They heard a car pull up and, yet again, it was Erica who was first to the window. “No Lamborghini this time,” she said. “But I think you’ll like it.”
Megan peeked through the front windows, almost reluctantly, and saw that their ride this evening was a gleaming, black limousine. “Wow.”
“You have to admit, he keeps trying, even after you let him...”
“Enough!” Megan found her purse, attached earrings and smoothed herself down. “How do I look?”
Erica studied the brunette’s shapely figure, the way the dress accentuated all of her best features, and the sensuous wave formed by her hair. “If I were a guy,” Erica admitted, “I’d totally fuck you.”
“Thanks, honey. Don’t wait up, OK?” Megan grabbed her packed overnight bag and headed for the door.
“No, no. I’ll be fine with re-runs of Veronica Mars and a tub of Haagen Dazs. Don’t you worry about me.”
It was almost a repeat of the beginning of their first date, and Megan was almost equally nervous. This time, she saw at once, Jake wore a custom-made dark suit, and had on aviators against the early evening sun.
“Hi Jake,” she said, doing her best to sound unruffled in circumstances which were anything but. Always with this one and the fancy cars. Is he still trying to convince me that he’s rich?
“You look amazing... again,” Jake said, kissing her on the cheek, but then dispelled the formality and softly pressed his lips to hers. He tasted slightly of mint and he smelled amazing. “Care to take a seat in the back?”
Jake opened the door to reveal a plush, leather interior which was surprisingly spacious, even given the stretched chassis. Once they were both seated, Jake called through to the driver. “OK, Manny. Ready when you are.”
“Yes sir, Mr. McMahon,” Manny replied in an eastern European accent. “I’ll have you there in no time.”
Megan fixed Jake with her gaze as the car took off. “Where’s ‘there’ tonight, Jake?”
The young entrepreneur straightened his deep-red tie. “Would you mind if we retained the element of mystery for just a little longer?” he pleaded. “I enjoy surprises, especially if I’m not the one being surprised.”
“OK. I’ll indulge you, just this once.”
They caught up on recent news, though Megan was careful not to mention Tom or Andrea, despite their importance in her life. “How was the New York trip?”
“Oh, fine. I was meeting with some investors, and they seem eager to sign up.”
“Sign up to what?” Megan wanted to know.
Jake drew a diagram with his fingers in the air. “Well, one of the biggest problems in getting broadband internet to developing nations is the lack of infrastructure. There’s demand, and plenty of local companies ready to run the network, but no-one prepared to invest in building the network in the first place. Right?”
“With you so far.”
“These investors are of the ‘high-risk, high-yield’ variety. Real go-getters. But they’re also people who are tired of seeing others get cold feet when it comes to working in poorer parts of the world.”
“Understandable, though, isn’t it?” Megan offered.
Jake nodded. “It certainly has been, in the past. But these days, you’re basically taking no greater a risk operating in Burundi or in Cameroon than you are in Brazil or China. Part of my salesmanship,” he said, palms spread in a gesture somewhat resembling ‘jazz hands’, “is to persuade investors that the old stereotypes are exactly that. These are countries with the rule of law, and real potential.”
“And it’s working?”
He nodded again. “I’m awaiting some confirmation, but I’m pretty sure we can go ahead and break ground on the first fiber-optic cables in the history of Laos.”
“Impressive,” Megan said. “Are there many Laotians with Facebook?”
“There will be, once it’s up and running. At first, it’s mainly for the universities and government departments, so that they can more easily exchange information with the rest of the world.”
Outside the tinted windows, the sun was beginning to set over Boston. Megan recognized where they were, though she hadn’t traveled through this area much. “Wait, isn’t this the way to the...”
“You’ll see,” was all he said. Within minutes, though, Megan’s suspicions were confirmed.
“Jake?” she said, her face deliberately dark with half-feigned worry.
The car came to a halt and he reached for the door handle, but stopped short for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you have a fear of flying.”
“I have a fear of uncertainty,” she countered. “Want to let me in on the plan?”
