House Arrest Countdown: 3 Weeks
MARCUS’S FIRST ATTEMPT at a non-cyber prostitute was a disaster. The woman had smelled of cop the minute she walked in the door, the attitude wrong, the questions staged. He’d feigned confusion and sent her on her way, his anger mounting. That’s what he got for calling a fucking yellow pages ad, like he was the dregs of society. He should be feasting on high-class pussy, drowning every night in champagne and breasts, their hands crawling over his body, their subservience only increased by his fists.
So… the first attempt a cop, the second woman this piece of trash. He eyes her on the bed, her legs spread, scars running up the left side of her thigh, her right eye faint yellow from a healing bruise, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, amplifying her imperfections.
He strokes his cock, nudges her legs wider, and stares at her. Wills his cock to respond. No response from it. He isn’t surprised. His cock isn’t stupid. How can he expect a response brought from this woman? He’s never stooped to this level before, with the exception of his prison time. And now… for her to be his return to sex? No. He’d made a mistake in even trying. Especially when the only thing on his cock’s mind is the brunette with the cocky eyes that flash with darkness.
He stops, tucks his cock back into his pants. Counts out three bills and tosses them on the bed.
“Get out.”
Reilly. Not Riley. That had been the Internet girl’s last name. He walks into his office, shuts the door, and starts up his computer. He feels a calm wash over him as he finds her personal website and his screen fills with her image.