I pull my cock out, rip open a condom, slip it over my dick and without hesitation, sink myself into her soaking wet pussy. God, she is fucking tight. My dick is practically screaming from the grip her muscles have on it. I start to drive into her hard, using my grip on her hips to slam her into me, only intensifying each thrust. She screams each time I enter her, and I can see her fingers digging into the leather.
I am never a fucking minute man but this girl has me ready to burst already. I reach around, stroking her clit as I change to slow, hard, grinds into her. When she screams and her pussy tightens around me, I thank God. I let go, experiencing the best orgasm I’ve had in fucking forever.
After my breathing slows down, I pull out of her, eliciting a sigh. She stands up and turns to me as I’m straightening out my clothes. “Well thanks, I’ll see you later.”
Her face twists with anger. “Seriously? You’re just gonna leave?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what you thought this was. I’m not your fucking fairytale. I’m not the wine and dine type. I’m the fuck ‘em and forget ‘em type.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” She crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to hide her bare chest and show me that she’s pissed off.
“Yeah, I am. Have a good night. I know I did.” I open the door, giving her a smile before walking out, leaving her there.
I know I’m an asshole, but honestly, I just don’t give a shit.
Chapter Two
Samantha
“Samantha.” Do I really have to do this? “Samantha!” Maybe if I hide in here long enough she’ll just go away. “Samantha Baker, I will not call your name again.” Kill me now. Even at twenty four my mom still scares the shit out of me, which is the only reason I open the door.
I step out of the dressing room, already red from embarrassment. “Why do I need to dress like this Mom? I mean, I’m not sure at this point that I won’t get fined by the FCC for nudity.” I look in the mirror and hate the image looking back at me. My long blonde hair is pin straight, stopping just below my boobs. Speaking of the girls, all that is covering them are some small circles of fabric, which I’m still not convinced will stay in place. There are pieces of fringe connecting each circle and draping around my back. As for my bottom half, I get the pleasure of wearing a black thong with the same offending string barely covering my bare ass.
“We need the shock factor. We don’t want people to forget about you or call you boring, now do we?” No. But I also don’t want them calling me a slut. I simply nod my head in response, knowing by now there is no use arguing with my mom, even when it concerns my life or my career.
She has been my manager since she helped me get my “big break” when I was twelve. That turned into her always knowing what was best and controlling my every move. It’s so suffocating and if I didn’t love performing so much, I swear I would just quit.
“Now, we have fifteen minutes until you need to go on stage. Just remember—“A knock raps on the door, cutting off her directions. “That must be the private security we hired for you.” My team has insisted that I hire a personal bodyguard, not that anyone asked me if that’s what I wanted. I have gotten a few creepy letters and they are concerned, not that anyone will tell me what the damn things say. I turn back toward the mirror, trying to convince myself this isn’t as bad as I think it is. I can hear my mom talking to the new goon but I couldn’t care less.
“Samantha, don’t be rude.” I turn around, putting on the best polite smile I can manage. “This is Hunter Stone.”
“Holy Fuck.” My mouth drops open, my hand covering it quickly as I realize what shitty luck I have. It’s him. The asshole from last night. Mr. Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em. My blood boils as I stare holes through him. The fact that I let him so blatantly use me makes me feel ashamed of myself. The asshole doesn’t even flinch though, he seems so unaffected. Does he not recognize me? I mean, sure I had the wig on, but I don’t think it makes that much of a difference. His eyes finally tear away from my body and meet my mine, and that’s when I see realization set in.
“Watch your mouth, young lady.” I look over at my mother and am about to tell her to send him back. Then I realize she will ask how I know him. I would have to admit that I snuck out, went to a club unattended, and had a one-night stand with this loser. Who am I more afraid to be around? The douche, or my mother? Definitely my mother. “Now, I am going to make sure everything is set up for you. Mr. Stone, please be sure to escort my daughter everywhere. She is not to be out of your sight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Who the fuck is he kidding? He has no damn manners.
She leaves and I expect the groveling to start. Him to beg me not to have him fired. To forgive him. “So, you look hot in the light too? That’s a real accomplishment, sweetheart. Most of these club skanks are barely tolerable once you turn the lights on.”
He did not just fucking call me a club skank. “Listen to me, dickhead. You’re on my turf now and—“
“Turf? This isn’t West Side Story babe, and I’m still not playing the part you want me to.” He smirks at me and I want nothing more than to smack the smile off of his stupid fucking face.
“I can have you fired, you know.” I try to assert myself, crossing my arms over my chest but feeling more insecure and unsure than I have in a long time.
“I thought that you would have; however, my guess is that mommy dearest would kick your ass for being out without her. Not only that, but having a one-night stand with a guy like me? Not how a lady should act, Samantha.” He wiggles his finger at me in a mocking manner, and I clench my fists in anger.
A knock at the door saves me from looking like an idiot because I have no idea what the hell my response would have been. “Miss Baker, they’re ready for you.”
I nod at the assistant and then walk toward the door. As I pass Hunter, he grabs my hand, making me pause in front of him. “Don’t pretend you’re not thinking of how quickly I could shred all of those little strings you’re wearing and send you spiraling. I know I am.” His hand smacks my ass.
Before I know what I’m doing, I smack him across the face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
He rubs his cheek, half smiling before his head dips down close to my ear. “Baby, soon you’ll be on your knees begging me to touch your hungry pussy.” He straightens up and holds the door open. “After you, Miss Baker.” His comment pisses me off and turns me on at the same time. My body and my mind are in disagreement when it comes to this piece of work.
We walk down the hallway to the stage, the only noise between us the clicking of my hooker heels and the resounding cheers from the waiting crowd. I stand at my spot under the stage and take a deep breath. As the platform starts to rise, my nerves begin to calm. Performing has always been my safe place. That is until my mother decided slutty party songs were the way to go. I miss writing. I miss really singing. A song doesn’t mean anything without emotion. This performance doesn’t do much for me except make me want to hide tomorrow when the tabloids are tearing me apart. I push through it, giving the sexy looks, shaking my ass, and swinging my hair on cue. I pray that a day comes that I can do what I want again. That my mom finally realizes I used to do this because it made me happy. Now I do it because it makes her happy.
Before I know it, the song is over and Hunter is waiting for me. He walks me back to the dressing room and I think that this arrangement might actually work if he could keep his mouth shut. We get into the room and I kick off the heels, groaning as my feet get relief. Hunter is suddenly behind me, his hands on my hips, pressing me against him. I want to pull away from him but there is something about his touch that makes me lose all common sense. That’s what happened last night; it’s like I can’t think when he is this close. His hand skims down my side before cupping me, making me gasp as he brushes over my clit.