Their Courtesan: Billionaire Menage Romance

by Cynthia Dane

  Monica raised her eyebrows, but let him continue. I’m sure you don’t hear that often.

  “I want a woman who is eager to be with me.” He was careful to not say have sex with me. That was illegal here in America, and Monica Warren would make sure he knew that he was not paying for sex. “The more into it she is, the happier I will be.”

  “Certainly. May I inquire into your preferred role in the bedroom, Mr. Bolivar? We have women who are more inclined to one or the other. That would be helpful information.”

  “I am in control. Always.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” I know. I’m a dime a dozen. To be fair, so was the other type of guy. “My young ladies can give you more details about prices in that regard. Every room is fully equipped for any kind of play or fantasy. The Dungeon is also available tonight, if you would like to use it.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Dungeon, huh? Miguel would have to remember that for the future. For a first meeting, however, it was not necessary. He didn’t like to get into those more intense scenes of BDSM with a woman he had not made vanilla love to first.

  “Then what would you like, Mr. Bolivar?”

  He told her. Miguel was a simple man, really. He wanted to have sex, and he wanted to have it with women who loved to have it. Hard to come by in most pleasure houses, surprisingly enough. Such women tended to be jaded toward the whole ordeal, not that he could blame them. Nor did it stop him from pursuing their services.

  Miguel also had fine tastes, thanks to his upbringing. Any woman he was with – let alone paying a hefty sum to spend some time with – should be a good blend of sophisticated and fun-loving. A hard balance to achieve, to be sure. He always put that up front, though, because one never knew. The reputation of Le Château was unprecedented, but such rave reviews usually came from single-minded men. Miguel could loosen up quite a bit, but in the early stages of negotiation, he had to be Mr. Business all the time. At least Monica matched that sentiment.

  “That is also perfectly doable, Mr. Bolivar. I already have at least two women available tonight who fit those descriptions, and I think you would be happy with either one of them. Should I introduce you?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Monica had already buzzed for the maid. “Oh?”

  “I will trust your judgment, Madam, but there is one last thing I must make clear.”

  “Of course, Mr. Bolivar.”

  “Whatever woman you choose for me tonight… she must be unintimidated by a man’s hefty assets.”

  Silence befell the room. The only things Miguel could hear were a ticking grandfather clock and the steps of the staff out in the foyer. “Hefty… assets?”

  “I trust I don’t have to explain any further than that.” Please don’t make me. The last woman he had to explain his size to nearly called the police on him. The police. To an illegal pleasure house.

  “I can assure you that none of the women working here are intimidated by a man’s body.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Monica stared at him. The door to the room opened, admitting the young maid and a stack of folders. Neither of them said anything as the maid deposited the folders and left again. Finally, Monica cleared her throat and covertly glanced at Miguel’s crotch.

  “I… see.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  Monica turned her head, eyes glazing over and cheeks slightly puffing. She’s reacting better than most. Miguel was also impressed she could gauge his size even though he was a master at tucking at this point in his life. As strange as it was to think, he considered himself in good hands at this point.

  Eventually, the madam looked at him again. “Mr. Bolivar, I know just the woman for you. I do not believe that any part of your body should be an issue for her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Now, if you wouldn’t mind signing some paperwork…”

  Before Miguel could have his fill that night, he had to sign all the necessary documents stating that he wasn’t a danger, either through violence or disease, that he would not discuss the workings of the business or any conversations he overheard, and that he would honor the payment of any and all charges accrued over the course of his stay. Only then was he permitted to enjoy the services of a girl that evening.

  Monica excused herself to ready the woman of her choosing. Miguel elected to stay in that room, declining the entertainment of another available girl. As nice as it would be to get a lap dance or strip tease from someone he wouldn’t even sleep with, it wasn’t necessary. Miguel didn’t doubt that he would enjoy the presence of the woman Monica declared perfect. (He would see about that.)

  He had finished his second glass of brandy by the time Monica returned. “She is waiting for you in her chambers, Mr. Bolivar. Allow me to escort you.”

