The Billionaire's Secret

by Mika Lane

  And today was like no other. There was a rustle of backpacks, coats, and purses coming from the other side of the office—my signal to catch up with the group and casually blend in.

  “Hey guys,” I said, hoisting my backpack on one shoulder.

  “Saffi!” the editor in chief said. “Glad you’re joining us. This will be fun.”

  “Never miss it!” I said.

  You jerks are not leaving my ass behind. Not today, anyway.

  My coworkers from the paper crammed into the elevator for the ride down. There really wasn’t room for me, but I laughed and pushed inside anyway, stepping on several toes, and pretending not to notice. I followed everyone to the divey Irish bar not far from the office.

  The place blared sporting events from around the world—mostly soccer—on TV screens hanging from every corner. The furniture consisted of rough, splintery picnic tables covered in graffiti carvings. You had to be careful what you touched. At least, I did. But the place had ninety-nine cent happy hour beers, which suited my budget just fine. After all, I still freaking lived at home, and there was no end in sight to that. I’d have to make three times as much money as I currently did just to afford a crappy room in a crappy group house in a crappy San Francisco neighborhood before I could even think of moving out of my dad’s house.

  Everyone grabbed a seat, which left me on the end, which was not so bad because it was next to Tom. The noise in the bar made it difficult if not impossible to hear the banter, but I pretended to understand and was sure to burst out laughing when everyone else did. A second and then a third round of cheap beer was served, and I pushed closer to hear the conversation, no longer much worried about office decorum. Beer did that to me.

  My boobs brushed against Tom’s arm, but I was feeling a bit slutty and didn’t care. He ordered me another beer, and then another beer, gentleman that he was. The plight of my life faded into the background, and it wasn’t long before the group thinned out by ones and twos—folks needing to get home to make dinner, pick kids up from school activities, that sort of thing.

  A hand landed on my thigh. I looked around to realize Tom and I were the only ones left.

  He turned to me. “I gotta go soon, too. What about you?”

  I flipped my hair. “Oh yeah. I have tons of things I need to do, too,” I said, looking at my watch for emphasis. Except I’d forgotten to wear it.

  I reached for my wallet, but Tom took my hand. God that felt nice. Maybe today was the day he’d see me as something other than the office newbie.

  “Don’t worry about the bill,” he said with a smile. “The boss got it. I mean, it’s the least she could do when beers are only freaking ninety-nine cents. Don’t you think?” He rolled his eyes.

  “Oh yes, absolutely. I just wasn’t sure she remembered before she left.”

  “What were you going to do if she had? Foot the bill? On your measly salary?” He laughed, shaking his head.

  Well, that was a douche thing to say.

  Heat ran up and over my face. “Well, if she hadn’t paid it, one of us would have had to.”

  He slammed the last of his beer, set it down, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Um, no,” he said with a furtive glance around. “I’d just leave. They’re so busy here, they wouldn’t know for hours.”

  What?

  “You’d just walk out on the bill?”

  He looked like I’d told him the Earth was flat. “Well, you don’t have to put it like that. I mean, it’s not something I’d do anywhere else besides here in this dump.”

  “Anyhoo.” He slid closer and put his hand on my thigh. “Have I told you how cute you are, Saff?”

  A warning stirred over me, however weak. Seemed the beer had dulled my bullshit detector. It wasn’t completely out of order, though.

  “Thanks,” I said, looking down at his hand, which had just made itself home further up my thigh. As I tried to figure why he thought he could touch me, and what I might do about it, he smashed his lips against mine. I yanked my head back in reflex.

  He leaned closer. “C’mon Saff. You can’t deny there’s an attraction between us.”

  “Um. I don’t know, Tom.” I looked around the bar to make sure everyone from the office was gone. I had hoped Tom would like me, but had not expected it to start out like that.

  “I think I’d better head out. Gotta catch my bus.” I stumbled as I stood, whacking my knee while extricating myself from the picnic bench. He stood, too.

  “Ouch.”

  “Hey, careful there,” he said, making no effort to help me catch my balance. Nor did he wait for me before heading to the door.

  I hustled to catch up. I’d not given up yet.

  “Well, beautiful,” he said, turning to me out on the sidewalk. “Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow. Maybe you can help me with fact-checking that big profile piece I’m doing on the mayor. That would be fun for you, right?”

  Ugh. Fact checking. Shit job of all shit jobs.

  “Uh, yeah, sure, Tom.” I looked up the street and saw my bus coming. I could make it if I ran. “I gotta—”

  But before I could get the words out, his lips pressed against mine once again. This time I kissed him back, letting his tongue tease my lips and explore my mouth. If he hadn’t reeked of beer, he might actually have smelled good. But his hand on my breast snapped me out of my trance.

  “Hey…” I said.

  “Well sweetie,” he replied, unfazed, zipping his jacket. “See ya tomorrow.” He smiled and strode off, as if he kissed his colleagues all the time. Maybe he did.

  Like a dipshit, I stood there on the curb as Tom disappeared around the corner.

  The bus!

