I heard someone next to me pull in a deep breath, and then the covers shifted off my body. Seconds later, I felt warm skin against mine as a hand wrapped around my stiff-ass dick. Fingers skimmed along its length, stopping to play with the metal bar lodged through the head.

I slowly opened my eyes. The sun was beaming in through one of the windows, and all I could see out of it was an overly crowded skyline. The sun glinted from the windows of the concrete skyscrapers competing for space; only a few slivers of blue sky managed to peep between them. I’d almost forgotten that I was in New York City. I couldn’t really recall how she’d ended up with me, and I certainly had no idea what her fucking name was. To the best of my knowledge, I guessed she’d been at the club the night before. It wasn’t out of the usual at all for me to wake up with an unknown woman beside me. It was habitual. One day, I’d probably luck out and bring back a psycho that’d try to off me, but I’d worry about that when it happened. Most of the time the sex was worth that small risk—at least it usually was when I could remember it.

Do Iwant to look over and see what she looks like, or not? That’s one of the pluses about not letting them stay with you— you don’t have to look poor judgment in the face.

Her grip tightened, and she gently stroked me in her hand. “Good morning,” she whispered.

I grunted and closed my eyes again. I hated when they ended up staying the night. That was never the plan because it was so fucking awkward the next morning when I was sober and trying to piece together what all we’d done. I hated having to talk to them, having to listen to them go on and on about what a big fan they were. They’d all say fucking me was the most amazing thing that’d ever happened to them. Worst of all, I hated having them ask me if they could post the pictures from the night before on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Fangirls, they’re just dying to brag about having been bent over backwards and rammed by me, and rightfully so. It was quite the achievement.

Peeping through one halfway-opened eye, I saw a woman. Okay. Well, at least I got that right despite being completely wasted. She looked to be about twenty-four. And thank God. She’s legal. Her platinum blonde hair stuck up in all directions, and black rings of mascara were smudged underneath her eyes. This girl was an absolute mess. It was obvious I’d been there and had a good time marking my territory.

Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t bad looking, but she was absolutely no different than the rest of the other privileged rich girls whose daddies bought their horny daughters’ way into the VIP areas. When she smiled, nothing on her face moved. When she abruptly sat up and slid her way down to my dick, her unnaturally round tits didn’t budge either. It was evident she’d already started with the plastic surgery addiction. This was the kind of girl I was used to: fake, horny, and willing to do anything for a brush with fame.

A slight giggle bounced from her lips as she tugged the covers off my naked body.Her warm, slimy tongue, coated with morning breath germs traced up my shaft. The sensation sent a small tingle shooting up from my groin. I looked down to find her staring up at me, her eyes locked intimately on mine as she sucked half of me back into her throat.

I let out a short sigh. Leaning back, I shut my eyes, no hint of a smile on my face. The way she wrapppped her tongue around me felt damn good. Even though I had no interest in her being there, I wasn’t going to deprive her of the joy she’d get from watching me get off one more time. I tried not to be selfish with that privilege.

After just a few minutes of her head bobbing up and down, her hand twisting at just the right moments, and her choking on my length a few times, I felt my body relax. My legs stiffened up, and then my entire body heated from the overwhelming rush of endorphins coursing through me. It’s amazing how quickly orgasms come when you’re not strung out on coke, or a bottle of oxycodone, or speed. Quicker, but weak compared to the euphoria that drugs granted me.

When that initial warm and fuzzy feeling wore off, I was ready to get her the hell out of my hotel room. Sitting up, I said, “Thanks for the great blow job. Pretty sure the door’s still unlocked,” and I flung my naked ass back down across the bed.

I watched her blink a couple of times, shocked at how rude I was being. I mean, she had just given me the gift of oral pleasure, and who knows what I told her the night before. I may have promised her she could go on tour with us. She narrowed her eyes. Here comes the ‘OMG, I can’t believe what a bastard he is’ huff that chicks are so good at in 3, 2, 1... A loud breath flew out of her collagen plumped lips, and the springs of the mattress bounced as she hopped up. She mumbled to herself while gathering her things. I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling.

I tapped my finger in beat with her heels as they clicked across the tiled floors, and then they stopped. Raising my head from the pillow, I glanced up at her, arching one brow in disinterest. The girl, whose name I’d never bothered to ask for, glared at me for a minute before a smile inched across her face.

“I can’t believe this!” She fell silent and shook her head, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m,” she paused. “Getting kicked out of Jag Steele’s hotel room. OMG! This. Is. Amazing!” she squealed, and pulled her phone to her face, her fingers typing furiously and her grin growing wider by the second. My guess was she had to check in on Foursquare and let everyone know she’d just become the one-thousand, five hundred and sixty-seventh woman to have her tonsils rammed by me—or some number close to that. I sure as hell didn’t try to keep count anymore.

Her eyes darted up to me, and I could tell she was considering something. I caught her pointer finger creeping down the side of her phone, and I cleared my throat. “If you take a photo of me like this and post it, my lawyers will be in touch with you.” I shot the biggest, most asshole-ish smile I could shape over at her. “Got that, princess?”

Her excited expression relaxed. She managed to huff out a dejected, “Uh, yeah,” as she lowered her phone and dropped it into her purse. And there she stood, frozen, by the door.

Still nude, I rose and brushed past her, opening the door and circling my finger in the air before pointing directly out into the hallway. “Enjoy the rest of your day,” I said.

Ms. No-Name skirted through, taking one last glance at me over her shoulder before I shut the door.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I made my way to the bathroom. I flipped the light switch and gave my eyes a minute to adjust to the artificial light. Sometimes I felt guilty after I kicked a girl out like that. I didn’t use to be such a jackass. And during my fleeting moments of sobriety, I could recall that at one time I was actually nice, sometimes even shy. Funny how well-rehearsed you can become at being who everyone thinks you should be. There was no doubt that I was a different guy.

At this point, life just annoyed the shit out of me.

A few hours later I was leaning against a doorway, watching the interns scamper around with lattes and double shot espressos. My eyes traced over the black cords running from the cameras, and then up at the canned lights hanging from the ceiling. The bustling New York City crowd was visible through the large window at the far end of the room, constant movement of people going through their mundane daily routines. Every so often someone would stop, cup their hands around their face, and peer into the studio.

Two more hours until I had to be in front of those cameras, and my nerves were already tightly bundled up, my stomach uneasy. All I could think about was running to the bathroom and snorting a few lines real quick. The only problem with that was I didn’t have any coke—oh, and I was supposed to be clean.