Dr. Stud

by Jess Bentley

  “Well, it’s not my kitchen,” I murmur, just to pass the time. I don’t think she’s actually really listening. “Brock likes this apartment, but I prefer to just have a simple, smaller suite with a nice view.”

  “Is that where you are taking me?”

  “No,” I chuckle, wondering why she’s so amenable to the idea. “Your things have been sent up to one of the other penthouses, and Royce asked me to show you there. You’ll see. It’s very nice, and if you don’t care for it I will find you something else.”

  I take her through the service elevator, down one floor, then back up one floor to get to her suite. In our newer hotels everything is more connected, but in the antique buildings there are some charming navigation quirks like hallways that end nowhere, and elevators that only go to specific floors.

  She walks along beside me, saying nothing, holding my arm like we are old friends. I am sort of enjoying our cordial stroll through hundred-year-old hallways. Perhaps even a bit too much.

  “Here we are, Bunny,” I say after opening the door with a swipe of the key card. “Home, sweet, temporary home.”

  “Oh, wow,” she sighs, breaking away from me. She kicks off her shoes immediately under the hallway table and walks diagonally across the room to the windows.

  “I assumed you would enjoy a lake view.”

  “Yeah… this is amazing! I feel like I can see all the way to… what is that? Indiana? Michigan?”

  “Maybe a little of both, on a clear day,” I answer.

  The sunlight illuminates her, rendering her clothing almost sheer. She was beautiful on her knees, and she’s beautiful now, up on her toes. My balls clench painfully, and I suddenly remember that I still haven’t had a chance to release myself after she worked me up on the plane yesterday.

  “This is completely perfect. This is what your life is always like?” she asks breathlessly. “Or do you guys live together somewhere? Like in a big house?”

  I shrug. “We have properties in dozens of cities, in seventeen countries all over the world. It is sort of like we live everywhere, you could say.”

  She purses her lips and hugs her shoulders. “No, but I mean where do you live? Where is your home? And is it all together or in separate suites or something?”

  “Oh, I see what you’re asking…” I reply, trying to put together an answer that would make sense.

  I stroll over to the writing table and sit down. From this angle I can see the whole room, watching her as she walks barefoot across the rugs to her open suitcase on the bed, then pokes her head into the bathroom, hanging onto the doorjamb and kicking up one leg. The pink sole of her naked foot sends another shockwave of lust through my cock.

  “I guess we live wherever the business takes us. Sometimes we are all in the same place, and sometimes not. But there is a house in Nantucket where we used to all spend summers together with our family. That’s probably about the only place big enough to accommodate all of us at the same time. I mean, without sending us to separate suites like we are here.”

  She sighs distractedly and flops back on the bed, throwing her arms out like she’s floating in water. Her skirt flutters up toward her hips and I can see the pink triangle of her panties over that little pussy she let me touch yesterday.

  “That’s sad,” she says toward the ceiling.

  “Excuse me?”

  She pushes herself up on her elbows and looks at me, flexing her ankles distractedly, showing me the soles of her feet again. I’m fairly certain she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  “Family should be together.”

  “Our family is together,” I counter, a little more defensively than I would like. “Didn’t anyone tell you about…”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” she interrupts me, rolling her head from side to side. “It’s a little weird that you decided to be together like that, but you don’t want to share a house together.”

  “It’s not that we don’t want to share house together,” I explain, almost irritably. “It’s that we work a lot. A whole lot. And we have to be in a lot of different places to make sure everything keeps working out.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugs, before dropping back on the bed again. She opens her knees wider and wiggles her hips. “So, are you going to interview me too?”

  The way her hips are moving, I can see that tantalizing gap between the fabric and her sweet, secret skin. My mouth starts to water.

  “Why don’t you just take a nap?” I suggest. “I could come back and pick you up for dinner. Perhaps a couple of hours?”

  And I could retreat to my suite and jack off, I tell myself. Take some of this edge off before I come in my pants like a teenager and humiliate myself.

