Suburban Cyborg

by Gloria Martin

  He was right—that first orgasm was nothing. How could his tongue give me the pleasure that most men give me with their entire rod? Dominic is pretty hung and even he’s never hit it like this.

  “Denver, I’m trying to come, you’d better not bust it yet,” I yell, one hand on the best post, the other clawing into his back. It’s a reaction to say this because I’m used to finishing myself off.

  From scanning my body and running his lips all over it, he averts his attention to my eyes. “What did you say, Tara?” Oh no, did I say something wrong? “Did you just say ‘I’d better not bust yet’?”

  The pounding doesn’t stop, but he slides me down the bed so that his feet are on the floor and my ass is hanging off the bed. I don’t know what to say, I’m not about to open my mouth and ruin the orgasm, so I just bite down on my lip and pivot, hoping he gets the hint.

  “I’ll bust whenever I want, wherever I want,” he says. Now his left hand is under the small of my back, the other loosely around my neck. “Do you understand, Tara?”

  “I understand, Denver!” I cry out, on the brink of explosion.

  “So when I bust, you’ll be ready to receive it wherever I desire,” he says, the bed squeaking loudly from his strength. “Do you understand, Miss Rogers?”

  His thirst for power is borderline on my nerves—but then I look at the perfect curvature of his shoulder and neck muscles and decide that I would swallow every drop right now.

  “I understand, baby,” I say, responding to his endearing term from earlier. Fuck it—take me how you want, Denver. Is this how every billionaire makes love?

  He knows that I’m about to pour out onto him, and he rubs my clit wildly. I know my face matches how I feel—like one big, sopping, hot mess—but the ecstasy is pure bliss. His face shows it too, only his eyebrows cut deep in a V-shape while he stares back at me.

  “I’m coming, Denver,” I whimper. Do not cry, Tara! I can’t help it—it’s too good. As the orgasm consumes me, Denver continues to thrust into my body. There is something conflicting buried within those eyes, but I know he loves what he’s doing to me.

  As the last of me spills out, he ejects himself and pulls me to the foot of the bed by my neck. His dick is in my face while he strokes it. Is he about to shoot it all over my face? Into my mouth? I’ve never done this before.

  “Tara, oh God, you’re so good,” he moans, holding my head in place by one lock of my hair. Denver then takes a sideways step with each foot, bringing his rod lower, down to my breasts. I see—he’s going to cover them in his milky cum.

  “All over these titties, Denver,” I beg, lifting them higher from underneath so that they’re also suppler for his ejaculate.

  The hot liquid shoots out from his cock and becomes a paper-white pool against my dark brown skin. There is so much—has he been building it up, saving it? The warmth of his cum against me is mesmerizing. I would get off on taking a small taste, but Denver is very particular and I don’t know enough about what turns him off yet—and sex with him is something I am going to need for a long, long time.

  *****

  The next morning, I wake up to an empty bed. No sign of Denver—not even a note. Am I mistaken or last night did he propose a salary of one hundred million dollars before giving me the ride of my life? Even though there is a high probability of this being a dream—the throbbing in my core is proof that what happened was real. Denver D. Phillips made love to me and potentially turned me into a millionaire overnight.

  On the way out of the room I take one look back and soak in the rose hue, the smell of our sweat still wafting in the air with the faint hint of my apricot lotion, and notes of bergamot with mandarin from his Christian Clive No. 1. I’ve never had the luxury of being with a man who has such expensive taste, so I try to take in this memory for all its worth.

  On the way back to the car, I feel even more deflowered than when I lost my virginity. I don’t know how many times in life you wake up after the first time hooking up with a billionaire. That’s right, Tara, say it:

  “Billionaire,” I whisper aloud so that only I can hear. When I reach the car, everything feels different. My car feels brand new even though it’s a dented blue 2007 Outlander. The interior feels like something from someone else’s life—not the sticky and ripped surfaces that I’m used to feeling every day. On the drive back from Malibu, the Pacific Ocean on my right looks different even though I’ve spent countless hours staring at it—all because of what happened last night with Denver D. Phillips.

  I plug my phone in because it’s been dead all night, and once it buzzes back on I find about a dozen texts from Dominic. Right now I choose to ignore them because on this gorgeous drive I’m not going to let his drama ruin such a good thing. I can deal with him another time. I haven’t even spoken to him since getting fired from Harvest Bar. Why does my conscience always insist on doing what’s right? I need to grab some of my things from his apartment anyway, so I decide to head for Century City.

  Before walking up to his place, I find a parking spot and think over the scenario I’m about to walk into. There is a chance that he won’t even be there, which would be amazing. However, in case he is home, I need to prepare for the worst. The texts go from bad to worse, until by the bottom most of the bubbles are full of curse words.

  Walking uphill on Beverly-Glenn always kills my feet, but at least once I’m a block away from Dominic’s I see his car in the outer port. This is it, Tara, I think. Go hard or get out of the kitchen.

  At his door I let myself in without the bother of knocking. No reason to be formal. “Tara,” he says, surprised. I guess I could have warned him that I was walking up. “I’ve been texting you and trying to get ahold of you. Is everything okay?”

