Chapter 5: Conner/Brad

Molly and I went over to say a quick goodbye to Andy and Monique, who looked at us as if we had two heads. Andy wasn’t shocked at all that I had been there less than an hour and was leaving with the most beautiful girl in the place. Monique, on the other hand, gave me a hard, suspicious look, like I was forcing her friend to leave against her will. While Monique was double checking with Molly to make sure things were cool, I gave the waitress another hundred-dollar bill and asked her to bring my coat. While the girls chatted, I pulled Andy aside.

“Hey, what do you know about this girl?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. He was shitfaced. “What girl?”

“The girl I’m about to leave with,” I said. “Monique’s friend.”

“Uh…” He turned to look at the girls for a moment as if he didn’t have a clue who I was talking about, then turned back to me and shrugged. “She works with Monique at some law firm downtown, I think. Can’t remember the name of the firm. Why? What difference does it make? I mean, did you see those tits?” He cupped his chest with his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Freakin’ unbelievable.”

I rolled my eyes at him and leaned in to lower my voice. “If Monique asks, my name is Brad Smith, and I’m a banker with a small firm downtown. Understand?”

Andy gave me a drunken smile and punched me in the arm. “You haven’t changed a bit, you old pussy hound. Always playing games.”

“I’m a pussy hound?” I asked playfully, nodding at Monique, who was giving Molly a wide-eyed look like she couldn’t believe she was leaving with a total stranger. “I’d just rather not deal with the fallout if she knew who I really was. I have a certain reputation to protect. You understand.”

“Oh, trust me, old pal, I understand.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a shake. “Can’t have Wall Street thinking its golden boy is out slumming with the common folk. Those Victoria’s Secret super models wouldn’t like it if they found out you dipped your gold-plated cock in a little low-class pussy.”

“That’s not it,” I said with a frown. “Jesus, Andy, I forget what an asshole you can be.”

“I’m just fucking with you… Brad was it?”

“Brad Smith. Banker. Small firm downtown.”

“Got it, Brad Banks from downtown Smith,” he said as the girls stepped up to join us. He patted me on the shoulder again and lied badly on purpose. “Great seeing you again, Brad, you old banker from Smith, you.”

I exchanged a quick glance with Molly, who was smiling back at me. She knew Brad Smith wasn’t my real name, and I knew she wasn’t really Molly the paralegal. It was a fun game to play for two people who had no intention of seeing each other past sunrise. I had my reasons for playing the game and so did she. As long as we both woke up and walked away happy, where was the harm?

“Okay, Brad the banker, let’s go,” Molly said after giving Monique a final hug and giving Andy a pat on the arm in an obvious move to avoid giving him a hug. Andy was a leech and Molly seemed to know it.

My guess was that if I hadn’t shown up he would have tried to get them both back to his hotel room for a little three-way fun. Andy was a good-looking guy, but I doubted Molly would have taken him up on his offer. Even though she was leaving with me, a total stranger, for a one-night stand, she just didn’t impress me as the type who did this sort of thing too often. And quite honestly, Andy’s personality was often the best contraceptive.

I put on my coat and helped with hers, then took her hand and led her through the crowded bar toward the door.

“I have a car,” I said after we finally managed to push our way onto the sidewalk. I started searching my pockets for my cellphone. “Just let me call the driver.”

“You have a car and driver?” she asked, a snarky look on her face. She wrapped her hands around my arm and gave me a tug. “Come on, Brad, I live two blocks away. We can be naked in a hot shower by the time your car gets here.”

I shoved the phone in my pocket and l gave her a smile.

“I like the way you think.”

“Just wait till you see how I do other things,” she said, teasing me with her eyes. “Not come on, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

* * *

Molly lived in a sixth-floor walk-up four blocks—not two—from the bar. It was freezing outside, and our teeth chattered along the way. We buttoned our coats and wrapped scarves around our necks and huddled together as we hurried down the sidewalk toward her place. She was more drunk than me. She giggled the whole way, like a giddy school girl sneaking off to do something she shouldn’t be doing, something naughty… really, really naughty.

I briefly thought about what Andy had said. I wasn’t worried in the least about what my associates in my firm on Wall Street would say if they knew what I was doing. Most of them were men who screwed whoever they could, whenever they could, I couldn’t imagine them passing much judgment on me for having a one-nighter with a paralegal. Many of them used high-end escort services because the escorts were more trustworthy than women they’d meet in bars or at fancy parties. Normal women liked to talk about the rich men they fucked. Escorts were paid not to.

We were all filthy rich and powerful, and there wasn’t a monogamous one in the bunch, even among the older married partners. Hell, they were the worst. Talk about pussy hounds. The richest men always are. Money and power are better than a bottle of Viagra. If having them doesn’t make a man’s dick hard they’re in the wrong profession.

We finally got to Molly’s building, an old brownstone on a quiet side street. There was no doorman, of course, so Molly used her key to let us inside a small lobby that contained a bank of mail slots on the wall and one door to the stairs.

“There’s no elevator?” I asked, huffing out cold breath. It wasn’t much warmer in the lobby than it was outside. Damn, what had I gotten myself into? I hoped that her apartment had heat to keep us warm until our bodies started generating a fire of their own.

“There is no elevator,” she said, tugging open the stairwell door and hitching her head to the side. “Come on, Brad the banker. A few stairs gonna wear you out?”

“Uh, no, I run marathons,” I said smugly. “What floor do you live on?”

“Sixth,” she said with a smirk. “You can come up or we can just have a quickie right here on the stairs. Up to you. I do have to warn you, screwing on these stairs will get your expensive coat dirty, so…”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not until she smiled and held out a gloved hand. I joined her at the door and took her in my arms and kissed her again. She kissed me back hard, shoving her hot tongue in my mouth and pressing her body into mine.

“Now, unless you are too old and out of shape to climb stairs…”

I grinned and took her hand. “You just try to keep up.”

We bolted up the first couple of flights, then the alcohol kicked in and we both slowed down. I wasn’t kidding. I did run marathons, but climbing six flights of stairs in the middle of winter when you’re freezing and drunk was proving to be a chore.

“You okay?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes, just a little drunk,” I said, trying to breathe.

Molly grinned at me and unbuttoned her coat.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my eyebrows arching.

“Giving you a little incentive,” she said with a devious grin.

She opened her coat and lifted the bottom of her sweater to show me her beautiful tits. She was wearing a sheer, black lacy bra that was doing its best to hold the large milky melons. The bra snapped in the front. She tweaked the snap with two fingers and her glorious boobs popped free.

Her tits were round and white, with large areolas and pink nipples the size of my little finger tip.

“Just a few more stairs, Brad the banker, and these can be all yours.”