Lisa's Story

Lisa

The house was spacious, the floors thick Italian marble. Lisa looked over her shoulder, the handsome businessman from New York watching her every move. How men in their late thirties racked up billions of dollars was beyond her, but his means of making money wasn't the concern. She wanted him to spend it.

"As you see, everything is custom designed. It's a one of a kind." She turned and pressed her back to the counter, her white button down shirt open at the top, just enough to show the curve of her breast if she turned the right way. The black pencil skirt fit like a glove, the red heels screaming of the dominance that pulsed through her veins.

"I can see that. Magnificent." He stopped in front of her, his voice low, his eyes hooded. Dark hair barely touching his shoulders looked too soft not to touch, his eyes blue like the ocean. She reached up and moved a lock of it from his forehead before he caught her wrist. "The house is nice too."

"I assume that means you're interested."