Primal · Part One

An erotic novella. Jovan hasn’t seen Monica since they dated in high school. When they reunite at a mixer, she’s shocked to hear that her ex recently joined the world’s oldest profession. She’s even more stunned when Jovan asks her to become a business partner.

●●●●● Excerpt ●●●●●

“What’s up?” he asked her.

She looked around before meeting his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Jovan.”

She grinned at that. He wondered if she thought it was a nickname. A lot of people did.

She asked, “You wanna buy me a drink?”

Jovan continued to study her as he shook his head. “I don’t buy women drinks.” He would’ve felt bad about saying that if it wasn’t the truth. He watched as her cheeks reddened.

“Okay.”

He expected her to say something rude, but she didn’t. He thought that was the end of their encounter when she turned towards the bartender and ordered her own cocktail. He finished his drink while the barkeep mixed hers.

She surprised him by telling the bartender, “Get him another one, whatever he’s drinking.”

The bartender didn’t react at all, as if a white woman buying a young, black man a drink was the most natural thing in the world.

Jovan continued to watch the woman as the bartender placed the drinks before them. She had a slender face and body. He wasn’t a fan of thin lips, but he liked the way she wore her makeup. Her hips had a nice spread to them. He didn’t see when she sat down, but he’d guess this woman had a nice, little booty on her.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked.

She said, “Sarah.”

Her anxiety was obvious, and it was another clue that she was not a working girl.

“Where you from?” he asked her.

“Connecticut.”

Jovan chuckled softly.

“What?” she said, smiling.

He was thinking that of course this prim and proper redhead had come from somewhere like Connecticut, but he didn’t tell her that. There was no need to be impolite to someone who bought him a drink. Even when she built up the courage to ask him out (if that’s what was happening), he’d let her down easy.

But things didn’t go as planned.

“Well, how much do you charge?” she asked.

Jovan nearly choked on his drink, but he was way too cool to reveal his shock. She thought he was a prostitute. That was both scandalous and amusing. Jovan had a decent track record of using women for financial gain, but he never flat-out charged money for sex. But when in Rome…

Without missing a beat, he said, “Five hundred for an hour, a thousand for the night.” He wasn’t sure if those prices were acceptable, but if that’s what the high-priced whores in the hotel were charging, he should be able to bring in the same.

Despite his smooth demeanor, his heart was kicking while he waited for her to respond. She studied his face a while longer and then her eyes rolled down his body. Jovan felt like a piece of meat on the butcher block.

This feeling increased tenfold when she told him, “Unbutton the rest of your shirt.”

He noticed there was no please at the beginning of that statement or a question mark at the end. That meant it was an order, which Jovan was generally opposed to.