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The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04

I feel that I have finally arrived at the right place with this chapter after ten very long months of discussion, reading, researching, and writing. This chapter begins with a minor character who I introduced at the very end of Chapter 03. I would like to thank my editor. In the last few months, she has been a great help in the editing process and a sounding board for new story ideas. Finally, thank you to my readers for reading this—the solid, very final chapter of The Wrong Thing to Do.


Manhattan's Central Park buzzed with youthful activity as lucky New Yorkers, momentarily spared the duties of adulthood, took advantage of the freedom-filled summer day. The cool gentle breeze amplified the warmth of the clear baby blue sky as Scarlett Tanagers and Yellow Warblers chirped their singsong tunes to reflective souls below.

The allure of the bright mid-August afternoon had passed Catherine Porter by again. Her days slipped quickly by now and as usual this day was turning into another one with a duty-bound night. However, after tonight's board meeting, she anticipated that the limitless alcohol and potential for carnal indulgence at the philanthropic gala of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, the "Met," would provide some relief from her hectic schedule.

Today Catherine's morning was an average one for her as she awoke at dawn. With boundless energy and a cup of java in hand, she was escorted by bodyguards from her condo's lobby to one of the awaiting corporate Escalades.

It had been well before sunrise as four conspicuous black Cadillacs zoomed purposely toward lively awakening Midtown. Like every other morning following her eleven PM day-enders, Catherine returned to work at five am with the four SUVs turning onto Sixth Avenue and rolling to a stop inside the executive garage of the towering behemoth known officially as Number Seven, Bryce Plaza.

The promotion had been sharp and sudden, like the heart attack that had cleared the path to her new position. Two months previously, Catherine had taken command of the Bryce Corporation as its new Chief Executive Officer and Chairwoman following John Bryce's heart attack and subsequent comatose state.

Mark Bryce, the young billionaire who inherited the entire privately held Bryce Corporation on his twenty-second birthday, made Catherine's appointment. Heart attack or not, the company and the Bryce family's historic wealth would have been bestowed on Mark, who would have given his proxy to his father. Before she died, Mark's mother had made sure that her family's wealth would be left only to her son and not to her distrusted husband, John Bryce, who under pressure from her father, had adopted his wife's family name and signed a ball-clamping prenuptial agreement.

Don't be fooled. With a salary that had the potential for Catherine to amass great personal wealth and a powerful platform to effect deep global change, Catherine's position is one many men would kill for.

In June Catherine had been in the right place at the right time. Through the decision of a twenty-two year old heir, she was rocketed to the sixty-ninth floor where she now occupied the captain's chair.

In her first few days at the helm it appeared as if the Bryce Corporation ran Catherine instead of her running it. Within a week of her appointment, she quickly adjusted to her new role. Her style had proved to be gentler and more reasoned whereas John Bryce's style had been unsympathetically blunt.

She was a long-term player who knew her opponents' movements long before they did.

Catherine had studied industrial engineering, unlike her colleagues and the man she had replaced who possessed an MBA. She carried in her mind an intimate knowledge of all the corporation's moving parts, which enabled her to fine-tune the whole. She looked at problem solving from every angle, knowing that one relatively minuscule decision could have a domino effect.

In the end Catherine's affinity for detail and her analytical mind helped grow the Bryce Corporation's financial standing during troubling economic times.

Spending all of her time in the head office was rare though. A great deal of Catherine's time was spent travelling. But let's not confuse this with anything fun, though, because every blinking second was still work dedicated.

In two months she had seen more of the world than a National Geographic photographer. To put the UN to shame, Catherine had effectively negotiated with more heads of governments than Kofi Annan.

From negotiations at London's 10 Downing Street, Moscow's Kremlin, and China's Great Hall—to being the first CEO to take the podium at Davos where she made the keynote address—Catherine's Euro-Asia swing was simply a scaled-down picture of the hectic schedule associated with her new title.

Compared to the hundreds of other CEO speeches at Davos, Catherine's was the most anticipated. Pundits and reports the world over followed that commented on her youthfulness and the possible fallout of her naivety and its ambitious vision.

She was an unknown to the business community. Indirectly, her promotion had affected the world markets more than the politicking of any world leader in the weeks following her appointment.

On top of all this Catherine had cracked the heel of her favorite beige Valentino's while dashing for a plane in Delhi. She'd momentarily forgotten that the jet was there for her, and seeing her entourage swarm to keep her balanced was a reminder of her new station.

During her term as junior Vice President of Operations, she had witnessed the large-framed John Bryce time after time bring down the full weight of his position from the very throne which she now occupied. Some of the largest companies in recent history had met their match in this very boardroom and just over a month ago Catherine herself had been the arbiter of such a hostile fate.

Lintex Computers Inc., once one of the world's largest technology companies, had outsourced the manufacturing of its hardware to the Bryce Corporation until a defect occurred that created the need for the largest computer recall in history.

Lintex quickly entered bankruptcy protection where their executives promptly blamed Bryce. Bryce General Counsel, in its investigation ordered by Catherine, found the blame to be a flawed design of Lintex's.

During her first week at the helm, Catherine turned a situation that could have seen the Bryce Corporation lose billions into a deal that saw Bryce acquiring a humbled technological force for what amounted to be pennies on the dollar. At present, Catherine sat in the regal Bryce boardroom with its aged splendor and chestnut walls. Sitting in the center of the endless table was a strategic position as she maneuvered around the delicate male egos that weighed against her.

Catherine sat upright, denying her spine the luxurious support of the decadent leather armchair. This was her ship to captain and protect from the terrors of the deep, cold, dark ocean. She couldn't afford to be distracted by indulgences and was focused and on point as always, knowing that any sign of weakness would cause the old boys to pounce.

Her eyes never left George Hollis. Catherine knew if she wasn't vigilant he could be the end of her. "Profits for this quarter are up sharply; however, the acquisition of Lintex Computers will drive up our overall operating expenses due to the initial capital infusion we're using to overhaul Lintex. They have about one hundred and twenty thousand employees. I know I originally planned on only cutting thirty percent of their workforce, but it'll need to be more."

Catherine struck the mahogany table causing the room to fall silent. With her keen focus on the sharply dressed balding older man sitting directly opposite her, she asked, "Thirty percent, George? I thought we decided on ten. What is this?"

George Hollis relaxed his torso into his plush chair, his posture showcasing his lack of respect for the woman across from him. "You may think this company can't go into the red. Yeah, we netted six billion this quarter, but...look, I'm the CFO and it's my job to make sure the quarterly profits rise. I changed the numbers; so shoot me."

"No, George. Your job is to assist me as I drive profits while balancing our commitment to the owner, our customers, our employees, and the communities we operate in! We bought Lintex out of bankruptcy for less than ninety-five percent of its average trading value; plus, you see the strong numbers it's already projecting. What you need to do is watch your tone. We'll discuss this privately after—"

Masked hatred and contempt began to appear on George's face. "Your naivety continues to astound me. Purchasing Lintex was a bush-league move that continues to cost me precious capital."

Catherine began speaking from the diaphragm, her voice firm as she gave him one last chance. "George, you need to step out," she said, thrusting her frame in his direction.

Ignoring her, Hollis blazed onward. "We could have gotten it for far less and forced them to make concessions on pensions." He paused, making a loud grinding sound with his teeth. "The President asks you to save the economy...and you bend over like a bitch in heat!"

Other than Catherine there were no other women in the boardroom. With disbelief in their eyes the male executives verbally rejected Hollis's comments, the room exploding into chaos as some tried to be chivalrous in the face of pigheadedness.

The first person to respond was seated at the furthest end of the table. Square-jawed William Mitchel, a young junior Vice President who had twice been declared bachelor of the year by GQ, jumped to rebuff Hollis. At thirty-four, William was the only one at the table that even neared Catherine in age.

Prior to this incident, most at the table had grown to genuinely like Catherine. The others that didn't, having witnessed her economic and organizational acumen, had been forced to at least accept her—all except for Hollis who believed she was sitting in his chair.

She had proven herself a worthy manager. Love her or hate her everyone had grown to respect Catherine, except for George Hollis who believed the CEO position was rightfully his.

He had actually gone crying to Mark Bryce about it multiple times, getting the same response from Mark after every intrusion. "I know you were good friends with my dad, but Catherine remains in charge. She's proven herself."

As chaos ensued Catherine rose to her feet, walking over to a side table and pouring herself a tall glass of water. She smelled the roses that lined the table, smiling inwardly. She had finally found a way to fire Hollis. Even though Mark gave her full autonomy, until now she had reasoned that firing his comatose father's good friend would not go over well.

George Hollis had given her what she needed: just cause and sympathy from her executive board. In a discreet move she picked up the phone, made a call, and then calmly walked back to the table.

She said nothing and the room fell silent until George Hollis broke it. "Everybody clear the room for Catherine and me."

The executives began to rise until Catherine chimed in. "This executive meeting is not over. Anyone who is not in their seats in two seconds can surrender their access cards to the front desk on their way out!" The mood quickly tensed as Catherine continued with the meeting, ignoring George Hollis. Those at the table were confused as they listened to their chief.

"Look, we need to restructure our different divisions—creating uniformed synergy—to shield us from an unpredictable economy. If a division operating in an industry is not dominant, and its track record and reason dictates it won't be, we will move out of that industry completely." The room grew deeper into eerie silence as the game-changing announcement was made. "We need to consolidate under the umbrella of our strengths and that is our core divisions of Defense, Natural Resources, Pharmaceuticals, Technology, and Infrastructure. That's the big picture. We cleave off all the left-over fat."

George Hollis held his tongue for the moment. Even if he had intended to do something, he wouldn't have a chance. Eight uniformed Bryce building security officers marched into the boardroom.

As the security officers walked in, Catherine kept speaking as though nothing unusual was happening. Security positioned themselves behind George Hollis, whispering a command to him at which point the large balding man exploded into incoherent rage.

"You bitch. You're firing me? Do you know who I am? I'm gonna slit your fucking throat!" he yelled, spraying spit with his fuming words. Security restrained him as he prepared to lunge for Catherine. "You're dead...fucking hear me, cunt?" George's hands began flailing about and his eyes went wildly wide. Security quickly restrained the struggling elderly executive and dragged him out kicking and threatening.

With George now removed, Catherine stood the course unfazed and determined to use her newfound capital. "Our objective should be to invest heavily in our expertise to become number one in those sectors. Owning a fourth-rate television network, studio, and a chain of accident-prone amusement parks does not make for common-sense strategy. We can do the profitable thing while creating sustainable American jobs and in turn reignite economies the world over."

The room stood silent until William Mitchel raised his hand like a kindergartener. Catherine glanced at him. "I second the motion. I only watch NBC during the Olympics anyway and they still screw that up. It's a shithole money pit. Let's dump it." The room chuckled at Mitchel's ice-breaking remark. They were now solidly behind Catherine who had been waiting to make that play at George Hollis for a while. When the meeting ended, she went around the room accepting shocked apologies as the old man's club voiced their approval of the unanimous removal of their colleague.

Catherine gave William special thanks and a visual once-over before she left the boardroom feeling invigorated. Clair Smith, her Chief of Staff, shot toward her. "What happened with security?"

"George Hollis is no longer our Chief Financial Officer."

"Ma'am...I mean Ms. Porter...I don't understand—" Just this week Catherine had won a personal battle with Clair. At thirty-five, Catherine didn't feel 'ma'am' to be suitable.

"It's the darndest thing. He just up and quit." Catherine walked toward the confines of her office but avoided actually entering it, afraid she would never leave tonight if she did.

As she approached the reserved special elevator near her office, her second shadow appeared. The tall man in a suit followed behind her staying the agreed ten-foot distance. Since becoming CEO Catherine was guarded twenty-four-seven. Allen gave her the wide berth she requested, making sure all his men did the same.

Allen along with Clair followed Catherine into the elevator. Challenging the parameters of their arrangement, Catherine asked, "Do you really need to be in the elevator with me? Other than the washroom it's the only time I feel I'm truly alone. You too, Clair. What am I saying? For all I know you guys probably have tiny cameras in my pillows."

"No," Allen abruptly replied.

"No, what? I need more than one word."

"No, we don't have cameras in your pillows...not anymore."

Catherine couldn't tell if Allen was joking or not. In two months she had never heard him make a joke nor even seen him smile. Even with his burst of dry humor, he failed to smile even now. She squinted her eyes as Clair, laughing, said what she'd entered the elevator to say. "Catherine, tomorrow morning you're flying to Santa Clara, California, to meet with the new executive team at Lintex."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I've reserved the Boeing 787 from the BFO," Clair said, speaking of the Bryce flight office, "because the next day you're in—"

"Melbourne, I remember that, too, Clair."

"If you keep doing this I won't have a job...just hush and listen." Catherine smiled at Clair's first attempt at firmness.

"You're meeting with the head of our Australian mining division and then touring a new mining facility—"

"Add William Mitchel to my executive traveling team."

"Isn't he a bit junior?"

"Yes," Catherine said with a telling smile.

"Hmm, GQ's never going to know this to share it so I'll give you the inside scoop." Clair whispered to Catherine with the hiss of intrigue.

"What? Is he gay or something?" Catherine asked jokingly.

Clair gave her a look.

"No!" Catherine said with a disappointed, shocked face while Allen's remained steely.

"I took a look at his Section Nine file that documents the multiple times he's traveled to our Bangkok office," Clair said with emphasis.

"Well, he could be bisexual—"

"He likes to get dicked hard by chicks with dicks; you can look at the pictures and judge for yourself. To me, it seems that he likes them huge," Clair said, making hand shapes the size of a coke can, her fingers detailing the length of a foot.

"Christ, Clair, does Bryce Security spy on all our executives?" Allen's face still remained unmoved.

"It's not Bryce Security; it's not really even Bryce Corporate Intelligence. Like I said, Section Nine provides dossiers on select executives."

"I've never supported continuing Section Nine. The only executive file I've ever wanted is George Hollis's and they tell me it doesn't exist." Catherine told herself that by the end of the month Section Nine would be history. "So, William Mitchell, huh?"

"Yup," declared Clair.

Catherine looked into the reflective mirrored wall of the elevator and let her shoulder-length brown hair free; looking to her left in the mirror she could see Allen. He was rather handsome she thought. At six-foot-five he was almost a foot taller than her. As she thought this she caught Allen's eyes returning her glances, but she knew he hadn't seen hers. The interplay had been lost on Clair who stood next to her Chief.

One thing Catherine knew for sure was that she intended to enjoy herself at the Met gala tonight.

Having crossed all her t's, Clair exited the elevator alone into the stadium-sized limestone lobby, Walter Bryce's iconic eighteenth century locomotive displayed at its center. An iron statue of the Anglo-Saxon man, clad in his three-piece scrubs, stood next to the steam engine that once allowed a small railway to grow from the transporter of oil to the owner of it. From railways to oil, the iconic steam locomotive stood as the past catalyst and current symbol for the ever-evolving Bryce behemoth.

Seconds after Clair, Catherine exited the elevator into the executive parking garage, stepping from the elevator right into the cabin of a conspicuous black Escalade. Having made the journey to her condo and then back out again nearly an hour later, four Escalades slowed, stopping in front of the red carpet that streamed down the mile-long steps of the mighty white pillared Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Catherine's passenger door swung open at the hand of Allen. He guided Catherine with care as her three-inch silver Manolos touched the crimson path, his mind thinking what his lips dare not utter. Soon he melted into the invisible line that was her security detail.

Flashing cameras flickered like manic eyelids capturing Catherine's frame-hugging, custom-made scarlet Nicole Miller gown.

As reporters swarmed around her, eight tuxedoed shadows repelled the incursion and ushered Catherine out of the public eye.

Within seconds of entering the main gallery Clair took to Catherine's side, whispering the names of the powerful attendees into her ear. Violinists harped away with soothing tunes that coalesced with the champagne and lowered the inhibitions of the room's heavy wallets.
Catherine took her seat at a table next to a painting depicting George Washington charging up a mountain toward the hopes of a free America. She noticed the splendor and richness of her surrounding, but more than that she noticed the absence of two important guests. "Where's Mark and Abbey?"

"He's at Presbyterian Hospital visiting his father; they're going to be a little late."

Clair continued to talk, but Catherine's focus had shifted to the other side of the room where a well-chiseled waiter served parched guests. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, but her lustful eyes still lingered.

His short black hair and caramel skin made him glow in a room dominated by inflated one-percent egos.

Purposefully, Catherine decided to walk discreetly toward the Latin waiter, but before she could move a war-hardened man in a dark tuxedo marched her way and eased to a stop under the backdrop of America's emancipator.

He gently ushered Catherine into an isolated huddle. "Ms. Porter, I was going to contact you today but then I remembered my wife scheduled me for this cock show. So here I am. It's always better to ask these questions when you can look in a man's eyes. I don't like to be lied to!

Catherine had been focused on her Latin eye candy and had to search her tired mind to place the aged man draped in militaristic regalia. 'Where the hell is Clair?' she thought.

However, it didn't take more than a few seconds for her to recall who he was, her memory aided by the black naval dress tuxedo and the ever-present golden Joint Chiefs' badge affixed across his chest.