He sat back, took a breath. “Can we leave it like this? I’m taking you somewhere I think you’ll love, and I promise to have you back by morning.” He looked into her eyes, hoping to see the trust he craved. “Deal?”
Megan slid a lock of hair behind her ear and said, “Done”.
“Outstanding. Thanks, Manny,” Jake called through to the driver. “I’ve got your number for tomorrow morning.”
“Any time you need, Mr. McMahon. I’ll let Phil know you’re on your way.”
Boston’s Logan Airport on a Saturday evening in spring was pretty busy, but Jake led Megan through a couple of hallways and into a much quieter area of the terminal building. They passed long lines of people waiting to check in or drop bags, and seemed to bypass anything but the most basic security.
“Friends in high places?” Megan asked. “Or do you just have so many air miles they don’t make you check in anymore?”
“Check in for what?” he asked, and opened a door. To Megan’s amazement, the door led straight out onto the tarmac, where a small, sleek jet was waiting. “No check-in here, Megan. It’s just us.”
Jake led her up the stairs and into the aircraft. “A private jet,” she breathed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Jet, yes,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Kidding, no.” Up front in the cockpit, Jake warmly greeted a tall man with close-cropped, blonde hair. “Megan, I want you to meet Captain Harry Murphy, US Air Force, Retired. Cap, this is Megan.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Megan,” said the Captain with impeccable manners. He had the look of someone who could handle absolutely anything. And probably had.
“Cap, we can push whenever ATC gives the go. We’re on schedule right now but we mustn’t let things slip, OK?”
“Roger,” he said simply.
“Megan, why don’t we get you strapped in?” Jake led her aft into a spacious sitting area with two large armchairs, one on each side of the cabin. “Usual stuff. Oxygen masks come out of here, life vest is under here. But we won’t be needing either of those. Far more important,” he said with a flourish, “is this.” Jake opened a side cabinet containing a chilled bottle of the best Champagne, and two glasses.
“Wow,” was all the stunned brunette could manage.
“Would you excuse me for a moment? The FAA insists I help with take-off, but then I’ll be right back.”
Jake purposely left the door open so that his clipped, professional Air Traffic Control responses were audible to Megan who gradually, and with an enormous, lasting thrill, began to get used to her surroundings. Way to impress a girl, Mr. McMahon.
Megan understood nothing of what was being said, until the patently obvious, “Golf Sierra Three Five, you are cleared for takeoff, runway one five”. The plane’s engines rose from a softly whining idle to a screeching, roaring full throttle and the jet dashed along the runway and smoothly into the orange glow of the evening sky.
True to his word, Jake left Captain Murphy to fly the jet, closed the cockpit door – “Regulations,” he insisted – and opened the bottle of Champagne.
“To us, and to a really nice evening,” Jake said, clinking glasses with Megan.
She looked thoughtfully out of the window. “If the sun is on our right,” Megan was figuring out, “that means we’re heading south.
Right?”
Jake enjoyed her sleuthing. “True. So, you know we’re not going to Maine, or Canada.”
“And you promised to have me back by morning, so we’re not going to some beach in South America.”
Jake stopped, mid-sip. “No, but that’s a fantastic idea. Let me tell Murphy. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Megan grabbed him before he could stand up. “Florida?” she asked.
“Why don’t we make it a game?” Jake proposed. “You guess a city, or a state, and if you’re wrong, you have to lose one item of clothing.”
Megan blushed beautifully. “I’m not actually wearing that many,” she replied. “Dress, bra, panties, shoes...”
“Jewelry,” Jake added.
“Five, then. OK... How wrong was I about Florida?”
“Too far south. Shoes off, please.” Jake knelt by her seat and helped slip her heels off.
Megan had thought to object, but decided to do as she was told. She was equal parts excited to be being whisked away, enticed by the novelty of flirting on a private jet, and turned on by the thought of sequentially surrendering her clothes to Jake. “OK, let me think... Washington DC?”
