Chapter 3: Tangled Hearts & Wallets

Two weeks passed by fast, and my dick plus my dumb choices pulled me two ways. Cara’s freeze melted after that phone mess, I charmed her with a late-night fuck in her office, bent her over the desk, and she gripped the phone cord like a leash. “No more side chicks,” she growled, slammed back onto me, and her ass jiggled with every thrust. I promised, lied right to her face and pounded her till she squirted on the desk, screaming my name like she owned me.

Next morning, deposit hit, fifteen grand with a winky emoji. “Behave, boy.” I was back in her world, but Lana? She was the drug I couldn’t quit. I used Cara’s cash to treat Lana right, private chef in her loft one night, oysters and champagne, and she stripped slow on the rug with her pussy shining under candles. “How’d you pay for this?” she asked, straddled me reverse, and sank down with a gasp.

“Side gig,” I grunted, with my hands on her hips, watched her ass bounce as she rode me. Truthfully, Cara’s money paid for it all, her red lipstick marks hid under my collar. Lana came twice that night, once grinding on my face, thighs all slick; and once with me behind her on all fours, pulling her hair while she begged for deeper. No orders, just raw flow, her pussy fluttered, milked my cum as I filled the condom, and we collapsed in a sweaty pile.

Mornings with Lana felt light, we grabbed coffee, placed her head on my chest, and we talked about futures like we had one. In the Afternoon, I hit the studio, sketched her in secret—curves soft, eyes fierce. In the Evening, I received a text from Cara—dinners where I played arm candy, then went back to her penthouse for her games. Last Tuesday, She cuffed me to the bed, rode my face till I drowned in her, and edged my cock with a vibrator till I begged. “Mine,” she’d whisper, finally let me flip her, and I fucked her ass slow—first time there, lube slick, her moans turned wild as I stretched her tight hole.

But cracks showed up. Lana saw the new watch—Rolex, Cara’s “gift” after a Hamptons trip. “Big gig,” she teased, but her eyes got sharp. I lied, “Art sale cash.” She bought it for now, and we sealed the doubt with a blowjob in the alley behind her place, she knelt in the rain, sucked me sloppy till I came in her throat, and she swallowed with a wink.

Friday hit hard, Cara’s texted me at noon. Yacht. Keys to Miami. Pack light—leaving at four. Wear the speedo I like. It was a surprise trip, her treat after a big deal closed. My heart sank, Lana and I had plans to have picnic in the park, her favorite, with rosé she loved. I’d already paid for the basket with Cara’s money.

Can’t make tonight, I texted Lana fast. Work emergency. Rain check? I’ll make it up. Guilt bit me, but her reply helped: Bummer! Kill it at work. I’ll miss you. 💋 Lie locked in tight.

By three, I was in a car to Teterboro—private airstrip, her jet waiting like a beast. Cara sat onboard, legs crossed in a white dress that screamed sex on the water. “Good boy,” she purred, pulled me into the leather seat, and her hand went straight to my crotch. “Missed this.” She unzipped me, stroked slow while the plane moved, and her mouth followed once we were up—deep throated lazy, hummed to the engine’s buzz. I came in her throat before Florida lights twinkled below, and she licked her lips like it was dessert.

The yacht—Siren’s Call, eighty feet of pure sin—sat in Biscayne Bay, the crew were like quiet shadows. We boarded at dusk, her bikini top barely held her tits, and the bottoms were a thong that vanished between her cheeks. “Champagne?” A glass appeared; she clinked mine, eyes shiny. “To escaping the grind.”

That evening, we had dinner on deck, Fancy lobster, her foot teased my crotch under the table. After, she led me below—big bedroom, king bed by portholes, ocean dark outside. She stripped me first, pushed me down, and climbed on to grind her wet pussy on my thigh. “Eat me through it,” she ordered, fabric in the way as I licked. I tasted her through lace, her clit pulsed under the damp cloth, and she came fast, shaking hard.

She peeled it off, shoved my face deeper, and her pussy was bare now, folds slick. I tongue-fucked her hole, thumbed her ass—tight and winking. “Finger it,” she gasped, so I did, one finger slid in easy from her wetness. She rocked, fucked by my mouth and hand, and cried out as she soaked me again.

We fucked after—missionary slow, her legs over my shoulders, folded her in half. Deep hits made her claw my back, drew fresh blood. “Harder—fuck me raw, Cole.” No condom—her rule on the boat, was just pills and trust. I fucked her till the headboard banged, she squirted around my cock, and pulled my load deep with a final squeeze.

Done, we chilled on deck under stars, her head on my chest, wine loosening us up. “Ever think about forever?” she murmured, soft for once. “Or just the next cash drop?”

