The Professional Lover II (18+) | [Complete]

Prologue : Wrecking It

This dress is such a cock-blocking piece of shit.

It's lovely, long, flowy at the bottom with a dramatic slit up to my hip, but the elaborate sweetheart, empire-waist bullshit is strangling me, reminding me I'll be stuck in it for hours. Yes, it makes my tits look amazing, and it cost more than my rent, but damn ... Between my inability to breathe normally and the insanely sexy man at my side, I've never felt so desperate to get naked in the middle of a banquet.

My date, Jude, looks rather handsome tonight; the waves of his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled with product, his tuxedo only hinting at the toned body he hides underneath it.

And I get to fuck him tonight. I'm such a lucky girl.

The hotel ballroom is a gorgeous, vaulted space, but the added flair of the overdone Christmas party is gaudy at best. Everything is white and gold, from the tinsel and ornaments to the expensive china place settings. This is a fucking casino, not a royal palace. There is no need for three glasses and four forks. None of these pretentious idiots knows how to use them correctly anyway.

Jude carries on a conversation about who-gives-a-shit with what's-his-face from wherever, and my cheeks start to ache from holding my best girlfriend smile. Taking advantage of our position against the wall, his hand slips down the curve of my lower back to my ass. I cast a sideways glance in his direction. He gives me his signature, all-knowing smirk and returns to his conversation without missing a beat.

"Maggie actually works for a business associate of mine," he answers a question I didn't hear. He presses himself to my side and smiles that proud smile he does when he brags about me. "Though I would love to bring her onboard at the hotel, her main focus right now is completing her degree and applying to med school."

"Oh, a young one," the wife muses over her glass of wine. I'm not sure if she meant that to be a compliment or an insult, but I can't really find a fuck to give when Jude's fingers are running along the seam of my ass.

"You're a lucky man, Jude," the husband indirectly compliments me.

Jude's hand grips my ass tightly and I stifle a moan. "That I am."

"He's not lucky, honey. He's rich," the lovely wife corrects him. She's not lovely, she's a jealous bitch, but it's fine. The trophy wives always dish it but can never seem to take it -- especially from the fat, ugly men they married for money. And that's why I'm here.

The lights dim, announcing cocktail hour has ended and dinner service will begin soon. Jude's hand returns to my lower back, and I nearly groan with discontent. He escorts me over with the small group to a table along the edge and pulls my chair out for me.

I sit and appraise the obedient room full of people. All of them dressed the same, groomed the same, all making roughly the same amounts of money – somewhere between a shitload and a fuckton.