"Admiral Campbell, I would have expected you to be wearing, or at least be waving, white. Isn't that the tradition of the Navy?" Catherine asked with a smug smirk. She loved messing with the admiral as he always reminded her of her ex-soldier grandfather.

"We have different uniforms for...wait...was that an attempt at a joke, Ms. Porter?"

"My Grandfather, his father, and mine all served as army officers in World War One, Korea, and Vietnam so I grew up as an army brat hearing tales of the Navy contrasted against an Army that never failed," Catherine said.

"The Navy is always the first in and the last out. Surrendering is an Army game we don't play. Talk to your papa about Dugout Doug's policy of abandonment."

Catherine loved rattling Admiral Campbell, not the smartest thing to do since Bryce's shipbuilding division had billions of dollars worth of contracts with the U.S. Navy, but he reminded her so much of her grandfather.

"Admiral, I know what this is about. You don't need to guide me like I'm a child; we're on schedule."

"No one's ever on schedule."

"Why would I lie to the United States Military? Trust me; I don't need the headache of a Senate enquiry. Take me on my word, Mr. Vice Chairman. We're on schedule."

"Let's say I believe that you'll keep the deadline. What about cost overruns?"

"Well there are going to be overruns, of course, as we have put every resource into the project to meet the deadline. This is a brand new stealth class and the largest aircraft carrier ever built." Now whispering, Catherine continued with, "Plus, we're installing our new shield system, rendering submarine surface and air vulnerability a thing of the past."

"The U.S. Navy is not willing to pay more than four times the tendered estimate."

"Four? It's nowhere close to that, Admiral, but if you're offering, I'm not refusing."

The Admiral squinted. "Contractors usually increase the cost six-fold. John Bryce loved to do that weekly." Now himself whispering, "To be frank, I don't give a horse's ass about cost overruns. Time is my biggest concern. Peace can only be achieved by those prepared and equipped enough to scare others away from war."

"Look, Admiral, I'm personally handling this file. The infrastructure and supply chain is in place, plus we're maximizing labor and equipment efficiency twenty-four-seven. We're pulling people off other less time-sensitive projects for this, so extra cash won't hurt." The Admiral responded with a grin.

"All I care about is putting my unsinkable carrier out to sea. That's good...very good. Now, what about my space-capable stealth fighters?"

"That's another story."

Admiral Campbell brushed his tongue over his teeth—thinking, deciding, and agreeing. "You're right. You've certainly made an impression on me; that rarely happens."

With that the old tactician was off with a hidden smile and a bounce in his step. It was the first piece of good news he'd heard all week.

Catherine now tried to find her eye-candy waiter, but she couldn't spot him. That's when she felt a brazen hand brush her smooth ass. He had caught her keen stares earlier and had decided to take a bold risk.

The waiter, unseen by others, continued running his fingers along the dress's rich fabric. You wouldn't have guessed it from his actions, but his heart froze for a second while awaiting her response.

Their cat-and-mouse chase lasted for half an hour. Catherine, hidden from view and therefore more brazen, grabbed the waiter's crotch. A smile appeared on her face as shock appeared on his. Talking quietly, they exchanged names. He already knew hers; everyone did. She found out his name was Marco Mata.

Minutes later they had escaped from view, having done so free from the view of others. Catherine was lucky that as a child she had conquered her claustrophobia. Things became heated in the Met's spacious toilet stall as their lips opened over each other's and his tongue dominantly twisted over hers.

Marco's shirt was the first item of clothing to go, showcasing his solid pecks. His hands roamed Catherine's supple, smooth flesh while her little fingers continued Marco's disrobement, pulling at his belt.

She reached for his boxers, but instead he held her, twirled her around, and dropped his boxers down himself. Standing behind her, he dominantly pulled her cloth-covered ass into his long, hardening cock.

Marco's lips kissed along Catherine's neck as she released her French twist, causing her hair to flow just above her shoulders. His large strong hands rubbed her shoulders and pulled away her scarlet straps causing her gown to gently cascade downward and land atop the growing pile. Well-practiced masculine fingers swiftly released her sumptuous breasts from their encasement.

His hands reached forward and grasped her pear-shaped breasts. Teasing her nipples with gentle pinches, Catherine responded with whispered soft murmurs of encouragement.

She wanted to turn towards him but he held her in place, his cock rubbing against her panties. Her head turned as he dove in for a slippery, salacious kiss. They kissed their way into a long clashing storm as his large fingers worked her sheer black panties down which she then kicked away.

With his tongue deep in her mouth and one hand on her breast, Marco guided his thick hard shaft to Catherine's soaking crevice—the tip holding ready at the wet, underused entrance.

Marco broke from the kiss abruptly, causing saliva to leak to the floor. "Get ready," he warned. Catherine's right hand gripped the upper stall door while her left hand braced the bathroom wall to hold herself in place. The tip of his hefty manhood pressed into her taut pussy. Feeling her immense wetness he switched gears and plunged in deep, knocking the air from her lungs and causing her mouth to hang open.

The musky scent that Catherine had craved for so long drove her wild. With one hand she held onto the wall of the stall, her pussy stretching under the endless Latino cock. Her senses ran wild, her audacious pussy now forcing her thighs and hips to roll back to meet his feverish thrusts.

The smacking sounds of Marco's flesh colliding with hers resonated throughout the otherwise empty room. Catherine craved it all, missing him when he would pull out to slam back in.

Sounds of pleasure fell from her lips, "Hmmm...yes...oh...yes...yes!"

Catherine moaned, trying not to scream in elated eruption.

Marco now worked in deeper—fucking her harder than before until he fell back—shooting his cum all over her ass. He began to groan, collecting himself.

Catherine didn't say anything; she shook her ass and backed into him.

She couldn't see Marco, but he was all smiles. His cock was ready to breach her tight gate once more, but this time he was going to make her beg. He slapped his heavy meat teasingly against her ass, his rigid tool wanting entry again just as much as her wet pussy did.

He pushed in closer, pinning her up against the wall, their naked sweaty bodies sticking together.

"Fuck me!"

"With what?" he asked, pushing three fingers up her pussy—twice in close succession.

"Fuck me with your big cock!"

Moans of ecstasy emanated from Catherine's lips like puffs of smoke from a well-crafted Cuban cigar as his fingers were replaced by his much wider cock.

The moment was soon accompanied by the sounds of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. The music seemed to arouse him further as he quickened his pace. Gripping Catherine's sides, Marco rocketed deeper and deeper, his balls smacking against her pussy.

He hammered away, leaving her breathless, panting, and craving more.

This time ended quicker as she moaned hysterically. "Ohhhhh...fuck...God," she uttered uncontrollably as her legs weakened and her body shook. She fell back into Marco, dazed and disoriented, as eruption after eruption flooded her depths.

Turning around to face each other, Catherine kissed Marco's lips as his strong fingers glided along her neck. He dropped his hands to her ass, making a deep imprint in her flesh and pulling her into a snaking kiss. Her nails ran along the Latin god's chest, replicating his marking of territory.

She bit his ear playfully as she collapsed onto him. "That was great!"

"I know," Marco said, pompously confident. Drifting his head to her firm breasts, he licked her areolas intently as his fingers ran along her hot body.

"Hah! Well after that I guess you're allowed to be proud."

"You want to go again?" he asked Catherine as she dressed.

"Christ, you're kidding, right?" she asked while stepping into her dress and pulling it up.

"Does it look like I am?"

She peered over at his hardening cock.

"I'm going away for a few days. Put your number in my phone."

"Sure," he said, accepting the unusually designed glass Lintex phone.

He stepped behind her placing her straps in place, running his hand over her shoulders.

"Who are you? she asked, grinning.

"Marco Mata. I told you," he said, kissing her ear.

"No...where are you old are you...what do you do?"

"I'm twenty-five if that's what you're worried about."

"I want to know about you," she said turning, looking into his eyes.

" mom brought me to America when I was thirteen. We lived in California until she died, then I moved to New York to live with my uncle."

"Sorry, that's awful."

"It happened a long time ago."


"It happens...people die and we move on. You're the one that wants to know this shit. My boss is gonna kill me if I don't get out there."

"Wait. Is this what you want to do? Or are you going to school?"

"I want to fuck you again. That's what I want." Catherine smiled.

"Be serious."

"I work for a catering company as a waiter right now but I'm going to City College, training to be a chef."

"You should cook me something sometime." Catherine glimpsed at her golden watch and surmised the same as Marco. "I have to go...sorry."

"No, I know. Me too. I'll just wait until you leave."

"Smart...I'll call," she declared.

"Oh, I know you'll call," he said with a smug smile.

Upon exiting the washroom Catherine was surprised when she found Allen guarding the bathroom door, having placed a closed sign over it. No sign of emotion was on his movement of his eyebrows. He simply did his duty and stood at post like a Roman centurion but for some reason Catherine felt an uncharacteristic coldness from him.


At the very moment that Catherine Porter's designer heels had propelled her past the Romanesque pillars into the Met an hour earlier, twenty-two year old Mark Bryce was on the other side of Manhattan past 3rd Avenue, exiting the main lobby of New York Presbyterian Hospital on East Sixty-Eighth Street next to the East River.

Mark had become accustomed to all the idiosyncrasies of the hospital. After two months in the Coronary Care unit, it had almost turned into a second home. During that time Mark's father John was still locked away in a coma with no sign of reversal in the near future. The surgery two months prior had stabilized him, but he still hadn't returned to consciousness.

Mark's summer days consisted of internships at the company he owned, and would one day run, followed by visiting the hospital and falling asleep while reading to his father.

The large glass exit doors were held open for the twenty-two year old heir as he walked out of the hospital with the inescapable presence of his own tuxedo-clad bodyguards.

Outside under the cover of a fast approaching night, Mark's exit was met by two identical black Range Rovers and an imperially elegant Rolls Royce Phantom. Tyler Casper, Mark's head of personal security and a man he'd grown to respect, stood by the large sedan with his redundant sunglasses plastered to his ears.

The dark-skinned Casper took his place in the front seat of the Rolls Royce with all of its handcrafted opulence.

In the back seat of the Phantom Mark pulled down the overhead mirror to check his red bow tie. His hair had been freshly cut that morning. He was ready for the gala and everything seemed in order.

He removed his state of the art glass panel cell phone from his pocket to alert his girlfriend, Abbey, of the location of the Rovers.

"On FDR now will b there in 10 U ready?" he texted.

"When you arrive we need to talk."

Mark took in the weight of her full words. "about what?"

"We just need to talk."

Mark had a distressed feeling in the depths of his gut. Abbey's character and her appearance had proven to be nearly flawless, a rare trait for an eighteen-year-old. In their two months of dating, they hadn't had a serious fight. They did not have everything in common, but her soft, accommodating nature stabilized the relationship.

Tonight was not going to go as planned, Mark reasoned. His stomach rumbled and his smile turned into a frown. He peered through the thick glass of his protective shell into the dark unpredictable night. "Ahh!" he exclaimed in lament.

The Range Rovers and the opulently stretched sedan rolled to a stop, pulling up to the chic three-story Soho townhouse owned by Abbey's dad. The Rolls Royce's heavy suicide-style door swung open under Casper's diligence. Mark's legs turned outward as he reluctantly placed the leather soles of his black bespoke Berluti Derbies onto uncertain ground. He was no longer in a rush.

However, as usual when he visited Abbey, Casper stood ever vigilant just outside the door while the others stood nearby or near the cars. Standing observantly, their eyes circled the darkened stylish street—their fingers inches away from deadly force.

Mark did a double take as Abbey answered the door, something she rarely did. He had become accustomed to being welcomed by their maid, Anna. Abbey was dressed in a robe and silk pajamas and prepared for bed, not a night of ego petting as was intended.

Mark wasn't an idiot. He knew what was coming his way. Other than beating her to the punch he had no out.

"Hey," she said with a sheepish reluctant smile. Mark moved closer for a kiss but she turned her lips away from his.

Her jaw and facial expression projected her anguish, but her wide eyes soon showed her resolve.

In spite of this, Mark found a little hope and shook off his cynicism.

"You're not dressed for the gala!" he said, standing in the entryway lined with wilting plants.

"We should have a seat in there," Abbey said, directing her boyfriend toward the great room.

Mark entered the family room and Abbey rolled the sliding doors shut, blocking the private conversation from her twin sister, Blair, and all others in the house.

"We should sit," she said again, once the two of them were in the room.

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay," she said, getting control of her wits and composing herself with a long pause.

"Abbey, before you—" Mark began to say, feeling there was time to salvage this due to her lack of words.

His defense, however, allowed her to kick-start her well-reasoned offence. "We barely see each other. I'm making too many sacrifices, and it's always me working to keep this relationship alive. This is just not working, Mark."

"What are you talking about? We see each other."

"Most of my time spent with you is holding your hand while you read to your Dad. He's in a coma. I understand that."

"Then let's spend more time together. I can do this; we can fix this together." Mark moved towards her as she sat down and sat next to her in an attempt to reason with her.

"When we met on your birthday, at Richie's place, you were spontaneous and exciting. Two months later and it's like you're a different person. We've done nothing, nothing the whole summer. You spend all your time interning in the office and after that all your spare time and mine is spent with your dad at the hospital. I understand...I do...but I can't keep doing it...I can't." Abbey forced out her words, her eyes brimming with tears.

"We can fix this. I can do better. Just give me some time, Abbs."

Finding her resolve, she continued, "In a few weeks, I start at Harvard and I want to enjoy the rest of my summer."

"About that, I chose to go to graduate school there so we could be together," Mark said as his tone peaked. "I'm trying here; this isn't easy for me, Abbey. I have obligations and you're breaking up with me because I'm not fun?"

"Mark, are you serious? Don't lie to yourself; you're smarter than that. A Harvard MBA isn't a death sentence. You didn't make some grand sacrifice; you were going there either way. I just made sure you didn't miss out on a year because you wanted to be near your dad. It's tragic, I know, but you still need to live your life and I need to live mine. I start my college experience in a few weeks. I want to be able to enjoy it, and you've already had yours!"

"So this is about me being four years older than you?"

"No, I'm eighteen and you're twenty-two. So what? Our age difference was never an issue. Stop! Stop simplifying this, Mark. This is about you always being so distant and so sad to be around when we are together." Abbey's face was now beet red.

"So we don't spend enough time together and I'm boring. That sums it up then?" Mark asked, pulling himself to his feet and coming to terms with not changing her mind.

Brushing away the loose strands of her lengthy blonde hair that showcased her beautiful face and eyes, Abbey's small fingers gripped his forearm. "Look, it's not that you're boring. It's not. The root of everything is that you blame yourself for what happened to your dad. You had sex with your slut stepmom, you told your dad, and later he had a heart attack. You messed up royally. We all do, but you tried to fix it and that's what matters. You didn't cause your dad's heart attack. He did!"

Mark's eyes opened and he listened intently, but he couldn't take in her words.

It's turning you into somebody who's not fun to be around. You blame yourself for it and it's a burden on you. You need to forgive yourself."

He took a deep breath. "So this is it?" he asked.

"No, I hope we can still hang out together. When you move to Cambridge to go to business school, I hope you cross the river and visit me at Harvard Yard and if you want...if you'll allow me, I'll do the same."
"Abbey, we can work this out, come on," Mark said as a voice neared the room.

Abbey chose not to reply. Mark got up and started walking towards the door, but when the door opened it blocked the sight of his body from the doorway. It was Abbey's sister, Blair.

"Before Mark gets here...please don't break up with him. He is cute as hell." From behind the door Mark began to smile inwardly at Blair's defense of him. "Okay...if you have to break up with him, do it after we come back from Aruba," Blair said, causing Mark's smile to turn into confusion.

"Blair, do yourself a favor and shut up," Abbey said, trying to shut her sister up.

"What? You know I want to use The Margaret. Going to one island is a waste of two weeks," Blair said, speaking about the six-hundred-foot yacht named after Mark's long-deceased mother.

"God, Blair you are selfish," professed her sister.

Before Blair could respond, Mark moved from behind the door and looked at Abbey's twin with contempt. On this occasion she was dressed opposite to her twin, a silver strapless mini hugging her thin tall frame and amplifying her already substantial bust.

Spotting the tuxedo-clad Mark, Blair attempted to turn around but decided against it as she was now a part of the awkward moment.

"Wow, awful fucking timing, Blair," he declared.

"Well, can we get the boat or not?"

Mark turned his head toward Abbey. "Is she serious?"

Abbey nodded. "I'm sorry for this, Mark," Abbey said consolingly.

"No need to apologize. I'm fine...I'm going to go now," Mark said, hiding the full depth of his emotions.

"Where still friends, right?" Abbey replied.

"Sure," he replied, grinding his teeth.

He began walking past Blair whose flair for fashion clearly made her the artistic socialite of the two twins.

Broken hearted and now a little disgusted, Mark headed for the hallway and speedily moved toward the exit.

As he gripped the curved handle of the door, a soft hand covered his. He tilted his head slightly, a sweet flowery scent sweeping through his nostrils. "My sister's an idiot. Yacht or not, we can still do whatever you want—like old times," Blair said, licking her lips, bringing up the three-girl foursome she and her sister had with Mark on his birthday the night they met.

Mark shook his head. "Goodnight, Blair."

He exited the room, but her hand remained on his shoulder. So, The Margaret? Mark laughed and left. "Wow," he said aloud to himself with Casper following behind.

