Page 2 of Submit (Two Wheeled Psychos #3)

I love Christmas time In New York City. The weather is cold and snowy, with the ground covered by the white fluffy stuff making the world look all clean and virginal, even if it is just temporary.

Once the cabs drive over it and turn the white to that filthy grey slop, everything goes back to normal.

But for the time being, especially in the middle of the night when the streets are quiet, illuminated by all the twinkling lights, it’s a nice, serene, and clean feeling.

The sparkling winter precipitation crunches under my feet as I walk along the city sidewalks lost to my thoughts about the day ahead of me.

Multi-billion-dollar deals are nothing new to me, but the account I’m currently working on has been giving some issues, and I want the merger to go as smoothly as possible.

The massive commission I’ll make on it will be a nice extra padding to my already very wealthy portfolio, and I greedily want it, if for nothing more than the ability to bump my status up from mega-millionaire to billionaire status.

Just the thought of all that cash makes my insides all warm and fuzzy against the cold, blustery winter wind on my face.

Am I a whore for the almighty dollar? Yeah, unapologetically.

My wealth is something I take massive pride in, having grown up in the not so affluent parts of the city, forced to go to public schools, and basically live in squalor with my mother who worked her ass off for very little.

With hard work, I’ve turned it all around, and now have more than most of the world, with money, power, and the security that I’ll never live like that again.

I have everything a man should want, or at least you would think so.

Something is missing though, and I can't quite put my finger on it.

Maybe it's a relationship, the one thing that throughout all of my adult life, I just never seemed to have the time for.

I always focused on work, and how I was going to succeed in my finances and my life.

I never gave much thought to what a life with a woman would be, except for the ladies that I play with when the mood strikes me. And play I do.

For about the same length of time that I’ve been a ruthless financial mogul, I’ve also been a shallow playboy.

I like my toys, and to play with them before discarding them.

I never really understood why I throw them away when I'm done with them.

Maybe it's because I ruin them in the process.

I mean, once they have me, why would they want anything or anyone else?

Seeing them beg for me and not keep me is just something so deviously sexy.

So I guess you could say not only am I a money whore, but I'm also a man whore as well.

A quick glance at my Rolex tells me that I really should be getting to bed and ending this walk through the snowy city.

Sleep is very important. The body needs it just as much as it needs healthy food and regular exercise.

So with a quiet sigh, I turn around on the sidewalk, feeling my shoes slip a little bit in the slush, and I head back to my 19th century townhouse on Cobble Hill.

The foyer is toasty warm as I step inside and strip off my winter coat, shaking the little dusting of snow off the material before hanging it on the rack by the door.

I can hear the crackling of the fire in the den and smell the warm tones of cinnamon from the basket of decorative pine cones on the entranceway table where I throw my keys.

It’s opulent, and cozy, and a place I never could have imagined as a child growing up in the slums of Brooklyn not that far away.

Furry feet pitter patter quietly on the polished hardwood floor as Mabel my Maine Coon cat waltzes up to me, lacing herself around my ankles, meowing up at me, welcoming me home.

Her dark silver and black fur sticks to my pant cuffs, but I could care less, she’s my girl, and I would wear the evidence of her love anywhere.

“Hey baby girl.” I say to her, picking her up, cuddling her large fluffy body in my arms like a child. “You miss me?”

She reaches out for my face with her big paw, and I give her toe beans a kiss before gently setting her back down on the floor and heading down the hall towards the kitchen.

A glass of scotch from my private collection will go a long way to help me calm my brain and get some good shut eye.

The Macallan goes down smoothly, the amber, slightly spicy liquid chilled ever so slightly by the single ice cube I drop in the glass.

With it in my hand, I make my way through the main hall, and up the stairs, my footsteps silenced by the thick burgundy carpet. A right turn at the landing leads me to the master bedroom, my sanctuary, my place of peace and rest, a place never seen by anyone but myself and Mabel.

She’s already on my bed, her long body stretched out, her head on one of the decorative pillows waiting for me, her green eyes watching as I strip off my clothes and set them in the hamper to be washed by my housekeeper when she arrives in the morning.

I like things that are neat and tidy. There will never be clothes on my floor, or clutter around my house. Messes lead to overstimulation of the mind, and I prefer to have things as relaxed and calming in my home. Life outside these walls is hectic enough, I don’t want it inside as well.

“A few minutes baby girl.” I say to the cat, scratching behind her ears, giving one of them a little tug. “Shower first.”

My mind is still whirring about the project at work as I crank on the shower and let it heat up, quickly filling the room with big billows of steam.

The hot water should not only warm my bones from the chill outside, but I’m also hoping it’ll relax the muscles in my shoulders that are tense from the stresses I should have left at the office.

“Fuck, that’s nice.” I sigh as I step into the massive shower, letting the water pour down over my head.

The multiple shower heads rain down on me, their little drops soaking my wavy light brown hair, then running down my face, then my sculpted body.

I slide my hands across my chest, feeling all the corded muscles flex with my movements, appreciating all the hard work I’ve put into my body over the years.

I’m jacked, with maybe five percent body fat at the most, and my soft skin that stretches over the muscles is adorned with the tattoos I’ve put just as much effort into.

The owl done in thick, black, tribal scripture that covers my shoulder and comes down my arm is probably my favorite, except maybe the clock that sits on the back of my fist, a reminder to everyone I give that five fingered necklace to that their time on this earth is dependent on me and how long I decide to keep my grip on their throat.

