by Vivien Vale
The guys have to…how do I put this? Have a certain allure, an attractive nature. They need to be brooding, handsome, alpha, and of course…the kicker…wait for it…
Fucking rich. Fucking rich as fucking shit.
If they don’t fit these standards, then the woman using my site to meet men won’t be satisfied, hence they won’t return as customers. That can’t be good for the business.
The worst thing I can do for my company is promote the wrong type of brand. In this case, the brand is the male character. The women have to get the quality they’re willing to pay for.
As I turn to switch off the light in my master bedroom, I glance over at my bed.
The white sheets are tousled around, and the pillows are all askew. It’s any neat freak’s worst nightmare. Just allow any run-of-the-mill obsessive-compulsive person to take one glance into my room before they have a panic attack.
I’m not necessarily messy. I like to keep a tidy home, don’t get me wrong. I just haven’t had a chance to make my bed today, okay, and I gave my housekeeper the day off. I’m a very busy man with a lot of shit to do. And no one’s checking if I made my bed. It’s not like I’m bringing anyone over to see.
The white sheets make me think of Chloe. The bed itself reminds of our freaky time in the club. I haven’t actually invited her back to my apartment and wrestled her in these particular sheets in this particular bed…yet.
I want to.
Oh, fuck yes, I want to.
Ah, Chloe. Damn, she’s one distracting female.
Why the fuck does she have to be so hot and alluring? She’s captivating and is sure as shit a temptress. She lives up to my standards of what I think a woman should be like, that’s for damn sure. I’ve seen plenty of women, some of them equally enticing. But never as memorable as Chloe.
For a brief moment, I think back to the other day when I was musing over how I’d never find a woman up to my standards for my son. Jesus fucking Christ, I am not seriously going there with Chloe in mind, am I?
Fuck. No.
Shaking my head, I turn off the light and walk from the room, but the damage is done. Thinking about romping in my bed with Chloe after we’ve but Ben to bed for the night has me totally hard as a stiff rod right now. What the fucking fuck?
My imagination runs wild as I absentmindedly fumble for my keys on the counter, grabbing my wallet and phone.
Her ass, her lips, her pussy…now they’re all front and center in my mind.
Fuck, I want to taste her lips, the ones on her gorgeous face and between those perfect legs. They taste like honey. Her sweet nectar draws me in and I’m addicted, even though I’ve only been with her once.
It was the best night of sex I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a hell of a lot because I’ve had plenty…believe me.
I’m a man slut. What can I say? I don’t deny it, I’m proud of it. I get pleasure from the women and pleasure in knowing how good I am in bed. Keeps a healthy inflated ego. I like to refer to it as being ‘seasoned’ in the bedroom if we want to take it a classy step further.
Fuck, how I wish I was taking Chloe to dinner tonight, but as I walk out of my apartment and lock the door behind me, I remind myself that it’s just not in the cards for tonight. I’ll just try to focus on work to distract me.
Before I walk to the elevator, I stop right outside of it and lean against the wall, trying to pace my breathing. I need to calm the fuck down. I chuckle and actually look down at my crotch.
“You can’t have her tonight,” I tell my cock in order for it to stop bulging in my pants, protruding like a fucking eyesore.
Oh, come off your damn high horse. Like you’ve never talked to your genitals before?
Either way, I have to tell my cock that it won’t be seeing Chloe tonight or exploring her warm wet hole. I have to let him down easy, and fast before the night presses on.
When I get in the elevator, I send Mr. BadBoy another message, arranging the meeting place outside of the restaurant.
On the long ride down, I think that this might be a mistake. Mr. BadBoy is going to end up being too good to be true. He’s probably some fat sack of shit wearing a white wife beater t-shirt with spaghetti stains on it. People always lie about who they are on the internet.
I should know. I’m not really Ms. Winters. My alter-ego is the way I snag top-shelf clients, but at the same time, it’s a lie.
Maybe we should refer to the term of ‘catfishing.’ Yes, that sounds a little softer. And a bit more hip and trendy. Fun, even. Just maybe not for the guy who gets fished.
As I step out into the fresh Manhattan night, the only thing I can think of is the fact that tonight should be interesting, to say the very least.
Aaron
Well, this makes ten times that my eyes drift from the bar to the door leading outside.
How many more fucking times do I need to check to see where Mr. BadBoy is? What’s taking him so damn long?
More importantly, why am I feeling rejected right now? Fuck that shit.
I glance at my phone again, afraid that from the noise of the club I might not be able to hear my phone if it buzzes. I put it on vibrate and place it back in my pocket so that I can feel any alerts as they come in.
So far, I haven’t heard a word from Mr. BadBoy. This is ironic because when I go out on these little ventures, I’m the one who’s supposed to stand up the men. Obviously, I can’t meet any of them because I’m a dude and I don’t want to inevitably get punched in the face by blowing my cover.
Not to mention, it’s a shitty way to conduct business. A magician never reveals his secrets. The way to keep them coming back is to give them just a little taste of what they want. I don’t reveal much, I simply give them bits and pieces that they’re happy to pick up.