Casper knew better than to ask and waited for Mark to provide the driver's directions. Mark's laughter soon turned to agonizing reality as he directed the driver. "The Chateaux, please," Mark requested as he somberly slid into the lavish cabin. Still, the driver didn't change course from the Met.

The Rolls Royce came to a rolling stop on East 79th Street at Fifth Avenue outside his seven-story palatial home. Its handcrafted sculptures, peaks, and century old limestone came together to solidify its name, "The Chateaux." Mark stepped out onto the walk directly in front of the imposing manor and looked across Fifth Avenue at Central Park, then turned his head to the right to see the structure that was the Met.

"Huh!" Mark breathed aloud. "Two minutes away," he mumbled, thinking about how close but how far he was from the moderately enjoyable gala. 'What was tonight? We don't do anything, my ass,' he thought before walking through The Chateaux's large Victorian doors, held open by a stereotypically dressed butler.

He quickly walked through the foyer, his legs feeling heavy, and up the winding stairs past the Pollock and the Van Gogh's.

He continued climbing even though an elevator was just a few steps away. Arriving on the floor of his bedroom Mark passed the portraits of Bryce past patriarchs, billionaires who used and abused and made up for it with superficial philanthropy.

These were the thoughts running through Mark's head. It was his house now but he still complied with the parameters of old parental rules. He could sleep anywhere, even the master King George suite, but he climbed further to the room his parents had long ago assigned him.

Lying in bed, Mark thought, 'So I don't take every liberty!'

He tossed and turned. Hours later, with the sun now set to rise, he hadn't slept a wink. One sleeping pill later and he was out. Waking up in the afternoon he called in to the office at Bryce Plaza where he interned and arranged to work from his laptop from home, drawing up his engineering drafts. Three days later his room was filled with used plates, cups, and general evidence that he'd been hibernating. Deciding to distract himself by taking advantage of the upstairs gym, a place he had learned to frequent during his time on the Dartmouth Wrestling and Rowing teams, Mark began to move beyond the craziness of extreme seclusion. Both Dartmouth teams had been out of character for him. Thinking back, Mark realized he had joined the Rowing Team first to impress a temporary crush, but had kept at it long past the crush. Once she had found out how much he was worth, nothing else mattered; she wanted him, but he no longer wanted her.

Wrestling was double edged; it was a way for Mark to vent his frustrations and gain attention and approval from his dad. The latter ended up fueling the former, as Mark's dad had never attended a match, not even championships. John Bryce showed little attention, sometimes only congratulating his son on winning a track meet. You could tell he was paying a little bit more attention when he would confuse Wrestling with Boxing instead of Track and Field.

Hours on the rower and doing pushups and lifting weights did little to enhance the years of already toned muscle. All the seclusion still left Mark alone with his problems. The more he thought about them, the deeper he focused on the workouts.

In the middle of the deep workout, Mark's phone began to buzz. It had been ringing for days, but he had ignored it until now. Looking at his glass cell, he saw that it was Edward, the most grounded, and his only middle-class best friend. He'd been ignoring calls from him, his other friends, and Blair for days, but decided to briefly open the lines of communication with Edward specifically.

"Hey?" Mark said, not able to think of anything else to say.

Multiple voices spoke up at once. "Dude the fuck? We've been calling."

"She was not fine enough for you to turn to into a pussy," said a Latin accent.

"Sorry about them. Richie took my phone. Still, I heard you've turned into Howard Hughes and that you went off the handle and turned into a recluse. This is Edward, by the way."

"Over some eighteen-year-old pussy too; what a shame, you pedo," said the infamous Richie.

Mark broke into a broad smile, not having heard from his best friends in days. Richie, Edward, and Enrique had a knack for pulling Mark out of ruts. If they had been in town things would have been different. However, they were currently in the middle of some international nation-hopping partying spree.

"Fuck you, Enriqueee, you Spanish man-whore," Mark said with a laugh. "Ed, I know your voice. I haven't suddenly become retarded nor am I a subscriber of AT&T so you should know that I can hear and understand you just fine. Oh yeah, the last and actually the very least, Richie, go fuck yourself. It's not about her; I'm just taking time to reflect, that's all."

"Bullshit it's not about her, my ass. Every single time you get dumped you fixate and you reflect. The last time you 'reflected' for four years!" Richie stated firmly with air quotes that Mark couldn't see.

"It's not that simple."

"Like Richie said, you always get like this when you get dumped. Man, you're the richest person in New York; you can get any pussy you want. Just get up and take it. For the record I'm from Brazil, I don't speak Spanish, and I speak Portuguese," Enrique said, thickening his accent to mockingly make his point.

"You're right, Enrique. Everything's all better now. I'm gonna go pay some girl to suck my cock right now because gratification is the key to everything."

"Nothing's wrong with hiring a call girl!" Enrique yelled heatedly, causing Mark to stop his exercise.

Mark scratched his head as loud laughter filled the cell's glass speakers.

"You don't know how on target you are," Edward stated.

"What? What are you guys talking about...what happened...what? Clue me the fuck in!" Mark begged.

"I don't care if she's the hottest porn star ever," shouted Enrique from the other end. Mark was on his toes due to the shock of it all.

"Did you pay her? Just answer. Did you pay the slut?" Richie asked like a cross-examiner.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Enrique said, followed by an explosion of laughter from both ends. "It was Isis Taylor...Isis Taylor."

"True," Richie said as silence reigned.

"Dude, really?" Mark questioned, his cock hardening as his mind thought of the light bronze-skinned beauty.

"Yeah, I fucked her sideways," Enrique said, with Mark and Richie laughing.

"Desired porn star or not, she's still a call girl. You really are a man-whore," Mark said into the phone, heading back to the bed.

"I don't think that's the proper definition of whore, Mark. Isis is the whore. Enrique is simply your average slut," Edward clarified.

"Edward, thanks, so I guess you're supporting my 'Spanish man-slut' nickname for Enrique."

"Okay, forget this nonsense. We've been to Amsterdam, Ibiza, Prague, and Los Angeles. You missed all that. We're in Vegas now. Hop onto one of your Gulfstream jets. Summer is almost over for you and Edward. Soon you two will be heading off to that crap school in Cambridge, Massachusetts. So get your ass down here," Richie stated.

"I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Come on...just do it; fly down here. It's amazing. Remember your birthday? You fucked three girls, twins too. I've never even had a foursome. I was impressed until you started dating one of them. You need to slam it and ban it. Stop burying yourself in the details. The devil lives in that shit," Richie said encouragingly.

"I'll talk to you guys later," Mark said, ending the conversation with whatever's and laughs resonating on the other end.

The next day, Mark was running on the treadmill when his phone buzzed. He was going to ignore it when he saw that it was Richie.

His tone was heavy and direct. "Hear me out, okay?"

Bypassing his better judgment, Mark said, "Okay."

"You need to fuck someone random to get your mind off this."

"My mind is fine. I'll hear you, but I'm not going to one of your seedy strip clubs again."

"It was Manhattan's best gentlemen's club...and no...not that. You need to book an escort."

"You're not that fucked, Richie. Yes, thinking about it you are that shady. Are you serious?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a bachelor party from time to time. You and Edward are such prudes."

"Not going to a strip club and not hiring a hooker. Richie, you're fucked!"

"Calm your shit. I was fucking with you. You know the Standard Hotel?"

"Yeah, ex wanted to go to this supposed rooftop club there."

"It's called the Boom Boom Room. Go there tonight and you'll hook up like that. Your honest game somehow works. even when they don't know that you're worth north of fifty billion. The guys and I will fly in tomorrow and then we can go out together if you want to still stay cooped up in the city."

"I don't know about that."

"You're going there tonight. It's nine-seven right now. The Boom Boom Room opens at ten. Don't be a loser so don't go earlier than eleven.

"Being a bit presumptuous aren't we?"

"Look, why the fuck not?" Richie asked.

"Probably tomorrow night?"

"It's Saturday today. Tonight's a prime night."

"I'm not going."

"Yeah, you are."



"How are you going to accomplish that? I know your construction boss dad has mafia connections. Are they going to drag me out? Casper and the others might have objections."

"Rumors and bullshit from the guy now responsible for an empire more corrupt than Standard Oil."

"Bullshit. Corrupt how?"

"Every Forbes and financial ranking ever released that listed your family's net worth, what is now your singular net-worth, makes sure to add multiple question marks after the estimated politically correct amount—with editors afraid to use the truthful larger multi-hundred billion dollar figure. The corruption behind your wealth is irrelevant to my point, unlike your point."

"Fuck you! Is this supposed to make me feel better; what's your point?"

"You're nearly a trillionaire. Go out and take the world by the balls. Fuck your feelings; take the world for a joyride."

"Richie, you're really pissing me off. I'm not fucking going anywhere."

"Okay, I'm going to have to step this up. Remember those porn stories you wrote and posted to that site, back when we were roommates at Adam's Academy, before your dad put you in public school?"

"What?" Mark thought, not understanding at first. When he finally did, his running on the treadmill slowed to a standstill causing him to nearly fall off.

"Are you serious?"

"I'll quote a line: 'their toned feminine bodies rubbed against each other, Katie's red hair washed over Melisa's soft flesh, Melisa's fingers glided into Katie's gripping moist pussy forcing her lover's kissing lips to form into a blissful puffing O—"

"Richie, how the fuck? I took those stories off Literotica five years ago."

Richie began laughing on the other end. "Dude, there's like eighteen stories here. How the hell did you find time to write this shit? Assistant Headmaster Leyland made sure we never had any spare time."

"Richie, what the fuck are you playing at? Before you were being a jerk, but now you're being a disloyal asshole."

"Just go out tonight."

"This is so not cool, Richie, you fucker. I'm not doing jack. You'd better not be serious because if you are, I swear to God...!"

"Look, you know I'm fucking with you. I'm your best friend and I wouldn't do that. You know where my bodies are buried and I know where yours are, and I've done a hell of a lot more digging than you."

"Over the fucking top, Richie. If I didn't know you, I swear...! You didn't share this with Edward or Enrique, did you? You're the only one that knows about those stories."

"Of course not, and no one else will know, but you need to stop being a hypocrite. You need to do the shit you practice in your stories. The stepmom story you wrote, I have to say that was hot. Can you imagine if you fucked Tiffany? She was only your dad's girlfriend when you wrote this, but—"

Mark choked up a bit saying, "Yeah, I wrote them so long ago it's hard to remember, but the character wasn't me. Let's stop talking about these stories. There's a reason why I took them down. This really wasn't cool, Richie, definitely not cool, man."

"When have I ever been cool?" Richie questioned, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You're my best bud and I was just trying to draw you out of the dark place you're always in. Just get some pussy to clear your mind."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all?"

"You're lucky I don't fly out to Vegas and kick your ass."

"I'd prefer that," Richie said with a throaty laugh.

"I thought you would...look...even though that was an asshole move, I just might go to the club...and I might not."

The call soon ended and shortly afterwards, Mark smiled and left his upstairs gym with intent. He entered into his recently cleaned bedroom, the staff having taken to cleaning it during his exercise sessions. He stood in the center of the apartment-sized space, thinking, before making a beeline for the shower.

He toweled off and went to his spacious closet, picking out a combination of a Burberry shirt, Dolce leather jacket, and Tod's suede Buck shoes.

He threw on the fashion-consultant dictated look and began to move downstairs where he had not been in days. Casper stood at the bottom of the stairs with his dark suit, glasses, and white-streaming wire running from his left ear, all culminating in a vigilant stance.

Mark waved and asked, "Don't you ever sleep?"

"You do enough for both of us. Are we ready to rejoin the world, young Mr. Bryce?"

"It appears so, but I'm gonna need a car."

"We have the Range Rovers outside. We can get an Escalade, Bentley, Rolls-Royce, Maserati—" Casper said, about to add in the Jaguar XLJ before Mark cut him off.

"Maserati. Forget the others."

The ever-perceptive Casper shifted his eyes, focusing his pupils. "Are you asking for a car to drive yourself?"


"Where are we going tonight?"

"Do I need to clear everything with you?"

"I'm not your parents; you're more than of age. Moreover, this is all yours. I'm just trying to keep you alive. You and Ms. Porter are both to travel in chauffeur-driven and specific vehicles because they're armored."

"I've noticed and I've always thought it ridiculous."

"Corporate executives get kidnapped all the time. Two years ago the regional CEO of Ellis Oil, which is a Bryce subsidiary, was taken outside of his home. If it weren't for Section Nine, it would have cost fifty million dollars to get him back. From then on, your father gave me full authority over personal security for him as I see fit."

"What backwater was he in at the time for that to have happened?" Mark asked Casper smartly.

"A city called Calgary in a country called Canada," came the reply that shut Mark up.

"Your loyal bodyguards are the best, and they're discreet. If you like, they can be discreet and unnoticeable. So I ask again, where are you planning on going tonight?"

"Look, I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm not leaving Manhattan. Like you said, I'm in charge now..." Mark took a deep breath and released the air. "Just get me a car, please!"

Casper took a second, and then whispered into his watch.

A man with an earpiece, clearly another bodyguard, appeared from the long hallway under the stairs, handing keys to Casper.

Casper turned back to Mark saying, "In two minutes a Lamborghini Reventon and Bugatti Veyron will be outside. The cars I mentioned before are there too. If you don't like them, there's more back in the garage that I can have driven up."

"Doesn't really matter. The Maserati is fine."

"Thought you didn't care about safety," Casper said with a sly smile.

"I'll take the Maserati, but for tonight I don't want to see any Bryce Security."

Casper nodded and tossed Mark the keys. The billionaire, dressed for a night on the town, was soon off through the front door.

Casper followed Mark to the large oak Victorian door, watching as Mark slipped into the red-leather cabin of the sleek, silver Italian sedan.

Five seconds after the Maserati took off, Casper spoke into his watch communicator. Four motorcycles were in hot pursuit, followed by two Range Rovers.

There were initial creaks and unintentional sparks caused by Mark's unfamiliarity with the sedan. Soon he straightened things out, switching from gear shifting to automatic fluidity, zipping through blinking yellow lights at shooting speeds. Minutes later the car came to an abrupt shock-testing stop outside the dynamic art deco landmark, the Standard Hotel. His eyes admired the uniqueness of the modern hovering-looking structure with an engineer's eye.

He disembarked from the sleek vehicle, pre-tipped the valet and was soon through to the lobby, his coiffed dark-brown hair lifting up as his suede shoes propelled him into the free-expressive lobby. 'Now, how do I get to this damn club?' he thought to himself as he moved toward the hotel's front desk which had a gorgeous raven-haired young woman behind it.

"Excuse me?"

"Welcome to the Standard Highline. My name is Jenny." Mark's eyes drifted from her cute face to her nametag and unintentionally to her chest.
"Hey, Jenny, I'm Mark." She smiled at that. "How do I get to the Boom Boom Room?"

"Right up the elevator. It's the last stop although booking a room won't secure entry due to the club's exclusivity, I'm sure you'll get in either way. Booking a room still has much more to offer. We're offering drastically discounted minibars now. You can do a little pre-drink since it's just after ten, meaning the club will be pretty tame. Plus, later on after drinking, sleeping it off here instead of traveling is a great, safe idea." She had been smiling approvingly through her spiel but stopped as Mark's finger rose.

His right hand ventured into his pocket fishing out a black limitless credit card. Upon seeing the card, Jenny too smiled. "I thought I lost you when you put your finger up. Outside of class I've never seen anyone do that."

"No, you were great. You sold me."

"Really, you think?"

"I know so."

"Thanks," Jenny said. "It's my first night. I've been here a week, but it's my first night shift."

"I wouldn't have known. You're very good."

"You're just saying that."

"No, seriously, it's true."

"Thanks," she said, blushing. "I really appreciate that as I'm actually studying hotel management at..." She paused and looked at the last name on his credit card, but then she shook her head back into focus.

"What is it? he asked.

"Just a coincidence, really. It's just that Bryce is the same name as my university." Before Mark could confirm her observation, she started speaking again. "You don't want to hear about what I'm studying. Where were we? What kind of suite would you like?"

"Now I'm curious about what you're studying. In college, I was originally in Architecture where my main interest was actually hotels, but then my major shifted to Engineering and Economics. Hotels are magical. You're lucky; the world is going to come to your doorstep." Her elbows were on the desk, her light blue eyes following his lips, agreeing with every word. "Well, like you said, where were we? I don't know, so you pick."

"Are you sure you want me to pick? We may not have the same taste."

"I'm positive," Mark said.



She smiled and whispered saying, "Okay, well, I'll add in a discount code." After processing the card, she handed Mark the room key. "Suite 1607...two floors below the club...all the closeness with none of the whatever."

"Thank you, Jenny," Mark said with a smile that she returned twofold.

"Well, you're more than welcome, Mark," she said, after which he took his room card and left.

Mark left, heading for the elevators with Jenny watching him leave with a keen focus.

He settled into his hotel room waiting for the prerequisite 11'o'clock, opening up the fridge and drinking the larger than expected bottles of vodka.

While sitting and watching the television from the leather couch, Mark heard knocking. He walked to the door, looked through the peephole, and saw Jenny. That surprised him. She brushed back her hair, licking at her upper lip, using her hands to push up her bust.

