Their Courtesan: Billionaire Menage Romance

by Cynthia Dane

  “I’m serious. I may play things up for my clients, because I like money, to be sure….” She shrugged a final time. “I also like cock, and you have a nice one, Seth.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Maybe next time you could see more of me. You’re going to be leaving soon, aren’t you?”

  Seth was already halfway out of the chair. “If I can find my friend, yes… unfortunately.”

  “Mmhmm.” Judith came up to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. I can smell my fucking cum on her breath. Why in the world was that hot? Why was he so proud that this amazing woman smelled like his manhood? Because deep down I’m a stupid animal who only knows fucking and eating. Maybe some sleep thrown in there to keep the cycle continuing. “I’m guessing that right now he’s balls deep in Grace’s pussy. Or maybe her ass, if he’s into that. ‘Cause she is.”

  “I have no idea. I don’t make a point of knowing another man’s sexual tendencies.”

  Judith gave him a careful look. “That so? Too bad. I love talking about a man’s sexual tendencies.” Now her smile was the fakest in the universe. “I’m a bit of a gossip girl, I guess.”

  Now what? Should he thank her? Shake her hand? Leave without another word? Pretend that he would come back to finish the job, this time with his wallet open? Maybe… it’s only fifteen grand. Wow. First time in his life he thought like that, and this was a guy who never had a shred of debt, even after medical school. Sex has addled me. He may have only had Judith’s mouth – for now – but he was counting it.

  Judith killed the awkwardness for him by announcing she had rounds to make on the boss’s behalf. Seth was going to let her go. Why not? He needed to refocus anyway. Ha. What for? What was there to focus on? As soon as he left the Château, he was going back home, to stare at an empty canvas and listen to his agent’s rambling threats on voicemail. What was he in a hurry for?

  He gazed at Judith as she finished putting her ensemble back together and gussying up in an oval, gilded mirror. Fuck, she was beautiful. Did she know how beautiful she was? How effortlessly beautiful? Her body was so entrancing that Seth felt like he could stare at it for hours. The curve of her spine. The roundness of her ass. Those slender legs with calves of steel. That was the view from the back. The golden hair accentuated it.

  I want to paint her. Not the first time he thought that since seeing her.

  “Excuse me,” he said, as she reached the door. When Judith looked at him, he was compelled to continue. “Can I see you… let’s see… Friday?”

  “Friday?” She looked genuinely surprised. Shocked that he would pay her for her time? I’m shocked too. Judith batted her eyelashes, coy, but not facetious. “I’m free all afternoon. I’m booked for a party that night, though. After dinner. Sorry.”

  “No, no… the afternoon is perfect.” Summer was coming. So much wonderful daylight to paint in. “This may sound unconventional to you, but I would like to pay you for your time.”

  She guffawed. “That’s hardly unconventional.”

  “Let me finish.” He faced her, feet firmly on the ground but his heart leaping into his throat. “I want to paint you, Judith. I want to pay you to be my model. I will come here since it’s convenient for you… and because there are so many great views around here.”

  She stared, incredulous. “Model for you?”

  “Remember that I’m a painter?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I need a new model. I think you’d be perfect.”

  Judith returned to him, hands running up his arms as she grinned from one ear to the other. Touch me more, lovely. Seth wanted to feel her all over him, but reason was finally winning out, and it told him enough was enough for today. He could go home and stroke his own cock to images of this beauty. Would give him time to think other things through. “You can pay me for whatever you like, Seth.” She kissed him again, this time with more fervor. “I don’t mind,” she whispered on his lips. “I’ll even take my clothes off for it.”

  He tried not to latch on to this detail. “I was hoping you would say that. So… Friday? I’ll be sure to leave early enough so you can get back to your real work.”

  “What is real work? Anything I get paid for is real work. Surely, an artist knows that.”

  Did Judith consider herself an artist of some sort? Why did that thought strike Seth down once again? “I do. How does two sound? I’m thinking a small sketch to begin with, and I can paint it at home… but I like to do my sketches in real…”

  She put her fingers on his lips. “Friday at two. I’ll be all yours.”

  Chapter 6

  MIGUEL

  The worst part about moving half one’s life across an ocean is the logistics, and Miguel Bolivar was done with logistics.

  That’s why a man had an assistant to take care of that bullshit for him. Aimee was a young French woman from Nice who had gone from potential girlfriend to personal assistant the day she found out Miguel was one of those Bolivars. You know, the Monegasque Bolivars. Most women jumped at the chance to sleep with – let alone date – a man like Miguel. Aimee? She was way too intimidated. Apparently, she preferred her men comfortably middle class and disinterested in taking over the world.

  Worked for Miguel. He needed an assistant anyway, and Aimee had excellent references. When he told her about the move to America, she begged to come. “How far away from New York?” she asked time and again. Did she have family there? A comfortably middle class and boring boyfriend? Miguel had no idea. He didn’t particularly care, as long as she did her job.

  Today, Aimee’s job was to arrange his furniture, or at least oversee the crew arranging his furniture. No matter how much he searched, Miguel could not find a furnished apartment to his standards. He ended up purchasing the place with the best view and worrying about furniture later. Now it was here, and he could stop sleeping in hotels.

