The Manwhore | Pierre Gasly

Chapter Three

After four days, Pierre realised that finding someone nowadays wasn't as easy as he had thought and it showed negatively in his mood, causing Pyry to point out during a training session that they would find his Cinderella sooner if he wouldn't had only thought with his dick and actually asked for his name which only wounded the Frenchman's ego further. 

He was an asshole while being charming, he had understood the lecture. She had already knocked his ego down a few inches, no need for his performance coach to do the same. Pierre had told him to shut up, that Ella as they nicknamed her didn't matter to him at all. Why would she? But he couldn't deny that it frustrated him to a certain extent and the people around him had begun to feel it and tease him about his Ella. God, he hoped that wasn't her real name.

At first, he really wanted to only give her the booklet back, but by the third day, he tried to find her to prove something. To make a point and let her know about his opinion of her, just as she had pushily let him know about hers.

Thinking about it for too long, it had felt as if they had gone on a date only for her to dumb him. Pierre didn't do either. He didn't go on dates, and he didn't get dumped by ugly ducklings. Somehow, he felt violated. It was his free will to be a manwhore as she had said, nothing wrong with it. He was young wild and free. He should be a whore. He should fuck around before settling down. She had no right to make him feel bad about his lifestyle. A girl like her would never understand.

The time spent in his mind hadn't been healthy. The Frenchman felt the need to make her believe that he wasn't what she claimed him to be and then he felt the need to make her understand that he was exactly what she claimed him to be and that he didn't give a fuck whether she thought it was okay or not. Her opinion didn't matter to him. He was young, hot and rich. She was a no one, never had met him before, so anger mixed into the many complicated feelings he had for the unknown woman. How dare she have an opinion about him? He would find her and if it was only to tell her to go fuck herself, it would be good.

He was so bothered and on edge about the whole situation that he had decided to simply forget her. A no one. He didn't even know a name to forget which was even better and what could be a sweeter way to forget a woman than with a lot of alcohol and another?

So he went out with the intention of finding some girl to spend the night with and unsurprisingly fast he had a few girls at his side, each and every one of them willing, beautiful and young, all he had to do now was pick one but where would be the fun in bringing her home, both of the sober, so Pierre did his uttermost to change that.

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Her name was Samantha, but she told him to only call her Sam. He hated himself for asking. Before meeting Ella, he would have never done so. And now he knew already more about this woman than he wanted to know.

Laying on the bed next to her, they both tried to catch their breaths. Sam had bedded her head on the Frenchman's arm but got disturbed as Pierre moved to climb out of bed, causing her to huff in annoyance which caused him to roll his eyes before he walked into the bathroom.

She was boring, plain almost. Nothing witty about her and her eyes weren't coming even close to hers either. He despised her for how average she was despite being that beautiful. All endlessly long legs and fake boobs. Everything he normally enjoyed.

Standing by the skin in the bathroom, he was her from the corner of his eyes. The chick shook her head at him as she watched the ceiling for a moment, before she popped herself up on her elbows, grimacing as she looked down at herself and saw the mess Pierre made.

"Here, let me." Pierre's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts as Pierre sat down next to her before she smirked up at him and let her legs fall open with her eyes intensely on him, but Pierre ignored her while starting to clean her up.