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Chapter One

Tarek

T hey say a vice is a wicked or immoral behavior. The person who wrote that definition never had a-ten-toes-curling orgasm while high off a drug of choice. There is nothing wicked or immoral about hearing a woman moan from the pleasure she is receiving from her partner. However, your vices, do plateau. Which, unfortunately, is where I am in life. I have plateaued. As my head sinks deeper into the velvet covered armchair, I feel more interested in the curls of smoke drifting up to the ceiling than joining the three women on the rotating bed.

The door opens and the clicking heels alert me that a new person has entered the room. Lifting my head, I drag my body up, in time to see my personal waitress coming in with a gold platter carrying my bourbon and cigarettes. I observe the thin delicate hand of the waitress as she places my drink and box of cigarettes on the table near me. What catches my attention is a small silver box.

“What is that?” I ask as I take a sip of my bourbon. Before she could answer, a moan and a giggle flows through the room.

“This was sent courtesy of Mr. Brooks Reed,” she says as she places the box next to my cigarettes.

“Hmm, the brothers are here? How many pills?” I ask, opening the box, seeing the white pills.

“Only four pills, Mr. Fairisles. The oldest is not here,” she replies politely.

I throw the round pills into my hand, staring at the simple lines and white dust that cover it. It’s called BX3, developed and sold by the Reed brothers, among other things. Is it legal? Maybe? Maybe not. Has it been FDA approved? Why go through all that hassle? It has been clinically tested. Has it made me and the Reed boys lots of money? It sure has. Think of BX3 as if LSD and Viagra had a baby. It’s untraceable in your blood after hours. It gives you a high. That high manifests into mental, visual and auditory hallucinations. With the speed of the blood pumping through your body, you could fuck a damn horse if you want to.

“Also, we had a little problem with the Cloud servers, but it was fixed,” she states.

“Good. That is all, thank you.” I don’t bother to look at the server as she leaves. As I shift the pills in my palm, I don’t feel the need to take it. But what the fuck…why not?

I throw a pill onto my tongue and wait for the bitter taste to spread. I close my eyes, waiting for the drug to kick in. It feels like I am sitting there for an eternity. No tingles. The ground doesn’t shift beneath my feet as it normally does. Looking down at the remaining pills, I wonder if Brooks sent me a lower grade of BX3.

“Can we have it, Mr. Fairisles?”

The naked brunette breaks my train of thought. She kneels on the bed. On cue, the other two women kneel with their backs to each other. With their hands on their knees, heads thrown back, mouths wide open, their faces are illuminated by the single light that shines above their head.

On a different day, on a different night, this would have intrigued me. Tonight, it doesn’t, but who am I to deny someone else’s pleasure? My phone rings in the jacket thrown on the opposite side of the room. I wonder who is calling me? I left Glasshouse after closing and I came straight here to my club, Nowhere.

Finally, the phone stops ringing as I stand and walk slowly over to the bed.

Planting my foot on the dark carpeted stair, I stare at the women as the bed rotates slowly. If an ordinary man saw them, he would think God took his time with these three. They are all equally beautiful, all sculpted by the hands of a doctor somewhere in LA, not God. Perky full breasts, flat smooth stomach, and round cute asses. All three are a cookie-cutter-image of each other. All beautiful, all the fucking same.

“Stretch your tongues out,” I command. Their pink tongues strains longer as I place a pill on each of their tongues. They look like baby birds with mouths wide open.

“Swallow,” on command, they all swallow and collapse onto the bed, giggling.

Before I can step on the bed, my phone rings again.

Sighing, I move to the corner of the room, I snatch my jacket off the floor, search for my phone and answer it. The jacket makes a “plop” sound as it slips out of my grip.

“What?” I don’t bother to look to see who is calling. No one has the authority over me to make me quiver.

“Sir, Ms. Veronica Tate is at the house. Should I send her away?” Walter, as always, sounds clear and calm.

I look back at the ladies on the bed. One is already between the legs of another, while the other has gone to an antiqued Chester drawer searching for only God knows what.

I should have the feeling of wanting to hang up and get back to bed. Rubbing my forehead, I wait for the desire to enter into my body. Nothing, zip.

“I give up,” I mutter, bending to pick up the jacket again.

