A Bona Fide Gold Digger Page 14

  Noah tilted his head; the gleaming eyes became dull and narrowed with suspicion. “How much money are you trying to extort from me now?”

  Milan gave a soft burst of laughter and patted Noah’s hand. “I didn’t come to your room to ask for more money.”

  “Oh, no?” He had that raunchy look again, which she again chose to ignore.

  “Not at all,” Milan said, smoothing the hair on the back of his hand. “Darling, I’ve been selfish,” she whispered with a contrite head shake. “I truly value our time together. Only the good Lord knows how much time we have left.” Her words trailed off as she gave a dramatic sigh of regret. “So, instead of wasting time with a big circus of a wedding, I’ve decided to streamline our marriage plans.” She gazed at Noah.

  “Fluff my pillow, would you, my dear?” he asked, though they both knew she’d just been given an order.

  Milan readjusted the pillows, but it took a large amount of self-restraint to not take one of the pillows and smother the slimy bastard to death.

  “Go on,” Noah said when Milan resumed her seat.

  “I want to have our wedding ceremony here at home. There’s no reason for you to leave your room. The minister can marry us right here.” She paused and gave a hand gesture. “I was thinking we could have a bedside ceremony when the ring is ready in about three weeks.”

  “Bedside ceremony?” Noah asked, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Splendid idea,” he remarked a moment later.

  Ugh! She hated the way he spoke. “Splendid idea!” He’s so freakin’ full of it.

  Still, despite Noah’s annoying patterns of speech, Milan was delighted that he had so readily agreed. Completely satisfied with the bedroom encounter, Milan stood. She gave Noah a quick peck on the cheek and turned to leave.

  He cleared his throat. “My dear?” The way the words were formed in a question caused Milan to involuntarily bristle.

  She swiveled around to face him. “Yes, darling?” she asked pleasantly, though she wanted to pimp smack him for delaying her departure. She had a date with her golden dick—a mechanical quickie to tide her over until Gerard gave her the real thing.

  “I know it’s been quite a while…” Noah wore an awkward expression. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate a soothing.”

  A soothing! Oh no! She’d thought those days were over. She’d rather plunge her finger into a pot of boiling water than stick it up Noah’s sagging ass. Thoughts zoomed inside her head as she tried to think of a way to get out of the distasteful act.

  “Use the pineapple massage oil,” Noah told her. The finality in his tone informed her that he intended to have his way. With amazing agility, Noah flipped over. Lying on his stomach, he closed his eyes and waited.

  Furious, Milan yanked the doors of the armoire open. That book-reading nurse had better get prepared to add anal massaging to her job description because this would be the last freakin’ time Milan touched Noah’s nasty ass.

  Milan found Ruth Henry kicked back in the library, engrossed in a book. She sprang the news of the soothing as gently as she could.

  “There’s nothing clinical about anal penetration. It’s improper,” Ruth Henry sputtered, objecting to the revision of her nursing duties. “I refuse.”

  “Suit yourself,” Milan said with a shrug. She held out her hand, gesturing for the nurse to hand over the leather volume she’d been reading. Ruth Henry reluctantly relinquished the book. “I doubt that your next assignment will be this easy,” Milan said with a sneer. “Where else will you be allowed to idly wile away your work day lounging inside your patient’s extensive personal library?”

  Ruth Henry looked away, worried. Finally, she met Milan’s gaze. “How often do I have to administer this, uh, soothing?”

  “I’d like you to give Mr. Brockington a ten-minute daily back rub—once a day after he’s had lunch—after which you can give his soothing.”

  Reflexively, the nurse flinched. Her eyes darted about the room, looking at everything except Milan as she considered the immoral proposition. “I’ll have to wear surgical gloves,” she finally said. “I insist,” she blurted before Milan had spoken a word.

  Milan shrugged. “Whatever.” She handed over the book and Ruth Henry clutched the tome as if it were a long lost-lover. What a nutcase! “Oh, one more thing. Make sure you thoroughly clean Mr. Brockington after he ejaculates,” Milan said calmly, as though asking the woman to make sure she changed Noah’s soup-splattered bed clothes after every meal. The nurse drew back, balking at the idea.

