Man Juice Read online

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Dedication

  A Note From The Author

  Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  Owen

  Molly

  Man Juice

  69th St. Bad Boys

  Alexis Angel

  Naughty Angel Publishing

  Man Juice

  69th St. Bad Boys

  By Alexis Angel

  Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  Join the Alexis Angel Newsletter to get more steamy goodness!

  Contents

  Description

  Dedication

  A Note From The Author

  Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  1. Owen

  2. Owen

  3. Owen

  4. Owen

  5. Molly

  6. Molly

  7. Molly

  8. Molly

  9. Owen

  10. Owen

  11. Molly

  12. Owen

  13. Molly

  14. Owen

  15. Molly

  16. Molly

  17. Owen

  18. Owen

  19. Owen

  20. Molly

  21. Owen

  22. Owen

  23. Molly

  24. Molly

  25. Owen

  Description

  If money can really buy happiness, I’m about to make you very, very happy.

  They’ve always had to watch me at Club Expose.

  I go through women like there’s no tomorrow.

  And there actually is no tomorrow with them.

  Only tonight.

  I take them. Use them. Enjoy them.

  I tease them.

  Then I please them.

  And afterwards, I don’t want to ever see them.

  But then I go too far.

  I shoot a bit out of control.

  And they kick me out of Club Expose.

  Now, not even all my billions of dollars are going to get me back in.

  My handsome face and rock hard body aren't going to open those doors to the hottest nightclub in New York City.

  There’s only one thing that will let me back in. Or rather…one person.

  But the price she wants is higher than anything I’ve ever paid before.

  To get back to paradise, I’ve got to pay something that might be too expensive…even for me.

  Dedication

  Christina Rybka

  A Note From The Author

  Hey babes!

  I hope you've been enjoying these hot and fun 69th St bad boy books! Sexy billionaire bad boys? Yes please! Gimme some of that. I know you're ready to find out what Man Juice is all about. Lol you won't be disappointed.

  Alexis xoxo

  Also by Naughty Angel Publishing

  Alexis Angel

  Dirty Darcy

  Sinful Selections

  WineBar

  36 Inches

  Cunning Linguist

  Single TV Dad

  Sevensome

  Head Hunter

  Blessed

  Offense & Defense

  Princely Passions

  Lust Muscle

  The Biggest Licker

  Cindersmellya

  100 Days

  24 Inches

  Stories From The 6 Train

  Mr. President

  Dirty Daddy

  D.I.L.F.

  12 Inches

  Python

  Wicked Lil’ Brat

  Red & Blue

  Jailbait

  Abby Angel

  Secrets & Silk

  Boxers & Briefs

  Profit & Lace

  Mergers & Acquisitions

  Woman of the House

  Men of the House

  Dark Angel

  Overtime

  Seven Deadly Sinners

  Three Beasts

  Murder/Love

  Hostile Work Environment

  B.I.L.F.

  Two Beasts

  Buyer’s Market

  Gambling For the Virgin

  The Virgin Market

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  Hi ladies!

  If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end!

  To receive exclusive sneak peeks, (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my Naughty Angels on Facebook at Dirty Lil’ Angels.

  We’ll make it worth your while…

  :)

  Kisses!

  Alexis

  1

  Owen

  “Harder, baby, fuck yeah.”

  I grip Lola’s head as her long, stringy blonde hair bobs up and down on my raging hard cock.

  She slurps and chokes a little, but I don’t fucking give a shit if the ending result is how I like it, with me coming all over her fucking face and down her throat.

  I love to squirt my cum on hot chicks at the Expose.

  Oh, yeah, hey, you’re probably wondering who the fuck I am and what the hell’s the Expose? Allow me to explain myself.

  I’m Owen Wolfe, and on the off chance you haven’t heard of me, I’m proud to say I’m a gold card member here at the Expose.

  Right, now you want to know what the Expose is, don’t you? Well aren’t you a demanding little fucker, then?

  Fine, I’ll appease you…for now. You should know, though, that my patience wears extremely fucking thin most of the time, and I’m used to getting what I fucking want.

  The Expose is the hottest, yet most discrete private stripper and sex club in all of Manhattan. The best part? Well, it’s only three blocks from my fucking house, so if I have the urge to spray my cum on some chick’s face, all I have to do is walk down the fucking street and in seconds some desperate stripper will have her hands all over me.

  Lola’s one of the strippers here at the Expose, but she’s not my favorite. In fact, I really could care less about her, but she’s hot and can suck cock fairly well, so I’ll take her.