“What is that, sir?” Walter asks.

“Nothing. I will be there soon.” I close the phone, stuffing it into my pocket. With my jacket over my arm, I stroll over to the bed.

“Ladies, as much as I want to stay, I have to go.” I give them a charming, empty smile.

As expected, they all clamor, rising to the bed with their hands outstretched, begging me to stay.

“Do you have to go?” The brunette asks, as I hold her chin and peck her softly on her lips.

“I do,” I reply.

The red head is vying for my attention, coming up to her knees and softly turning my head to hers.

“We are just getting started. Your new girl can wait.” She closes her eyes and places a soft kiss on my lips. It was so practiced, so fake? Is that what it is? Does it all feel fake?

“I would love to stay, but... Enjoy your night, Bella.”

After kissing the last one, I give them a small salute and I exit the room. Now I have to get home to end a situationship that never should have started in the first place.

The halls are dimly lit, accent lights hover over pieces of erotic art. The first painting that catches my eye is one by famed artist Gustav Klimt. Some people may be aware of his famous painting called The Kiss. I needed something more scandalous on these walls and Gustav Klimt has never been one to shy away from a scandal. I was in England when I attended a party hosted by Lord Tristan Blackstone, and after an unnecessary game of strip poker, I won this painting. The painting depicts a woman with her dress thrown over her knee as she masturbates. Her hand is placed on her vulva, but the reality is, nothing is really seen. In fact, it’s your mind that imagines the scene for you. It’s fucking brilliant if you ask me.

Walking further down the halls, I’m presented with only silence. When people hear the words sex club, they think of different themed rooms and moans streaming through the walls. They always think people are fucking moaning.

The truth is, yes there are themed rooms. My favorite just happens to be one made for voyeurs, people who get turned on by watching. We have what we like to call viewing galleries for that. It’s really a win-win situation because the exhibitionist, the attention seekers, they welcome voyeurs with open arms.

Rooms do vary. Nowhere has five floors. The fourth floor is reserved for VIPS. The ornate design of the gold and black bird cage elevator stands before me. This was the main reason I bought this building; this beautiful elevator was created by an old company called Otis. I paid a hefty sum to have the glass paneling and some of the steel replaced. It adds a timeless sophistication to Nowhere. I shrug into my jacket, pulling at my lapels and sleeves.

Closing the gate in front of me, I press the G for the ground floor.

The elevator hums as it gently ushers me down. Nina Simone's sultry voice echoes as through the halls as the elevator come to a halt.

Opening the elevator gate, I walk into the bar and theater area. No one pays attention to my presence. Not that I can blame them, since Teresa, a new Brazil burlesque hire, dances across the stage with two large white fans. Hiding her voluptuous body behind her fluttering feathers, she drives patrons into a frenzy as she teases the fans slowly her over her legs, but never over her ass.

“T,” someone shouts. Not many people call me T. As a matter of fact, it’s a selected few. But that deep baritone dipped in honey can only come from one person.

“Jasp.” I move to the bar, smiling at my childhood friend Jasper. Who has now grown a full beard, and his noticeably long hair is wrapped on top of his head, only to showcase his undercut.

I slap his shoulders, slipping onto the barstool next to him, and he sips on what I am sure is white rum and sprite. It happens to be his favorite drink.

“Well, if it isn’t the rock star of the 21 st century,” I tease.

“I hate that fucking article so much. I can wait to get my hands on that fucking reporter. He is dead,” Jasper grunts.

I nod to my bartender Candy and within seconds, a bourbon and ice slides in front of me.

“I thought your ass got a fucking DUI. Are you supposed to be drinking?” I ask, chuckling to myself since I know that very question is going to piss him off.

“Fuck that DUI.” He snaps “I’m a fucking adult. I drink when I want to.” In defiance, he knocks back the glass of rum and taps his finger on the bar for another.

“Where is your sexy librarian babysitter?” I glance around the room expecting to spot Jasper’s curvy little shadow hovering nearby.

He lowers his head and shakes it slowly. Lifting his glass, he sips on the white rum. He fixes his stare on Teresa as she throws her bra at some lucky bastard in the audience.

“I fired her. The label replaced her with Bruno across there.” He flicks his hand at the tall man standing in the corner.