This whole situation is quite absurd. I can’t get offended by Mr. BadBoy being a no-show. It’s not like I can actually introduce myself to the guy anyway. But it’s still annoying as fuck because it means I wasn’t able to really reel him in. And now, I can’t be sure he’s a good fit for the brand, never having met him.
I turn back around to face the bar and place my elbows on the table. Then, I down the rest of the scotch from my glass.
Just before I try and grab the bartender’s attention for round two of drinks, I decide to give it one more shot and glance back at the door of the bar.
My heart gallops in my chest and heat flushes my face as I notice who’s walking in at just the same exact moment I happen to look that way.
Chloe is standing there at the entrance, wearing a gorgeous slim-fitting red dress. She has a sequined silver clutch purse that she’s tucking under her arm.
She has legs for days and her cleavage is spilling deliciously from her dress, and fuck, do I ever want to motorboat those enormous things. Her hair is long, silky and smooth as it casually splashes down her back in perfect little waves.
Fuck, I want to devour her in one bite.
I still have no idea why she would be at this same restaurant. What are the odds? Well, I’m not usually one to play the lottery but it looks like tonight is my lucky night. I’m hitting the fucking jackpot, folks.
Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner. Guess who it is?
It’s fucking me, that’s who.
I am looking forward to being able to enjoy some time with her while I scope out Mr. BadBoy and get a feel for his potential.
Then a thought dawns on me. Fuck that, I only want Chloe tonight. I should focus my attention exclusively on her because she’s too beautiful to half-ass any activity with.
I quickly scoop up my phone from my pocket and message Mr. BadBoy.
Sorry, something’s come up.
(Yeah, it’s my hard-on again but I omit that part of the story).
I won’t be able to make it tonight.
He probably wasn’t gonna make it anyway, but I can’t have him feeling bad and come rushing in here. Nope, I have to make sure he doesn’t spoil this lucky moment.
I, of course, won’t be doing anything of the sort, but it can’t hurt to lead him on a little bit. I need to remain professional and polite as a business dealer, anyway.
I shove my phone back in my pocket at the same time that Chloe notices me. I chuckle internally at the fact that I just told Mr. BadBoy I won’t be able to make it to the restaurant tonight and here I sit, in said restaurant. But whatever, it’s Ms. Winters he wants, and she’ll never make it anyway.
My eyes are set to that beautiful woman in red. I’m drawn in to her splendor and I don’t think I can ever fucking look away.
I can tell that Chloe is glancing around the bar area and the nearby tables as if she’s looking for someone in particular. And then the fucking thought hits me and makes me see red. A girl only dresses up that good for a man.
She’s probably here for a fucking date. I mean, why wouldn’t she be? She’s too gorgeous and hot to waste a perfectly good night not being out with a handsome man. I even wish I was that guy. I imagine her getting all pretty like this for me. She’d be going back to my apartment with me, that’s for fucking sure.
Whomever her ‘date’ is supposed to be, I’m sure I can top this fucker and beat him at his own game. It’s what I fucking do.
I’m certain that by the end of the night, I could make Chloe forget all about him. If our night together turns out to be anything like the time we spent fucking at District 21, then I’m home free. Just call me a professional NBA star because I’m getting ready to slam-dunk that shit.
Chloe gives me a sexy yet subtle wave, and I notice a rush of relief flush her cheeks. She begins walking towards me. Hmm. That’s a good sign. It means her date might not even show up. Though what kind of motherfucker would stand her up? The thought enrages me almost as much as the idea of her meeting another guy in the first place.
I need a moment to prepare myself to be in her presence because, fuck, she’s ridiculously hot.
When she approaches me at the bar, I do as any true gentleman would. I stand up and greet her with a peck on the cheek, softly drawing her in and giving her a hug. I place my palm on the small of her back and imagine ripping this dress right from her fucking body.
I bet if I made it a competition with myself, I could actually make that work. Maybe later I’ll get to find out. Wink, wink.
“Chloe, you look absolutely ravishing. Stunning.” I take a step back to soak in and absorb her surreal beauty. “You’re just a classic beauty.”
She blushes from my burst of enthusiastic compliments but keeps the mood and the conversation light for now.
“A classic? You sound like you are describing a car.” Her laugh twinkles through the room.
“A classic car doesn’t hold a candle to you,” I tell her and flash her a sexy smile. Her eyes dance with flirtation.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I gesture to the bar.
“I’m here probably for the same reason as you, and every other patron in the place.” I’m teasing her in a light sarcastic tone.
“To get shit-faced?” she quips back with a smirk.
“There’s nothing wrong with relishing in a divine scotch.” I swish my empty glass in the air, pretending to be an elitist.
Chloe rolls her eyes, but I can tell by her playful expression that she’s having a fantastic time already. As she moves, I get a whiff of her perfume and it floors me, throwing me right into Extreme Lust Mode. This woman has such good taste in fucking everything.
“Well, anyway, to answer your question seriously, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone.”
“Oh.” Her face drops in disappointment.
“Now that I see you, I’d much rather dine in your company.” I quickly try to recover before she bolts.
She lets out a small laugh.
