Good Morning, Warner Truman
Present Day, December 20
Tribeca, New York City
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If Paris was called the City of Romance and Shanghai was coined the Pearl of the Orient, then Manhattan was the Metropolis for Singles. Twenty-eight percent, to be exact, of the Big Apple was indeed unhitched. In the metro area, men had over thirty-five thousand restaurants to take their woman to on a date. And if they hadn’t met her yet, they could at any of the city’s thirty-eight thousand bars. Warner Truman knew this already. However, that winter he’d done his best to remain single and sleep alone.
Or so he thought…
Warner rolled over, burying his not-yet-awake face into the nape of an unfamiliar bleach-blonde. Her processed hair crunched harshly against his skin. He cupped her lackluster breasts with his hands and pulled her close. I love tits.
Nevertheless, these breasts he wouldn’t enjoy sucking on. They weren’t—a handful. He didn’t deem it childish to nip on a full set. Some men might. Not him. It was indeed a sex act and not a weakness if a man wanted to lay his head against a woman’s cleavage and be coddled. The symmetry a full set possessed against his six-foot-five frame he found exhilarating.
This morning, his erection went against his mind and found its way between her ass-crack. She backed up, welcoming his girth. Pre-cum lubed a slip ready for penetration. The California king bed became—still.
“Morning, Warniee,” a soft voice whispered in an unsuccessful attempt to be cute. Instead it brought him to a more awakened and much annoyed state.
He opened his eyes wide to see one of his brother’s many lovers. Shit. “Kayden, why are you in my bed?” Warner lifted his hands and placed a pillow between them. The last thing he remembered involved taking a sleeping pill and going to bed—alone. He drew the white sheet over his cock.
“Last night, Suz, Cari and I kicked off the holidays a little earlier than usual.”
“We partied at The Bang-Bang Club with your brother. There wasn’t any room for me in his bed.” She rolled over, cooed in his face and poked her pink nail over the bridge of his nose. “Your bedroom door popped open. So in the middle of the night, I came to cuddle with you.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” He tried not to yell. “Haven’t we talked about you barging in uninvited and crawling in bed with me?” I’m going to start locking my bedroom door.
“Yes. Remind me again why we’re not an item?” Determined to land herself a billionaire prior to her twenty-first birthday, Kayden made it clear to Warner on several occasions her goal in life was to marry him. She made a beeline for it at every opportunity.
“Kayden, do you have a job?”
“Did you finish school as we talked about?”
“Are you still living with your parents?”
She grabbed at his chin and replied, “Come over some time. Mom and I will take turns feeding you.”
He pulled back. “To answer your question on why we’re not dating—until you’re out on your own, finished with your education and in your career, we can’t.” She’d also have to stop sleeping with his brother. At thirty-three he felt mature by comparison. Was he a hypocrite? Warner’s first lover had taken him under similar circumstances. With nothing to offer except his cock, heart and hard work in tow, she’d accepted him with open arms. That felt like another lifetime ago. Warner’s needs today were different. And nothing about Kayden embodied hard work.
“Warner, you’re ridiculous.” Kayden rested her face against the pillow, making it obvious she wasn’t leaving.
Naked, he stood. Kayden whistled and then panted animal noises. Warner went into the bathroom. “Please let yourself out and soon,” he said over his shoulder as he closed and locked the door. He stepped into the spa shower.
All too accustomed to female stalkers, strangers crowding his bed and women after his many fortunes, Warner wasn’t merely one of the many well-to-do chaps on Wall Street. Next to Carlos Slim Helú and Bill Gates, he was the third richest man on the planet.
What was his secret sauce to have accrued sixty-five billion? Flipping roach-infested flophouses and transforming three-star motels into five-diamond spa destinations fit for a king. Only there wasn’t a queen to share these castles. He’d lost her years ago. And this year’s attempt to remarry had backfired.
He scratched his head and twisted the water spigot to run hot. Warner lathered with a lavender shower gel, accepting his Truman Enterprises day ahead. He reflected on the great love from his past.
* * * * *
At seventeen, Warner had fallen for his next-door neighbor, Jacqueline Chambers. In her early thirties, divorced and an experienced lover, she took his virginity one summer afternoon. He’d come over to help replace the shutters on her bed-and-breakfast after a storm. July’s humidity came over Newport like a wet blanket, and he came over her in similar fashion. He fucked her clumsily since Warner didn’t really know how to make love—yet. Afterward, he rested next to her and they talked for hours. Warner enjoyed their intimate conversations as much as the sex.
Jacqueline offered to coach him. An eager student, Warner mastered listening to a woman’s needs, giving in to her greatest desires and bringing her to orgasm over and over again. “Women should always climax first,” Jacqueline pointed out. She made him go days without release—intense torture for a seventeen-year-old boy.
