Reign on Me
Page 1
Reign
On
me
Zoe devereaux
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Reign on Me
Copyright © 2019 Zoe Devereaux
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.
Cover Design: LaLima Design
SelfPubBookCovers.com/LaLimaDesign
Author’s Note
Live.
Love Hard.
True love is a rarity…
Seize it while it exists…
Prologue
Whoredom.
The illicit world of sex, sin, shame, and pleasure.
Is it over-rated or glamorized too much?
Guess that depends on whom you ask.
Basically, there are two different kinds of whores. First, you have the over-eager assholes who want to pump any female that they come in contact with. Their reign of terror eventually leads to a string of baby mamas, fatherless children, and a dead-ass loser mentality. But, it’s due to their own making.
Then, there are the others.
Shameless, unapologetic, dare-devil risk takers who say to hell with everything… For the right price, whether that is money, or a condo on the French Riviera, these fallen creatures are willing to bare all. They possess a rare gift---the knowledge of how to utilize their nature-given talent. Delivering hot, mind-blowing sex…The kind of sex that lingers in the mind way past the after-glow…
Downside of being one?
The emptiness after the high is gone. Reality slaps you in the face like a serious mother-fucker, and it stares you dead straight in the eye. For a few measly thousands, you’ve sold any and all human rights to decency, self-respect, and morality. Willingly, you exist within the walls of filthy, sinful, and scathing shame. You basically get nothing out of the deal. For even a sense of real, personal satisfaction is denied. In the end, the sad and lasting result is a fragile, lost, and empty soul.
The hot sweaty female writhed beneath him, and her breathy moans jolted him back to the present, quickly reminding him of every unredeemable quality that he possessed.
“Touch me, damn it.” Forcing his hand to her breast, she initiated a slight squeeze, and her angry hiss was replaced with a deep moan. A violent tremble racked through her as he fondled with her tightly budded nipples. ‘I fucking pay you for this---to make me feel good.” As he pinched the tiny puckered tip between his fingers, she let out a wild cry. “Oh…oh…Reign…”
Still, though, while his body was operating in automatic drive, both his heart and mind were completely detached in the physical act. While he stroked her pert breasts, they may as well have been molded plaster in his hands. There was simply no enjoyment in touching her. Though, she clung to him desperately, he privately prayed for freedom, anything to end the senseless, gutless, and emotionless act between them.
“Oh…oh…fuck me…sweet yes…” Her pants were hard and reeked of desperation. Like a wildcat, she clawed his back with her perfectly manicured nails. The large dark room embraced the wild and desperate pleas that left her lips. “Harder…damn you…harder…yes…yes…”
Somewhere at the dark cresses of his mind, Reign heard her cries. Keeping his eyes trained on no particular point, breathing hard and fast against the exertion, he pumped into her. At this point, pleasing a client was like performing an exercise routine, and certainly, he’d perfected every step. Thrusting inside her deep, he quickened his strokes. Yet, his thoughts and focus were hardly on the woman that he was taking to the next oblivion.
On the inside and out, emotionally and mentally, he was practically a dead man, he thought darkly, plunging insider her deeper. In a gist, life absolutely offered him nothing and was riddled with just random senseless acts.
…and nothing more…
Releasing a deep shudder, he made a final thrust.
Hell, it was enough to send her hurtling over the edge.
The climax gripped her.
Emitting a triumphant scream of satisfaction, she sagged beneath him weakly.
Against the black satin sheets, her creamy white skin was a stark contrast. Her flaming auburn tresses were disarrayed and fanned against the pillows. “You are so fuckin’ hot.” Breathing heavily, she traced a finger along his back. “I want you to do me again---this time through the ass.” She released a breathy laugh. “On my life, I swear that you’re the best whore on this side of the city. Trust me---I’ve gone through enough dicks to know that. The others have to be insanely jealous of you, and they have good reason to be. Because no one and I mean no one can stab my pussy like you can. The added bonus---oh pretty boy, that cock of yours is incomparable.” Though she smiled prettily, a definite seriousness masked her next words. “It’s come to the point where I’ve been considering some things. Like me being your sole clientele. You’d no longer be available to anyone else. Of course, I have a reputation to uphold, so we’d have to be discreet.” She tapped a brightly colored nail against his chin. “Every man has a price. So, name yours.”
Raising a brow, he stayed silent.
As if that’d ever happen.
He belonged to no one.
As jaded as he was, he was his own man.
Staring down at her, he met her eyes with a dead look.
Again, he felt nothing.
While that was so, she was demanding something.
But, it was a something that she’d never receive from him.
Red Widow...
It was the pseudo name that she assumed whenever she was at the club. But, in the daylight hours and to the rest of the world, she was known as Frieda Jones.
Usually, male escorts weren’t privy to a client’s real name and identity. But, a politician’s wife was easily noticeable no matter what walks of life you came from.
