by BAKER, J. B.
As the irritating flight attendant had said upon departure to the UK, I did not get to go back home the same day. Instead, Sean had arranged for me to meet the various departmental heads in his company. That had taken hours. Afterward, I ended up spending an evening with the notorious rake, Sean Courtney and his daughter at the Dorchester Grill.
As it turned out, he really is a devoted father to a teenage girl. I had always known about it, but seeing it with my own eyes was a completely different story. Sean seemed to mellow out when he was around her. She had joined us for dinner that night, chatting as much as she had done at the office.
For once, Sean hardly spoke a word. He had let Portia and I speak about the things women talk about. Sean just watched and listened as if he was experiencing the most relaxing thing in his life – I can’t get it out of my head that he had found what he wanted. I just cannot for the life of me understand what that might be. A small spark tells me that I am part of it, but I quash it before it has time to fester in my brain.
Maybe he wasn’t that bad after all. For the first time, when I looked at his face, I did not only find physical attractiveness there, but far more – behind the façade of the uber-rich playboy, is a man who is responsible and who would do anything for the people he loves. It still does not answer my question as to why he had been so callous to me after sleeping with me. I know that he likes having me around because we ended up talking until one in the morning; long after Portia had gone upstairs to bed.
Many times I wanted to excuse myself, but the guy was just so damn interesting and full of enthusiasm. It was what got me in the first place. Without even realizing it, I was falling back under his spell. I could have sat there the entire night. Had it not been for Sean, we probably would have. But the man has an iron discipline. He escorted me to my suite, which was one of the largest I have ever seen in my life and bid me goodnight. He apologized for not being able to have breakfast with me, but that we would meet soon. And he was gone.
I am back in New York in my loft apartment in the Soho district of the city. I love the place. I bought it a short while after I had received the money from my harassment settlement with Sean Courtney. It is my pride and joy.
I spend a moment scanning the large space that spreads out before me. It is full of my favourite things: works of art from Aaron Fowler, an artist who collects discarded materials from his local surroundings and turns them into something I and his many other fans find intriguing. Then there is my massive velvet sofa that runs down the entire length of the loft-space, and of course, a coffee table made of a slab of volcanic rock with crystal-cut glass on the top of it.
My home is the perfect reflection of who I am. On one of the walls, I have my portraits of fame. On it is a selection of black and white photographs of the places I have been to in the world. There are not all that many, but enough to fill the wall space. One place I am dying to visit is Paris. I have heard it to be magical in the period before Christmas.
The kitchen area is my favourite part of the loft. Like an island, it sits in the centre of the parquetted space and is the main hub when I have guests over, which was nearly never. Michonne is probably the only person who has ever been to my home. My life only consists of work and my favourite TV shows.
The offer Sean made me was beyond belief, but what he had asked of her in return was not what I had expected. I lost my appetite the moment he had explained and it was a shame because the steak sandwich served was probably the best one I have ever tasted. Of course, Sean had devoured his with relish. To him, it seemed that his request was the most normal one in the world. After he had told me everything, he said that I had forty-eight hours to consider his offer and that was that.
I am still no further in the decision-making process. One part of me thinks that what he asked was not that bad. Then there is that other part of me that despises the notion. What can I do? To decline would cost twenty of her people, Michonne and me our livelihoods. I continue pacing around the loft until I decide it is time to calm down. Michonne always told me that an unsettled mind never finds any answers.
With a determined expression on my face, I head for the kitchen island in the middle of the vast space in my loft. My destination is the fridge and the excellent bottle of chardonnay I have stocked away there. I open the fridge door and pick up the bottle. I check out the label.
“Domaine Leflaive, Chevalier-Montrachet Grand Cru, Burgundy 2014.”
One of my former clients had given me a case of the wine as a parting gift the previous year. When I found out that Sunbeam Energy had been taken over two weeks ago, I removed one bottle from the case and placed it in the fridge. Yet, the shock had been too big – Michonne and I decided to drink tequila instead of the wine. I decide that tonight is as good a night as ever to open it. It’s not every day that a girl is faced with a decision that will impact the rest of her life.
“Cheers to choosing right.”
I lift the best wine glass I can find in mock salute.
“Holly shit, this is incredible.”
I sink my nose into the glass, inhaling the bouquet. The golden liquid has an intense scent of lime, pears and apricot that boast aromatic tension and complexity. I press the rim of the glass to my lips.
“Mm…”
After a brief coolness, my mouth is assaulted by a fine, assertive and extremely youthful attack. It is racy and full of minerals from start to finish.
I sigh happily. What did the client say when he gifted me the elegant wooden case? “This is a racehorse of a wine with an amazing length and detail.” I don’t know much about wines. I occasionally enjoy a good Napa Valley, red or white. As long as the bottle costs more than fifty bucks, I’m in. I know that Sean likes wine.
Why the hell am I thinking about him? No matter how much I try, I can’t get him and his offer out of my mind. I pleat my brow. If I say yes, I will be spending a lot of time with him. All he said was that I would have to pose as his girlfriend. He had not said why yet. I barely had the time to pepper him with questions before he sought out his daughter and then we departed for that endless tour around the building. Later that evening, when we spoke, I never broached the topic again.
