I knew from the route she was taking that she was headed home. The same apartment. We’d fucked every which way inside that one-bed studio. It came ...ack to me fast. Her bed, her windowsill, her couch, the rug, the kitchen counter, the granite coffee table, in the shower and even against the goddamn front door. How many times? Countless times. So many times that she’d given up making notches in the bedpost. The streets were busy with traffic, stores open late for Christmas shopping, lights. With fresh makeup, newly tousled hair and a few adjustments to my skirt hem length and cleavage exposure, I watched for the black SUV to bring my sweet taste of dark chocolate back to me. It wasn't long before I saw the SUV door open and a long muscular leg emerge from behind the door. It was showtime baby. After my account search, I knew that his name was Mark Hughes. As soon as he passed through the glass doors, I welcomed him back to the hotel, calling him Mr. Hughes. He glanced towards me. More

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