A triumphant gleam shone in her eyes.
Apparently, she thought that he was already ensnared in her webby trap. No doubt, she was ruthless and accustomed to getting what she wanted. Even in their brief encounters, he sensed that much about her.
Like many of the women that frequented Club Illusions, she sought solace in the arms of a stranger. The sexual encounters were a brief reprieve from the lavish lifestyle that was rife with money, prestige, power, and little else.
She was a trophy wife.
Rich, beautiful, spoiled, she was perfectly primed for the political and social spotlight. She was a southern belle that came from money…a wealthy socialite with an insanely rich husband. Like many, she had the kind of mate that gave little to no affection or attention. That was the norm too often in the sinful city known as the ATL. No doubt, like his self-absorbed wife, the bastard engaged in as many illicit dalliances.
But, here lately…
She was becoming too clingy…
Of course, he’d done everything to dissuade her interest in him. For anything beyond financially arranged sex trysts was out of the question.
“Does this silence mean that you’re considering my offer?” Mewing like a slinky cat, she rubbed her thigh against his suggestively. “If you become my private little secret, you can leave this place. I’ll set you up in a condo on the Georgia coasts. Just imagine the possibilities. You’d have money, jewelry, and fast cars at your disposal. The only requirement would be you pleasing and fucking me whenever in the hell I want.” She laughed as if holding a secret. “And that whenever would be on a daily basis. Quite simply, you’d grow sick of me.”
Grow sick of her?
Hell, he already was.
Releasing a pent-up sigh, he peered out and visually tracked the endless expanse.
On this night, a dark and chilly Georgian skyline graced the scene.
The night sky was starless and held an ominous doom that was depressing, even more so than the ill-fated feelings or rather lack of them in the stately room. Still, the moonlit glow highlighted his tanned skin, accentuated his hazel green eyes, and caused his black curls to glisten under its assault.
This late hour was the best part of the day.
Whenever one was privy to a breath of solitude, every real part of you breathed within the darkness.
And as soon as she left, he mulled, tensing.
Maybe then, that very peace would be a given.
She blew out a breath of frustration. “Why are you being so difficult? You have the opportunity to make your life better. But, yet, you blow me off. While you’re pretty as all fuck, you’re not too bright.”
“Get dressed,” he said tersely, keeping his back to her, and stiffened. Then, he released a tired sigh before addressing her again. “Our time together is done. You can show yourself out.”
“You are an asshole, do you know that?” she hissed while jerking her clothes on. “Don’t disregard me with your high and mighty attitude, and you certainly have no right to judge me. If you had any morals, you wouldn’t be selling yourself like a piece of junk jewelry. The whole world knows that you’re tarnished goods. No matter how prettily you dress yourself up, that one truth remains.”
“And if you had any morals, you wouldn’t be here begging me to ram my cock up your ass with any opportunity that you get.” He gave a cold laugh. “I guess that makes us both incompetent, morally-corrupt pieces of shit, right?”
“Go fuck yourself!” she hissed again. “Just so you know it, I’m considering launching a complaint. There has to be a clause as to how you treat your clients, you nasty whore.”
“Get out,” he said quietly, still looking out the window, and tracked the stars overhead. “By the way, don’t bother looking me up again. You’re officially off the list.”
“B-but, no, I don’t want that.” She cut off her whine before taking in a fast breath. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you, and I didn’t mean any of the things that I said to---”
“There’s nothing left to say.” He released a tired breath. “Just get the hell out. We’re done here.”
“You are so going to regret this. I know people in this town.” An ugly sneer covered her words. “Know what I’ll do? I’ll tell my husband that you kidnapped me from the dark alleys, brought me here, and then assaulted me.” Her verbal threat was icy cold. “Who do you think they’re going to believe: an affluent socialite from upscale Atlanta or a pretty male whore with the IQ of an ingrate?”
Finally, he turned to face her, and his dead cold eyes would rival any ice glacier. “Guess that depends on whoever in the hell you ask.”
An uncontrollable fanatical laugh left her. “You’re right. It does depend on whom. You don’t know me very well, do you, Reign? I have all types of game plays, and I know exactly which ones to use to get what I want.” She clucked her tongue against her upper lip before resuming her hysterical laughter. “Our little situation may call for some dramatics, seeing as that I’m above you and all that.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m a woman of privilege, true. But, I thrive on the energy that breathes in this dark, sordid place. Without exposure to it and you, I’d die a slow and meaningless death. So, that means that I’m not above using a little blackmail to maintain my position here.” Then, eyeing him, she slapped her face hard several times, and with her every strike, she gave a hurtful, agonized cry. When ugly red stings marred her face, she finally ended the self-assault. Now, her blue eyes were more crazed and wild. “Ask me what this means.”
He raised a brow. “That you’re a psycho bitch?”
