Page 2 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)
Benedict
Rain trickled down the window. The grey skies were as dark as my mood.
This prestigious address was proof of my success—a high-rise office in the heart of London's financial district. I was a forty-five-year-old billionaire, and not many people could boast about that—except for Magnus Trentham, who was a few months younger than me. My friend, who’d recently met, knocked up, and married his sugar baby.
They now had a perfect baby on the way.
That lucky son of—I ran a hand through my thick, long hair. At least I wasn ’ t as grey as Magnus. It still burned that I was jealous of my best friend.
Perhaps a hook-up was in order. I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my contacts. None of them appealed to me. With a grunt, I stuffed it back.
What the fuck was this inertia?
I should ’ ve been living my life to the max. Nothing was tying me down, and I was in the prime of my life. Bar hopping might do it. Maybe I ’ d find someone who interests my brain as well as my dick.
When I laid eyes on her, it wasn ’ t the auburn hair or the curves that caught my attention—it was her lips. Pink. Not the kind swollen with filler, but naturally plump, slicked with gloss, and so fucking ripe I almost licked my own.
I glanced further down, beneath the table.
She wore Jimmy Choo sling-backs.
I searched their website—they were the latest season ’ s shoes. After two wives, I ’ d learned that shit. Even in London, she looked too young to be earning a high salary.
That left only one conclusion.
My perfect-mouthed lady was a prostitute. If I paid the right price, I might persuade her to dig deep and get extra nasty with me.
I went to the bar to find out what she was drinking. Armed with drinks, I rushed to her table before some other man took up her services. By hook or by crook, that sexy mouth was mine tonight.
“ Hello,” I said, accompanied by my most seductive smile.
Her eyes flicked up from her phone. Hazel, with a tinge of green around the edges—highly unusual.
“ I hope you don ’ t think I ’ m being too forward. I bought you a drink,” I said, setting her glass down. “ If you ’ re in the mood for some company—”
The corners of her full, well-shaped pink lips turned upward.
She took her time and looked me over, even leaning back to get a better view. The last time I had a hooker was at least fifteen years ago at a stag do.
Could hookers afford to be picky? What the fuck happened to customer service? This country was falling apart.
“ Sure,” she said, sticking her straw in her mouth and sucking.
Her lips pouted, cheeks hollowed—and I fucking knew she had amazing suction skills.
Those lips could talk a priest into hell.
Glossy, glistening, sinful little pillows that looked better suited to wrapping around my cock than saying no.
I wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and fuck that gloss clean off.
I smiled tightly and sat across from her as she released the straw.
Not many women could take me balls deep. It wasn ’ t the ten inches—it was the girth that was the issue. My eyes trailed down to her neck. She ’ d have the skillset from her career.
“ Did you come to stare, Mr—”
Prostitute.
Like hell was I giving her my real name.
“ Trentham. But you can call me Marcus,” I said, lifting my Macallan.
My silent fuck you to Magnus and his happy new life.
“ I ’ m Poppy. You can call me Poppy.”
Poppy? Sure, it is.
“ Sorry to stare, but you have the most fuckable lips I ’ ve ever seen,” I drawled, deciding to lay it all out so I wasn ’ t wasting my time.
Her eyes widened for a second.
“ That ’ s very bold of you to say, Mr Trentham,” she said, and slowly licked her lips.
I swallowed.
Why was her lip gloss not coming off?
And why the fuck did I give Magnus ’ s name? I wanted to hear my name coming out of those lips.
“ Poppy, why don ’ t we cut to the chase? How much do you charge by the hour?”
She chuckled, eyes twinkling, then reached for her drink again.
“ How much are you willing to pay for these lips?” she said once she released her straw again.
“ Name your price. I ’ m not a pauper. But be warned—once you name it, I will skull fuck a hole in your neck.”
She didn ’ t even blink.
“ If you can keep it up long enough, Mr Trentham, my mouth costs a thousand pounds per load,” she said with a smirk.
“ Done. Finish your drink,” I said, draining my glass.
Surprise flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before I could analyse it further.
“ Cash upfront,” she said.
“ Of course. We ’ ll need to go to my apartment.”
“ For safety, I ’ d like an address,” she said, pulling her phone up.
I had the perfect show house from my new build to take her to.
Yes, this was exactly what I needed tonight.
I rattled off the address to her while she noted it down. I could understand the need for security measures, but it didn ’ t look like she had a pimp or a madam. What the hell did I know about the flesh trade? Perhaps men and women are free agents nowadays.