A Bona Fide Gold Digger (9 page)

M
ilan burst through the front door loaded down with shopping bags, including two with the Coach logo. Unable to resist going inside Coach after completing her girly shopping, she’d bought a pebbled leather shoulder tote and a signature metallic outline large hobo.

Irma was in the kitchen thumbing through a food magazine. Clearly, the woman had too much down time.

“Take these to my room,” Milan instructed Irma. Then, remembering that she didn’t want Irma to have an opportunity to snoop through her bags, she gave her a scathing look and said, “Oh, never mind,” as she rushed toward the staircase. On her way up, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll have a baby spinach salad Niçoise with pan-seared halibut for lunch. Bring it to my room. On a tray. Hurry, I’m famished!”

Irma sucked her teeth.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that!” Milan yelled as she ascended.

When she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she noticed Noah’s bedroom door was wide open. Damn! She’d hoped to creep past her aging paramour and slip into her own bedroom to gaze adoringly at her new purchases.

Begrudgingly, she stuck her head inside Noah’s bedroom and formed her mouth and facial expression into what appeared to be a caring smile. As instructed, Ruth Henry was reading
Great Expectations
to the patient. The nurse smiled back, closed the book, and nodded toward Noah, who was snoring softly.

“He’s taking a little snooze,” Ruth Henry said, her voice a cheerful whisper.

“Thanks for reading to him. He loves those awful classics,” Milan said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as if offering condolences.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I enjoyed reading
Great Expectations
, it’s one of my all-time favorites,” the nurse squealed, much too loudly, and hugged the tome to her chest.

Milan shot a quick look at Noah. “Be quiet,” she snarled at the nurse.

“Sorry.” Ruth Henry cast a cautious glance at Mr. Brockington who, thankfully, was still sleeping soundly. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just…,” the nurse stammered excitedly, “well, I’m such an avid reader and to have reading included in—”

“Whatever!” Holding up her hand, Milan wouldn’t let the nurse finish gushing about her love of reading. She eyed Ruth Henry disdainfully, shook her head, and without another word, continued walking past the room.
What an idiot!
Striding down the long hallway, she curved around the bend that led to the staff accommodations, which included her own bedroom. She was, after all, still just staff. But that didn’t bother her. She was glad to be far, far away from Noah’s perverted den.

She haphazardly dropped her purchases, closed the door, and hastily locked it. Spared from having to interact with her lustful benefactor, she let out a long sigh of relief. But the feeling was short-lived as Milan listened to her stomach growl. She pushed the intercom. “Is my lunch ready yet?” she asked irritably.

“A few more minutes,” Irma said, slowly and calmly. Too calmly. She was obviously monitoring her tone and refraining from sucking her teeth.

“How many freakin’ minutes? I’m famished.”

“Uh, I had to go through a stack of gourmet magazines to hunt down those recipes, but I found them. I’ll have everything ready in another thirty minutes or so.”

Milan bristled.
Some caterer! Shouldn’t a real caterer have a collection of recipes committed to memory?
“I thought you said just a few minutes,” Milan asked, agitated. “Since when does a half hour equal a few minutes?”

Irma responded by breathing into the intercom, then she stammered a half-hearted apology. Pissed off, Milan flopped down on the bed. Who knew how long it would take a woman who showcased her culinary skills with an assortment of soups and soggy eggs to put together an elegant meal? Milan hadn’t had any good food since…well, since she’d gotten the axe from Pure Paradise. Her face felt hot as she remembered her humiliating exit from the day spa. Unable to push the distressing thought from her mind, she began to feel tense and extremely angry. Needing a target to unleash her fury, Milan reached for the intercom, prepared to fire a barrage of insults at Irma, the so-called cook.

But struck by a better idea, she withdrew her pointed finger, hopped up and traipsed over to her lingerie drawer and rifled through wads of silk, satin, and other soft fabrics until her hand wrapped around the object of pleasure—her eighteen-karat-gold-plated vibrator. Now smiling, she slipped out of her clothing and under the coverlet. The next twenty minutes were a multi-orgasmic blur as she relieved her tension with the vibrator.

When Irma finally rapped on the bedroom door, Milan was in a tranquil post-orgasmic state. “Come in,” Milan said dreamily.

Irma entered the room. A scrumptious aroma that boasted Irma’s familiarity with gourmet cuisine wafted from the wicker bed tray she carried.

Milan smiled delightedly and sat up straight. After shifting into a more comfortable position, she reached for the tray. At that moment the golden vibrator rolled from beneath the sheets and onto the coverlet.

