Urban - Four individuals going through different aspects of life. Each going through their own struggles surrounding Lyrewood - HARDAWAY.
VOLUME ONE - Carmen Richardson. Kylan Burgess. Aalea Jimenez. Marshay Hayes.
VOLUME TWO - Asia Jimenez. Sharif...
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Ding — my eyes looked at the elevator doors separating from one another through the dark shades when I reached the specific floor. Sauntering off the elevator and onto the carpet of the upscale hotel in my lace-up, red button heels. Average heightened and slender body, I had on a black, double-breasted trench coat with my hair done in a side swoop low ponytail. I reached the door at the end of the hall, removing my hands from the pocket and knocking my small fist on the door loud enough for the person on the other end to hear.
Shortly after the knock, the door of the presidential suite opened. An aged Caucasian man. He beat my twenty-one by at least fifty years. He has gunmetal-grey hair with the brightest, ocean blue eyes and thin lips on his world weary face. His once jaded eyes shifted to holding a twinkle rather quickly when seeing me standing there.
"Jonathan?" The sultry question eased from my voice-box.
"Y-yes," he stammered. "You must be Summer," he called me the name I give every Trick.
"Yup. Can I come in?"
"Oh, please, please."
He nearly tripped over his own feet to open the door wider. I chuckle inwardly, walking into the presidential suite and taking a look around as he shut the door. It's full living area with two luxury couches, side chairs, coffee table, a floor lamp, and luxury accessories. High ceilings with facing the stunning Myriad Botanical Gardens.
"Care for a drink?" He inquired behind me.
I turned around on my heels, facing him with smile. "Don't worry about me. Only place I want you is planted in that chair," he practically sprinted to the chair and sat down. Desperate, much?
"What do you like to drink?"
"Scotch."
I nodded and walked towards the mini bar. "I'll pour us a drink."
Grabbing the bottle of Scotch I asked, "so, Jonathan, you married?"
"Yes; forty-five years," he responded honestly.
"Long time," I say pouring the same amount brown liquor in the two glass cups. "Why reach out to Vybrant Enterprises? Lonely?"
"Well. . . I'm old, my wife's old; sex isn't the same anymore," he responded as I discreetly pulled out the tiny bottle hidden in the pocket and squeezed enough drops in his drink before returning it back in the pocket of my coat. He continued to talk, ". . . I love her, you know? But I'm a still a man with needs and she rarely wants sex. I just—"
"Need someone that can handle your sexual pleasure?" Careful not to mix our drinks, I turned around and sauntered over to him. "Preferably someone young and can handle as many rounds that you could offer."
