Page 5 of Filthy Mouth
My cheeks burned.
Geez. I wouldn’t make a good prostitute after all.
“Are you diseased?” I asked, trying to get the upper hand again.
The indignation wiped away any traces of humour.
“I’ll have you know I have regular check-ups and—”
“Do you have a copy of any documentation?” I said, cutting him off, which pissed him off even more, but the elevator doors pinged open.
He started to bluster.
“If you don’t have the documentation, you’ll need to wear a condom,” I said, stepping out of the lift.
Beneath his beard, his cheeks were flushed and his brow tightly furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut. The vein in his temple looked as if it were ready to burst.
This was so much more fun than a dullard-filled party.
“Follow me,” he muttered as he strode past me into the marble-floored hallway.
I grinned and followed my client to his apartment.
This was exactly like my day job—minus the oral sex.
Chapter 3
Benedict
The audacity of her questioning my disease-free cock. I’d bide my time.
Yes, she wouldn't be so damn sassy with my dick down her neck.
I discreetly pulled out the key for the show home I occasionally used and unlocked the door, pushing it open and gesturing for her to go inside. I gave a quick glance around the hallway to ensure no one saw me. It was bad enough that the concierge recognised me.
“This is a lovely apartment. You should ask your interior designer for a refund, though,” she said, walking into the open-plan living area.
I slammed the door shut and followed the infuriating woman. It was a £1.4 million apartment. She should be thanking me for allowing her into the property, but instead, she walked around the room, her fingers brushing the couch as she stood beside the window.
“The view makes up for the terrible decor,” she said.
I shook my head in disbelief, then went into the main bedroom, opened the closet, and accessed the hidden safe to grab a bundle of cash. I pulled up my last set of tests on my phone, blanking my name out. The last thing I needed was a PR disaster.
When I returned to the living room, she was seated on the couch with her head tilted up toward the ceiling. I glanced at the spotlights, wondering if those would be criticised next. I’d given the final approval for the designs in this building.
“Is the lighting not up to your impeccable standard?” I asked, dropping the bundle of cash on the glass table before handing her my phone.
“The LED spotlights are the highlight of this apartment,” she drawled, taking the phone.
“You keep that attitude up, and it’ll be a spanking and a blow job.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Daddy. But a spanking will cost you extra,” she said, not even looking at me.
I’d admit—I was a weak man, because that word out of those luscious lips made my balls ache. I unzipped my trousers and eased my cock out from my underwear.
She glanced up from my phone.
My cock hovered inches away from her lips.