  “Or you could come over here and fuck me to sleep?” she says sweetly, half sitting up again. She blinks her eyes innocently, but her tongue traces the ridges of her upper teeth with an unmistakable hunger.

  “Actually… I can’t,” I tell her, forcing myself to stand up, aware that my erection is just about to bulge out of the top of my trousers.

  “Sure you can,” she winks. “I just consented.”

  “You certainly are… determined, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, you mean slutty?” she laughs. “That’s what my friend Dahlia says. I’m just a girl who knows what she wants, okay? And I like sex. A lot.”

  “So you’re okay with… all of this? Everything has been explained to you?”

  I squint at her, searching for signs of ambivalence or deception. Even signs that she’s deceiving herself. But there’s nothing. She looks excited… absolutely ravenous.

  “It’s a dream come true, Trey,” she purrs. “Literally. I’ve had dreams.”

  I bet you have, I tell her silently.

  She opens her knees even wider, lowering her chin and leveling her gaze at me. She’s flexible. I want to crack her open like a snow crab.

  “So… you want to come over here and interview me? We could still have dinner later. That would be nice.”

  I fold my hands in front of my crotch, hoping that’ll provide some kind of barrier.

  “Believe me, I would like nothing more,” I tell her. “However, we have rules. I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I already said you could,” she shrugs.

  Goddamn you, Royce.

  “No… I really can’t. We have rules, you see? I can’t have you unless all of us can have you. And that means everyone has to say yes.”

  Her brow furrows. “Seriously? So… wait. Seriously?”

  “Serious as a heart attack,” I reply.

  I think I’m about to have a heart attack, just to prove it.

  “But you can finger me?”

  I nod. It’s kind of a gray area, I hope.

  She smirks and tips her head, looking me over from top to bottom.

  “And it seems like I can suck you off? That’s allowed?”

  I swallow hard, then nod again.

  “Can you also… eat my pussy?”

  Before I know what I’m doing, I am across the room, her knees in my hands, dragging her toward the end of the bed. She laughs with delight and flops back, letting me bury my face against that sweet, musky slit.

  Her panties are made of something flimsy and tear in my hands. I rip them away, starving for her taste. As my tongue plunges between her sweet lips, I begin slurping down that nectar. I need it so much, I hear myself moaning against her like an animal.

  With her thighs clamped over my ears I bury my face in her hot, eager pussy, lavishing her with my tongue, flickering over that tiny pink pearl, drinking her until I’m full.

  But when she comes, there’s more. It’s a gush, a deluge. She screams with pleasure and claws at the silken duvet.

  As soon as she’s done, I want to start again. I’m not sure how I will ever get enough of her. I back away, watching her limp form relaxing on the bed as sleep overtakes her again. She’s so trusting, she’s alrea
dy lightly snoring.

  And my cock is so hard, I’m never going to make it to my room. I slip into her bathroom and silently close the door, already reaching into my trousers to find my dick ready to explode. Pulling it out, I barely have to stroke myself before I am coming, spurting a fireworks display into the toilet. Breathless and panting, I lean against the wall, coming and coming, waiting for my heartbeat to go back to a regular level.

  It seems to take forever to exhaust my supply of spunk. But even when I know I’m done, I know I’m not satisfied. I need more of her already.

  I need Spencer and Sully to sign off. I’m going to make that happen.

  Chapter 7

  Sully

  Detroit was half a disaster until I threatened to pull out of the city entirely. Without a flagship luxury hotel of our caliber, Detroit would suffer. They’re already on the brink of lapsing back into utter poverty again. They can’t afford to lose any name brands.

  But it’s good to see Chicago again. Now that I’ve got a win under my belt from the casino guys, I can talk to Royce about expanding our gaming here and abroad. Hotels have been very good to us, and casinos are a natural extension.

