Money Man (Woolf Tales Book 3)


“Another bloody wedding – seriously, Mum, it’s enough already.” I winced as a barrage of high pitched words slammed into my ear through my phone. My head was ringing as my mother, Gayle, continued to vehemently insist I attend.

“Tally, darling. However are you to find a husband if you don’t come to the weddings.”

I sighed. “No one calls me Tally anymore. For the thousandth time, please just call me Tal.” I heard her harrumph in an exasperated manner. “Secondly, these are all straight weddings. Hardly anyone there is gay. Never going to happen, Mama.”

“Baby, please. This is one of your father’s oldest clients.”

“I don’t even know why I’ve been invited…” I was caving and she knew it. As much as she drove me nuts, I adored my mother. She was my biggest fan and once she’d gotten used to the idea of me being gay, she was determined to find me a nice Jewish boy to settle down with. I didn’t like to tell her I wasn’t looking for ‘nice’. Thank God, my dearest younger sister had tied the knot two years ago and was about to have a baby. Miri had taken the heat off of me for a bit, but even so, mother never missed an opportunity. 

“Nonsense,” my mother continued sounding entirely too gleeful. “Of course, you’d be invited. Miri is also coming with George.”

“Gordon,” I corrected her. 

“George; Gordon – what’s the difference?” A tut rang loudly in the air. Poor Miri had married a proper English fellow not of the faith, and mother had yet to get her head around it. “At least the children will be Jewish.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mama, get over it or shut up.” Nothing I hadn’t told her a million times. “Now I really…” I coughed and my eyes watered. Glancing down a set of bright blue eyes sparkled at me. I set my phone to mute. “Use your fucking teeth again and I’ll knock them out.” The boy blinked several times and made a show of covering his teeth with his lips which he then re-wrapped around my cock. Jesus, his mouth was nothing short of sinful. I patted him on the head. “Mama, I have to go. I have a client.”

“You work too hard, darling. I’ll send you the details; it’s not for another 3 weeks.”

I ended the call and threw my phone on my desk, freeing my hands to grab handfuls of thick curly hair. I tugged hard, eliciting a deep groan from the little cocksucker by my feet. The rumbly vibrations against my sensitive flesh finished me off and with a quiet huff, I shot my load down his throat. Moments later he pulled off and I watched as he greedily licked his mouth clean, happy to be given the opportunity to eat my come. I normally pulled out and sprayed his face, but I was feeling generous today.

“Get out from under my desk and go get me some lunch.” I tucked myself back into my suit trousers and straightened my clothes. My personal assistant was an adorable come slut who possessed a variety of skills that had kept him in my employ for the past two years. I couldn’t function without him. “And, Davey, book me in with my barber this afternoon.” I was due in court the following day, and always ensured I looked my best.

Facing the mirror in a trendy barbershop around the corner from my office in Soho Square, I admired the view. I worked out to achieve what I thought was a near perfect physique for my frame, and all six feet of me was solid muscle. I was pretty huge, but not built like a weight lifter. I was far leaner, more like the Deadpool guy; Ryan something…but with chestnut hair.

Anyway, back to my favourite subject. Me.

I had recently started to grow a beard, fancying myself as a bit of a hipster, but having been called ‘Daddy’ one too many times, I decided to get it trimmed back to more of a scruff. I had no desire to be anyone’s Daddy. That dynamic took far too much time and attention and required a level of commitment I wasn’t prepared to make. Despite my mother’s best efforts, I was far from being ready to settle down. My longest relationship to date was with Davey, and that suited us both fine. Lucky for Davey, his husband was an understanding chap who got off on Davey’s office shenanigans. He once told me they’d recreate the scenes at home. TMI, but my ego enjoyed the boost.

“The usual, Mr Roth?” My regular hairsmith placed his hands on my shoulders and spoke to me in the mirror.

“Please, Ron. Can you also shorten the beard? I can’t be doing with all this hair on my face.”

“Will do, Sir.” He smirked at my reflection knowing full well what that particular title did to me. My cock jerked under the cutting cloak in response. I tutted and rolled my eyes.

“Just cut the damn hair, boy.”

There weren’t too many men in the area I hadn’t fucked, including Ron. I was a complete whore when it came to men; particularly pretty boys, and with Soho just up the road, it was easy pickings. I had gained a reputation for being a mean fucker which seemed to attract them even more. I wasn’t complaining, but I was getting a little bored.

Ron set to work and I was enjoying being pampered when the doorbell pinged signalling another client had arrived. Ron bent to my ear. “Give me a sec.” He seemed even more reverent towards this new arrival than he did towards me, which pissed me off no end. I twisted my head to see who’d arrived and was greeted with a disarming grin from a moody looking motherfucker dressed in a £3000 suit, with a body to die for. I groaned when he saw me.