  The sudden buzz of her vibrating cell phone made Milan’s heart flutter. She dismissed the idiot nurse from her mind and breezed out of the room.

  “Hello,” she whispered into the phone.

  “Hey, it’s Gerard.” His voice, rich, deep, and exotic, penetrated her ear.

  “Hi.” She sounded demure. Girlish.

  “Can we meet?”

  “Of course,” she said without hesitation. If he’d told her to jump, she would have asked eagerly, “How high?” It was the most incredible feeling, this sudden desire to please.

  “Cool. Where would you like to train? Your place, mine, or at the gym?”

  “Your place.”

  “I charge one hundred and seventy an hour, but I have to be up front with you. I expect you to commit to training at least three times a week. Can you make that commitment?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You’ll sign a contract?”

  “No problem.”

  Gerard was direct; he got straight to the point. Milan liked that. She liked the idea of a man taking charge. He gave her his address. “Be prepared to work hard,” he warned her. “See you at seven.”

  Milan, dressed in red-and-gray designer sweats, arrived at Gerard’s house at seven o’clock sharp. She rang the bell. Waited. No answer. She pressed the bell three more times. Still no answer. She checked her watch. It was only three minutes after seven, but a gusty wind sent her running to the warmth of her car. Assuming Gerard had gotten tied up in traffic, she decided to give him a little more time.

  Fifteen minutes later, her cell rang. “Listen, I got tied up with one of my clients. I’m in traffic now, about a half-hour away. We can reschedule if you want to…” Gerard paused, “or you can wait.” He sounded as if he were testing her.

  “I’ll wait.” Milan couldn’t believe she’d uttered those words. But there was no denying it, she wanted to see Gerard too badly to balk about the delay. She’d work out a little—lift some light weights if he insisted—but she preferred to cut to the chase. She wanted to throw up her legs and let Gerard pump some iron into her hot hole.

  Forty-five minutes later, Gerard rolled up in a shiny black Land Rover. He noticed Milan and honked the horn in greeting. Milan turned off the ignition and excitedly scrambled out of her car. She wore a broad grin to assure Gerard that she honestly didn’t mind having to wait. Why she felt the need to be so damn accommodating was a mystery. She, a paying client made to wait, was smiling in gratitude that her trainer had finally arrived almost an hour late.

  Gerard lived alone in a sizeable, well-maintained, and nicely furnished single home in the Overbrook section of Philly. He wasn’t a Beverly Hills fitness trainer to the stars, so she couldn’t help wondering how he was able to afford the expensive truck and his impressive home. Perhaps he’d inherited the property, Milan surmised as Gerard led her down to the basement, which served as a fully equipped gym.

  “I’ll take your coat,” he said as he pulled off his own soft leather one. He hung both coats on a rack in a corner and pointed to a chair that was placed next to a desk. “Have a seat.” Milan sat. Gerard pulled open a drawer and retrieved a one-page contract. “You can look this over.”

  Milan presumed the contract was standard—something downloaded from the internet. She pretended to peruse it, but couldn’t keep her wandering eyes on the page. Filled with desire, she watched Gerard as he paced across the tiled floor. His high, tight ass aroused
her. When he stooped to pick up a blue plastic mat, Milan fantasized about squeezing his ass while his hard sweaty body pounded against her soft willing flesh. Damn, she needed some dick!

  Gerard took the contract after she affixed her signature. “I’ll give you a copy at our next session. Is that okay?”

  Mesmerized by his masculine good looks, she could only nod as he placed the mat on the floor.

  “Lift your top, let me see your abs,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Self-consciously, Milan unzipped the stylish gray jacket and then raised the red cotton top. Though she didn’t have a potbelly or anything, she was a bit ashamed of her lack of muscle tone.

  Gerard patted Milan’s tummy and frowned. “This area needs some work. Okay, let’s get started. Hit the mat.”

  Milan didn’t want to hit the mat, she wanted to hit the bed and tangle up the sheets. But she sweetly obliged, giving Gerard twenty painful leg lifts and twenty agonizing crunches. She couldn’t hold her smile in place when he ordered her to do twenty bicycle maneuvers.

