Honestly, I should have been clearer about my demand of Harry Hindermost because he arrived at my rented salt box with a bottle of whiskey, a pleasurable and needy grin on his adorable face, and a twinkle in his eyes that told me he thought of my phoning him as a booty call. Truth said, he looked similar to that of a high school boy because of his cherry red cheeks, sloppy hunger, and burst of over-affection. As he placed the bottle of high shelf whiskey on one of the foyer’s walnut tables, he hugged me close, flicking one of my shirt-covered n*****s with a fingertip, he played, “Let’s have a drink before I strip you out of your clothes and have my way with you.”
Being delicate, I pulled away from him and shared, “This is more about business than pleasure, Harry.”
Wide-eyed, huffing like