Warner tried a few stunts he’d seen in popular adult films, which his classmates guaranteed would please the insatiable cougar. He spat in her mouth and alluded to a blowjob. She slapped him across the face, denying him oral pleasure. The next night he pulled her hair while kissing her on the neck. She turned around and kicked him in the nuts. On another night he grabbed her jaw hard and tapped her cheek in an attempt to face-fuck her. She punched him and instructed, “You will treat me with respect at all times.” Warner didn’t get it. However, he soon learned.
He teased Jacqueline in ways and places he’d merely dreamt. His dick hardened at the thought of being inside her again. Warner spent weeks eating her out, fingering her asshole and talking to her in a way she’d enjoyed—with high opinion. When Warner displayed his new suave ways to Jacqueline, she praised and rewarded him with another night of sex.
The second time he made love. He threw her against the bedroom wall and responded to her erotic rhythm. Warner spread her legs wide and demanded she hold on to the window frame for dear life.
At first, she laughed in a seductive way and didn’t take his intentions seriously. What could this boy do? Plenty, it seemed. Much more than she ever thought possible.
“You’re going to love this.” Confident even as a young man, he applied every technique she’d taught him. He cupped her breasts and pushed her backside into his front. She fit perfectly against his chest. His nipples became sensitive feeling her hair against his chest. In return, Warner pinched her clit in a respectful yet hard way, which weakened her ability to stand. Massaging her pussy, he rubbed her into a frenzy. Heat building, her entire body squirmed for release from his embrace as he penetrated deep inside her.
She loved it.
“I’m coming,” Jacqueline’s voice squealed. “Warner, yes like that.”
Her gap tightened around his cock, milking him. She orgasmed.
“We’re just getting started.” Using her wetness, he lubed her backside up, spreading her ass-pucker apart with his fingers. He slid his dick in. It was tighter than he expected. The pressure alone could cause him to ejaculate. His dick pounded her ass.
Jacqueline creamed a second time.
This went on for what felt like hours to young Warner. No sleep. No food. No water. He could’ve lasted for several days.
The euphoric smell from her sex drove him insane. He plowed his cock and balls deep—bottomless inside her. Warner pounded her hard through another orgasm. Her nails dug into the windowsill’s white paint.
“Time out, please…stop.”
He laughed and gave her the same nod she’d given him when they’d started. “Say you’re sorry, baby.” Warner demanded respect even as a kid as they stood with their eyes gazing out at Sheep Point Cove. The violent flesh-slapping sounds between them echoed against the walls. When she’d lost count and her body couldn’t take another orgasm, she begged him to lay her down on the bed to rest.
And so he did.
“I love you,” Jacqueline whispered.
Against his family’s wishes, at eighteen, he’d married Jacqueline, and for ten years they shared a life together. With his two hands, Warner remodeled and upgraded her bed-and-breakfast into a boutique hotel. At night, he put himself through college, earning his undergraduate degree at Brown University and eventually an MBA from Harvard. They sold the property and invested in a larger resort, and their empire branched out. He worked hard for his money and harder to keep her accustomed to the lifestyle she deserved.
Together they expanded their empire with hotels from Boston to Miami, and then they ventured into the spa industry. Soon they became sought-after fixtures on the resort social circuit and traveled to Aspen, Coffs Harbour and the Canary Islands together.
Warner grew up quick from a middle-class boy in Newport, Rhode Island, into a hotel mogul. At twenty-eight, he thought the world had become what he’d once dreamed until the doctors at Miriam Hospital diagnosed Jacqueline with bone cancer. She died within the year. When he laid Jacqueline to rest at Island Cemetery, his heart was buried with hers. With his twenties behind him, he dove into his work and made Truman Enterprises the leading hotel and resort company in the world.
* * * * *
Out of the shower, he dried himself off with a soft towel and groomed in his usual quick, five-minute, no-bullshit ritual. After a citrus aftershave dab to his neck, he dressed in a dark-navy Armani suit custom-made for what his personal shopper coined “Mr. Linebacker Strong Side” due to his football-player-type body. A crimson silk tie, festive for the holiday season, was knotted around his neck. He ran a comb through his sandy hair and stepped back into the bedroom.
Kayden had gone.
He walked down the long hallway, which connected his master suite to the living room and then the kitchen.
His brother, Sheldon, drank espresso with a smug look on his face. “Mornin’, bro.” Legs spread wide—Sheldon sat on a barstool in boxers and admired his latest daredevil tattoo. The black ink decorated his forearm. It was his twenty or twenty-first piece of body art. Warner doubted it would be his last.
“Don’t bro me.” Warner shook his head and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Tribeca downtown view. With no snow in sight, the winter’s sky rose clear and sunny. “What have I told you about having your girls roaming loose around my penthouse?”
