Gold Digger

Manuel catches the way she watches the door, the way her heels click just right. She’s young, blonde, hungry. He calls it from the first sip of wine. Later, when the house is quiet, he has her on her knees. She opens wide, takes him deep, tongue flat, throat tight. He grips her hair and pushes harder. The room fills with wet sounds, the rasp of her breath. He pulls out, drags her to the couch, bends her over. The leather creaks. He slams in from behind, hips sharp, rhythm relentless. She gasps, pushes back, takes it all. He keeps the pace brutal, hand on her back, holding her down. When he’s close he pulls out, strokes once, twice, and paints her open mouth. She swallows, eyes half-closed, the deal sealed.