The Rich Girls' Club (11 page)

N
o. I’m not reconsidering my offer. Please, …I said no. Stop calling me!”

“But this is the other Mrs. Littleton and my wife extends her sincere apology if she offended you in any—”

If?
Hope ended the call, placed her cell phone on the dining table. “Damn! Only a fool could talk themselves out of a million dollars.” She sprang from her seat, picked up her and Stanley’s plates.

That had been the fifth person to call on Laura’s behalf, begging for the donation. But Hope didn’t care if Laura’s mama called. What part of “no” didn’t they understand? Maybe the next time Laura would engage her brain before opening her mouth. The woman was a loser. What Laura’s wife should do was tell Laura the truth. Laura wasn’t attractive, smart, or charming, and all her stupid grin did was to make other people frown.

“So now she needs my money? Her campaign funds must be extremely low…” Hope paused, placed the plates on the granite countertop.

“What are you talking about? Never mind,” Stanley said, cutting himself off. “This is ridiculous. You know that. I feel like a silent partner that’s been trapped into something illegal. I shouldn’t be subjected to this. Why your sudden interest in politics? And why are you considering giving her that much money? I hope you’re not smuggling drugs for your dad or something.” Then he mumbled, “Stranger things have happened.”

Hope sat on the stool, covered her eyes for a moment then stared at the floor, thinking out loud. “Hmm. How can I convince others not to contribute to Laura’s fund? That woman couldn’t run her household, let alone a state. She seriously believed that having her wife call would make me change my mind. Okay. Marinate on this for a moment, Hope. This may be the simplest and best way to handicap Laura’s campaign. Low funds equate to little or no advertising. If I can create negative propaganda about Laura, Laura will have to invest her financial resources to clean up her reputation. Whatever that is.”

Brooks’s announcement was two weeks away. Hope brushed her hair away from her face and smiled at her man.

Stanley pushed back his chair, snatched his keys off the kitchen’s island. “Thanks for lunch. I’m out. You don’t need me for the conversation going on in your head. In fact, you need to make up your mind. Either tell me what’s going on, or I’m moving on. I can’t afford to lose my job. If you’re transporting drugs, do it without me.”

“Stop trying to wedge yourself into something that doesn’t concern you. Nobody is transporting anything.”

She knew she was the catch in their relationship, not him. Replacing Stanley could happen with the press of a button. One phone call would do it if that were what Hope wanted. But she’d invested three years in training him to sex her the way she liked, and finding another man as trustworthy as Stanley would probably cost her more than the amount she was unwilling to give Laura. Starting over a new relationship would be a complete waste of time when she already had the right man in front of her.

Hope dated Stanley because he didn’t compete with her like the millionaire men she’d gone out with. He hadn’t asked to drive any of her luxury cars. Wasn’t trying to move into her house. Didn’t take advantage of her generosity, like the guy who’d asked her to open a joint bank account. That fool thought he’d hit the jackpot when he’d met her. Just as fast as he’d appeared, Hope had made his broke ass disappear.

Stanley was transparent. He didn’t have a hidden agenda for being her man. That was her dick and he wasn’t going anywhere except back to bed to fuck her again.

“Baby, you’re right. Sit down and let me explain,” she said, taking his keys.

He backed away. She stepped closer, lowered her eyes then glanced up at him. “Please.”

Sighing heavily, he conceded. “If I didn’t love your ass I would’ve been gone. Now if I’m staying you need to tell your man: what’s up with you?”

Now she was the one sighing. Hope began clearing the serving dishes from the table so Stanley couldn’t see the shiftiness in her eyes. Turning on the water she rinsed the dishes, then loaded the dishwasher. “If I tell you the truth, you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even your mama. Especially not your mama.”

“Keep my mom out of this. You haven’t even met her.”

True. A woman with lots of money didn’t care much about meeting a man’s mother, unless she was sure he was the one she’d stand beside at the altar. “Promise me.”

“You’ve got it,” he said, picking up the dirty glasses. “We’ve never had secrets, baby, and I don’t want us to start being dishonest with each other. I tell you everything. I deserve the same respect.”

She’d had enough of his telling her what he’d already told her. She slowly kissed his lips, shutting him up, trying to conjure a believable lie. “My dad is considering running for governor.” Where in the hell did
that
come from? She would’ve been better off not saying anything.
Damn, Hope.

“Of what?” he asked, placing the glasses on the top rack. “His tribe?”

“Tribes don’t have governors. California, silly.”

“He can’t do that…can he? Can Indians hold office and own casinos? Seems like a conflict to me.”

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Hope said, drying her hands on his shirt.

“I guess I never thought about that, but I am serious. Besides, why would you give his potential opponent a million dollars?” he asked, looking in her eyes. “Why in the hell are you doing this? You’re still fucking lying to me. I’m out.”

Then why was he still standing in front of her?

“I don’t want you to leave here upset. Let’s relax outside in the Jacuzzi and have a drink.”

Stanley sighed. His lips and forehead tightened.