“Does posing as his girlfriend include having sex with him? And would it really be so bad?”
I nearly choke on the wine as the words slip past my lips. Of course he’s bad – the man’s a cad and a disreputable womanizer. I can never become intimate with him again. However, I can’t get the image of him with his daughter out of my mind. Sean had been so sweet to his girl. A shallow man with no morals doesn’t behave like that. Furthermore, he helps homeless people. When his daughter informed him of the problems with those people, he reacted immediately.
I drain my second glass of wine, place the glass in the sink and walk over to my bedroom. I decide to have a bath before I get some sleep.
I quickly remove my business suit. In my underwear, I step out of my bedroom and enter the en-suite bathroom. I walk over to the large round bath and turn the knob, adjusting it until I am satisfied that the water is at the right temperature. Smiling, I quickly add some of my favourite oil - Fresh Sake Bath – the best. It does not take long for the delicious fragrance of peach and apricot to fill the bathroom with a delightful vapour.
Standing in front of the mirror, I strip.
“Oh my, I’ve got a bit of a forest going on down there.”
My pelvis is covered with dark blonde frizzy pubic hair. The sight of my bush reminds me that the area has been a no-go zone for years.
“Great look in the sixties though.”
Chapter 9
SEAN
She’s gone back to New York. She said she needed time to think things over. I can understand that. It is a big decision to have to make. Sell your firm, move, and start out working for a man you think discriminated against you. Once the steak sandwiches had arrived, she started negotiating places for the larger part of her staff in my New York offices. Of course, I had alread
y agreed to many of them staying on. However, I wanted the majority of the people to relocate to London. Rachel won out in the end.
I smile. She is one hell of a woman. Thinking, my gaze comes to a rest on the dark expanse of Hyde Park behind the glittering lights of Park Lane. I live in the largest suite at the Dorchester Hotel. The day I buried my wife, I sold off all of my possessions. They didn’t mean anything anymore, not without her. I have lived in hotels ever since. I don’t think Portia minds. I don’t really know because I’ve never asked her.
Sighing, I walk back to the sitting area and sit down. I gratefully take a large slug of whisky, relishing the searing heat of the beverage. Rachel comes back to mind. Will she do it? Was it too much to ask? I know I had convinced her with the pay package for her, Michonne and her employees, but was asking her to be my girlfriend, for no matter how briefly, too much? She did insist on more time to think about it after I mentioned it.
Like a wildfire, thoughts of Rachel consume me. My mind becomes a misty confluence of heady carnality mixed with something else that I can’t quite place yet. I can see her face clearly. It’s as if she’s still sitting on the leather sofa in my office. Her blue eyes twinkling at me, her golden hair burnishing under the lighting and her tits are perky and large as I remember them to be.
I admonish myself. You can’t base a relationship with a woman centred on her tits and ass. I shake my head. But I don’t want a relationship. A girl here and there for some fun, that’s about as far as I will go. Rachel would have been a good candidate for something like that, but my instincts had warned me that she would have been far more trouble than it was worth.
I swallow deeply. Yeah, her ass is magnificent. I can still see it swinging and oscillating around Courtney Towers. It took all of my resolve to remain focused and I am fucking good at doing that. The memory of her pussy sends shivers of delight down my spine – it’s perfect. Rippling curves hidden between two of the sexiest legs I have ever laid eyes on. Rachel may have been worth the fuck, but not worth the trouble that would have followed.
She’s a walking mantrap. One tumble too many with her and she’d be in this room quicker than I could take one breath. In moments, she would have Portia’s support and I would have no choice but to stay with her. Is that bad, though? We get on well enough. I shrug. My dad always said that you can think over stuff until it bears no merit to continue thinking over it. Sometimes it is best to just try it out and deal with the consequences later.
By now, my lips are pressed together. I nod as I get to my feet. I grab the whisky tumbler and walk over to the inbuilt bar cupboard. I pour myself another generous portion. Holding the glass, I walk down the hallway to my daughter’s room.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
I plant a kiss on her head, revelling in her scent. The sound of her deep and even breathing soothes me - it always does. I don’t spend too long in her room lest I wake her. Portia gets cranky if she’s woken up in the middle of the night. It’s something that I want to avoid. There’s nothing worse than a bad-tempered sixteen-year-old girl who has no mother to take the hit. Worse still, she would find my unbidden presence in her bedroom an invasion of her adolescent privacy.
She’s grown up so much. I can remember holding my baby girl in my arms as if it was yesterday. Now, she’s telling me that I can’t come into her room without a formal invitation. She’d kill me if she found out that I was sitting here right now.
Chuckling, I close the door to my daughter’s room. I’m immediately reminded of the conversations I had with Portia about the setting of boundaries. She had said that I, as a man, had to respect her space. It is something I do with pleasure now. Catching Azure in her underwear once had been more than enough for me. Now, I knock and ask her permission at least three times before I enter the lair of budding young breasts and shaping womanhood.
