Two days. That’s how long it’s been since I clocked out last, and already I’m itching for more. The bruises on my thighs have faded to yellow smudges, the sting gone, but when I catch sight of myself in the mirror tonight, I still see fingerprints that aren’t mine.
I swipe gloss across my lips, laugh at my reflection, and blow myself a kiss. “Round two, baby.”
The desk girl, Maria, gives me the usual once-over as I check in. “Suite eight tonight. Special booking.”
“Special how?”
She smirks, popping her gum. “You’ll see.”
And I do.
When I step into the suite, it isn’t one client waiting—it’s two. A man and a woman, seated together on the velvet couch like a portrait out of a glossy magazine.
They’re beautiful, both of them. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a watch that probably cost
