Dirty Daddies Underground
His jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed in focus.
“There,” he says, pushing the phone back into my hands. “Message this one instead.”
I take the phone reluctantly, the unease is already crawling down my spine like ice water. Okay, I can do this. I glance at the screen, expecting another profile like the last, another man, another list, another sickly menu of desires.
Only this one isn't, my breath catches and I stare.
It's not just one man, it's three.
The profile photo shows them sitting together in a high end hotel room. They’re all dressed in suits, their expressions too smug, too eager, with the kind of smiles that don’t reach the eyes.