“Still too far south. Want some help with your bra?”
She growled playfully, letting him unzip her dress part way. “Dammit.” Her bra came free, and she wriggled it off.
“What’s next? Remember, your panties are at stake.”
“I was thinking New York but, even for you, it’s a little close for the indulgence of a plane ride.”
“Is that your guess?” Jake asked, his fingertips tracing her leg.
“No. It’s too easy. Let’s say... erm... something less obvious? I’m going to guess Charlottesville. It’s beautiful there and they have a lot of good restaurants.”
Jake said nothing, but simply held out his hand.
“Oh, God damn it, Jake.”
“Hand them over,” he said, fingers beckoning.
“Come and get them,” she smiled back, her eyes full of desire.
Jake smiled broadly, lustfully, and then slid his hands slowly up Megan’s dress. “With the greatest of pleasure.”
***
Megan’s journey from La Guardia to Midtown was partly spent gazing slack-jawed out of the window, and partly trying to keep her hands off Jake.
There had been just enough time on the plane for them to reach a gasping sexual crescendo before Jake was required back in the cockpit for landing. Both washed up in the plane’s small but well-appointed bathroom, and found that Phil’s limo was waiting for them. Since then, thoughts of food and sex had bonded enjoyably in Megan’s mind; at present, she couldn’t be sure for which she was hungrier.
Herculeo was a new and ambitious investment by one of Jake’s clients who had seen, from the outset, something truly to be admired in its up-and-coming chef, Dieter Baumgartner. Young, crackling with energy and seemingly happy only when making, eating or talking about food, Dieter welcomed each of the eight highly select diners to his private dining area on the 18th floor of a midtown tower which offered spectacular – Dieter called them ‘commanding’ – views of the world’s most exciting city.
“This can’t be your first time in New York?” the chef asked Megan, amazed.
“I’ve done the tourist things, but I’ve never really gotten to know the city,” she confessed.
Dieter was so taken aback that he poured himself a comically large brandy, just to dull the shock. “Well, I’m sure Herr McMahon is more than capable of showing you New York,” he commented in a relaxed German accent which carried none of the guttural throatiness she had expected. “I, On the other hand, am here to show you some mind-melting food.”
Dieter did not disappoint, as was his fast-growing reputation. Hot lobster Vichyssoise and an almost impossibly delicate oak-smoked salmon were their initial starters, brought by a highly experienced, black-suited wait staff. There were escalopes of abalone, flown in from California that afternoon. Wine flowed, a small glass for each step of the lavish, almost confusingly sumptuous meal.
“Take little bites of everything,” was Jake’s advice. “Tonight is Dieter’s culinary concerto, in lots and lots of very short movements.”
Megan got to know her fellow diners both through discussing the food, and their genuine interest in her as Jake’s partner for the evening. Her only flutter of concern was that she might not measure up well to the other women with whom they had seen him, but she was able to put her worries aside. For his part, Jake was attentive and helpful amid the occasionally mystifying array of dishes and wines, and was at pains to stress Megan’s gifts as a nurse and a pianist. Megan was unsure whether it was the wine, the easy company, the unbelievable sex on the plane or simply the best food she’d ever had, but half way through the meal, she decided that she officially felt absolutely wonderful.
The venison, presented as pan-seared mignon and partnered with celeriac cakes, was Megan’s favorite. Jake seemed to have some kind of taste orgasm when presented with the hickory-smoked duck, and then another when trying the braised pheasant with chanterelle risotto. As he and Megan tried the profiteroles together, and then succumbed to the magic of Dieter’s simply perfect apple strudel, Megan felt his hand on hers, there between them on the table, and found it the most natural thing in the world.
The others were moving on to a downtown bar for late cocktails, but Jake made their excuses. “Simply charming,” one elderly guest commented to Jake, clearly content with his choice of date. “We do hope we’ll see you again.”