  We’re currently in one of the bathroom stalls at the club. You might be grossed out, thinking that it sounds pretty nasty to get a blowjob in a dirty club bathroom, but when I say I fork out a decent wad of cash to be a member of the elite third floor VIP section, you better fucking believe it’s clean as shit in here.

  I mean, Lola can fucking lick the floor if she wants to, but for now I prefer her to keep licking my huge, hard cock.

  My cock is tough to swallow, but only in the best way. I’m twelve thick inches of throbbing, pulsing man flesh, and I don’t fucking care who knows it. In fact, I’m damn well proud of how long I am, and I’m happy to bury my cock into any pussy worth digging.

  I’m also tall, standing at six foot four inches with a strong, chiseled jawline that makes every girl drool.

  I’m the dark and brooding type, too, but I have a charismatic charm that lures all the sexy chicks into my arms.

  I never miss a day at the gym, so if you’re ready to touch a massively dope eight-pack, I’ve got them right here waiting for you under my shirt. I get compared to celebrities like Ryan Reynolds and Zac Efron all the time. Let’s just say I have the perfect looks, the full package, just like a fucking movie star—or a porn star if you’re more into that.

  You fucking love that, don’t you? I bet you’re fucking soaking wet now just thinking about me and my rock-hard b
ody.

  Well, right now, I’m naked from the waist down as my pants sit in a heap around my ankles. Lola is fucking working her magic on me and has the best tongue action of any girl in the club—but even though she’s hot, she’s not the hottest by far.

  I mean, she’s okay and all, but I’m just not that into blonde chicks at the moment. I’d rather have a brunette or jet-black haired girl who knows how to hold her own—a true fucking New Yorker just like me.

  But Lola can give award-winning blowjobs, and I’m happy to be receiving one from her right now. I pull her up slightly. She’s naked except for a pink lacy thong currently going right up her ass crack like fucking dental floss.

  I push her thong down because I want a good look at both of her sexy holes. “I’m getting ready to come,” I growl at her, but I want to fuck her first.

  You probably think what kind of asshole fucks a stripper in a sex club bathroom, but I really don’t give a fuck about what you or anyone else thinks about me. I’m a goddamn multi-billionaire and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

  I pull out of Lola’s mouth and she wipes my pre-cum from her lips, gazing up at me with a mischievous smirk.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” I order her.

  She does as she’s told because she has no fucking choice—I’m in charge here. Lola gets on all fours, and I lean down and fuck her pussy doggy-style. I grip her hips as I plow in and out, thrusting harder and faster to conquer my addiction, which is in the form of an orgasm.

  Am I a sex addict? Who fucking cares? What fucking business is it of yours?

  Right when I feel the exploding sensation of my climax begin to hit me, I pull out again and finish off with my hand. I’m not allowed to come inside of any of the strippers. If they tell on me, I’m as good as kicked out of the best club in the city.

  I grab Lola to whip her back around. I want to come on her busty chest. I aim and take fire, shooting my hot load all over her huge tits, mostly hitting my mark.

  It turns out that my target is a little off balance, though, because some of my cum sloshes and shoots directly onto a guy’s shoe in the stall beside us.

  It’s a total accident, but the dude groans with frustration and annoyance.

  “What the fuck?” he yells, and I hear him open up his stall door.

  The next sound I hear is his intrusive banging on the door to the stall where I’m currently defiling Lola.

  “Someone’s in here,” I say casually, and smirk at Lola like this is some fucking game I love. The guy knows damn well I’m in here.

  Lola responds by rolling her eyes and quickly dressing herself back in her work uniform, which just so happens to be a sexy as fuck romper-type black dress.

  “Open up, asshole!” the guy yells as he continues to bang on the door.

  I want to say the same fucking thing to him. Open wide, fucker, I’ve got more where that came from.

  I jump into my pants and begin to button my shirt, taking my sweet-ass time. After a moment or two, I burst open the door, beaming proudly.

  “I’m sorry, sir, can I help you with something? You seem very upset,” I respond with cheerful condescension.

  “Yeah, you fucking got cum on my shoe. This is fucking disgusting!” The guy points to his foot.

  I place a hand on my hip and point to the shoe. “You know, I hear that works fantastically well as shoe polish,” I offer as a suggestion.

  “Fuck you!” he roars.

  The man is tall and slender—gangly, actually—and reminds me of that fucking cartoon character Gumby, although he’s not quite as green. He has a full head of light brown hair and he’s wearing an ugly-ass beige suit with an even ghastlier yellow tie.

  Meanwhile, I zip my pants back up, really fucking slowly, as though it’s an afterthought or some shit, but I want to make this fucker even more uncomfortable than he already is.

