Chapter 2
Anton
Isleep easy at night.
Every move I make. Every deal I broker. Every pound or dollar or euro I risk. Every human being I fuck over, literally or figuratively, comes at a cost.
It’s my job to assess those costs. To understand them. To make peace with them.
Especially the hidden ones.
Because it’s the hidden costs that can really cut you off at the knees, particularly if you don’t anticipate them.
That rarely happens to me, because people who misunderstand or deny hidden costs are amateurs, and I am no amateur.
Everything comes at a price, and everyone has a price.
And if the prize is worth the price, then I have no regrets. Because regret and resistance and rumination and recrimination are a fucking waste of time and head space.
To put it crudely, if the end justifies the means and the risks by my calculations, then I’ll go ahead and roll the dice. Because an educated gamble is very different from an uneducated one.
I educate myself on every single step I take, which allows me to increase my risk appetite far more than the guys who can’t be fucked to do their homework.
And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I come out on top.
Of course, the moves I make aren’t just an outcome of my intellect, but of my values.
And, of course, my values can mis-align with the values of others.
With those who may suffer from naivety or piety or self-judgement or the moral high ground or a misapprehension as to how the arenas of power and money and sex really operate, or any other fucking thing that causes them to rail against outcomes when they go my way rather than their way.
When they become collateral damage along the way.
And I don’t give a flying fuck.
I told you.
No regrets.
I don’t regret or resist who I am. What I am. What I do. How I like to fuck. Second-guessing and overthinking are for the weak.
And I didn’t get where I am today by being weak.
* * *
My primary philosophy for operating at this level is as follows.
Scale is everything.
Opportunity is infinite.
My capacity is finite.
My success has come from applying my greatest skills to the most worthwhile opportunities.
Simple. Gay Hendricks put this eloquently in his wonderful book, The Big Leap.
I devote my time and energy to operating solely in my genius zone, which includes, but is not limited to, judgement, farsightedness and nerves of fucking steel.
Everything else is a commodity.
Everything else can be outsourced.
Hear that? That’s important.
I am only interested in spending my time making money and enjoying life. End of story. All the rest is secondary.
Which is why I’m starting my morning as I start every weekday morning, meeting with my Chief of Staff, Max, and my Executive Assistant, Athena. Everything we discuss points to our single agenda item: ensure my calendar is structured to reflect the best possible use of my time.
My corner office above the intersection of Berkeley Square and Bruton Street is light-filled and opulent.
None of this minimalist bullshit for me.
Its walls and panels are painted a deep, warm grey, its carpet is white and opulent, and a few favourites from my art collection adorn the walls—all oils save for a delightful little Degas sketch that my second wife gave me.
She may not have lasted the distance, but that sketch is one of my favourite things in an existence where things are all too commoditised.
The three of us sit on a sofa and two low armchairs in a corner of the room as Athena runs through today’s line up with the precision I expect from her. I have internal sit-downs and Zooms until ten-thirty, when I leave for my meeting with Alchemy.
I frown, my mind uncharacteristically failing to home in on exactly what Alchemy is.
‘The sex club,’ Max says. His tone, as always, is dismissive. Arrogant.
‘Of course it is,’ I say, instantly sitting up a little straighter. Max notices and sniggers. ‘Do I really need to do it in person?’
‘They were most insistent,’ Athena says. ‘All members must be vetted face-to-face. Otherwise it’s a no-go.’
‘So they can make sure you’re not totally hideous in real life,’ Max drawls.
‘Totally depraved, more like,’ I observe.
‘I’m pretty sure depraved is a pre-requisite for getting in,’ he says. ‘But, you know, don’t go baring all your teeth at them just yet. They need to know you’re just the right side of a monster.’
Athena’s pretty little mouth twists in amusement. She’s nothing if not circumspect, but I’m sure she has her own view of quite how monstrous I can be.
‘What do I need to know?’ I ask no one in particular.
