Well Hung

by Pratt, Lulu

  “Oh, it’s on, Chloe.”

  I smiled and tilted my head down, pulling Chloe into one long, intense kiss, one that I wished I could freeze-frame and remember until my last breath.

  Breaking free from the kiss, Chloe replied, “Okay, if kissing like that is on the table, maybe I will go on maternity leave.”

  In a low voice, I said, “How about we go back to my place, do a little more than kiss, and I’ll see if I can turn that ‘maybe’ into a ‘definitely.’”

  She grinned. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Chloe

  XAVIER CLUTCHED my hand tightly, as if he thought I might slip away — as if it might all just be a dream. In fairness, it felt like a beautiful fantasy that had happened to someone else. I couldn’t have possibly gotten this lucky.

  We hastened through the lobby of his magnificent building, in such a hurry to get to his bed that I didn’t even bother to stop and admire the marble floors and gilded ceiling. Xavier had a place in, of course, the 6th arrondissement. Which is to say, the most expensive neighborhood in Paris. His apartment was in the building next to the penthouse owned by the Sultan of Brunei, who had purchased it for a smooth one hundred million.

  But none of this bogged down my mind as we took the elevator up to Xavier’s top floor suite. I bounced up and down on my heels, unable to contain my energy.

  At last the bell dinged, and Xavier gestured for me to go first.

  “Fiancées first,” he joked.

  I stepped off with a giddy smile. Fiancée. The word sounded so good in his mouth, fit it so perfectly.

  Xavier led the way to his apartment, which was at the end of the hall. Though the building was sumptuously adorned with red velvet curtains and enormous leafy fronds, his doorway was discreet and unassuming.

  “We’re home,” he said, beaming.

  With a flourish, Xavier threw upon the door, and suddenly, I felt his arms go beneath my knees and my back.

  “What are you—”

  Before I knew it, Xavier was lifting me in the air and carrying me across the threshold.

  “Xavier!”

  “What, I’m a traditional guy.”

  I slapped him lightly on the arm as he passed into the foyer. “Thresholds are for after we get married. Besides, I’m pregnant and heavy.”

  He shrugged. “Then I’ll get to do this again after we marry. And you’re not heavy, you’re as light as a feather.”

  Xavier deposited me with such ease that I almost believed him.

  “Would you like a tour now or—”

  “Later,” I interrupted, unable to wait. “I thought we might start with something, um, a little less formal.”

  He winked, taking off his jacket and slinging it over an entry table. Which reminded me—

  “Why are you wearing a tux?” I hadn’t even bothered to wonder about it until now.

  Xavier stared me down, his brown eyes sparkling. “I was too busy arranging for your ring and booking Colin to get a change of clothing as I came straight from the gala. I started to tell Rebecca I couldn’t do it, but it turns out she’s pregnant with Marc’s baby. So I came here immediately.”

  “No!”

  “Yup.”

  “Were your father and Rebecca’s father okay with the news?” I asked nervously. I didn’t want to be the bitch who had ruined their perfect pre-planned marriage.

  “I think they saw that both of us were happy, and that’s all they really wanted. In fact, Adam loaned me his private jet to get here and when I spoke to my dad during the flight, it seems he’d had enough time to think things over and realize that we were happier apart.”

  “Wow.”

  “But enough about my drama,” Xavier said, his lips spreading wide so he could laugh loudly. “Because I need to get my hands on you.”

  “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

  “Then follow me.”

  We raced through his apartment, which was so big I didn’t even try to comprehend its size. That would be a revelation for later.

  After what felt like taking three different halls and maybe a set of stairs, we arrived at Xavier’s bedroom. The door was wide open, and I could see a grand king bed inside, covered in an airy white canopy. Across the room was a picture window that led onto a balcony overlooking the Plaza.

  “Do you like it?” Xavier asked, examining my face with some anxiety.

  “Like it?” I sputtered. “It’s… it’s… fantastic.”

  “Then how would you feel about coming to live here?”

  I didn’t have to think twice about my answer. “I’m in.”

  He grinned. “Okay, good. Then let’s make love in our bed.”

  With that he unbuttoned his shirt and ripped it off, sending gold cufflinks ringing across the hardwood floor.

  He was as stunning as I remembered, with his lean, hungry body and lips that seemed to always have a secret smile.

  Shirtless, he moved to me and began to slowly, tenderly undress me. Whereas all our previous encounters had felt hurried, almost animalistic, this was filled with quiet, gentle love.

  He folded my coat, hat and muff and placed them on an armchair in the corner.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “My clothes aren’t that nice.”

  “From here on out, I take care of you. And our daughter. And dads fold clothes.”

  Tears pricked at my eyes. Xavier was going to be such a good father, and I could see that he was determined to show me as much.

  He moved back to me as I kicked off my shoes. Xavier stopped and pulled the long dress I had on, one of the only things left in my wardrobe that fit, slipping it over my head so that I was standing in just my bra and underwear.

  He took a step back to examine me, and I felt instantly self-conscious. I wasn’t the fit young woman he remembered. Now, my body swelled with our child. On the plus side, my breasts had almost doubled in size.