Irma looked startled and then turned crimson. Clearly uncomfortable, her blinking eyes wandered everywhere except in the direction of the offensive rolling object. Milan glanced at it, then shrugged, totally unconcerned that her secret pleasure had been exposed. “Oh, this looks absolutely divine,” Milan said, digging a silver fork into the halibut and not even bothering to throw the coverlet over the usually bright gold vibrator, which was now dulled by the light film of her feminine juices.

“Will that be all?” Irma asked, not looking at the vile thing on the bed and instead taking a sudden interest in the pattern of the Persian rug.

Milan swallowed. “I’m impressed, Irma. You’re quite the chef when you have a recipe on hand and when you put your mind to it.” Milan paused, tasted the spinach salad. “Mmm. Tasty,” she exclaimed, then her expression darkened. “In the future, however, please don’t bring my meals on this…” she pursed her lips and looked scornfully down at the wicker tray, “this piece of wood,” she said with a dramatic shudder. “I’d like my meals delivered on a silver platter inside a covered dish.”

Irma nodded gravely.

“I expect the exact same services extended to Mr. Brockington. Capisce?”

Milan enjoyed how the tables had turned on Irma. Just a few days ago, the woman was trying to take advantage of her, pretending to have her best interests at heart when all the while she was trying to pimp her. Now, through a twist of fate, she had to cater to Milan and act as her servant. It was just incredible the way Milan’s life had improved.

“Will that be all, Milan?” Irma sounded appropriately chastised.

“Actually, no. I want the key to that trunk,” Milan boldly informed her.

Irma shrank back in horror. “I can’t give you the key. That’s Mr. Brockington’s nest egg. He’s hiding that money from the IRS.”

“I don’t care who he’s hiding it from. It’s not as if he’s ever going to get a chance to spend it.” Milan exhaled and shook her head in frustration. “Oh, forget it, Irma. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to discuss this with you. I’ll speak directly to Noah. Thanks for lunch,” Milan said dryly as Irma turned to leave. “Another thing! Stop by Noah’s suite, tell the nurse that I said she can leave early. Now, go! Hurry, I can’t bear the sight of you!” Grimacing, she fluttered her fingers to hasten Irma’s departure.

Milan grinned. Bossing Irma was so much fun!

D
ressed in a yellow cotton blouse, short tartan skirt replete with an oversized safety pin, lace-trimmed ankle socks, and loafers, Milan walked leisurely down the hallway toward Noah’s bedroom. With her hair pulled up into a ponytail and adorned with a big frilly bow, she was in character and totally feeling the role of naughty schoolgirl.

As she approached the door, she heard his voice on the other side. “…the best years,” Noah Brockington said to someone in an angry, rising tone. His voice sounded strong, not sickly at all and she could hear him clearly through the wood. Who was he talking to and
what
was he talking about? Curious, she stood outside the door to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“After all these years—It’s just not fair…not fair at all,” he whined. Then there was silence. No goodbye, farewell, or I’ll talk to you later, just a melodic beep that indicated the call had ended. Hmm. Noah had just hung up on someone. She wondered who’d been on the other end of the phone. Greer? No, that didn’t make a bit of sense. Greer was with her family on an all-expenses paid vacation, a gift from Noah. Why would he gripe and bemoan his fate in a conversation with Greer?

So, who was he talking to? It was perplexing because Noah hardly ever spoke on the telephone. In fact Milan couldn’t recall ever hearing him communicate with anyone other than his household staff and that was done via the in-house intercom system.

She gazed down at her Monji rainbow watch, another feature of her adolescent costume. Not wanting him to know she’d heard a snippet of his personal conversation, she waited a full minute before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Noah Brockington called grumpily. Milan supposed he was still edgy from the mysterious phone conversation.

Slipping into the character of a timid young girl, Milan crossed the threshold to the bedroom suite, nervously twirling a bookbag. She stood, leaning on the side of one shoe, anxiously biting a fingernail, exactly the way she imagined a bashful little girl would do.

She noticed Noah’s eyelids were puffy, the whites of his eyes reddish, as if he’d been crying. She thought he’d made peace with dying, but perhaps he’d started to feel regret. Gazing at him warily, she asked in a childlike voice, “Is everything okay? Should I come back later?”

Judging by the glint that suddenly lit his bleary eyes, Noah’s mind was no longer on the troublesome phone call or his imminent demise. But Milan was curious about the cryptic call and intended to get to the bottom of it. She had absolutely no background information on Noah Brockington. She’d Googled his name, but nothing came up. Strange.

Greer’s return could be the least of her worries. For all she knew, there could be a gaggle of greedy relations hovering in the background ready to pounce on Noah’s millions the moment he croaked. She felt a stab of panic. Had he been talking to a relative? The thought of anonymous people breezing in and waltzing off with all his money made her nauseous.

