She was fucking killing me. I asked for sexy and she gave me her version of sadistic. Not having my hands on her was one of the most painful exercises in futility I'd ever gone through. My plans before I arrived were to keep my hands entirely off her. That flew out the window within minutes of seeing that fucking dress. Though lifting it and admiring her bruises might not be the sexual fantasy of most red-blooded males, it fucking rocked my socks.

I had made reservations at an ...