Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle

by Champagne Jackson

  It was Vladimir. I almost didn’t recognize him: he had cleaned himself up, shaven, gotten a haircut, even thrown together a second hand suit—all to come visit me? What the hell was going on?

  “You… You’ll hang for what you did to her!” Mr. Wilson all but screamed. But his voice faltered halfway through the sentence and he finished it in a shy whisper.

  “Then you’ll hang with me, you son of a bitch,” Vladimir growled. “My men are at your apartment. They’re ransacking it right now. I suggest you go back, gather whatever belongings you can carry, and high tail it out of town.”

  “W-what?!”

  “Did you hear me?!” Vladimir growled once more. In a daze, Mr. Wilson glided out of the room, looking just about ready to fall over any second.

  “You came for me…” I whispered, tears coming to my eyes. But these tears, these were entirely different from the ones that fell from my eyes when Mr. Wilson was assaulting me, confronting me and accusing me. These tears now? These were tears of love, of redemption, and reconciliation. These were happy tears, in short.

  “I heard from a friend here at the hospital that they had brought you in…” Vladimir said sheepishly, blushing ever so slightly as he holstered his pistol inside his jacket. He had one of those side holsters that cops and undercover detectives wear. I had always found them dead sexy. “It sounds like you might have had a bad reaction to the thing I gave you to knock you out… It was only supposed to knock you out for an hour or two.”

  “How long have I been out for?”

  “About two days. Your parents are on their way. It sounds like they only just identified you. I came as soon as I could but it looks like that bastard got here first… I’m sorry, Londyn. I never wanted it to happen like this.”

  I shook my head.

  “No, no, it’s fine… You saved me.”

  “No, don’t you see? It was my fault that you were even in this position. This, Londyn… This is exactly why you should stay away from us. This is exactly why you should stay away from… me.” His face fell as he spoke, like a doctor delivering bad news to a terminally ill patient. I shook my head, tears flinging themselves from my eyes.

  “No… No… I can’t go back to my old life. Don’t you understand? Haven’t you ever felt like you don’t fit somewhere?”

  And then, I noticed him twitching. Of course—the suit. He wasn’t exactly the suit wearing type. I could tell how miserable he was in that thing—how it seemed to chafe and tug in all the wrong places, confine his muscular body when all he wanted, all he needed… was to be free.

  “It’s like you, in that suit…” I said finally. “You can’t stand it, can you?”

  “Hate it,” he said, with a grim smile.

  “That’s how I am. That’s how I’ve always been with my life. It feels like… like it doesn’t fit. I’ve just been looking for a way to break free. Or something to break me free. I need my jail break, Vladimir… And you’re my jail breaker.”

  He looked at me hard, his gaze stern one moment and then soft the next, as if he were waging an internal battle behind those gorgeous eyes of his. Finally, he set the flowers down on the table next to me and started towards the door.

  “No, don’t go!” I started to cry out. I couldn’t bear to see him walk out of my life, to lose him again.

  But instead of continuing out into the corridor, he just shut the door to the hospital room. With a click, it locked.

  He turned and sloughed off the jacket. He stripped off his tie and tossed both articles on the floor.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked me with a devilish grin, starting to unbutton his shirt.

  “Ready,” I said, returning his grin as I flung off the light hospital blanket. All I had on were the thin hospital robes: beneath them, I was totally naked. I already felt my body waking up, excited for what was coming next.

  His shirt joined the jacket and tie on the floor and he advanced on me, his powerful upper body completely visible to me. I couldn’t help but melt a little bit, remembering the feeling of being ensconced in those strong, muscular arms, inhaling his powerful, manly scent…

  He climbed into bed with me, and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me hard as he slid his hands up underneath the hospital robe, his strong, powerful, worn palms running over my hot, soft skin.

  “Oh, god, yes…” I whimpered in spite of myself, hoping that the nurse couldn’t somehow hear my whimpers and moans as Vladimir’s fingers found their way in between my legs. “Please…”

  “Please what?”

  “Fuck me,” I growled, spreading my legs and giving him access to my pink little hole. Of course, he had already explored every part of me in whole, but it was still exciting for me to feel his fingers gliding over my slit, getting me wetter and wetter with each passing second.

  He forced my hospital gown up, and began to undo his pants, his fingers trembling with passion and desire. It was cute to see how badly he wanted it. Finally, I reached out and undid his belt for him, tossing it to the side and gasping as his hard cock sprang into view. He definitely had Mr. Wilson beat.

  I wrapped my legs around his powerful torso and gasped as I felt his cock pressing against my wet little slit. I shifted around, whimpering as I tried to fit him inside of me. Had I really gotten so tight again in the last few days?

  And then, he penetrated me with one fell swoop. I threw my head back and gasped in pleasure and delight as he buried his cock inside of me.

