Mature Content 17+ || Savage Wolves MC Book One
Recently escaped from the only home she's ever known, Letha moves out to Las Vegas to start a new life away from the people who sought to ruin her. Broke and jobless, with no employers calling her back...
*This is rated mature, so if you are easily offended or triggered, this might not be for you.*
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•Letha•
I despise being here. It smells like cigars and sex; even over the potent strawberry champagne scented lotion I lather over my legs.
Loud moans and the occasional scream resonate throughout the elaborate brothel as seven other girls are working their magic on their filthy rich clients tonight.
I know my client will be here soon, even though I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty knife than have his small prick in me again.
Talk about wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Charles couldn't stop himself from coming within thirty seconds flat. You'd think spending as much money as he does here, he'd want to get his money's worth out of me.
But, hey, I'm not complaining. It means less time for me to spread my legs for his revolting ass.
Plus, he isn't all that bad. At least he tips well and has always been nice to me. I much rather prefer his company to some of the other clients I entertain.
"Letha?" The raspy voice of Miss Michelle calls out from the bedroom.
I finish up in the bathroom and pull the white lace robe over my shoulders before opening the grandiose, gold-trimmed double doors that will lead into an even more extravagant bedroom.
A magnificent, cherry wood four poster, plush bed sat dead center in the large room while hidden speakers lightly playing a sensual melody are set up in each corner. A chaise lounge chair draped with a velvet throw blanket sits off to the side in front of the French double doors that lead to a veranda overlooking the ocean. A fireplace posed in front of the king sized bed roars to life as the Madam strikes a match and throws it in, even though the temperature is peaking in the seventies here in West Palm Beach.
My heels clack against the hardwood flooring of my room as I step into view of Michelle, the Madam of the house, and who I thought is supposed to be Charles.
But, Charles isn't here. Instead, a younger man of much larger stature is poised beside Michelle in all her lacy lingerie glory.
"This is Quinn, Letha. Your previous client canceled due to a family emergency. Hanna is still busy so I've given Quinn to you instead. Make him comfortable, dear, and send him back to me when you're finished." With that, she left the room, gently closing the doors as she returns to her post at the front of the brothel.
Quinn isn't a bad looking man. He must be young, probably mid-thirties. Much younger than Charles at the ripe old age of fifty.