“Please,” she pleaded with sad eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. A tiny smile emerged and his eyes widened a little.

The power women possessed to enhance their relationship was persuasive when they weren’t combative. “I need you. Come on.” Hope didn’t wait for a response. She kissed him softly, picked up her iPad, then turned away.

“I’ll get the vodka, cranberry, and ice and meet you outside,” he said, slapping her ass.

Reclining on the patio chaise, she thumbed through the catalog of new car models she’d left there to see what she’d purchase next. “Come see, babe. Look at this.”

Stanley made two drinks, held on to his, placed hers on the nearby table, then sat beside her. “Damn, that’s the shit! Are you going to get it?”

“Just decided. I’m buying four.”

“Four?”

Hope knew online car shopping would distract Stanley from revisiting what she didn’t want to discuss. One lie would only beget another and another and there was no way she was telling her man the truth, or letting him go.

“One each for Brooks, Morgan, Storm, and myself,” she said, showing him the three-hundred-sixty-degree tour of the Mercedes SLS AMG.

“Baby, I’m going to customize mine. The exterior is going to be bubblegum pink with twenty-inch, five-spoke alloy wheels. Bubblegum interior with aluminum trimmings. And of course they’ll all have to come fully loaded.”

“Damn! That’s going to be the sexiest girl car on the road.”

Instead of giving the money to Laura, with the press of a button, Hope spent a total of 1.2 million on gifts for her girls and herself. She’d have the cars delivered to Morgan’s house during their next meeting and surprise them.

Placing her computer on the table, Hope exchanged it for a drink and relocated to the Jacuzzi with Stanley.

M
orning was her favorite but any time of the day was great to hold her man.

The rising sun cast a ray through the skylight in her bedroom that warmed her soul. Feathering her fingers over his hair a bright idea shined in her mind, and a wide smile beamed across her face.

Storm peeled back the covers. Chancelor’s erection spiked. Her libido would’ve followed pursuit but she was already hot for him. Careful not to awaken the rest of him she eased out of bed, escaped into her lingerie closet, and closed the door.

Scanning left to right, her outfits hung first according to color, next by fabric. From lace to satin to the silkiest silk, with accents of rubies, diamonds, and pearls on garters, bras, and thongs. The animal prints had a section of their own and they were organized by feline—cheetah, jaguar, leopard, tiger. Life for her was never about black and white, so there wasn’t a single zebra print or stripe in her collection, filled with pieces by Agent Provocateur, Argento Vivo of Italy, Chantelle, or her favorite, Lise Charmel of France.

Since the cheetah was the fastest of them all and she wasn’t feeling as dominating as the leopard, she selected a pair of red platform stilettos to go with a silky cheetah cami set. The panties gently hugged her hips while barely covering her pubic area. The spaghetti-strap top caressed her breasts and torso.

Standing over her man, softly she sang his name. “Chancelor.”

His eyes fluttered open. He blinked, sat up. “Damn.” A wide smile stretched across his cheeks. “Come here,” he said, pulling her on top of him. He kissed away her red lip gloss, slid his hand inside her panties, and cupped her ass.

Moving his hand, Storm said, “I’ll do whatever you like…but you have to give me five minutes. I’m going to hide and you have to come and get it. And don’t cheat,” she said, tiptoeing out the bedroom.

She couldn’t have initiated such a game with the mayor. He was too lazy and wanted the pussy brought to him each time. That was boring. She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to expose her secret space this morning but she didn’t question her spontaneity.

Storm remained in her attic for fifteen minutes, hoping Chancelor would find her soon. He’d never been in her attic but surely he’d think to look up as he searched her house. She’d left the opening ajar. The last boyfriend she’d invited to join her up there had wanted to fuck in the attic every time she invited him over.

Chancelor called out, “Storm. Where are you? I can’t find you.”

She couldn’t blame that ex for wanting to live out his fantasies in her love nest. The ceiling was high, the floor space was wide, covered with wall-to-wall black carpet. She’d had a shower, a vanity, and a toilet installed. The onyx free-standing tub with its platinum fixtures and feet was in the center of it all.

Any woman with an imagination bold enough to reserve a room in her place designed with “everything” sex in mind had an environment that would make most men fall in love at first sight, not to mention jealous. In a man’s mind, her space might be seen as a place that should be his. But it wasn’t his, so a man might create as many opportunities as possible to revisit her love nest.

The ones lucky enough to have such an experience were likely sure to share with all their friends and lovers the most intimate details over and over and over. And when her men weren’t reliving the fantasy with others, she thought they were probably rewinding and replaying the highlights in their minds while masturbating.

Sounded like Chancelor’s voice was echoing from the kitchen. Storm lowered the attic’s ladder, sat on the top step, and opened her legs. She remained quiet, fingered her straight black hair, then repositioned her titties to slightly expose her nipples.

“Damn! So that’s where you went,” Chancelor said when he found her, and he climbed the stairs. “What’s up with all the hidden cameras? You’ve been recording us without telling me?”

