Chapter 193: His New Addiction

DAVID’S POV

I just stood there, staring at the closed door, my pulse hammering in my neck like I’d just run a goddamn marathon.

For a second, I actually thought about her offer. Her words clung to me like smoke, the way her voice had dripped sin, her promise to “worship it.” My cock twitched in agreement, betraying me like the needy bastard it is.

“Get a grip, David,” I muttered under my breath, slapping my own cheek hard enough to sting. The sharp crack bounced off the office walls. “You don’t need Holly. You just need to get laid. That’s it. Plain and simple. Any warm body will do.”

I dragged a hand down my face, groaning when I glanced down and realized my fly was still open, my cock poking its head out like some starving, desperate child begging for candy.

“Fuck!” I zipped up fast, horror and shame crawling over my skin. “She must think I’m a weirdo. First, she catches me jerking off in my office, then I’m standing here with my dick hanging out like some creep at a park bench? Jesus Christ, Hunt. My enemy caught me jerking off, and I was threatening her with my flyers out?”

I made an etching face, stomach turning like I might actually puke. Way to go, David Hunt. Brilliant. And to think I almost had her thinking that I was under control.

No wonder she had that amused smile plastered on her lips.

With a frustrated growl, I grabbed my car keys, shoved them in my pocket, slammed my laptop shut, and shrugged into my jacket. Well, if Monique doesn’t want to get down, there are plenty of other fishes in the sea. I don’t have the patience to play Holly’s little mind games today.

“Call me when you’re about to leave for the dinner party,” I told Amber as I strode past her desk. “Text me the address too.”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Uh…sir, where are you heading?”

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned, slowly, as though she’d just sprouted horns and a tail. My stare pinned her in place.

“And what makes you think you have the right to ask me that?”

Amber’s face went pale. She stuttered, clutching her notepad like it was a lifeline. “I—I just thought…in case clients ask after you, sir. What should I tell them?”

“Tell them I went for outside work,” I snapped. “A meeting. That’s all they need to know.”

And before she could nod again, I was gone.

The drive was hell. Every red light felt like a goddamn eternity. My cock pulsed against my zipper, my whole body wired with the kind of restless energy that made it impossible to think. By the time I had to stop at a gas station to refill, my hands were gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles went white. Every minute felt like torture.

Finally, the brothel’s neon sign came into view…cheap, seedy, flickering pink against the dull afternoon sky. My stomach tightened. I hated this. I didn’t do places like this. I liked my rules, my house, my bed. I didn’t share walls with strangers or crawl into sheets a hundred men had sweated through. But desperate times, they say, call for desperate actions.

Inside, it smelled like perfume, sweat, and bad decisions. A bored-looking woman behind a counter barely lifted her head as I tossed some bills her way. She slid a key across the counter.

“Thought I’d get to pick who I want,” I muttered, eyeing the key.

“That’s not how we run things here,” she replied flatly. “Girls are assigned randomly. If you don’t like her, you can be taken to another room.”

“And what if I don’t like that one either?” I grunted.

She gave me a tired smile. “Then maybe this isn’t the place for you, sir.”

I snatched the key off the counter and stalked upstairs. This wasn’t my forte. This wasn’t me. But right now, I didn’t care.

The key slid into the lock, the door creaked open, and I stepped into red light and soft music. The air was thick, heavy.

There was a pole in the center of the room, and wrapped around it like a snake was a girl in a rabbit mask that hid her face perfectly, a lollipop twirling lazily in her mouth.

Her lingerie was see-through enough to make my throat dry…sheer black lace clinging to sweat-slick skin, nipples dark and peaked beneath, the thin strip between her thighs already soaked through.

She slid down the pole in one slow, teasing spin, thighs flexing, ass grinding against the metal until a wet streak gleamed in the red light. Then she sauntered over, hips swaying like liquid fire, the scent of her arousal hitting me like a drug.

“Rough day at work, daddy?” She purred, her hand pressing against my chest, nails dragging down the front of my shirt before circling me like a predator.

She dropped low, mouth hovering over my zipper, and gripped my cock through my trousers…hard, deliberate, squeezing until precome soaked into the fabric. My breath hitched, a guttural groan ripping free before I could stop it.

When I reached for her lips, she pulled back, tongue flicking out to taste the air between us, retreating to the pole. I clenched my jaw, cock throbbing, patience shredded. I didn’t pay for a performance. I paid to fuck.

As if she’d read my mind, she slid off the pole, grabbed my tie, and yanked me toward the bed…hard enough that I stumbled, the silk cutting into my throat.

The moment she pushed me onto the bed, straddling me like she owned me, I knew I wasn’t here for slow kisses or polite touches. I was here to burn this frustration out of my body.

She pressed the lollipop against my lips…sticky cherry syrup smearing across my mouth…and I bit down, crushing it between my teeth before spitting the shards onto the floor. Her eyes glittered behind the rabbit mask. Provocative. Dangerous. My kind of poison.

I grabbed her hips and yanked her down, grinding her soaked cunt against my trapped cock until the lace was ruined, her juices seeping through my trousers. My cock strained painfully, the seam digging into my shaft, and I couldn’t take the damn waiting anymore.

I ripped my shirt off, a few buttons pinging off the walls, and shoved my pants down just as she tore the lingerie aside…bare, dripping, her pussy lips swollen and glistening.

She lowered herself onto me in one slow, filthy glide…hot, slick walls swallowing me inch by inch until I was buried to the hilt, her ass flush against my balls. My head slammed back against the pillow. “Fuck.”

This has always been the problem. I’ve always had to go again and again, because no woman could take me in one stride without a cry, without a plea, without a single fucking tear.

Yet here she was, masked face, eyes glittering, cunt fluttering like it was starving for the stretch.

No hesitation. No flinch. She took me whole, her back arching, cunt clenching like a fist, a low moan vibrating in her throat. That alone nearly undid me.

I stayed still for a moment and let the obsession sink its teeth in. I’d be back tomorrow, the day after, every goddamn night if I had to.

I’d bribe the manager, burn the rules, chain this masked cunt to my bed until she forgot every other man. Because no pussy had ever fit me like a glove and still hungered for the stretch.

Candy wasn’t a fix. She was a fucking addiction, and I was already chained.