“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.