  “Oh, god, baby! Vladimir! You’re so deep!”

  “That’s right, Londyn,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m inside of you. I’m deep inside of you.”

  “You’re fucking me…”

  And with that, he slid his cock out of me before slamming it back into me. Faster and faster he pumped me, drawing thicker and thicker whimpers from my lips as he ground his dick into me. My pussy gripped hungrily at his cock, massaging it and milking it as he powered his way into me.

  “Harder! Harder!” I all but screamed, thrashing in bed beneath him. “Please, I need it so bad…”

  I didn’t care who heard me. I didn’t care if the doctors and nurses and patients outside thought I was being murdered. I loved having Vladimir inside of me, feeling his hot breath wash over me as he fucked me, feeling his muscles strain and work as he pounded me.

  With each thrust, his crotch glided into my clit, driving me wilder and wilder. God, I wanted it so bad. I wanted him to make me cum. I wanted to cum on his cock. I felt like a little girl, losing her virginity all over again—though, now that I thought of it, I had just lost my virginity to him not too long ago…

  “Please…” I whimpered, thrusting my hips up to meet him. He grunted and sighed as he fucked me, his cock twitching inside of me. God, but I loved the way his cock rubbed the sides of my pussy, the way it glided into my hole, rubbing against the walls of my tight love canal.

  “Oh, god, I’m getting close,” he moaned, kissing me hard and trailing hot, searing kisses down my cheek, down my neck, tearing and tugging at my collar bone as I felt his cock ready to blow.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, crying out as my own orgasm washed over me. I didn’t even had the voice to announce it—I just trusted that he would know by the way my body writhed, by the way my fingers gripped and tore at his skin, driving my nails into his flesh. Oh, god, I can’t even describe how good it was—the best, most powerful orgasm of my life, my pussy convulsing around his thick, throbbing cock…

  And that must have been enough to get him off, because moments later, I felt his dick spraying his hot seed into my womb, filling me up. I didn’t care what happened now. I just wanted to feel him empty his seed into me…

  With a groan, he collapsed into bed next to me.

  “So, I’m coming with you?” I said, in between gasps. It wasn’t exactly a question, but it also wasn’t a statement.

  “That’s right.” Vladimir took a deep breath and grinned at me, finally. “You’re coming with me, kiddo.”

&
nbsp; Bound By Choice

  Table of Contents

  Performance

  Province

  Interview

  First Day of Work

  At Mr. Shaw’s Pleasure

  Exclusive

  The Last Night

  One O’Clock

  Performance

  I always loved those moments after a show, when the lights come up and there you stand, exposed, no longer a character in a fictional world. There I stood, taking my bows onstage after A Streetcar Named Desire—but probably not the version you’re familiar with. This was an all female version that went up in a black box theatre in Greenwich Village, a theatre which itself was actually located in the back of a gay bar. Like I said, probably not the Streetcar you’re familiar with.

  The theatregoers—all seventeen of them!—clapped and hooted drunkenly as we took our bows. Mostly, they were cute, put together gay dudes who loved theatre and were very supportive of poor NYU students like me.

  One person stood out. She sat in the row closest to the stage, an exotic-looking lavender cocktail resting languorously in her bejeweled hand. She was black, like me, and unlike all the older white men in the audience. Her nappy, frizzly hair, so like my own, hung down in beautiful ringlets over her coffee-colored flesh.

  “Maddie!” I gasped from onstage. Her pout broke into a wink as she recognized me and gave a little wave. As my company filed off-stage, I charged into the green room and all but leapt into my street clothes: nothing interesting, and certainly not the slinky black number I had noticed Maddie wearing. Just a tallow-colored dress that showed off my big butt and boobs. I’m not a super skinny girl; not like Maddie, but for guys who like their girls to have a bit more meat to them… Well, I fit the bill. Make do with what you can, I guess.

  Maddie was waiting for me outside, as I knew she would be. Jumping up and down and shrieking, I flew into her arms.

  “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, thank you for coming!” I gasped and cried. “It’s been forever!”

  Actually, it had only been a year. Maddie the year before from my acting program at NYU. She was 23 now and had been out in “the real world,” while I was still going to class every day of the week while working weekends as a barista. I wasn’t getting paid anything for this show, of course. None of us were—we needed the experience.

  “Of course, babe,” she said, pecking me on the cheek. “Listen, I don’t mean to be a snob, but this place is a little dingy for my tastes. What do you say we go somewhere uptown and have a drink?”

  I froze, mentally calculating the cost of the subway, plus a cocktail (or, more likely, a sparkling water) when Maddie flashed a blinding white grin and rolled her big blue eyes.

  “I’ll pay, you goof.”

  “What? I can’t make you do that. You’ve probably got less cash than I do.”

  “I doubt that. Unless you’ve just inherited a diamond mind.”