I chuckle. “You passed up a great pair of legs and ass for a bald Swedish looking motherfucker? What the hell did you do?”

Jasper shrugs. “I lived.”

His reply is simple, but I get it. “The Reed brothers are here. Get your fix, Brooks is—” My phone vibrates in my pocket. Taking it out, I see the contact named Heaven on Earth.

Jasper dips his head down to see my phone. “Who the fuck is Heaven on Earth?”

I end the call, pushing my phone back into my pocket. “A new girl named Veronica.”

“But Heaven on Earth? Is she that good? Is she going to get one of your famous necklaces?” Jasper asks.

“Heaven on Earth is an abbreviation,” I mutter as I dip my hands into a bowl of cashews. Chucking the nuts, I throw them back in my mouth, waiting for Jasper to catch on.

“An abbreviation? For Heaven On Earth?” he replies. I nod as Jasper’s smile widens as the meaning dawned on him. “You motherfucker.”

I shrug, finishing off my bourbon.

“See you Saturday,” I reply, taking my money out of my pocket. I drop a hefty tip on the walnut counter.

Jasper nods. “Saturday.”

It doesn’t take me long to get to the front of the building. I stand near the front podium as the valet maneuvers my car to the bottom stairs.

As I slide into the buttery leather of my BMW, my world shifts and tilts and I laugh. Finally, the BX3 kicks in. It’s about to be an interesting night.

* * *

“And they say you can’t drive high.” I press the button and turned the car off. My head feels huge. This BX3 is amazing. I feel like I am floating on air. The car door opens as Walter stands to the side.

“Welcome home, sir,” Walter says as his shoulders are thrown back, nose held high up to the air.

“Thanks, Walters.” I place my feet flat onto my graveled driveway. All I have to do is stand, but my knees are locked. Shit, my legs. I stand holding on to the car door for balance. The stairs look lower than usual, two guardian statue lions sitting on their concrete thrones, turn their heads toward me and sneer.

“Are you okay, sir?”

Am I okay? Fuck, no. I haven’t been okay in years. “I’m fine, old chap. Where is she?”

“Upstairs in your bedroom, sir,” Walter says, the sound of the car door closes behind me. “Do you need help, sir?”

I drag my hand down my face and smirk. Do I need help? Clearly, I fucking do. My mind, soul and body feel fucked. “No, Walter. I’m fine.”

“Very good, sir.”

I slowly climb the stairs watching as it melts away from under my feet. God it’s hot, I wipe away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. As I enter through my mansion door, I pull my jacket off, leaving it behind on the floor.

“It’s like a furnace in here. Walter please lower the temperature.” I didn’t realize the distance of my front door to the main stairs till today. It feels like I walked a mile when I finally hold on to the stone railing and make my way up to my bedroom.

I stroll casually down the halls, looking at the paintings of my ancestors who are staring down at me in disappointment. Flipping them the bird, I continue floating down to my bedroom.

As I reach for the handle, the door instantly opens. “Tarek I have been waiting for nearly two hours for you.”

Veronica sounds angry for some reason, I thought she would be sleeping by now, not that it matters.

I move past her, pulling my shirt out of my pants, and unbuckling my belt, I wobble to the chair near my bed and sit.

“I’m not talking to you today,” she mumbles.

“Noted,” I reply.

“Aren’t you even a little curious why?” She stomps and folds her arms over her chest.

“Well, I figured you’d tell me through interpretive dance later.”

“Tarek Fairisles.” Her jaw clenches as she speaks through her teeth.

She paces in the middle of the room, flailing her hands as she talks. Her arms are getting longer, looking like spaghetti. Speaking about spaghetti, I wonder if the pesto I made two nights ago is still in the fridge. Maybe I can toss it with some roasted chicken breast and a caprese salad on the side. Sprinkle it with some salt, pepper and olive oil. Garlic bread, I need garlic bread, I can make garlic butter quickly, bam on the ciabatta, toast it. We got garlic bread.

“Tarek are you even listening to me?” Veronica’s pleated skirt swishes between my open legs. I didn’t even see when she moved.

“No” I mutter, slouching down in my chair, head tilted back, fully committed to not caring. My chin feels heavy as Veronica pulls it down. My eyes meet her green ones. “Are you high?”

