P*rnstation
We stopped in front of a beautiful eight-footer, full and perfect.
“This one,” I said, running my fingers along the soft needles. “I’ll take it.”
He nodded and started wrapping it in netting, muscles flexing under his flannel. I watched openly, biting my lip. When he finished tying it off, he straightened and met my eyes again.
“That’ll be two hundred,” he said.
I stepped closer, close enough that my breasts nearly brushed his chest. “Actually,” I murmured, pulling five crisp hundred-dollar bills from my pocket and holding them between two fingers, “I was hoping for private delivery. Right now. Just you and me.”