WILMA AND BETTY FUCK LIKE porn stars. I knew from experience, I’d been fucking them for the last four months.
I dug my fingers into chocolate hair and pressed down, until the back of her throat massaged my slippery tip. A flat tongue added pressure underneath my shaft as a dainty hand massaged my sack. A moan pressed against the back of my teeth and Betty giggled on the head of my cock. The loud slurping filled the hotel room, as she sucked me like my come was the answer for world peace.
Strawberry blonde hair moved up and down between Betty’s thighs. She moaned over and over again, as Wilma licked and sucked her sweet, pink folds. The wet smacking noises were an aphrodisiac, pushing me faster toward release. It was a beautiful thing to hear and watch—nerve candy for the five senses.
I couldn’t hold back any longer—especially not with two sexy women fucking and sucking everything in the room. I let go, coming hard and fast with a string of curse words. Both ladies captured my spray, lapping it up like a fine wine, licking their lips as my personal flavor coated their tongues. It was truly a thing of beauty.
Later, with both women asleep beside me, I peeled back the sheet and crept from the bed. Wilma muttered something in her sleep as I slipped on my pants and buttoned my shirt. My expensive jacket covered my arms and the tie around my neck was perfectly tied. When I left the hotel room, I was thoroughly sated and ready to take on the chaos of New York City at night.
By the time I made it back to the club, Vick was waiting in my office.
“You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked and sucked into oblivion,” she said, pouring me a glass of my favorite scotch.
“Wilma and Betty…” I hummed. My fingers wrapped around the glass of Johnnie Walker, as I melted into the leather of my favorite chair.
I’d spent many nights with the redhead and brunette. They were my favorite threesome go-to girls. Wilma ate pussy like a starved woman, and Betty sucked dick like she was going for a gold medal in blow jobs.
“I’m surprised you’re not bored with them yet,” Vick snorted.
She pulled off her jacket and threw it across the back of the black leather couch in my office.
“Not yet.” A grin stretched my face and I swished my scotch around, making the ice clink against the sides of the glass.
Victoria, a.k.a. Vick, was my assistant, and had been for the last six years. We grew up in foster care together, and she was my right-hand man. We covered each other’s asses when shit got out of control, which it tended to do when we were younger. She was the only person in the world who knew every detail of my life—the biggest hard-ass I knew—and the only woman in my life I hadn’t fucked.
It wasn’t that Vick wasn’t attractive, she was sexy in a Laura Croft: Tomb Raider kind of way; it’s just she was more like a sister to me. I didn’t have any siblings. Hell, I didn’t have any family, so our relationship was special, even if I never told her so.
Men found her attractive. Her long, dark hair was always pulled into a tight ponytail and her wardrobe consisted of black. She had pouty lips that were formed into a permanent frown, and big cerulean eyes. Vick made her resting bitch face look sexy—like she was minutes away from slinging a whip and fucking you senseless.
I kicked lots of ass over her growing up. Then, I ran away from the system, leaving her to fend for herself. It killed me when I found out she’d earned money selling her ass during the years we were apart. Needless to say, when I became the rich fuck I am today, I pulled her along for the ride. I made sure she’d never have to lie on her back for money again.
“Any luck finding your Jessica Rabbit?” she asked, fingering the night’s paperwork, putting together figures.
Tilting the glass to my lips, the smooth liquid slid down my throat, igniting a burn in my chest. I set the glass on a table and stood. “Jessica Rabbit is a myth. There are no Jessica’s in the world, but if I find one, you’ll be the first to know,” I winked. “What’s it looking like?”
She held up a paper with a smile. “Tonight was good. Ten grand more than last night. Looks like the article in the New York Times paid off. Of course, the fact they named Clive’s the ‘hottest new nightclub in New York’ didn’t hurt.”
I took the paper from her and looked down at the percentages. She was right. Clive’s had brought in almost double the revenue from the night before. The fact I was banking so much on a weeknight meant I had single-handedly built Clive’s into a success.
I’d come a long way from the seventeen-year-old punk I used to be. I owed it all to Clive… the nightclub, and the man himself.
