1

S tanding at the bar in the lavish penthouse apartment, I slowly make myself a scotch over ice. Not just any scotch. Glenlivet. Aged longer than the fifty-one years I’ve been alive. Life is too short to drink shitty alcohol. Besides, I could afford it. Easily. Twenty-seven years as a puppet master pulling the strings behind Roseland Media, and I am worth 1.3 billion. Maybe more considering how well the stock market is doing. Some of the biggest acts in entertainment answer to me. I am the manager to the managers of superstars of music, film, and a little of everything else. No one makes money without me getting a cut. A large cut.

Smiling, I sip the scotch and turn back to the room. The lights are low, just the way I like them at night, casting shadows across the sleek lines of the black and chrome furniture. An Asian inspired design. Clean, minimal, nothing unnecessary in its function. Whenever I come to Chicago, I stay at the International Towers along the city’s Miracle Mile and in this space. They know me here, but then again, don’t, because I use a name other than my own. The world is too small a place to be anything but discreet. Besides, one of the rules of the club I belong to is no names, no titles, no acknowledgment of who any of us are aside from the richest lesbians in the world—a small, exclusive cadre of wealth and power.

In the morning, we will meet. Not everyone who qualifies will make it, but I’m confident most will as there is something invigorating about being surrounded by so much power. Of course, there's always some posturing; too many type-A personalities to have otherwise, but for the most part, the group lets me relax, as if we ‘get’ each other. Besides, we always have a bit of fun. Someone will always challenge another to a wager or two. It’s funny how bored a person gets when they can buy absolutely anything in the world.

But that is all for tomorrow, and I want to focus on tonight. Moving across the room to the coffee table, I tap my phone to check the time, and my smile widens. Any second and the front desk will discreetly let a friend of mine have access to the top floors of the tower. In fact, knowing her and her promptness, she is probably on her way. Thinking of her impending arrival, I feel a flutter in my stomach. The woman is another thing I always partake in when I come to this city. As if conjuring her from thin air, there is a quiet buzz at the door. I could have let the penthouse’s butler stay and had him get the door, but not tonight. No staff tonight.

I sip the scotch giving myself another moment to enjoy the smoky flavor across my tongue. My guest will wait; all night if I choose. After all, I paid handsomely for her time, but the twitch of anticipation inside me convinces me to open the door. When I do, I pause to appreciate the beauty of the creature before me. My eyes travel her body, and she remains perfectly still, without a word, as I assess her. Her cascading black hair and mocha-rich skin are a perfect contrast to the blood red dress she wears. The one-shoulder design is as elegant as it is sexy, fitting her petite body like a glove. For a fleeting moment, I think that is a shame, because it's likely I will tear it when I rip it off her.

Finally, I let my eyes travel back to her face. Delicate features. Hazel eyes. Full lips under red lipstick to match her dress. Our eyes meet, and in them, I see a desire as strong as my own. We've never discussed it, but I know I am her favorite client. She prefers women, but not many can afford her, and so my appointments are a treat. When her pussy clenches my fingers, and I feel her body tremble as she comes, I know it is no act. I think she would visit me even if I didn't pay her, but that would change the dynamic. There is no room in my life for a girlfriend—not even one who fucks as good as she does.

Stepping aside, I nod toward the apartment’s living room. “Please come in.” I’m always polite. Some of the women in the club are Doms, and I appreciate how easy that would be to embrace, but I'm not interested in controlling a woman's every thought. Although I will always be in charge, the butch in me will accept nothing less, I like a natural response from the women I sleep with. Free will is essential, even in bed.

Enjoying the view of her subtle curves, I follow behind her as she moves with an almost regal grace across the space to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows while I return to the bar. “Champagne?” I ask. She nods without turning to me. Now she too is a shadow, backlit by the moon and the sparkle of lights from the city around us. I have the champagne ready knowing she will want it from our visits in the past. Carrying the flute, I join her in appreciation of the skyline. Chicago is dazzling at night, and I have a fondness for the city's vibrant downtown. She takes the glass and sips. Although we rarely talk, she is unusually quiet tonight. I can't decide if I want to ask why, after all, that is not why she is here, and before I can, she turns to me.

“This is the last time,” she whispers. “I can't see you after tonight.” Raising an eyebrow, I consider her statement and try to assess how I will respond. Indeed, it's a shame as we are good together, but in the end, I don't care. There are others. Lots of others.

“Then make tonight your best,” is all I say. In answer, she drinks her champagne in a single swallow before setting the flute aside. Curious, I sip my scotch letting her lead for the moment, and I am not disappointed. Reaching behind her, she unzips the red dress before sliding it off to stand in front of me with nothing covering her but a lacy black thong. Her breasts are small, but that's never mattered, as long as her nipples are tight. In her excitement, they are, and I already know how they will taste in my mouth. Still, I wait. Clearly, she has an agenda.

Moving toward me, she slowly kneels and reaches for my belt. My whole body tightens in response. There is something so erotic about a beautiful woman on her knees in front of me—by choice. I enjoy another small swallow of my drink as she conquers my zipper and moves her hands inside the fabric of my slacks to slide them down past my hips. Anticipation inside me mounts. I know later in the evening I will fuck her, more than once, but right now I lean back against the window to give her access. The drop is ninety-eight stories, but I don’t give it a thought. Nothing tangible, like heights, frightens me. I am rewarded for my accommodation as her fingers clasp the top of my briefs and pull them down to give her mouth access to my swollen clit. I am wet and hard, and her tongue almost burns me as she licks me in a long, slow caress. She is teasing a little, knowing I like sex to be almost feverish, but before I can correct her, she moves in to pull me hard against her mouth. Sucking me. The pace is no longer playful, and I let one hand drop to her hair, where I entangle my fingers to help guide her, while the other still holds the not quite forgotten scotch.

“Fuck,” I murmur as my guest expertly uses her tongue to part my lips further and flick just inside me. I realize then I might miss her after all. She knows exactly what it will take to get me off. The combination of her movements from one point of pleasure to another makes me buck my hips against her. She wraps her arms around my thighs to keep me in place because we both know what is about to happen. A groan of pleasure escapes from her throat, and I can imagine how wet she is for me. Her pussy will be swollen and need me to fuck it, but first this—first my turn. I clench my fist in her hair to hold her in place as I come, knowing she can taste me, and no doubt feel me throb. We stay there a moment as I tremble slightly against the cool glass of the window. The lingering waves of the orgasm still roll through me as she leans back and licks her lips. I cannot help but smile. In a moment, it will be my turn, and I will make her scream with pleasure before the night is over, but I savor the feeling of my body as I raise my glass to sip my expensive scotch.