“They’re kittens that I should cage,” Sheldon joked. “Relax. They’re asleep in my bedroom. I wore ’em out.”
“Sorry, dude. I thought your dick could use a little Kayden attention. You haven’t fucked since Rielle.” Sheldon pushed a coffee cup to the counter’s granite edge and stepped forward.
“My dick and I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring her name up. My New Year’s resolution is no more drama.” Rielle Bruni, his ex-fiancée. Fast tricked him to be married until about six months ago when he realized her true identity. She was a professional con artist.
Yes, Rielle courted, seduced and then faked her pregnancy, in essence forcing Warner to propose. He’d fallen for the scam until Warner found Sheldon between her legs. Rage consumed him when he learned Rielle had thrown herself at Sheldon. She’d pulled his pants to the floor and tried to ride his cock. Warner walked in and caught them. Sheldon stood limp, clearly not interested. Rielle’s baby bump hit the floor the second she chased after him.
“I assumed you were over your engagement.”
“Yes, I’m over that.” Warner had grown to realize he’d never really loved Rielle. Rather he loved the idea of her. He’d been baited and then tricked to stay in the relationship with Rielle from the start. It was never real because Rielle wasn’t who she said she was.
“And I’m over you too.”
When the building they lived in went up, Warner had appointed Sheldon as project manager to oversee every detail. Once the project was completed, he should’ve moved out and gone on to other cities, assignments and people. On the contrary, Sheldon refused, claiming Manhattan pumped in his blood. He couldn’t leave. Sheldon lingering around became a sore spot at the Truman Enterprises office. Warner’s brother wouldn’t budge. The solution could be found in his family. His folks were scheduled to come for Sheldon at Christmas and drag him back to Newport. He didn’t have a clue, but Rhode Island redemption was the Truman strategy. Hence, Warner humored Sheldon as his espresso-sipping, silk-boxer-lounging, downtown four-way girl-screwing days were numbered.
“If I ever fall for a woman again, she’ll have her own money.” Warner swiped a mug, poured himself some java, black, no sugar or cream, and sipped. His attention returned to the outside view. The lot was a great choice for Truman Tribeca. Proud to have developed a modern-day landmark, he enjoyed living in the hotel and condo luxury facility. Built on Greenwich Street and Duane, the thirty-five stories provided exceptional views over the Hudson River.
“New Year’s…what are your party plans?”
“No celebrations. I’m working at my Secrète de St. Barth property.” He’d stopped taking time off years ago.
“St. Barth’s busy season picks up soon. I’ll stay at my beach house alone, clear my head and manage the resort.”
“You work too much.”
“And you fuck around too much.” Warner took another swig and asked, “And what circuit party is on your calendar for the thirty-first?”
“The babes and I are jettin’ to Algarve, Portugal. Invite’s open if you change your mind.”
A reluctant male model, pre-body-ink era, Sheldon’s glamour funds hadn’t run out yet, but were getting close. Similar to Warner, Sheldon was tall, handsome and striking even at a young age. He’d caught a Vogue Hommes International fashion photographer’s attention in Milan and his jet-set life soared. A few years later he had returned to the United States and had mooched here and there ever since. Warner tried to get Sheldon to come work with him at Truman Enterprises, but Truman Tribeca, which wasn’t meant to be a test but was, failed him. Warner figured his brother would screw around until his ever-in-demand fuck-stick fell off. He hoped it would be in Algarve, Portugal.
“Thanks, I should get going. Don’t forget to buy Mom and Dad a Christmas gift. You forgot last year.” They spoke their goodbyes, and he went for the elevator.
In the lobby, the doorman approached. “Mr. Truman, I have a package for you.”
“Morning, Sam.” He spotted the flowers at the concierge desk. “Again?”
“The florist dropped this arrangement off about thirty minutes ago.” Sam knew Rielle wasn’t permitted anywhere near the building. Her restraining order prohibited her from all contact, which included sending flowers. This was the third arrangement this week. A silver-mirrored vase enclosed snowy-white hydrangea, blood-red roses and lilies. He reached for the card in Sam’s hand. The note read, “Warner, baby, I miss you. Let’s spend the holidays together. All my love, Rielle.” A few months ago, he might have felt nauseous reading this card. This morning, he felt nothing. “Re-gift these to your family.” He pushed the flowers back upon his doorman and tore the card up.
“Mr. Truman, rejecting gifts is bad luck on your part. You should accept—”
“Throw the flowers away then, Sam.” He didn’t regret his orders. Although Sam’s facial reaction made him question himself.
“Okay, okay, I’ll give them to the missus.” Sam backed down. “My wife sends her best, and thank you again for the generous holiday bonus. You’ve helped put my oldest through City College.”
“My pleasure, enjoy your day.” Warner stepped out in the minus-ten degrees and then into his waiting limo.
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