  “Texting me and trying to get ahold of me?” I ask, holding up my phone to display the giant green bubbles calling me every name under the sun. “Do you think this shit is okay, Dominic?”

  “Tara, I put you on my Friend Finder. I could see that you were in Malibu all night.”

  I really need to spend more time learning about everything these phones do. At least I didn’t try to lie up front and now I can use his outburst of jealousy to my advantage.

  “Dominic, you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I say, putting the phone away because the sight of his words infuriates me. “We’re not together, though. We never officially said we were a thing, so excuse me but I can be wherever I want, whenever I want.”

  Did I subconsciously steal that ‘whenever, wherever’ bit from Denver last night before he finished on my chest? I can’t get his smooth, demanding voice out of my head.

  “So that’s how you feel, Tara?” he asks, standing up in a jolt. I sense his anger from his jerky movement. He’s trying to refrain from yelling. I’ve never seen him like this before, especially about me. He’s been with other women and I didn’t say anything, so why is this such a big deal?

  “Yes, that’s how I feel.” It’s surprising how much easier honesty is with one hundred million dollars behind you. I’m just now realizing that so much of me has been attached to, dependent on Dominic. With this money I finally feel free.

  “So I got you a job, gave you somewhere to stay while you got set up, made love to you a hundred times, and this is what you leave it at?”

  The tears building in his eyes are what burn the first hole through me. “I don’t know what to say,” is all I can say.

  We stare at each other silently.

  “Dominic, I can’t tell you thank you enough,” I say, eyes to the floor, unable to take in this grown man crying because I’m leaving him. “I don’t know what happened but, yeah, it got out of hand. For me, anyway. You know I love you, but not like that.”

  With his bottom lip trembling, he nods, averting his gaze once I finally look up. “Right, no, I feel you,” he says, turning to the window. I step forward, my impulses telling me to go to him, hug him, maybe even kiss him one last time. “Just get what you need and go
, Tara. I know that’s why you’re here.”

  There are no more words I can to say to him, so I exhale and grab my phone charger, ThermoPoint thermometer (amazing for getting salmon right), and the clothes that are still littered around the room. I stuff my night shirts and panties into my bag, but when I get to the uniform I had lost the morning I got fired—under the recliner cushion—I decide to leave the jacket and pants because I don’t need them anymore.

  “I hope he takes care of you,” Dominic says, his back still turned.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I haven’t mentioned anything about anybody, especially Denver.

  “You think I can’t put two and two together?” He turns around, eyes dry at last. “You and Mr. Money, right? Shit, I’d probably stay at his place in Malibu for whatever he’s paying you, too, if he was into it.” His assertion that I slept with Denver really bothers me, making it easier to turn and walk out the door. Even though he covered it up with a bad joke about homosexuality, he still implied that I had sex with a rich person for money.

  “Get over yourself, Dominic,” I say, standing in the doorway. “Nothing ever would have happened between us. We were both spinning our wheels. Don’t turn this into something bigger than it is.”

  “Get out, Tara.” His words are all monotone. With one last glance he turns and exits into the other room. So that’s it, then? Goodbye, Dominic.

  *****

  Pulling in through the mansion gates, I see that Denver has already had a parking spot reserved for me with a silver name placard and everything. “Tara Rogers – Professional Chef and Culinary Expert.” I like the sound of that. Too bad my beat up old car doesn’t fit in with the shiny, deluxe new models surrounding it. Maybe Denver gives his employees cars as bonuses, I think, imagining that anything is possible in this new fairy tale.

  The size of the mansion is growing on me. Now that I’ve entered it a few times it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. The morning is brisk and its air fills my nose—freshly mowed lawn, flowers, and a warm, salty California breeze.

  I start thinking of what breakfast I will prepare for Denver and the staff. With that freezer stocked full of hundreds of different foods, the possibilities are endless. Walking through the door, I decide the first thing that I need to do is create an Allergy List, so I look for Jill so I can ask her where I can find a whiteboard. The plan is to have every person on the staff write down his or her allergies so that I never have to live through another experience like the morning I met Denver.

  Of course Jill is in the library, flipping through old books on the green sofa instead of doing her job. If I decide to move in will this become my life? Maybe I shouldn’t judge her; this could be me if I decide to take Denver’s offer.

  “Morning!” I say, trying to start off chipper.

  “Morning,” Jill retorts, her eyes fixed on the book.

  “I was looking for some type of whiteboard or chalkboard I could put up in the kitchen,” I say, taking a seat next to her. This is a first. “Do you know where I could find something like that?”

  Before responding, she finishes the sentence she’s reading before darting her eyes over to me. “Hmmm,” she takes her time with her cherry-red lips pressed tight, eyes squinting at me. “You may find something like that at a common department store, I would imagine.”

  I take her dry remark unblinkingly. “I was hoping there might be something like that lying around here. I wanted to get started on breakfast soon, but I wanted to take inventory of allergies, so—”

  “You were with him last night, weren’t you?” she asks. Her lips and eyelids are locked in place.

  “What are you talking about?” I try to play stupid.

