The Rich Girls' Club (18 page)

W
hy weren’t you at your fundraiser?”

“I told you and Storm I had an emergency,” Brooks explained.

“If you want me to continue financially supporting this business venture, don’t let it happen again. You’re making the girls look bad.”

Being a politician was not a built-in excuse for running late. If Brooks had stayed in the car with Morgan, she would’ve been there. “Next time let the driver get you where you’re supposed to be. We hired him for you. Let him do his job.”

“As long as Morgan isn’t in the car with me, okay,” Brooks agreed. “If she’s in the car, I’ll drive the one you gave me. It’s faster.”

“I’m not going there with you. We’re all doing our part. I’ll call you later,” Hope said, ending the call.

Storm had delivered her videos to Anthony and Randy. Now it was Hope’s turn to give Johnathon a rude awakening. Bible-toting, bible-quoting men were sometimes the worst kind, using the word of God to justify adultery, infidelity, and fornication. Not that Johnathon was a believer in much more than himself, but if he had to explain the video to the public, Hope was sure, like most men, he’d swear he was entrapped.

Hope would laugh in his face if he thought voters were ignorant enough to believe she’d forced him to stick his dick inside her and cum. When no one was watching, married and single men would engage in unthinkable sex acts.

Was it the feeling of ejaculation or the false sense of power that dominated a man’s desires? Some would stick their dick in a glory hole and let an unseen stranger suck it until they released themselves in that person’s mouth. Others would solicit sex from minors and virgins. Men would fuck men in their wives’ beds, have sex in public, screw their bosses, and do their own cousins if no one were watching.

Johnathon had flown to Los Angeles this evening to prepare for a Town Hall meeting that Hope had arranged for him in Beverly Hills. Convinced he could garner more financial support, he’d eagerly agreed to come.

Her pre-meeting with him was at the Thompson Hotel in Beverly Hills. Hope toned down her alluring attire, from her preferred signature halter dress to a dark pantsuit, with red lipstick, a red blouse, and two-inch pumps.

Reserving one of the cabanas for Johnathon would’ve been fun but inappropriate. Hope texted Stanley:
Hey baby, meet me on the rooftop at the Thompson Hotel right now. I’ve reserved us a private area and I have some new juicy political news that’s making me horny.

She didn’t have the news yet but the details would be finalized once she witnessed the look on Johnathon’s face.

Cool!
he replied.
See you there in an hour.

Hope smiled and sat at the bar, where she knew Johnathon would maintain his composure even if he didn’t want to. Opting not to have a bodyguard as Storm and Morgan suggested, she was confident she could handle Mr. Waters alone.

Johnathon strolled in dressed like he was a teenager in private school—blue suit, white shirt, and a solid red tie. “Hey, Hope. How are you? You look fantastic,” he said, kissing her cheek.

A smile spread across her face. The world was made of all kinds. Men like Waters. Women like her. Problem was, there weren’t enough women in the world that cared enough to outthink men.

“You look handsome, like a winning politician. I bet your charisma alone will get you votes. Have you been to a tanning salon?” Hope asked. His olive complexion gave him a gorgeous undertone more brilliant than before.

His dark wavy hair looked the same as at their first meeting: tapered on the sides, higher on top, accented with a few out of place strands feathered to the left side.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he stuttered. “Glad you noticed. You think it’ll sway voters in my direction?” Johnathon grinned.

“I know so.” But what she was about to show him wouldn’t yield support from voters—or his wife. “A bottle of your best champagne,” Hope told the bartender.

“You’re too generous. When I win, anything that you need, consider it done,” Johnathon said with a wide smile.

She wished she could fuck him one last time. Feel his strong throbbing dick deep inside her, or his lips pressed against her pussy as she’d sit on his face.

The bartender poured two glasses of champagne. Hope held up her glass. “A toast is in order.”

Johnathon held up his own flute and started grinning again.

“Here’s to claiming you, Johnathon Waters, are the next governor of California,” she lied.

“And here’s to you being my personal travel assistant, if you know what I mean,” he said.

Was he indirectly offering her the position of being his mobile sex buddy? Hope’s lips didn’t part until she said, “I won’t be able to make it to the meeting tonight but I’m glad you’ve invited lots of press.”

He frowned. “Why? What do you have to do tonight? I was hoping we could get together for a recap afterward.”

“It’s best. You’ll need to scale back on your campaigning effective immediately,” Hope said, sipping champagne.

Johnathon shook his head, sitting on the edge of his barstool. “What are you talking about? Do you know something I don’t?”

“Not for long. Just do as I say and I’ll make sure your reputation remains intact.”

He shook his head again. His eyes shifted to the left then back at her, mouth tightening. “Women. Just give it to me straight.”

“Since you insist.” Hope plugged in the headset, handed it to him, then pressed play on the iPad.

