My Rich Hot and Infertile or Maybe Not Husband

Clair’s birthday party can be described in one phrase lavish as hell

Her friends had invited a bunch of hunky, top–notch male models to perform at the venue

Although they were supposed to be performing, their dance skills were nothing to write home about. But with all those muscle–bound men in nothing but shorts, they were hard to ignore

A glimpse around revealed nothing but glistening muscles, reminiscent of some risque strip clubs, sending the atmosphere through the roof.

Trisha stood up from the pool, about to snap some photos with her phone.

Nicolas pulled her back, hugging her from behind. “Your boyfriend’s right here. How about some respect for me?”

Trisha couldn’t care less about the “boyfriend” thing. She struggled and said, irritated, “I haven’t had a blast in ages. Now, I just want to let my hair down, and you’re stopping me. Are you even human?”

chest, whispering, “Am I not enough for you that you need

at you is one kind of pleasure. Looking at a dozen guys, well, that’s a dozen times the pleasure

to pick her up and walked out of the pool, Tll take you to watch.”

stood by, ready to ward off any pretty boy who dared

industry for a long time, Nicolas knew the ins and outs of

catch the eye of some rich folk and catapult their careers. They were nothing more than tools for the wealthy

his own birthday parties. They were good for livening up the atmosphere, but he never got too friendly with them as their backgrounds were often murky

were practically glued to the male models

were so skimpy they barely covered their essentials. It was enough to

red, whispered to Celeste,