Page 9 of Our Elliana

“Jackson. You’re up.”

FIVE: Cocksure

JACKSON

As I mosey into that rosy-pink bedroom as cocksure as a man with my size of cock can be, I smack the door shut behind me and grin at my soon-to-be conquest and employer. I only recently came across Elegance, but I can’t imagine a sweeter gig. Room and board plus a hundred grand payoff just for agreeing to be this woman’s sex slave for a few months?

Um, yes, please.

And sure, earning this paycheck is essential for making certain my beloved ninety-year-old gramps stays in the assisted living facility he’s resided in for eight years now. A month ago, I found out his funds have been totally drained by his healthcare costs.

Since his son—my stingy bastard of a father—won’t help out with his multi-millions, or hell, might even be billions at this point, it’s up to me to pay the tab.

Which after assuring this lady I’m up for this job, I will absolutely do.

So working for Elegance is a deal I not only need right now, I’d happily take it all day every day and twice on Sundays. I mean, why not make money the fun way?

Because, fuck me, Elliana’s physique is enough to make me kneel down and beg for more. Tits for miles. Thick thighs and wide hips meant to be pounded for hours. A juicy ass that I just wanna bite. Wide eyes, pert nose, and generous full lips in a succulent cherry red.

This is a woman who has strength of mind and can keep secrets for years without batting a lash. I can tell by how high she’s holding her head, the direct manner she looks me straight in the eye, and the steel in her voice. And this despite the tiny gleam of perspiration along her hairline and bridge of her nose.

I know she’s been ridden hard and put up wet, but not based on her demeanor.

Nah, her demeanor is regal. So regal it reminds me of a member of royalty. Or a Greek goddess.

Smile at me, Aphrodite.

Nice digs, too. Like, superbly nice. Everything in the parts of the house I’ve seen is of top-notch quality. As someone who comes from money, I can recognize affluence at the drop of a hat. This place has it from the manicured landscaping of her yard, the paved drive, the three-car garage, plus the general lavishness of the place overall.

The living room with its staple-shaped and rose-colored suede sofa—which likely required a custom order—the modern dining area off the huge chef’s kitchen. It could all be from a magazine shoot.

It smells like cash in here.

Something else about the owner of said place? She carries herself as if demanding to know what I can provide her. There’s no sex-kitten’s come-hither stare because she’s not the one being evaluated.

I am.