  That’s my opinion, but Royce has always thought differently. He feels it’s vulgar entertainment. The hotel business itself, on the other hand, is elegant and refined. But once you put that hotel on top of a twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gaming floor filled with slot machines and carnival lights, it’s a little less dignified.

  I see his point, but I have my eye on that next billion dollars. I’m always looking for that.

  The driver navigates the Hummer through lunchtime traffic congestion, expertly maneuvering among the throngs of pedestrians and taxi drivers. Now that Uber and Lyft have also taken a hold of Chicago livery services, there are a bunch of novice drivers trying to get to the Magnificent Mile.

  It’s really pretty dangerous. Driving down here is not for newbies. The streets are congested to begin with, and then there are literally thousands of pedestrians milling around in the crosswalks at the same time. It’s a wonder anybody survives the day.

  But after some careful navigation, we’re back at home base. The center of our operations: the Worth Hotel on Michigan Avenue. Right in the heart of the city, right where everyone wants to be.

  I don’t usually walk through the foyer, but I know the driver intends to get the Hummer serviced so he drops me off in front of the doorman.

  “Good morning, Mr. Worth,” he says, tipping his old-fashioned hat.

  “Good morning, Fernando,” I smile.

  I know Royce has a point. That kind of thing—the doorman—there’s not a lot left of that sort of thing in the world, is there? It’s a really simple kind of business. We provide a hospitality for travelers. A place to stay, a comfortable bath to relax in, a restaurant, and outstanding customer service. That’s all. We do it better than almost anyone else, but it’s really just like staying at your grandmother’s house, all at four hundred dollars a night.

  Do we need to add more? No. By all accounts, being the most recognized name in luxury hotels in the world is a hell of an accomplishment. But what’s our endgame? Is this hotel going to go the same way as Uber and Lyft? Will our prices continue to be eroded by Priceline.com and others? Or perhaps taken over by Airbnb?

  Just like any business, we have to ask: will progress make us irrelevant?

  It goes without saying, we would not know how to live if we weren’t stupidly wealthy. This is a lifestyle we definitely need to maintain. Being flexible and innovative will keep us in the game.

  I should remember that Uber metaphor. I wonder if that argument would convince Royce to reconsider casino operations in any way.

  As I cross the foyer, I notice Brock and Royce in the bar. Royce raises a hand over his head and gestures to me to come over.

  “It’s a little early for drinking, isn’t it, guys?” I ask as I approach, irritated to be pushed off course like this.

  “Just coffee, boss,” Brock replies. “You want some?”

  “Yeah… actually, that would be terrific,” I admit.

  Royce gestures to the bartender and then points to a table for us to occupy. There are only a few people across the lobby, staring at their cell phones, shifting from foot to foot as they wait for someone.

  The bar is deserted, but it’s not partitioned off. It’s merely an elevated platform to one side of the lobby, separate from the more formal bar in the restaurant and jazz club on the other side of the building. But we do spend a considerable amount of time here, observing our staff and their interactions with guests. Sometimes we greet dignitaries and celebrities here. We can watch everything from this vantage.

  “What’s all this about?” I ask as the cappuccino is set in front of me. The smell is already wafting through my sinuses, reminding me how good our coffee is.

  “How was Detroit?” Royce asks.

  “Detroit was... fine. Ultimately fine,” I answer. “We got everything sorted out with no cost overruns.”

  Royce raises his eyebrows, obviously pleased. He and I look a lot alike, favoring our father most of all. Spencer does too. We all have the same dark, wavy hair. Square jaws. Thick eyebrows. Until stubble came back in style, we all had to shave twice a day.

  Not like Brock and Trey; they look like our mother. When we were younger, Mom called them her “golden boys.” They had the light hair, the light eyes. Not quite as broad, though still athletic and quick. They ran track, while Royce and I stuck to wrestling. They’re a few inches shorter than the rest of us, but still close to six feet.

  Golden boys. Nobody’s used that nickname since she passed away. It went right to their heads.