“As a fucking kite, yes.” I nod and I could hear liquid sloshing around my head.

She screams and begins to rant some more. Her voice begins to resemble that teacher’s voice from Charlie Brown. Wah, wah, wah, wah. Like what the fuck is she saying. All I know is I need to shut this down now. Maybe even get my cock sucked.

“Do you know on my phone I have you saved as Heaven On Earth?”

As expected, she stops mid rant and stares at me. Her dark tendrils escape her chignon.

“Am I really?” she asks her voice sounds soft and breathy. I got her. Now it’s time to reel her in. I tap my lap for her to sit.

As expected, she rushes to my lap and caresses my face. “Am I really saved as your Heaven On Earth.”

“Yes, but…” I softly touch her cheeks with the back of my hand. I grimace with false regret; it’s sad that she thinks she means that much to me.

“We are done, aren’t we?” she whispers.

I lift her chin and stare into her eyes, “You know what this was when we first started.”

She breaks down in tears and presses her face into my neck.

I squeeze her tightly, trying to provide comfort. I sigh knowing that I am hungry, and I’m stuck rocking a grown woman.

She presses both hands on my clavicle, eyes locked on my mouth.

“Since its our last time,” she says.

I let her go. She slithers down my lap, settling on her knees between my legs. My head drops back into the chair. I gasp as I feel her cold fingers wrap around me, unfolding my length before she takes me into her warm mouth. I reach to down touching the top of her head, dictating her rhythm.

“I was right Veronica you are really Heaven on Earth,”

* * *

PENNY

“I can’t believe you did this to me Pen. My boss? Fucking really and I know it was you who got me fired.” The angry voice from my phone echoes throughout my living room.

“You’re so pretty. Look at your new flowers,” I pump my copper can mister, water lightly falls on the leaves of my orchids and succulents. My finger grazes the soft white and pink petals of my orchids.

“To delete this message press one, to,” I didn’t give it time to ask me to save, I press one on my watch to delete the message.

My fiddle leaf fig plant is almost touching the ceiling. To believe I got this from Home Depot three years ago and now its thriving, casually trying to break through my roof. Life is crazy.

“Next message. My fucking bank account! Pen did you hack my money and my crypto? You know that is fraud right you can go to jail. I am going to?—”

I didn’t bother to listen to the rest, I pressed one to delete the message. Picking up my water can I move to my lush Monstera.

I examine the leaves, observing the little aerial roots. I would trim those next weeks I don’t want them to become too unruly.

“Next message. You fat bitch, that’s why you can’t have kids. I should.”

Should what? I pressed delete and moved along. I don’t want kids with you, asshole. Does he think calling me fat or a bitch will make me break down in tears? Wrong person bae.

“Next message.” A sniffle and hack come through the speaker, I chuckle darkly to myself.

“Oh, oh. Looks like someone is having respiratory distress,” I sing while watering my Monstera.

“Okay, Penelope. I shouldn’t have cheated. I was wrong. Please answer the phone.” And there it is, a confession. Three weeks of him telling me I was imagining things. I was jealous of his co-worker for no reason. Three weeks of saying I am crazy.

“Who’s crazy now?” This man is going through the stages of rage over this phone.

He gaslit me from Lakeshore to Timbuktu. Making me feel like I was being dramatic and delusional.

I had to prove to myself that I wasn’t. I hid a camera here, an apple tag there…and I filed all the evidence I needed against this cheating fool.

“Next message. Penny, answer this phone right now! Please, baby.” My ex’s voice cracked like he was in pain. I pressed delete and switched my phone off. To believe I almost brought him to my house. My spirit knew he wasn’t the one, but a girl could dream.

Thankfully I only met him at his home or a hotel.

Melvin O’Neal was dumb; it must be because he was pretty. All that muscle, behind that light brown skin, all of that…to be wasted on a man who lies and cheats.

Chuckling to myself, I place the water container under the kitchen shelf. In all the people you will cheat on is someone who works in the field of computers, and software development. What he doesn’t know is that I am more than just a …what did he call it? Oh, right a computer girl.