  “Monsieur,” Aimee said, tapping against the hardwood floors with her heels as she continued to speak in her airy French dialect. “There is more for you to sign.”

  Miguel turned away from the panel of windows overlooking the river. Nice ships. Yachting was a pleasure of his back on the Mediterranean, but he never heard about it much around here. Yet there was a marina right there, begging him to rent a vessel until he found one to buy. Didn’t someone lose their fortune? Perhaps they were looking to sell a nice yacht.

  He plucked the pen out of his assistant’s hand and signed a stack of dotted lines. “You need to speak English,” he told her for the fifth time since landing in America. “If you want to be taken seriously here, you need to speak the local language. Which is a sweet bastardization all on its own.” He grinned at her. I lived in London a good many years. I know all about bastardized accents. Shit, Miguel couldn’t even tell someone what his mother tongue was. He grew up speaking English and Spanish, and learned French by the end of elementary school. His Italian could be spotty, but that was only because he never formally studied it and picked it all up by ear from living in Monaco and vacationing in Italy for extended periods of time. Once a man knew Spanish and French, the other Romance languages fell into place.

  Sheepish Aimee took the papers back. “Je suis desole, Monsieur.” She caught herself. “I mean… I am sorry. Very sorry.” Poor girl’s accent was so thick she would have men – and women – lining up to sleep with her, and have no idea what to do with any of them. Miguel didn’t dare tell her that. “I will only speak English when I am in America. Oui.”

  “It will be good practice.” Aimee could take notes in English like any other pro, but her speech left much to be desired. If Miguel had more time in his day, he would help her practice. As it was, her best bet was to be left to make local friends. “Is there anything else?” Half the furniture still wasn’t there, but Miguel knew it would be an all-day process. He had bought pieces from here, pieces from there… some were even being imported from his residence in Monaco so he could have those familiar comforts. He
may only be spending a week or so a month in America, but a man needed what he could get.

  “Only one or two things.” Aimee left the papers on the dining table and picked up a box off a chair. “I found these things in the bedroom when I was cleaning it for the movers. Sorry if it was not something I should have bothered, but you may want to go through them.”

  “Very well.”

  “May I take a break?”

  “Certainly. You’ve earned it. Take an hour. The next set of movers isn’t due until then anyway.”

  Grinning, Aimee snatched her Prada purse off another chair and announced she was going to the quaint coffee shop downstairs. Miguel was grateful to have some privacy for the first time in a few hours. Even a man who grew up in the densely populated high-rise country of Monaco valued his privacy.

  He turned his attention back to the river. Clouds were rolling in. Dark, graying clouds that announced the coming of rain. The weekend forecast called for chilly rainfall. The perfect ambiance for staying home and…

  And curling up with a woman, of course.

  Miguel sighed. He thought about texting Aimee and asking her to bring him some coffee when she returned. It would be nice to curl up in bed for a spell. Most of his work didn’t start until Monday. His weekend was fairly free if he budgeted his time well.

  Where to go? There were many sights to see, many things to do, but none of them interested him. The only practical thing he could think of was taking a tour of the marina and inquiring about a vessel. That would amuse him for a while. It would not fix the problem of an empty bed when he returned home.

  He was in a new world. Many beautiful women awaited his touch, his kiss, his manner of lovemaking that they either dreaded or died for. Yet the more Miguel stood there and thought about sex, the more his mind traveled back to the other night and the woman he paid to share it with.

  Judith had been an exceptional woman. Not just as a professional, but as a woman. Rare enough finding someone like her who actually enjoyed her profession. Finding one who was all over him? It may be hard for some to believe, but not every woman wanted to deal with Miguel after discovering what he liked – and had – in the bedroom.

  “I’m not afraid.” That line had surprised him. Could she see it in his eyes? His past experiences with women who were in over their heads with him? Miguel rarely had a bad time in the love department, but almost every woman was fleeting. Transient. Another beautiful lady for him to fuck, and, hopefully, pleasure. Judith had been pleasured. Thoroughly. Miguel had been with enough professionals to know the difference between faking it and the real deal. The way her inner walls had clamped around his cock… the way she wailed as he took her, fucked her into the depths of her own bed… I haven’t felt a woman like that in way too long. It must have been true, because Miguel had been thinking about Judith off and on all week.

  He had his girlfriends (of the night) all over the world. Women he specifically sought out when he went to those cities, assuming they were available. There was Tay in Thailand, who charged by the ten minute interval because she was that efficient (and good.) Hana in Japan, who had the lightest touch and the most natural look. Svetlana in Moscow, or St. Petersburg if he called ahead of time. That woman was one of the only ones who could outdrink him, and always knew the best jokes for him to take back to his business dinners. Cathy in London had been working out of her own boudoir for decades. She was twenty years older than Miguel and still sprier than the other women he thought about.

  Theresa in Rio de Janiero. Serene in Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Thalia in Miami. Celeste in Paris, and Hilda in Berlin. There used to be an Agnes in Stockholm and Oslo, but she retired to get married. A shame. Miguel had really liked her. Not enough to marry her instead, but a shame.

