Their Courtesan: Billionaire Menage Romance
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
THEIR COURTESAN
1: JUDITH
2: SETH
3: MIGUEL
4: JUDITH
5; SETH
6: MIGUEL
7: JUDITH
8: SETH
9: MIGUEL
10: JUDITH
11: SETH
12: MIGUEL
13: JUDITH
14: SETH
15: MIGUEL
16: JUDITH
17: SETH
18: MIGUEL
19: JUDITH
20: SETH
21: JUDITH
22: MIGUEL
23: JUDITH
24: SETH
25: MIGUEL
26: JUDITH
27: SETH
28: MIGUEL
29: JUDITH
30: SETH
31: MIGUEL
32: JUDITH
33: SETH
34: MIGUEL
35: JUDITH
36: SETH
37: MIGUEL
38: JUDITH
One Month Later
Thanks And Connect
Also Available
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
THEIR COURTESAN
1: JUDITH
2: SETH
3: MIGUEL
4: JUDITH
5; SETH
6: MIGUEL
7: JUDITH
8: SETH
9: MIGUEL
10: JUDITH
11: SETH
12: MIGUEL
13: JUDITH
14: SETH
15: MIGUEL
16: JUDITH
17: SETH
18: MIGUEL
19: JUDITH
20: SETH
21: JUDITH
22: MIGUEL
23: JUDITH
24: SETH
25: MIGUEL
26: JUDITH
27: SETH
28: MIGUEL
29: JUDITH
30: SETH
31: MIGUEL
32: JUDITH
33: SETH
34: MIGUEL
35: JUDITH
36: SETH
37: MIGUEL
38: JUDITH
One Month Later
Thanks And Connect
Also Available
THEIR COURTESAN
A Billionaire Menage Romance
Cynthia Dane
BARACHOU PRESS
THEIR COURTESAN
A Billionaire Menage Romance
Copyright: Cynthia Dane
Published: June 13th, 2016
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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THEIR COURTESAN
CHAPTER 1
JUDITH
“Mr. Hutcherson just pulled up.”
Judith, perched at her vanity with a tube of mascara in hand, glanced at her boss’s reflection in the mirror. “I’ll be right down.” She lowered the mascara. Why did she bother dressing up so much? Mitch never cared about her makeup. The man was blind in one eye and oblivious with the other.
“The Cigar Room and the Entertainment Den are both booked for parties tonight.”
“Uh huh.” Did Judith’s boss think she didn’t pay attention to what went on around there? Judith wasn’t second-in-command at Le Château, the country’s most prestigious pleasure house, for nothing. If she doesn’t know what’s going on, then I probably do. That morning Judith went over tonight’s bookings with the closest thing to a steward the house had. “I’ll babysit him in the salon before bringing him up here.”
Monica, the owner of Le Château, leveled her eyes at one of her main employees. Keep looking at me like that and your face might freeze that way. Judith respected her boss, especially when it came to that petite – and currently heavily pregnant – woman’s sense for business, but she did not appreciate being looked at as if she were a petulant daughter. Monica could save that bullshit for her own daughter, should she have one. “Make sure he goes home happy, Judith.” Great. Now she was passive-aggressively lecturing her. “He’s brought us more business this past year than any other patron.”
“Why do you think he’s my patron?”
Monica took her leave of Judith’s room, stopping a maid in the hall to delegate instructions regarding the reviled Cigar Lounge. Glad I don’t have to be in there tonight. Whenever Judith worked a gathering in there, she came out with five years shaved off her life. The secondhand smoke alone was enough to make her glad she never suffered from bad allergies or asthma. Not like another girl who worked there. Poor Chelsea spent half her nights avoiding the room and hoping nobody was in there puffing on a Cuban until they died – maybe or maybe not before her.
Judith, on the other hand, could work any room without much argument. She had been at the Château since its founding a little over a year ago. Granted, so had most of the other girls – minus Holly, who was new and still a bit green – but Judith was the first hired and the first promoted. To say I know what I’m doing is an understatement. She looked herself over one more time, running her fingers through her thin blond hair and making sure not too many blemishes stood out on her face. It was a hard life for a professional. My pussy is ready to game. Judith stood up and scuttled out of her room, continually pulling down her tight black skirt because she didn’t appreciate a draft blowing up her ass.
Mr. Hutcherson stepped through the main entrance when Judith reached the bottom of the grand staircase. He looked up, a grin of derelict hope crossing his lined face.
He wasn’t an ugly man, but he also wasn’t the type of man Judith yearned for. He was nice, generous with gifts, not too bad to look at, and treated her with enough respect to keep her from complaining too much. He didn’t even want a ton of sex, and half his visits comprised of sharing drinks and ranting about business and personal ventures before falling asleep snoring in her bed. When they did have sex, which was an expectation of her profession, he didn’t futz around. In, done, out. This was after she was done entertaining him, of course. That could run so many gamuts, depending on how they felt. (More like how Mitch Hutcherson felt.)
