Prince Of Lust (Princes Of Sin: The Seven Deadly Sins series Book 1)
Prince Of Lust: Chapter 2

When Sitri suggested we spend the weekend before the grand opening of the VIP floor in Las Vegas, I didn’t expect him to invite Orobas and Stolas to tag along. They’d been investing more time into The Deacon in the last ten years and had become regulars, but they were still expected to reign over their own domains.

In the third strip club of the night, Orobas paid the owner to allow us a private group dance with six dancers. It had taken only a small suggestion from Orobas for all of them to begin an orgy on the floor.

Stolas ignored the scene and focused on his phone. He had his own agenda for the trip to Sin City. He’d purchased a chain of dance and strip clubs and was finally in the position to merge with another wealthy club owner. The slimy human would be joining us on the next leg of the night, so Orobas was told to get his most urgent needs met before that happened. Stolas had said he needed his charismatic, witty business partner, not the chaotic Mr. Hyde who had entered the first two clubs.

“Are you finished with your puppets?” Stolas called over the top of his device.

Orobas scoffed, his head lifting from between a stripper’s breasts. “If you strain any tighter, that stick up your ass is going to manifest itself into a diamond just so you grant it mercy and retrieve it.”

I cocked a brow. The imagery of his odd phrase was disturbing and effective.

Stolas chuckled and pocketed his phone. They pushed each other constantly, but they were two of the most powerful men, and demons, on this plane. They’d never made a bad deal, and aside from a few dukes, they had the highest soul count to date, using their gifts and determination to dominate in every business venture they dipped their fingers into.

“You have ten minutes to play before our appointment,” Stolas warned as he stood up and straightened his suit. “I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t make a mess, Oro.”

A flash of perverse joy lit Orobas’ face, and I knew it was my cue to take Stolas’ lead and exit. I looked over to Sitri, whose lap was occupied by a male dancer grinding himself enthusiastically to the beat of the music. With each down beat, the dancer moaned and cursed as he brought himself closer to climax.

“I don’t have to admonish you of the importance of being discreet, do I?” I asked.

“The least I can do is allow my new friend to finish,” Sitri said. He stopped the man’s gyrating hips and looped his fingers into the dancer’s waistband to release a massive, throbbing cock. Sitri’s eyes rolled up to his companion’s, and an appreciative smirk lit his face. He took the member in both hands and guided it to his lips.

From behind me came the pants of pleasure and pain that Orobas was orchestrating.

For a brief moment, my cock pulsed an argument to stay and participate. But knowing Orobas, he would not stop at bringing the humans to pleasure, and I was wearing my favorite white suit.

Outside, the heat of the desert hadn’t pried its grip off the masses wandering the strip. Sweaty tourists passed in groups with obnoxious plastic cups in the shape of bongs, penises, and tropical fruits. Shouts from horny bachelor parties and middle-aged mortals trying to relive their youth filled the sidewalks.

The one being who stood still was leaning against the wall of the strip club, smoking a cigar.

“Too much fun for you, Watcher?” Stolas puffed at the thick tobacco stub and grinned at me through the smoke.

“Fucking humans to death isn’t the thrill I came for,” I said, joining him away from the hustling bodies.

“Orobas has missed Vegas. He’d go weeks without rest while we ruled over this region,” he recounted, a wistful memory in his eyes as he panned across the bright lights of the replicated monuments.

“And you? Do you miss Sin City?” I asked.

He took a long drag that lit his face in a dull red flicker. After a long pause, he let loose a practiced ring of smoke.

“It’s all the same,” he said, bored. “Las Vegas, L.A., New York, Paris. Every place is the same. Every human is the same. Squandering their short lives for the thrill of money and power.”

It was a surprising statement coming from the Prince of Greed. I didn’t think he would have seen it as a problem. It was his influence, after all, that drove men mad with that sort of power. He’d been the muse of materialism for as long as man had known currency.

“It sounds like you need a new thrill.” I had no suggestion to enrich his existential melancholy, not after my stint in an underwater prison for days.

Stolas shrugged and took another puff of his cigar, releasing the cloud of smoke up into a crown over his head. It hung low in the stagnant heat until the door to the club burst open and Sitri and Orobas bounded out in laughter. Orobas’ shirt and jacket hung over his arm, and his torso was covered in streaks of blood from the many fingertips that had likely begged for more even as they were taking their last breaths.

“Two minutes to spare. A new record, dear brother,” Stolas said with a mocking clap of his hands.

Sitri raked his fingers through his hair at my side, and together we watched Orobas shake out his shirt and put it on before doing the same to his jacket.

“In my defense, I left a few intact.” Orobas smiled with pride.

Sitri scoffed. “Finally learning some discipline. And they say you can’t teach an old demon new tricks.” Then he led us up the Strip to our next destination.

I followed them through casinos, bars, strip clubs, and terrible shows at Circus Circus. The weekend seemed unending between the three princes of chaos and deviancy. But through it all, Sitri retreated into himself only for brief moments, and that was enough of a reason for me to indulge him in whatever his urges guided him toward—including an orgy in our room with a bachelorette party that none of them would forget.

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