Just Friends: A Summer Fling With A Billionaire Heir

by Cynthia Dane

  I mention that because a couple years ago there was this guy who brought in blow and fucked someone. The blow got him in big trouble with the establishment. Sort of illegal, you know. The fucking? Oh, that’s common. From the moment you walk into the main room past a thousand bouncers and security guards, it’s a free for all. Guys getting their cocks sucked and women being fingered beneath tables.

  Mostly, though, it’s a bunch of drinking with friends and business associates. Doms and subs hook up, but aside from the exhibitionists, things are taken home or into private rooms that people reserve. The club provides implements in case you forgot yours at home. Isn’t that nice?

  I like the club because I feel like I can be myself. I can relax here, especially with my friend Eva, who is a Domme like me.

  A lesbian Domme, so, you know, she’s got a few more things to be wary about.

  “You need another one of these,” she says, holding up our empty shot glasses. She flags a server dressed in a tight leather skirt and a shiny tube top. Soon Eva and I are taking another shot. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it burns my esophagus and numbs my brain. I’ve already told her about what happened today, and holy shit am I glad I have someone to unload on right now… and someone to load me up with alcohol.

  I don’t really want to get drunk. What I want is sex. That’s the high I prefer.

  Pretty sure though that Eva is here to get plastered. She’s in grad school, and taking it seriously so she can be like me and join her family’s business… and grad school is no joke. I don’t envy her. Like I said, the last time I cried like I did today was when I was in school. Eva doesn’t cry, though. She gets shitfaced.

  “This shit is great.” I turn down one more shot, but she gets another, downing it in one gulp before relaxing in her chair with a cigar. All right, I admit it. She’s damn hot, especially when she’s throwing her weight around and acting like a bigger big shot than me. Personality wise, that’s how Eva Warren is. Butchy, commanding, and not afraid to get in someone’s face if they give her shit for who she is. There aren’t many lesbians in our circles. Something she’s all too familiar with.

  I like her not because we’re similar in age, but because she’s hilarious and knows how to make a girl feel better after a shit day at work.

  “The Andrews will forget about it soon enough, Kat.” She’s the only one who can get away with calling me that. I’m pretty sure any lesbian can refer to me as a kitty and get away with it. I ain’t sleeping with them, but come on, what girl doesn’t like to feel special by non-threatening people? Eva kicks ass, but she’s one of the least threatening people I know. Well, as long as you’re not a man trying to fuck her over. “They know you’re good for it. As long as you don’t blow the public presentation, they won’t give a shit. Everyone knows they wanna sell that place. Even my brother thought about buying it until he heard the Mathers were lifting their legs on that hydrant.”

  “Thanks for the visual.” Last thing I need to imagine is Ian unzipping his pants and pissing on the side of The Grand. Prematurely. “You don’t get it, though. It was so embarrassing. I don’t know how I left those papers on my table like that. I must have taken them out when looking for something else.”

  “Probably. When you get nervous, you can be forgetful.”

  “Aren’t most people?”

  Eva shrugs, lining up our empty shot glasses and counting them with her fingers. Over half of them are hers, because that woman can hold her liquor. Not me. I’m flushed after two shots and that glass of wine. Think I’ll order a martini to nurse for a while.

  “I know what you need.” Eva wags her finger across the tiny table. “You need a honey for tonight.”

  Well, duh, why does she think we’re here? We could get a drink anywhere. I could’ve driven to her family’s house out of town or to her in-town apartment if I wanted to shoot the breeze and drink. Instead we’re at The Dark Hour, because this is where people like us come if we want to take out our problems the healthy BDSM way.

  The place is crawling with men. Most of them, whether they Dom or sub, aren’t bad to look at. The Doms wear their cut suits made of fine Italian materials or shit as good. You can smell their cologne from a mile away, and it smells amazing. Their hair is pressed. Some of them are here with their lovers. I can see James Merange and his long-term girlfriend Gwen. They’re regulars here like me. They’re having dinner with another couple, but from my vantage point up in the balcony I can see Gwen’s hand making a run for James’s cock beneath the table.