  She took me by the hand and let me out onto the dark, crowded Manhattan street. With a single wave of her slender hand, she had a taxi standing obediently in front of us.

  “Take us to Province,” she told the driver when we got in. I gasped again—I had heard some of the gay guys at the bar, wealthy art collectors who had gorgeous old townhome across the street, complaining that they couldn’t even get into Province on a Tuesday night, let alone a Friday.

  The driver nodded and off we went, north and into the night.

  Province

  When we pulled up the Province, Maddie slid the driver a single hundred dollar bill.

  “Keep the change,” she said offhandedly, ignoring his grateful head-bowing. The ride had only been thirty-dollars.

  We tumbled out of the cab and she whisked me past the long line of beautiful people assembled in a mumbling, disgruntled queue, waiting to get in. We approached the tall, thickly built bouncer who gave me a disgusted once-over. I hadn’t even taken my stage make-up off and, horror of horrors, I was wearing jeans!

  “Hi, Dom,” Maddie said to him with a smile. She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. She paused for a second, as if whispering something to him. He nodded stiffly and let us pass.

  The cocktail lounge was dark, with lighted spots near the bars and along the walls. I could make out gorgeous, model-thin beauties draped on couches, untouched glasses of champagne assembled before them like silent soldiers standing at attention.

  “Here, honey. This is my favorite spot,” Maddie said as she led me over to an empty couch near the bar. Out of nowhere, a handsome, dark young man in a vest appeared, holding a menu.

  “Kir Royals for both of us, Alphonse,” Maddie said, waving away the menu. The young man nodded.

  “Right away, Madelyne.”

  As he strode away, I gaped at my friend.

  “Maddie, what am I doing in a place like this?”

  “You’re going to have a Kir Royal and chat with me, girl. You ain’t some basic bitch from Bed-Stuy no more. Not when you’re with me, honey.”

  “Where are you getting all this money?”

  She fluttered her eyelids. “Work.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Oh, you know, here and there. It keeps me comfortable and I can spend most of my time acting, if I want. But the money is so good, you know, it almost doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Girl, you’re not performing anymore?” I said, crestfallen—she had always been so talented.

  “Oh, I still do, sometimes. And really, work is all performance, isn’t it?” she said with a mysterious grin.

  “What do you do again?”

  She gave me a playful grin but didn’t answer, as the bartender had come over personally with our cocktails.

  “Two Kir Royales for the mademoiselles,” he said in a heavy accent. “Enjoy! Will we be seeing Mr. Bakir again this weekend?”

  “Oh, perhaps,” Maddie replied and took a sip of her drink, forcing the bartender to wait for further explanation. “I’ll suggest it to Mr. Bakir tomorrow night. But he is flying back from Saudi Arabia and he usually prefers a quiet night in the club when he’s jet-lagged.”

  “Ah, but of course,” the bartender said and disappeared.

  “Is Mr. Bakir your boss?” I hazarded a guess.

  “Sort of. One of my bosses, if you will. Ayesha, do you want to know what I do?”

  “Yes! How could I not?”

  She produced a business card from her clutch. It was all black and said, in stark white letting:

  NEW AMSTERDAM SQUASH AND POLO CLUB

  There was no address; only a phone number. I raised my eyebrows.

  “That’s a bit of a misnomer. Myself, and the other girls who work there—we call it the Billionaire Boys’ Club.”

  “The Billionaire Boys’ Club?”

  “Of course, I don’t know that every single member is a billionaire but it’s just splitting hairs after a certain point, isn’t it? All I know is, membership for one for a single year is half a million dollars.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “That’s absurd!”

  “I know, right? But in a city like this, there are plenty of big men with big wallets who want to spend, big time,” she said with a wink. “They become members of this club—it’s by invitation or referral only—and they can take meals there, get drinks, stay there when they’re in town or put up guests there… There’s a gym, a pool, a spa, a movie theatre… But that’s not really what they’re paying for.”

  She waited and I knew I was supposed to ask what they were really paying for.

  “So, what are they really paying for?”

  “Us.”

  I glanced at her and then at myself.

  “The staff is almost entirely female and totally young, totally gorgeous. And there’s an unspoken understanding that, when you’re on-duty, you do not refuse a member’s request. No matter what it is. We’re their bitches… And we get paid good for it.”

  The reality of Maddie’s occupation slowly dawned on me.

&nb
sp; “You’re…. You’re like a prostitute!”

  “Maybe, but a very, very well-paid prostitute,” Maddie said with a smile—a smile that said that I had a lot to learn about life and money. “I made ten-thousand dollars last week. That’s no street ho money.”

  “Ten-thousand dollars?”

  “Working four nights. And mornings, ‘cause, you know, you gotta’ take care of them when they wake up.” She downed her drink. I had barely touched mine.