  I turned to sprint for it, but was too late. Half a block away, its doors slammed shut, and it drew away from the curb, engines gunning in preparation for the climb up the steep San Francisco street that lay ahead. Figured. And there wouldn’t be another bus for twenty minutes, so I got comfortable in the urine-scented bus shelter and watched the traffic go by. The evening wind was picking up and the fog blowing in, which sent all kinds of flotsam and jetsum blustering through the street. Included in the frenzy was a torn business card, which wedged itself under a corner of my black pump.

  I wouldn’t normally touch street garbage, but the word “erotic” caught my eye. Erotic what?

  I picked up the tattered paper using my fingernails.

  Club Silk

  San Francisco’s most exclusive, erotic—

  But the rest was torn off. All that was left was a barely-readable phone number. And the card must have been old, because it was missing the area code now required of all phone calls.

  Club Silk? What the hell was that?

  Chapter 3

  Varden

  I parked my Audi RS 7 in the Union Square parking garage and darted through the morning rush hour traffic to meet my tailor, Ivan. I was in a shit mood, bent about how things had gone down the night before at the club.

  After having left the alphabet ladies X, Y, and Z, I’d headed up to the club’s third floor, to a nondescript door bearing the sign, Twist Room. With a quiet knock, a little window slid aside, followed by the door opening and closing as I ducked inside.

  Ahhh, heaven.

  “Yo, G,” said a huge bald guy, one of the club’s bouncers. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into that half shake, half hug thing guys do. He was of an impressive size, making even me look short. His head was shiny and smooth, he wore thick hoop earrings, and he had tattoos on his neck that disappeared into his shirt collar.

  “How’ve you been, my friend?” I asked.

  “I’m all right. Looking forward to getting a little pussy later on tonight.”

  I nodded. “You and me both.”

  I slapped him on the back and made my way into a room covered in yards of rich velvet, smelling vaguely of sex and expensive perfume, thumping with the deep bass of house music. Silk tufted mattresses lined the room’s borders. It was
early yet, so there wasn’t much to watch except for a few eager couples, so I settled into a plushy couch where I’d have the perfect viewpoint when things did heat up. In time, the room would be packed to the point where the bouncer would be forced to turn people away. Although he would never turn me away.

  Without asking, a server floated by and placed a Maker’s Mark in my hand. This was what privilege bought. Such were the benefits of access to the most exclusive room in the most exclusive club; they knew my name—well, club name—and they knew my drink. Only members were permitted into the Twist Room. Unless of course a beautiful woman wanted in. The door opened for them without hesitation.

  As it should.

  I pushed my mask up just enough to take a couple sips of bourbon and a near-instant warmth washed over me. My days as a hedge fund manager were getting more and more stressful with the ups and downs of the financial markets, not to mention nervous clients, and Club Silk was just what the doctor ordered. If doctors ordered sex clubs.

  I’d positioned myself in view of of a tufted bed where, right in front of me, a woman with her dress pulled up to her waist straddled the face of the man beneath her. It was clear from the motion of her grinding hips that the guy’s tongue was buried in her pussy, his hands reaching up to knead her hanging breasts. After a few minutes of obliterating the guy’s face—I didn’t know how he was managing to breath—her head began to buck.

  Damn, watching a woman come was hot. I unzipped my pants to reach through a tangle of shirttails and boxers. When my cramped cock was finally free, I stroked it in rhythm to the woman’s movements. Her moaning increased, and the man took hold of her nipples, twisting them without mercy.

  This last effort sent her over the edge. She moaned and screamed like a banshee until the guy eating her lifted her from his face, flipped her over, and drove his cock deep inside her. The others in the room stopped to watch as the man pounded her pussy so hard she nearly flew off the mattress. More than one male observer had his cock in his hand.

  The Twist Room’s door blew open for a second, and I looked up as my dancer, Z, entered, holding a just-refilled champagne flute. She paused to scan the room, and those in attendance looked back in admiration at her high-heeled nakedness. Somehow, between the minutes when I last saw her and now, her thong panty had disappeared. Her smooth, tan hips and juicy tits made my dick even harder, and I had to focus to keep from exploding. When she finally saw me, she headed over, jiggling ever so slightly thanks to the champagne and high heels.

  “Hey there,” she said, looking down at me, dick in hand.

  Her flawless skin glistened, most likely thanks to expensive oils and lotions. Her pussy was clean of hair save for a small patch just above her slit. That seemed to be the style of the day, and was called a landing strip or something crazy like that. Hell, I didn’t care what they called it as long as the little patch led right to the goods.

  She posed right in front of me, so close I could inhale the scent of her sweet, girl-next-door pussy. Just the way I liked it.

  “Hey.” I leaned back in my chair, jiggling the ice cubes in my bourbon. “You wanna come closer?”

  She obliged, wedging herself between my knees until her navel was inches from my nose. Damn, her skin was smooth.

  “I want to see more. Show me your pussy,” I growled, hand still on my cock.

  She lifted one high-heeled foot onto the arm of the sofa, opening herself wide enough to show me the plump lips and hard clit leading to her glistening opening.

  “May I?” I leaned toward her.

