The Love Of Money - S01 E282

Story

17 hours ago

The Love Of Money - S01 E282

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 282

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

“My father taught me never to suggest anything illicit or illegal,” Astrid said. “That advice has served our family well. All I will say is that you have Hiro Tanaka coming after you. If you can’t handle someone like Roger VanCamp, you won’t stand a chance against Tanaka. He’s probably aware that you’re having issues with VanCamp and may even know that he took you hostage. If you were to take care of Roger decisively, you might make Hiro hesitate long enough to buy enough time to broker peace.”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion; she hadn’t outright said anything incriminating, but she was starting to sound similar to Psalter and Chloe. “What are you suggesting?” I repeated.

“Nothing,” Astrid said, leveling her gaze at me. “I’m only telling you facts.” The way she said it made it sound final—when devising a solution to my Roger problem, I was on my own. I watched her for a few more moments, though, sure that she was suggesting that I murder the man. On the one hand, I had a hard time believing that was what she was actually suggesting. Still, on the other… it was fitting coming from a woman who had just spent part of our date waxing philosophical about moral relativism. Her blue-eyed gaze returned to my security guards, watching them with interest while I memorized her fine features. I was impressed with this complex woman who seemed so genuine and sincere, yet underneath that velvety softness, she was rigid. What kind of life had she led to develop that tough core?

“Hm,” she said. “Too bad for you. She’s gorgeous.”

It took me a second to realize what she was talking about, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that she was staring at Chloe, who was watching us. “Do you enjoy women?” I asked.

“Not especially,” Astrid said. “They feel good, but I really love men too much.” When I looked back at her, she broke out in a grin. “Relax. We’re not going to fuck on the golf course in front of your bodyguard. Maybe next time we meet.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” I said, still amazed that we were speaking so casually about fucking each other on our first ‘date.’

She looked me up and down. “I wouldn’t either. Maybe you can visit my home sometime.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

She smiled softly as she studied me and said, “Good. me too.”

We finished our meal, and the waiters packed everything up. Astrid decided she would play a little longer but released me from the obligation of staying with her. I would have been fine spending more time with her, but leaving didn’t break my heart either—golf would never be a pastime for me. She gave me a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek before letting me go, telling me to let her know if anything significant developed with my ‘little problem.’ And then she returned to the two caddies. As we loaded up in the cart, I gave Astrid one last glance, watching as she laughed along with one of the caddies at something he said. Then, we headed back to the helicopter.

The ride back to the club was quiet, a welcome change after a long conversation over dinner, but I kept catching myself glancing at Chloe as she operated the cart. Finally, without looking at me, she said, “There anything I can help you with, sir?”

“You started a conversation earlier at the funeral. It was just before Emily came over.”

Three heartbeats passed before she replied, “I remember.”

“It was about the other day. What were you gonna say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chloe said, fixing her eyes on the trail.

I wanted to protest, but Chloe was always so terse and stoic that I sometimes still found it unsettling. I stared at her for another few moments and then leaned back into the seat as we continued down the road.

After a few more moments, I asked, “Are we gonna ever talk about that night in Vegas?”

“What night are you referring to?”

I looked back at her and caught her looking back at me. I studied her freckled face for anything that might reveal what she was thinking behind that stoic visage. “You know.”

She peeled her eyes away from mine. “Someday. Maybe.”

Wednesday 7:00 pm

The faint smell of some kind of cooking meat hit me as soon as the elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside the living room. Naturally, I made my way to the kitchen and found Camille in there, pouring some kind of broth into a slow cooker. With her back to me, I could only see tendrils of steam curling around her arms and wafting past her shoulders and head as she stood over the large pot.

“Smells good,” I said.

Camille placed the bowl on the table and turned halfway from her work to look at me; her plush lips were compressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Sorry about that, sir. I accidentally left the door open earlier.”

“What’s there to be sorry about? Making the place smell good?”

“I prefer to not have tomorrow’s food dominate the house with its smell. It invites hunger before the meal is ready.” She nodded toward the door I’d just come through and said, “Your kitchen doors are equipped to keep most of the smells in the kitchen.”

