Chapter 3

David

“Would you mind turning around?” Vivienne says to me, making a spinning motion with her finger. It’s like she thinks I don’t know how to rotate my own body.

I shake my head.

I know exactly how to move my body, love. You’ve just seen me do it, and I’m almost certain you enjoyed the show.

But I don’t say that to her. Instead, I smile with a twinge of annoyance, and swivel in my chair to face the window like a good boy. There, I will have a lovely view of the topiary garden and lawn. Perhaps I can do some birdwatching.

Who wants to see a mystery woman shimmy out of her cum-stained dress, anyway? Me, that’s fucking who.

And guess what, loves? These glorious windows of mine are reflective enough that I can honor Vivienne’s request to turn around and still see her naked. I can watch the show after all.

Hmm…

This is going to be so fucking good. I can’t wait.

But I ignore my more primal urges because I am going to have to wait. You see, loves, until Vivienne gives me permission to watch her peep show, common decency requires me to keep my eyes closed. Even a royal pervert like myself knows you have to ask.

Then again, if I can see Vivienne’s reflection in my window, that means she can see mine in hers. She’s moving her hand to her shoulder now.

Wait—this gives me an idea. The moment she lowers the strap of her dress, I’ll wink at her reflection. Just to see if she’s watching.

If she’s not, I’ll close my eyes. I swear.

Here we fucking go. I take a deep breath, wait for the signal, and wink.

She winked back. No fucking way.

Holy shit, she is watching.

If I’m not mistaken, she likes that I’m watching her. I raise my eyebrows to be sure, and she nods slowly, slipping her strap off her shoulder to reveal the lace of her bra.

I’ve shown her mine; now she’ll show me hers. All she needs is a little space and the illusion of privacy and control. Those are her terms, and I happily accept.

For now, at least.

I must say, this is the best deal I’ve ever fucking made in this office. It’s better than the time I signed that trade agreement with our neighbors to the north, and I jerked off to that memory for days.

How will I ever get any fucking work done after this?

Never mind. It doesn’t matter.

Both straps are off now, and Vivienne is going for her bra as well. In one swift movement, she unhooks her bra strap and lets those luscious tits of hers fall with a gentle bounce. They’re fucking beautiful, and so damn perking, it’s like their pointing straight at me.

Fuck. I’d be more than happy to meet them. I grasp onto my arm rest and imagine getting to them very well, kneading those hard nipples into my fingers, massaging her tits in my hands, and sucking them into my mouth.

Damn it, I’m so fucking hard right now that I could probably cut through the glass with my erection.

This woman is a fucking tease. She knows what she’s doing, and its driving me wild. She doesn’t need to go braless to put on my shirt—I think, she’s just doing that to turn me on.

Now, she’s taking off the lower half of her dress. This is where things get interesting because my window view allows me to see her from the back as well as the front. I hold my breath as she slides her little black dress over her firm, voluptuous ass.

Fuck yes, she’s wearing a thong. There’s just one tiny scrap of lace standing between me and the Promised Land. As I watch her dress fall to the floor, I promise myself I will never forget the sight of her tiny waist, her full hips, her shapely thighs, and that big, beautiful ass.

I want to fucking spread those cheeks apart and claim her ass as mine, like the King that I am.

She’s a fucking goddess. The urge to stroke my cock is so fucking intense that I might have to sit on my hands to keep them still. But I also might need to keep them in my lap to prevent my zipper from busting open.

One of the only drawbacks of being so well endowed.

Vivienne pauses for a moment in front of her reflection, giving me one last look at her heavenly body before she takes my shirt off its hanger. Then she dresses herself slowly, leaving the collar turned up and a few buttons undone at the top like she’s just gotten out of bed. It’s so fucking sexy.

I wonder if she knows that I can see her nipples through the white fabric of the shirt. She runs her hands over her breasts, plumps them with her hands, and smiles at my reflection.