Mark smiled to himself, waiting a few seconds before opening up the door. He too took a breath to calm his nerves "Hi!" he said, looking at the five-six artificially five-nine dark-haired girl.

"Hey, how are you enjoying the room?" she asked, stepping in as Mark made way for her.

"It's great," he said, scratching his head.

"You forgot your credit card downstairs," Jenny said, bursting Mark's balloon slightly.

"Yeah, that makes sense," he said, accepting his card from her delicately extended fingers.

"Makes sense in regards to...?" she asked with her back now set towards the door.

Mark was going to try and translate his thoughts to words, but decided he had an extremely hot girl alone in a hotel room. He went for it, lowering his neck, his lips on top of hers. She didn't move to stop him, just the opposite.

Jenny's toes pressed down lifting her height upward. Mark's lips pressed forward as hers parted for his tongue, allowing entry into her accepting mouth. His hands moved under her white work blouse, moving toward her bra.

Her head suddenly turned as she let out, "Stop." Mark slowly backed off, easing to the side next to her.

"Did I do something wrong?"


"I'm sorry if I did."

No, it's me...I have a boyfriend."


With her back to the door, Jenny snapped her head back. "Technically, we're on a break...his break."

Applying his hands to her sides, he blocked her exit. "I just went through a breakup too. Honestly, if he wants a break from you he's not even worth another glance."

"This was inappropriate. I'm sorry," she said, making her exit.

"Okay, no, I'm sorry," Mark said, backing away to allow her to leave.

When the door finally closed he looked into the large reflective window saying, "The fuck just happened?"

Jenny left the sixteenth floor, riding down in the elevator kicking herself. "Jenny, that was stupid. You're still going out with Marco," she mouthed aloud to herself.

She exited the elevator and headed to her post at the front desk. "Thanks for covering, Kim," Jenny said to the blonde girl.

"That was quick. Did he not measure up?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw and heard the way you two were going on and the way you looked at his ass when he left. On top of that come-on, I saw that you noticed the credit card after he was just a few feet away. I was just over there in concierge. I saw it all. You created the need for you to go upstairs."

"Okay," Jenny said, trying to drop the subject.

Soon, Kim was gone and Jenny was back to booking people. She smiled as she booked twenty different people from twenty different countries. This made her think of Mark.

Seeing a familiar man, her former man, broke Jenny from her daze. "Marco," she mouthed. 'I didn't tell him I got a job here,' she thought to herself.

Kim walked over to Jenny from her post in concierge. "Isn't that your ex?"

"We're still together—at least I think so," Jenny said as she and Kim watched him kissing an older beauty.

"Well, why's he kissing that old hag?" Kim said, exaggerating.

Jenny remained silent, not answering her co-worker.

"Kim, I don't want to talk about it," Jenny said, looking on as Marco, his companion, and entourage walked through the lobby to the elevators. Before reaching the elevators, Marco's eyes discovered Jenny.

"He's coming over," Kim said, and then he was there.

"Jenny, you work here?"

"Welcome to the Standard. Can I help you?" she said, grinding her teeth.

"You don't need to be like this. So, I forgot to make our breakup official before moving on."

"It's all okay, sir, enjoy your stay"

"Whatever, Jenny, you were always a crappy lay."

Marco left and Jenny was fuming. "You handled that a lot better than I would," Kim stated as Marco's elevator door closed.

"Did I?"

"You should be pissed. I sure would be."

"Go back to concierge, Kim."

"Your shift's over in ten minutes at 11:00, like me, right?"

"Yes, so?"

"So you and I should change and go up to the club and have some fun."

"I don't know."

"Your ex didn't go up there."

"It has nothing to do with him."

"I saw his elevator. It stopped at the sixteenth floor and then it came back down. So, he's in a hotel room getting some. You need to get out there too. Go after that cute guy you like."

"Okay, why not."

"Good," Kim said, leaving Jenny to deal with her next world traveler.

Back on the sixteenth floor, Mark was shooting back glasses of gin. He stood up and unzipped his leather jacket, letting it fall to the bed and then left his room ready to let loose.

Looking at the wall-sized windows, he viewed his reflection: the white-patterned Burberry shirt and coifed dark-brown hair. His confidence in himself was building for tonight. Still, he wished Jenny had stayed.

Exiting his room he looked at his Hublot watch. It was eight minutes to eleven. He looked down the hall, seeing the obvious presence of men in suits with white-streamed earpieces. 'Casper could at least have masked it better,' Mark thought.

Mark marched down to the opposite end from where he would enter the elevators. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, approaching one of the four men with their Bryce security lapel pins.

The guard closest to Mark looked up and seemed to be thinking, then responded. "Sir, we're not here for you; we're here for Miss Porter."


"Yes, sir."

"Sure," Mark said, "she's in this room then?" Mark asked, not believing it. 'Why would she be here?' he thought, forgetting that she too was human, punching hard on the hotel room's door.

"Not lying to you, sir," the bodyguard said as the door opened. Catherine answered it with ruffled clothing and disheveled hair. She hadn't looked through the peephole.


"Catherine, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Me, as well," she said, as Mark took notice of the caramel-skinned figure behind her.

"Oh...okay then...I should leave you two!" he said.

Catherine's eyes followed his, embarrassment washing over her. "You've received my updates about George and the other changes?" she asked, shifting the focus.

"Yeah, yes. I have complete confidence...I was actually headed upstairs to the club."

"See you later then," she said as Mark walked off.

Before Catherine closed the door she saw Allen standing across from her doorway with a cold, partial stare that made her uneasy." 'I should go,' she thought, deciding that seeing Mark was cause enough to leave the hotel.

Mark smiled awkwardly to himself all the way to the elevator. He thought about the age difference between Catherine and her guest and then his mind began to focus on Catherine's attractive figure.

He arrived on the top floor of the Standard to the sight of a large entryway that led to a long lit-up hallway lined with mirrors. The stunningly dressed line of girls and guys was long, but it whittled down with every continual rejection. Nines and tens that weren't on the list were sent packing like they had the plague.

Mark was in line standing behind three beauties, two of whom were so striking that they should have long been fast tracked inside. Both girls looked to be in their early twenties. One was an extremely tall blonde stunner who spoke with a European accent and the other was a tall busty brunette who appeared an inch or two shorter than the European. The third woman, a blonde, was average height.

When they made it to the front of the line where the two bouncers stood like unmoving giants, the short blonde took charge and to Mark's shock, the bouncer began to send the threesome away. The short blonde was not taking the rejection well at all. Mark didn't know that he could do anything, but he decided to step in. "Hey, I don't know if I'm on the list..."

The first bouncer spoke. "My man...hold your spot...push back."

The second bouncer chimed in. "What's your name, guy?" he asked, guiding the girls to the side.

"Mark Bryce."

The second bouncer thumbed through his ledger and stopped. "Can I see some ID, guy?" Mark went through his pockets and then realized that his wallet was in his jacket, which was in his room.

"I forgot my wallet. Can I go get it and keep my spot?" Mark asked, increasingly embarrassed in front of the girls he just displaced.

"Sorry, guy," said the second bouncer.

"Wait," Mark said, before they began to push him aside like the three beauties to his left. "I have this," he said, pulling out his limitless black card.

"No," said the first bouncer.

The second bouncer gave the first bouncer a look and proceeded to help Mark. "Full name Marcus Benjamin Bryce?"

"Yes," Mark said with a hidden blush.

"You're in," the second bouncer said, returning Mark's card to him. Then he turned his attention to the three girls.

"Wait. Can I bring in these girls as my guests?" The beauties began to brighten up as they heard Mark coming to their rescue.

The first bouncer once again was the bringer of death and taxes. "Dude, you're pushing your luck. They aren't on the list, so no. Right, Christopher?" the first bouncer said to the second.

"Phil, dude, chill," said Christopher to the first bouncer, Phil, before turning to Mark. "Look, the girls can come in. They're all over the TV and shit, so they should be on the list so no big deal. Usually, I'd force you to buy bottle service or give me a tip, but since you seem to be a buddy of Richie's, it's cool. You all can head in," Christopher said, pointing inside to the club.

"I'll make it up to you. I swear," Mark declared with a blank promise.

"Nah, don't worry about it."

The girls moved to the club's door, the tall blonde turning back to give Mark a whispered thank you as he needlessly chatted with the bouncer that had long given him free passage. "I could either come back with cash later..."

"Guy, don't worry. Go inside and make sure to put lots of drinks on your card."

"Are you a Jets or Giants fan?"

"Actually, I'm a Bears fan," Christopher said, causing Mark's face to break into a giddy smile.

"What did I say? Just head inside, or move, so I can check these other people," Phil muttered.

"That's great. I can get you visiting owner's Box tickets for any Bears game. Just call this number," Mark said, writing a phone number down on his ledger.

"How are you gonna manage all that? You know the owner or something?"

"You're looking at him," Mark said, before taking his place in the celeb-packed socialite club.

Not much in Christopher's four years at the Standard Hotel had surprised him. He'd been able to tell the fakes from those who were genuine, but now he wasn't so sure. "There's no way that kid's legit," Phil added.

"Who knows," Christopher said, brushing it off and calling up the next impatiently waiting club goers.

Inside the club Mark sat at the bar sipping away at his iced Jack Daniels when he felt a change in the force. "Holly fuck, you actually made it!"

"Shit, Edward. I owe you a hundred bucks," said another voice.

Mark turned around to see his three friends. "Well! The trust fund society," he declared.

"Look who's talking," stated Richie.

"It's good to see you, Mark. It's good to be around another sound mind," said blonde-haired Edward.

"Shut the fuck up, Edward," said the dark black-haired Enrique.

Richie pointed over to a table with a semi-circle couch, a clear marker of the club's 70's theme. The four of them walked, chatting and drinking, as they passed by the rare sight of celebs like Scarlett Johansson and Mila Kunis.

The four comrades finally reached the booth-like table.

"Tomorrow...where are we headed?" Mark asked.

"No shit, you're up for some traveling?" Enrique questioned.

"Why the hell not, it's time to have a little fun," Mark said in response, previous statements cracking his steadfast armor.

"We're going to need to use one of your planes, Mark, or should I say Marcus. The Brazilian piece of crap Embraer jet we were using is in for repairs," Richie said, looking at Enrique. Enrique stuck his middle finger at Richie in reply.

"That wasn't funny using my full name. I thought he got it off of my card at first," Mark fired back.

"Well, you know me; I've never been funny or cool," spoke Richie.

"I can agree with that, but I get to pick where we go."

"Fuck that!" Enrique interjected.

"Why the fuck not, if we're going to use one of my airplanes?" Mark snapped back.

"Because you're going to pick some boring educational piece of shit," Enrique said in objection.

"I'd actually be fine with a more slow-paced vacation, querido," Edward added.

"No one asked you. God, the two of you!" Richie said.

"I get a say too, Richie, so why don't you shut up," Edward said, throwing a verbal punch for once.

"Whatever, let's get some drinks over here," Richie said, getting up.

Enrique was visibly distracted as he shifted on the couch towards Mark. "You see those girls over there?"

Mark looked over at the girls that he had provided entry to. "Yeah."

"The tall short-haired blonde is a Swedish super model, Elsa, and the other tall girl, the brunette, is Caroline, also a super model. She's from somewhere here in America. God, I wouldn't mind putting my head in between those puppies. G cups, you think?"

"The shorter blonde, who is she?"

"Never was into midgets, but you can have her," Enrique stated with firm rude confidence, ignoring Mark's name question.

Richie returned with a waiter carrying bottles of Krug Champaign and multiple bottles of Louis XIII Cognac. "What are you two talking about? Where are you thinking of flying to tomorrow?"

Enrique nodded toward the table of three girls. "We should go over there after we have a good drink," Richie declared.

"Why don't we go now?" Mark asked, surprising his friends before taking a long sip of his Jack Daniels. He asked the waiter for another and then looked at his friends.

"You want to come with me? You suddenly think you have game?" Enrique asked.

"Edward, come over there with me," Mark stated.

"With no plan, I'm not going over there like that. Just to go blank mid-sentence? Those girls are like twelve's, not happening."

"So, that's a no?"

"Yes, but you aren't actually serious?"

With no reply Mark got up after pouring his glass of Jack, encouraging Edward with a waving hand, but Edward didn't budge.

Mark took a deep breath and sauntered over just as the short blonde-haired woman was getting up. She headed in the opposite direction and shot him an unpleased look as he approached the table.

"Hey, my name is Mark," he said, arriving at the supermodel table.

"Hello to you too," the large-breasted, brown-haired beauty said with a glowing smile. "I'm Caroline and this is Elsa," Caroline said, pointing to the blonde sitting next to her.

"I thought your name was Marcus," Elsa asked.

"Ha, it's Mark. May I sit down?" Mark asked.

"No," Caroline said. Mark raised his eyebrows as he slowly began to back up, confused.

"Jokes right?" he asked, feeling like he was on the other side of a joke.

Mark's facial expression brought laughter from the table across the way.

"We were just fucking with you. It sure took you a long time to come over."

"You wanted me to come over?"

Caroline and Elsa were all smiles, not replying.

Mark slid into the seat opposite the supermodels. "Your friend, she won't mind? She didn't look too happy."

"We're models and she's our agent. She's mad at you because you did her job better than she has, so forget her," Elsa added, with her smooth, gleaming face shining as she spoke.

"You're in Manhattan for work?"

"Yes, but Vivian hasn't really done the job we expected. Thanks for getting us in, by the way," said Caroline.

"No problem."

"Still, thank you. I appreciate it. We've had the crappiest day," Caroline confirmed.

"Thanks again," Elsa said, chiming in, adding, "You saved Vivian. She should suck your cock."

"He should get to fuck her up the ass," Caroline said, one upping Elsa's statement, making things increasingly uncomfortable.

Mark spat up his whiskey as Caroline laughed. "You two love jokes, don't you?" he asked.

"I had three older brothers growing up in my small Illinois farming town so I grew up around a lot of sick humor," Caroline said with a laugh that caused her large round mounds to bounce.

"Lucky you. I was an only child. I actually grew up in Illinois too, born here in Manhattan though."

"You're from Illinois, too? I should have gathered that from your crack about the Bears. I can't believe you lied to that bouncer so blatantly."

Mark didn't have time to correct Caroline before Elsa, who felt ignored, began to pull him away from her busty competition. Mark felt her foot rubbing against his leg from under the table. He gave her an approving smile but then Vivian returned to the table at which point he shifted over in his seat.
Vivian gave Mark a critical once-over ignoring his part in gaining entry for her clients, saying, "Elsa and Caroline, I just got a call back from Victoria's Secret. They love you! They want you in Miami tomorrow to start shooting for a campaign. They're flying you in and I'll text you the info in the morning." She looked at her silver Rolex and then said, "On Monday I have a meeting with the local offices of L'Oreal and Louis Vuitton to discuss you both."

With that, Vivian was off.

"She's not bad. She got you pretty good jobs."

"Yes, but she's pretty inconsistent. We actually hired another agent; she just doesn't know it yet," Caroline stated.

"Well, that's kind of—"

"Bitchy?" Elsa asked.

"Well, yeah," Mark confirmed.

"Vivian is taking thirty percent more than every other agent, and she's crap in comparison. When she says fly us in, believe it or not, she means economy class. I'm not trying to act all conceited, but Elsa and I have appeared in Vogue and most major magazines. Models that are far less successful at least fly business class."

"Hah, hah, that sucks."

"So, now you understand?" Elsa asked.

"I'm always afraid my luggage won't make it. I love airplanes, but I hate flying any type of commercial."

"That's because you own your own jet, right?" Caroline asked sarcastically.

"You're making jokes."

"Whatever. Let's have some fun," Elsa said, getting up and pulling Mark up off his seat onto the dance floor as Caroline followed, holding his other hand.

Back at the table Richie sipped his champagne perplexed and confused about what just went down. "What the fuck just happened?"

"The fuck if I know. Why was he so confident?" Enrique asked.

"You know what? If he can just go over there, I can too," Edward declared while rising to his feet. He spotted a dark-haired girl at the bar and moved toward her. A moment of queasiness nearly turned him around but still he stayed the course.

"Hey," he said, sitting next to a gorgeous babe dressed in a white mini that drew attention to her black hair.

"Hi," she said, smiling back.

"I'm Edward," he said, offering his sweating hand.

"Jenny. Nice to meet you, Edward," she said in reply.

"Call me Ed," he offered. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sorry, Edward, but I was actually looking for someone."

"Here you are, Jenny. It's on the house," the cute Japanese barmaid with jet-black hair said, handing Jenny her drink.

Edward sat there contemplating possible options. Enrique and Richie came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulders. "Call me, Ed," Enrique mocked.

"Fuck off, Enriqueeee!"

Richie held up a hand to Enrique. "Yeah, give him a break. You just have to keep trying."

Richie took his own words to heart as he looked on at the Japanese barmaid with her tight, petite body. He said confidently to himself, before slightly leaning over the bar to make his move, 'I'm gonna destroy that Asian pussy tonight.' He read her nametag, 'Azumi', and his lips began to part and his magical tongue bullshitting got to work.

While Richie perfected his game, Jenny went in search of the guy she had clicked with earlier. She spotted Mark alternately kissing two tall bombshells. In that moment she unfairly measured herself, her eyes looking at the height and bust that she lacked.

