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“I’ll let you ask those questions of Sebastian in person. I gave him your contact info. He’s arriving in Boston tomorrow and will be in touch.”
My pulse escalates. I’ve had dinner with the man many times over the years with my father, but he’s paying me yet another compliment by trusting me to meet with Korvic alone.
Before I can ask any more questions, my father adds, “Not only is this an opportunity for you to build on our business relationships, but I transferred the fifty grand Korvic offered for your help into your personal account this morning. It sounds like it’s just a down payment for your assistance. Depending on how the year goes, there could be more coming your way at the end of the year.”
I know how lucky I am. Money has never been something I’ve been short of. Still, as a twenty-one year old, I won’t turn down an extra 50K in my personal account. It will help me upgrade from cheap beer to high-end bourbon for my senior year.
Funny. I’m suddenly much less apathetic about the coming semester.
Bonus Scene #3
Dex - Twenty-one Years Old
It’s late. I needed to be on the road hours ago, but the little talk with my father was too important to cut short. Glancing at my watch, I curse, knowing rush hour traffic is easily going to add an hour to my trip back to my off-campus condo in Cambridge, just outside Boston.
I rush out of the elevator as soon as it hits the ground floor of The Whitney. My friends at school give me shit for living in a hotel but, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s all I’ve ever known and glancing around at the opulent lobby, a wave of homesickness hits and I haven’t even left yet.
One more year and then I can stay home for good. I’ve put in three years already. If it were up to me, I’d drop out and just stay in the city to work full-time alongside my father in our family business. But despite turning twenty-one over the summer, my father reminds me often that staying home or going back isn’t up to me, and this morning’s revelations about my added goals for the year only make it more important for me to return to Harvard.
“There you are! I was afraid you’d left without saying goodbye.”
The feminine squeal belongs to Sara, one of the many front desk receptionists at The Whitney. Little does she know, I had absolutely planned on leaving without seeing her again.
I feel her grabbing my forearm, pulling me to a stop in the middle of the grand lobby. I made the mistake of fucking her once at the beginning of summer break and she hounds me for repeat performances every chance she gets. While not the biggest problem in the world, I prefer to do the hunting when it comes to sexual encounters.
“Hi Sara. I don’t really have time for long goodbyes today. I should have been on the road a couple hours ago.”
“But I thought you said you were going to come down to say goodbye last night when I got off shift,” she pouts.
I hate clingy women. The only thing that has kept Sara in my good graces is she’s never tried to bring emotions or commitment into the equation. She’s only interested in being my fuckbuddy… and there’s a part of me that respects her for that.
“Yeah, well I was busy packing my shit to leave today.” I try to pull my arm free again, but she’s determined.
“Well lucky for you, I just went on my lunch break. How about you let me send you off with a smile on your face?”
This little partnership of ours has more than run its course, but regardless, I am a healthy twenty-one year old man. While I have no problems finding women to fuck when I’m in the mood, finding partners who don’t have an ultimate goal of getting a ring on their fucking finger is starting to get a bit harder.
I glance at my watch. It’s already too late to get out of the city before the Friday afternoon exodus north. Why the hell not.
I grab her hand, pulling her into motion toward the elevator, nodding at the bellman we pass on the way there, a grin on his face as he knows exactly what we’re up to.
Only when I push the button to the tenth floor does she finally complain. “Why are we going to ten? Why don’t you ever take me to your suite?”
Hell, if I’m going to tell her, it’s because she works for the Belov side of The Whitney and my suite is in the Cohen part of the hotel. We may do business under the same roof, but our clients and employees do not co-mingle. Ever.
“We only have time for a quickie, that’s why. Do you want to do this or not?” I ask, ready to walk away if she bitches any more.
“Fine.” She pouts as the doors open to the tenth floor. I know every detail about what happens under the roof of The Whitney and that’s how I know the housekeeping team is long gone from this floor, leaving the large supply closet locked and closed. When we get to the door at the end of the hall, I take out my master key and open the electronic lock with a quick swipe.
The houseman had left the lights on and for a brief second, I worry someone is still working on the floor, but the shelves are fully restocked with linen, towels, and cleaning supplies. All personnel should be gone until the turndown team comes back in a few hours. The lingering smell of a cigarette hangs in the air, no doubt from one of the employees smoking on their break.
Wasting no time, I throw my backpack to the floor and grab Sara by her biceps, pushing her to her knees in front of me. The grin on her face reminds me how much the little whore loves rough treatment, just another reason I haven’t kicked her to the curb already.
My fingers are on my belt, unbuckling it and yanking my jeans and boxer briefs down in a fast motion. My cock is already expanding, looking forward to the unexpected treat Sara’s mouth is about to provide.
Like the greedy little slut she is, she lunges forward just as I thrust my hips, filling her throat with my growing erection in the first plunge. My low groan of pleasure is involuntary as Sara puts her tongue to good use on the underside of my shaft.
Carnal pleasure pushes all other thoughts out of my brain. My hips move in a fast rhythm as I chase my growing orgasm. If I wasn’t such a dick, I’d slow down and try to reciprocate some of the pleasure, but I never said I wasn’t an asshole. And anyway, I’ve played this game with Sara often enough to know that she’s already got her hand up her skirt, flicking that little clit of hers so she’s ready to explode herself by the time I shoot my wad down her throat.
