Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“It is,” she whispered back, her brown eyes soft and beautiful. “And my asshole too, but it’s okay. I’ll survive and I have to work today, so it’s time to get back. Talk later, Prince Haakon.”
Of course, at that moment I had no intention of ever seeing Martha again, but I sent her away with some cash in her hand and a friendly pat on the rear end. The door swung closed, and I figured it was time and money well-spent.
But I’ve been unable to get Martha out of my mind. The way she moaned so sweetly whenever I penetrated her. How she screamed like a banshee while coming. And of course, the fact that she adored my double cocks, and wasn’t scared of them at all.
“Hmmm,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the two huge shafts while stroking them with her small hands. “This is quite a treat.”
I lifted her chin to look into those big caramel pools.
“You’re not afraid?”
She slowly shook her head, still squeezing me in those hot little hands, making me groan.
“Not at all, Prince Haakon. This looks like the type of thing that I could have a lot of fun with.”
And fun we had. I took her every which way, pummeling those virgin holes like a sick motherfucker. I used her like a seasoned whore, listening to her scream and pant while she was violated. But Martha never complained. In fact, she came so hard each time that the sheets are likely still damp with our combined fluids.
So it was only natural that I’ve decided to reach out to her again. I sent one of my pageboys over to the House of Silk to request her company, but instead, he’s back and relaying some shit about Martha being on a date with another man.
“The fuck?” I rasp again, my hands gripping the armrests of my chair so tight that they’re white at the knuckles.
The young man merely shrugs and bows again.
“I’m sorry, my prince. Nerilda said that the woman you requested is occupied. But she did add one more piece of information: allegedly, the fair damsel is on a date at the Lysenian Driving Range, if you’d like to check it out for yourself. With a young man named Albert, if I’m not mistaken.”
I fume, still incensed that my woman could be with another man. Of course, I realize I have no hold on Martha because she’s a working girl, but still, what the fuck? Is that goddamn asshole fucking her right now? Is she getting paid to act sassy while flirting? Even after giving her innocence to me?
Suddenly, I make an executive decision.
“Get the car,” I growl. “We’re headed to the driving range.”
“Of course, my prince,” the pageboy nods, already scurrying off. “We’ll meet you in front in fifteen.”
“Make it ten,” I rasp. After all, there’s no way I’m letting some asshole put his hands on Martha’s curves. I don’t know where this sense of possession is coming from, but if I’m alive and breathing, there’s no way she’ll be tussling with another man in bed.
Within minutes, my car is pulling away from the curb and soon, I’m at the Lysenian Driving Range. Actually, the royal family owns this outfit and I’ve been here many times in the past.
“Your Highness!” the doorman exclaims, rushing forward to open the car door. “We didn’t know you’d be stopping by tonight!”
I get out of the vehicle, my mood still grim. The night air is crisp and the gloom of the evening is lit up by the powerful spotlights of the driving range. An emerald lawn undulates in front of the players, and sure enough, as I inhale deeply, there’s the thwack-thwack-thwack of golf balls soaring through the air. Come to think of it, it’s quite crowded at the moment, seeing that a certain subset of the Lysenian upper class likes to relax and socialize here.
“Where is she?” I grunt.
“Where is who?” a concierge asks, a confused look on his face. “Highness, we had no idea that you were coming tonight—”
I nod curtly, cutting him off.
“I believe the customer’s name is Albert,” I say. “A young man.”
The concierge nods as recognition dawns in his eyes.
“Yes, Albert Ray, John Ray’s son.”
That makes me pull up short.
“John Ray of Ray Shipping?” Everyone knows that Ray Shipping had a blockbuster year last year, and the rumor is that John’s looking to get into politics, leaving his son in charge of operations.
“Yes, sire,” the concierge nods again. “Of course, we understand that you’re here to talk business with Mr. Ray tonight. Right this way.”
Obviously, the man has the wrong idea, but I don’t bother to correct him. Instead, I follow as we’re led to a semi-private area of the driving range where the stalls are bigger, the refreshments fancier, and the green a perfectly manicured emerald lawn. Laughter and the clinking of glasses rise in the air as attractive couples enjoy their Friday nights.