  There was probably some cosmic joke about following a pregnant madam to his fate for the night, but Miguel didn’t say a thing as he followed Monica out of the room and up the grand staircase. They strolled down a large hallway, laden with lush carpeting, elegant paintings depicting Ancient Grecian and Roman revelry, and enough cameras squirreled away along the crown molding for a man to almost feel uncomfortable. Although that was quickly offset by a pair of loud moans emanating from another room. Good to know this was the kind of place where people could hear you enjoying the fruits of your evening.

  Monica stopped in front of a room and knocked. “You should be fine to go in, Mr. Bolivar.” She stepped away. “Enjoy your evening. Please do not hesitate to let me know if you can be better accommodated.”

  She probably said that to every guest, but Miguel had to laugh to himself.

  As soon as he entered the room, however, he stopped laughing. There was no time to think about the outside world. Only the night of fun he intended to have.

  ***

  The room was large, but barely lit. What lamps were on were covered in sheaths of pink and red satin, creating the kind of intimate glow that Miguel was used to seeing in these places… and yet it somehow worked. Nothing was covered in flowers, fleur de lis, hearts, or other such nonsense. Just raw, passionate colors.

  The same gauze shielded a four-poster bed at the far end of the room. Within, displayed upon a sea of silk, was Miguel’s friend of the evening. Not that he could see her well. He was quickly distracted by the intense scent of musk burning from a stick of incense anyway. Not a bad choice, if there has to be a scent. There was almost always a scent, but they tended to be, well, feminine. Musk was a bold choice that instantly reminded Miguel that he was a man, damnit, and he came here with one goal.

  The woman behind the curtain, so to speak. Getting inside of her was his goal.

  “Evening,” came a deep, yet flirtatious voice. Long and slender legs moved through the sea of bed silk. “You must be this Mr. Bolivar I’ve heard so much about.”

  Miguel stepped forward. Was she going to get off the bed? Or were they going to get right to it? I’m fine with either one. He didn’t mind a little build up, but no fuss, no muss intercourse wasn’t bad either. Then again, he had come to the Château. He expected personal concubine levels of sexual entertainment.

  As if she read his mind, the woman sat up, pushing aside one part of her sheer curtain. Hair as long as her legs draped upon her shoulders. Blond hair, by the looks of it. Real? Fake? Who knew? Miguel had a hard time caring anymore.

  Shit, that wasn’t the only thing getting hard. Once it realized it was probably going to have sex with this woman, let alone shortly, his cock stirred to life like the beast it was.

  “Please, call me Miguel.”

  “Oh… that’s a nice accent, Miguel.”

  Accent? Shit. Miguel had spent half his life trying to get rid of his many accents. Plight of growing up in a multicultural community. Or as multicultural life as the son of a casino billionaire could get. When in Monaco… “You like accents, do you?” Which one to embrace? The Spanish one? The
French one? If he concentrated hard enough, he could do a mean Italian accent. Of course, he didn’t plan on doing much concentrating later, so he should stick to something that was natural yet arousing for this woman. He may be fucking her tonight, but was it a bad thing if she was thrilled about it as well? That was half the fun. The other half being, well, sex.

  “What girl doesn’t like a nice accent?” She sat up on her knees as Miguel rounded the corner of the bed and gazed upon her without that gauze in the way. His hand gripped the maple sprouting from the end of the bed. “Let me guess… European, absolutely.”

  “An easy guess.” Miguel let his hand fall, body following it as his shoulder slumped against the post. His hands went into his trouser pockets. “Where in Europe, I wonder?”

  She pulled her hair back over her shoulder, accentuating the cleavage bulging from her simple black dress. Now those are definitely real. Not bad to look at, definitely. Neither was her face. Heart-shaped. Jaw as finely pointed as those French tipped nails sprouting from her nimble fingers. Her makeup was light, as if she hadn’t been expecting him. Still, Miguel was quite taken with her. Jury was still out on if she was in the top tier of beauties he had been with in his life, but he had nothing to complain about. Seeing her naked would be better, though.