Two minutes into the video, Johnathon stood as he yelled, “You bitch!”

The bartender rushed over. People at the bar stared at them.

Maintaining her calm, Hope told him, “Keep the computer. Enjoy the video. You’re really good.” She winked, stood beside him, then continued, “Have fun at the meeting. And don’t forget to scale back on that campaign.”

Walking toward the restroom, she didn’t look back.

Johnathon scooped her up from behind, her feet dangling in the air.

“Put me down!” she yelled, punching him in the face.

He carried her to the pool and dropped in her at the deepest end. Her arms flapped as she gasped for air, fighting to stay afloat. Slowly she felt her body sinking. Her feet couldn’t reach the bottom, but her head didn’t rise above the water.

This was the first time Hope wished she’d known how to swim.

F
our months to Election Day.

Powering on her cell, the signal for new messages dinged seemingly non-stop, one after another after another. “Damn!”

She’d turned off her iPhone because she was outraged with Tony’s new verbal threats. She tapped her voicemail icon. A series of unheard messages appeared.

She listened to the oldest ones first. “Your days are numbered. I’m not dropping out of the race over a piece of pussy that’s not as good as you think, and if that video leaks to the press…you and your pussy are dead, bitch.”

That call had come from a blocked number. The voice was muffled but she could tell it was Anthony’s. Storm saved the message, listened to the next. Another blocked call in a long list of voicemails on her iPhone.

Her phone rang, interrupting her messages. Another blocked number. She answered, “Hello.”

“Bitch, you and Brooks are playing with fire. It’d be a shame if Brooks Kennedy were to get assassinated before Election Day. If she doesn’t withdraw, if this video goes public, the two of you scheming bitches can be buried together.” The call ended. He never said his name but she knew it was Tony.

“Enough!” Storm yelled, immediately calling Brooks. “What have we gotten ourselves into? I just received a ton of death—”

Brooks cut her off. “Threats. Yeah, me too. I’d expected mine to come from Bailey Goodman but the last threat he made was when he ran out of my house. My caller sounded like a woman. Maybe it was Laura. And I still haven’t found out who left eight dozen red roses in my house. I’ve changed all the locks and the security code on my gate again. Everywhere I go I’m looking over my shoulders. This is not what I signed up for, Storm.”

Things were chaotic. Hope was the lucky one. The bartender had saved her from drowning. Perhaps it was time for the Rich Girls to stop playing it safe, take these cheating-ass men down to their knees, make them crawl on all fours, beg for mercy, then beat their asses.

“You’re not dropping out, so if that’s what you’re thinking, forget it.” Storm crossed her fingers as she tried to comfort Brooks. “These men are bluffing. Have you ever heard of a political candidate knocking off their opponent? Now, changing the subject, why didn’t you say something before about the roses? What roses?”

“It wasn’t a bomb. It was flowers. Have you talked to Hope since she gave Johnathon his video?” Brooks asked.

“No,” Storm lied. They’d agreed to silence about the pool incident until the next meeting. They didn’t want Brooks to freak out so close to winning and cause her to change her mind.

“Can you call Chancelor and have him move in with you until after I win this race?”

“Good idea,” Storm said, but knew that wasn’t happening. “Maybe Hope should do the same with Stanley. What about you? Who can we get to move in with you?” Storm asked, worried about her friend.

“Don’t worry about me. I have someone in mind. In case that doesn’t work out, let’s put that topic on the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I can’t worry about this right now. Got enough on my mind. Goodnight.”

“If you need me, call me. Double check your doors and be safe,” Storm said, ending the call then dialing Chancelor. Four months had passed but she wasn’t ready to give up. Maybe it was her pride reaching out for closure.

The phone rang several times. When she finally expected voicemail, he answered. “I forgive you, Storm. I miss you like crazy. I have to see you. We can work this out. Can I come over? Please.”

Storm closed her eyes with relief and whispered, “Yes.”

Tonight would be a good time to tell Chancelor she loved him.

T
he Saturdays were coming closer together and her marriage was steadily falling apart. A home once overflowing with love was now furnished with intolerance. Simultaneously being in love with and hating a spouse had always been something that happened to others until Magnum had caught her fucking Bo.

Morgan stood in the kitchen. “I need you to have everything set up today before the girls arrive.”

Bo held her hand. “You okay? Each week you seem more stressed. Let me take the edge off for you right quick,” he said, unzipping his pants.

“Put that thing away. I’m fine,” Morgan said, pulling away. “What’s it to you that my husband caught us fucking? In three months when the election is over, I’ll be six months pregnant and back to being my normal happy self. That is, if I don’t have an abortion.”

Being next to Bo with or without her clothes on excited her. But their session at the spa had been their last. If she was going to work on resolving her marital problems, she had to abort Bo’s baby and not have sex with him.