They spent a long moment gazing over the city from this stunning vantage point. A stream of lights expressed the city’s traffic, silent from up here, while gazing down the ‘canyon’ formed by the skyscrapers either side of the avenue, Megan could have persuaded herself that this was an alien city, and not one made so famous by movies and books that she almost felt she knew it already. Reluctant to rush her, but filled with the need to be alone, Jake made sure they had the chance to say goodbye to Dieter before taking the elevator down and meeting up with Phil at their limo.
It wasn’t until the jet was airborne once more, and angling back north towards Boston, that Megan and Jake were able to enjoy the final course of the evening’s entertainment. She knelt up for him on the generous recliner seat, allowing him to take her slowly, gently, from behind, his hands smoothing over her skin and delving down to bring a double pleasure to her swollen, receptive clit. After they had come, strongly and together, Megan’s eyes opened once more and revealed to her the orange glow of the new day’s sunrise.
“Heavenly,” she said, as Jake kissed her back. “Just heavenly.”
***
After a few weeks, Megan began to realize that she was living not one, but two lives.
There was her regular, daytime life as a nurse, studying harder than ever before, stressing about upcoming exams, cramming with Della and a group of trainee nurse friends, trying not to kill anyone during their practical sessions on the wards, and generally holding body and soul together by the thinnest thread.
And then there was her relationship with Jake, her ‘evening life’, one so distant from the pharmacology lab and syringes and prescriptions that it seemed, at times, thoroughly unreal. This was a world of being picked up in a nice car, eating at some of the best restaurants in the country, visiting museums, going to the opera, and generally being pampered like a princess. It was also, Megan liked often to remind herself, the time of the greatest physical pleasure of her entire life.
Sex evolves, like a relationship evolves, and her sex with Jake was becoming richer, more daring, even occasionally experimental. Something had been opened up by their mid-air tryst, a new willingness to go further, to risk being refused or stared at incomprehensibly, or simply laughed at. But neither of them ever said no. It was like living the plot of an erotic novel, with scenes of almost absurd opulence nestling between each astonishing session of breathless, unashamed fucking.
Although he claim
ed never to have tried it before, Jake turned out to be a master of sexting. It became the number one reason why Megan checked her phone, and never failed to add a little excitement, not to mention more than a little wetness, to her day. Hard at work in the lab, the morning after a particularly open-minded night of lovemaking at Jake’s apartment, Megan received:
Hey sexy... Careful not to work your ass off today. I know you want me inside you there again tonight. So tight and hot... mmm.
When Jake was traveling, which was perhaps three nights a week, they figured out the time zone in advance and arranged brief but intensely sexy Skype or FaceTime calls. Megan loved pretending to be her distant lover’s sex slave, growing through her initial reluctance and shyness to become an enthusiastic webcam performer. Jake even bought her a top-of-the-line HD webcam to enhance the experience, letting him see in detail Megan’s acquiescence to his demands.
It made Jake smile, as he sat waiting in the airport lounge, to think that he appeared hard at work at his laptop, when actually he was directing a porn movie of his own devising. As his flight to St Louis was called, his personal actress was playing with a whole fruit bowl full of props, climaxing with the biggest and thickest one deep inside her.
A few hours after this luridly sensual display, Megan sent Jake a selfie which showed her obeying the one command Jake had not had time to witness; the same long, curved banana being pushed into somewhere Megan had originally thought too small and tight for the purpose. She grinned to herself as she pressed ‘send’, and then brought herself to orgasm more conventionally, with a bullet vibrator Jake had bought her for those nights they were apart.
But then hours passed. Many hours, and then a whole day. She texted him again, hoping for another webcam session, but there was no reply.
And then a whole, agonizing, inexplicable week passed without a single word from Jake.
It took two days for panic to set in, and five before she plucked up the courage to call Tom. She had the phone in her hand, Tom’s number ready to dial, for half an hour before calling him. It doesn’t make any sense. He said he’d just be gone overnight, and that we’d be together as soon as he got back. In the end, she convinced herself that it wasn’t just vanity or the need for attention; she was actually worried about him.
The Billionaire Brothers Page 5