The Love Of Money - S01 E280

Story 8 hours ago

The Love Of Money - S01 E280

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 280

Fingers caressed my pants-covered crotch, grazing over the fabric stretched over my hardon. I glanced down to see Erin on her knees between my legs. I opened my mouth to say something, and she reached up and placed a finger on my lips.

“Shhh,” she said softly. “Just lay back and close your eyes.”

I did. My thoughts drifted back to Natalie as I tried to put my desire for her behind me. She was the one I wanted for so long, but I hadn’t acted when I should have, and I lost the girl. All I had to show for it was a lesson—if you want something, don’t hesitate. It was something I needed to take to heart; if I didn’t, losing Natalie wouldn’t have meant a damn thing.

Cool fingers wrapped delicately around my cock as it was freed from my pants, and I felt the warmth of a wet tongue paint the sensitive underside of my cock.

The only question now was… what did I want?”

Wednesday, 3:20 pm

“Compared to the planet's population, the number of people with more than a billion dollars is small.”

Astrid adjusted her stance as she held the putter in her hand and then tapped the ball. I watched it roll across the green roughly ten feet before sinking into the hole. The blonde Norwegian heiress was a professional compared to me, and it didn’t need to be pointed out that she was squarely in the lead. I’d never familiarized myself enough with the game to understand how the scoring worked, but if I had to guess, I’d say she probably had one stroke to my every two, but I couldn’t have told you what that meant in terms of an actual score. As far as I was concerned, it consisted of putting a ball into a hole with as few shots as possible. Things like handicap, birdie, and bogey meant absolutely nothing to me.

I was dreadful at the game, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying the date, especially since I’d made peace with the fact that I knew I’d suck. Of course, Astrid had been the personification of poise and tried to teach me everything she knew about stances, terrain, and which clubs were best for which situation. I would probably forget almost all of it within twenty-four hours, but her easy company made up for the impromptu lesson I hadn’t expected. On top of that, it was easy to forget about my woman troubles around her.

My two favorite aspects of this date were watching Astrid do literally anything and enjoying interesting topics of conversation. Like almost every other woman I’d come in contact with since inheriting the Gerrard fortune, Astrid was incredibly beautiful. Her blonde hair was ultra-fine, and even though she had it tied back, silk strands kept slipping free of her makeshift bun to frame her face in white-gold whisps.

She was waifish, with delicate bone structure, slight curves, and sharp, angular features. Combined with how relatively tall she was, she looked like she could have walked right off the set of a fantasy movie where she had a part as some elven or fairy noble.

Yet despite her ethereal looks and classy demeanor, there was something down-to-earth about Astrid. She spoke with an advanced vocabulary but managed to communicate her ideas without coming off as pretentious. She kept her fingernails short and wore very little jewelry, suggesting practicality. Almost every subject we touched on had a depth to it. She was well-read and up-to-date on her pop culture. She had a soft, easy smile and eyes as blue as Helen’s but much warmer than my lawyer’s usual icy gaze.

“Nice one,” I said, referring to the ball she’d just sunk.

She performed a slight curtsy despite wearing pants and primly said, “Thank you.”

I nodded a ‘you’re welcome’ to her and said, “So, all the rich people know each other?”

“It’s kind of like a large high school,” she said as I lined up my shot, “Everyone knows of everyone, but there are cliques and groups with common interests. There are feuds, rivalries, and friendships. A lot of people date within their own groups or cross over into others, creating alliances or contentions. Like everything else, it’s full of humans with different desires and designs.”

“Man, we really are all the same, aren’t we?” I said as I lined up my ball, tapped it, and was pleased to see it was heading in the right direction. I followed after it.

“In a lot of ways, yes,” Astrid said. “Except unlike the rest of the world, we’re allowed to be honest with our morals.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, finally sinking my ball with the second shot, unlike Astrid’s single stroke. I gave her an apologetic look, but she simply smiled like the graceful woman she was.

Astrid said as she handed her club to her caddy. “We aren’t obligated to pretend morality is objective.”

“You don’t believe morality is objective?”