And while Noah Brockington lay in his sick bed admiring her girlish attire with a growing bulge beneath the comforter, Milan was struck by the notion that she was the only person on the planet who truly deserved the dying man’s fortune. It was, after all, she and only she who provided him with his dying wish: kinky pleasure. How many men lying on their deathbed had a young, attractive woman on call to play out their freakiest fantasies? No one that Milan could think of.

“Come here, little girl,” he said in a raspy voice.

Milan shook her head and stiffened. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said, mimicking the voice and demeanor of a frightened little girl.

“Don’t be afraid,” he assured her. “I won’t hurt you.”

Shaking her head emphatically, Milan refused to budge.

“Come here, I’ve got something for you,” Noah urged. When Milan still didn’t move, he spoke in a cajoling tone. “I’ll give you some candy—you like candy, don’t you, little girl?”

“Uh huh,” she said, still altering her voice, making it sound youthful and naive.

“Hard candy?” he asked in a low-pitched tone as he shamelessly stroked himself.

Milan nodded.

He lifted the bed cover and squinted beneath it. “There’s lots of candy under here, my dear,” he said and fixed his gaze on her. “Come and get some.”

Dangling the bookbag, she took slow, hesitant steps toward the bed and then, as if too afraid to take another step, she stopped in the middle of the room.

Noah motioned for her to come closer, but Milan shook her head. She looked worriedly toward the bedroom door as if she were having second thoughts.

“Please come here. You can trust me; I won’t hurt you. I’ll give you a
big
piece of candy…” He paused in thought. “And two balls to play with. Imagine, my dear—two balls just for you.”

Looking delighted by his promise, Milan brightened. In a matter of seconds, her expression changed from innocent to sultry as she provocatively bit the tip of her index finger and gave Noah Brockington a coquettish smile. She allowed the bookbag to slip from her hand. When it hit the floor, she naughtily kicked it aside.

Teasingly, she sucked the tip of her index finger. Then, removing the finger from her mouth, she tauntingly flicked open the top three buttons of the yellow cotton blouse. She’d always felt shortchanged when it came to her breasts. In high school, she’d felt mortally wounded by the slighting remarks the boys made regarding her double-A-cup status. Back then, lacking boobs was such a curse, such an abnormality, she’d felt…well, there was no kind way to put it. She’d felt deformed.

But not anymore. Her underdeveloped bustline was a turn-on to the man who held the keys to the castle—the man who could give her the lush life she was born to enjoy. She continued unbuttoning until the blouse fell open, showing off the little girls’ training bra she knew would drive her rich lover wild.

Noah emitted a shameless groan. His breathing became ragged with lustful desire. From the breast pocket of his pajama top, he removed a monogrammed handkerchief and blew his nose. He stuffed the soiled cloth back into his pocket.

Eeew
, Milan thought.

Impatiently, Noah patted the bed, urging Milan to join him. But she maintained her position in the center of the room.

Inch by inch, she raised the tartan skirt until a peek of white cotton panties came into view. Practically drooling, Noah leaned forward lecherously. Milan stood with her feet planted on the floor, her legs spread apart. She fondled her cotton-covered crotch, caressing it in an unhurried manner.

“Let me do that,” Noah said in a hoarse voice. Reaching for her, he nearly hung off the side of the bed.

Milan ignored him. Using three fingers, she rubbed her crotch and then began rotating her slender hips. Sliding the fabric to the side, she revealed a hairless mons. She ran a finger between the lips of her silky moist slit.

The sight of Milan’s schoolgirl-style striptease had Noah grunting and panting, his tongue lolling. He looked tortured, as if the routine was driving him insane. Pleased with the effect of her well-planned and perfectly executed performance, Milan advanced toward the bed. She sat down daintily on the bed beside him. “May I have some candy,” she asked sweetly.

Noah’s eyes gleamed excitedly. “Not yet, my dear. You’ll have to find it. We’re going to have a treasure hunt.”

Milan’s eyes grew wide. “I love treasure hunts,” she cried out enthusiastically. Twisting around, she pointed toward the heavy brocade drapes. “The candy’s over there,” she shouted.

“Cold,” Noah said, shaking his head. “Very cold.”

Milan frowned and furrowed her brow in concentration. “There,” she said, now pointing toward the French Country bedside table.

“You’re getting warm.” He sounded pleased.

Concentrating even harder, Milan squeezed her eyes shut, both hands framing her face. Suddenly, her eyes popped open. A smile spread across her face. With narrowed eyes, she said, “I know exactly where it’s hidden.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively.”

