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I know the game. I know the angle. I know how to make you beg.
My hands on your body, my mouth hovering over yours—I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. Ten inches of real estate never felt so good.
But don’t take my word for it. My client list is long and my motto is short—one single thrust and you’re mine. I’m not good at what I do, I’m fantastic. But satisfaction doesn’t come cheap. So open your wallet and prepare to forget your name. I’m about to ruin you for any other man.
One single thrust and you’re mine.
“How do you wanna settle up?” I tied off the condom and slipped it into my pocket as I pulled my pants up. Rule number one—never leave behind any evidence.
Naked except for her heels, she got off the bed and sauntered to her purse. “How much?”
“Four grand.” I smiled like I was checking her out.
I took two strides and tipped her chin. “Two rounds and oral. You want a third? I just got hard watching that ass of yours.” I could fit in another quickie before my next appointment.
She smiled coyly. “Maybe next time.”
I held back my laugh, just barely. I was hung as hell. If she wasn’t sore from all that pounding, my name wasn’t Alex Vega. “You know where to find me.” I dropped her chin. “Cash or credit?”
She handed me her card and I swiped it through the small credit card reader attached to my cell phone. “Need me to text you a receipt?”
She smiled. “Receipt?”
“Deep tissue massage.” I was legit as fuck. I’d even gotten the damn massage therapist license. “Medical expense. You can deduct it on your taxes.” I winked. “You’re welcome.”
She shook her head but she looked amused. The card went through and I got dressed ASAP. Rule number two—never stick around—unless they pay you.
“So….” She twirled her hair like she was twelve. “What are you doing Saturday night? I’m looking for a date to this fundraiser that’s for—”
I was already shaking my head. “Sorry, babe. I don’t do show and tell. Strictly bedroom scenes. But text me after if you’re bored.” I shot her my money smile and buckled my Ferragamo belt then threw on the jacket of my custom-tailored suit. Stepping into my loafers sans socks, I was out. “Later, gorgeous.” Three steps backward, a wink for good measure and I turned.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, I checked my messages, scheduled three more clients and pulled up my E-Trade account balance. Nothing got me hard like seven digits in a row.
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