The Russian Billionaire’s Secret(112)

After another hectic day at work, I went home to take a shower, changed my outfit, then went to the same club again. I had downed half a bottle of wine already, had a cute guy interested in me and eyeing me up, and was about to go home with him. But then I realized it would be my 4th night in a row, and although it is not something that bothers me, I sort of felt like I just wanted to be home. I wanted to spend a night in my bed without a cock up my *. I was exhausted and bored from the redundancy of my sad routine. I had to break the chain, which was what I did every few days. So, I texted my brother.

“Hey, Jackass, coming home tonight?”

“Ver, hiiii, already home. Sup, darling?”

“Nothing much, the usual. Got a date?”

“Ah, no. Wasn’t feeling like it.”

“Yeah, me neither. I am coming home.”

“Alright, see you soon, sis.”

So, I pulled the guy into the restroom and we made straight for the stall. He pushed me down on the seat and pulled out his cock. The entire 7.5 inches standing at attention. I looked up at him and saw him look at me quizzically.

“What?” I said.

“Suck it, baby” he said, getting all macho.

I grabbed his nuts and gave them a little squeeze, “That’s not how it goes with me, baby. I am the boss.”

I pulled him down and locked lips with him. He pulled down my pants, rolled on a condom, spat on his cock, and slowly entered me. He pressed me against the wall and started f*cking me slowly.

In less than two minutes, he turned into a f*ck machine, was panting heavily, sweating, and f*cking me hard. Then he moaned, pulled out, and the whole thing was over in less than 7 minutes.

“See you later,” I said as I exited the stall.

“Wait!” he said.

I heard him, I heard him all right, but I am too good at pretending not to hear. And I was not planning to see him again either. So I exited the restroom, made for the bar, downed a drink, and asked for the bill. I usually pay with the card but I could not wait to go back home so I paid in cash, left the club, and asked the driver to take me home.

“Calling it a night early, huh?” said Lebovitz. That was the driver’s name.

“Yeah, feel like not partying tonight,” I said lazily.

“One of those days… hmm,” he said.

Lebovitz was sort of family. He had been driving me since I joined the company, and when I got promoted, I specifically asked for him. In a way, he was family. I could talk to Lebovitz about anything without having to explain, because he pretty much knew about everything in my life, what I did, where I went, etc.

Chapter 3

One of Those Days

I get back home and decide to ditch the usual microwave dinner and cook a proper meal for Jackson and myself. By the time I serve the meal, Jackson is already in bed watching T.V. I literally drag him out of the bed and push him to the table so that we can have dinner together.

The original plan was to spend quality time with my brother, but having to drag him along to the table has left me exhausted and him feeling rather awkward. I try forcing a fake conversation but it fails, so we eat in silence. After a while, he speaks.

“So, what’s the occasion, what are we celebrating?”

“Nothing really, just wanted to be home and have quality time with the only family I have,” I say.

“Oh, one of those days, huh?” he says.

He helps me clear up the table, and while I do the dishes, he shows up with a pack of beer.

“Care to join me?” he says, bowing all the way down.

“Yeah, sure, what’s the occasion?” I say, and then add, “Sure, why not.”

I stop doing the dishes and we go to the garden in the back of our house and sit on the steps. He opens a can of beer and hands it to me, and then opens one for himself.

For a while we just sit there, drinking beer, enjoying the silence, watching the night, the stars, and enjoying the breeze. Jackson takes hold of my hand without looking at me, and we sit like that for another while. He lets go of my hand.

“Here we are…” he says, staring at the tree in front of him.

“Here we are…” I say.

“How far have we come?” he says, “Pretty far, huh?”

“Hey, we have done very well.”

“Do you ever think about it?”

“About…?” I ask. I know what he means. He is talking about the accident that killed our parents, but I still need to hear it. Hearing it from him somehow makes it real for me, tells me that it actually happened. I somehow forget, or make myself forget, and keep myself busy with work and partying to not be reminded of it.

“You know what,” he says.

“I know.”

“So, do you think about it?”

“I try not to. If I remember it somehow makes me feel unhappy and empty inside. It’s like realizing all of a sudden that you have been missing an arm for a decade.”

“But it does not have to be that way,” he says. “You can look back at it fondly. Wasn’t that our motivation? Wasn’t that what made us come so far in life?”

“It is, it is. I know. But when I think about the future…you know, I am never getting married. That thing has been taken away from me. I can’t walk down the aisle, because I know I won’t have a father to give me away. And I will never have children of my own, because I don’t have a mother to learn from, to turn to for advice.”