part0008

F ive days, seven hours, and fourteen minutes. That is how long it took me to find out everything about her. There are two reasons why I had to wait that long when I usually could have insisted the information be delivered to me within hours.

First, a concussion. I probably should have gone to the hospital, but there is no way I will sit in an emergency department for hours. Instead, I went back to the International Towers, rented the penthouse for another month, and slept for four days. My personal physician arrived eventually, but there was not much for her to do. I don’t take drugs. Legal or otherwise. I like to maintain complete control of myself at all times. I’ve seen too many rich and powerful people fuck up their lives just to get high. That won’t be me.

Second, I wanted complete discretion. The search for Claire needed to be handled delicately. No one, and I mean no one, could know I am interested in the woman. One slip-up and the paparazzi would be all over her. I keep a man in my employ just for this sort of work. He’s expensive but highly effective, thorough as hell, but the old school methods he uses are slow. Still, they leave no trace of my hunt, so I was patient. Barely.

Every waking moment, the woman is on my mind. But the dreams… They are amazing. I undress her from her waitress uniform and lead her to my bed. Her nakedness is splendid, and I feel a twitch between my legs in wanting her. Yet, even in my fantasies, we don't fuck. I want it to be special and real. In my dreams, all I do is kiss her, because the look of her mouth burns in my memory. A sexy mouth, full lips, perfect. I cannot wait to take it with my own. To kiss her hard until she gasps with first surprise and then moans with passion as my tongue conquers her mouth to claim her as my own. I lightly bite her bottom lip teasing at the edge between pleasure and pain, wanting her to know one of the many things I have in store for her. I stop the fantasy, and even control my dreams, to keep from going further. If I kiss longer, deeper, I will not be able to contain myself. I want her that badly.

Especially now, as I sit with my private investigator and listen to his report about Claire. Claire Hathaway. Thirty-seven. Divorced five years before from her high school boyfriend, a deadbeat ex who ruined her financially. Thankfully, no children. I process the information turning the glass of ice water in my hand as I relax in the armchair across from my investigator. “And does she like women?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“A gay brother,” he answers without bothering to consult his notes. “Attended Chicago Pride with him and his boyfriend. Not experienced, but I would say favorable.” I can’t keep the smile from my face, not at all daunted by the fact she does not already identify as a lesbian. At least she is aware of the lifestyle. Less I will have to teach her.

All my life, I have been lucky. Although my success is a result of hard work clawing my way to the top, I know part of it is luck. The right place at the right time. Meeting the right person when it matters. Moments in time aligning in my favor. Just like now. I need a woman to make me honest and to settle down with. A sweet girl-next-door type not tainted by the glitter of fame or hunting for fortune. Again, a twist of desire low on my body threatens to distract me as I consider how I will seduce her. Claire Hathaway could not be more perfect.

After my investigator departs leaving every shred of notes behind him, I pick up a photo of Claire and study the image. She is more beautiful than I remember, extremely photogenic to look so good in a candid photo taken with a telephoto lens. I really could make her a star if things were different. Her body is too curvy for a supermodel, but the overall appeal she radiates would no doubt hop off any silver screen. I wonder for a moment if she has ever acted and then scold myself. She is going to be my special project, not a celebrity for the whole world to fall in love with, although a glance at the next photo tells me they would. This one is taken through the slightly parted curtains of her second-story apartment. I suppress a growl at the knowledge my investigator saw her like this. He’s a professional, yet anyone would be aroused by this photo. She is in a towel, wrapped around her torso, and her long blonde hair is wet from a shower.

The picture catches her running her fingers through her hair, her shoulders are naked, and the towel is the tiniest breath from parting. The cloth ends just past her hips, the slightest hint of the nakedness between her thighs threatens to peek from underneath. Fuck. The picture is turning me on so much I hold my breath to contain the rush of feelings rippling through me. There is no way I can go to the diner where she works tomorrow in a state like this. I need to release some energy, or I will explode when I see her.

I consider calling my guest from a week ago, but the memory of her insisting that visit was the last makes me hesitate. If I call her and insist, I believe she will come to me tonight no matter what she said before. I have that kind of power, but perhaps letting her go is for the best. It is time for me to start thinking more exclusively. If I give my word to Zena and the others in the club, I will stick to it. One woman. Under the radar. At least until everyone relaxes, which means no escorts, no matter how fantastic they are in bed.

Luckily, I have alternative ways to help take the edge off. My sex drive is too high not to need to satisfy myself occasionally. Among my toys is a palm-size vibrator, perfect for both partner and self-stimulation. I don’t even bother to undress or lie on the bed, but instead, unbuckle my belt and pull down the zipper on my jeans before bracing myself against the dresser where I have unpacked my possessions. Turning it on with my thumb, I slide the hand holding the toy into my briefs until I feel the soft latex ridges come in contact with my already throbbing clit. Sucking a breath in through my clenched teeth, I allow the picture of Claire in the towel into my mind. Forcing myself to keep from focusing on how it will feel to have her beneath me, I let my imagination linger on the image of her slowly, teasingly opening the terrycloth to reveal one inch of her naked flesh at a time. So subtle in her movements, until I see the shadow of hair between her legs. It’s blonde like the rest of her and although I usually prefer a shaved pussy, the thought of burying my face in that velvety softness makes me growl with want.

I move my hand pressed against my clit in slow circles, and I know my climax is close already. A throbbing builds from within me, and I feel my slippery wetness against my fingers with each stroke of the toy. Fuck. This fantasy is already a new favorite as I continue to watch her move the towel over her breasts until her nipples are exposed. They are rigid and tight, inviting my mouth, and I lick my lips. Imagining the taste of them almost does it, almost pushes me over, but I wait. My mind can do better, and I am not disappointed as the towel falls to the floor. Her body is delicious, and I'm so ready to come I close my eyes tilting my head back. Behind my eyelids, Claire trails a hand slowly through her wet hair, only to let it continue across her collarbone, pausing at the cleft between her breasts. “More?” she whispers, and this time I let it be my turn to beg.

She does, and the gasp from her throat is too much. I feel the roar of an orgasm build up inside me. As she continues to tease herself for my entertainment, I come hard enough to nearly buckle my knees. A moan escapes me, and I pull the vibrator out of my jeans as the sensation is now too much, but the throbbing from the climax remains—as does the image of Claire’s naked body and knowing smile. She is going to be perfect.