Mark's hand combed over Caroline's ass, his tongue deep in Elsa's mouth. Caroline's bust looked like it would burst out of her strapless top at any moment, much like the pressure in Mark's boxers. The alcohol and the women were fortifying his confidence to new levels that his great-great-great-great-grandpa's money never could. Mark positioned his lips brushing at Elsa's ear, "Let's go somewhere quieter."

Elsa moved her plump lips to his ear, responding boldly, "I want you now." His lips and cock responded to her statement. The house music was mellower than Mark had thought. Preparing to speak into Caroline's ear, she beat him to it. "I heard let's go," she said hintingly.

Right in front of Jenny's eyes Mark was leaving the club with the two supermodels. Mark hadn't noticed the stealth bodyguards all night; they appeared to be average young adults who were following him at a respectful distance, wearing unnoticed white-streaming earpieces.

Jenny looked on disappointedly. Still choosing to enjoy her night, she walked back to her now occupied seat where Enrique sat flashing her a seductively intentful look.

She turned toward Edward, completely blocking out Enrique's clear advance. "Ed, you did say I could call you that?" Jenny asked.

"Yes," Edward replied.

"Let's get out of here," she said, followed by her taking his arm and pulling him away from his two disappointed friends.

Richie gave Enrique a what-the-fuck look.

Enrique shook his head and redoubled his efforts to get some of his own after the added pressure of the recently inconceivable events.

Jenny held Edward's hand pulling him beyond the club's exit. The elevator music and the TV screens provided much ice-breaking distraction as they arrived on the sixteenth floor. They walked alongside one another with her guiding him toward the intended destination. Edward peered over at Jenny's face saying, "I'm glad you came back."

She walked on, directing Edward past Mark's hotel room. The hallway no longer had bodyguards lining it as Catherine had decided it was best to take her lover and leave after the embarrassment of being caught by her twenty-two year old boss. That exodus left an unoccupied room for Jenny to access.

"Really?" Jenny asked as they reached the door, her hand pulling out the room card.

"I am," he declared. The door snapped back and they walked in.

"I'm sure you would have spoken to another girl," she said as she shut the door.

"You were it," he said, then made an about-turn at which point he witnessed her undressing.

Her hip-hugging white dress soon fell to a pile followed by her bra. Her perky symmetrical breasts triggered fantasies in Edward instead of movement, his hands near his belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" asked Jenny.

"Did I do something?"

"That's the problem," she said, taking off her cream stilettos and walking toward him barefooted. Pulling him by the belt toward the bed and pushing his body back, Jenny ordered Edward to take off his clothing and fell back into a chair across the room where she sat naked, watching the show.

She tied her hair up, her fingers drifting towards her mouth where she sucked on them. Edward kicked his shoes away, launching them towards the wall with lightening speed. She smiled at his mesmerized state, finding it endearing.

Moving her saliva-covered fingers to her breasts, she rubbed her fingers over her areolas, lowered her head towards her breasts, and swirled her tongue around her nipples. Her fingers moved to her smooth stomach and further down, slowly rolling down her panties.

Her fingers moved toward her groomed vagina, her index finger slowly entering while she stared at Edward, who finally pushed his boxer shorts down to reveal a semi-hard penis.

"Get your cock hard," Jenny directed, followed by his compliance.

Jenny fingered her tight, youthful flower faster and faster adding more fingers. "Hmmm," she moaned. Edward's hands moved furiously along his shaft, his eyes never leaving the pot his cock grew impatient for.

Her legs spread wide, giving Edward a view of her alluring thighs leading to her pink leaky lips that were stretched by her juice-coated fingers.

Jenny's middle and index fingers drove down to the knuckles as her thumb rubbed her clitoral hood. Her knuckle-deep strides and the forceful nature of her fingers were more about directing Edward than achieving the shuddering warmth running through her.

"Yess...yes...yes," she whimpered.

Edwards's hands continued to run along his over-hardened shaft with breath-taking speed. "Slow down!" Jenny said too late as he shot his seed all over his stomach.

She lifted herself up from her chair, moving to collect a condom from her round silver purse after which she sauntered over to Edward. "Do you want me to go down on you?" he asked.

"No, I brought you here to fuck," she said, now straddling his waist and running her hand along his cock, causing it to stir. Pushing him onto his back, Jenny gave him soft kisses while rubbing her nakedness against his.

Edward began to sit up but she pushed him back down. "Just stay where you are, okay?" she said, taking hold of his painful rigidity, covering his tip with the condom, and rolling it to a tight fit. Turning her body around, her back to him, she planted her feet on the bed near his waist, moving her pussy down to connect with his cock.

She had a fleeting thought of teasing him, but for now she needed immediate penetration. She took the plunge slowly at first, adapting to him, and quickly found her comfort level due to her previous fingering and the lubrication it had inspired.

Like a winding mechanism, Jenny's legs moved up and down, slamming her weight down, taking all of him in comfortably. "Uuumhhh," he groaned, his cock feeling the tight, tantalizing pressure of her hungry wet pussy. With every move she made he felt like he could pop. Her hips moved circularly around his cock all the while grinding into him, inducing a loud throaty "Ohhhh!" from Edward. She looked back and winked, causing him to blush, giving him the encouragement in that look to be more daring.

Moving beyond his shyness, Edward stretched both hands along her back. Slowly moving his hands down along her hot body, inhaling and heaving due to the sensual combination of what he felt and her pussy's grip, he placed them on her firm curved ass. His eyes were no longer the only things following her movements. His finger clutched her ass, pulling her down to his root.

Jenny's black hair that she had tied up became loose in the heat of their fucking and flowed down to her ass, covering Edward's hands. Her fingers moved back to re-tie it, but Edward voiced his objection by grabbing her hand. "Leave it. It's so hot!"


"Of course! Your hair's beautiful. You're beautiful!"

Edward couldn't see, but her face was beaming.

"You are so incredibly beautiful."

Her hands were on his knees as her fingers gripped his calves tighter and tighter as she neared orgasm, spurred on by Edward's compliments. "Yeeees," she hummed softly.

Her hair bouncing wildly back and forth gave him sudden inspiration. His hips slammed vigorously upward, causing her to turn around and offer him a pleased smile. His cock rocketed into her hot tight hole, the two now moving into each other like clockwork.

Jenny's pussy muscles tightened around Edward's hard pistoning cock. "Yes," she moaned, spinning her body around to ride him, facing him, and lowering to her knees as he drove upward with rapid thrusts. She lowered her head to his, her tongue dominantly entering his mouth.

She began a frenzied moan deep in his mouth as their two sweaty bodies slammed together relentlessly. "Ohhhh...Ohhhh!" he let out, as his entire body shuddered.

Jenny rolled off Edward and lay next to him, giving him one last kiss before jumping off the bed. "Are you seriously leaving already? God, I feel cheap."

"That was great, way was good, really." Jenny moved closer, giving him another kiss. "But I don't want to give you the wrong impression, Ed. This was only sex. You have the room until ten in the morning," she said while putting on her bra.

"I don't have the wrong impression. You can sleep here without leading me on. We don't even have to cuddle," he said.

She gave him a smile, brushing back her hair as she climbed onto the bed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek that moved closer and closer to his lips until it became a full out open-mouthed deep French kiss. A good hour had now passed and all Richie had scored was Azumi's phone number. He had long forgotten her and had a pretty blonde socialite grinding into him. Over his shoulder, Enrique, after having charmed his way into the name brand table, was punching above his weight chatting up Rihanna of all people.

Five minutes later the pretty blonde socialite's girlfriend forcibly removed her girl's ass from Richie's grinding groin, giving her an open kiss in front of Richie. "Lesbian, huh!" mumbled Richie; about the same time, Rihanna left the table and the club with Drake.

Unfazed, Enrique simply moved on to another girl. The new girl seemed to be quite responsive. Richie neared him, hearing that he had pulled out his trump card. He was speaking Portuguese, throwing in some French for good measure.

Richie's iPhone soon buzzed with an incoming message.

"It's Azumi R U stil ^ 2 hang?" A smile came over Richie's face as he read.

"problE whr R u?" he replied.

"I'm off wrk earlE i'm n d lobey R U ^ 2 git together?"

"I'm dwn!" Richie finally declared.

She responded with a smiley face. Richie moved to exit the club when she sent another message.

"iz yor Italian l%kin frNd dwn 2 hang az well? If he's not that's kewl." Richie, assuming she had a friend for Enrique, responded automatically. He turned and looked at Enrique. The girl he was talking to looked like she'd need another hour of priming.

"YS he's down, c U in a min," Richie said, knowing that Enrique now owed him one.

"gr8!" she responded, adding in another smile face.

Richie waved Enrique over. "Is it working out with the redhead over there?"


"Just tell me. Is it?"

"No, it's going to take an unreal minute to hook her."

"Okay, I have a girl for you."


"Remember Azumi?"

"The Asian girl?"

"Yeah, she has a friend for you. She's in the lobby waiting for us."

"Let's go then," Enrique said impatiently.

They walked past the entryway into the hall of mirrors that led to the elevators. "Can I use your iPhone? My battery died hours ago."

Richie handed Enrique his phone when his bouncer friend, Christopher, called at him, "Yo."

"Hey, Chris, what's up?

"Your boy, Mark. He legit?"

"Without a doubt."

"True?" Christopher said, rubbing his chin.

"Before I forget...what's the dirt on this new Japanese girl?"

"Not much. Don't feel bad though; she never goes home with any customers. She has a dime ass I have to say."

Leaving Christopher, Richie walked toward Enrique who was near the elevators.

They stepped into the elevator when Enrique burst out with, "You know this Asian slut is expecting us both to fuck her, right?"

"Fuck're bullshitting!"

"I'm dead serious."

"Seriously, I had no fucking clue. I thought she meant she had a roommate or girl for you."

"Read between the lines," Enrique said, handing Richie his iPhone back.

"We should just go back upstairs and leave her down there."

"Why? I mean, I'm down to double-team this slut," Enrique declared.

Richie's eyes widened and his pupils trained on his friend. "You're fucking around, right? I'm not doing any gay shit."

"And I do? Don't be stupid. She just wants two cocks in her, I'm sure."

"You're speaking like you've done this before."

Enrique lifted his shoulder, evoking doubt.

"God, Mark was right. You are a Spanish man-slut!

"So, are you doing it?...Because I would rather fuck her by myself. I actually haven't double-teamed yet; but I won't pussy out of it, that's for sure," Enrique made clear.

"I'll do it, but I get first crack at her," Richie said, setting his terms. They argued over this until the elevator arrived in the lobby with them playing rock-paper-scissors.

"Fuck you...whatever...I won either way!" Enrique yelled while exiting the elevator first. Richie ignored him, heading toward the petite tight-bodied Azumi. Both men looking down on the five-foot-two girl that they both surpassed by nearly a foot. She now wore jean shorts that showed off her bubbly ass and a white shirt that revealed her pushup-enhanced medium bust.

"Hey, I'm Enrique," he said, extending his hand to Azumi.

"Hi...I don't know if I made myself clear in the text."

"We figured it out."

"You two are okay with it? I don't expect you two to do anything together." Then a mischievous grin appeared on her cute Asian face. "Unless you two want to."

"Not fucking happening," Richie said while they walked to the front doors.

"Oh, never say never, honey," Enrique said, placing his hands on Richie's shoulders, motioning a mock massage.

"You're fucking suspect," Richie said to Enrique, shaking off his mock advances as Azumi and Enrique laughed hysterically.

Arriving outside, Richie gave his ticket to the valet and soon enough his white Porsche Cayenne was pulling around the corner.

He then looked at Enrique. "As per our agreement, Spanish lover boy, you're driving," referring to the rock-paper-scissors game.

The Porsche SUV arrived. Richie handed over a tip and soon the group was off. Richie's plan was his early access to Azumi's tight little body.

"We're going to my loft in Tribeca," he stated.

"How long until we arrive?" she asked with her sweet voice.

Richie looked out and saw that Enrique was driving on West Street. "Ten, twelve minutes."

Taking note of the time Azumi shifted over to Richie, giving him a saliva-filled kiss. "Hmmm!" she moaned, her fingers snapping back his belt buckle and fishing for his cock. When it was open to the freeing air she wasted no time dropping her head down. In one swoop Azumi had half of Richie's cock in her warm liquid mouth.

Her downward eyes did not see Richie's extended hand that Enrique high-fived.

Azumi's lips tightened around Richie's base, diving up and down repeatedly and sucking with hot precision.

She soon applied her small hands to multiply her efforts along his shaft as her mouth sucked around his cock head, licking it like ice cream and gliding her tongue on the underside, her large eyes opening up at his bliss-ridden face.

Azumi felt a tremor run through Richie. His imminent orgasm was confirmed when his hands began to cradle her head. She removed her hands from his cock's length, going deeper like before and swallowing him whole.

For a second Azumi pulled back and he then relented. "Hu...uhg...uggh," she coughed.

"Are you alright?" Richie asked as Enrique peered back from the rear-view mirror.

She smiled up at Richie and promptly went about applying her lips to his cock again, diving down deeper without Richie's hand forcing her to the root depth that she now achieved on her own. Her head bobbing, Azumi quickly worked her mouth around his cock, the speed and swirling rhythm of her tongue causing him to yell out "Fuck!" Azumi knew Richie was close to coming.

To Richie's disappointment Azumi pulled her head back, her hands now taking over pumping his shaft. Under her hands' strong and sensual motions, he erupted all over his waist, her hand, and his leather seats. He tilted his head back victoriously, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a salivating dog. Seeing the mess he had made, Richie uttered "crap."

Enrique broke out in laughter over Richie's discomfort. A minute later Enrique was pulling into the garage and soon they were on an elevator journey to a new experience.

Azumi's nimble legs easily wrapped around Richie's waist as the elevator zipped upward. Her tongue entered his mouth, liberally tongue fucking him.

Easing her feet to the floor, she then tried to kiss Enrique to his played-down protest while Enrique thought but didn't say that she'd need to brush Richie's cum from her tongue first.

Richie directed Azumi to a bathroom giving her a fresh toothbrush. He and Enrique now went to the redbrick styled man's lounge that was equipped with a hazard-inducing bar. Before taking a seat Richie grabbed a bottle of Gray Goose, which he and Enrique now took shots of.
By the time Azumi came back from the washroom, they had halved the just-opened bottle and she was ready to get dirty again.

Her petite five-two body and glowing skin magnified the impact of her bra-covered C cup bust, her overall beauty bloomed with the appeal of smooth cute facial features, and her pink polka-dot bra and black panties made both males' imaginations run wild.

Azumi walked towards the couch that Enrique was spread out on, climbed onto the cushiony loveseat, and crawled toward him. Her minty mouth closed over his and this time he didn't object but instead pulled her onto his lap and kissed her forcefully. Their mouths rocking into each other's, Richie sat on the couch opposite simply sipping away and looking beyond the scene happening in front of him.

Richie looked on jealously as his friend's fingers unhooked Azumi's bra, her breasts at full attention. Enrique's head lowered to her left breast, sucking on her nipple. "Ooummh," she moaned, as his hands ventured south towards her panties and slipped a finger past the veil.

Enrique's middle finger pushed against her opposing tightness, slipping in under the fluidity of her arousal. The pressure still feeling immense, Azumi's walls closed over his single finger as a second finger stretched past her tight little entryway. "Oh," she moaned again, rocking onto his finger, her juices slowly trickling down his drilling fingers.

Richie sat there steaming. He had thought the deal that he had won back at the Standard Hotel would have put things in his favor but now felt the opposite. Azumi soon remedied this as she whispered into Enrique's ear.

Holding onto Enrique's hand, Azumi pulled away from him and reached out for Richie's hand. "Lead the way," she directed, adding, "By the way, do you have lube?"

Richie grinned.

The alcohol mellowed the awkwardness of the two stripping best friends. Richie was the last to undress as he froze a little at the sight of Enrique sitting at the edge of his bed, his hairy legs widely spread with Azumi on all fours in between them sucking his Latin cock. She stopped and turned around, looking at awkward-appearing Richie.

"Are you okay?"


"Then what are you waiting for? I need you in my pussy or my ass. You choose."

Richie flashed her a sudden confident smile and seizing his cock he jumped onto the bed where he mounted the Japanese beauty from behind. His hands consumed her small round cheeks. Wrapping his cock protectively, he moved the bulbous tip to her sopping bald entryway.

He pushed a finger into her vagina, feeling her soaked walls. Applying his tip was still a challenge even with his teasing. "Holy fuck, you're tight," he espoused, as his hands ran along her smooth ass and back where he spotted a nearly invisible skin-toned kissing lip tattoo.

Richie's fingers squeezed into Azumi's fleshy ass with a death grip. His mind forgot subtlety and instead focused on the pleasuring tightness of her hot pussy. For Richie, no one else but Azumi was in the room with him and the warm pussy he now smashed into. Without waiting for her to adapt, he fed her pussy half and then all of his thickness, putting her off balance for a second and knocking the air out of her small frame.

His cock pumped her tight pussy. "Errhhhhh!" he grunted. Azumi's mouth was stuffed with Enrique's engorged cock and her pain and pleasure were muzzled. Richie poured lube onto his index finger and eased it inside her hot asshole, passing her clenching microscopic sphincter.