“Insult me all that you want. But, these visible signs of abuse carry meaning, whether they’re self-inflicted or not,” she snarled nastily. “Since you’re so intent on being a wise-ass, let me explain it to you. These marks can possibly represent two things: signs of a physical assault or signs of wild sex. Now, a gambling man would have to assess which is the better descriptor. Of course, only a damned fool would prefer the first choice because it’d lead to nothing but a lengthy jail sentence. But, something tells me that you’re not a fool.” Triumph gleamed in her blue eyes as they slid up and down his form slowly. “Do you know who I am in this city or rather whom I’m married to? My husband is ruthless and dangerous. So, I have little doubt that he’d make you suffer. Not only would your name be smeared, but you’d rot in prison for the rest of your miserable whoring life.” She laughed coldly. “You could even turn tricks for free.”
“Are you threatening, me?” His venomous smile was noticeable even in the darkness. “Do I strike you as the kind of man that gives a damn what the rest of the world thinks? If that were the case, I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now.” He purposefully ran his eyes over her. “No, I’m not the one that stands to lose anything. It’s you, fair queen. The rag magazines would pay millions for a scum bit story such as yours.” His words were laced with coldness. “Just imagine the headlines: “Senator Jones’ Psycho Wife Goes Raw with Male Whore on East Side Atlanta”. I’m sure the entire world would love to know how a rich politician wife gets her kicks. Perhaps I should even mention your favorite positions and spice the story even better. I’m sure the society pages would just love that bit of info.” He gave a short laugh, and it was one that made her seethe further. “All the money, flash, and fame in the world won’t change the facts. You feed on men like me because we’re the only thing that reminds you that you’re alive.” He winked at her, yet his expression was anything but playful. “Again, it’d be your reputation not mine that’d be pummeled to nothing. So, why don’t you go try your little blackmailing tactics on somebody else? They’re not working with me. Now, get the fuck out.”
Fuming, she shot him a fierce glare from across the room, and the fury shone in her blue eyes. “I’m not the one to play with, bitch. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Then, whirling on her feet, she stomped from the room.
A short while later, he heard the door as it slammed.
“Good riddance, you crazy bitch,” he muttered under his breath, crossing the room, and made his way towards the bathroom. “Hopefully, you’ll choke on your own poisonous venom.”
Moments later, showered and refreshed, he shrugged on the white terry robe before padding to the wet bar. But, as he grasped the bottle of tequila, his desire for a drink quickly dissipated. Moving away from the wet bar, he trailed to the table where the laptop waited. After grabbing it up, he sagged down on the bed.
Quickly, he launched the escort site.
Spring Break was coming up in a few weeks, and at this time of the year, he was usually booked up. “And let’s see who my next quarry is,” he mulled aloud, clicking on the tabs until he landed on his private page. “As long as it’s not another crazy like that one, I’m good.”
Frowning, he scrolled down as he read the information.
The alarm shot through him.
For an entire week, he’d be officially shackled to one woman.
“What tha hell?” he cursed lowly, tapping on the keyboard. “How hell did this happen?” Finally, after a few glitches, the webpage loaded. As the woman’s image materialized on the screen, the air was knocked out of his lungs. In an instant moment, he was mentally sucker-punched. Tapping on the key f
ast, he zoomed in on her photo. Then, he traced a finger along her image. “Who are you?” he whispered quietly in the darkness. “You are absolutely stunning.”
She was a myriad of different beauties, and there simply wasn’t a definitive term to describe her. On the computer monitor, she stared back at him with a wide-eyed innocence. But, something else simmered in her big, beautiful brown eyes, and suddenly, he wanted to tap into it.
It was something exceedingly mesmerizing in the false façade that she proposed to the world. Though she was dressed conservatively, and her features were fresh and devoid of makeup, he sensed the real woman within.
Suddenly, she reminded him of him.
A beautiful liar to the core…
For didn’t he live his life in the exact same way, hiding his true self? Still, though, her blatant innocence was apparent, and he felt a profound connection at once. Just the sight of her stirred something inside him deep, and it was a strange feeling that he couldn’t even explain.
Already, she held him captivated.
She demanded his full attention.
Anything and everything about her was real.
A dangerous smile curled his lips.
Hell, bring the shackling on.
Chapter 1
There are two kinds of women in the world: those that men fight for and lavish with affection and those that men practically just don’t give a damn about. Men, unfortunately, are such fickle creatures with most not able to venture past the superficial makings of a woman. For those that they find unworthy, they avoid them like the plague, stripping them of any self-worth that they possess.
Again, the very ones they seek are deemed as beautiful creatures that are privy to their attentions. So, what does that mean for the lonesome doves that hover along the fringes of life and are forced to seek acceptance from the male population in the most nefarious ways? Sometimes that acceptance is false and damning to the very soul.