Page 48 of Roulette: The Madam

I slipped past the hostess stand, continued through the sea of tables, and met an empty chair at the bar. With my fingers gripping the plush velvet it was constructed from, I pulled it out slightly. Before having a seat, I removed the adjustable purse holder from my bag and adjusted it to the thickness of the bartop. The Birkin found a temporary home on the piece of gold metal, signaling my readiness to sit, finally.

Henry. I made note of the slim, fuckable bartender with his eyeballs glued to the rim of my strapless dress, praying that my DDD breasts slipped as I scooted my chair up to the bartop. I trusted the Dior fabric with my life.

Unfortunately for Henry, my breast would remain clothed unless he had the funds to experience the things roaming through his head. Blue was a very nice spot, but I doubted they paid him Roulette Childers type of money.

“English Rose, Henry.”

“Yes. Of course. Welcome.”

I matched his pensive gaze under lustful eyes that would surely clear my tab without me spending a dollar. I ran my tongue across my flaming red lips and placed both hands in my lap.

“Any minute,” I urged, batting the perfectly applied lashes that lined my lids.

“Uh– yes. Yes. English Rose Martini, coming up.”

“I truly appreciate you, Henry.” Slowly, I displayed the manners my parents had instilled in me.

“My pleasure.”

I nodded, watching closely as he moved across the bar with ease. He worked often. The bar was his second home. He knew every bottle before his eyes ever touched the label. Every liquor. Every fruit. Every topper. Everything.

When he returned, he slid the glass across the bar, holding on to the bottom of the stem as he stared back at me. I didn’t resist the opportunity to stroke his ego. I accepted the gift he was offering, allowing my fingers to hover over his.

Our skin grazed ever so gently. His nostrils widened. The clenching of his jaw brought a smile to my face.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“That will be it, Henry.”

“Consider it on the house– I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

He chuckled.

“True.”

“Are you asking for my name, Henry?”

“I am.”

“Then ask.”

I leaned in and met the glass mid-air. It was a small preview of heaven. I was convinced. The ratio of gin, lemon juice, grenadine, dry vermouth, and apricot brandy was unbeatable. I lowered the drink to the counter and shifted my gaze to findHenry’s lips ajar and his shoulders rounded as if he, too, could taste the collection of flavors.

Or taste me.

“I’m waiting.” I reminded him of the task ahead. He’d gotten sidetracked.

“Uh– Yeah. Your name.”

“What about it?” I chuckled. “I know you can do better than that. Can’t you?”

He placed a finger between his collar and neck before running it along both. His fabric was growing warmer and tighter on his frame. He cleared his throat and finally released the breath he’d been holding.

“What is your name?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be. What would you like it to be, Henry?”

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