While bobbing on Enrique's cock Azumi rocked her ass back to the man pleasuring both of her holes. Seeing her approval of his thrusts, Richie was encouraged to double them. He pushed in and out of her clutching juicy pussy like a shooting train, knocking the cock out of her mouth and pushing her head into Enrique's stomach. At the same time Richie's left hand worked her asshole while his right hand went beneath, rubbing at the top of her pussy and messaging her clit.

"Yes...yes...yes...fuck me like that! Oh yes, Richie, fuck...ohhhhh!" Azumi exclaimed, bringing jealousy to the kneeling Enrique who wanted her to scream his name instead. He held his cock at her mouth slapping it across her lips, pushing it in and shutting her up as she went back to bobbing, the vibration of her moans bringing his cock closer and closer to eruption.

Her full mouth gasped slightly as her asshole felt Richie's girth-stretching cock. He eased in, still fingering her pussy. Right away Richie felt the massive hot pressure bearing down on his cock.

Minutes later he was driving inward, his dangling balls slapping into her as they tightened up, her fingers working her pussy pleasingly. Azumi dislodged Enrique's cock from her mouth.

"Hmm...Richie...yessss...fuck me, yes!" she moaned and yelled with her chest heaving, erupting on Richie's fingers. She now sucked on the cock in her mouth with new enthusiasm. Taking her by surprise, her orgasm distracting her, Enrique's cock shot cum down her throat, limiting the speed of the removal of her mouth. Enrique and Richie, grinning, high-fived each other.

Richie put his hands again on Azumi's ass while he unrelentingly pummeled away and closed his eyes, feeling the full impact of the furnace walls clenching around his length. "Eihpph!...Eiuhhhppph!" he moaned finally, before leaning back and pulling his cock out, pulling off the condom and coming all over her ass and back.

Azumi gave Enrique a fuck-me look and licked her lips. He moved in behind her while Richie moved away. She couldn't wait to have both of them! Richie now lay below her. Kneeling, she sat down on his cock, her eyes popping as a cock filled both her pussy and ass. All three bodies began sweating.

Richie was soon distracted by the moment, having forgotten that his friend's cock had been in Azumi's mouth as he kissed her. Remembering this, he pulled back but soon returned when his inebriated mind thought 'Huh why not, it's not like he came inside.' Azumi, having swallowed Enrique's seed, made sure Richie had no clue and would never realize in his inebriated state.

Enrique soon doubled the layer of cum on Azumi's ass and then re-entered with renewed vigor. Azumi, smiling, pushed her tongue deeper into Richie's mouth. "You were so good!" she whispered as Richie's cock pushed into her pussy, in sync with Enrique's anal barrage.

Soon the three of them had collapsed onto the bed. Enrique left to sleep in one of Richie's guest rooms and Azumi stayed with Richie. "Join me in the shower," she said, extending her index finger invitingly.

Before he could join her, Richie received a text. "Can I cum Ovr i'm in Chelsea?" signed Nicole.

"No," Richie responded.

"Got sum 1 beter Ovr?"

"Yup," he said as he looked at the shower with longing.

"K wutever," Nicole said, ending the banter.

Richie put his phone down and entered the steamy shower. Azumi moved toward him and began lathering his body. Lifting her body and pushing her back against the wall, he kissed her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and as her soapy hands ran over him, he moved slowly into her as he buried his cock between her pussy lips.

His fingers gripped deep into her ass flesh, holding her up and feeling her warmth. Their eyes locked together as his tongue rubbed against hers, slithering around and about. No words needed to be shared. Back at the Standard Hotel around the same time that the interracial threesome had left, Mark was in his hotel room being treated to a bedazzling show of feminine sexuality.

He sat looking on, stern and confident, holding a glass of scotch neat while Elsa sat cross-legged on the floor directly behind a standing Caroline. Elsa was spreading Caroline's ass cheeks apart, her tongue digging deep into her asshole. Mark sat watching Caroline's facial expression while he sipped.

Caroline's left hand rubbed and fingered her smooth pussy while her right hand kneaded her substantial bosom. Her O-shaped mouth gasped, releasing little exhaling breaths. Slight whispers escaped as the Elsa's tongue dipped deeper.

Mark stood up. "Sit like we agreed...soon okay...umggggh," Caroline moaned.

Mark took his directions, sitting down and sipping more of his medicine.

Elsa's spare hand went to her own glossy pussy, fingering it as her long plump tongue darted in and out of Caroline's ass, swirling around her sphincter. "Aggghhhh...fuck...Elsa baby...fuck...I can't stand...oh baby...yes...yes...oh...lick my ass!" Caroline screamed out, her legs collapsing under her orgasm.

She melted to the floor into Elsa's arms, the two girls rolling around kissing each other deeply for minutes before the pair stood up. "Holy shit, Elsa. Fuck, I'm so wet," Caroline said, giggling and pulling Elsa in closer before the two of them moved to a single seat sofa next to Mark's.

Caroline lay on the armchair-sofa on her back, positioning her legs high into the air along the chair's back. Elsa moved atop Caroline on the sofa, placing her pussy above Caroline's head at the cushioned seat of the sofa. Elsa's anticipating salivating tongue stood hovering above Caroline's pussy, the two girls in perfect reciprocating equilibrium, Elsa licking from her position up top and Caroline licking from her position below.

Mark thought he would have to wait out again but Caroline had other plans. She whispered to Mark, "Take off your clothes."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Mark mumbled, ripping at his designer shirt and tossing it across the room on top of the LCD TV. Caroline's dizzy slanted head giggled. Elsa heard the commotion but was too possessed by the task at hand to turn her head around. Her tongue and lips focused keenly on Caroline's flower, fingering her pussy, tonguing inside at her inner labia moving to her clitoris, and rotating between it and the bud her tongue had become so familiar with.

Mark, completely naked except for his socks, walked towards the mingling bodies. Caroline beckoned him downward toward her. "Get gel or something from the washroom."

Mark did as she said, his mind running wild and his cock bouncing as he walked with purposeful speed. He returned to the bedroom to see that Caroline had her tongue deep in Elsa's pussy. Elsa rewarded her efforts by tonguing and fingering deeper and deeper into Caroline's pussy. Caroline's body spasmed in response.

Mark moved toward the two bodies once again. "Fuck her ass," Caroline mouthed. With that Caroline's tongue returned deeper into Elsa's sweet Swedish pussy.

Mark stepped in between Elsa's legs. He grinned, internally projecting an external calm as he looked at the ass in front of him that he was about to be inside of. "Jesus," he said to himself in the face of his first asshole.

First, he applied a tad of the hotel-issued gel to his condom-covered cock. Then he thought, 'Why the hell not,' and then his hand clasped the bottle and squeezed more than half of the bottle onto his hand, slathering most on his enthusiastic cock.

His cock was inches away from Elsa's back door when Caroline reached out her tongue. Craning her head upwards, her tongue slightly grazing the sphincter, Elsa's head jerked slightly at the unexpected brief pleasure.

Next, Caroline swept her tongue along the tip of Mark's painfully hard cock. Mark applied a lubed finger to Elsa's asshole, feeling the heat resonating from her anal depth. He fingered her asshole while Caroline's tongue dove deep in Elsa's soaking warm quivering pussy.

Caroline shook off her dizziness as blood rushed to her head. Her eyes rolled upward from where they had momentarily been focused on Elsa's dripping box, to Mark's eager cock.

Elsa first felt Mark's probing finger and then felt the tip of his cock at her rear entrance. She turned, flashing a sultry look at him, her lips wet with a tangy essence. As quick as she turned around she turned back, bracing against the chair's shoulders getting ready to be fucked.

Mark put his tip in first, finding his footing caused a misstep that lodged the entirety of his manhood up Elsa's hot anal canal. "Oh fuck!" he groaned, feeling the clasping squeezing pressure, his cockhead popping through.

For Elsa, the instant pain mixed with her pussy's pleasure balanced out. Her head jerked upward and backward "Aghhh!" she blurted out in pain. "Don't stop!" she cried.

Mark pulled half way out just to slam back in. He was unapologetic; his eyes filled with enflamed hunger—the same hunger in hers.

Equilibrium was soon restored with her face again in Caroline's pussy, the three of them working like a finely tuned machine.

Mark grunted as his cock slammed through Elsa's squeezing sphincter muscle. His hips quickened, colliding into her ass cheeks and making it difficult for dizzy Caroline to tongue Elsa's clit.

Mark moved his cock in and out of the Elsa's burning hole. He continued to pump her ass, drilling her hole without relent. Elsa's body jumped forward with each energetic thrust. The room filled with moans, groans, and ecstatic screams.

Elsa's overflowing juices soon poured onto Caroline's face. Mark pumped a few more thrusts to Elsa's tight asshole before he collapsed on top of the sexy women.

The three of them rested together until Mark pulled Caroline in for a kiss, craving the sweet Swedish juices on Caroline's lips and then turning to Elsa, all three now kissing deeply.

After an exhausting tryst Mark lifted his two honeys off to bed. Elsa wrapped her long endless legs around Mark as he spooned Caroline. He soon fell asleep sandwiched between the two beauties.


Hours after the three other adventures, nearly four AM on what was now a dark Sunday morning, Catherine Porter was safely in the privacy of her Midtown penthouse condominium high up on the forty-first floor. The embarrassment of being caught by her twenty-two year old boss, Mark Bryce, during her spur of the moment rendezvous with her lover Marco, forced her into wanting to vacate the hotel room early. Catherine had ignored her initial reservation about taking her twenty-five year old boy toy to her penthouse home.

Catherine's body rolled out of the position where Marco had hammered her pussy for hours. Her post-orgasmic, shuddering body searched for balance, her tingling toes touching the floor. She shook herself into equilibrium as her now stable feet marched toward her ensuite bathroom. Entering the washroom, she immediately prepared for bed, her flushed face baring a shallow gratifying grin. Nonetheless, she felt unfulfilled. There was a deeper lasting connection missing. 'This is going to have to end, tomorrow,' she promised herself.

Marco splayed his entire body out under the plush comforter. Entirely drained, his eyelids felt heavier and heavier as he drifted off to sleep, his entire body covered under the Egyptian cotton.

Actions beyond his control were about to assure an unending sleep. A woman wrapped in skin-tight black leather, nearing the forty-first floor, slid along the exterior of the condo tower. Popping open the master bedroom's window, she limberly slipped through the small opening with little less than a swooshing whisper.

Without warning she pulled out her silencer-fitted Beretta 92 and pointed it at the chest of what she presumed was her target. The first unheard bullet stung through the air while the assassin advanced forward, unrelentingly shooting at her now lead-riddled target. Her leather-covered left hand stretched forward toward the now lifeless body.

She peeled back the bloodstained comforter to confirm her target's identity and to take the picture the client had demanded. "Fuck," she cursed upon seeing the dead young male's head where it should have been a woman's.

The assassin's predatory eyes were scanning the room when behind her the door to the washroom opened and Catherine, dressed in a bedtime nightgown, walked out yawning. Catherine's tired eyes were greeted by a heart-stopping scene. A blood-curdling scream reverberated through the condo as she spotted the masked assassin holding Marco's lifeless head over the bloodstained comforter.

The intruder immediately released the head of her target's once youthful lover, moving for her holstered Beretta. As trained, two bodyguards breeched the bedroom door just as the assassin began to focus the silencer at her intended target.

The first bodyguard was a quick draw. He pulled out his Sig Sauer P229 and aimed, shooting to kill. The assassin leapt into the air as the first guard's bullet ripped through her mask and pierced her ear, revealing her identity. She took cover behind a dresser and returned fire as more bodyguards poured in to secure Catherine.

Plotting her escape, the assassin looked at the window and rolled precision blasters toward it, preparing to make the leap with her parachute pack strapped to her back. The blast shook the room blowing glass everywhere. In a last-second decision the assassin decided there were too many loose ends—including the thirty million dollar bounty.

The bodyguards advanced, daring the assassin. She responded in kind, taking on the guard closest to her. Holding her Berretta in her left hand, she fired a single shot capping his knee. Retrieving her long custom-made blade with her right hand, she slammed it upward into his heart, sending his body into the air while she shot another guard right between the eyes, his head snapping back into the wall as the hollow-point bullet expanded in his shattered skull.

There were seven guards left in the room, among them a shockingly overwhelmed Allen who shook his fear away and jumped into action. He quickly directed three of his men to grab Catherine while he and the other three men moved in tandem. Leaving the three men to do the heavy lifting, the last thing Allen saw was the assassin inhumanly leaping into the air and wrapping her feet around one of his men's heads, snapping his neck. She then sliced her blade along the pink flesh of another's throat, spraying crimson liquid everywhere. Now there was only one bodyguard left in the room with the assassin.

Catherine, now out of the danger of her bedroom war zone, was surrounded by four protective shadows. Through her panic, she glanced at Allen's face and was reassured by its stern clarity and resolve. Hearing the firefight continuing to ensue in her bedroom, Allen rushed Catherine to the penthouse's first-floor library and yelled into his wrist communicator as he pulled out the discreet bookshelf.

He punched in a code, pulled back the heavy door, and protectively pushed Catherine inside. "Don't unlock this for any reason; Section Nine is two minutes out!" he yelled and pointed to a box in the corner of the safe room, glancing at her dishevelled nightgown-clad state for a second longer than he should have before slamming the door shut. Allen used hand signals to direct the three other men into a defensive stance and ran to take up positions in the library. Their guns were drawn, ready, and waiting.

The safe-room door snapped shut, sealing tight as the panic room's computer started running air sample tests. 'What...what just happened?' Catherine asked herself, shuddering. In front of her was the unlocked box Allen had pointed out. In it was a FN P90 semi-automatic. She was shaken and shocked at the massive loss of life, but nevertheless took up the weapon vowing, 'I'm not going to die today.'

The assassin, her face bloodied due to the earshot and ensuing battle that she had won, tied up her hair that had fallen down, and in a quick movement of her fingers, knotted her hair once more and cut away the now hanging torn fabric of her breathable mask.

She stepped over the five downed bodies. The last one had put up more of a fight than all the others put together. "What stamina he had. What a pity," she said, shrugging.
Knowing that her face had been seen after the bullet pierced her mask, her mind was now set on "Everybody had to die." She moved through the condo and pulled out a portable display of the penthouse's floor plan provided by her contractor. The assassin moved swiftly and desperately now. She glided down the penthouse's stairs. Cracking her knuckles while covertly making her way toward the library, she smiled as the display flashed the code to the safe room.

Moving like a stalking cat, she paused when she began hearing the unquestionable buzzing blades of fast-approaching helicopters. Moving toward the glass doors of the patio, she then made quick cautious movements down and away from it.

Now comfortably hidden, the assassin spotted two medium-lift Bryce-built helicopters hovering over the sky-high patio deck. Multiple rope lines extended from the airborne crafts. Within thirty seconds, more than twenty men in combat gear with heavy assault weapons foreign to her expertise were on the patio in strategic tactical positions.

The assassin started calculating her options. The stance and position assured her that these men were some kind of advanced special ops. Looking closely, she spied swords similar to her blade sticking out of their combat packs; this was definitely not the response she had been expecting. Her fingers went behind her to her parachute pack. "Fuck me!" she exclaimed, sensing the bullet holes in her escape plan.

Just as the assassin made her assessment, the lights went out in the room as well as the whole penthouse. Grinding her teeth in a final decision, she decided to put her own survival above getting her target.

With custom night and heat adaptive goggles, the two twelve-man teams combed the house. Stepping stealthily and swiftly, looking up and around at every appearing corner, and using exclusive technology to see through walls prior to entry, no crevice or object went unseen.

In the library Allen and his team were in defensive postures preparing for the worst when they heard a rough war-hardened, hopeful voice call out. "Crimson seven!"

Allen's stomach relaxed as he replied with the code term "roll tide ten." With that, the twelve-man team still on active alert moved into the library and flashed lights from their combat helmets, their custom assault rifles with scopes and silencers capturing all the attention. They immediately took defensive positions just beyond the library's entryway and all through the library proper.

The team leader put his fist in the air and Allen approached him with his ID card. The team leader reciprocated with a burn after reading identifier at which point Allen nodded at him, confirming his identity. "Section Nine at your service," the team leader said smugly in between chews of gum. Allen shook his hand as he continued. "Four of you? I was told there was nine."

"Last we were up there, four out of five were down and out and I've since lost contact. I've heard nothing from my man Graves, the last man standing. But I have hope; he's a former Navy Seal," Allen said, sweat beading down his forehead.

Allen found it hard to tell if the team leader was shaken by his words. His face, except for his mouth, was covered in protective gear and all Allen could see of his lower mouth was covered in black chalk.

"She locked tight?" the team leader asked, brushing off the information that Allen had just relayed to him.

Allen nodded, saying "Yes."

Just then, a scream was heard in the background followed by silence. The team leader put his hand to his helmet. "Copy that Capricorn. Emancipator on the move in 20," speaking into what appeared to be a mini microphone.

Allen looked on in anticipation.

"My other team is assessing that the area is secure. At present, we have one assassin. The feisty shit injured one of my men before they put her down. She's still alive though, lucky fuck."

Allen took a deep breath of relief. "What now?" he asked, his tenseness receding as he forced his emotions into check.