  “France.” The woman grinned. “Am I close?”

  “Yes, you are close.” Miguel couldn’t help but smile back. “I would’ve been shocked if you could pinpoint a Monegasque accent.”

  “Monegasque?”

  “I’m from Monaco.”

  “Wow.” The woman eased back down on her legs, still smiling. “Never hosted a guy from Monaco before.”

  A guy. Not a gentleman, but a guy. I like her already, and not because she’s hot. “What’s your name?”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Judith. But you can call me whatever you want, sir.”

  Her hand trailed up the same post Miguel leaned against. Although she didn’t touch him, she came close, those white fingertips grazing his suit sleeve. “Judith is fine,” he said. “Everything about you is fine, isn’t it?”

  Judith’s knees inched forward, her other hand reaching for him. Now they touched. Her hand rested upon his abdomen, pushing against his dress shirt and searching for the closest button. Cutting straight to the chase – his cock already approved. Don’t scare her yet. Can we have a moment, please? Time to start thinking of pristine beaches, devoid of all life but birds and the occasional crustacean.

  “If I may be blunt, you’re pretty good looking too.”

  Did she not see many good looking guys? “You’re going to turn me into a monster before I even have the chance to enjoy your company. Tsk. I’m paying for the whole night. That means you’re sleeping with me, Judith.”

  “Whatever you want, sir.” She flung herself back, landing on her hands as she exposed the open back of her dress and pushed her ass into the air. Shit. No, don’t do that yet. Miguel hadn’t been with a woman, whether because of work or travel, in what felt like too long. In the realm of the world it was, what, three weeks? Yeah. Too long. “I’m open to anything. If you are, that is.”

  She wasn’t ready to know what things he was into yet. “Can a man get a drink in here?”

  Judith popped up, tossing her hair behind her. The scent of floral shampoo hit Miguel in the face. “Right this way, sir.” His new friend stepped off her bed and gestured to a beige and cherry wood Victorian couch in the middle of the room. “What would you like?” She waited until Miguel was seated before rattling off what she had available. Miguel took a glass of cognac. Judith poured it, her tight skirt riding up her ass until he caught a peek of black panties.

  Oh, boy. He averted his gaze when she turned around and brought over the glass. “Thank you.” A man couldn’t drink fast enough – especially when a beautiful woman stood behind him and touched his shoulders, slipping into a massage that probably did not come cheap.

  “So…” Judith began, fingers dancing upon his chest. If he were wearing a tie, she would probably flip it against his face to make sure he was alive. I am alive. Just not where you’re touching. It was taking every ounce of self-control to keep himself in his pants right now. His whole body knew. Where he was. What he was paying for. It was a game between mind and body now. A war, really. His mind knew that there was protocol to follow in places like this, but his body told it to piss off. It wanted to be on top of this woman. Now. The more she touches me, the worst it will get… until I have no choice but to take her. “Monaco, huh? I thought Bolivar was a Spanish name. Not to mention Miguel.”

  Miguel drank. It wasn’t the best cognac he ever had, but he doubted the good stuff was located here. “I’m second generation Monegasque. My family is from Spain, yes.”

  “What do you do?” Judith’s idea of idle chatter before he made his intentions clear was either annoying or quaint. Miguel wasn’t sure yet. “All I know about Monaco is Grace Kelly, Monte Carlo, and casinos.” Her hands squeezed his shoulders.

  “Casinos, yes. My family has casinos all over Europe, but we’re based in Monaco now.”

  “So you’re visiting.” She said it with such finality that Miguel couldn’t help but be surprised.

  “Not really. I bought an apartment in the city.”

  “Expanding business?”

  “Perhaps.” His tone implied that was the end of that conversation.

  Judith slipped around the edge of the couch and knelt beside him. They weren’t kidding. These women play it up. Miguel had declared he was “always in control,” so naturally he got a girl who was as submissive as they came. That could be good or bad. Submissive women went along with whatever he wanted. Almost too much so. Finding a girl willing to defer to him in the bedroom who still had a vibrant personality was too hard to find sometimes. When he did find one… there were other obstacles.