  “Well?” I asked, resisting the urge to cover myself. “What do you think?”

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “Absolutely beautiful. You will always be beautiful.”

  “But am I still sexy?” This was what I’d been nervous about — would he still find me appealing?

  He grinned. “Have you seen your tits? Yeah, Chloe, you’re still sexy. Nothing will ever change that.”

  It was exactly what I needed to hear. I crossed the room until we were standing directly in front of each other, so close that my bulging belly touched his taut one.

  Just then, as if recognizing her father, our baby kicked in my womb.

  Xavier’s eyes went wide. “Was that—”

  “Yeah. Here, put your hand on me, you’ll feel her better.”

  With a look of wonder and fear, Xavier placed a hand on my body. Our baby kicked again, and this time, I saw tears in his eyes.

  “She’s a fighter,” he said with a quiet smile. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “And I can’t wait to have you inside me again.”

  That was enough to rock Xavier out of fatherhood mode and into a sexy mood. He lowered his chin down, and a dastardly grin morphed his face. I couldn’t wait for whatever he was about to do to me.

  Xavier took my hand and led me to the bed, saying, “Please lie down.”

  I did as told, my heart pounding, ready for whatever came next.

  He stood over me, looking at my barely clothed form. From my angle on the bed, I could see his dick hardening in his pants. I wanted that thick cock inside me. Since getting pregnant, I’d been so horny it’d been almost unbearable.

  “Are you ready?” Xavier murmured.

  “Oh hell yes.”

  He leaned in and kissed me in our bedroom in the city of love.

  I was finally home.

  ***

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  Auctioned

  (Preview)

  No way will I let anyone else buy her v card

  I’m her boss but Kiki hates me. She says I’m the reason she’s selling her virginity in the first place.

  Whenever I’m around her I feel emotions I’ve never felt before. I’m falling for her... hard.

  As the curtain rises for the auction Kiki’s on stage, her big green eyes betraying her vulnerability.

  I can’t take anymore, I have to have her. All of her.

  I win Kiki for the night, but she doesn’t want to sell her virginity to me.

  The old me wouldn’t care, I always get what I paid for but with her it’s different.

  My heart belongs to Kiki and I’ll be damned if I let her get away.

  *** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***

  CHAPTER 1

  Kiki

  MY BEDAZZLED shoe stepped with a wet thuck onto the carpet.

  I didn’t need to look down to know that the offending liquid was barf. Working in a casino, you get good at identifying textures through the soles of your shoe. There are ones for cigarettes, ones for lost jewelry, the aforementioned vomit, alcohol, sometimes even blood. If you work in a place like this for long enough — which, mercifully, I have not — you can even start to tell different types of drinks as they soak into the three-pile shag.

  I added to the mental tally in my head. This would be… hmmm… yes, the fourth time I’d stepped in vomit today. For the record, today’s additional tallies: fifteen times on cigarette butts, two jewels — one an engagement ring, so maybe an extra point — and five times in blood. I chalked the last up to the fact that a fraternity had rolled through on their spring fling, or whatever kids who go to college call vacations. There had been one solid fight in the middle of the casino floor, smack dab in the middle of my section, because I’m nothing if not a magnet for troubled men. After tearful bro hugs, the whole thing had been set to rest and I’d been stuck cleaning up after their mess.

  Cleaning up after men, I thought with a grimace as I knelt down to take a swipe at the puddle with a handful of napkins. That could be the title of my memoirs. Though, let’s be honest, people don’t exactly read memoirs about cocktail waitresses.

  As I did my best to scrub the carpet, thus hopefully making the late-shift cleaners’ jobs that much easier, I felt a swipe at my ass.

  “Hey!” I said, jerking up and swiveling to look for said grabber.

  He’d already disappeared back into the crowd.

  “Fuck you,” I muttered, as though that would do anything.

  If I really cared, I could go back through the security cams and try to find the guy, but it wasn’t worth it — the casino wouldn’t ban him, and I’d have wasted an hour to find out what I already knew — men, especially drunk men, especially drunk men in casinos in Las Vegas, are shitty.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I’d gone into this gig blind.

  The day I turned twenty-one, just over six months ago, I walked into Dazzlers and asked for a job. Winston, the floor manager, had recognized me immediately and I’d been hired on the spot. After all, through no fault of my own, I’d been practically raised in the casino. I knew which slots gave good returns, which roulette wheels were loaded, which patrons to watch for signs of stroke or overdose. In many ways, each more disturbing than the last, Dazzlers was my birthright.

  So, yeah, I knew that guys were gonna touch me. Didn’t mean I had to like it.

  On my first day of work — better known as my birthday, even though I hardly spent it celebrating — Sonia had been in charge of kitting me out.

  As she passed me the scraps of material from a smelly locker, she’d suggested, “If you get a strapless bra, fewer men will try to snap your straps.”

  She was right, and we’d been friends ever since.