When I was nineteen, I came face to face with the end of Clive’s shotgun. What could I say? I was into some crazy shit. He could have turned me in. Hell, he could have killed me, but instead he gave me a job at his hole-in-the-wall bar and taught me everything he knew about the business. He became like a father to me. The only father I knew, since mine had dropped me off on a set of church steps with a shitty diaper wrapped around my ass.
Sadly, Clive died when I was twenty-two, leaving me the bar and some old stock and bond certificates. I sat on those certificates as I worked the bar and lived in the tiny apartment above it. It wasn’t until years later, I found out those certificates were worth millions.
I took that money, opened my own place, naming it after the man who gave me everything, and became the twenty-nine-year-old success I was today. I rubbed elbows with celebrities, and some of the wealthiest men I knew became rich due to my advice.
Women threw themselves at my cock, like it was made of pure gold. I didn’t turn anyone away. Until eventually, I got bored with the same tedious women and their dull positions. Taking matters into my own hands, I started a little black book.
Inside my book was a buffet of women who were willing and ready for my call. Each one specialized in something different, and each one was named after a cartoon character of my choosing.
“Okay. Good work, Vick. Go home and get some sleep. It’s almost three in the morning. If we’re doing this well on a Thursday, you’ll need tons of rest for the weekend.” I set the papers on my desk and turned toward the door. “Also, hire a new waitress. When I was coming through earlier, I saw a few tables waiting for service.”
“I’m on it,” she said, turning the desk lamp off and heading my way.
Locking the office door behind us, I walked her to the black Chevy Camaro I bought for her birthday two years before. It wasn’t the most expensive car, but it was what she chose.
“See you tomorrow,” I said, shutting her car door.
Going back into the club, two bartenders were still inside closing up. The lush crimson and black décor made the place look dark and sexy. Once the lights went out, you could barely see your hand in front of your face. The walls were wrapped in blood-red swag and black chandeliers hung from the ceiling like sinister diamonds of light. The twenties-style pieces placed throughout the room, topped it off. It was designed exactly as I requested.
“Goodnight, Mr. Black.” The petite blonde bartender said when I walked by the bar.
“Lock it up tight,” I instructed.
Taking two stairs at a time, I moved quickly toward my apartment above the club. Not many people knew I lived and worked in the same building, but the paranoia that came with teenage years full of drug slinging, kept me from leaving the club unattended.
Once inside, I stripped down and went for a hot shower. Eight, strategically placed, shower heads beat my body with steaming water. It felt good to wash away my earlier encounter with Wilma and Betty. Sighing out loud, I knew this would be the most relaxing part of my night, as the ability to have a good night’s sleep had eluded me for years. My history took away all the peaceful moments in my life. Sleeping through the night like a normal person wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. A couple hours here and there was all I needed.
Before going to bed, I flipped through my book and examined the names—ranging anywhere from Disney and Looney Tunes, all the way to Hanna-Barbera. My eyes landed on the B’s and then bounced around until the name Bambi caught my attention. Losing myself in a wet and ready woman always kept the past from rushing up on me… and it had been weeks since I’d lost myself between Bambi’s thighs. Maybe a change of pace was what I needed. It was time to give her a call tomorrow.
I STOOD AND ZIPPED UP my slacks. Shoving my arms into my shirt, I pulled the collar close and buttoned each button quickly.
“What’s the rush?” The seductive voice came from behind me.
Turning around, my eyes devoured a pair of long, shapely legs. The perfectly shaved V between her thighs glistened and reminded me that not five minutes before, it had milked me dry. She sat up and put on the purple, silk panties I’d bought her a few months before.
“This will be our final visit,” I muttered dismissively, tying my tie.
She was developing feelings and I wasn’t down for that shit, at all. Touchy feely nonsense was something I wanted nothing to do with. Also, I was bored with her, which I remembered was the main reason I hadn’t contacted her for weeks.
She was a bad investment, who had taken an obscene amount of time getting me off. That was all the proof I needed. Because of her I was going to have to get a quick lunch, verses my usual at Red’s Lounge.
“Excuse me. May I ask why?” she questioned, slipping silk bra straps over her shoulders.
Her name wasn’t actually Bambi, but I never asked for their names. They were irrelevant. I only needed to know their bodies, and they only needed to know mine. I gave my women a name that suited them. For this chick, Bambi was a perfect fit. Every time she wanted something she’d look up at me with big, pleading, doe eyes. It was annoying.