  When she reached the last three torturous movements, she collapsed and said pleadingly, “I can’t do anymore.” Her face was contorted in an awful scowl; she knew she was not a pretty sight. And she was sweating profusely. Perspiration soaked her scalp and trailed down her forehead, drenching her hair and ruining her makeup.

  “Three more!” Gerard insisted in the booming voice of a drill sergeant.

  Emotionally, she found his commanding personality a complete turn-on, but physically Milan could not take anymore. “Listen,” she said, breathlessly. “I’m really out of shape; I don’t think I can do any more.” She repositioned herself and grimaced as she struggled to rise to her feet. Her stomach muscles were cramping, they hurt like hell. “Why don’t I just pay for the session,” she offered, adding another facial contortion to express the depths of her pain.

  Feet spread apart, arms folded across his broad chest, Gerard peered at Milan, a frown etched into the corners of his mouth. “You insult me.”

  “How?” she asked, clearly astonished.

  “I didn’t rush through traffic to watch you plod through a few exercises,” Gerard spoke angrily. His eyes blazed, he seemed barely able to suppress his rage. “I didn’t agree to train you so you could waste my time,” he scolded. “I take fitness very seriously. I thought you were ready to make a lifestyle change, but I was obviously wrong.” Gerard stepped around the desk, grabbed the contract, and ripped it half. “Keep your money.” He turned around. “I’ll get your coat and walk you to the door.”

  “No!” The word burst from her lips without warning. The intensity of Gerard’s anger was insane. There was a strong possibility that she was insane also. But it didn’t matter, her pussy was on fire and she was willing to do whatever it took to get back into her trainer’s good graces. “I want to commit. Really,” she declared, nodding. Ignoring her throbbing stomach muscles, she dropped down on the mat. “I’ll do it. I’ll give you the last three.” Bending at the waist, she pulled her limbs into place and twisted her torso, alternately touching elbow to knee. “One, two, three,” she shouted as she performed each repetition.

  Holding her coat, Gerard stood over her, regarding her with renewed interest. Milan saw approval in his eyes and smiled. “Ten more,” he said softly. There was a hint of tenderness in his tone, which seemed to promise a lengthy, thick, and long-lasting dick.

  Motivated by the unspoken promise, Milan grunted and groaned through ten more excruciating exercises. At the completion, Gerard reached for Milan’s hand. Gently, he pulled her to her knees and then released her hand.

  Why didn’t he want her to stand? Confused, she lifted her chin, her eyes searched his face.

  “Milan, do you understand the nature of our relationship?” Gerard’s voice was silk.

  She didn’t understand, but was afraid to admit it. Not wanting him to shove her coat into her arms and show her to the door, she nodded vigorously. Though the kneeling position made her feel utterly ridiculous, she sensed that Gerard would disapprove if she stood. So she remained on her knees, her face at crotch level. Gerard took a step forward. He pressed the back of her head, burying her face into his crotch.

  She clung to him. Feeling his dick twitch and spring to life was bliss. At first she nuzzled his crotch, inhaling deeply, drawing in and memorizing his scent. Hesitantly, her lips touched the nylon fabric. She felt an urgent need to ravage him with her tongue. Hungrily, she began to lick his fabric-covered crotch, impatient for him to pull his pants down and stuff his penis into her mouth, choke her, fill her aching stomach with his healing ejaculation.

  For the first time in her life, Milan felt uninhibited. Free. Free to give, free to be weak, free to totally submit. She was ready and willing to do anything and everything to please her trainer. Ah, so that was the nature of their relationship. She looked up at him. Enlightenment shone on her face.

  “I’m proud of you, Milan,” Gerard said, smoothing her damp hair while Milan resumed licking his fabric-covered dick. “I’m going to prepare a new contract. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. Her urges were unbearable; she craved his taste. Acting purely on impulse, she reached out. Slipping her urgent fingers beneath his waistband, she gave a slight tug at the elastic.

