Chapter 6

MULTIMILLION DOLLARS SEX BUSINESS.

Brucha had slipped out of the hotel, leaving a fat wrap of bills on the table for me—just like last time. Easy money. So much cash for one short night?

He hadn’t done much. A single splash of his release across me, then he bowed out when I pushed for round two. Only one go on the bed. Was he holding back? Playing the gentleman? Or was that simply who he was?

From our two meetings, I could tell: he wasn’t playing. The gentleman fit him naturally. But he wasn’t my type at all.

If I’m going to be with a man, he needs more stamina and a flexible skill than a monkey. A man who can cycle through five, ten, twenty impossible positions in one session. Someone who can make me forget my own name just by pinning me down. A lover who can make me reach the ends of the world moaning beneath him.

I crave something wild, and honestly, I doubt any man alive could match the chaos in my head. Maybe I’m too much for this generation.

I felt cheated when Brucha passed out, leaving me unfinished and wanting more. Then, without a shred of consideration for the frustration he’d dumped on me, he shook me awake in those early hours when real lovers steal one last round. All he wanted was to ask, “Can I have you?”

I almost rolled over and ignored him. But the mountain of cash fanned across the table earned him a sliver of respect.

“Have me, how? Explain,” I said.

Brucha flinched, like he was about to ask for the moon.

“I want you as my wife. My lovely wife.”

He was right to feel nervous. Even if I were ready for marriage—which I’m not—it wouldn’t be with someone like him. I don’t want a gentleman in my bed long-term. Gentlemen are useful for dropping obscene amounts of money while I sleep, waking up to pleasant surprises. That’s their role in my life.

“Just like that?” I gave him a faint smile.

“I think I really love you, Lily. I’m ready to give your life… a good definition.”

A good definition? That didn’t sound romantic. Then again, I wasn’t expecting poetry from a man old enough to be my father—or close enough. Brucha carried his age in years only; his slim frame and boyish face shaved decades off him.

“Well, you *think* you love me. You’re not even sure. Let’s hold off until you are…” I swallowed the rest. I almost added *and I hope that takes forever*, but I bit it back. No need to scare him off completely. I didn’t want him glued to me, but I also didn’t want to lose him. He’d become a reliable income stream. Maybe we could keep it transactional: he calls when he needs sex, I call when I need cash. Simple. Sustainable. Friends with very expensive benefits.

* * * * * *

I sank back against my pillows. Since I turned into this ordinary girl with no real job—just one good fuck every couple of months and enough money to coast—I barely had worries anymore. Meet Brucha once every two months to keep things comfortable, plus the pocket change from Dad and whatever I squeeze out when I stock the kitchen. Life was easy.

I’d be five or ten times richer if I saw him monthly—or every two weeks. I'd become a multimillionaire through a business of pleasure. But I could read him clearly: he wanted something serious, and I refused to let feelings creep in. Better to space him out.

My phone rang. Kova. My brows knitted. The guy who’d shoved me off my old nice-girl path in the first place. A shitty feeling told me I’d be cursing out an asshole before noon.

I let it ring. Better for him if I didn’t pick up. My heart was still cracked from whatever he’d done, and Brucha’s cash was doing a decent job patching it.

The ringing stopped. Then started again. Kova rarely called more than twice. Lately, though, he’d blow up my phone until the tenth ring or beyond.

What he didn’t know: I’d shed my old skin. No more kid stuff. After a man like Brucha—tall, older, loaded—had come all over me, Kova looked like a boy.

I finally answered.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I fucked up, I know. I never meant to hurt you. I was gonna call that same evening—”

If he had called then, maybe things would’ve gone differently. Depending on timing. Even if I was on bed with Brucha? I might’ve escaped the bed if we hadn't done anything yet. But with Brucha already using his saliva on me? I wouldn’t even glance at the screen. I might smash the phone.

I stayed silent, letting him run out of words.

“You there, babe?”

“I’m not your babe, Kova.”

“What? I don’t get it.”

“You’re a married man. Go focus on your pretty new wife and leave me alone.”

“Come on, babe. I told you—it was a joke. I was kidding.”

“Oh. Fine.” I forced a placating smile, prepping for what came next.

“Where are you, Lily?”

“Does it matter?”

“Shouldn’t I want to see my beautiful baby?”

“Not anymore. That was before.”

“What are you saying?” Impatience edged his voice.

“Wait for me at home. I’m coming.”

“I’m not—”

He hung up before I could finish the lie. I had wanted say bluntly that I wasn't home.

Kova showing up here, now that I’m no longer the virgin he knew?

Damn!

He was certainly coming here.