“You must be absolutely certain because there are severe consequences if you’re mistaken.”

“What—what do you mean?” she stammered.

“Well,” he said, tenting his fingers. “You’ll have to be disciplined. If you give an incorrect answer, I’ll have no choice but to paddle your little bottom.” As he spoke, there was a tremendous swelling beneath the blanket.

It was a dead giveaway. “It’s right here,” she squealed, stretching out her arm and jabbing the hardened mound.

Noah emitted chortling laughter. “How do you know there’s candy under there,” he asked, taking a peek under the bed linen.

“I know I’m right and I’m going to prove it.” Milan kicked off her shoes and began crawling toward the foot of the bed. The ruffled backside of her panties was exposed. Her intention was to taunt Noah with the embroidered words,
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
.

“Wait, my dear,” Noah said, breathlessly. “You may find something that looks like candy, but how can you be certain unless you taste it?”

Hmm. He had a point and she was stymied for a moment. Fondling his sickly, but amazingly erect penis was one thing, but fellatio had not been part of the bargain. The old geezer had cunningly upped the ante. She tried to mentally calculate how much dick-sucking was worth. Ten grand? Twenty? Oh hell, if he expected her to dress up like a little girl and give him head as well, he’d have to really come out of pocket and make it worth her while.

She pondered the situation briefly and came to the sad conclusion that there really wasn’t any amount of money that would entice her to put Noah Brockington’s dick anywhere near her mouth. She couldn’t do it; she didn’t have the stomach for it. Going down on a sick older man would surely cause her to throw up. And hurling on her benefactor’s crotch would most definitely unseal their deal.

Being quick on her feet—well, on her knees in this case—Milan blurted, “I made a mistake. The candy’s in there!” She nudged her head toward the armoire. Though her threshold for pain was admittedly low, she figured being flogged by a weak and dying man would be similar to getting a spanking with a feather.

“You’re sadly mistaken,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes that was anything but sad. “And now you must pay the penalty for giving an incorrect answer.”

“But—but, I’m certain…”

“You’re wrong. Now, open the second drawer,” he said, firmly, indicating the bedside table. Milan slid off the bed and flitted, unafraid, over to the table. Inside the second drawer, she found an oval leather paddle. She handed it to him and he appraised it adoringly. Noah Brockington was even kinkier than she’d realized.

“This paddle was especially designed for delivering a sound, over-the-knee spanking. Of course, my health has hampered my ability to take you over the knee, so you’ll have to come close.”

Shakily, Milan crept closer.

“Now, my dear, bend over and pull down your panties.”

Continuing to go along with the charade, Milan wrung her hands fretfully and gave a shuddering gasp before finally bending over.

Instead of the mild stinging sensation she’d anticipated, the feel of leather against her derriere was pleasant, actually. She’d known there was no danger of Noah inflicting serious pain, but she’d hardly expected to become aroused by the light spanking.

Noah counted each mild blow and when he reached the number ten, he suddenly dropped the paddle and began to moan in ecstasy. Curious, Milan peered over her shoulder and felt thrilled to see Noah hunched over in the trembling throes of an orgasm.

She was overtaken by unexpected pleasure when he recuperated and began to cover her tush with worshipful kisses. Having her ass kissed in such reverence was oddly arousing, causing her small nipples to poke out against the training bra. Her clit responded also, hardening into a firm little bud. And her vagina, now creamy with desire, clenched and throbbed; it yearned to be invaded.

“I worship you, little girl,” he uttered passionately, his face tightly pressed against her buttocks. A moment later, he began to sob, tears dampening her bare behind. Shocked, Milan pulled away, but Noah reached for her, wrapping his bony arms around her thighs. Clinging to her, he muttered words of worship and everlasting devotion.

The man truly had a thing for asses; his own as well as hers. So, being the opportunist that she was, Milan had no choice but to take full advantage of the weakness he’d shown.

“Noah,” she whispered. “If you truly adore me, you’ll make an honest woman of me.” She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in.

“What do you mean, my dear?” he asked, still clinging to her.

She instantly launched into a sales pitch. “I know you’re distraught and terrified of dying. I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to die alone. With me by your side as your wife, I promise to make every single day of your life pure paradise.” She’d borrowed the last line from a Pure Paradise brochure, but had exchanged the word,
we
for
I
.

“My dear, are you proposing to me?” he asked, awed.

“I am, Noah,” she said, sounding earnest as she shook free of his clingy grasp and turned toward him. She bent over the bed and gently wiped away his tears with her fingers. He reached for her again, this time desperately pressing his face against her thighs, as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from her.