  Dude’s got a nice one. I’ll give him that.

  There are a few other people I recognize from the rich world of the elite I was born into. Stock traders, bankers, businessmen, politicians, movie stars, pretty much anyone with the pedigree or paychecks to qualify for a place like this. The Dark Hour takes its safety and confidentiality seriously. You’re not getting in unless you make multiple zeros at the end of your bank account. Basically, not unless you’ve got some serious prestige to lose if word gets out. Collateral damage.

  We understand that. We don’t care. We need a place to party and fuck like anyone else.

  Those are the Doms, anyway. The submissive men come from a very different walk of life. Sure, some of them are rich. Others are guys who are working their way up. Others are professional subs who make their living off performances. There are so many Doms in this world that the club encourages subs of lesser means to join and make regular appearances to basically get laid. It’s a great gig if you’re poorer and looking for a hot sugar mama or daddy. The club doesn’t discriminate. Gay, straight, bi… it’s all good as long as you’re respectful about it.

  There’s one guy I’ve got my eye on. Guy’s ripped in that male model sort of way. Probably is a male model. He’s wearing leather pants, shirtless, sitting cross-legged on a pillow with his shoulders slightly slouched and a simple collar around his neck. The kind that says he subs but has no permanent partner. I assume most of those guys are gay, since they usually are, but this one has put out his feelers on a couple of women already and I’ve got a good feeling. In my pants, that is.

  All I want is a hot guy to crawl on top of and ride until I forget how much today sucked. I don’t even need to whip him, unless that’s what he really wants. Maybe that’s what I’ll put out tonight. “Hey, you,” I’ll say, “I’ll give you a great handjob and wrap my pussy around your cock if you shut up and let me.”

  Eva follows my gaze down into the main gallery. “Someone wants to get laid,” she says. Cigar smoke filters past my nose, but I’m too lost in my fantasies of Mr. Handsome down there. I bet he has a big one. I’ll make him eat me out until I’m wet enough to take all of him. “Can’t say I blame you. If I weren’t cramping like a bitch I’d be out of here already.”

  Too much information, but that’s Eva. You should hear her story about the time she went down on a… never mind. “I would ask if it’s that obvious, but…”

  “You asked me here, didn’t you? If you say let’s go to The Dark Hour, I will assume that you’re looking for some cock to ride. After hearing about your day? I’m shocked you’re not already getting out your crop and smacking some ass down there.”

  “I need to gather up the energy to do that first.”

  Eva finishes up her cigar and stands, straightening out her suit and checking her impeccable hair with her hands. If I were into girls, I’d be into someone like her. Sometimes I grumble that I can’t force myself to be bisexual. Eva and I would be a hilariously kinky and troublemaking couple. Now that gay marriage is legal? Can you say bigger power couple than the Andrews? Ugh, now I’m thinking about today again.

  “Stick around, Kat. I’ll scope out some pretty boys for you.”

  “Not too pretty. I like muscles on mine.”

  “Muscles and a big cock. Should be easy enough to find. Hang tight.”

  I don’t think she’s going to actually find me anyone, but Eva saunters off, half-drunk
but putting on the air of sobriety. She needs the alcohol if she’s going to survive this club by herself. Although with my luck, she’ll find a woman and leave me in the dust. If Eva can sniff out someone willing to get Topped by her, she will find them.

  That martini I’ve been thinking about is mine within five minutes. I attempt to enjoy the peace I now have in an otherwise loud club. Helps that Eva and I got here early and secured our quaint VIP space upstairs. Looking back down into the main gallery, I see a nice party has started. Business dealings are over. Now people are plastered enough to holler at every blowjob and spanking they see.

  More high profile people are arriving. I focus on a familiar face, and soon recognize up and coming actress Stephanie May. If you don’t know her, she was an indie darling for a few years before a big director casted her in a moderate success. She got a few accolades, and because she’s a hot skinny blonde she gets lots of offers now. There’s talk she’s going to be in the adaptation for one of those YA dystopians. Don’t ask me which one. The only books I have time to read anymore are business insiders and the occasional erotic short on my tablet. Last time I read anything with substance was, I dunno, Gone Girl? Fuck, what happened in that book?