  All those women had one thing in common: they were not intimidated by him. Not by his background, his dominant personality, or his body. They all had their own ways of interacting with him, but at the end of the day, he was able to leave the bedroom and get on with his life. He only thought about them when he was making travel plans and debating how much time he would have for a roll with a delicate escort.

  Judith was quickly becoming his go-to choice for the area. For some reason, he thought about her constantly.

  What was it about her? It wasn’t her experience. He saw that all over the world. It also wasn’t her looks alone, for while she was beautiful, she was par for the working girl course. A mix of Agnes and Serene. Miguel leaned against the window, sighing. Just his luck, his cock was trying to come to life. He took both him and his erection to the bedroom, which had been fitted with a king-sized bed and dresser. Not much else, though.

  He didn’t need anything, anyway. Just his hand and those fond memories.

  Miguel didn’t fantasize about any particular aspect of Miss Judith. That was impossible. Thinking about her had him hard and eager to pleasure himself. Quickly, though. There were things to do, whatever they were.

  It did not take him long, as he thought about the softness of her body around his, her gorgeous moans of orgasm, and that look of oh my God you are fucking me so good he quickly brought himself to the edge and lost the ability to hold back a quick, necessary climax.

  Shudders wracked his body. He smelled Judith’s perfume. Or perhaps that had been the incense she burned. Where could he get some?

  After straightening himself up, Miguel unearthed the box Aimee had been talking about before she left. One of the items was a small box. A token from Judith, given to him before he left the morning after their night together. Miguel hadn’t bothered to look at it until now. Most women included a calling card and something like a handkerchief.

  Judith? The devil.

  Miguel pulled out a pair of used underwear. He recognized them from that night. Now that’s something.

  He removed his phone from his pocket. What was the number for the Château? He had an appointment to make. His cock was already getting hard again as his fingers felt that woman’s lingerie. Damn her. She knew how to work – and to work him.

  Chapter 7

  JUDITH

  “Here.” A stack of cards landed next to Judith, breakfast cooling before her. “I had these made up for you. Luckily, we still had the template from Holly’s cards.”

  She coolly looked at the pretty cards littering the dining table. Monica sank into the chair next to Judith, one hand on her stomach and the other snatching a banana out of the fruit bowl. She’s looking to get sugar wherever she can now. Those first few weeks of being told to cool it on the sugar were a trial around the Château. At least Monica seemed to be over the worse of her pregnancy tantrums now. If she could look menacing when she wasn’t pregnant? Yikes. Judith was only a couple years younger than her boss, but Monica could look like someone’s mother the moment she put her mind to it.

  “I’m sure they’re great.” Judith stared at her oatmeal again. Blueberries and cinnamon, her favorite. She didn’t want it. “I’d rather hack Mitch’s dick off.”

  “Let him go.” Monica peeled that banana like it was going to disappear if she didn’t do it fast enough. “I’ve already terminated his contract with you. You’re a free woman, Judith. As free as we can call it.”

  “Free and poor starting next month when his last check runs out.”

  Monica narrowed her eyes. “I’m as invested as you are in getting you a new patron. We’re going to start putting word out tonight. Any man you fancy who seems like the type – and has the money to afford to be your patron – should get a card.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know how it works.” Judith stabbed her oatmeal. The silk wrap around her head faltered. That ass Grace had told her to try sleeping with a silk towel on her head to keep her hair from getting tangled at night. Judith was tired of spending an hour a day trying to make her hair presentable for their million-dollar clients. If she was going to charge fifteen grand to stick it in her pussy, she better look worth fifteen grand. “I got Mitch somehow.”

  “Yes, and
we had inquiries about you after that. Hopefully some of those men are still interested. I looked at the reservations for tonight and saw Nicholas Mills on there. He comes around here enough.”

  “If they’ve got the cash and don’t bring their drama here, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Monica was halfway through her banana and slipping farther down her chair. Her stomach would soon eclipse her face.

  “You do that.”

  “Anyway, Mr. Mills has asked for you more than once. He fancies you, but you’re usually busy with other clients when he gets here. You’re working the party tonight, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Charm him, would you? Who knows, he might be interested.”

  “Will do.” Nicholas Mills was old and homely looking, but yeah, he was loaded.

  “Also, if you have time this afternoon, I need you to help me with a soft audit.”

  Judith was about to agree until she remembered Seth’s promise to be there at two. “Wait, I can’t. I have an appointment.”

  “An appointment? Who?”

  “You must not have checked our afternoon schedules yet.” Judith rather enjoyed this. Now, if only she could get her appetite back.

  “Not since earlier this week. When did this appointment happen?”

  On one hand, Monica was acting silly, but on the other, Judith got it: afternoon appointments were weird, unless a man had a specific schedule to keep. Few wanted to rendezvous with a girl right after lunch, let alone all the way up here. “You remember that doctor from the other day?”

  “Yes…”

  “He booked an appointment for this afternoon.”

  “Really? I didn’t think he was interested in our services. Tagging along with that other gentleman.”

  “Your pregnancy is making you lose your analytical edge. That guy wanted me so badly he was popping in his pants every time he looked at me.”