“Evening, Mr. Hutcherson,” Judith said softly, batting her eyelashes as she took his coat. The man, who sported salt and pepper hair and a plain black suit, wrapped his arm around her before letting her lead the way to the nearest salon, where she poured them both drinks and commenced listening to him rant about business associates while he rubbed her knee.
There were many words for what she did. Officially, Judith and the four other girls under main employment were referred to as “entertainers” or “hostesses.” Colloquially, however, clients and the public called them pricey escorts, prostitutes, and her personal favorite, whores.
They did not officially exchange sex for money. What a man – and the occasional woman – purchased were other services of pleasure, which ranged from a sympathetic ear and plenty of expensive drinks to full body massages to, yes, BDSM activities. It was the BDSM that was the main draw to the wealthy clients wh
o trekked all the way up to the mountains to patronize Le Château. Every girl was trained both as a professional Domme and sub, depending on what the client wanted. Someone wanted Judith to spank him, pull his dick, and call him pig scum? Sure, she could do that for a nominal fee. Someone else wanted to tie her up and hear her call him sir? She was down for either one, as long as their wallets were open. Actual sex, whether it was oral or intercourse, was off the books and not technically part of the packages. Some of the other girls were not loose with the sexual services, but Judith would fuck anyone who had pockets deep enough. Her time was not cheap.
Most weeks Judith personally saw anywhere between three and five clients, including her patron. Mitch made up about half her encounters, since he paid for the privilege. Without a patron, a girl of Le Château was not making her full potential, and Judith always, always made her full potential. She loved the money more than she loved the sex, although they were close.
Tonight, Mitch was interested in her full range of services. After they retired from the salon, when night had completely fallen and parties were underway in other rooms, they went up to Judith’s room and commenced what he really came here for. Mitch removed his suit jacket and lay down on his stomach, groaning in relief as Judith straddled his hips and massaged his back.
She massaged a few other things as well. After a year of regularly being with this man, Judith knew what he liked and what got him off fastest. The only reason she was interested in that tonight was because she was tired after entertaining a small bachelor party the night before. A girl can only take so much sex with random men before she starts to slow down for like, a week. Luckily it was Saturday, and after an appointment on Sunday she would have at least two or three days to rest and catch up on the latest season of Orange Is the New Black. Nothing spelled day off like wearing a silk robe after a bath and blasting music while she did her nails.
“Give me a few moments and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Mitch said, sleepily, as he slumped over on one side of Judith’s bed. “Wouldn’t want my last time with my pretty girl to end without her coming all over me.”
Good luck with that. Judith leaned against her headboard, glass of champagne in hand. “Hm? What are you talking about?”
Mitch lazily waved his hand at her. “I told you already, I’m moving to Dubai to start a new branch of the company.”
The color drained from Judith’s face. Or maybe that was the champagne sucking it from her. “What!”
Mitch Hutcherson, the man responsible for half her income, was asleep. So much for his promise to get her off before he went to sleep… for the last time!
Judith jumped off her bed and bounded into the hallway, catching the attention of the nearest maid making her rounds. They both politely ignored moans of pleasure coming from someone else’s room once their paths crossed.
“Where’s Monica?” Judith demanded. “Is she in her chambers? Please tell me she’s in her chambers. This is an emergency.”
The maid squeaked beneath Judith’s domineering gaze. Men don’t pay me to fuck them up because I’m soft. She could be soft, though. For the right price. “Last time I saw the madam, she was heading toward her chambers, yes.”
“Good. Come get me if you see my patron wandering around looking for me. I left him for dead in there.” Judith didn’t wait for the maid’s response. She was marching down the long hallway, ignoring the late hour. Monica stayed up late as shit on the big work nights.
“What is it?” the madam called, once Judith had razed the large door with her knuckles. “I know that knock…” The door flew open. There was Monica Warren, née Graham, still dressed in her designer maternity shift. “What is it?” she asked Judith, phone in her hand. “Unless someone’s bleeding… and menstruation doesn’t count…”
Judith pushed into the foyer of her boss’s personal rooms. While uncouth, Judith didn’t usually give too much of a shit if she inconvenienced the madam, who was too easy for her own good. Besides, this was an emergency. “Did you know that Hutcherson was moving to Dubai?”
Monica held her phone up to her ear as she closed the door. “I’ll call you back, Henry,” she said to her husband. When she hung up, she asked, “What are you talking about? Dubai? When?”
“Next week!”
“What!”
“That’s what I said!”
