The Billionaire's Secret Read online

  He wasn’t convinced. Yet. “You know that’s not how we operate here. We have the most qualified staff member cover each story.”

  I leaned toward him, balls out. “This is gold. And it’s my gold. You have to let me do it. This is the chance of a lifetime.”

  Shit, did I just say that?

  He stared at me, apparently as surprised as I was by my newfound brazenness. “Tell me about your approach.”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure I have an in. I want to go undercover as a guest of the club and see what it’s all about.”

  “Are you sure? You want to go to a sex club?” he asked with incredulity.

  Jesus, did he think I was a fucking virgin?

  A burning heat crept across my face, like it always did when I was stressed. But this was more from excitement than embarrassment. The words sex club made my heart pound. I squeezed my knees together to head off a growing throb. But it only intensified.

  “Yeah, Ed. I do want to go. So that I can do my story.”

  He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. With a deep inhale, he said, “Shit, Saffi. What if something happens to you?”

  “It’s a sex club, not a murder club. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  This time, it was Ed’s turn to blush.

  “I…I mean. Whatever. You know what I mean.” He began to nod, very slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe we could give it a try. You think you can get in?”

  Score.

  “Almost positive I can get in. Besides, if not, there’s no story.”

  He chuckled. “I have a hard time imagining you writing about sex.”

  Things you hope your boss never says to you.

  “But it’s a good idea. It could be a very, very interesting story,” he added.

  A knock rattled the door behind me and Ed glanced at the wall clock. “Let’s keep this confidential for a few days. I want to make sure you can kick it off.” He motioned behind me for his next meeting to come in.

  “Hey, Saff,” Tom said. Mr. Dine ’n Dash.

  “Hey, Tom.” I brushed by him and turned to Ed at the last minute. “Thanks, Ed. I really appreciate it.”

  “Yup,” he said, and turned his attention to Tom.

  I ran back to my desk needing the privacy of my cube to jump up and down and scream silently with happiness. What luck. First, I found the business card at the bus stop after sucking face with Tom, who turned out to be not as cool as I’d thought. Then, I got Ed’s approval to at least start the story. Going in, I’d figured my chances were only about fifty-fifty. I was finally going to get the respect I deserved. Yes. Not to mention entrance to a sex club.

  Hot and bothered by my first victory, I scurried to the ladies room at the far end of the building, the one no one ever used but me. Locked in a stall, I inched my skirt up and panties down, closing my eyes, trying to picture what a sex club might be like. And, of course, what shoes I might wear.

  I actually had no freaking idea, but I made a mental note to try Google. There was always something to be found online. But until I did, not knowing made it all the more fun to imagine. Leaning on the wall, I ran my fingers up and down my soaking slit, spreading the wetness up my lips to my hard clit. With a few strokes, I began to shudder, and went to town until I exploded in a silent orgasm, catching myself on the stall door before my knees buckled and I wiped out on the floor. Not glamorous but it did the job.

  Until recently, I always pictured Tom when I played with myself, but I was done with that douchebag. Now, it was time for someone new.

  Chapter 5

  Varden

  I arrived at the tailor’s shop, a place easily underestimated. The entrance was nothing more than an old storefront door that said pull. No sign, no indication that two floors up existed the most talented and sought-after custom suit maker in San Francisco.

  The city was ground zero for “business casual,” which meant I didn’t need many suits. But I wanted to make sure that my version of business casual was more considered than the khaki Dockers and white, button-down Oxford shirts everyone else wore. I’d come a long way from my childhood of hand-me-downs and the occasional splurge at Sears.

  Ivan ran to greet me with a handshake and slap on the back.

  “Well if it isn’t Varden Gallagher! Good to see you, my man. You’ve been well, I trust?” He was short and stocky, with an exotic-sounding Eastern European name. I had no idea where he was from; he’d always avoided answering the question.

  “Hey Ivan. Great to see you, too.” I scanned the shop for something that might work for a new trousers or a sports jacket. Across the room, Ivan’s assistant, a big-titted blonde who loved to suck cock in the privacy of the dressing room, waved.

  “Hello, Mr. Gallagher,” Olga cooed from across the room. “I saw your name on the schedule for this morning.”

  Indeed.

  Sounded like she might be game for a little fun…especially if Ivan ran out for a smoke like he frequently did.

  He brought over a couple bolts of fabric.

  “These cottons, my friend, are the finest I’ve seen in my long career. I recommend for you half a dozen new shirts made from it. I can get them to you in two week’s time.”

  I fingered the fabrics. It was nice, but felt like every other shirt hanging in my closet.

  Oh, what the hell.

  “Six new shirts would be great. I trust you to take good care of me.”

  Ivan clapped his hands. “I love working with you, Varden. You are a man of distinction. Good taste and classy. I wish every client was like you.” He turned to Olga. “Olga, my dear, please take Mr. Gallagher into the dressing room for a new set of measurements. We want to make sure our records are up-to-date.”

  Well. I was going to get my early morning blowie, after all. Six shirts and a cocksucker. What more could a guy want?