  I ditched my drink when she nodded with a sly smile. My fingers wandered to the very top of her slit and explored the groove leading to her cute little clit. I ran my finger up and down her lips, spreading her juices. She ground into my hand. Slipping one finger inside her, I made a “come here” motion to get at her G spot. When she thrust again, I slipped in another.

  Hers was one tight pussy, which I wouldn’t have minded tasting if not for my mask.

  “Oh god. That feels nice,” she murmured, eyes narrowed, lips parted. She clawed at my hair for balance, and her own head lolled back.

  I removed my fingers and wrapped my hands around her ass, lifting her as I rose from my seat. With her legs wrapped around my back, I brought her to one of the tufted mattresses and laid her down.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered

  “Yeah, Miss Z? You want my cock?” I fished through my pocket for a condom.

  “Please. Please.”

  I stretched the rubber over my cock, watching her spread her legs like a freaking contortionist. She grabbed me like a hungry animal, pulling me toward her opening. I paused to make sure she was ready, and in one quick movement, she bucked her hips and engulfed my dick.

  A small audience formed around us, making me even harder. If that were possible.

  I leaned over her and said through my mask, “You feel so good. Damn.”

  “Your cock is wonderful, baby. Give it to me. I’m gonna come quick.”

  I plunged into her up to my balls, and she gave a shriek, her head banging against the mattress, her hands grabbing my ass to pull me closer.

  Her breath came faster and harder in my ear. “Fuck me, please. Yes, just like that.”

  Her pussy pulsed, gripping my cock, my balls tightening as my own explosion drew nearer. I kept pumping her as she came again…and then again.

  I fucked her until she couldn’t speak any more. Sweat poured down my face, puddling inside my mask, tickling my nose. I was getting close to exhaustion, ready for my own damn orgasm.

  So I kept pumping. Z had gone comatose, her head rocking back and forth, small whimpers escaping her lips.

  Fuck.

  I knew it.

  I wasn’t gonna come.

  God fucking dammit.

  I pulled out, pissed as hell. Z, in her state, seemed not to even notice. I yanked off my rubber and sat for a moment on the edge of the mattress, pants around my ankles, cock hard as a baseball bat, balls aching.

  Z sat up next to me. She looked like she’d just finished a marathon.

  “You okay?” she asked, placing a hand on my arm.

  “Yeah, sweetie. You’re incredible.”

  I stood, pulling my pants up, tucking everything back in. “I gotta run, babe. I’ll see ya.”

  She smiled and waved weakly.

  I marched past the bouncer and out the door, moving as fast as my aching balls would let me.

  Downstairs I brushed by Miss M, who called after me.

  “G! Will I see you again—”

  But I just kept going. Blue balls did that to me. Halfway down the block I remembered to remove my mask, and when I did, cool evening air washed over my sweaty face.

  If I couldn’t get off at the club, there would always be another time. But for now, there was home, with a little help from my friend, the internet.

  Chapter 4

  Saffi

  I entered my boss’s office—the editor in charge of city news—and closed the door. I was about to lay a bomb on him, which had the potential to change my life. Well, that was the idea, anyway.

  He waved me to the chair opposite his desk, continuing to tap on his computer’s keyboard.

  “Done in a sec, Saffi,” he said.

  I cooled my heels for a couple minutes, looking around at the framed articles and awards covering the walls. “Ed, is this a good time? Because I can come back.”

  “What? No, it’s great.” He hit send on his computer, took off his glasses, and turned to me. “You have my full attention now. Sorry about that. My mother’s going into a home, and I had to get some insurance information to the administrator there.”

  Now I felt like a shithead. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

  He waved away her concerns. “It’s for the best. We should have done it ages ago.”

  He folded his hands on his desk and looked at me expectantly.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay then. I wanted to
pitch you a story idea. It’s completely different from anything I’ve done here. In fact, it’s pretty different from anything the City Desk has done.”

  Ed sat back in his chair. “Really? You’ve got me intrigued.”

  “It’s a bit of a sensitive topic, but I’m going to speak frankly if you don’t mind.”

  A dribble of sweat ran down the back of my neck.

  “You can always be straight with me, Saffi. We’re a news organization. We’ve seen it all.”

  Well, he might not have seen this one…

  “Ed, have you ever heard of Club Silk?”

  His brows knit. “Yeah, I have. That sex club, right? We looked into it a couple years back and couldn’t determine whether or not it really existed. Couldn’t get any leads, so we dropped it. Concluded it was an urban myth.”

  Maybe I was gonna be the office hero, after all.

  “It does exist Ed. And I want to do a story on it.”

  His mouth opened. Then it closed.

  “Are are you sure? We determined there was no such place. And even if there were, wouldn’t you want to give the story to a more senior member of the staff—”

  Yeah. Um, fuck no.

  I cut him off. “I can do it. I want to do it. I want to prove myself, show you I can do reporting beyond Little League and Garden Clubs.”

  That didn’t sound too complain-y, did it?

  He studied me, no doubt looking at me in a new light. One of a professional, confident, and talented woman, do doubt.

  Actually, no.

  “I really think this ought to be assigned to—”

  No fucking way.

  I smiled sweetly. “I got the lead. And I’m not passing it on. I’m just not.” I gripped my hands until they started to go numb.