Tuesday Morning never felt so good

As I got dressed that morning I couldn’t help but let my eyes travel over the aftermath of what we’d done the night before.

The sheets on the bed might have been ruined. Not by the sex, at least directly, but because Cassidy and Cattie had put on fresh, bright red lipstick and it was smeared in multiple places as they’d buried their faces into the mattress or pillows. Two of my nicer ties were still dangling from the headboard, wrinkled and hopefully recoverable after Cattie had taught Cass and I how to tie her up safely, and then Cass had wanted a turn as well.

The lamp on Cass’s usual side of the bed was broken, knocked over in the heat of the moment. Her makeup desk was a mess, too, and the mirror there had a distinct body impression of Cattie’s tits and torso.

There was a can of whipped cream on the dresser that probably needed to be tossed after sitting out the rest of the night. The chocolate syrup wouldn’t have gone bad though, but it was going to be a bitch to try and clean the few spots it had dripped onto the carpet off of Cassidy when she’d started laughing too hard.

Cass was spread-eagle on the bed, one hand thrown over her face, completely naked and still asleep. Most days she was up when I was to wish me off for work, even after a night of drinking. A night of sex like that, though, could knock her out until mid-morning.

“Morning, Master,” Cattie murmured to me with a drowsy smile as she reached out and teased my fingers with hers as she headed for the bathroom.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I said quietly, grinning.

She must have caught a look at herself in the mirror because she barked a quiet laugh. “Not right now, I’m not,” she said.

To be fair, the ‘fucked hard and put away exhausted’ look was gorgeous to me when I knew I was the one who’d caused it.

“So, I heard a rumour,” Dayana said as I knocked on her door and entered her office for our usual lunch meeting.

God damn it, Tommy, I thought. I knew if he opened his mouth Dayana would be one of the first to hear about Cattie, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer the inquisition that would be unleashed upon me with that particular news. I wasn’t going to make it easy on her though, so I raised an eyebrow as I sat down in front of her desk. “Oh, yeah? About what?”

“Word is, the Indefinite Comp woman has been married twice, and both of her husbands died,” Dayana said, making a face as she gave me the gossip.

Thank you, Tommy, I immediately repealed my mental cursing.

“So she’s a double widow?” I asked.

“That’s what I heard,” Dayana shrugged. She had the sleeves of her silky button-down blouse rolled up, the pearl colour of it playing against her warm, caramel-coloured skin, and she crossed them like she had yesterday as she leaned back. Again I noticed how that sort of pushed her cleavage a bit more together and up, making it visible where usually it wasn’t.

Was that something she’d always done and I just didn’t notice it? Was it something she just did or was I right in thinking she was only doing it… here, in her office? With me. On purpose.

“So Rashid, the eldest son of a filthy rich Abu Dhabi businessman with royal connections, is engaged to marry a Russian double-widow who is almost definitely not a Muslim?” I asked.

“Yup,” Dayana said, raising her eyebrows and nodding. “The really wild part of the rumour is that she was married to a couple different filthy rich Russian oligarchs and now she’s got part of both their fortunes, so she’s filthy rich too.”

“I could believe one, but two?” I wondered.

“I know, it’s a bit much,” she shrugged. “One does make sense for how she got her puta in front of Rashid, though. Must be one hot piece of ass.”

I snorted and shook my head at her crassness. “If she’s filthy rich all on her own, maybe she won’t be that awful of a Comp,” I said.

“Crapshoot,” Dayana pointed out.

“True,” I shrugged. Everyone said there were two kinds of rich people - rich people who wanted to flash around their money to prove they had it, and filthy rich people who didn’t need to flash it around. Those people didn’t know the third kind of Filthy Rich - the kind who hadn’t worked for any of it, weren’t ever likely to run out of it, and thought the world was designed as their personal playground. Most of the time they were kids set up to inherit immense fortunes that could buy and trade small countries, like Rashid’s younger brother Hamad. Other times it was the wives or girlfriends of the filthy rich.

And unless there was a whisper campaign about them, you never knew what you were going to get until they were a problem dropped right in your lap.

“So, in other news, I saw you walking in this morning,” Dayana said. “You were grinning like an absolute idiot. You and Cassidy didn’t get enough of each other and you got laid last night, too? You know it’s not fair to rub it in with that big, dopey grin of yours when some of us aren’t getting any.”

I coughed and choked on my own spit, making her laugh.

She had no fucking idea.

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