  “Varden, my friend, please excuse me. I need to step out to address a very disgusting habit. Olga will take good care of you, just as she always does.” He reached for a handshake. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll have the shirts delivered to your office.” And with that, he grabbed his smokes and split.

  Olga was on me before Ivan was even down the stairs, carrying a notebook as if she were really going to re-take the measurements they’d had on file for me for years.

  She led me to the dressing room I’d been in a dozen times before, with mirrors on three sides and a block in the middle to stand on for hemming pants. It came in handy for other things, too. She pointed and I knew to step onto it.

  Without a word, she was before me. She was short, and with me on the block, she was directly in front of my crotch.

  “C’mon, baby,” she said in her scratchy, smoker’s voice.

  I unbuckled my trousers and let them fall to the floor.

  She pushed my shirt tails aside and lowered my boxers. My hard-on nearly slapped her face, and she drew back, chuckling with her throaty laugh. She took my dick, her fingers barely able to encircle it, and licked the precum from the tip.

  “Tastes so good,” she murmured.

  “Yeah?” I glanced back at the dressing room door. “Is the door locked Olga?”

  But she couldn’t answer. Her mouth had devoured me so deeply my cock banged the back of her throat.

  She released me for a moment, gasping for air. “Mr. Gallagher, I love sucking your cock.”

  Well then. To hell with the door.

  She got back to work with her customary enthusiasm. I grew closer to exploding and my balls pulled in tight.

  I rocked my hips into her face, watching in the room’s floor to ceiling mirrors. I also glanced at my watch. I had a meeting at nine a.m. sharp.

  To hurry things along, I grabbled her by the hair and started fucking her face. She finally gagged, her eyes watering thick rivers of black mascara down her face. Her right hand furiously pumped her pussy, and it looked like she might come before me.

  She pistoned my cock at breakneck speed.

  And kept g
oing.

  And going.

  Holy shit.

  I couldn’t come. Again.

  I pulled myself from her mouth before she bit me.

  The front door tinkled, and Ivan’s voice boomed through the shop. “Olga! Are you done with Mr. Gallagher?”

  You could say we’re done.

  I eased myself back into my clothes and pulled up my trousers, leaving Olga in the dressing room to clean herself up.

  I ran smack into Ivan as I hustled out the door, my achy balls preventing me from moving as fast as I might have liked to.

  “I’ll look forward to getting those shirts, Ivan.”

  Back in traffic, I saw I’d missed a couple calls. My admin let me know my first appointment of the day would be late due to a delayed flight. The other voicemail was from Beau, my younger brother.

  You never knew what you were going to get with him.

  “Var. Dude. Hey, I need a little help with something. I’m kinda broke. Will you call me back?”

  Beau sounded drunk, or high, or maybe both. As usual, I had to find out what the hell he’d been up to. In the past, it had been gambling debts, or he’d owed drug dealers, or he’d been kicked out of the most recent halfway home where he was staying. Whatever it was, Beau’s life was a far cry from mine of custom-made clothing, sex clubs, and blowjobs in dressing rooms.

  Chapter 6

  Saffi

  The bus home that night was as miserable as it usually was—bumpy, slow, overheated, and smelling of too many humans crammed into too small a space. When I squeezed out at my stop, I took a deep breath of the foggy evening to shake off the stink of a city commute.

  “Hey, Dad. I’m home,” I hollered, once inside.

  “In here, sweetie.”

  Dropping my backpack, I headed for my dad’s office, a gorgeous, masculine room lined with books, leather furniture, and a giant desk. And the faint smell of scotch in the air.

  “You have a good day?” he asked, his silver head turning. The slight wrinkles around his blue eyes sprang into action as he smiled. He might have been my dad, but I could say with confidence that he was damn handsome.

  How much should I tell him about my project? Everything? Nothing? Or just a little?

  “It was pretty good, Dad. How was yours?”

  On second thought, he didn’t need to know anything.

  He leaned back in his chair and a swell of love thumped in my chest. The man had raised me single-handedly after my mother had passed. No meeting at his busy law firm was ever more important than one of my softball games or dance recitals. To me, he was everything that was good about the world.

  “Day was good,” he said, nodding. “Things are booming at the firm. Knock wood,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the desk. His firm was one of the largest in San Francisco, but he took nothing for granted. “How are things at the paper?”

  I leaned forward, forearms on thighs, hands clasped. “Well, you know how I’ve been getting crappy little assignments?”

  “Like that Garden Club thing?” he asked.

  “Exactly. I have a plan to do more.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “I got a lead on a club here in town. An exclusive club, one that not many people know about. I may go undercover and see what I can learn.”

  Concern washed over his face. “What kind of club? Like a country club?”

  Ugh. Time to lie.

  I hated lying to my dad.

  “Kind of like that. Kind of like an exclusive country club, but it’s in the city.”

  Time to wrap up this conversation. I clapped my hands together and turned to go.

  “Wait a minute.” His hand made a stop sign.

  Shit. Of course he had more questions.

  “Why do you have to go undercover? Is it unsafe?” His furrowed brow said it all.

  I should have kept my big mouth shut.