"We interrogate her. By the time BCI 'Bryce Counter Intelligence,' arrives, we need to have solid answers. You know how we do things; it's all in-house, no outsiders. We'll find out what that bitch knows. In ten minutes, when BCI arrives, we better know everything the assassin knows so that BCI can assess and pass it on to another Section Nine specialist team who will clean everything up. Then, when everything is secure, we let the boss out of the box."

"You can't expect the assassin to talk in ten minutes! She's clearly a professional!"

The team leader gave Allen a gummy smile. "So am I," he said, walking off.

Allen stopped him before he left the library. "Is Mark Bryce secure?"

"BCI and personal security doesn't believe the kid's in danger. We have a theory and I'm about to find out if it's the right one." The team leader and his team left the library and the lights suddenly returned. Allen's men stayed unmoved.

Ten minutes later all was declared secure just as the helicopters that dropped off the two teams returned and dropped off men in trench coats and others in white hazmat suites who carried body bags.

A group of four men in trench coats walked into the library. "Do we have a name?" asked a thick gray-haired seventy-something man with a refined accent.

"I don't know," answered Allen, his eyes questioning who the old man was.

The man's face softened. "You're Allen Christopher, right?"

"Yes," Allen replied, shaking the man's hand.

"I'm Simon Belfer. Do you know who I am?"


"One word answers. I like that. I'm the director of the Bryce Security and Intelligence Collective. I'm in charge of BCI, Section Nine, and yes, you all in the personal security division. You handled your team very well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is Catherine still in there?"

"Yes sir, she is."

"Good, she'll be out soon. I'm just waiting for my answers."

Allen wanted to concern himself with Catherine, but at the moment his panicked mind focused on those that died. "Sir, about my men...will their families be taken care of?"

"They will. I know how hard this is, Allen. Watching someone you know die is a gruesome thing. When I was younger and serving in the Israeli Defense Force, I too lost people close to me. The families will be taken care of; they'll never have to work a day in their lives. We take care of our own. Those that sponsored this will see the sharp end of Section Nine. We're also going to review protocol to ensure this never happens again."

Allen wasn't expecting this. He was hoping he'd be given cause for anger. "Good," he said, his hands faintly trembling.

"This was a terrible, terrible day for you and all your men."

Allen nodded. "I know it's against procedure, but can we get Catherine out now?"

"I need a name and the assassin needs to either be in the chopper or without a pulse."

Just as Simon said that, the team leader walked in, looked at Simon, and said two words: "George Hollis."

Allen began to rage, his mind snapping upon hearing the name. "I'll kill him myself!"

Allen's men advanced, calming him as Simon looked on with an unimpressed face. Simon went into full on let's take care of business mode.

"Anyone else in on it?" Simon asked, thumbing his chin.

"I'm certain there's no one else. We gave her the drug."

"Good," Simon said walking away, inhaling. "Put her to sleep and put her on a chopper. Don't kill her."

"You're not gonna kill her? Did you see what she did?" Allen questioned heatedly.

Simon turned to Allen who was surrounded by his men. "When I was director of Mossad, no one dared questioned me, not even the Prime Minister or your own CIA director for that matter. So you think I'm goanna let you start?"..."Do it," Simon said, turning back to the team leader.

"Yes sir." The team leader snapped to attention and left to carry out his orders.

Simon flipped his cell phone open. "We were right; it's him." Simon waited through chatter on the other end. "No, something more subtle." Chatter ensued. "Yes...very last thing...Catherine's dead lover. I need a draft of a deportation document planted into the Homeland Security's records—flight manifesto...the whole package. Make it seem like he was deported back and killed in Mexico."

Allen listened, steely eyed and calm once again, showing no emotion as he tried to do what he was trained to do.

"It's done; she's en route to the facility," the team leader said, returning.

"Let our CEO out now," Simon dictated to Allen.

Followed by Allen, Simon walked to the bookshelf, pulled it back, and punched in the code he alone guarded. As the heavy metal door creaked open, Catherine stood on the other side holding the FN P90—seconds away from firing. "It's all safe now," Allen promised as his eyes spotted the pools of vomit on the floor near Catherine.

Catherine, feeling more vulnerable than she ever had, dropped the gun to the floor, stood upright, and tried to be strong in one of the most difficult times of her life. Leaving her prison and spotting Simon, she walked passed Allen as she pulled herself together and approached Simon. Turning to the bulk of people in the room she ordered them to clear the room.

The room quickly emptied. "What happened here, Simon?"

Running his tongue against his teeth, he replied, "Look, you're a bit emotional right now which is expected. You almost died. We can talk later. Sleep it off first."

"Cut your sexist bullshit! Who did this?"

"George Hollis," Simons said, looking away from Catherine and running his thumb along the leather-bound books in the room.

"Well, is he in custody? Do the police have him?"

"That's not how we do things. Who do you think those men dressed for combat were, the FBI? You think the quarter billion dollars a year this company spends on security just goes to funding bodyguards? You think it's a coincidence when a dictator that wants to nationalize one of our operations suddenly gets inoperable cancer or has a lethal allergic reaction?"

"I don't fully understand this intelligence machine or what Section Nine does, but John Bryce respected you and I trusted his judgment so I gave you room to work—unlike any of my other directors. I understand that tough decisions need to be made from time to time as I grew up under that mantra. I'm not some little girl that needs to be protected." Catherine, her face bearing down on Simon's, continued, "I want in on the loop and you need to know that I'm in charge."

"Is that an order?"

"You better believe it!"

"Good, it's about time!"

Before she could reply, Simon pulled out his phone. "Excellent work," Simon replied before hanging up.

"George Hollis died of a burst appendix a minute ago. His wife will wake up to find his body."

"Next time I make these decisions," Catherine emphatically said, turning her body to the doorway of the library.

"I'll keep you informed the same way I did John from now on, Catherine, but this is my job and responsibility. You have yours. You're going to have to be able to go in front of the Senate Arms Services Committee and not perjure yourself. This is what I do and I do it well, but it doesn't make sense that both of our souls burn for eternity when only one needs to."

"I want daily briefings like John Bryce had, unless you want to send them to Mark Bryce." Simon frowned at that realization. "Or, you can treat me like the goddamn CEO and stop doing the same undermining George Hollis did. For fuck's sake, Simon, you should have warned me that George Hollis was a psychotic fuck!"

"Don't confuse me with him, Catherine. I'm no misogynist. I served under Golda Meir, remember? Regarding Hollis, he was John Bryce's corporate attack dog and no one could ever predict what the paranoid old fart was thinking, but I'll do my best to work with you."

"He tried to kill me and an innocent kid died," Catherine said.

"It won't happen again."

"Good. What happened to Marco?" she asked, her fingers gripped in a fist and hoping he didn't die because of her.

"He was arrested at his apartment a few hours ago by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. They deported him to Mexico."

Catherine's blood began to boil. "So he really is dead?"

"Look, if you need a crisis counselor, I'll get a team in so you can grieve or you can be the effective strong Chief Executive you've been for the last two months. I've been watching and you've definitely been doing a far better job than John ever did. What happened today was nasty business, but you're going to have to bury it like I have."

Catherine swallowed her saliva, standing upright. "So, am I sleeping in a hotel tonight?" she asked as she walked into the hallway, seeing technicians changing out her windowpanes for new sheets of glass.

"Was this glass broken too?"

"No, we're putting in armor-plated windows. A vulnerability consultant did a walk through so we're changing some things. If you want, you can sleep in your bed tonight." Catherine looked at him like he was a crazy man."

"It's just like new. New bed and carpet and window fresh smell. Everything's new-car fresh."

Like any normal person the thought of sleeping where her lover had died was unimaginable. "I'm not going to sleep tonight. Actually, I'll head to the office and have Clair find me a new permanent address. I can't live here!

"Okay, if that's what you want, but it's a great view you have here though," Allen said, looking out as the sun began to rise. "If you want to go in on a Sunday morning, go ahead."

That morning Catherine was given a replacement-bolstered, semi-automatic equipped bodyguard force. Even with the twenty bodyguards that now traveled with her, she felt safest with Allen. She wanted to tell him how thankful she was but the words kept failing her until the next day, Monday, when they were alone, going down in the elevator at day's end.

"Thank you," Catherine said to Allen.

"For what, ma'am?"

She decided against correcting him. Petty things like feeling younger mattered little to her these days. "I should have thanked you yesterday."

"It wasn't just me," Allen said.

"I am sorry though."

He sighed before saying, "It's okay to let it out."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"You know what I mean," he said, hitting the emergency button and halting the elevator.

"You can't do that."

"I need to," he said, taking her and holding her in his arms as she broke down, removing the chatter-filled earpiece from his ear.

"I'm sorry," Catherine mumbled through her tears.

"It's not your fault. I let you down," he asserted.

"Everybody's dead because of me."

"No, Catherine, they're not." Looking deep into her eyes Allen stretched his arms out and held her tighter.

For a full ten minutes she cried onto his shoulder as a small-armed force gathered outside. Allen gave her a cloth to dry her tears. She dried her tears and craned her head upward to give him a quick soft kiss.

Drifting away from each other he held her hand tightly as the elevator made its descent and then slowly his fingers eased away just before the doors opened. His large index finger, wrapped around her pinky, was the last unbroken bond.

In silence Catherine and Allen exited the elevator into a parking garage where they were immediately surrounded by a sphere of twenty protective shadows. Allen stopped all questions from the guards about breeches in protocol.

Allen held the door to the Escalade open for Catherine, his glove-like hand overshadowing and interlocking into hers as he guided her into the Cadillac's rear cabin. Sharing a deep soulful stare with Catherine, Allen whispered, "Simon's waiting." Catherine didn't understand until she slid into the black leather interior and saw no driver that Allen wasn't getting in with her. Only the graying Simon Belfer sat inside holding a folder that read 'BURN THIS AFTER YOU READ THIS,' which he handed to her. A few hours after the bloodied event at Catherine's condo, Mark was still in his hotel room with Elsa and Caroline, unmoved. A group of bodyguards had gathered outside Mark's hotel room, along with a pre-emptive counter sniper posted across the street that had been ordered by Casper. Casper wasn't going to disrupt Mark's night, but the accommodating undercover experiment was without a doubt over.

Mark's eyelids began to open when he felt a hot presence around his cock. Caroline's head bobbed up down and around his hardening cock, her mouth sucking it wetly.

He turned to see Elsa to his left still sleeping quietly. Mark was well over the edge already.

Caroline's hand moved along his cock as she sucked his balls into her mouth. She continued to run her hands along his cock as she went back to sucking along and below his cockhead.

Her head bobbed quickly as her hands sped up with the intent of pumping out his seed.

Mark's left hand brushed over her long brown hair. "I'm goanna cum!" Caroline heard him but she did nothing to avoid the eruption of his hot seed into her mouth.

She crawled up to him. "You still haven't fucked me yet," she said smiling.

She jumped off the bed and Mark followed right behind her, watching her swaying hair and robust backside.

Caroline giggled as they entered the washroom and carefully closed the door behind her. She sat on the sink counter while Mark stood facing her, looking into her hazel eyes. Her legs parted making room for him as she wrapped her legs around him as he prepped to fill her tiny void.

Mark kissed her and she returned it, kissing his upper lips—their tongues entangling outside their mouths. His rigid cock slowly pushed into her tingling wet entrance as his large hands moved along her arms and her tongue played with his. His cockhead gradually entered her pussy as he slowly fed more and more of himself into her as they kissed.

His hips moved slowly, her legs pulling him in as he pulled out. Their heads turned from side to side, linked together by their tongues. Suddenly, Mark pulled both of his heads back, snapping her legs' hold.

"No! What are you doing?" she cried out.

"You said you wanted me to fuck you." Mark picked Caroline up and carried her over to the shower. Standing with her long sexy legs and her arms spread upwards for balance, Mark's aching cock slammed into Caroline's twat.

"Fuck!" she yelled as his body collided into her ass cheeks over and over. "Shit that...yes...oh shit...yes yes!"

She screamed, begging for more. Elsa, woken by heated sex, joined them and turned on the shower, washing Mark's back as he pummeled Caroline's pussy.

Mark's subtle grunts turned into a surprised moan when Elsa kneeled down behind him and began replicating what she had done to Caroline the previous night. Her hands parted Mark's ass and began rubbing, soaping, and washing it, and then to his shock, her tongue began to work at loosening his sphincter.

Elsa's face was buried in Mark's asshole and his cock buried deep in Caroline's pussy. Elsa's fingers soon began massaging Mark's prostate. He moved to object to the assault but by the time his head turned he began to cum mightily, his own intense orgasm inducing Caroline's pussy in erupting tremors around his cock.

They kissed in a huddled three-way as Mark's seed dripped from Caroline's pussy. They all then washed up together and returned to the bedroom to get dressed to go out. As they all walked to the door to leave Caroline moved closer to Mark and said, "I have a confession.

"Okay?" Mark said, his eyebrows widened. "This wasn't a trap to get me to cum in you."

"Hey," she said, smacking him. "I'm on the pill, you fuck. No, I am from Illinois...Jasper County like I said...but I'm a Packers fan not a Bears fan. My father grew up in Wisconsin and that's just how my bros and I were raised.
"Well, that's disappointing. That really hurts. I need to leave now as I can't even look at you."

"Are you serious?" Caroline asked.

"No. What makes you think it even mattered to me that you're a fan of a crap team?"

She smiled a pink-lipped smile, noticing his underhanded remark. "Not crap. You were so into the 'I own the Bears' thing that I didn't want to burst your bubble. To me, I wouldn't have liked you if you were the owner. A fan is okay, but otherwise I wouldn't have given you a second look," Caroline made painfully clear.

Mark didn't want to start anything as he was content this morning, unlike the past week, so he kissed her on the lips and opened the door—to twelve men in suits, earpieces, and Bryce lapel pins. Casper was among the twelve.

"What is this?" asked Mark, Caroline and Elsa standing behind him. Perplexed and not understanding the show of force, Elsa whispered to Caroline, "Are they arresting him?"

Casper moved up to Mark and pulled him away from the girls. He whispered into Mark's ear before speaking louder. "Now, I didn't pull you out last night but my men are going..."

Mark scratched his head, pausing for thirty seconds. His mouth felt dry. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine because she had her bodyguards. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," he answered, his head suddenly panging.

"Do you?"

"Jesus!" Mark said, thinking about what had Casper whispered to him. "Yes, were you supposed to tell me this?"

"No, but you need to know. In our reality it never happened so suppress it," Casper replied before the group began walking.

The girls were out of the room in the hallway walking with the mob. "Who are these guys?" they questioned.

"My bodyguards?"

"Sooo, you weren't lying?" asked a convinced but unimpressed Caroline.

"No, I never lie."

"Well, the Bears still suck."

"I'll give you a ride to Miami. Let's see if I can't change your mind on the way."

"I doubt that," Caroline said with an undertone of resentment.

"A ride?" Elsa questioned.

"Yes, on the jet I don't have," Mark quipped as they crowded into the elevator.

Three minutes after Mark had entered the elevator, Jenny woke up to a soundly sleeping Edward, his arms around her, keeping her warm. She smiled, eased out of his protective hold, and quietly moved off the bed while looking back and thinking, 'Huh, he looks cute with his messy blonde hair.' She gathered her bra and panties, put them on in a rush, zipped up her white dress, and then tiptoed out of the room carrying her stilettos in hand.

Forcing her heels on as she speed walked to the elevators, she was trying to avoid any workplace embarrassment. She was in the elevator and the doors were closing when Edward stopped the doors. "Wait!" he exclaimed. Jenny began to talk but Edward held up his finger signaling that he was on the phone.

"Yeah, I'll be there. I'm in the elevator now. Don't rush me! I said I'd be there. I'll talk about that when I see you in the lobby, Mark."

When Edward put his phone away, Jenny began to talk. "I am sorry. You're a nice guy!" she said, attempting to put him down lightly.

"I don't care!" Edward said, brushing her off as unimportant.

"What?" she asked, stunned, seeing the change in his face.

"I fucked you! That's all I wanted," Edward said, hiding his true feelings.

"Don't be like this. I'm only trying to be real. You don't need to pretend to be a douche. You're a nice guy. I needed a nice guy."

Edwards face softened. "I liked you," he said in the same past tense as Jenny followed him, walking out of the elevator and into the lobby.

Jenny walked behind Edward thinking of something to say until she saw him walk up to Mark. Still she refused to regret her actions. 'I had sex and I needed it. If guys can have fun so can I.'

A few steps away from Jenny, the two friends stood conversing about her. "I can't believe you hooked up with Jenny last night!" Mark said to Edward.

"How do you know her?"

"Because," Mark paused, thinking of smoother words, "I kind of hooked up with her too. We didn't have sex, just kissed a bit though, and it was before you guys even got to the hotel."

"Well," Edward said, abruptly walking away from his friend, realizing that Mark had been her first choice.

"Wait!" Mark called out, but his calls went unheeded.

Edward exited the hotel, spotting a row of guarded Range Rovers. Mark went off to get the synopsis and chat with Jenny.

Edward opened the door to one of the Range Rovers and saw a breath-taking longhaired brunette with full breasts. "Sorry, I think I have the wrong car."

"Edward, right? I'm Caroline," she said, offering him her hand.

