Dirty Little Secret: A Billionaire Romance Duet - Mika Lane Page 0,8

thought.

Then, I’d gotten Ed’s approval to at least start the story. Going in, I’d figured my chances were only about fifty-fifty. But I won. I was finally going to get the respect I deserved. Not to mention entrance to a sex club.

Hot and bothered by not only my my first victory, but also the prospect of going to a sex club, I scurried to the ladies room at the far end of the building, the one no one ever used but me.

Locked in a stall, I inched my skirt up and panties down, closing my eyes, trying to picture what such a club might be like.

And, of course, what shoes I might wear.

I actually had no freaking idea, but I made a mental note to check Google. There was always something to be found online. But until I did, not knowing made it all the more fun to imagine.

Leaning on the wall, I ran my fingers up and down my soaking slit, spreading the wetness up my lips to my hard clit. With a few strokes, I began to shudder, and went to town until I exploded in a silent orgasm, catching myself on the stall door before my knees buckled and I wiped out on the floor. Not glamorous, but it did the job.

Until recently, I always pictured Tom when I played with myself, but I was done with that douchebag. Now, it was time for something new.

Chapter 5

Varden

I arrived at my tailor’s shop, a place easily and often underestimated. The entrance was nothing more than an old storefront door that said pull. No sign, no indication that two floors up existed the most talented and sought-after custom suit maker in San Francisco.

My city was ground zero for “business casual,” which meant I didn’t need many suits. But I wanted to make sure that my version of business casual was more considered than the khaki Dockers and white, button-down Oxford shirts everyone else wore that they’d picked up at Macy’s. I’d come a long way from my childhood of hand-me-downs and the occasional splurge at Sears.

Ivan, the proprietor, ran to greet me with a handshake and slap on the back.

“Well if it isn’t Varden Gallagher! Good to see you, my man. You’ve been well, I trust?” He was short and stocky, with an exotic-sounding Eastern European lastname. I had no idea where he was from; he’d always avoided answering the question.

“Hey Ivan. Great to see you, too.” I scanned the shop for something that might work for a new trousers or a sports jacket. Across the room, Ivan’s assistant, a big-titted blonde who loved to suck cock in the privacy of the dressing room, waved.

“Hello, Mr. Gallagher,” Olga cooed from across the room. “I saw your name on the schedule for this morning.”

Indeed.

Sounded like she might be game for a little fun…especially if Ivan ran out for a smoke like he frequently did.

He brought over several bolts of fabric.

“These cottons, my friend, are the finest I’ve seen in my long career. I recommend for you half a dozen new shirts made from it. I can get them to you in two week’s time.”

I fingered the fabrics. It was nice, but felt like every other shirt hanging in my closet.

Oh, what the hell.

“Six new shirts would be great. I trust you to take good care of me with your recommendations.”

Ivan clapped his hands. “I love working with you, Varden. You are a man of distinction. Good taste and classy. I wish every client was like you.”

He turned to his associate. “Olga, my dear, please take Mr. Gallagher into the dressing room for a new set of measurements. We want to make sure our records are up-to-date.”

Well. I was going to get my early morning blowie, after all. Six shirts and a cocksucker. What more could a guy want?

“Varden, my friend, please excuse me. I need to step out to address a very disgusting habit. Olga will take good care of you, just as she always does.” He reached for a handshake. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll have the shirts delivered to your office.”

And with that, he grabbed his smokes and split.

Olga was on me before Ivan was even down the stairs, carrying a notebook as if she were really going to re-take the measurements they’d had on file for me for years. Which hadn’t changed a bit.

She led me to the dressing room I’d been in a dozen times before, with mirrors on three sides and a block in the