When I told her Bambi was her new name, she smiled like it was a compliment. Little did she know, she was just a fill-in until something better came along—my myth, my Jessica Rabbit. She didn’t even get full payment, and thought the grand I paid her each week was worth what I made her do in bed.
I plucked my jacket from the back of the chair and stepped around the bed.
“Wait a minute. Let’s talk about this.” She whined, hopping on one foot, attempting to put on her sex kitten heels.
The hotel room door slammed in her face before she could stop me. I adjusted my tie and pressed the button on the elevator. An aggravated sigh pushed past my lips and I shook my head when the door opened behind me.
Thankfully, the elevator opened at the same time. She gawked at me with those big doe eyes, clad in only a bra, skirt, and heels. As the elevator doors closed, I could see a mascara-filled tear sliding down her cheek. It disgusted me.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my book and opened it. Licking my thumb, I shuffled through the pages until I came to Bambi’s. I drew a thick black line through her name and number, and then called to have the payments to her account stopped.
STANDING IN FRONT OF THE two-way mirror in my office, my eyes admired the crowd of dancers below. This was mine. The building, the club, everything was mine. It was the only thing I truly loved. The only thing I would never get tired of.
The beat of the music shook the glass and I pressed my palms against it to feel the vibrations.
The door to my office opened, allowing the music to come in and blend with the sensations running through my fingers. I didn’t bother turning around, I knew who it was. She shut the door behind her, making the room silent again.
“So I tried to pay my monthly mortgage today, but the lady told me I no longer had a mortgage. Apparently, my condo has been paid in full. Know anything about that?” Vick inquired, accusation dripping from her tone.
I was hoping she’d never bring it up. With my back to her, a knowing grin tugged at the side of my mouth. “Nope.” I quickly changed the subject. “Any deep pockets out tonight?”
She didn’t push the whole money situation and I was glad. I never wanted to be put on a pedestal as some financial hero, and I could always count on Vick to keep me grounded.
“Definitely some deep pockets.” I heard the smile in her voice. “You coming down? There’s a few red-carpet walkers asking for you.”
Spending the night in a VIP room full of celebs used to be exciting, but not so much anymore. I’d slept for shit the night before—nightmares waking me every time I closed my eyes. I wasn’t feeling it. But like any other good businessman, I knew I had to make an appearance—act the part of the rich club owner. It was total bullshit. I knew it, and Vick knew it, too.
“Yeah. Let them know I’ll be down in a bit.”
Vick didn’t respond, but the door opened and closed again.
Turning away from the mirror, I grabbed my coat and buttoned it up as I took to the steps. I was instantly hit with loud music and red lights when I stepped onto the main floor.
I moved along the outside wall toward the bar for a drink. I’d need the good shit, if I wanted to make it through the night. With my back to the bar, I had a front row view of the sweaty bodies grinding against each other. The distinct smell of alcohol and sexual desire floated around the room.
Once I got the attention of one of my bartenders, I nodded at him, signaling I was ready for my first drink. I didn’t have to wait long before a glass was sliding in my direction. Turning, I leaned against the bar and took in the room, sipping my drink. My eyes bounced from one half-naked woman to the next.
And then I saw her.
Long waves of crimson fire shimmered in the lights, as she worked her way across the room. She turned and smiled at a table full of guys who were talking to her and making obscene gestures. Her thick-lipped smile kindled something deep in my groin—a tiny spark ignited and made my balls ache. Long lashes skimmed her cheeks, amplified by the eye-batting she gave the guys before walking away.
When she turned my way, I saw the name Clive’s stretched across her full chest. The yellow T-shirt material clung to her breasts and I could see the white lines of a simple bra underneath. She was oblivious to her seductiveness, which made her all the more appealing.
Maneuvering around the room, she turned from one side to the next, giving me different views of her curves. She obviously worked for me, but had no business in a place like this. Her face full of makeup wasn’t fooling anyone. Her inner beauty shone through in the way she moved. Even with the tight shirt and short shorts, she stood out. She was a bright, white beacon of beautiful innocence amongst all the sin swimming around the club.
She was pure perfection, with flawless, ivory skin and round hips that begged for my touch. She was exquisite, she was timeless, and little did she know, she was as good as mine.