Hooked By A Billionaire (Book One) by Lexi Duval

Author:Lexi Duval
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: billionaire erotic romance, billionaire romance series, billionaire erotica series, short reads erotica

Chapter Four

We stand, together, outside the door to the penthouse suite, a nervous energy in the air. Madam Belfry quickly does a count to make sure we're all there, and then looks over us all to ensure we're ready to go.

This time, I'm not wearing coats and lingerie beneath. Instead, we were ordered to come in elegant dresses and looking more chic and refined. I look at the girls, and it's clear to see that this is a step up from my previous post.

And it's not just the fact that they're wearing nicer dresses, with better make up and more fashionable hair. It's also that they're better looking, with porcelain faces and curvy, sexy frames.

Basically, I'm surrounded by perfect faces, great tits, and pert asses. I'm sure each of their pussies is well put together too. I know that Violet's is, from the times before when we used to work together.

She stepped up sooner than me, having plied her trade under the wing of Madam Belfry for longer than I have. That was over six months ago, but finally I've joined her at the top of the pile.

Better money, better settings, and apparently, better sex.

I guess we're about to find out.

Madam Belfry checks her watch, waits a few moments for the time to tick to 8 PM on the dot, and knocks. Unlike the frat house, she's going to stay to introduce us this time.

The door opens, and a man stands in front of us. He looks in his early thirties, fairly handsome and in a nice gray suit. I recognize him as one of Damien's friends from the casino floor.

“Good evening, I am Madam Belfry, here to introduce the entertainment for the night.”

“Good evening,” he returns casually. “Come on in.”

Madam Belfry walks in, and we follow. Ahead, men stand around, sipping various kinds of drinks and smoking on cigars. And here was me thinking these rooms were non smoking.

I suppose a guest like Damien Moore can do just what he likes.

We fan out either side of Madam Belfry as she stands ahead of us, and I spread my eyes seductively around the room as I have so often.

Yet this is no normal room. It's incredibly luxurious and spacious, with ornate details and appointments and looking like just about the most expensive penthouse suite I could possibly imagine.

The occupants are nothing like what I've seen either. They're a range of ages, although generally fairly young, and all carry themselves with a weight and confidence that I haven't yet come across.

I look over each individually, and see the same expression on all their faces. A look that tells me they've done this all before, and that the sort of night to come is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

And at the back, by a large window with the lights of Vegas shining in, I see Damien Moore. He sits, one leg over the other, cigar in one hand, whiskey in another, and speaks. His voice cuts through the room, directed straight at Madam Belfry.

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