Did I do all the things he said I did over the phone? I can’t recall. Am I sorry it happened? No. I mean to have your money donated to the children cancer fund and a domestic violence home…leaving you with nothing. That can be distressful, I guess. Added to that your boss received emails from anonymous sources claiming that he sexually harassed the women in his job. It didn’t help that the woman he was cheating with turned around and said she was harassed by him. She saved herself and threw him under the bus. Of course he was fired. What company wants a lawsuit on their hands? Oh well, next time he’ll learn not to cheat.

I tighten the robe belt around my waist and shuffle my way into my bathroom. If I could vote for the best room for my home, it would hands down be my bathroom.

Upon entering, the words modern, clean and pristine come to mind. The space is bright, the white walls and the granite white countertop does add that level of hotel chic. To the far left there is a glass shower door which is partially visible, revealing a gold shower head and white tile walls. Opposite the shower the toilet rests discreetly against the wall. Complimented by custom-built shelving holding baskets of rolled towels in geometric precision. Recessed lighting glows overhead, beaming on a fluffy beige mat that I bought from a farmers’ market in Charleswood. My bathroom is my haven. As I begin my skin care routine. My watch vibrates.

12:06am, Mom was calling. I should act like I was sleeping, but she knows the truth.

Clicking my index finger against my thumb I answer.

“Hi mom,” I begin rubbing the hyaluronic acid on my face.

“Hi honey. How are you doing?” She sounds loud in my bathroom.

“I’m doing my night routine. How is Japan?” I ask as I take out my Sugah Bae Sugah Bliss body oil and proceed to smooth it against my legs.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Have you spoken to your brother yet?” she asks.

After years of living with a parent, you can tell from her tone when a fight is about to brew. “Yes, I spoke to Archer.”

“I don’t understand why he was to be in Lakeshore of all places. Are you coming to his fund raiser?” My mother’s judgmental tone begins to seep through the phone.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I reply. Switching off the bathroom lights, I shuffle into the kitchen, my fluffy pink bedroom slippers slap against the wooden floors.

Checking the alarm, I wait for my mother’s thoughts in 5, 4, 3,2,1

“Is Melvin coming with you? You know my colleagues will be there. It will also make a good impression on Archer’s sponsors.”

I exhale, give my kitchen one last look and hurry to bed.

“Penelope are you there?”

“Yes mom. Melvin and I are through.” I close my eyes as I press my head back into the pillow.

“Penelope for the love of God he was a doctor. And after the incident with the priest at the last event.”

I still picture it vividly: me pulling back my fist and jabbing that priest right in the eye when he had the nerve to pinch my ass as I walked by. The nun sitting next to him screamed as he toppled over onto the green lawn. It didn’t help that he bounced on the lawn and was knocked out.

“He is a doc like you are, the only difference he is a cheater,” I wait for her reply.

“That dirty dog. Now what are you going to do?”

My eyes focus on the brochure with a baby and mother on it.

“I am going to get myself artificially inseminated and become a mother. Build a family for myself.”

“You already have a family, and I know yes artificial insemination works, but I can’t help think cows,”

“Mom!” Of course, leave it to my mother to think about cows.

“I’m not calling you a cow, but my friend Dr. Ramid is a vet, and I have seen him inseminate cows and I can’t help but?—”

“MOM!”

I hear her sigh over the phone. “I just want what’s best for my children. I am a doctor but I’m a mom first.”

Chuckling to myself, I can feel my mother wanting to lecture me, but she is holding it back.

“Now about Archer.”

“I will attend Archer’s fund raiser by myself, or I will bring Zeeta.”

My mom groans over the phone. “Between you two, no one is ever going to get married. Its hopeless.”

I would love a family of my own. Someone to love me unconditionally. I don’t think it’s in the cards for me, but my bestie Zee, with the right man, she will be an amazing wife.

“I want you to find love and be happy,” she exclaims.

“No, you want me to be picture perfect for Archer’s campaign. Plus, I want to you to find love too ma.” I make a mental note to call my big brother in the morning.

“Ha, child, my days for love are far gone.”

“Are they though? Have you ever known love, Ma?” I question.

“I thought I did…but no. Anyway, try to find a date for your brother’s gala. Image is everything right now. I love you.”

“I love you to ma.” Taking the watch off my wrist, I placed it on my side table swiping my silk bonnet to place over my red locs.