My little girl’s gone. She is nearly all woman now. I’m somehow reminded of Rachel’s question during dinner in London. She had asked Portia whether she has a boyfriend. Intuitively, I know that that day is not all that far off anymore. I sigh. I find it next to impossible to imagine myself sharing my little girl’s affections with another guy. With a scowl, I force the notion from my mind. It is soon replaced with something that not even a hearty slug of whisky can assuage.
One thought about Rachel is enough to get me thinking about her beauty again. I enter my bathroom, remove my shirt and throw it into the laundry basket. I stare at the large mirror. I don’t look at myself. My gaze starts to blur as my mind takes over. I groan. I have a perfect view of Rachel’s bare pussy again. I barely hear the word “shit” pass my lips.
How many times have I fucked a woman? Fifty, one hundred, two hundred times? I don’t know, but what I do know is that none of them had any lasting effect on me. Why is it different with her?
We only did one night and one morning. However, the memory is left imprinted on my mind like a livestock’s branding. Sweet contours of flesh reaching a crescendo made up of a little mound with a small strip of hair. The edge of her body vanished in-between her legs. It is the beginning of a slit that splits her sweet spot in two halves, heralding the promise of so much pleasure. I groan when I try to imagine my tongue pressed against her clit, my fingers inside of her, probing and flicking – I can taste her exactly – so sweet, so good.
My eyes snap open. My gaze slips a fraction. My racing mind induced me to remove my suit trousers and free my cock that, like a raging beast, is rock-hard in my hands. I look up. The expression on my face in the mirror is feral. I look down and groan. I start flicking my palm up-and-down my length. I think of her tits that rubbed against my chest while I fucked her. I think some more of her pussy – the pink cavern and the perfection of her groin area that I know exists.
Shit, I’m already leaking precum. It’s been weeks since I’ve had release, whether by beating off or with a woman. I shudder, as my hand gets more urgent. Instinctively, I lean forward and hold myself on the counter with my left hand, while, with my right, I beat on my erection.
Images of her face flitter in front of my eyes like little Fata Morganas. I see Rachel angry, her nose and forehead crinkling and her full lips pressed together. I see her laughing, her mouth wide open, a brief glimpse of her pink tongue and teeth flashing whitely at me. I see her wincing in pleasurable pain, her body juddering as her legs snap shut, the muscles on her abdomen contract and her face is determined and so fucking…
“Gorgeous…Rachel is so fucking hot,” I blurt.
I can imagine her running her tongue over her moist lips. I picture her using it to lick the seam of my dick. I stroke myself faster. Images of her sex float before me, like a ripe peach, all juicy and sweet. Her taste fills my mouth as I press my teeth together and study my reflection in the mirror once again.
It’s just the way I’d look if I were fucking her right now. I imagine myself on top of her with my dick buried deep in her sweet spot. I’d rip her clothing off her body and suck her hardened nipples until she begged me to stop. I want to feel the weight of those tits in my hands, the tightness of her pussy as it swallows my dick whole and the brushing of her breath as she moans into my face with pleasure.
“Ugh,” I groan.
Beads of sweat have started to form on my forehead. I look like a wild animal in the throes of the hunt. A savage grimace has taken over my features, turning me into something else. My cock is rock hard. My pumping is relentless as my mind creates sight, smell and touch.
My eyebrows arch up. I look surprised, as if what is about to happen is so novel and unexpected that it warrants the expression I give it. Next to mine, I can imagine her face. She too looks savage. I picture her and the sounds she would make when she melts on my dick exactly like she did two years ago. It induces me to greater urgency. My hand moves back-and-forth, faster than a galley slave working his oar at ramming speed. I so wish it was her giving me this pleasure…she’s the hottest thing I have ever seen, and the way I’m beating my dick
to her memory bears testament to the fact.
My spine tingles and my balls draw up.
“Oh, shit, Rachel.”
I call out her name as I shoot my load onto the cold marble next to the sink. I cum violently as squirt after squirt erupts from my body, releasing weeks of pent-up lust and heady ideas of the meticulously planned encounter with a gorgeous woman. I gasp when my balls touch the cold stone as I slowly lower myself with the last spurt. The sensation is quite pleasant once I get used to the icy temperature. It is a sort of cooling off after the heat of orgasm. Just like they were hot coals needing to cool down after heating the hearth.
I look at the result of my exertions with a wane smile. I breathe in deeply and make an effort to clean up the gooey mess with some toilet paper. I absentmindedly take another sip of the whisky. I vow to my reflection in the mirror that the next time I cum, it’ll be inside her pretty pussy. I just don’t know how I’m going to convince her of that fact. It had been easy two years ago. This time, I know that it won’t.
Chapter 10
RACHEL
With my legs spread a little, I shave my lathered sex above the waterline in the bath. I don’t know why I decided to do this tonight of all nights. I for sure have more important things on my mind than personal grooming of the more intimate areas. I just somehow feel different. Something has happened to me that I can’t quite fathom. The lower I get, the better it felt. I can’t wait to have a look at myself in the small portable mirror once I’m finished.
“Mm, I look much better.”