Chapter 8 Eight: Tristan

• I pace the floor of the hotel suite, stopping at the window and looking out over the bright lights of the city skyline. I’ve always been an honorable man. As decent as one can possibly be while maintaining his success in the world of finance. I don’t gamble, drink heavily or womanize and I keep my word. Yet here I am, waiting for an eighteen-year-old girl to arrive so I can pay her for sex.
• Looking at my reflection in the window, I know damn well that paying Lia is the only way I’d ever get the privilege of having her beneath me. We’re old and young. Big and small. Coarse and smooth. Because of that, there is something comforting about the fact that I’ll be compensating her. When she arrives, I plan to outline our agreement in a clear, concise manner and that will help, too. Having a detailed understanding. A mutually beneficial venture is something I understand. Maybe after we’ve met privately a few times, I’ll stop feeling this sweaty, horny shame for wanting to ride a girl twenty-seven years my junior. Wanting to get my dick into her so bad, my briefs are twisted around the turgid flesh, my balls like two tight knots.
• I’ve booked the presidential suite at the Fairbourne and the bed waits silently in the other room, taunting me. Am I really doing this? Am I really a sugar daddy now?