  “Of course it’s safe.” I laughed nervously. Wasn’t it? “It’s just that I can get a different story posing as a member. That’s all.”

  “You know, Saffi, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?” Now I was the one frowning.

  “Scrape by at the Post. They give you crappy work and pay you next to nothing. I’m happy to have you here in the house, but some day, you’ll want a place of your own. Hell, you probably want that now, but it’s out of the question. I could get you a job at the firm, starting as a paralegal, and you could attend law school at night.”

  He was right. Partially. I could take the path of least resistance. Get a job at Dad’s firm. Live the easy life. But that’s not what I wanted. Mom, also a journalist, had never taken the easy route. ’Course, she’d married Dad back when San Francisco wasn’t as expensive as it had gotten. But I wasn’t giving up. At least not yet.

  “Dad. I know you’re speaking out of concern. And I love you for that. But I’ve got to give this a go.”

  He threw his hands in the air for effect, but a huge smile spread across his face. “I know you do. You’re just like your mother.”

  All good. Time to escape before he asked more questions. “Thanks. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to take a bath and read for awhile.”

  “Okay. And hey. I love you,” he said.

  I walked over and planted a kiss on his cheek. A lump formed in my throat, and I scooted out of the room. Fast.

  I closed the door to the room I’d had since childhood and leaned back against it. Now was the moment of truth. I dialed the number from the tattered business card.

  It rang several times, followed by a long beep.

  “Um, hello. This is Saff—I mean, this is Susan. I, um, wanted some info about the club.”

  My statements were coming out like questions. I hated that. I cleared my throat.

  “Yes, I’m wanting to come by the club. I’m considering joining. That is, if you’re taking new members. I’d appreciate your returning my call.”

  My phone rang ten minutes later while I was in the tub, nearly asleep in the steamy water. I didn’t normally bring my phone when I was bathing, but who knew what a sex club’s office hours were?

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Susan?” an authoritative female voice asked.

  Susan? Oh Susan.

  I straightened up in the tub, splashing water onto the floor.

  “Yes. Yes, this is she.” Remain calm, remain cool.

  “We received a message from you.”

  That was it? Okay. I could play that game.

  “Is this my return call from the Club Silk?” I asked, with equal authority.

  “Yes, Susan.”

  “Super. I’d like to come check it out.”

  “How did you hear about us, Susan?”

  Shoulda known they’d ask that.

  “A friend. A friend told me I might like it.”

  “Who, may I ask?” The caller was polite and yet forceful. Good approach.

  “I’m afraid I can’t share their name.” I pictured the tattered piece of paper blowing up to the bus stop.

  “Very well. Are you free tomorrow night?”

  Are you kidding?

  “Why yes. I am.” Shit. What would I wear?

  “Do you have a pen?”

  I looked around the bathroom. Of course I didn’t have a pen. Who had a pen in the bathroom?

  “No. Why?”

  “You need to know how to get here.”

  Right. Duh.

  “Can you text me the address?”

  There was silence on the line. Then a sigh. “Yes. I’ll text you the information.”

  What a gal.

  “Thank you.”

  “What time will we see you?”

  “Around nine p.m. okay?”

  “Yes, see you then,” said the clipped voice.

  “By the way, when I get there, who do I ask for—”

  Click.

  Okay, then. The woman was not going to win any awards for customer service.

  I settled back into
the tepid water. It was time to get out, before I turned into a prune, but thinking about the club had me excited again. My hand wandered down to my pussy, where I found my clit, hard and erect, for the second time that day.

  Mmmm.

  I reached farther down to my opening, which had not surprisingly become quite slippery in all the excitement. Another finger joined my first. Initially, I made slow circles around my clit, still sensitive from my session a few hours earlier. My nipples tightened and poked through the surface of the bath, and with my free hand, I pinched and pulled them.

  What would the club be like? Dark and dreamy? Would people be fucking right out in the open? Going at it in every nook and cranny? I couldn’t wait to find out. Not participate, of course. Just observe. This was strictly work.

  I pictured a beautiful woman, legs covered in thigh-high stockings. She bent forward, her ass in the air for all the world to see. A tall, dark stranger stood behind her, holding his giant erect cock just at the opening to her pussy. She raised her hips to open herself to him, and he slowly entered. Once he was halfway in, she bucked against him, begging for more. The man pulled her long hair, her back curving into what looked like an uncomfortable arch. But she didn’t seem to mind, and in fact bucked harder, releasing a scream that filled the club. All heads turned to see her, and several observers moved closer for a better view.

  With his hand full of her hair, the man plunged his cock balls-deep inside her. Her mouth hung open, her body convulsing. Her hands pulled her ass cheeks open in case the man could drive his cock even deeper. He pumped faster and faster, and when he released her hair, her head bounced wildly. A series of guttural cries announced her explosion into in orgasm. Her lover was not far behind. Another pump, and he threw his head back, releasing a string of profanities…

  I’d had been rubbing my clit in time to my imaginary friends, my own orgasm building to a crescendo. I gasped as my climax gripped me, leaving me shaking in the now-cold bath water.

  This sex club stuff could be a fun and career-boosting experience.

  Chapter 7

  Varden