Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Coming right up, Mr Leonard.”
“Ooh, dear.” Mr Leonard fake laughs at me as the bartender gets to work. “You aren’t allowed to know our full names, are you?”
I’ve read that in the terms of service, yes – no asking for names.
“I’m now allowed to ask for names, no.”
“Fuck the terms of service. We’ll give them to you anyway. I’m Dean,” the ginger guy says with a grin. “And that’s Ryan.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Holly.”
“Yeah, right, sure you are.” Dean checks his watch, clearly a Rolex. “You’re nice and prompt, Holly. Just as well since we’re paying you four grand for this filthy experience. You have a pair of cracking hot tits. Even better than your photos.”
The bartender hears that, but pretends not to. He sets up three glasses on the counter and pops the cork.
Great. So now he knows I’m a prostitute, and so does everyone else in earshot.
I take a swig of my drink before I answer the lovely Dean. I shouldn’t break the terms, but I do.
So this is banter? Fine. I’ll take it. I flick my hair out of the way, propping an elbow on the bar as I answer him.
“Thanks. I hope you have a cracking hot cock when you fuck me with it later.” I raise my voice. “I am being paid to use it, after all.”
I’m sure the people around us must hate it. I can feel the crackle of disbelief in the air, but neither of these guys give a shit. It’s clear they’re loving it.
“My cock is bigger than Dean’s,” Ryan tells me. “His is puny compared to mine.”
“You’re talking shit and you know it.” Dean slaps his hand on my thigh. “Don’t worry. Ryan can say what he wants. He’s full of tosh.”
These guys are so arrogant and cocky, they’re practically snorting with their own self-worth. Dean’s hand stays on my thigh and climbs higher, slipping underneath my skirt, but it’s not my job to give a shit about that. I spread my legs so he can do what he wants, and take another sip of my champagne. It’s delicious.
“How long have you been a slut?” Ryan asks.
I keep up the cheeky banter, “Since the first time I rubbed myself off on the living room carpet while Mummy wasn’t looking.”
He laughs at that. “Ok, I’ll rephrase it. How long have you been an entertainer?”
“About a week.”
“A fucking week?!”
I look him right in the eyes. “Yes. About a week.”
“Jesus. You’d better be a good one, then. Or we’ll ask for a refund.”
He gives another snort laugh, but my heart speeds up, in case he’s serious. My flights are on the line here.
“Don’t worry.” I lean right into him and run a finger up his shirt. “I will be.”
Dean’s hand reaches my crotch on his climb, and I hold the inner quakes deep. Nobody else in this room matters. Not their opinions, not their tastes, not their whispers or looks of disgust. The 4k is coming from these two, not from them. I spread my legs so Dean’s hand can hook inside the lace of my panties and graze my pussy.
“She’s wet as all fuck,” he announces to Ryan.
“I’m always wet,” I say. “I’m a slut because I like getting fucked, not just for the money.”
“We should have offered you a lot less for it then, shouldn’t we? We’ll know that for next time.”
No, Holly is worth 4k. I’m going to make sure of it.
I lean back so they get full sight of my cleavage, my tits straining the fabric. I neck my champagne, and gesture for them to pour me another glass of high-end fizz, and Ryan does it for me. Fuck the pair of them and their dickhead chatter. I down that one as well.
I can handle these guys. Some of Connor’s friends were full of banter, they just didn’t have millions in their bank accounts to go along with it – most likely from their mummies and daddies. These two would be a lot easier to deal with in the privacy of a hotel room, though.
“Are you going to get another bottle or two to take upstairs?” I ask them. “I hope you’re going to give me cock for the next four hours, not just parade me in the bar. Time is ticking, gentlemen.”
They look at each other, and Ryan shrugs. Dean orders three bottles from the bartender, paying with an Am-ex card like he’s a high roller. He holds two of the bottles up to me to show off.
“Fine, let’s go,” Ryan says, taking the other bottle as well as my coat as they lead me away. I don’t realise how tense I’ve been until we’re heading upstairs in an elevator, just the three of us. It’s a relief to be out of public viewing.
“Time to fucking party,” Dean says as he swipes their suite door open with a key card.