F
lipping through the contacts on my phone, well over a thousand, some of the biggest names in entertainment and music, I need to find just the right woman. And it sure isn’t someone to ‘settle down with’ as Zena and the others insist. Quite the opposite. I am pissed over their heavy-handed suggestion. Using a bet to force the issue no less, and all with the threat to expel me from our group. The club holds many benefits. Financial connections beyond measure, a sense of security as we all keep an ear to the ground of any threats to each other, and of course, the comradery. With a sigh, I know the last reason is the one hurting me the most. I could find others to fulfill my other needs, but the companionship of women who truly understand me is irreplaceable. But God damn them, insisting I settle down is crossing the line.
Even after I promised to knock off the revolving door relationships with gorgeous women, swore that I would keep a low profile, they were not convinced. Only by picking just one person and making it discreetly known I am off the market would do. Or I'm out. Fuck them. I don't want just one, and even if I did, the woman would no doubt cost me a fortune. My money does not lure companions who like me for my witty dialogue and clever mind. They all want diamonds, Range Rovers, and twelve-bedroom condos along the coast of Malibu. No thanks. Although Lila repeatedly advised I find a woman who doesn't know me, she failed to explain how to pull that off. I'm too well known, if not by sight, then by name. A quick Google search and my net worth is at the top of the results list.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I continue to scroll my phone’s list. I need someone to distract me. Finally, a name I remember fondly lands under my thumb. A sexy brunette who made a few movies for me before marrying a successful director and giving up the acting business. That she married a man doesn’t bother me. I have a fond spot for straight women, probably because it takes a feminine type to really turn me on. Dresses and heels. Satin and lace. This contact choice fits the bill perfectly, and I type in a text. “Busy?”
The pause is long enough to make me frustrated, and I am about to scroll again when a text comes back. “Never for you.”
I smile. This I like, and I type off a quick reply. “Tell me what you are doing.”
“I'm sunbathing beside the pool.” There is a pause, and I wait for it knowing there is more. I am not disappointed. “Topless.”
A grin crosses my face. “Need help with your tanning lotion? Hate to have you burn.”
“I do need help. Very much. I want your hands on me.”
A tightness starts low in my belly already. The frustration of the ambush on the yacht agitated me more than I thought, and this is precisely the distraction I need. “Then my hands are on you. Slippery. Touching your shoulders. Your back. Your ass. Squeezing.”
“Oh God.”
“Turn over,” I type. “Now.”
“I am. I’ll do whatever you say.”
This is perfect. “Jesus, your nipples are hard. I can’t keep my hands off them.”
“Yes. Please touch me.”
“Can you feel me running my hands over your breasts? Squeezing, tickling, pinching. Hard.”
“I’m arching my back I love it so much.”
She is so damn good at this, I feel a throb between my legs. “I want more of you.”
“Anything you want.”
“I want to taste you. What is in my way?”
“Thong bikini. Yellow.”
As her answers get shorter, I know she’s really turned on. I want to make her come. To feel the power of it, and I know what to write.
“I’m tearing it off. You’re shaved, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m burying my face in your shaved pussy, soaking wet for me.”
“Oh fuck.”
“My tongue is everywhere. Sliding everywhere.”
“Oh fuck.”
“I want you to come in my mouth.”
“I will.”
I know I have her now. I shift in my seat. I might just come myself and wish I was somewhere other than the back of the damn town car heading for O’Hare Airport. “Feel me licking your clit. Sucking your clit. Fucking you with my tongue.”
“Wait.”
I do. I know what that means.
“Wait.”
A warmth floods over me. She is climaxing. I am as sure of it as I would be if I were there.
“Oh fuck, how do you do that to me?”
I laugh. “Enjoy the rest of your sunbathing.” Without another word, I leave the text string and lean back, feeling significantly more satisfied with myself. There’s no way I am giving that up. Club or no club. All I need is a drink to top things off, but this particular hired town car doesn’t have a bar. I could wait until I get to my private jet, but the itch for scotch is strong after a good fuck. Even a virtual one. If I can’t come, I can at least have a drink.
“Driver,” I call over the seats. “Take the next exit and find a minimarket or something.” The driver doesn't hesitate to put on the car's blinker to do what I ask. He knows who I am and is not stupid. I could ask him to take me anywhere, and he would comply without question.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and in a moment, we are off the interstate and down on surface streets. It's not the best-looking neighborhood, so I intend to make my visit quick. A gas station with a small store is ahead on the corner.
I lean forward and point. “Pull in there.” The man hesitates, and I see the problem. The lot is packed, and there is no place to park or even pull over. As we slow, a car honks angrily behind us when we don’t make the light. Stopped on the red, I grab the door handle. “Circle the block,” I instruct him. “I’ll be right back.”
“But, ma’am—” he starts, but I’m out of the car before he can finish. No one will recognize me in the three minutes it will take. I’m jogging across the lot when I realize my wallet and any money is still in the car.
“Fuck,” I say as I turn to go back, only to see the car whisking away with traffic. This is great. Now I have to wait for him to come back around. All to go in and get a bottle of undoubtedly cheap and therefore nasty scotch. A memory of my younger days reminds me I was not always rich and powerful. I come from poor roots. Iowa. Someplace I never go. The minimarket is too much a reminder of the shit I put up with growing up a butch lesbian in a map-dot town in the middle of nowhere. Reconsidering my decision, I turn to go wait on the curb when a car horn blasts. I look up in time to see an old, two-door Nissan sedan bearing down on me. I only have time to raise my hands before it bumps into me and sends me sprawling on the pavement.
For a moment, I am disoriented, but when I open my eyes, two things are clear. I have the worst headache of my life, and I am looking into the face of the most gorgeous blonde I've ever seen. “I'm going to make you a star,” I mumble. She really is breathtaking with large, slightly alarmed looking blue eyes, and full lips so desirable I suddenly want to kiss her.
“What?” I hear her say. “Are you okay? Oh my God, I didn’t see you,” the blonde babbles. “I’m so sorry.” I try to sit up, but it hurts like hell. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I am astonished by the amount of heat I feel from her touch. I don’t understand how I can be turned on right now when I was just run down by a car. “Just stay there,” she continues, a sob in her voice. “The ambulance is coming. God, I can’t believe I hit you.”
“You hit me?” I am not sure what to think. Is this accident good or bad luck? Regardless, other people gather around me, and I hear a siren. The last thing I want is to go to the hospital. Social media would go crazy over it. This time when I try, I do sit up. She tries to stop me, but I grab her arm for leverage. “Help me up.” My words are a demand, and she doesn't hesitate. Even with a concussion, I still know how to make people do what I want. As we stand, I notice her outfit. A yellow waitress uniform. Her name is on her breast. Claire. I like the name. I like everything about her and am about to tell her so, when I see the driver of the town car coming at a jog. The car is up on the sidewalk, the flashers going.
“Get out of my way,” he growls and in a second has me by the arm. Even though my vision is blurry, I see the woman, Claire, following me with her eyes. Concerned, but something else too. As I wonder if she recognizes me after all, I am half helped, half shoved into the back of the car and then the door slams. I slump against the seat, my head pounding. Closing my eyes, I feel the car rolling, bouncing off the curb. I let out a yelp of pain, and then I remember nothing else.