“No one does, Marcus,” Astrid said, watching my caddy as he took the club I handed him and slid it into my golf bag. He slung it over his shoulder and started leading us to what I assumed was the next teeing ground. “Everyone pretends to, but no one believes it deep down.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

Astrid gave me a look. “Please. Do you think any parents hold their own children to the standards they set for others? If someone murders, many would suggest the death penalty, but if it was their own child who committed the crime? Never.”

As we trudged across the green, I thought about her point. Parents were often able to overlook moral atrocities that their kids are part of, but not all parents behaved that way. Anyway, that sort of behavior was an emotional response and often considered an inconsistent moral failing, even if it was understandable.

“That’s not really the same,” I said.

“It is,” Astrid said, arguing with me but keeping her tone conversational. “We’re a social species, Marcus. We’ve evolved to rely on each other. How much do you think we could accomplish if we all had to gather our own food daily? What if we all had to maintain the cleanliness of our homes by making our own supplies and soap? Do you think we would have time to make rockets if everyone had to worry about making our own clothing?”

She shook her head and looked at the clear blue sky, shading her fair eyes from the bright sun. “No. Some slightly less dumb animal realized that cooperation was the key to progress and passed that to its offspring.”

She looked back at me. “We can’t have cooperation without a social agreement to respect each other.”

“‘I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me,’” I suggested.

“And more,” Astrid said, “‘I have your back if you have mine.’ Those simple concepts eventually turned into morality. It’s the vehicle in which cooperation is allowed to thrive.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously, “Let’s say I buy that. Why does being rich allow you to realize or admit the truth?”

“Because I don’t have to cooperate with most of the world, Marcus. I have what they all want, and they're willing to overlook my actions as long as I give them enough of it.”

“Money,” I said.

“Most of the time,” Astrid said. “Or influence… opportunity… comfort… sex.”

She was eyeing me as she threw out that last one, and we stared at each other in silence for several beats. Then she looked away and said, “I’m sure you've already compromised your morals now that you’re so rich.”

My thoughts immediately went to Bobbi, and there was a small throb of guilt somewhere in the back of my mind.

“For instance,” she said, “going behind Hiro’s back and using his wife against him. Surely, you wouldn’t have done something like that a year ago.”

“That’s not what happened,” I said, explaining the entire situation to Astrid from the moment I met Carla Tanaka to the moment she voted for Chandler in the boardroom. By the time I was done, Astrid had an amused smile on her face and shook her head.

“Carla… she really is something.”

“No kidding,” I said. “If I had to go back and do it all again, I probably wouldn’t have had her go through with it. I don’t think what I got from the deal is worth having Tanaka mad at me.”

I finally noticed that we weren’t approaching another teeing ground but a table set with a linen cloth and two chairs. Two plates sat on the pristine white cloth and were covered with silver cloches, and a bottle of alcohol was cooling in a tub of ice.

“Not even sleeping with Carla?”

My gaze snapped back to Astrid. “What?”

Astrid laughed. It was a light, carefree sound. “Relax. I didn’t hear it from anyone. I’m only guessing. She kept telling me how handsome and rich you were when we met for lunch yesterday, and she mentioned she was going on a date with you last night. How was it?”

“It was… interesting.”

“And did you sleep with her?” she asked.

“Isn’t it rude for a man to sleep with a woman and then tell?”

“So that’s a yes?” Astrid asked.

“No,” I said. “That’s an ‘if I did, I wouldn’t say anything.’”

“Fair enough,” she said with a nod.

We walked toward the tables a few paces, and then she said, “Be careful with that one. She’ll make you her next husband if she has the chance.”

“She won't have it,” I said. “I’m not interested in Carla Tanaka.”

“Probably for the best. Hiro is a bastard.”

“How well do you know him?” I asked as we reached the tables, pulling out a chair for Astrid, who took it with a gracious smile.

“Well enough to know he can be a bastard,” Astrid said as I sat. “He’s had people killed for offending him, including a former wife and one of Carla’s extramarital lovers.”

I gaped at her. “You know this for a fact?”

“I don’t have proof, but I’m sure of it. There are probably more I’m not aware of.”

“Fuck,” I breathed. “Do you think he wants me killed?”

“I know he wants you killed,” Astrid said.