So Much More(32)

Kira just turned four.

Loren still hasn’t met her. Acknowledged her.





I fly to Seattle a few times a month. We have sex like rabbits, and then I come home. Empty. Even while I’m with him, I’m empty, because I know I’ll just be cast out when it’s done. I don’t want to be cast out. I deserve to be there with him. The motherf*cking queen to his king.

I used to think I loved Loren, the man, and I think to some degree I did, but what I love most is the idea of Loren, the things that make up Loren. I love his estate. I love his money. I love his power. I love his business prowess. I love his cold, calculating confidence. I love his winner-take-all attitude. He’s basically me with a penis. And who wouldn’t love that. Put us together. Combine our assets. It’s the wet dream of wet dreams, a f*cking financial fantasy.

And it’s time to take it because it’s clear that Loren isn’t going to buy the cow when he gets the milk free.





It’s late, after eleven in the evening. This trip was last minute. Instead of going home from the office, I went to the airport and hopped a flight to Seattle. I’m in a taxi on my way to his estate to show him just how much this bitch’s milk is going to cost him.

The Louis Vuitton bag hanging from my shoulder contains the ticket to my future, my destiny. I’m tired of waiting. I need action. I’m bored with the lack of upward mobility. The documents housed in the files inside have been painstakingly crafted over the past few years, just in case I needed a firm hand to make him see things my way.

As the driver turns onto his street, I dial his cell phone from mine.

He answers on the third ring, “Miranda?”

“Open the gate. I’m here,” I tell him. He loves it when I give commands. He does the same to me. It’s a sparked, charged, battle of wills; a twisted mating ritual.

“You’re here?” he questions, though he doesn’t sound surprised. It’s Friday night, this happens often.

“Right out front,” I say as the driver pulls up to the gate.

“I’m just leaving a business dinner that ran late.” Business dinner means sex with a high-priced escort. I hired a private investigator to follow him. I know what he likes: dark hair, big tits, and kink. I have photographs. Unbeknownst to him, he also has a proclivity for underage girls. Though they look mid-twenties, a lot of them are under eighteen. He’s been a very, very naughty boy.

“Take your time,” I say with a smile.

“I’ll call the housekeeper and have her let you in. Make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Make yourself comfortable means get naked.

“Like I said, take your time,” I repeat.

The gate retracts moments after I end the call, and his housekeeper greets me by name at the front door when I’m dropped off.

After she takes my coat, she says, “Mr. Buckingham will arrive shortly. He asked that you wait for him wherever you like.” She nods politely and walks away.

“I will,” I say to her retreating figure as I watch her ass sashay in her short skirt. When I move in I’m firing her and replacing her with someone older and less attractive. Someone whose ass sashaying is past its prime.

I walk directly to his office and close the double doors behind me. Everything about this room excites me. The overall masculinity is overwhelming and makes my lady parts tingle. The rich wood, the leather, the dark colors, and the faint scent of cigar are a pheromone.

After pouring a snifter of his finest cognac, I remove all of the paperwork and photographs from my bag and spread them out in a showy presentation on his desk. I’ve been busy creating a scandal; the massive desk is covered. After that I strip down to my lace bra and thong, leaving on my stilettos, and take a seat in his oversized, leather desk chair, patiently sipping my drink. I ponder masturbating because this high I’m riding has me uncomfortably at the edge of release, but I wait because I want him to relieve the ache before I crush him. Fuck him before I f*ck him, if you will.

When he finally opens the door, he smiles approvingly at my lack of clothing. “You’re my favorite houseguest, you know that?” He’s removing his clothing, letting each article fall piece by piece as he walks toward me. His naked form is something I’ve always admired. He goes to the gym and runs obsessively; his body looks good if he were half his age.

I stand and remove my thong and bra. I do it slowly, a striptease to wind him up.

He’s watching me with rapt attention as I lie down on his desk atop my masterpiece.

“My favorite,” he whispers as he mounts the end of the long desk prowling toward me on his hands and knees.

When his hands land on either side of my waist, I halt his advance, “Stop right there.”

He does.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” I purr.

He glances down and smiles. I know he smiles for his whores exactly like that, it’s not special anymore.

“Me first.”

His smile widens as he looks up and licks his lips. “You first?” he questions teasingly.

“Now,” I command.

His descent is slow, keeping his eyes locked on mine. It’s part of the buildup with him. The slow pace, the control, he gets off on it. And I can’t deny that I do too.

His mouth devours me. Lips, teeth, tongue—the way they work together is blissful. He throws in a few fingers, and I’m on fire. My hands grip his hair tightly holding him in place while my hips choose to increase the pressure and pace as needed. I’m giving him orders, talking absolute filth and loving it. He’s groaning into me, intoxicated with the act he’s engaged in. “Miranda, I need inside. Now,” he begs.