“Fuck off, Izzy.” I closed my eyes. Isadore Woolf’s greatest pleasure in life was taunting me until I broke. It had been that way all our lives. Our parents were great friends.

“Now is that any way to greet an old boyhood friend?” he asked me, cocking his head.

“Unlike your husband Adam, I’m not about to sink to my knees and call you Master, so, yeah, whatever.” Izzy and Adam were recently married. I was unable to attend as I was working in Tel Aviv for six months for a very personal client. In fact, it was for my client that I was attending court the next day. As his financial advisor, I was a key witness in a money-laundering case he was involved in. I wasn’t worried. Doron Sagall had more money than he could spend in several lifetimes and would eventually pay his way out of trouble. This was just the preliminary hearing to determine how much trouble he was looking at and the reason for me attending was in case I had to make some of his amassed fortune disappear for a while. I always worked within the confines of what was legal, but not necessary moral. It made me popular with less than savoury characters, but I couldn’t give a fuck as long as they paid me through legitimate sources.

“Heard Doron’s in a spot of bother,” Izzy probed.

“The hearing isn’t until tomorrow. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but unless you can predict the future, which even you can’t, I’d say that Doron is just fine, thank you.” Ron resumed my haircut once I’d stopped shaking.

Izzy snorted. “Okaaaaay.”

“What are you? Like five?” God, he pissed me right off.

“Get a grip Tal. You were never this easy to wind up.” Izzy dropped the joker act. “What’s up?”

I sighed. “Mum is driving me mad to find a nice boy to marry. She cites you and Adam at every given opportunity, fuck you very much for that. I haven’t the heart to tell her I don’t do ‘nice’ so I let her drag me off to one wedding after another raising her hopes each time.”

“So, what’s new…” Izzy commiserated.

“Maybe I could ask your man Jason to pretend to be my boyfriend, just to appease her for a while?”

Izzy shook his head. “Nah, that ship has sailed. The Good Lord has fixed himself up to not one, but two boyfriends. It’s serious. Sorry.”

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with everyone these days?” I huffed.

“Maybe your mother has a point, Tal. Since meeting Adam, I’m so damn happy. I can’t believe I feel this way. And Jason; well he’s like a new man. Having someone to love and who loves you back is really something special.”

“Oh, don’t make me puke. Who are you and what have you done with Isadore Woolf?” I closed my eyes. The man everyone recoiled from on a good day, had turned into a sap. Some Master Dom he’d turned out to be.

“Just don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Never going to happen.”

Ron finished me off, earning himself a substantial tip for improving on perfection. I said my good byes to Izzy who invited me to a party that weekend at his club, then I made my way home. I’d messaged the valet to have my car waiting for me outside my office and it was sitting pretty at the kerb. I smiled at the sight of my McLaren Spider. No matter how bad of a mood I was in, when I slipped behind the wheel of my storm grey car with its red and black leather interior, I felt like a fucking God. It was a ridiculously clichéd indulgence, but I didn’t care. It was my money and I’d spend it how I liked, which was another valid reason for not getting hitched.

I navigated my way through the busy London traffic to get to my apartment in Regent’s Park. It wasn’t perhaps the trendiest part of London to live nowadays, but the views across the park were amazing and I loved the elegant period building that had been divided into several luxury apartments. Plus, it was nearer to Hampstead Garden Suburb where I grew up and where my family still lived. Despite denying it until my dying day, the umbilical cord was still well and truly attached.

I locked up my car in the underground parking garage and ran up the two flights of stairs to my front door. I suddenly felt the need to burn off some excess energy with a run, so I quickly swapped my suit for a pair of shorts, a vest and trainers, and within ten minutes I was jogging at a decent pace around the lake in Regent’s Park.

The light was beautiful. It was early summer and the evenings were long and warm tinged with a pinkish hue from the dying sun. The swans and ducks fluttered around the water with the occasional heron standing majestically among them. They all went about their business naturally as if they weren’t in the centre of probably the busiest metropolis in the world. I was truly grateful for the oasis the park provided and considered it to be the best one in London. After pounding the pathways for an hour having managed to dodge errant buggies, rebellious toddlers, idiot skateboarders and curious dogs, I rewarded myself with an ice cream from the Rose Garden Café. It was a secret guilty pleasure and one I indulged in regularly.

I took my cornet with the mandatory chocolate flake and licked it lazily while I sat on a bench overlooking the lake. I contemplated Izzy’s words from earlier and decided it was alright for him to be living his best version of happiness with his new groom, but that I wouldn’t be following in his footsteps anytime soon. With that resolved, I decided to get an early night ready for court tomorrow.