“Well, actually, if we’re opting for honesty tonight, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here too.”
She bites her lips in sheepish awkwardness, but all my eyes can see is how delectably adorable she truly is. I can tell she also wishes her date wouldn’t show up anymore.
At that moment, the bartender breezes past me and I call out to capture his attention.
“Excuse me, can I get another scotch and a…”
I turn to face Chloe.
“For you, ma’am?”
I grin at her with the full force of my charm while I try to remember what she was drinking the night we met at the club.
Chloe’s grin is provocative, but she still refuses my initial advances.
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
She waves her hand dismissively to the bartender and nervously glances back at the entrance to the restaurant. Now, I’m curious what kind of guy she’s seeing tonight.
“Don’t break my heart.” I pout my lip and give her my saddest puppy dog face.
“Oh please.” She checks me out and scoffs lightheartedly. “I’m here to enjoy my date, not play drinking games with you. Remember?”
She grins at me and I take the opportunity to lay on the charm.
“It’s a Cosmo, isn’t it?”
“What?” Chloe laughs and shakes her head as if she has no idea what I’m referring to.
“That’s your drink!” I say and point a finger at her. “Bartender, she’ll have a cosmopolitan, please. Put it on my tab.”
“Stop it!” Chloe says and slaps my thigh. She’s smiling at me, so I know I’m at least entertaining her while she waits for Mr. Douchebag to show up. I have to up my game before he gets to step in.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” I grin widely at her.
Chloe rolls her eyes.
“So what if you are?”
“So…” I begin with a smile. “Since I’m right, and I’m paying, at least do me the honor of enjoying one drink.”
“You just want to get me sloppy again,” she teases, reading through my intentions clearly.
“I’m sorry, did you say soaking?” I say friskily.
“I said sloppy!” she exclaims and giggles. “You know exactly what I fucking said so don’t play games.”
“I think soaking is better, though…” I trail off and give her a wink.
She blushes and flicks her eyes to the floor. I’m enjoying our flirty banter, but I desperately want to take it to the next level now that I’m with her.
She pulls out her phone and I see it flashing.
“Interesting,” she acknowledges as she scrolls through her messages.
“What is it?” I ask with curiosity.
“This is going to sound crazy…” she trails off.
“Try me, I’m the king of crazy.” I lean in and smile at her.
“My date is unable to make it.” She shrugs as if she’s totally unaffected by this new development. Fucking wonderful for me. “So, it looks like I’m free tonight after all.”
“What a coincidence,” I whisper in her ear. “Me too. My date canceled on me before you walked over here.”
Chloe gives me a seductive glance which I return with a wild grin. Her date’s loss is only my gain. I won’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers because I plan on slipping something very hard her way.
“Excuse me, waiter?” I call out as a staff member passes by.
The man spins around and looks at me.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes.” I stand up and offer a hand to Chloe. “We would like to be seated now.”
Chloe
Being seated outside, under the stars, must really be doing something for me. I’ve never been in a picture perfect setting with a gorgeous guy like Aaron. It’s like a movie, or a dream.
“How did I get so lucky to be spending the evening with you?” I blurt. Oh, shit. Am I being too forward?
I can’t help it. Aaron really made the best of a bad situation. Scoping out
Ms. Winters is still such a romanticized fantasy in my head, but I can’t help but be excited about what I’m experiencing right now.
There’s classical music playing through the speakers surrounding the dining area, and the air is crisp with a gentle breeze occasionally rolling through. There are candles on every table. It’s really a perfect romantic setting.
“Well,” he says, “Sometimes coincidence just brings the best of a situation. I’m really glad to be here with you.” I blush as he lifts his fork to his mouth, taking another mouthful of food.
It’s funny, I neglected ordering pasta because I’m a notoriously messy eater. He makes it all look so easy. To have such grace has me envious.
I watch his strong jaw move up and down to chew and do all I can to not stare. I redirect my attention to the table and spot my glass of merlot.
I grab my wine and bring it to my lips, trying to distract myself from my thoughts of our previous evening together. I’m doing a terrible job...Fuck.
How am I supposed to not think about that? His big strong arms around me, his giant cock inside of me…how he made me whimper at his every touch with those firm hands.
I’ve never had such exhilarating, passionate sex with anyone, let alone an almost stranger. I shiver at the thought of his touch again.
I feel a pulse of straight-up horniness shoot through my body. My clit is fucking aching. It seems I’ve lost my appetite for dinner and am ready to move straight to dessert.
“How is your food?” Aaron asks politely. I put my wine down and place my hands together in my lap under the table, barely resisting the urge to press them against my pussy and relieve some of the pressure.
“It’s been incredible. Aaron, I have to say that I just really appreciate the company you’ve shown me tonight. It’s truly a pleasure to converse with you,” I say. It’s the truth. The guy is an amazing conversationalist. It’s crazy. He’s like some kind of fantasy—a great fuck and a brilliant mind? Fuck me sideways. (Literally, too.)
“I feel the exact same way, Chloe.” He smiles. As he gazes at me, making me even more hot and bothered, our waiter approaches us.