  “So that’s good?” Royce continues.

  I take a drink of the cappuccino. I can feel it warming me all the way down to my stomach.

  “Yes. It was good,” I repeat. “The casino guys would like to talk to us more. We can worry about that some other time.”

  Royce and Brock look at each other.

  “Okay… what is going on here? You guys didn’t invite me to drink coffee with you, did you?”

  “It’s… Bunny,” Brock finally says, glancing at me and then away. “Do you think you could get around to interviewing her today?”

  “The nanny? From August’s recommendation?”

  “Nanny. Yes,” Royce repeats.

  “And also… you know. More than that,” Brock adds.

  They glance at each other again.

  “Yes… I had some time to think about that too,” I confess. “Can we talk about this later? After I have had a chance to decompress a little bit?”

  Brock leans forward. He places one hand, palm down on the table.

  “What do you mean? You thought about it? And... what?”

  “Jeez, you guys,” I sigh irritably. They’re really on my nerves this morning. I’m not a morning guy. “Give me an hour, would you? Let’s have lunch or something.”

  Royce reaches a hand out and chucks Brock gently on the shoulder. Then he turns back to me with a completely reasonable expression on his face.

  “It’s just that… well, she’s done very well. We all really like her, though Spencer hasn’t had a chance to talk to her yet. We’re leaning toward a yes. Just hoping you can expedite that for us.”

  I can tell that Royce thinks using a business tone with me is going to sway me. Well, it’s not. It’s just making me more suspicious.

  “And how is she with Sophia?”

  Royce’s eyebrows go up. His face freezes.

  Brock leans back in his chair so he can look at the reception desk for some reason.

  “Uh-huh. I see,” I enunciate slowly. “So, what you’re telling me is that you guys are hot for her? And you didn’t even bother to check if her job—her main job—is something she’s able and qualified to do?”

  “Well, you know… I mean, with the rules and all… I mean, we’re distracted,” Brock explains. “She’s hot. Super hot. And it’
s been a really long time.”

  I point at Royce. “You see what your rules have done? You see how ridiculous and irrational this is? You guys are so horny you didn’t even bother to check and see if the nanny could, you know, actually nanny?”

  “We’re getting to that,” Royce grumbles, crossing his arms.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t bother,” I remark. “Maybe the whole idea of nanny and shared girlfriend is never going to work out. Maybe we should separate those into different responsibilities. Can you think about that? We could each even find our own—”

  Bang!

  Royce’s hand lands like a foul expletive in the middle of the table. My cappuccino sloshes over the side.

  “Absolutely not,” he growls between his clenched teeth. “We created this in order to protect Sophia. We all sacrifice a little bit… for her. That’s what good fathers are going to do. That is not up for discussion!”

  “But we’ve been through this before, Royce,” I persist, lowering my voice and hoping that will calm him somewhat. “I mean, we asked Nina every question under the sun. We thought it would be fine. And then look what happened. At least if we found our own women, everybody’s heart wouldn’t all be broken at the same time.”

  “I don’t think she’s like that,” Brock replies, shaking his head. The sincerity in his green eyes is appalling. Like, I feel bad for this guy.

  “Jesus, what did she do to you guys?” I breathe. “Is she some kind of witch or something? I mean, she’s cute and all, but…”

  “Just interview her,” Royce insists. He shakes his head as though sad or something. “You’ll see. Just talk to her for a little while. She’s not like anybody else. You’ll see.”

  Look at these two. Can they really be totally gaga over this woman in just a day? Have they forgotten everything? How Nina threatened to take Sophia away from us? How she lawyered up without even talking to us, suggesting she was willing to do anything to get away?

  Losing her was the single most painful thing that ever happened in my life, and I’m not even the most emotional brother. Royce took it hard. Spencer was sad but he understood it was final. But Trey and Brock were absolutely crushed. Crushed like teenagers. I can’t believe they want to risk it all again.