  “He took you to Malibu, didn’t he?” Does she have the Friend Finder on Denver’s phone? This is definitely a poker-face moment so I mimic her cold front.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Jill,” I smile.

  “Did he make you feel special?” she asks, the straight line of her lips twisting into a smirk.

  “Listen, Jill, I don’t know if we’re on a different page here or what. It sounds like you think I was with Denver.”

  “I know you were with Denver, Tara,” she says. “Don’t make me tell you how I know.”

  I freeze at the thought of what she could have over me. There is a fear instilled in me just at the thought of what she could do with the amount of money she probably has. “You know, since I’ve met you, I’ve never seen you step out of the mansion once.” This has Jill interested. “Are you even allowed to leave at all? Or are you, like, contractually obligated to remain on the premises at all times for a certain duration?”

  She breathes in slowly, nodding her head. Her green eyes reptilian as she stares into me. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she says, the sarcasm in her voice enunciated as she bats her eyes. “If Denver invited you to be a live-in employee then you should consider yourself lucky,” she says, her eyes returning to the book in her lap as she turns another page.

  “Where is Denver?” I ask, realizing that he is usually either in the gym or working at his laptop in the kitchen over coffee at this hour.

  She looks up from the book, eyebrows elevated. “What do you mean, ‘where is he’?” she asks, closing the book. “Why isn’t he with you?”

  Something has changed in her cold visage—eyebrows now furrowed, mouth agape. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday,” I reply, which is partially true because I fell asleep something around 11:50. Why hasn’t she seen him? Is he still upstairs? Did my body take that much of a toll on him? Maybe he left early but is asleep upstairs, resting off the night of rough ecstasy.

  “Denver never came home last night,” she says, breathing heavily. “I stayed awake all night waiting for him—nothing.”

  If he didn’t come back to the mansion, then where did he go after I fell asleep in his arms? “Have you tried calling him?” I ask, taking out my phone to look for his number.

  “He hasn’t answered my calls or texts since he met you, sweetheart,” she says with a dry, sharp chagrin. I can’t help but feel flattered at the thought, but a sudden shriek enters the library, stealing both of our focus.

  “What was that?” I ask, jumping up.

  “Mae Lin!” Jill shouts, rushing out of the library.

  I follow her and find Mae Lin standing in the bright corridor with her phone glued to her hand. “I just got a call from LAPD,” she pants, “they found his car at Point Dume…” She drops to her knees and the phone hits the ground, shattering. “They didn’t find him, they found his car.”

  “So where is he?” Jill asks, her eyes wide.

  I barely know Denver but by gauging Mae Lin’s reaction, I’m guessing this is out of character for him. Jill shares in Mae Lin’s panic, and at first I don’t grasp the audacity of the situation—this is only my fourth day knowing him. But last night he changed my life completely, and now they say he’s missing.

  *****

  The billionaire I lightweight fell in love with and gave myself to is missing after our powerful night of lovemaking. He hired me to be his personal chef the day he met me, and ever since then my life has been one crazy ride. After throwing a Valentine’s day party, Denver told me to meet him in Malibu after we made out in a closet. Now his car has been found in Point Dume with no sign of Denver himself.

  This is my fourth day knowing the man, and already my heart is simultaneously busted and throbbing with passion. Damn you, Denver, I think, looking to Jill, Mae Lin, and Gloria. They are Denver’s Live-Ins, something he invited me to do the night we were together. The deal is that after signing the contract they live with him for one year to do the work he needs. Jill is the housekeeper, Mae Lin is the assistant, and Gloria is the chauffeur, which would make me, Tara, the chef if I sign the contract.

  By the looks on their faces, I start to worry that there may no longer be any contract to sign. The question of priority in my mind next to ‘Where is Denver D. Phillips?’ is �
��Which of these women have slept with Denver D. Phillips?’ Before last night, the thought never really occurred to me. For a moment I thought maybe something was happening between Jill and him, but the way he treated me felt like he hadn’t been with a woman in a long time.

  Or so I’d like to believe.

  “I’m not going to sit around and wait for the police,” Jill says, digging the keys out of her purse. With the rage in her eyes, I’d hate to be in any car where she’s behind the wheel.

  “Where do you suggest we look?” Mae Lin asks. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to just wait here for him to come back? I mean—I mean maybe he’s okay. Maybe he just took a little time to be alone.

  “Denver’s not the type of guy who wants to be alone,” Jill says, heading for the mansion’s front door. Just moments ago Jill and I sat in the library where she accused me of sleeping with Denver—which was true, but she had no way of knowing. What’s weighing on my mind is when she said, “I know you were with Denver, Tara. Don’t make me tell you how I know.” Those were her exact words.

  I really don’t want to know what she could possibly have on me and Denver, but by the sounds of it she could have something incriminating. I wouldn’t put it past anyone here with all this money and technology lying around. Hell, Denver made his money developing software. For all I know the entire house could be bugged.

  I look around the ceiling, for the first time realizing that a paranoid thought such as this might not actually be that stupid. I hate the feeling of paranoia coursing through me, unable to trust any of these women. As Jill exits the mansion, Gloria and Mae Lin look at each other and then at me.