  I can’t remember. Partly because the man holding Stephanie’s hand is no one else but Ian Mathers, and I’m trapped between pure surprise and disgusted.

  Of course he’s dating a young movie starlet. I mean, Ian is a total freakin’ playboy. Everyone knows it. He goes through girlfriends – sometimes more than one at a time – like I go through chocolate when I’m PMSing. I can’t keep track of these girls….

  …Not that I am, mind you. It’s not like I care how many women he parades around, or who he gets photographed with for Page 6. He’s one of those guys who is super public with his life. Doesn’t hide from cameras. Isn’t afraid to get up and say something. He’s always been that way too. For a while he was on the student council in high school. Captain of the soccer team. He is a natural leader like that, and nobody was surprised when he started doing so well in his parents’ companies. Why wouldn’t he?

  I’m the opposite. I didn’t run for anything in high school. I barely played sports past some stints at volleyball. Thing is, I was riding the coattails of my parents. There was never any doubt that I would get into the school of my choice – my dad only needed to write the right check if I couldn’t get in on my own merits. Don’t get me wrong. I got good grades. I applied myself where I felt like it. Only now I have to apply myself harder to prove to myself, my parents, and the business world that this woman can do just as well as anyone else. And then I do shit like I did this morning.

  I look away from Ian and his arm candy. They’re talking to a few other people, and he’s got his arm wrapped around her like they’re gonna bone any moment. Probably will. Ian is no stranger to the private rooms in the back.

  Neither am I. That’s beside the point. See, it’s okay if I sleep around. It’s totally different when he does it.

  Don’t ask me why. Just… every time I see him with a woman, I’m angry. Not on a tirade, but definitely uneasy.

  I’m not jealous.

  Jealousy would imply I wish I were Stephanie May. Let me tell you, the type of woman who wraps herself up in a man’s arms, coos in his ear, and begs to be bent over and pummeled right in the pussy? That ain’t me. That won’t ever be me.

  Excuse you, I am not protesting too much.

  Chapter 4

  IAN

  The party is alive tonight. From the moment I walked in with Stephanie, we’ve been bombarded with slews of people who want to say hi and buy us drinks. Normally I’m the man buying the drinks. I am definitely buying Stephanie’s drink.

  Let me introduce you to my date for the evening. Stephanie May is a lovely woman, and not just on the outside, although that certainly attracted me first. She’s got a model’s body. Not the kind you’re thinking about. I’m talking ‘90s model, with perky breasts and the kind of hips you want to clutch and squeeze. The way she saunters in her shimmery dress is so enticing that it’s a wonder I’m not caveman dragging her to one of the private rooms right now.

  Later. She knows what this place is, although it’s her first time here. Furthermore, she knows why I brought her here.

  We haven’t had sex yet. This is only our second date, the first being the night before she had an early morning movie shoot, so we didn’t get any farther than some kissing and me groping that hot ass. Don’t ask me where this ‘relationship’ is going. It’s not one yet. I’m dating around with other women, and she’s linked with some producer in the tabloids. We’re casual right now.

  Casual, but I have every intention of seeing her on my cock by the end of the night.

  She laughs at one of James Merange’s jokes. Her voice is mirthful, if not a bit shrill, but right now I can overlook that. Honeymoon phase, if you will.

  We’re sitting in an open area. Our tables are covered in drinks. Mostly we’re lounging on leather couches and silk pillows that allow us to kick up our legs, fondle some thighs and breasts, and pretend that nobody gives a shit. Most of the sexy action is happening in the back, but up here it’s not unusual to see a woman stroking a guy’s cock through his pants or for those same women to suddenly go topless. Stephanie isn’t gonna do that, but…

  Yup. Gwen’s tits are out within a half hour and two drinks on her part. James is a lucky bastard. He knows it, too, gauging how he can’t take his eyes off them and whispers shit about sucking her nipples in her ear. Get her another drink, James, and she might blow you right here in front of us.