Yes—like the fucking minx she is—she does know, and I don’t think she minds one bit.

“I’m done now. You can turn around,” she says in a professional tone.

It’s not what I would’ve expected from a woman who just stripped naked in front of a stranger. But I’ll keep her secret; we both know that’s she affected. Her self-control is admirable though.

Compliantly, I swivel in my chair to face her. “So, love—to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“My company?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not here to keep you company; I’m here to fix your public image. Your advisors have hired me to turn the Prince of Debauchery into the King of Propriety.”

Is she really trying to do business with me? After that peep show, and dressed like that? Damn, this woman is shameless.

“I would much prefer to be called the King of Kink,” I scoff. “The alliteration makes the name so much catchier, don’t you think?”

She slaps her forehead. “See? You’re already doing the media’s job for them. I think that’s been your problem all along.”

“What do you mean?”

I cross my arms and scowl at her to indicate that the question is rhetorical. I don’t need her fucking opinion.

“Let me show you,” she says, ignoring my social cues.

She takes a magazine article out of her purse. I can see that it’s dated five years ago—a very good year.

She reads aloud, “‘Meet Prince David: six-feet and five inches tall and twelve inches long. Our sources tell us that he’s the standard by which all other royals are measured.’”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a very positive review of my services. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s all true.”

“Yes, but how does the writer know you have twelve inches?” Vivienne asks, and I notice she isn’t disagreeing with me.

“When I first read this article,” she continues, “I suspected that an ex-lover was leaking personal information about you to the press. I came prepared to scroll through your contact list and find the little tart who did this to you.”

She steps closer to me, and my heart beats faster. “But now that I’ve met you, I know exactly who did this.”

She reaches down and taps me ever so gently on the tent pole inside my pants

Fuck, that feels good. I was thinking of putting a book in my lap when I first turned around, but now I am so glad I didn’t.

“Reporters are like generals,” Vivienne explains. “You can’t go around waving your sword in people’s faces; if you want to avoid a war, you must keep the contents of your arsenal to yourself.”

“So…what does that fucking mean? I have to keep it in my pants forever? Pretend to be the Virgin King?”

“That’s a much better moniker than the one you currently have,” she retorts.

“You’re hearing insults where none are intended. My debauchery is part of my charm.”

Vivienne narrows her eyes. “Until it isn’t.”

“How so?”

I can tell I’m going to hear her opinion whether I want it or not.

“Let’s say you come across a woman who is…sunbathing in the nude. Would you announce your presence, turn around, and wait for her to get dressed? Or would you stay silent and shamelessly watch her without her knowledge or consent?”

I squirm in my seat. She’s asking me to acknowledge our little game of peekaboo, and now I’m wondering if this whole fucking thing has been a test.

“There’s a third option,” I remind her. “I could find a way to let her know I’d like to watch and see if she’s into it. If not, I’d go for the first option. Never the second.”

“Yes, that’s the answer I was looking for.” She smiles coyly and glances down at my lap. “You see, everyone wants a sexy, virile king.”

“And that’s exactly what they fucking have, love.”

I look down at my cock, and then back into her heated eyes.

She holds up her finger to stop me before I can show her what they have in more detail. “As I was saying, you can have as much sex as you want, but you can’t let the tabloid reporters catch you off guard. That gives them all the power. You’re the king. You decide when and where and how much of yourself you’re willing to show them. And you don’t show it to them unless they ask.”

I roll my eyes. “Because it’s the fucking proper thing to do?”

“No, because it’s much sexier that way.” Vivienne gives me the same wink she gave me at the window. “I’m leaving now, and the next time I visit you in this office, I expect you to be wearing pants.”

“This hungry beast requires regular feedings,” I inform her, standing up to give her the full view. “If there’s something you don’t want to see, remember to knock before you enter.”

“If you want me to knock, you’ll have to leave the door closed,” she says. Without even saying goodbye, she turns away from me and leaves the room.

But she leaves the door wide open.