I told myself it was one night because the breakup had been ugly and my mouth still tasted like the fight.
No name. That was the rule I made in the bar, after the second drink, when the man at the end of the counter looked at my legs and did not look away. Older. Not old. Suit jacket off, sleeves turned once, watch that cost more than my rent. He bought the third drink without asking what I wanted and set it down like he already knew I would take it.
“Hotel is across the street,” he said. “You can finish that and go home. Or you can come upstairs and spend the night on my c**k. Dress stays on until I take it off. You don’t clean up after. Say which.”
I should have laughed. I was wet before I stood up.
The room was high. City in the window. He didn’t kiss me at the door. He turned me, p
