Page 55 of Roulette: The Madam

She didn’t resist the opportunity to stroke his ego. She used her feminine energy to her advantage. Just from observing I understood that it was her most powerful weapon, although Iwas sure she was toting fire in that seventy-thousand dollar bag hanging from the counter. She accepted the drink from him, allowing her fingers to hover over his. Their skin grazed, sending waves of heat up my spine.

Henry’s nervous system went into overdrive. He was overwhelmed with her beauty, her presence, and the attention she was giving him. Little did he know, even if he worked three hundred hours a week, he didn’t have enough money to appease a woman of her caliber.

Henry’s nostrils widened. The clenching of his jaw brought a smile to her face. She was amused. Possibly aroused. A low chuckled and shake of the head escaped me simultaneously. The fact that this woman had been set free would never sit well with me. It was blowing my mind–just as she was.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

She shook her head, tilting her chin toward her chest and looking up at him with those large rounds. “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.”

She paused, pulling the drink closer. She was dripping sex without the intention of ever removing her panties for the man in front of her. Nevertheless, the entertainment was good. The entertainment was great. She was a professional. It showed. Her performance was award-worthy.

She leaned in and met the glass mid-air. Her lips pursed as her chest caved. Those sharp corners of her shoulders displaying her confidence curled inward. She was satisfied with the first sip.

She lowered the drink to the counter and shifted her gaze. Inches away, Henry stood with his lips ajar and his shoulders rounded as if he, too, could taste the collection of flavors. Visions of my pistol between his teeth lulled my thoughts.

“I’m waiting.” She reminded him of the task ahead.

He was too far gone to follow up. She was killing him softly. Slowly. Subtly.

“Uh– Yeah. Your name.”

“What about it?” She chuckled, forcing him to proclaim his desires. “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. The nigga was folding. Fumbling. Fucking up. Though he didn’t stand a chance; if he had, then he was losing his grip on it.

“What is your name?”

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

A fucking tease. I turned my head, ready to tune them both out. I had come to the bar to wind down. She had me worked up and it wasn’t me she was addressing. I cleared my throat and tried shaking my thoughts of her.

“I–”

“Ahhh– here you are,” A thick Colombian accent called out, startling an already nervous Henry.

“Mr. Kingston–” the waitress placed a hand on my shoulder, rescuing me from the turmoil I was in.

“Yes?”

“Your table is ready and your guest has already started toward it.”

Meela had arrived.

“Thank you.”

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