  The costume amounts to this — a thong leotard with gold and blue sparkles down the front, a deep-cut neckline, and slits up both sides of the skirt (what little there was to speak of). I’d put that shit on almost every day for the last six months. Think, if you will, about what that does to the human spirit. And if things kept on like this, I’d be in the same trollopy getup for the next nine-odd years, until I got booted out because of the casino’s insanely ageist cocktail waitress regulations.

  Not like I’m bitter or anything. Twenty-one is too young to be bitter.

  Even if I hadn’t been raised around Dazzlers, I reason to myself, I probably would’ve ended up in a casino somehow. Everyone I went to high school with did, anyways. It’s kind of the thing if you grow up in Vegas — get through school by wheeling and dealing, graduate, then go to work for one of the big joints in town. The Wynn, the Venetian, the Bellagio… so on and so forth. Sometimes it felt like high school was less of an education and more of a factory line into nightlife. It would’ve been more efficient for them to give us food safety degrees and be done with it.

  As I deposited the dirty napkins onto my tray, I tried to picture a life beyond Vegas. Somewhere with trees, I thought. That would be nice. No more lights, no more buzzers or screams. Idyllic, that’s the word. Just calm. Where a person can be a person without needing to distract themselves from their own existence — no gambling, no drugs, no alcohol, no anonymous sex.

  In this dream, which I’d perfected to a T, I was in Washington. In Seattle, to be more specific, but on the edges, near a large mountain that had a pancake shack at the top. The clouds were ever pregnant and the fog was thick, dulling all groundswells of illumination. Greens popped against the gray, none of the colors manufactured by a company or filtered by a smartphone.

  In this dream, I ran a little general store with products made by locals, every one of whom I would know by name and greet when they dropped off their shipment of the week. I’d do a tidy business, just enough to keep the shop going and put food on my table, with enough set aside to buy a stirring painting every now and then. I’d host picnics in my back yard for friends and friends of friends. It would be quiet, for once.

  I’d never been able to go to college. There hadn’t been enough money. Maybe up north, I could start taking classes at a local college, even if it was just at night. I’d been trying to teach myself Foucault and Hegel and Sontag, but what little time I could snatch from the mouths of Dazzlers or my father was dedicated to sleeping. In this dream, I was in a classroom of students, debating the great philosophers and closely reading secondary sources. This last thought, of just the simple act of receiving a good education, made my eyes water.

  “Helllooo, sleepy head.”

  I startled up from my vision, and realized I’d been standing stock still in the middle of the floor.

  Sonia, one hand on a bedazzled hip, was positioned before me. She was petite, a Latina with thick brown hair and that kind of angular, cat-like look any Instagram model would kill for. My friend was, without a doubt, tougher than me. While I fell prey to constant, idle imaginings of an impossible future, she worked without cessation. And while I complained about the odd grope, she had to deal with racist tirades if she so much as spilled a drink.

  “Daydreaming again?” she asked, raising a knowing eyebrow and a half smile.

  I sighed. “Busted.”

  “Kiki, the general store can wait. It’ll still be in your mind when we get off shift.”

  I’d long since told Sonia about my little forest fantasy, which was a total mistake. She lovingly mocked me about it every chance she got, because Sonia was a realist and knew that if you were born in Vegas, you died in Vegas.

&nb
sp; “The guy at table five threw a drink.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. Knocked over some chips. Security’s there, but we gotta clean up.”

  I wanted to whine, but had long since realized whining did little good.

  “Okay, fine, lemme just drop these napkins off.”

  “Vomit?”

  “You know it.”

  I scampered over to one of the wait stations, throwing the napkins into a barely concealed container full of similarly marred ones. Dazzlers was middle of the road, quality-wise. Not the kind of place where we hide our dirty laundry.

  Sonia had already made her way to the table, where patrons had dispersed as the felt got cleaned. There was little besides the potential interruption of a game that could get some of these old dogs out of their seats. Trust me, I knew.

  “How long,” I asked, joining Sonia at the table with a clean load of napkins, “until I can leave town?”

  She shook her head. “I told you to leave the day you started. Don’t give me that shit.”

  That was true. And she was kind enough not to say the second part — there was no way I’d ever leave my dad, and he was never leaving Vegas.

  Speaking of which — I tilted my head up from the poker table, scanning the room.

  “You looking for him?” Sonia asked, without so much as glancing up from the table.

  “Yeah.”

  “Haven’t seen him yet today.”

  I chuckled darkly. “If you haven’t seen him yet, it only means he’s found a slot machine further in the corner, where no else goes, that he thinks is prime for cashing out.”

  My eyes stayed on the room, looking for his telltale shock-white hair and hunched figure.

  As I was busy conducting my informal search-without-rescue mission, my gaze landed upon someone else, a person who seemed familiar, if only I could place him…

  Maybe all hot people just look familiar because we want them to be. Even from across the room, with his features blurry and lights sparkling at the edges of my vision, I knew this gentleman was a stunner. He was tall, ripped in a way that even a nice suit jacket couldn’t hide, with well-kept, dark blond hair I was certain a million girls had run their fingers through.