Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Novels & Stories

Nathaniel probably didn’t even agree to that. • • • The gentleman’s club isn’t as rowdy as usual. Rich men in tailored suits, cigars in one hand, arrogance in the other. Gold accents glint in the dim lighting, velvet-lined booths stretch out like private enclaves of indulgence. I find Cameron and Nathaniel tucked in a corner, half a bottle of Glenfiddich already between them. "Late, as always," Cameron says, tilting his glass toward me. "Fashionably," I reply, sliding into the booth beside Nathaniel.

"You guys ready?" Neither one of the men said anything for the longest time, and she had a moment to study them. They looked a lot like the members of Heaven Hill, but their features were distinctly European. One had dark blond hair, the other had none. Baldy was the first one to speak. "Yeah, I'll take a beer and a side of whatever you got sweet thing." She fought not to roll her eyes. Working here, she heard it on a constant basis. Usually it was an annoyance. Tonight it could be deadly. "Look at where you are and do not do this tonight," she warned him through gritted teeth.

Then, the swiping begins. “He likes your favorite book,” Heather says. I shake my head. “He’s got those veiny muscles. They make me think about drawing blood too much. Next.” Next. Next. The guys with blond hair and blue eyes still look too much like Ryan. The guys that pose shirtless scream “misogynist.” The guys that pose with half-unbuttoned shirts and books scream “misogynist in disguise.” We even find one guy who would normally be exactly my type, a homebody who’s not too muscular or too pretty. I stare at him for a few seconds, willing something to come to life and make me want to go out with him. Nothing.

The girls complained even louder, their jaws hitting the floor. “Are you serious?” The blonde yelled as we disappeared into the club doors. I chuckled, as I glanced back at the men, who didn’t even bother to look back at the females they left behind. Yes, I knew what men liked and I knew how to wrap them around my finger. It was good to see that some things hadn’t changed.

Both girls nodded their heads a sign of introductory. "You certainly have such beautiful daughters." Darline complimented. Archard nodded in agreement. Clara was indeed beautiful, she had rosy cheeks and a sweet smile with a soft appearance. Her emerald green eyes, a heritage from her mother, complemented her face well. Giselle on the other hand, was equally as beautiful, but she had a certain coldness of a corpse in her appearance that dulled out her shine, she was like the moon, while Clara was like a shining sun. Though she had a pale blue eyes which made her gaze striking, people had a tendency to compliment Clara over her.

“Okay. Thanks. Anything else?” A few more people tossed out suggestions, some of them instantly shot down by all the females in the group. And then Reuben stepped forward, asking, “Wait. Which one is she again?” “That one,” I told him, pointing her out. “The blonde in the blue and white polka dot top.” He grimaced and pulled his face back before glancing at me as if I were insane. “You sure? But that redhead next to her in the little black number is so much hotter.”

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Breakfast was served by unclaimed house submissives, gorgeous people in minimal clothing who moved between tables with trays of food and drinks. Dante filled his plate and occasionally offered me bites, feeding me from his fingers, making me lick them clean. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "I heard you're planning a group scene this morning," Master Chen said. "I'd be interested in observing, if you're allowing spectators." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "More than observing," Dante said. "I'm open to limited participation. Touch only, with my explicit permission for each action. But only I fuck him. That's non-negotiable." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "Fair terms," Chen agreed. "What about Veronica? Ar

She wiggles her brows, smiling like she’s already won. Oh, poor sweetheart. She’s got it all wrong. She’s not just my type — she’s the blueprint. “And what kind is that?” “Firstly, it’s old news that Mr. MotoGP doesn’t do blondes. I’m not dyeing my hair brown to fit into your groupie catalog.” Okay. Yes. I only sleep with brunettes. But there’s a reason. A damn good one. “Maybe,” I cut in quietly, before she can land the next blow, “you shouldn’t judge what you don’t actually know.”

The man’s sleeve darkened where the whiskey spilled, and she knew she was screwed. The others chuckled low and lazy, like a pack of dogs watching their alpha corner a prey. There were only three of them. Three devils sent from hell. The blonde one she was pouring a drink for led, while the almost-bald one leaned in with a pervy grin, eyes twinkling like he enjoyed watching women squirm. And the third, darker-skinned and muscular, lounged back with a cigar between his teeth. “What do you think, boys? I like her,” he continued.

Let's get this over with and make examples of them all. "We'll get them. Let's see what they do. They may not stay here long if they plan to get her alone somewhere." We watch, and they sit at a booth below. The blonde woman doesn't even realize how the other men are looking at her. She only has eyes for Mike. I get it; I was naïve like that, too. He made me feel special, like I was the only woman in the world. I guess that's why they have him get their prey. It doesn't hurt that he's handsome, too.