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.

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.

He suspected Evangeline was being intentionally unhelpful with her ramblings about the mystery man. “He was handsome. He did not have an accent.” Unable to help himself he slammed his fist into the table. “Miss!” Evangeline jumped. “Look behind you,” Stefan said forcing himself to calm down. “How many blonde men do you know in Laod? The vast population is blonde. I don’t need to know how handsome he was or how he spoke, I want information!” Evangeline looked behind her as he asked. The two blonde officers looked at each other. “They didn’t look like these ones,” she said.

Dora said dryly. “But she drop-dead gorgeous!” Deborah the red-haired squealed pushing her seat backward, she had shut down the computer and was packing her bags too. “Yeah,” Lola and Dora both chorused in agreement. “There is nothing killer about her,” Laurie put in jealousy evident and Deborah grinned openly. “Except that she is blonde and you are not,” she added mockingly. “Most men are suckers for blondes.” “You shouldn't keep picking on Laurie.” Lola scolded and Deborah shrugged.

Many people have tried to cheat me, to make an overpriced contract that would hurt me, but it didn't happen because I always had this habit and always caught it. "Oh Ethan, understand once and for all that there is no such thing as the 'perfect' woman."--- He quotes his finger.--- "Most of the people here are blond, they're all your ex's type. If I were you I'd pick right away, because more humiliating than getting there with a woman who looks like her is getting there alone or not at all."

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.”