I throw my head back and take in a deep breath. “Keep doing that.” My hands run up and down his back. “And you can have it every day.”
A knock on the door has him pulling away, but he stays between my legs, covering my exposed pussy in case whoever it is decides to barge in.
“What?” he demands, making me jump.
“Your next appointment is here,” Rachel growls.
“I’ll go. I’ve taken up enough of your time,” I say, pushing him away. He takes a few steps back to allow me to get off the chair. I pick up my thong off the floor and then yank down my skirt.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks, pushing my matted hair from my face.
“That sounds like a date.” I arch a brow.
“If you consider me eating your pussy while lying naked in my bed, then yes, it’s a date,” he says, running his tongue across his pretty teeth. God, the guy has a billion-dollar smile. My pussy tightens just thinking about that.
“It’s a date,” I say, gently kissing his lips, then walking out of the room. As I pass by the front desk, I see Rachel standing there out of the corner of my eye. My skin burns from her glare. “You can write me down for an appointment every day,” I throw over my shoulder on my way out.
I make my way up to Empire and see Jasmine already seated. I sit down, and she smiles at me. “You just got fucked, lucky bitch.”
I run a hand through my hair to make sure there are no knots. “Maybe. You?” I ask, looking over her perfectly fixed hair and makeup.
She rolls her eyes. “I need twenty chicken nuggets and a Bible.”
“Why?” I wonder through a laugh at that combination. “Need to bless some chickens?”
“No. I’m starving and need to repent,” she answers, scanning the menu in her hands.
“I didn’t take you to be a religious person.” I chuckle.
“Well, when I’m on my knees, I’m not praying. If that’s what you mean.”
The woman sitting in the booth to our left raises her brows, listening to our conversation. “Just what did you do?” I ask.
“What haven’t I done is more appropriate,” she mumbles, closing the menu and placing it on the table. “Anyway, enough about me. You’re obviously still seeing Cross.”
I nod. “Seems so.”
Jasmine snorts at my vague response. “Well, when a King decides he wants something, there’s no escape.”
I go to ask what she means by that, but my cell beeps. I pull it out of my purse to see it’s another text.
CUNT: Alexa?! Call me ASAP!
I lock my cell and toss it onto the table. Placing my elbows on the edge, I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “I think I need to change my number.”
“Fuckface still won’t leave you alone?”
“Nope.” I sit up straighter. “It wasn’t this bad until he saw us with Cross at the Airport.”
“You know what we should do?”
I tilt my head to the side. “No. What?” You never really know what will come out of her mouth, so I have no clue what she’s thinking about.
“We should design an app called Rate the Dick. Where we upload past sexual encounters and others can leave reviews so women can know what kind of guy they are.”
I laugh and nod. “That’s a great idea.”
“For instance, I got a text from a guy last night that I haven’t fucked in over a year. He sent me a picture of his dick.” She rolls her eyes. “It was just the picture, then he immediately sent another message saying sorry, wrong bitch.”
“Did you respond?” I wonder.
“Of course. I said still disappointing women, I see.”
I chuckle, taking a drink of the water that she already had waiting for me.
“He then called me a slut.” She shrugs. “Like that was an insult. Please, he was so small I felt like I was scissoring a woman.”
I spit that water out all over the table, covering my phone, and the woman next to us chokes on her eggs.
“Like I’d miss that.” Jasmine snorts.
I sit back in my seat, cleaning off my cell with my napkin. “I feel the same way about Mitch. I’m not Jesus, nor do I have Alzheimer’s. I don’t forgive, and I don’t forget.” All of a sudden, he just expects me to come crawling back to him. It’s not going to happen.
“Men. I wish we could kill them after we’re done with them,” she says with a sigh. “At least that would give us something to look forward to.”
“Amen, sister,” I agree.
“Anyway, I know the bar keeps you busy. How is the studio doing?”
“I sold it.”
“What when?” she asks surprised.
“Last month.” I shrug, no biggie. “The people who own the coffee shop beside me wanted to expand and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” My mom had bought a small studio back when she was in college. It was a run-down hole-in-the-wall that her friend’s dad was selling. He sold T-shirts out of it. She bought it and turned it into a dance studio. She left it to my brother and me when she passed. Derek wanted nothing to do with it, and I was tired of having to keep up with it. I’d much rather have that money to put into Lucky’s someday.