“No.”
Zena taps her finger on the arm of her chair, and I glance over. “Then, as per our bet, I shall select someone for you.”
“Oh, fuck no.” I absolutely will not be railroaded into this, bet or no bet. Zena will simply have to think of something else. Not my entire future. I watch as the woman steeples her fingers and puts them to her lips. A slow chill settles over me, and the air in the room is no longer playful. I look from one face to another. “Someone want to tell me what is going on?”
Lila clears her throat. “If you find some sweet young lady no one’s heard of and get out of the headlines, everyone will rest easier,” she explains. “Not forever perhaps. But at least for a few years.”
I close my eyes and try to absorb what they are telling me. Val picks up where Lila left off. “And no supermodels or movie stars. Someone off the radar. Ideally, someone who doesn't know you at all.”
Snorting a laugh, I open my eyes and take them all in. I realize this is just a joke. “Okay,” I say. “You almost had me. Good one. Now how about—”
“We are not joking, Madison,” Zena’s says, her voice cold as ice.
Ever the mediator, Lila jumps in. “Find a stranger, seduce her, perhaps even quietly marry her. Maybe even fall in love.”
I rub my hand over my face. This is all too much, but before I can explain I don’t fall in love, Val adds her piece. “You have a month until our next meeting.”
“Or what?” I growl close to reaching the limit of my patience. The fun and games are clearly over. I respect these women, but I won’t be told what to do.
Zena sighs, and I can tell she sincerely regrets what she must say next. I look at her, and our eyes lock. “Or you will be asked to leave the club,” she finally says with a shrug. There is no room for argument, so I don't even try.
3
Flipping through the contacts on my phone, well over a thousand, some of the biggest names in entertainment and music, I need to find just the right woman. And it sure isn’t someone to ‘settle down with’ as Zena and the others insist. Quite the opposite. I am pissed over their heavy-handed suggestion. Using a bet to force the issue no less, and all with the threat to expel me from our group. The club holds many benefits. Financial connections beyond measure, a sense of security as we all keep an ear to the ground of any threats to each other, and of course, the comradery. With a sigh, I know the last reason is the one hurting me the most. I could find others to fulfill my other needs, but the companionship of women who truly understand me is irreplaceable. But God damn them, insisting I settle down is crossing the line.
Even after I promised to knock off the revolving door relationships with gorgeous women, swore that I would keep a low profile, they were not convinced. Only by picking just one person and making it discreetly known I am off the market would do. Or I'm out. Fuck them. I don't want just one, and even if I did, the woman would no doubt cost me a fortune. My money does not lure companions who like me for my witty dialogue and clever mind. They all want diamonds, Range Rovers, and twelve-bedroom condos along the coast of Malibu. No thanks. Although Lila repeatedly advised I find a woman who doesn't know me, she failed to explain how to pull that off. I'm too well known, if not by sight, then by name. A quick Google search and my net worth is at the top of the results list.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I continue to scroll my phone’s list. I need someone to distract me. Finally, a name I remember fondly lands under my thumb. A sexy brunette who made a few movies for me before marrying a successful director and giving up the acting business. That she married a man doesn’t bother me. I have a fond spot for straight women, probably because it takes a feminine type to really turn me on. Dresses and heels. Satin and lace. This contact choice fits the bill perfectly, and I type in a text. “Busy?”
The pause is long enough to make me frustrated, and I am about to scroll again when a text comes back. “Never for you.”
I smile. This I like, and I type off a quick reply. “Tell me what you are doing.”
“I'm sunbathing beside the pool.” There is a pause, and I wait for it knowing there is more. I am not disappointed. “Topless.”
A grin crosses my face. “Need help with your tanning lotion? Hate to have you burn.”
“I do need help. Very much. I want your hands on me.”
A tightness starts low in my belly already. The frustration of the ambush on the yacht agitated me more than I thought, and this is precisely the distraction I need. “Then my hands are on you. Slippery. Touching your shoulders. Your back. Your ass. Squeezing.”
“Oh God.”
“Turn over,” I type. “Now.”
“I am. I’ll do whatever you say.”
This is perfect. “Jesus, your nipples are hard. I can’t keep my hands off them.”
“Yes. Please touch me.”
“Can you feel me running my hands over your breasts? Squeezing, tickling, pinching. Hard.”
“I’m arching my back I love it so much.”
She is so damn good at this, I feel a throb between my legs. “I want more of you.”
“Anything you want.”
“I want to taste you. What is in my way?”
“Thong bikini. Yellow.”
As her answers get shorter, I know she’s really turned on. I want to make her come. To feel the power of it, and I know what to write.
“I’m tearing it off. You’re shaved, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m burying my face in your shaved pussy, soaking wet for me.”
“Oh fuck.”
“My tongue is everywhere. Sliding everywhere.”
“Oh fuck.”
“I want you to come in my mouth.”
“I will.”
I know I have her now. I shift in my seat. I might just come myself and wish I was somewhere other than the back of the damn town car heading for O’Hare Airport. “Feel me licking your clit. Sucking your clit. Fucking you with my tongue.”
“Wait.”
I do. I know what that means.
“Wait.”
A warmth floods over me. She is climaxing. I am as sure of it as I would be if I were there.
“Oh fuck, how do you do that to me?”
I laugh. “Enjoy the rest of your sunbathing.” Without another word, I leave the text string and lean back, feeling significantly more satisfied with myself. There’s no way I am giving that up. Club or no club. All I need is a drink to top things off, but this particular hired town car doesn’t have a bar. I could wait until I get to my private jet, but the itch for scotch is strong after a good fuck. Even a virtual one. If I can’t come, I can at least have a drink.
“Driver,” I call over the seats. “Take the next exit and find a minimarket or something.” The driver doesn't hesitate to put on the car's blinker to do what I ask. He knows who I am and is not stupid. I could ask him to take me anywhere, and he would comply without question.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and in a moment, we are off the interstate and down on surface streets. It's not the best-looking neighborhood, so I intend to make my visit quick. A gas station with a small store is ahead on the corner.