Chapter 2

Declan

Her thick full lips are straining around my cock as I pump into her. She digs her nails into the side of my hips, and I thrust almost violently, fucking her mouth for all it’s worth. Her long, black hair is strewn carelessly over her shoulder.

Makeup from the shoot is smeared everywhere.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” she says as I pull out and flip her over the couch I use as a prop.

I push her thong down and smack her curvy ass that’s perfect for an adult model.

She’s got the look for sure—big, fake tits and lips to match. Her body’s tight, toned, and tanned. She looks like every model I’ve seen before and, right now, she’s the perfect fuck.

I sink my cock into her dripping wet pussy, and she cries out. I plunge into her deeply and fuck the living daylights out of her.

She’s coming and screaming...and then I open my eyes.

Fucking green light.

I was just remembering last night, and what a nice little fuck I had with one of the newer models.

I drive fast down the streets of New York City. My new Mercedes handles like a dream. It’s black on black on black.

Yes, I’m a fucking billionaire. Yes, I can afford a more expensive car—I can afford anything I want. But I don’t like to draw attention to myself.

A black Mercedes is the perfect car for me.

Chic, understated, and an absolute dream.

That pretty much defines me, especially in bed.

It reminds of the adventure I had last night with...what was her name again? Chrissy? Cressinda?

Something like that.

I remember fondly the way she was moaning for me. I fucked her hard, and I fucked her fast in the back of my studio, and it was so goddamn hot.

She was good...but not so good that I’ll ever call her again. Call me superficial, call me what you will, but I’m looking for something special, something that doesn’t happen every day.

Besides, she knew what she was getting into. She already has a job with me. She’s in it to get more jobs and more of my twelve-inch cock.

The memory of her does nothing to offset my foul mood, though.

It’s the one day a year when I have to see my brothers.

I’m a triplet, you see. There are three of me but only one true Declan.

My brothers pale in comparison to me because they have attitude problems.

Me? I have an eye for beauty and design. I relish my role as head of the modeling division ‘cause I’m fucking good at it.

Sampling beautiful women is all part of the business.

I don’t feel bad for a second. These women love it. They practically pick me up before I even have a chance to make my move.

I have all the pussy I want and all the money I want.

Life should be a fucking dream.

But it’s not.

I hate this annual meeting. I hate having to see my brothers. And most of all, I hate that my father, John James Grayson, has just died.

Life doesn’t make sense.

He wasn’t old or anything, and his death came as a complete shock. Now I’m an orphan with only my estranged brothers for family.

I pull up right to the front curb of my father’s building. Sure, he left the business to us, but it will always be his. He built it from scratch, and now we’re the most successful and important adult entertainment company in the city.

Hell, our range is global, and I have no intention of slowing that down even if it does mean having to work with my brothers.

The valet comes out to take my car.

“Hey, Tommy,” I say, tossing him the keys. “How’s school?”

“Fine, Mr. Grayson. Thanks for asking.”

“Tommy, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Declan?”

This kid never learns. He’s always nervous around me, and I don’t know why.

Yes, I own the most important part of the business if I do say so myself: the adult modeling line. But come on—I’m a fucking artist, a photographer. Just because I wear a suit doesn’t mean I don’t have a personality or that I can’t relate.

What this kid sees is what everyone sees...Declan Grayson, artist extraordinaire, leader of the most prominent adult modeling business in the city, and a fucking billionaire.

I guess if I were his age, I might be intimidated by me.

But come on, does he have to be so formal?

I’m not my father...yet.

I feel pissed off as I walk in. This meeting only happens once a year and, every time, my brothers and I fight and exchange harsh words. They get under my skin like no one else can, and today, there’s no avoiding them.

I prefer to run my branch of the business and to stay out of their way.

But that’s not happening today.

Once in the familiar and opulent lobby, I hear hushed tones and whispers about me. People are so fucking obvious.

“Did you hear about what happened to his dad?”

“Yeah, it’s so sad.”

“I heard they inherited a fortune.”

“I guess they’re marriage material now more than ever.”

“Oh, you can’t pin down a Grayson brother. They’re notorious playboys.”

I smile as I hear the gossip.

People are right. My brothers and I have a certain amount of infamy in this town. We’re used to going out and getting what we want, albeit in our separate corners.

That’s the thing about us; we don’t really share. But we do have one thing in common and that’s our love of women and our dislike of commitment. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Once in the confines of the VIP elevator at the back of the building, I get ready to make my entrance. Dad’s office won’t be the same without him in there running the place.

The doors open, and I go to his penthouse suite. Everything looks the same, and it all reminds me of him and what I’ve lost.

Fuck. Grief never gets easier.

I swing open the double doors and guess who’s waiting for me?

“Hi, Declan. Long time no see.”