A/N:Probably won't be doing anything with this until Fall 2017.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Fifty Shades Trilogy or any of its offshoots. Fifty Shades, Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele are the property of E. L. James, and are not my intellectual property. No financial gain has been or will be derived from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. Any text used from the Fifty Shades Trilogy is used under the fair use allowances of various copyright acts. Besides, if I wrote it, Jose would still be trying to evacuate his balls from his lungs, Kate would have been handed her walking papers along with a bad-timing award for bring CG's bondage contract to his birthday party and Anastasia would've at least handled or experienced a real-live cock before Fifty's even if she didn't suck or fuck it.
THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BETA'D
CPoV
Another tedious quarterly audit of the Mile High Club. Of course, it's successful. It's mine, built by my brother Elliot to my exacting specifications. The Mile High is the place to see and be seen and the ability to gain a reservation can determine the success of a business venture. The club boasts several levels: the large elegant dining room with its private dining suites, reception area, conference rooms and finally the dance level anchored on the left by its hand-crafted wooden bar with its almost mirror-polished sheen. Silver and gold accents with and eclectic, automated lighting scheme conveyed an edgy, youthful vibe, perfect for those who use the facilities to make more personal connections. Unfortunately, this review coincided with the busiest night of the season which meant his visit could be filled with unwelcome distractions because if there was anything more popular than the Mile High, I, Christian Grey, Seattle's Most Eligible Bachelor and major circus attraction, was it.
As I walked into the room, a veritable storm of en masse primping, propping, lip-licking, skirt hiking and hair tousling took place. This shit was ridiculous. It's not like I saw them anyway. Like visiting a zoo, one goes to view the attractions, not take the exhibits home. This club was just another opportunity to experience the local wildlife. And the hunt was on, the women were fierce and the men were horny. I could practically smell the pheromones and the profits. This was a good investment. I perused the documents the club manager placed before me, and everything checked out. In fact, I had underestimated the returns on my investment. Pleased with my decision to gut the property and rebuild, I took a second glance of this evening's guests and my eyes landed on the scene of a spectacular brunette being dragged by an insistent blonde onto the dance floor. Dismissing the manager with a nod, I noticed the fucker's eyes riveted on the two women, his eyes darting between the buxom blonde and the Amazon princess being pulled to the center of the floor.
She was tall and slender, yet curvy in all the right places, sun-kissed in a way that made me wonder if she was that beautiful color all over her body even under that flimsy excuse of fabric masquerading as a dress. It looked like a couple handkerchiefs held together with thread and promises that were made to be broken. And her hair hung in curly, unruly waves past her full ass, filling me with fantasies of wrapping my hands in it as I plowed into it. And fuck could she move! The two women were now dancing together and the blonde was rubbing her body provocatively against the goddess in electric blue. She looked so fabulous from the back that even if she had a face like a horse at this point, I'd still grab her hair like a set of reins and ride her to the finish line...
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