Prince Arik

By: Xavier Neal

(Princes of Tease Book 1)


Did you know that money you get from grinding on women in a piece of string spends just the same as the money you get from waiting tables? Ha. I'm full of shit. It spends better. So much better.

“Goddamn it feels good to be royalty,” Chance chuckles slamming his black locker door shut. “Woooo!”

With a smile to match, I close my locker too. “Good night?”

“I cleaned up!” He brags as I twist my baseball cap around. “Only thing better than a Saturday night is a bachelorette party. You know that.”

We fist bump. “True.”

Chance has a valid point. Saturday night at The Castle, on average, pulls in more money than most people see in a month. Hell, more money than most people see in several. That's what happens when you're not only the sexiest motherfuckers in the city, but willing to take your clothes off for only those with exclusive access. Is that a look of judgment on your face? If you were rocking a cock like this and abs like these, tell me you wouldn't be willing to share them with the world for a pick your own price tag kind of deal. Is that silence I hear?

Chase swings a right out of the changing area. “Cindy's?”

I shrug. “Eh.”

“Eh?” he mocks as he runs his hands through his black hair. “What the fuck do you mean eh? You know you want your dick wet just like the rest of us.”

Normally he would have a point. Fucking some random chick is the best way to come down from the high performing gives me.

“I've got an ass early meeting with Nikki in the morning. She might have a gig for me.”

“You and that fucking music...That bullshit is not your path to happiness.”

Yes that asshole just said path to happiness. Meet Chance. The hippie. Ha. A hippie male stripper. Sounds like make believe.

I argue as we reach the top of the staircase. “It's not bullshit.”

“It's bullshit.”

It's not. I'm not one of those assholes who says he wants to be in this business then doesn't do shit about it. I perform for people almost every day. It just so happens that at the end of the week I do it almost fucking naked. Hey, playing the piano is the only thing in my life I give a fuck about on a non-fleeting bases. Hell, if it wasn't part of my set, not even sure I would still be stripping. Oh quit that shit. I'm not a male entertainer. I'm a goddamn stripper. You don't have to hold my fucking hand like a pussy. I know what I signed up to be the day I laid my John Hancock down.

In front of the black door, Chance fidgets and bumps my side. “Knock.”

“You knock.”

No one likes to knock on the boss' door. Would you willingly knock on Satan's front door? Yeah. I didn't peg you for that kind of crazy.

“You fucking knock,” he grumbles at me. “Just fucking do it.”

“You fucking do it.”

“Don't be a pussy.”

“Oh, I'm a pussy?”

“You're both fucking pussies,” Brock grunts, pushing his way between us to bang on the door.

When you're the beast, you fear very little including what lies behind that door.

“In,” the voice calls out.

The three of us enter French's office to see her leaned back in a red leather corner chair, eyes on the security screens across from her.

Most important rule of The Castle? Don't fuck with the queen. The expression off with their head is not one you wanna learn. Trust me.

“Princes,” she coldly greets as Wood, her personal body guard, hands her a glass with a thin line of copper colored liquid.

“French,” we recite in unison.

Brock pushes forward, unaffected by the icy outer shield she clutches onto.

I'm sure you assumed Hell was hot. Yeah. Try ice fucking cold.

She uses her coffee colored fingers to pull her wavy hair to one side of her flawlessly made up face.

I know what you're thinking. And you're right. She is fucking hot. Fucking sexy. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. The key to continuing to find her that appealing? Don't fucking work for her. Pretty ass face and an HBIC attitude to surpass the scariest women you've ever crossed is a dangerous combination. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Her.

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