Prince of Sin
by Cass Ford
Genre: Contemporary Romance
When a savvy gossip vlogger and porn’s most renowned bad boy fall in lust, they must decide if they’ll follow passion into dangerous territory.
When savvy gossip vlogger Morgan Sidney gets assigned the breakup of porn’s most illustrious couple, she strikes a deal with her boss—if she scores an exclusive, she’ll get promoted. So when the famous and flirtatious Prince of Sin offers to fulfill her three wildest sex fantasies, Morgan must decide whether she’ll keep things professional or surrender and explore her sensual side.
As someone who despises the media, why is Chase Prince spending time with a reporter? Clearly, he’s intrigued. But can a scorched sinner—and the biggest smut star around—let a fierce civilian enter his domain?
Prince of Sin takes readers beyond Tinseltown’s glossy Hollywood Hills to Silicone Valley—for a behind-the-scenes look at a sometimes bleak, always risqué world.
After watching young Martini McPie accept the Prince of Sin’s face shot a day prior, Morgan needed a reminder that she owned her own sexuality. She took a rejuvenating exercise class and hurried to work to finesse her exclusive. In the car, she held a country music sing-along dance party to celebrate choosing her next beat. Entering Slander just after 9 a.m., she strode keenly toward her desk.
“Morgan!” bellowed a too-familiar voice as Chase Prince emerged from behind a pillar. “Or is it Barbie now?” Stalking forward, he unfurled for a hug.
Startled, she nearly flung backward but quickly regained composure and swerved around him to her desk. On set she’d succumbed to his charms, but Slander was her turf.
Chase followed, hovering.
Omigod, Sean mouthed from his desk, faux fanning himself hysterically.
“I have one hundred things to do,” she told Chase assertively, perusing a file folder.
“Make me number one-oh-one?” he asked, smirking.
She glanced up as he winked. “I’d rather pass a kidney stone.” Her fierce dark eyes pierced the man who helmed the industry that plagued her. Standing upright, she glowered toughly.
“I’m kidding,” he insisted. “But joking aside, can we chat?”
Acknowledging the room, Morgan found numerous colleagues staring. Who could blame their intrigue as the Prince of Sin stood by her cubicle, attempting to flirt? To avoid a dramatic scene, Morgan clasped his bicep, which literally bulged, so she opted for his forearm and guided him toward the conference room.
“Who’s Barbie Blue?” he asked.
“My pseudonym,” she whispered. Barbie was her deceased paternal grandmother, the resilient single mother who’d raised her father. And blue was simply her favorite color. “I don’t need my respected family to learn I’m covering the seediest biz on earth.”
Chase furrowed his brow as Morgan pulled him inside and shut a solid wooden door. “Don’t you have someplace to be?” she asked. “Teenagers lined up to sit on your face?”
Her sass made his dick twinge. Attempting to ignore it, he skipped to the point. “Your fact checker called my agent. Could you not use that one Viola Emperor quote? The one I said off record?”
“Funny,” she stated. “I specified that everything was on record.”
Determined to negotiate, he attempted an adorable, pouty baby face. “Please. I beg, I plead.”
“Oh, all right!” Morgan agreed facetiously, eyes bright.
Reading her perky, exaggerated expression, he asked, “Really?”
“No,” she chortled.
His pout deepened.
“Ech. Do girls actually fall for that?” She pinched his cheek condescendingly. “Darling, you’re cute as a button. But we’re done here.”
As she grabbed the doorknob, he tried to stop her by placing a firm, strong hand over hers. Morgan paused with a shiver and gnawed her lower lip. Chase noticed her nibbling and grinned, delighting in her reaction to his touch. She blinked rapidly and whipped her hand free.
“I could lose my job,” Chase begged.
“Oh no! The Prince of Sin will lose his loyal following of horny adolescent girls,” Morgan mocked. “That quote makes you sound sharp.”
“Sounding sharp isn’t something I care about.”
“I care about remaining employed,” he explained. “And that quote puts my career at stake.”
“My career’s at stake too,” she said. “My boss is a dick. And I deserve a promotion.”
His dick twitched again. Her drive excited him, confusingly because he also couldn’t stand her.
“My idiot fact checker shouldn’t have mentioned that clip. Stupid interns.”
Chase clasped her shoulder. “That sounds stressful, Morgan.”
Inhaling deeply, she breathed in his refreshingly sudsy scent. Her name flowed from his mouth like honey dripping from a spoon, sugary and inviting, though not sweet enough to pull the best quote.
He massaged her neck from behind. “It must be stressful for a smart, sexy career woman to deal with idiot interns and a dickhead boss.”
“Yes, it is.” Morgan unwound as his sturdy thumb expertly loosened a shoulder blade knot. “I don’t understand how these morons get promoted and I—” She inhaled his spearmint toothpaste with a touch of whiskey and wondered if the booze was remnants from a fresh morning pick-me-up or a wild night out. Spotting his hand on her shoulder, she bit her lip. A tiny, curious part of her considered succumbing to his intoxicating spell and expert fingers. But her sensibilities prevailed. She harrumphed hotly and scowled.
Chase threw his arms back defensively but refused to step away. “I’m innocent,” he feigned.
“Until proven guilty,” she suggested.
He inched closer, backing her into the door. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“You have nothing I desire.”
“Not even sex in public?” he answered, planting his hands on either side of her head. “That seems like something you desperately desire.”
She bit her lip again.
“And your colleagues are right outside.” His face inched closer, like an erotically charged magnet. “I’d gladly explore your top three fantasies.”
“Top three?” Morgan hollered boisterously. “What are you, a genie?”
“Only if you’ll rub my magic lamp,” he said with a wink.
She wanted to huff and sneer with a bitchy side-eye while cackling in his face. But her treacherous clit craved attention. It took every ounce of willpower not to nibble his full lower lip just an inch away. Determined, she ducked under his arm and moved aside. To refrain from literally swooning, she leaned on the conference table.
His prying eyes scanned her trim figure. “You should probably get back to those hundred things,” he said, twisting the doorknob. “Here’s my personal number.” Chase handed over a business card. “Maybe we can continue this sometime. Depending on what you decide to post, of course.”
He exited, leaving her to catch a shaky breath.
Cass Ford began creating smoldering male protagonists when she was five years old and convinced her aunt that she had a hot and heavy kindergarten boyfriend. In grade school, she penned tales on her parents’ typewriter and by middle school sold her own love and gossip magazines to friends. As a preteen at sleepover camp, Cass often told playful, steamy bedtime stories to her bunkmates.
After earning her Bachelor of Journalism degree and several TV/film certificates, Cass continued to hone her passion for storytelling as a television development producer. Born and raised in Canada, she now resides in California.