Shit!
She hadn’t thought about him noticing the cameras. “Security. A woman can’t take her safety for granted,” she said, drawing the stairs up to close.

Her attic wasn’t ordinary. She’d decorated it with a sex lounger, Tantra chair, sex swing, and massage table. A blow up doll sat on a stool. Toys galore were generously on display, powered with batteries, ready for use. A refrigerator, a wine rack, and a fully stocked wet bar were in one corner. “Would you like to make a sex tape with me, baby?” she asked, passionately kissing him. There was a camera set up in the attic just in case she’d decided to invite Randy or Tony to her love nest. But she hadn’t.

“Sure.” He followed her to the bar. “Wow! And why haven’t I seen this before now? I’ve only been your man for what? Three years.”

She hadn’t believed their relationship would last beyond three months. Each man that she’d invited into her attic later questioned her about what other men had been up there. Storm wondered if she’d made the wrong decision.

“Your talking is spoiling the mood. Here,” she said mixing then handing him a drink.

“You think we’ll ever get married?” Chancelor asked, tasting his dirty martini.

Tuning into one of her favorite Pandora stations, she welcomed the sound of smooth Jazz floating throughout the attic. Her plan was for them to enjoy a romantic morning with a couple of martinis. Relax on the sex chair with his back against one side, hers against the other, with her legs over his shoulders. They had all morning to enjoy each another. Longer, if he didn’t mess up the mood.

Finishing her drink in a continuous flow, she told him, “Take off your clothes and don’t ask me any more relationship questions. If you do, we’re done.”

Chancelor exhaled, stared at a painting on the wall of a naked couple.

“And lose the attitude or you can go home right now.”

“I’m cool,” he said.

Storm filled the tub with warm water and bubble bath. “Get in and don’t say a word.”

She sponged her man all over, twice between his legs, then stroked his dick one time before getting in. She lay her head on his chest, and he returned the favor and bathed her.

Chancelor kissed the nape of neck. “I love you, Storm.”

There were those words again. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to let their energy resonate in harmony. Between the vodka and Chancelor’s erection pressing along her spine, her pussy was percolating.

Storm stepped out of the tub, dried herself, then her man. She positioned him on the S-shaped, armless chair. Two feet high, two feet wide, the chair’s firm cushion was the perfect length for Chancelor’s body. The perfect width for her to straddle him and squat onto his erection in the reverse cowgirl position.

Gently he massaged her back. Featherlike strokes moved from her shoulders, down her sides to her ass, back up to her shoulders. Again his hand traced the strokes. The love in his touch overwhelmed her.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but I had my accountant deposit two hundred and fifty thousand into your bank account yesterday,” she told him.

Storm closed her eyes. The heaviness in her body gave way to his touch. He slid his hand between her thighs. Grazing her clit he moved toward her knees, barely making contact with her clit, then squeezed her inner thighs.

She felt like she was going to explode from the inside out. His love consumed her. She’d hoped her mention of the money would distract him. But it didn’t.

“Thanks. I appreciate you,” he whispered. “This is why I want to share my life with you. You care about me unconditionally. Your word is bond. No one has ever shown me this kind of love. I can’t repay you with money but I will always love you, Storm.”

Holding her chin, he turned her face sideways toward his. His lips pressed against hers and she came hard as he held her in his arms.

“I love you, too, Chancelor,” was what she wanted to say. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She cherished the way he ended their lovemaking sessions with what she thought of as a cool down period. Light touches streamed all over her body. Her eyelids became heavier. She led him to the queen-sized bed. Her body nestled into the mattress. The more time she shared with Chancelor, Storm knew it was only a matter of time before she told him what was in her heart. She’d become emotionally attached to him. But that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Her parents wouldn’t approve.

The truth was they were perfect for one another. She knew that. But what about five, ten, fifteen, twenty years from now? Would he feel the same? Would she care? Knowing that she left Chancelor better off than when he’d met her at least made Storm feel good about sponsoring his education.

If he used the money wisely, in four years he could begin making his own millions. She didn’t want Chancelor to do what she thought was best for him. If a man were to become a man, he had to make his own decisions. Find his own way.

“I’m going to take a quick nap, then I have some other business to tend to,” Storm mumbled.

“I’ll just watch television,” he said. “If you need me, call me. I’ll be downstairs in the entertainment room.” Chancelor kissed her cheek, tucked her in.

Oh, shit!
Storm’s eyes sprang open. Did he say the entertainment room?

Her feet hit the floor. She hurried down the ladder, rushed to the other side of her home, stood in the doorway.
Damn!

The video of her fucking Tony was playing on the flat screen. But Chancelor wasn’t there. That meant he’d probably seen the previous footage of her sexing Randy. Chancelor was young, but she was about to find out whether or not he was naïve. That was if she could find him.

“Chancelor!” she called out.

Her voice echoed. She hurried to the garage. His car was gone. Whatever part of his heart was broken, she prayed she could mend.

It was time for Storm to tell Chancelor how she truly felt or risk losing him for good.