King's Pleasure

After his therapist’s declaration, Quentin stood his ground, engaging in a staring contest to see whether she was serious or not.

She was.

He exhaled a long breath and then slowly gave her a lazy smile. “Well, I had to give it the old college try. Congratulations are in order.”

Dr. Turner drew in a deep sigh of relief as if she’d narrowly escaped a predator. “Thank you. Now would you like to take a seat?”

Q weighed the question in his head as his gaze bounced from the chaise to the door—and then to a frowning Alyssa. “Well, since I’m here.” He walked toward the chaise and then stretched out.

Dr. Turner took her usual chair and picked up her ever-ready notepad. “So what would you like to discuss today?”

“You mean, other than my abandonment issues? My war against love? Or these crazy dreams I keep having?”

“Dreams? What sort of dreams?”

“What else—wedding dreams.”

“You’ve been dreaming about weddings?”

“Hell, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise, considering how everyone keeps dropping to their knees and popping the big question. I swear, love has become a global epidemic that, quite frankly, some scientists need to hurry up and make a pill to eradicate.”

“That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

“Humph. Not from where I’m standing. My once-devout bachelors-for-life are dropping like flies at the slightest whiff of a woman’s perfume. All my dogs have traded in their Milk-Bones for collars and short leashes. And, get this, they’re happy to stay and play in their own backyard. What kind of madness is this?”

“All right. So, no love. No marriage. It’s just you and your cousin Jeremy living the bachelor lifestyle from here till eternity?”

“Ha!” Quentin rolled his eyes.

“Problem?”

“Yeah. My family is nothing but a bunch of Judases.”

“Oh. So you lost the last member of your boys’ club?” Quentin grumbled.

Dr. Turner laughed.

“Maybe I need to just change doctors,” Quentin mumbled under his breath.

“No. No. Please. I have to hear this story.”

Quentin rolled his eyes.

“You might as well tell her,” Alyssa said, shrugging. “Who knows? It might help.”

“Fine.” Quentin shrugged. “After my so-called best friend, Xavier, decided to jump the broom, Atlanta sort of…lost its luster. So I figured I’d just hop a plane and go find me a California girl.”

The Playful King

Chapter 1

“Welcome to The Dollhouse, Los Angeles,” Jeremy shouted above the pulsing music as he directed the Strozier bachelor party through the doors of the chateau-style building. Upon entering, the group of two dozen thirty-something men focused their attention on the main stage where the beautiful and incredibly talented Chocolate Dolls captivated and titillated the crowd.

“Pick up your bottom lips off the floor, boys.” Jeremy laughed, taking in their awestruck expressions. “I can’t afford too many workers-compensation claims when my girls start tripping over them.”

“I’ve died and have gone to heaven,” one man declared as his gaze locked on to an ebony Barbie doll, rolling her hips and sliding her tongue across her glossy lips.

Jeremy’s smile doubled in size as he grabbed a cocktail napkin off one of the passing trays and handed it over to the young man to help mop up the saliva drooling from his mouth. “Please let me know if you need a bib,” he said, laughing. Jeremy wrapped his arm around the brother’s head and then led him and his boys toward the VIP room, where even more heavenly delights awaited them.

Literally.

Heaven was tonight’s theme. The Dollhouse Dolls wore costumes with glittering wings and halos. Everywhere their eyes roamed, the men at the bachelor party were welcomed by the sight of beautiful, well-oiled, well-toned bodies, dancing, twirling and gyrating on gold stripper poles. It didn’t matter what their preference was, The Dollhouse showcased women in every flavor of the rainbow, and they were all willing and capable of fulfilling their clientele’s every fantasy.

With a state-of-the-art sound system bumping, a dazzling light show swirling around, The Dollhouse featured the most beautiful women Los Angeles had to offer. Jeremy knew that the club had the potential to set another record-profit night. It was part of a little wager that he and his cousin Quentin had going since Jeremy had taken over the Atlanta club from his brother Xavier.

It had only been a few months, but Jeremy already missed having his brothers, Eamon and Xavier, involved the business. Hell, he still couldn’t wrap his brain around Eamon being married and Xavier acting like a married man. He even had a bet going with his cousin Quentin as to whether Xavier was going to throw in the towel and pop the big question to his current girlfriend, Cheryl Grier.

Jeremy had ten grand riding on Xavier not losing his right mind completely. But Quentin made a very persuasive argument about all the signs that pointed to matrimony. Like selling his shares in the club, and bringing Cheryl’s name up in every conversation. Hell, they were talking about a buddy of theirs who recently suffered a herniated disc, and Xavier somehow managed to find a way to weave Cheryl into the conversation.

The ten grand was going to be like taking candy from a baby, Quentin kept saying. Married? Xavier? Jeremy just couldn’t see it—and hoped that he never would—especially since Quentin would undoubtedly make him pay the ten grand in one-dollar bills, and he would make him sit down in front of him and count it all out. He could be an ass like that sometimes.

Sure he was happy for his brothers, but there was also a part of him that was more than a little irritated. They’d had a good thing going. Three bachelors—and their supposedly silent partner, Quentin—were running the hottest gentlemen’s clubs in three different cities. Damn, talk about recession-proof! They had everything that any man could possibly want to wake up to every day with a smile on his face.

Hell, Jeremy usually bounced out of bed—sometimes even his own—because he couldn’t wait to get to the club where he was surrounded by gravity-defying breasts and booty-popping goddesses. They were lucky sons of bitches to call what they did a job. As far as he was concerned, he was never going to understand his brothers’ deciding to just punk out of the business.

Sure, he liked Victoria and Cheryl okay. They were nice considering Victoria initially tried to sue them for fifty million dollars and Cheryl had been working undercover in a drug-trafficking sting operation at the Atlanta club. He just didn’t understand how you could fall in love with women who were either trying to put you in the poorhouse or behind bars.

But whatever.

It was going to be a cold day in hell before he turned his leash over to someone. And yes, he knew perfectly well that he met the definition of “a dog” for at least half the women in the world. But that was not the half that he was concerned with. It was the other half that labeled him “a hell of a good time under the sheet” that he focused on.

Unlike his brothers, he was never going to leave this life. God willing, he was going to ride this bachelorhood thang until he was a hundred years old, getting a sponge bath from the hottest nurses he could find. Of course, if he had his way, he wanted to go out getting a lap dance in the club’s VIP room with a smile on his face and a hard-on in his pants.

That wasn’t asking too much, was it?

Besides the personal benefits, there was something quite noble in being a man who brought so much joy and happiness to guys who otherwise led dreadfully dull lives. Surely such an unselfish deed would guarantee him easy passage through the pearly gates when the time came. Of course, that all depended on if the good man upstairs was indeed a man. If not, then he would just have to soothe his conscience with the knowledge that while he was here on earth, he’d led one hell of a life.

Schlepping through life doing a regular nine-to-five terrified Jeremy. Always had. Dull and ordinary was not the kind of life he’d envisioned for himself. And thanks to his older brothers, Eamon and Xavier, that wasn’t something he ever had to worry about.

Hopping up onto the VIP stage, Jeremy scanned the crowd with a huge smile on his face. “All right. It’s that time—time to bring the man of the hour up on stage!”

The crowd roared with excitement, as a steady chant of “Cal-vin! Cal-vin” filled the VIP room.

“Come on up, big man!”

The shouts and cheers went up another decibel as Calvin “Hoopstar” Strozier shouldered his way through the cheering homeys.

Hoopstar, who was the NBA’s Los Angeles Razors’ third-highest-paid player, finally hopped up on stage, tossed two deuces to the crowd and just let his fifty-foot ego drink in the applause.