  But Gerard took a step back, causing her hands to slide away. He pulled her up to her feet and offered Milan her coat. “I’ll call you when the new contract is ready, and then I’ll put you on my schedule,” he said, his tone dismissive.

  A few minutes later, Milan stood outside in the cold, still sexually frustrated and with aching abdominal muscles. What had just happened? Hadn’t she done everything he’d asked? Why wasn’t she upstairs in Gerard’s bedroom, stripped naked, fucking him until her pussy was raw?

  Hoping Gerard would have a change of heart, Milan sat for a few moments inside her car. Then an attention-grabbing yellow Hummer pulled up and parked behind Milan. An Asian woman wearing a full-length chinchilla got out of the flashy vehicle, dashed past Milan’s car, and hurried up the steps to Gerard’s home.

  Milan watched through the frosted windshield as Gerard opened the front door. He and the woman embraced briefly in the entryway and then went inside. A sharp pang of envy knifed into the pit of her stomach as Milan drove off.

  The Asian woman was probably a client of long standing, she told herself as she headed back to Noah’s home in Radnor. It was just a polite, meaningless hug.

  Determined to feel better, Milan resolved that her next encounter with Gerard would be a two-hour session. She’d work her butt off. And most important, she’d make sure she was his last client of the day.

  chapter twenty-two

  With agonizingly slow movements and cradling her stomach as if she’d recently undergone a caesarian section, Milan took faltering steps into the kitchen. The simple act of opening the refrigerator door caused her to wince in pain.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Irma asked, eyeballing Milan as she poured a cup of coffee.

  “What’s wrong with me is none of your business, actually,” Milan snapped. “I don’t want coffee but you can make yourself useful and get me a glass.”

  Irma speedily retrieved a floral-etched crystal tumbler from the cabinet and gave it to Milan.

  “By the way,” Milan said, narrowing her eyes coldly. “I want you to know that I’m onto your scheme.”

  Irma jerked in shock. “What scheme?”

  Milan poured orange juice into the tumbler. “I’ve gained weight, thanks to you.”

  Irma’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s right. I blame you for this agonizing pain. My body’s sore from doing a zillion abdominal exercises, trying to get rid of this excess weight.”

  Irma looked Milan up and down. “I don’t see any extra weight. But even so, what do I have to do with it?”

  “You’re spiking my food…possibly my morning coffee as well.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”


  “You’re trying to make me as plump and undesirable as you.” Milan paused and waited for Irma to react.

  Irma accepted the insult without batting an eye. “What could I put in your food that would make you gain weight? I give you the food you ask for and I cook it the way you want it. If you want it steamed, that’s what I do. When you tell me to bake your fish and chicken and whatnot, that’s exactly how I fix it. If you’re gaining, it must be from the extra snacking you do up in your bedroom or when you’re outside of the house,” Irma said saucily.

  “I don’t snack.” Milan snorted with disgust. “You’ve been putting something in my food, Irma. I don’t know what, but I will not eat another morsel cooked by you.”

  “That’s fine with me!” Irma responded and clucked her tongue.

  “You’re not indispensable, you know. Anyone can make Noah’s soup! I’m going to speak to him this instant. I’m going to tell him that I can no longer tolerate your impudence. He’s going to have to terminate you, or he can find himself another wife.” Milan chugged down the orange juice.

  “I wouldn’t bother Mr. Brockington right now, if I were you.”

  “Who are you to tell me when I should bother my fiancé?” Milan put a hand on her hip.

  Irma waddled over to Milan and spoke softly. “He was on the phone when I took up his breakfast.”

  “So what? He was probably speaking with his attorney.”

  “Well…I don’t think so. He was crying…” Irma paused to let her words sink in. “Blowing his nose and bawling something awful.”

  “What did you overhear?” Milan asked, suddenly curious.

  “He told the person on the other end of the phone that nobody loved him; that there wasn’t a single soul on this earth who truly cared about him.”

  Milan couldn’t deny that Noah’s words were true, but she needed to convince him that she cared. She’d have to start behaving in a loving manner. She couldn’t risk him changing his mind about their marriage. With her heart set on having Gerard—buying huge blocks of his time to keep him to herself—having access to Noah’s money was more important than ever.