I watch my inked hand move across my wet skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. I’m relaxing in mind and coming alive in body. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve played, and the way my cock twitches at the gentle brushing of the water across it, it’s time I give it the attention it’s been lacking.

My fingers bump over each ripple of my six pack as I trail them downwards, making me shiver despite the heat of the shower.

It’s almost toe curling good as I wrap my hand around my hard dick and give it a little squeeze, feeling the weight and girth of it against my palm.

The thick veins that travel along its length squish under my grip, all soft and pliable against the hardness underneath them.

“Fuck, it’s been too long.” I grunt as I stroke upwards, moving the silky skin with my pull until my hand cups around the head of my cock.

The first bead of pre-cum coats my knuckles and I spread it around, rolling my eyes back in my head. Leaning against the smooth travertine tile behind me, I let my body relax into the wall as I move my fist up and down, closing my eyelids, and losing myself to the sensations.

Images flash in my mind of the last time I graced my favorite sex club with my presence.

I can see the sexy little blonde thing I played with tied up on the St. Andrew’s cross, her arms bound tightly, her legs spread wide with her toes barely touching the floor.

She cried so nicely for me, with big salty tears streaming down her face as I took her hard enough to make that perfect, tight, naked cunt bleed.

Her cries of pleasure and pain urged me on then, as the memory of them now do the same, making me rub my hand harder on my throbbing cock in time with the screams that I remember falling from her pretty pink mouth.

I’m pulsing in my fist, with my head lolling side to side on the shower wall, and my knees locking as I stroke harder and faster. My dick grows harder and bigger the more I move my hand up and down, squeezing then releasing.

“Mmmm.” I moan out loud. “God yes. So fucking good.”

My voice is raw and gravely, dripping with lust, just like it sounded when I ordered her to cum for me over and over again until she was a used-up pile of flesh and bones, unable to coherently form any words other than “Thank you, Sir”.

Her well-trained response to all the things I put her through that night is one of the sexiest things to fall from a woman’s mouth, especially when she’s breathless and drooling down the front of herself from the amount of times she’s just came.

It’s my favorite three words all wrapped up in a pretty little bow of submission.

I can’t stop my hips from flexing, driving my cock across my knuckles harder until all the leaking precum has been absorbed by my skin and it starts to feel raw.

I like the pain though, the heat of the friction, the feel of the skin tugging, the rough popping of the head over the side of my palm as I go faster.

It makes my breath come in rough pants and my heart thunder in my chest like a fucking galloping horse, charging me towards my climax.

The first burst of cum splatters against the opposite wall, coating it in white that drips down the tile slowly, then the rest pours over my hand, dropping onto the shower floor, where the swirling water catches it, and washes it down the drain at my feet.

“Oh fuck.” I grunt, emptying myself of all the pent-up stress, feeling my body melt as my cock softens in my grip.

The water is still piping hot, and it washes me clean, removing the evidence of my stress relief like it never happened. I spend a few minutes just soaking up the heat into my muscles before getting out and wrapping a fluffy white towel around my hips.

A quick look in the gold rimmed, round mirror over my double vanity shows tired eyes, and a drawn face, even though I feel much better. I check out my tattoos and rub lotion into all of them before combing out my hair and heading back in the bedroom where Mabel waits patiently for me.

She’s stretched out with her tail flicking softly against my pillow as I pull back the luxury Jacquard covers and slip inside.

“Come here baby.” I say, grabbing her around her middle and pulling her into my arms, with her soft fur against my hard chest. “Sleep. Daddy has a big day in a few hours.”

I fall asleep with my best girl in my arms, her head against my lips, her purrs lulling me into something deep and restful, at least until a crashing noise from outside the window jars me back awake.

“What the fuck?” I grumble, tossing the covers back and climbing out of bed.

The sun is barely above the horizon as I pull back the heavy curtains and look out the north facing window into the alleyway behind my house.

The street lamps are still on, even though the light they produce doesn’t do much with the sky starting to lighten with the dawn’s pinks, yellows and oranges.

Scanning the area, looking for something like a raccoon or skunk knocking around the trash cans, I’m surprised to see the form of a human, a woman huddled in the midst of the trash that sits waiting for the collectors.

For such a wealthy area, where the houses are worth millions of dollars, seeing a person out there in the filth is more than a surprise.

“What are you…?” My quiet words spoken to myself are cut off when the woman stands, brushing her hands down the front of her clothes.

Even covered in remnants from trash picking, she’s fucking stunning.

She has long dark hair that sweeps across her back as she cleans herself off and looks too clean to be on a homeless person.

In fact her clothes look nice too. Her jeans fit her snuggly on her curvy hips and narrow waist, and her frilly top dips down low across her ample cleavage.

“Better yet, who are you babe?” I ask, watching her, bringing my hand up to the glass as if I could touch her through it. “And what are you doing in my trash, you pretty little thing?”

She looks around nervously, that beautiful hair sweeping around her, and pauses as if she can sense me.

Her face points up to my second story window and she stares at me.

She’s too far away to see the color of her eyes, but I can see them narrow, then widen in shock at noticing she’s been seen, and by a nude man with a growing cock in his window to boot.

Like a startled deer, she turns face and takes off down the alley, her feet taking her as fast as they can go, and within seconds she’s disappeared around the corner and out of view.

I’m left standing at my window, my fingertips sliding down the glass with a little squeak and a hard on that’s so big it’s painful, wondering what the fuck all that just was.