  Lola scurries between us, embarrassed and escaping in a huff.

  “Hey, buddy, I can’t help what happened to your shoe. I’ll aim better next time.” I wink at him and try to move past.

  “How dare you speak to me like this!” the guy yells, but I can tell he’s all bark with no fucking bite.

  “Excuse me?” I spin around, now I’m growing angry. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Don’t you know who I am?” the guy shouts, a vein in his forehead bulging.

  I actually have no fucking clue who this douchebag is, and I frankly don’t care either.

  “No, do you not know who I am?” I raise the stakes and yell back at him.

  In reality, I’m a pretty fucking big deal as the owner and CEO of Lone Wolfe Pictures, one of the biggest production companies in all of Hollywood, even though I spend at least half my time in New York.

  This guy should know that, right? Well, I sure as fuck think so.

  The guy apparently doesn’t want to wait for me to give him an explanation because I see his fist coming at me in the next instant—only my reflexes and training in boxing give me the upper hand, like literally.

  I block his punch and land a clean blow on his face, knocking the motherfucker backwards on his ass.

  2

  Owen

  I light a cigar inside of my brand new red Aventador in the club’s parking lot. I draw in a deep breath of the glorious tobacco as it fills my lungs and calms me down.

  I might be fucking over the line here, but I don’t want you guys to see me this way. I bounced from the club in a hurry, before blame could be cast on me.

  I’m not one for negative press or limelight, and I’ll always bolt in a quick fucking minute if it means I can get myself out of trouble.

  Right before I press the button to turn on my car’s ignition, a well-dressed man approaches the car. I have no choice but to greet him because my window is rolled down because of my cigar.

  “I don’t give out change to people on the street.” I smirk at the guy with arrogant flare, even though I can tell by the way he’s dressed that’s probably not why he’s standing next to my car window.

  “Excuse me?” the man asks in confusion.

  I shake my head; apparently it’s going right past the fucking idiot’s brain. “Nothing,” I say. “Are you with the club?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.” The man nods.

  “I can’t find my Gold Card,” I say, referring to my membership to the sex club on the third floor of the strip club. I lost it somewhere in the tussle with the man in the bathroom.

  “Sir, your membership is going to be suspended,” the man says apologetically.

  “What?” I shout. “I need to speak to Jay. He’s the manager. Go and fetch him,” I demand with a snap of my fingers.

  “Mr. Wolfe, I’m afraid there’s nothing that Jay can do at the moment to help you,” the man sighs, as if he’s used to dealing with jerks like me all the time and he has some sort of higher than normal patience threshold.

  “Go and fucking get him,” I demand with more force this time.

  The man rolls his eyes and sighs again.

  “Fine.” He spins around and leaves. I notice that he’s tall and a little stocky and wears a large black leather jacket. He’s probably one of Jay’s little fucking minions, I think bitterly.

  I take another drag on the cigar as I wait for Jay to come outside, which to my surprise he actually does. Jay is probably in his mid-sixties and has greying hair, probably from having to run this club all these years. He’s also dressed in a business suit and, like always, has professional poise.

  “What is it, Owen?” He says, leaning in to talk to me through the open car window.

  “What the fuck is going on? Why is my membership suspended?” I wail like the spoiled fucking child I am.

  Jay takes a deep breath, gearing up to explain himself. “The board already knows about your little run-in with Inspector French,” Jay says.

  “What? Who the fuck is Inspector French?” I yelp. “More importantly, how does the board even fucking know what happe
ned? It was only like five fucking minutes ago!” I shout, vaguely owning up to the fact that something actually did take place, and that it may or may not have been slightly sketchy.

  “That leads me to my next point,” Jay says, and leans against the car, still looking down at me in the seat. “Inspector French is the man we just hired in charge of grading the club. He’s kind of fucking important, Owen.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling the shock sink in—but I’m still unconvinced that my actions warrant a suspension. “I still don’t understand what this shit has to do with me,” I state firmly.

  “Owen, you fucking punched the guy. There have to be consequences,” Jay states patiently.

  “He was trying to get a rise out of me!” I try and defend myself, but I can tell it’s going to be no fucking use. These assholes aren’t going to back down.

  “Obviously, the Inspector went to the board and told them immediately what happened. He’s shocked and told us that you came on his fucking shoe. Is that true Owen?” Jay shakes his head in disgust. “If it is, that’s fucking gross as shit, man.”

  “That’s beside the point,” I continue to argue, skirting around and dodging Jay’s question. “I’m a goddamn paying customer; I have my rights.”