Monica shuffled into her office, switching on a lamp before pulling open a file cabinet. While it often annoyed Judith how everything was still so analog around here, she couldn’t blame a woman for being too careful. Appointments could be kept on computers, but personal information about regular clients and patrons especially had to be protected at all costs. This meant primary files printed out for cabinets, with backup copies in a fireproof safe in the back corner of the office. Monica pulled out one of the first files in the cabinet. After perusing it, she said, “He hasn’t told me anything about moving.”
Judith loomed over her boss, who was so petite that her baby made her look like she was packing around beach balls beneath her dress. Meanwhile, I’m gargantuan. Or so Monica often made her feel. Judith was still the same height as most of her clients, if not shorter. Nobody was taller than Monica’s husband, a man who dwarfed his own wife until people asked if she was his daughter. Awkward.
“He let it slip before falling asleep. Either he’s drunk in thought – and I wasn’t that good tonight – or he violated his contract by not giving enough notice. Unless he plans on paying his patronage fee for the next month.”
“Indeed.” Monica closed the folder with an exasperated sigh. “Make sure I talk to him in the morning. This is not good. You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Moving to Dubai for work next week. He said that tonight was our last time.” Judith had to stress those words. Sometimes Monica got hard of hearing when the pregnancy hormones were in full swing.
“Shit.”
“I know! That’s over half my income right there!”
Monica closed the file cabinet and went straight to the nearest chair. She sank into it, feet wiggling in their slippers. “And a sizable chunk of mine. Hutcherson is one of our highest paying patrons.”
Because I’m worth it. Judith would have to count on that more than ever now.
“If what you say is true, then after I’ve confirmed it with Mr. Hutcherson I’ll start putting out feelers for a new patron. I’m sorry this is happening.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” Judith muttered. “You still get paid by the other patrons.”
“Like I said, Mr. Hutcherson is one of the biggest ones. Losing him will put a dent in both of our incomes.” Monica pulled out her phone again. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m as invested as you are in finding a replacement. That said, Mr. Hutcherson will still have to honor his patronage contract that stipulates at least 30 days’ notice before ending your professional relationship. So even if you don’t see him, he should still be paying through the end of next month. That buys us time.”
“If he fucks off to Dubai?” Mitch was a decent enough guy – for a billionaire – but Judith’s ability to trust men like that was pretty negligible. Especially those billionaires. They were used to getting out of shit.
“I doubt that would happen. Even if it does, the penalty fee is pretty sizable as well.”
Judith still didn’t hold enough hope. As far as she was concerned, half her livelihood was crashing around her. Sure, she got subsidized room and board in exchange for her services out in the remote wilderness, but she had… bills… to pay off. I get paid thousands of dollars on a good night, but it doesn’t mean shit if I don’t get to hang on to it. If that money stopped rolling in? She couldn’t even think about it.
“We’ll clear this up in the morning,” Monica assured her. She stared at her phone, but her words were directed at Judith. “Worse comes to worse, we find you a new patron. Until then, keep up the hard work.’
She could fuck off with that. Nobody worked harder than Jud
ith King. Some days? Judith would venture that not even Monica worked harder than her #1 girl. She certainly didn’t have to bother with other hard things like Judith did on an almost daily basis. Not that she usually complained. She liked her job. It was the stiffs like Mitch Hutcherson that made life more difficult.
Judith left the madam’s chambers and ambled back to her room. Mitch was still asleep on her bed. She rolled her eyes, going to take a shower in her bath. The door remained open, in case her patron wanted to come in and join her for one last bang against the shower wall.
He never showed up. Judith couldn’t say she gave a fuck anymore.
Chapter 2
SETH
No matter the form of artistic expression, there was one common enemy: the blank page. A sign from the art gods that someone was a useless piece of shit who didn’t deserve to create anything, let alone something profound and meaningful.
This is what I gave up medicine for. Seth Christens sat at an outdoor café, staring down at a large sheet of blank drawing paper. He held a pencil in his hand, but no matter what seat he sat in or whom he gazed upon, he was trapped with a blank mind that refused to conjure up an image worthy of his hand.
What a cruel joke. For three years Seth had been a full-time artist, whatever that meant. When a man had built a sizable fortune being “the gynecologist of the stars,” as well as living off the established fortunes of his extended family, he could spend his days drawing pictures if he damn well pleased. God knew Seth had been miserable in his previous profession. Ironically, he was not enthused about staring up wealthy vaginas all day. Half the time there was a head coming out of them. I thought I would find meaning bringing life into the world. Such a noble profession, delivering babies was. Too bad Seth went back to his townhouse every night thinking of nothing but getting drunk and jacking off.
Retiring to become a full-time artist was supposed to be fulfilling. Indeed it was, in many ways. Since then, he had five shows, the last three being all his own. Whether he was drawing portraits or still life, plenty of people commended his efforts and even bought the occasional print. Seth would never be famous, probably, but he was already rich as fuck and didn’t care about fame. It was supposed to be about artistic expression. Whatever that meant by now.