  If Stephanie is uncomfortable, she’s not letting on. I pegged her as kinky, or at least curious about kink, and tonight I hope to see how submissive she’s willing to go. I do love regular sex with the right one-night-stand. Yet if Stephanie and I are going to keep dating, I need someone who will offer me…more, if you will.

  “How’d the meeting with the Andrews go today?” James asks, acting as if his girlfriend’s breasts aren’t doing anything for him. Brother, I can see what’s going on in your pants. I’m not saying I’m looking, but it’s rather hard to not notice. “Everyone’s been talking about this project of yours. And the Alison’s, I suppose.”

  I sit up, dangling my drink between my legs since we’re apparently talking business now. Stephanie remains beside me, sipping her own drink and also trying to not stare at James’s erection. The only person staring at it is Gwen. Down, girl!

  “I have no idea how to describe that meeting. Everything went swimmingly until Kathryn Alison botched her end of the presentation.”

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “You say that, but you don’t know her as well as I do.” We’re a bit before James’s time. I can’t remember how old he is, exactly, but he must be mid-30s. Even I’m not thirty yet. “Kathryn Alison can be a bit absentminded.” The woman is stressed out of her mind. I give her hell, but I’m not blind. She thinks she has a lot to prove, and I don’t doubt she almost threw up when her father assigned her that presentation.

  “That’s too bad. Did you lose the bid?”

  “No. Worse. The Andrews want to get community approval on the project, so we have to present it to a public council two weeks from now.”

  “Wow. Brutal.”

  “We can handle it.” By “we,” I mean my father and me. No doubt my father is talking to Spencer Alison right now about his daughter’s momentous fuckup earlier today. With any luck, Spencer will come out of semi-retirement to deal with the next presentation.

  Gwen wraps her hand around her boyfriend’s thigh and whispers something in his ear. He clears his throat. I look at Stephanie, who is politely checking her phone messages from the depths of her purse.

  Sure enough, within a few minutes tipsy Gwen has convinced her Dom to take her onto the empty stage in the middle of the lower gallery and play with her. I knew the woman was an exhibitionist, and I meet Stephanie’s eyes to ga
uge her response.

  “She’s pretty,” she says, slowly scooting toward me. There’s a magnet between us. My hand goes over hers the moment Gwen gets a slap on her ass and a groan in her throat. People are cheering. Why not? Every time Gwen is spanked, her tits jiggle, and that makes everyone happy. “This place is fun.”

  My date has no idea.

  We stay in the gallery long enough to watch Gwen be stripped naked and have her nipples clamped. The look on her face is exquisite. Pain. Pleasure. Her undying love for her Dom as he strokes her hair before pulling it. The moans falling from her lips sound so heavenly that I can barely contain myself. I’m a man. I’m human. Between seeing that woman’s nipples harden with every spank and hearing her excitement when her Dom bites her shoulder…

  “You enjoying the show?” Stephanie’s hand is on my leg. My cock is halfway to full attention, the blood rushing to it as it realizes it’s in a room full of beautiful, horny women who want exactly the sort of thing I serve. “Because I think you are, Ian.”

  I don’t have to ask. Stephanie May, one of the hottest actresses in the world right now, has her hand on my dick and is purring in my ear. Now I’m 100% hard, and it’s killing me.

  Don’t listen to what Kathryn tells you. I have full control over my erectile faculties. I’ve had twelve years since that incident to learn how to control myself. And I can. I’ve gone without orgasm for hours while my balls turned so blue I nearly rammed my cock into my partner so hard that she cried – in a good way, thanks.

  So it’s no problem for Stephanie to be nibbling on my ear and stroking my cock through my pants while I watch Gwen have her clit rubbed to erupting orgasm on the stage. We’re in a sex club, for fuck’s sake. Plenty of these people have seen me being pleasured before. The tabloids are always running stories about me, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors if you believe them, getting hummers and anal from this model or that businessman’s hot daughter. Sometimes they’re true. Usually they’re… exaggerated.