  The woman sat before him, curious. “What can I do for you tonight, sir? I’m skilled in many areas. Would you like a full massage?” Her fingers danced upon his leg.

  “Don’t suppose that comes with a happy ending, does it?”

  Judith’s pretty grin could have ended him right there. “Perhaps. I was told that cost is not an issue tonight.”

  “What else did your madam tell you?”

  She winked at him. “Enough.”

  I doubt that. Miguel clamped his legs together.

  “I can be blunt, if you’d like.” Judith sat up, straddling his lap, forcing that tight skirt to ride even higher. Miguel did not hide how much he stared at her lingerie lurking beneath. Those are some serious thighs… and does she have dimples on her ass? He would have to concoct a thorough inspection later. “Or I could be quiet. Whichever you like, sir.”

  Her hands were on his shoulders, her chest leaning toward his. Miguel could smell her breath, freshly caked in mint, on his face. “Always be blunt with me, Judith.”

  She retained that smarmy grin as she caressed his face and popped his top button open. “You might uncork something you could never stop up again if you give me that kind of permission.”

  “Do your worst.” I have ways of shutting you up if I want.

  As intoxicating as her gaze was, Miguel couldn’t help but second guess himself. No telling what was about to fall from those pretty pink lips. “I’d like to fuck you, sir.”

  Now, was that real candor, or rehearsed? It could go either way. Judith could’ve been taken in with him within the five minutes they had known each other. Or she could be eager to make her money. As long as she played her part, Miguel supposed, he was fine with either option.

  “I was under the impression that such things were not for sale here.” He could play a fun game too.

  “You might be surprised. If I like you enough, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  Judith draped herself all over him, those damned lips pressing lightly against his cheek. Shit. There was almost no stopping his cock now. It was awake now. Fully. Bloo
d rushing there the more he inhaled the scent of this woman. She reeked of pheromones, and Miguel was a slave to them. Don’t let her know.

  “I don’t need to know you to know that I want your cock inside me, Mr. Bolivar.” Her knees were on either side of him on the couch, but she did not lower her hips. If she did, she would be in for a big surprise. “I’m pretty simple too. If I see a good looking guy who looks like he knows what he’s about… I’m not gonna lie. I wanna fuck him.” The puff of her breath when she said that riled Miguel in ways he had no yet anticipated. “And kiss him. Can I kiss you, sir?”

  Miguel rested his head on the back of the couch. Wood dug into his skull. He didn’t care. I wonder how many men she’s fucked on this couch. He sometimes thought those things when in these situations, his credit card on the verge of being abused from all the services he purchased. That cognac alone… probably twenty dollars a glass. A pittance for someone of his fortune.

  He lowered his eyelids and slightly parted his mouth. “I’ve had a long day, Judith. Do whatever you wish.”

  “Whatever I wish?” Those words taunted his lips. “I thought you liked to be in control. It’s one of the things I heard about you.”

  “When I want to take control, I will.” Miguel opened his eyes again. “Let a man relax.”

  “I exist to help you relax, Miguel.” With that, Judith kissed him, her tongue already snaking across his flesh, infused with a wanton desire that did not usually come out this early.

  Miguel had kissed many, many women. Perhaps hundreds. A man had to assume he had kissed twice as many women as he had carnal relations with. This accounted for the women who didn’t want to kiss him while they had sex. Judith was not such a woman. Most of the ones working here probably weren’t, unless they were told to be. Maybe I should tell her to not kiss me. Fat chance. It had only been two seconds and Miguel was already putting his hands on her hips and searching for her ass.

  He intended to guide this encounter. He said he would take control later, but in reality, he was in control now. Except for one thing. Judith was not what she seemed. She was what Miguel had come to call a deceptive little joy. She said one thing, but really meant the other. In the bedroom, of course. So when she said he could do whatever he wanted, she really meant what she wanted. Well, then. So much for gradually introducing her to the biggest problem around.