‘It’s the most discreet place we’ve found,’ Max assures me, ‘and the classiest. Their NDAs are ironclad. We couldn’t find anything on them.
It’s owned by four long-term friends—three men and a woman.
It’s our kind of client list. Loaded. Well-connected.
Word is the female members are smoking. And the kink is good.
You know, regular stuff. If you want to dress up in a nappy and breastfeed, it might not be the place for you. ’
I arch an unamused eyebrow. ‘I think we both know that’s not my kink.’
‘The interview seems more of a formality,’ Athena says. ‘Yes, it’s a way of making sure you’re the right fit for the club, but it’s also a forum for them to understand what you’re into, so they can accommodate you as fully as possible.’
I allow myself a small smirk. I’m not sure if she intended that last double entendre—you never quite know with that one—but I sincerely hope this Alchemy place can fully accommodate me.
‘Who am I meeting?’
She doesn’t consult her iPad. ‘Genevieve Carew, sir. She’s co-founder and COO, and she onboards new members.’
I nod. ‘Very good. What’s after lunch?’
Athena fills me in on the rest of the day’s schedule while Max chimes in with information on the prep work he and his team have done for each meeting.
‘Will there be anything else, Mr Wolff?’ she asks as she closes her laptop. The question is innocuous, as is her facial expression, but something in her tone gives me pause.
I consider.
In two-and-a-half-hours, I need to stroll around the corner and interview for membership at a sex club. I need to discuss my proclivities in a calm and rational manner while not getting hard.
If the hallmark of a good EA is anticipating one’s needs, then Athena is the very best.
‘Sure, why not. Get on your knees. Max, give me that P&L and get out.’
Athena immediately rises and comes to stand in front of me before sinking elegantly to her knees.
‘Aww,’ Max whines. ‘I was up till midnight preparing this bullshit for you. The least you can do is let me join in the fun.’
I look from his irritatingly handsome, patrician face to Athena’s beautiful, upturned one. She’s such a good girl. So compliant. She looks particularly lovely today, in a pale blue wrap dress that showcases her spectacular tits, her long auburn hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves.
Wrap dresses are her uniform, for reasons I don’t need to spell out to you.
As I expect, she nods, her cheeks blooming prettily with the faintest blush. ‘That’s okay with me, sir.’
I sigh. ‘Fine. You can help get her off.’
‘Nice,’ Max says on an exhale. He lifts the glass coffee table and moves it out of the way so he can get behind Athena.
I let my head fall back on the sofa and lazily survey the scene ahead of me. Yeah, I’m a monster who likes to blur lines. But I’m also a man who understands the importance of enjoying the finer things in life while valuing efficiency, and this little rendezvous ticks both boxes.
Athena kneels between my open legs and busies herself with my belt and my flies.
Max, in turn, is crouched behind her. There’s a predatory look in his blue eyes as he reaches between her legs.
I can tell by the sharp intake of breath she makes as she unzips me that he hasn’t wasted any time in putting his hands where she needs them.
She tugs my shirt tails up and eases my boxer briefs down over my already-hard dick. I cross my hands behind my head and interlace my fingers as she dips her pretty head and the tip of her warm, wet tongue hits my crown.
This is the fucking life.
The view of the two of them is pretty fucking good, but I let my eyes drift closed for a minute. Fuck, there is no simpler pleasure in life than the sensations of a woman’s mouth on one’s dick. Especially when that woman is as skilled and sexy as Athena.
She’s a relatively new EA from an agency I co-founded a few years ago through a web of holding companies and shell companies so complex that it’s practically impossible to connect me with it.
Seraph.
That’s the name we opted for, and at times like this it feels very fucking apt, because Athena is a real angel.
I’m not alone amongst men of my status in prizing both efficiency and sex highly.
My employees are first-rate.
So are my women.
Seraph operates in a niche that’s as lucrative as it is small.