I stroked her hair, ocean lapped the boat, and I said, “This is good. Us.” Of course, I Lied, but it kept things calm.

Dawn was humid, crew served eggs on the back deck. We sailed out—open water, wind whipping. Cara wore a rash guard and shorts, I had board shorts, and her speedo idea got ditched for comfort. She tanned topless, tits oiled and gleaming, while I sketched the horizon on a napkin—storm clouds far off, ignored.

By noon, texts stacked, Lana’s “Hope work’s not hell? Thinking of that alley”… with a winking emoji. I deleted fast, but Cara caught the buzz. “All smooth?” Her tone was light, eyes sharp.

“All good.” I kissed her to distract, slipped my hand under her shorts, and circled her clit till she moaned into my mouth, forgot it all.

Storm hit like a monster—sky went black, wind screamed, waves smashed the boat like fists. Captain’s voice crackled: “Get below. Big storm coming.” Crew ran; Cara and I went to the bedroom, boat rocking wild. Rain hit the windows, thunder shook deep.

She laughed crazy, eyes lit with adrenaline. “Fuck the weather—fuck me.” Pushed me against the wall, yanked my shorts down, and my cock sprang free, half-hard from the chaos. “On your knees first.” I dropped to the wet carpet—rain leaked in—and her shorts came off, pussy bared. She grabbed my hair, ground on my face rough, and her juices mixed with saltwater spray. “Tongue deeper—suck my clit.”

I did, nose smashed in her folds, the boat’s roll slammed her harder onto me. She rode my mouth like a wave, thighs bruised my ears, and she came with a howl louder than the storm. Pulled me up, spun to brace the wall—ass out, cheeks spread. “Fuck me here. Now.”

No prep—just spit on my dick, slammed into her pussy from behind. Wet slaps beat the thunder, her walls gripped tight. Boat lurched; I held her hips, thrust wild, and the storm made us feral. “Harder—break me, boy!” she yelled, pushed back, took every inch as rain poured on the glass and lightning flashed our shadows—raw and crazy.

Flipped her to the bed, mattress slid with each pitch. She wrapped her legs around me, stuck her nails in my ass, and urged deeper. “Come inside—fill me up.” I did, pounded till stars burst, her clenching milked rope after rope, mixed with her gush. We rode the aftershocks, boat groaned, and she laughed breathless against my neck. “That’s my storm chaser.”

Storm passed by midnight as stars peeked out, sea went smooth. Crew reported small damage; we anchored calm, her curled against me, satisfied. But sleep dodged me—Lana’s unanswered texts bit hard. “Miss you. Call when you can?”

Morning took us back, her napping on deck. I snuck below, texted Lana “Work done early. Dinner tonight?” My treat—gonna be epic. Used Cara’s last cash for a fancy rooftop spot she loved.

Cara woke at docking, kissed lazy, and said, “Back to reality. Cash is waiting, be good.” Winked like nothing went wrong.

Jet home, Brooklyn by dusk. Quick shower—storm salt gone, then i took a cab to the restaurant. Lana waited, her sundress fluttering, a big smile. “Mystery man returns.” Hugged tight, her body fit perfect.

Dinner blurred: Steaks rare, wine flowed, and her foot teased my shin. After, we walked to her loft, hands linked, city hum quiet. Inside, she pushed me to the couch, hiked her dress, no panties. “Missed this cock.” Straddled reverse, sank slow, her ass cheeks parted around me. Rode hard, head thrown back, tits bounced free. I gripped, thrust up, her moans filled the room—no storm, just us building.

She came grinding circles, pussy pulsed, then spun to face, kissed deep, tongues fought. Flipped to doggy on the floor, I fucked her from behind, hand fisted her hair gentle. “Love how you fuck me,” she gasped, pushed back. Filled her deep, her second orgasm ripped through, and pulled mine as the condom caught the flood.

We collapsed giggling, she traced my chest, and asked, “Where’d you vanish to? Sounded intense.”

“Client crisis,” I lied smooth, kissed her neck. “All fixed now.”

Snuggled till morning, she slept first. Phone buzzed low, it was Cara’s “Home safe? Miss my toy.” Then Lana forwarded Victor’s invite to me. Dinner on Sunday, my Dad’s hosting—Bring your mystery guy?

My gut twisted hard. Victor Hale, Cara’s ex, the billionaire she gutted. Dinner with the enemy, old divorce dirt ready to spill. Cara’s ghosting her daughter, Lana’s mom, it all clicked.

I silenced it, pulled Lana closer. Her warmth won for now. But the web got tighter, cash drying up, hearts tangling. One slip, and the storm inside would sink us all.