“Wait,” he said, touching her stomach.

She moved his hand. “Don’t touch me again.”

“No disrespect. I thought we were just having fun. When were you going to tell me? I apologize for wanting to fuck you, I didn’t know.” Bo tucked himself in, zipped up his pants.

“Liar.”

“True,” he said. “I want to fuck you even more now. My dick is so hard I could bat this honeydew melon to Canada.”

“I can’t believe you showed up.”

“I can. You haven’t fired me. He’s not my husband and it’s not like you didn’t ask me to fuck you in his bed. I’m just following your lead. I mean, if you’re already pregnant for your husband what’s the harm in having a little more fun?”

This wasn’t the time to tell Bo the baby growing inside her was his, especially if she wasn’t keeping it. She couldn’t get mad at him when she was the one that had initiated their affair.

“Fine,” was all she said.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do in addition to cooking for you on Saturdays, don’t hesitate. I’ll even go with you to the doctor to terminate the pregnancy,” he said, heading toward the clubroom with a cart filled with chafing dishes, china, and table settings.

Bo’s biceps pressed against his long-sleeved white chef jacket. Morgan imagined sliding her breasts against his protruding chest and she unexpectedly had an orgasm. Her body buckled and she leaned on the island. Exhaling, she said, “Oh, my, gosh, that man is fine.”

Morgan knew Bo hated when she’d taste food from his decorated dishes but his special crushed pineapple ambrosia smelled almost as irresistible as when her nose was buried in his nuts. Soon as he was out of sight, she stuck her finger in it.

“Um, um, um.” Morgan closed her eyes for a moment, let her palate savor every shred of coconut. “Damn, that’s so good.” The melody in her mouth spread throughout her body, awakening her sexual senses.

Tonight she might have to make one final exception. Her pussy got moist remembering how Bo’s naked body had felt next to hers in the pool. Tonight she wanted to feel like a rich slut. Have him dominate her. One more rendezvous and she’d let him go. She scooped the dessert again.

Bo entered the kitchen. “I know you’re not doing what I think you’re doing. How many times have I asked you never to do that?”

A cynical smile started on the inside then spread across her face.

“I can’t serve that dish. It’s all yours. Eat the whole thing if you want.”

“You can and you will,” Morgan insisted. “It’s not like I have a disease. But I do have a request. We don’t have much time before the girls arrive. And after we’re done, and you’re finished setting up, you can leave.”

“You sure you want me to leave? I mean, the food will be warm but I have to put my finishing touches on it. You know what I mean?”

Morgan stood in front of Bo, unbuttoned his jacket, kissed his nipples. “I think you know what I need. Let’s go shower in the guest bedroom.”

Bo scooped her up in his arms. Navigating the way, Morgan said, “You can put me down now. Take me. Do with me whatever you want. And I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“On your knees,” Bo commanded. He unzipped his pants.

His boxer briefs had a huge hump in front. He slid his dick out through the slit.

Damn, she couldn’t wait until tonight. Morgan sniffed his crotch. “Mmm…smells like the ocean is in there.”

Bo smacked his head against her jaw, then stuck the eye of his head against her nose. “I want you to remember what I smell like when you’re fucking your husband. Now open wide and taste me.”

She did as he commanded. Took in as much as she could. Her lips circled the middle of his shaft.

Pulling out, he said, “Get your naughty ass in the shower.”

It would serve Brooks right and make her jealous if she had to watch what was about to happen. Morgan tossed her clothes on the bed. Bo did the same.

He stepped into the shower behind her, bent her over, held her hips. Hot water beaded against her back as his dick slid inside her pussy.

“Wait, I need to get you a condom. Won’t take but a minute,” Morgan said, trailing water from the shower into her bedroom, to her toy chest. A gold packet was appropriate for Bo.

Hurrying to let him finish what he’d started, she put the condom on him with her mouth, then resumed her position.

“But aren’t you—”

“Shut up,” she said. There were important reasons to protect her unborn.

This time when Bo slid inside, he grabbed her hair. His pubic hairs slammed against her ass. “Take all of this dick. It’s about time you gave me this pussy again. I want this shit every Saturday, you hear me?”

He pulled out, put in the head, then penetrated her slow. He forced his head deep inside her and paused.

Her pussy throbbed. Morgan massaged her clit. “Fuck me, Bo. Call me a slut and fuck me hard. Don’t stop even if I tell you to.”

This wasn’t about making love or being romanced. Morgan’s orgasm was filled with revenge for Brooks and Magnum. She wanted Bo to punish her for fucking him. At the moment she was a slut. Why was her husband giving away the good dick that should’ve been in her pussy?

She wasn’t a slut. It was Magnum’s fault she’d sexed Bo. But Bo had done her husband and Brooks a favor. Bo’s taking control of her released her burning rage to physically harm two of the people she loved most.