It provides world-class executive assistants to the most powerful men in London.
Each assistant comes with an MBA from a top business school, and each has also been trained in delivering world-class pleasures of the flesh to the men they serve.
See?
Niche.
They are very well paid, and very good at what they do, and, most importantly, very much into what they do.
I set Seraph up between wives two and three, but had no use for their services while I was in my last marriage or with Melissa, my most recent girlfriend.
When I’m in a relationship, I’m faithful.
When I’m not, I’m an animal.
Cutting ties with Melissa coincided with my hiring Athena.
I’d had five months of vanilla sex with a stunningly beautiful woman, and I was champing at the bit to unleash myself.
This Alchemy place will form the final piece of the puzzle that is adequately sating my appetites, hopefully, but between the debauched nights I enjoy with strangers, Athena looks after my days very well indeed.
She has an MBA from London Business School and a mouth that begs to be defiled.
I open my eyes and glance down at Athena’s glossy head bobbing up and down on my cock. She’s draped one arm over my thigh for balance as the other works my shaft just the way I like it—a firm grip, but no large movements at this point. She knows I want to make it last.
The reason she’s using me for balance is that she’s got that gorgeous, plump arse of hers in the air for Max.
He’s shoved the thin jersey of her dress up to her waist so I can see a flesh-coloured thong and two perfect globes of pale skin.
Max ranges above her—he’s standing up on his knees—and his face contorts in satisfaction as his wrist twists.
He’s tall enough to reach her tit without bending forward, and he’s doing something right, judging by the strangled whimpers she’s making around my dick.
‘Tell me what you’re doing to her,’ I say, the idle tone of my voice belying my intense interest. I sit forward slightly so I can scoop her silky locks up in both hands before transferring them to my left and wrapping them around my fist.
They were both right, as usual.
This is an excellent start to my day.
‘The old bowling ball position,’ he drawls, making eye contact with me. ’Two fingers in her cunt, a thumb up her arse, and she is fucking loving it.’
Jesus fuck. It’s my dick she’s got her lips wrapped around, but I’m jealous. Though I suspect the grass is greener from where Max is, too. He must be dying to get his dick wet.
I nod my approval. ‘Nice. She wet?’
‘Soaking. Listen.’ He pulls his hand out of her, then pushes back in fiercely, and I’m treated to the exquisite combination of her lips clamping down around my dick and the clear sound of her inner wetness sucking Max’s fingers in.
That’s it.
‘Fuck. I need a feel. Athena.’ I tug on her hair to pull her face up, and she looks up at me all glassy-eyed and swollen-mouthed. She really is delicious. ‘Straddle me, sweetheart. Max, help her and get rid of the dress.’
He stands and hoists her up under the arms. I close my thighs so she can straddle me and still have enough room to keep her pussy raised off my lap.
Enough room to play with her.
Athena plants each knee on the sofa and straddles me, gazing down at me.
She’s already in a state of mild dishevelment, but she keeps a hairbrush and makeup in my private bathroom for precisely this kind of situation.
Then Max is standing behind her, reaching over so he can untie the sash at her waist and tug her dress open.
I smile with appreciation as her incredible tits come into view in a white lace bra.
Her nipples are so hard they’re practically ripping through the lace.
I reach up and pinch them both as Max pulls the dress off her arms, and she gasps loudly.
My gaze trails down over the soft, pale curves of her belly to the little nude thong that looks quite ill-equipped to withstand my and Max’s dastardly intentions.
Poor little thong.
Poor little girl.
She’s less than half my age, and she’s only been with me for four weeks, but she’s a quick learner.
On both sides of the job.
I look back up at her. My dick is rock hard. Angry. Her saliva has cooled and dried on my flesh. But I can hang on, because it’s time for some fun.
I pinch harder. ‘What do you need, sweetheart?’ I ask.
I don’t need a mirror to know my smile has turned positively wolfish.