"Yes, how do you know my name?" he asked, entering the SUV. He then recognized Caroline as one of the two models from last night who had left with Mark. Edward started to feel angrier.

"Mark told me to expect you. He's flying me and my friend to Miami," Caroline said, pointing to the Range Rover ahead of them that held Elsa inside. "Then, I guess you guys will be off to your mancation."

The door was still open so Edward slammed it shut.

"Was it something I said?" she asked, sensing anger.

"Sorry, it's not you. I'm just a little pissed at Mark."

"What about?"

"It's nothing," he said, softening under her words.

"It's clearly something; trust me, I'm not going to tell him anything. Mark's the enemy anyways so feel free to be pissed at him." Pausing, followed by whispering, "I'll help you kill him," Caroline said jokingly. Edward began to laugh then he looked at her with a confused glance. "I'm kind of a huge, no, I'm a crazed, Packers fan. My whole family is. It's like a religion to me and your friend owns the enemy. I don't hate him. I'm just a bit peeved," she said.

"Hah hah, I know how you feel! I'm a Greenbay fan too."

Edward's eyes spotted an immediate full pink-lipped smile. He had her complete attention. She was genuinely interested in his words.

"Really? No, you're just saying that! Don't fuck with me."

"No, I had crap seats, but back in 2010 I was in Arlington watching the Steelers get pulverized in person. Mark refused to go. It was just me and my big brother who won the tickets." Caroline was following every word like a wide-eyed puppy as Edward went fishing in his wallet. "Yes, here it is," Edward said, pulling out a gold and white ticket stub encased in protective plastic with the Packers' and Steelers' logos emblazoned on it.

"Is that a 2010 Super-Bowl ticket?"

"Stub, yup."

Edward and Caroline went off on a mutual discussion, Edward's frustration receding. He felt like he was talking to one of the guys, not the hottest girl in the world. Edward and Caroline were talking about everything from Aaron Rodgers to favorite food, music, and their shared middle class background—the latter of which surprised her. "How did you meet Mark?"

"I received a scholarship to the same private boarding school as him."


"What do you mean?" Edward asked, not understanding.

"I'm just impressed. I know how hard it is to really earn one's place. I think it's cool that you're so smart and you like football. I wasn't expecting that."

"You're really surprised? I've never met a girl as beautiful as you who liked sports. To be honest, I've never met a girl as beautiful as you." With that, Edward had Caroline giddily laughing and his heart began to beat faster and faster. He felt as if things were moving rapidly. 'Don't fuck this up! Holy fuck, this girl is amazing, so hot, smart, and easy to talk to,' he thought inwardly.

Mark put a stop to it all as he opened the Rover door, Edward giving him a 'go away dude' look.

"Elsa is waiting for you in the other Range Rover," Caroline said, pointing.

"Yuh, I know," Mark said, feeling the animosity.

Mark pulled Edward toward him and whispered into his ear, "I'll tell Jenny she doesn't have anything to feel sorry about. Dude, a supermodel! We're going to have so much fun at Harvard together."

The doors closed and the mini motorcade of Range Rovers was now on the move.

"What did he say?" Caroline asked.

"That you're a supermodel."

"Okay, well you're not lying entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"Mark's not the best at whispering. I kind of heard it all."

"Yeah," Edward said sheepishly.

"I'll ask about this Jenny after you tell me what you're studying at Harvard. I assume it's post grad. Please don't let it be something boring like law!"

"Law, me? No way," he said with mocking hand gestures. "I'm doing my masters in brewery studies."

"They offer that now, do they?" Caroline asked, dryly. "Well, we're going to have to have a chugging contest when we arrive in Miami."

The line of SUVs pulled up outside Richie's building where twenty minutes earlier Richie had said good night to his overnight guest. Enrique had watched the changed mood in his friend. Richie had walked Azumi to his condo's lobby where he called a cab for her, giving her a long French kiss. His fingers gripped her ass cheeks, feeling her glowing flesh not wanting to let her go.

"I'm sorry I made you bring your friend," she confessed.

"It was a bit weird, so I don't think we should do that next time," he said.

"So, you're going to call?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You don't think I'm some giant hoe?" Azumi asked with high eyebrows.

"Yes, but so am I."

The yellow cab arrived. Richie kissed Azumi, tonguing her one last time, and she hugged him. Her petite ,smooth, soft frame moving as the cab departed, from the cab's window she used her left hand and pinky to form the shape of a cell phone and mouthed. "Call me!"

Richie was soon joined back in the lobby by a teasing Enrique. "Dude, you're holding the Asian slut on some sort of pedestal. You're tripping."

Richie flashed Enrique a 'shut up or I'll shank you' look. "Dude, I'm not falling for her," Richie lied.

"Mark Facebooked me saying we're going to Miami Beach. I want to know that when we're there that we'll be hunting for pussy together, or are you planning on marrying the Asian?"

"Who am I, Edward? I'm on the hunt, plain and simple," Richie espoused without substance, unable to get the uninhibited Azumi out of his head.

"Good," Enrique said, relieved, just as eight range rovers pulled up with him, adding, "Christ, what an overkill! Who is he, Obama?"

A bodyguard came round and held the door for the two men about town. The motorcade that went out of its way for the pickup was now barreling toward LaGuardia's VIP terminal.

Motorists wondered which head of state had just sped past them while Richie was making Enrique swear to never utter a word of their threesome to a living soul.

Edward and Caroline were chatting up a never-ending storm with mutual laughter, her hand brushing back and playing with her hair and subtly touching his knee. Edward was barely able to contain the straining in his trousers.

Relaxed, Mark had his hand behind his neck as Elsa's mouth slowly spiraled upward and downward along the length of his cock massaging his cockhead with her throat, her gentle fingers playing with his balls as her mouth consumed the entirety of his penis. Back in the hotel Jenny hurriedly prepared for work. With a final last-minute task of removing Marco's number from her phone, she vowed that he was persona non grata and that she would focus on her own happiness now.

It was time to have fun. Jenny added Mark's number to her phone, recalling the conversation they had. With him promising to visit her school, which she now knew was named after his family, he would be there for homecoming weekend. Even though the start of school was still quite a few days away, homecoming was still almost two months away. The Range Rovers rolled to a stop at a walking distance from the mint condition, glossy state of the art Boeing 787 with its Bryce built turbofan engines. Elsa ran her tongue along her top lips waiting on Mark to exit like everyone else, until he told her to go ahead. He watched his friends old and new, and those more than friends, board the large aircraft. He had made a decision and needed to make a call.

Mark pulled out his uniquely designed phone and made a call to University Presbyterian Hospital. He had decided that although it was one of the best hospitals in the country for cardiovascular surgery, it wasn't the very best. To keep his dad there any longer only fitted his own selfish geographic needs. The Cleveland Clinic was the undisputed best in the nation and had been proposed by his dad's friends from the very start. Mark felt ashamed that even his dreaded stepmom had pushed him in the recently discovered right direction.

Having finished the call arranging his father's move to Ohio, Mark exited the Range Rover feeling light on his feet. He had taken the same mindset as Jenny; he wasn't going to limit himself anymore. He was in it to be happy now even if he crossed the line a little. He just had to strike the right balance between his better moral nature and his desires.

He ran aboard his aircraft and was immediately greeted by the captain. "Welcome aboard, sir. When we received the flight manifest from the Bryce flight office we thought it was for Ms. Porter as it's been a couple of months since you've used us."

"Tom, right?" Mark asked.


"Tom, call me Mark, okay? I'm going to be using this plane a lot more now."

With that the captain walked toward the cockpit but turned around to add one last thing. "I hope your dad gets well soon...Mark."

"Thank you, Tom. I know he will," Mark said before walking through the platinum-trimmed cherry wood covered cabin.

He walked through rows of couches passing the flight crew, Casper, and the security detail. Moving beyond multiple LCD television sets, a winding hallway with doors on both sides, and a boardroom, he then came to a set of couches where he saw Enrique shaking his head as Richie made a call. "Are you serious, Richie?" Enrique asked, badgering Richie.

Mark walked passed them with a smile, pressing on toward the back and arriving at the bar lounge where he caught Edward moving his head toward Caroline, his uncertain lips initiating a welcomed blossoming kiss.

Mark continued on past the first bedroom to the last room, the spacious master bedroom where Elsa lay naked under the golden linen. Mark tore off his clothes and Elsa bit her lips in anticipation. The airplane's taxiing didn't halt his advance. She handed him a condom as he climbed in between her legs. Mark smiled, accepted it, and applied it before pushing in past her gripping pussy lips.

They ignored the buckle up warnings on the mini LCD screens and intercom. Their bodies were pushed toward the headboard, his hips unyielding, and her legs stretching near to her neck. "Ahhh...eighhhh...more," Elsa cried, biting and piercing her lips.

"Agrghh," he grunted as the airplane suddenly tossed them about with Mark holding them into place as it leveled out.

The aircraft back on balance, Mark held Elsa's soft bosom, running his fingers along her softly enticing flesh while his cock pistoned away into her warm sweet Swedish pussy. His ball sack tightened up and he hammered away quickly. "Yes...yes...I'm so close...yes," she mouthed.

"Oh, I'm going to cum," his mouth spat out while his cock sputtered away filling the condom to the hilt. Exhausted, Mark lay next to Elsa until she raised her body over his, her hands spanning along his abs and muscles. She slowly moved his cock into place, running her hands along it and pumping it to rigidity.

Elsa rode Mark and herself to heaven and back. He then picked her up, pinning her against the airplanes rounded wall. She screamed out in ecstasy, her Swedish accent ringing out. Exhausted, their sweaty bodies soon fell back onto the bed, followed by deep, long prodded kissing. They had been at it for an hour and then spent the next hour eating strawberries and talking.

Mark broached the subject of his intent to not have a relationship. Elsa declared that she wanted more, but was willing to play around for a while.

The aircraft landed in Miami and Mark exited the master bedroom with Elsa in tow to find that Edward and Caroline were still where they had been previously, their tongues still deeply tied in each other's mouths.

With Elsa by his side Mark disembarked the craft where he spotted Richie texting away with Enrique still trying to stop him.

"Are you going to date her?" Enrique asked Richie.

Richie shrugged. "I'm into her, we'll see."

Richie caught Mark up, leaving out the major details.

Everyone was now off the airplane down by the gathered cars except for Caroline and Edward.

"No fucking way!" Enrique commented as Edward and Caroline disembarked the airplane still inseparable and kissing.

Mark left with Enrique and Richie while Edward left with Caroline and Elsa. He alone was a last-minute special guest of Caroline's, to watch the Victoria Secret shoot.

With Elsa, Caroline, and Edward excluded from the group, the seven Escalades drove toward Miami Beach with Enrique asking, "Are we going to your house in South Beach?"

"No," Mark replied.

"Then what'd you book a hotel, where are we going?" Richie asked.

Mark just pointed straight ahead of them into the horizon at the large fully white structure with two helicopters sprouting from it. Just beyond and straight ahead was a dock with the gargantuan 600-foot, six-deck yacht, The Margaret.

"No way. I thought this was in the Cayman's?" Enrique asked, his eyes spotting the fluttering Union Jack emblazoned on a red canvas.

"I made the arrangements last night," Mark confirmed before the escalades stopped. Moments later the three friends were boarding the giant craft. Mark stood remembering his mom, Margaret. He wiped away the single tear rolling down his face and walked onward.

He boarded his ship with one now inhibited, and one whorishly uninhibited, friend. Upon boarding he spotted Abbey but wasn't surprised.

"Dude, what the hell is she doing here? Or is that Blair?" Richie questioned.

"No, it's not Blair. It's Abbey. I invited her."

Mark left Richie shaking his head while he walked toward his ex. "How's your holiday going?" Mark asked as he neared Abbey.

"Okay, except for Blair pissing on about you not allowing her to use this beast of a thing and blaming me every second. She's extra pissed by the way that you didn't invite her."

"She was a real bitch that night. I'm not fond of the idea of talking to her again. You two are so different that I forget she's you sister. How is it that you two are twins?"

"She is a bitch. I'm just surprised you were saying that about her. I figured those words would be reserved for me. I was hesitant when you invited me until you promised me it was just to build our friendship."

"I wasn't lying. I don't blame you though. You were right, but I was still sad."

"You said in past-tense. So now?"

"I'm happy," Mark said with Cheshire cat grin.

"Good! Oh, about Blair—she's going to your school. Lucky thing I convinced you into accepting your place at Harvard."

"What school is that?"

"Which one do you think?"

"She's going to Bryce University? God, I've lost all respect for that school now."

"Well, she can't do as much damage as you at Harvard Business School."

"Is that a one percent crack? I'm not going to even mention the immense philanthropic impact of the Margaret Bryce Foundation. I'll simply say you're a member of the one percent as well."

"Not true. Have you seen this?" Abbey asked, spreading out her hands to showcase the ship they stood on. "This is immense wealth. You're wealthy, but my parents are just rich. Plus, personally, I neither have nor do I own any liquid holdings so technically I am poor."

"Poor my ass! Your valuations are self-beneficial. Typical one per center bull. Where'd you buy this beautiful dress? Mark asked, pointing at her clinging black dress. "It probably costs more than The Margaret!"
"Target," she said, smiling at his hidden compliment.

"Target my ass!"

"Okay, so probably it's designer."

"You're propagating the opposite of what you were telling me to do before. "Have fun," you said. "Get a girl pregnant," you demanded."

"Heh heh, I don't want you to shift drastically to one side and turn into an oil baron dictator. I'm just trying to get you balanced," Abbey said, squinting her eye and using her hands for effect.

"I was actually planning to include a Law degree on top of my MBA when I get to Harvard to add some, yes, balance, even though it adds an extra two years. At the end of the day, big whoop, I have lots of money. Like you said before you turned into Buzz Killington, I'm goanna have fun with what I have. My reason will alleviate my insanity and keep me in equilibrium."

"You mean you're going to have fun and be normal?"

"Something like that."

"Good, just as long as you're self-regulating and you're not leaving it to the market to regulate you."

"I'm going to get changed," Mark said, finally ignoring Abbey. He made the decision to get dressed upon hearing the word Beluga being chatted about, smelling the smoked salmon hors d'oeuvres, and seeing the hordes of women arriving, along with celebrities like Lebron James, Kate Upton, Amber Rose, and the night's DJ, Wiz Khalifa.

In his master stateroom, having put on his black pants and black and white tuxedo jacket, Mark now struggled with the final piece, his bow tie.

He heard a knock at the door of the master stateroom. "Where's Edward? I'm surprised he isn't here?" asked Abbey.

Mark let her in as he tried again to tie his bow. Abbey began to assist, mastering the knot with her quick little fingers as he spoke. "You know Caroline Levite?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she confirmed.

"He's hanging with her right now."


"Yes!" Mark reconfirmed.

"Is it serious?"

"We'll see."

She began to stare into his eyes, her lips moving towards his. He pulled back ending her advance. "I don't want a relationship, Abbey."

"Neither do I. Come on, you called me here!"

"It wouldn't work, right now. I just want to be friends with you. I appreciate your honesty. You always tell me the truth," Mark said, leaving the stateroom. In his mind, Mark knew this was not the end of him and Abbey, that like her, he just needed a little fun first.

Entering the main lounge Mark saw a sea of known and unknown faces. The music was pounding while Whiz Khalifa mixed up a storm.

Looking about the room Mark saw Richie with his head not seriously in the game and Enrique with Kate Upton's tongue down his throat. Then he saw that Edward had finally made it—Edward and Caroline were heading toward one of the thirty staterooms.

Once inside a stateroom, Edward started to kiss Caroline's neck and slowly began to remove the strap of her dress until she stopped him.

"Slow down," she said, pulling away.

Edward paused and she saw the surprise on his face. 'I am going slowly,' he said.

"I like you."

"What then?" Edward exclaimed, his stomach knotting

"I want to do this slow and right because I like you. I only met you today so I don't want to rush this. You understand, right? What happened with you...just know it was different. I actually really like you. Nod if you understand."

You want to date me?" Edward asked, stunned by her words.

"Only if you want to; I'm not going to be presumptuous."

"Are you kidding? You're incredible!" Brushing his hand into her hair he continued, "It's not just that you're beautiful but you're a beautiful person." He took hold of her full left breast, signifying her heart.

Caroline was all smiles, gleefully fighting parts of her that wanted to jump. She felt fireworks shooting through her. She thought to herself, 'one more sign might just push me over the edge,' as she and Edward kissed by the large porthole.

Mark soon gave the skipper the order to take the yacht for a short journey along the Florida coast and stood in the party-filled room watching Elsa flirt with Ciara.

He collected two glasses of Dom Perignon rosé from a passing waiter, knocking the first crystal wine glass back until he had downed all its contents. He then brought the other glass with him up to the DJ's booth and delved in as it were. In the mélange of faces, he spotted Abbey who gave him a nod. Holding up the glass, from his side vision he saw Ciara smacking lips with Elsa. But still his eyes turned back to Abbey like magnets—not now, but someday—he thought.

"To no regrets and a night full of boundless happiness." Like divinely designed clockwork, Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness began to beat out of the speakers just as fireworks shot off from the bow, illuminating the blackened night sky. Mark looked out at the sea of feminine eyes and eager lips following his every twitch and turn.
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