I glanced back at the door, noting that the edges were lined similarly to those on exterior doors of houses. It felt like a frivolous thing to be concerned about, but then again… I wouldn’t have minded a taste of whatever was cooking despite having not too long ago. Maybe there was a logic to keeping the smells of her cooking contained.

“You mind if I have a taste?” I asked.

She’d just picked the bowl back up and had started pouring again, wordlessly looking over her shoulder at me with an arched eyebrow and a closed-lip smile. “A taste of what, sir?”

Her body language made the double entendre clear.

“Uh… whatever you’re cooking?”

“Of course,” she said, grabbing the ladle on the counter nearby. I approached as she scooped out half a portion of the rich brown liquid. She offered the utensil, cupping a hand underneath it to catch stray droplets, and I took it from her. She pressed part of her palm to her lips and suckled off some of the broth she’d caught, her eyes never breaking away from mine as I sipped. As with everything she cooked, it tasted fantastic. Erin had really outdone herself finding this chef. I closed my eyes and simply savored the taste.

Then I felt something brush my chest and opened my eyes. My chef was standing close enough to me that her large tits were brushing my chest. They drew my attention, and I noticed how the buttons on her chef’s tunic were straining ever so slightly at her breasts. Her uniform wasn’t too small, but it was definitely a snug fit. She retrieved the ladle from me and laid it in the pot.

“Good?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes falling to her lips.

She gave me a pleased smile, “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

And then she stepped away and returned to the pot, leaving me with a fully erect cock, thanks to her teasing. I know I’d just had wild monkey sex with Carla less than twenty-four hours ago and that Erin had deepthroated me in the car, but the date with Astrid and the constant thoughts about Chloe in her underwear that night in Vegas had me horny again. Now, my chef was doing an excellent impression of seducing someone who wasn’t her fiance. I had to know.

“Are you and William settling in okay?” I asked.

“We are,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I liked him. He seems… nice.”

“Oh… he’s definitely nice,” she replied, and the way she said it suggested… dissatisfaction?

“Have you guys set a date for the wedding yet?”

“No, monsieur,” she said, slipping another occasional word of French into her English. “We haven’t.”

I glanced down at her left hand and saw no ring. “You guys are engaged, right?”

“Oh, we are,” she said, glancing down at her hand. “It’s a… unique relationship.”

“Unique?”

“Open,” she said, leveling another look at me.

“Oh,” I said, and suddenly a war was going on in my head. I was sure she was giving some kind of invitation, but I didn’t want to misinterpret anything.

Camille looked like she was about to say something when my phone vibrated, and I pulled it out of my pocket to see that Erin had texted me. Opening it, I found a close-up of a vagina—it wasn’t Erin’s. However, on the thigh, just next to damp petals, a dark lipstick mark had been left on the pale skin. It included a message from Erin’s phone. Come find us.

The mystery of Camille’s relationship would have to wait. I had a raging hard-on that needed to sink into something soft, warm, and wet as soon as possible.

“Sorry,” I said to my chef. “I need to go.”

“Not a problem, sir,” she said with a crooked little smile and a smoldering stare. “We can continue this conversation later.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said, leaving her to finish her work.

It didn’t take long to find her. The lighting in the image ruled out the dungeon, so the next obvious choice was my room, so I headed there first. I was right.

Erin was stretched across the foot of my bed, lying on her stomach with her bare feet kicking in the air as she ran her dainty fingers through her silver locks. As soon as I walked into the bedroom, her eyes found me, and she broke out in a brilliant grin. “Hey, Marcus,” she husked.

Arms tied to the headboard above her, Bobby lay stretched out across my California King. Straps ran out from under the bed's sides and held Bobbi’s ankles apart, showing off her pale inner thighs, covered in dark lipstick marks. The telltale trail continued around Bobbi’s mound, up her flat belly, and across both her breasts. My submissive’s face had more kiss marks left all over it, and another one was placed squarely on the center of the red ball gag stuffed in Bobbi’s mouth.

“I wanted to try something a little different with her this time,” Erin said as she slid up onto her knees, placing her hands on her thighs as she spread them for me. “Maybe something more on brand for me… if that’s okay with you.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------