I wake up to sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows and the smell of fresh coffee.
For a disorienting second I think I am still dreaming—my tiny studio didn’t have windows like this, or a bed this enormous, or the heavy, warm arm draped possessively across my waist.
Then memory floods back: the $5,000 tip, the knock at the door, Victor Vaughn on his knees eating my p***y like a starving man, taking my virginity slow and deep until I saw stars. Falling asleep with his silk tie knotted softly around my throat like a claim.
I shift carefully. Every muscle between my legs aches in the most delicious way, a reminder that last night actually happened. I am sore, sticky with dried c*m and juice, and completely naked except for the tie still loosely looped around my neck.
The arm ti
