CHAPTER TWO
Logan
Fuck, that stripper was still on my mind, and I hadn’t even fucked her. I’d just tongued her hole, licked her nipples a bit, sampling that sweet flesh between her legs. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I usually don’t even frequent joints like the Donkey Club. It’s so fucking low-class, the girls garish and coarse, and the setting, don’t even get me started on the sawdust on the floors, I was mad as shit knowing I’d have to get my shoes professionally cleaned now. But that girl, fuck that girl was amazing.
She’d had an amazing body, firm, curvy, and luscious. Hers was a hundred percent real though, the tits heavy teardrops, her ass tight with a juicy honey pot. Her hair was naturally streaked by the sun, with warm caramel eyes and pillowy, kissable lips. Not that I’d kissed those lips. I’d only kissed her bottom lips, and goddamn, they’d been delicious.
“What’s your problem brother?” asked Lance. He’s my twin, born only five minutes later. We’re real estate guys. We sell property in the city, and shoot, the Phillips Group is the highest grossing team in the country. We specialize in marketing high-end condos to international billionaires, netting ourselves a pretty penny in the process.
“It’s that fucking Jane Street deal,” I rumbled. “The developer is a fucking asshole, refusing to put in the high end finishes we agreed on.”
But my brother knew me better than that.
“Patricia tells me that you didn’t come home for dinner last night,” he drawled. Patricia is my wannabe girlfriend, a beautiful woman, really too beautiful for her own good. We met a year ago, and she conveniently quit her job and moved into my condo last month, living the high-life. I got her credit card bills each month and believe me, these were bills that could make your fucking eyeballs bleed.
So I’d been feeling trapped lately. I knew what the woman expected: a diamond ring, courtesy of a pale blue box, soon and fast. Fuck. I’d even half-heartedly looked at some rings on line, but couldn’t get myself to pull the trigger.
Lance, on the other hand, was still living the high life. Single and ready to mingle, my asshole twin was going out every night looking for trouble, fucking girls right and left. Fuck my life! How had I gotten here, dreaming about a stripper who’d let me suck her tits? Ah, screw it.
I wasn’t about to tell Lance about my depraved night at the Donkey Club. He’d consider it slumming, a far cry from the fancy joints he frequented, filled with bottle service and sleek models. But I wanted to go back again, if only to momentarily shake off the nightmare that my life had become.
“Um yeah that Jane Street deal, I’m going throttle James and Vikram,” I said, referring to the developers again. “They’re such fucking bullshitters. They want twenty-five million for the place and won’t even put in high-end finishes? Fuck them,” I growled.
Lance still had his eyebrows raised, but didn’t pursue it further. He knew when not to push me, and straightened his tie instead.
“The boys and I are going to the Dream Hotel tonight, you want to come?” he asked. By boys he meant Jeremy and Jonas, two dickwads we hung with sometimes.
“Nah,” I growled. “I better go see what Patricia wants.”
But I knew I was headed back to the Donkey Club, to see the stripper with the big tits and even bigger smile. She’d wormed her way into my brain … and seeing her again was the only way to rid myself of the addiction.