was the amount of publicity that leached on to you wherever you went.
A couple of bouncers from the club looked over as I struggled to get to the door. They rushed over, clearing a path for the girl and me, allowing us to free ourselves and push out into the street. The cold city air hit me in the face, and I was immediately sober. I nodded back at the guys closing the door to the club, thankful for once that they knew my face. The girl was standing there shivering, so I rubbed her arms and looked into her half-drunk face.
“I’ll get you a cab,” I said, trying to at least sound caring. “Where do you live?”
“Brooklyn,” she said with an air of humor in her voice. “You sure know how to party.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed, hailing a cab.
When the driver pulled up, I opened the door and helped the girl in, bending my head in to hand him some cash and tell him to head toward Brooklyn. As I pulled my head back out, I smiled at the girl, who seemed unmoved by the entire chain of events. I leaned against the car frame and chuckled.
“It was good while it lasted,” I said with a smirk on my face. I started closing the door just as she spoke out.
“That’s what they all say,” she mumbled as the door slammed. I furrowed my brow unsure of what that meant and tapped the car on the roof.
The cab disappeared into the streaming lines of city traffic, and I turned to my driver who had pulled up out front. He looked over as the reporters pushed their way out of the club doors, taking pictures and holding recorders in the air. The driver shook his head, knowing I must have done something stupid again, before opening the back door and watching me climb inside. I pulled the door halfway shut as the same guy from the closet approached the car door.
“Here,” he said handing me his card. “Your PR rep is probably going to want this. Just one question. Did you know she was a hooker?”
I grabbed the card from him and looked up in horror as he snapped a picture of my reaction. There was no way…was there? I didn’t pay her anything, except the cabbie to take her home. This was going to be a complete and utter nightmare.
By the time the car had gone the six blocks to my penthouse building, my phone was ringing off the hook. Apparently, these pictures by the bystanders in the doorway were flooding all areas of social media with the hashtag #MasonJonesDoesAHooker. A little long of a hashtag for my taste but I guess not everyone can be as Instagram savvy as me.
I took the elevator to the top and sloughed through into my living room, throwing my tie on the chair and slumping down on the couch. The phone rang for the 87th time, and I figured I should probably answer.
“Mason, I just don’t get it,” Aaron said before I could even greet him. “What did I tell you about this crap? And a hooker? Really? Are you trying to ruin your career?”
“I didn’t know she was a hooker,” I protested. “I was just going with the moment, man.”
“Well, it’s a mess,” Aaron chastised. “Get your life together and be at the PR meeting at eight am sharp on Monday so we can sort all of this crap out.”
He hung up before I could say anything. Sighing deeply, I tossed my phone next to me on the couch, putting my feet up on the coffee table. This was definitely not how I wanted to round out my weekend or start my week for that matter. There was a reason I had a PR team in the first place but damn if I didn’t hate sitting in a room full of people looking down their noses at me. I guess in their defense, I didn’t make their jobs very easy.
I spent Sunday hiding out in the penthouse, watching the droves of reporters crowding around the entrance to my building from my balcony. Luckily, and not so luckily, the only thing I had heard from Aaron all Sunday was a text reading, “TMZ has some pretty good shots of your hooker tryst.” I went to bed hoping that when I woke up Monday morning, it was going to have been nothing more than a bad case of indigestion and too many sleeping pills, but I wasn’t so lucky.
Stepping out into the morning sun in front of my office building, I could feel the judgment of everyone passing by. I fiddled with my sunglasses and straightened my face, not wanting to anyone to know any of this was getting to me. I made my way up to the twelfth floor and stepped off the elevator, nodding to the receptionist who was pointing toward the conference room. Through the glass walls, I could see Aaron rubbing his temples, surrounded by an entire team of PR reps. This one must have gotten pretty bad.
I walked in and nodded at the others staring up at me straight faced, and took a seat in the empty chair at the end of the table. Aaron slapped a print out of TMZ’s website in front of me and clicked the remote for the television. I stared down at a picture of me. My arms were over my head, one hand dangling a pair of panties, the girl turned toward the camera, covering her breasts. I groaned as I looked up at the blaring television, the same reporter from the closet now professionally dressed and sitting behind a desk.
“Bad-boy media mogul, Mason Jones, was caught literally with his pants down this weekend in a back room at the upscale nightclub, Courtesans. The lady pictured here in this, not for the faint of heart photo is none other than Sophia Taylor, the famous hooker to the stars….” Aaron flipped the television back off before the reporter could finish.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how bad this hurt you,” Aaron said, turning toward the windows. “Your stock has already taken a hit, and I don’t see it coming back anytime soon.”
“I messed up,” I said, irritated by the drama. “What do you want me to do?”
“Be normal,” Aaron sighed. “But since I can’t change that, we have come up with a solution to your plummeting ratings. This was actually the entire reason for this PR meeting before your little stunt. We’ve been working on a media frenzy that we think will make people love you all over again.”
“Oh yeah, it’s not an auction of love or anything, is it? You know I hate going on dates with fans,” I said, grimacing at the thought of being stuck in a restaurant with some middle-aged woman drooling in her faux gras.
“No,” Aaron responded rolling his eyes. “It is a charity event. We will strategically pick the contestants. They will start out with one small item, and they will be responsible for trading it up for something they think you would want. In the end, whatever item you pick, the person wins one million dollars for the charity of their choice.”
“Why can’t I just donate to a charity, kiss some babies, and be done with it?” I was not looking forward to some television show.
“Because you aren’t the President,” Aaron snuffed. “Look, this isn’t negotiable. You want to save your business then you need to suck it up, keep your personal life sparkling, and do something good for others.”
“On national tv,” I grumped.
“You have no problem getting sucked off by hookers on national tv,” Aaron threw back. “We’ll take care of everything. I’ll contact you when it’s all ready. Filming starts next week. Now, go to work, go home, and find a hobby that doesn’t include alcohol or clubs. And Mason, if we don’t do this you’ll be done within the year, so put on a happy face.”
I sighed and left the conference room. This was going to be about as fun as visiting my grandmother in a nursing home.