Jilly Moran blew out her cheeks and, her stomach muscles pulsing nervously in trepidation, looked at herself in the French reproduction full-length boudoir mirror that stood on the floor, leaning effortlessly against a wall in the corner of her bedroom. She saw the noticeable blush of her cheeks as she blew a few stray wisps of strawberry blonde hair out of her deep green eyes, her hands straightening her clothes to emphasise her slim figure. She had three hours to kill. Three hours of tortuous apprehension of what lay before her that evening.

"It's just a couple of hours, then it'll be over," she reassured her reflection for the millionth time that day, "get it out of your system and move on with your life."

Her phone dinged a text, and she checked her watch. She grinned – he was punctual at least.

Hi Maya, Intercontinental Hotel, Ballsbridge. Room 344, still ok for 8:00? Don.

She toyed with her phone before answering, her fingers brushing lightly across the screen.

All good, I'll need an Uber.

She watched her screen as he typed a reply.

I'll Revolut you. How much do you need?

She smiled.

€60 should cover it.

He replied with a thumbs-up. Five minutes later, €100 arrived in her phone App.

Thank you, I'll see you at eight. I'll text you when I arrive, XX M

A final text,

Can't wait.

She ran the shower in her bathroom, then took a couple of towels from the airing cupboard and hung them on the towel rail. She slipped out of her dress and underwear, pinned up her long hair, and stepped quickly under the showerhead to luxuriate in the hot spray as it cascaded over her smooth, pale skin.

Feeling refreshed and a little more vibrant, she dried herself off and wrapped a towel around her body, returning to her bedroom to sit at her dressing table to dry her hair. It took most of twenty minutes before she was happy with it and, as she made a few final touches to fix the slight imperfection where it touched just below her shoulders, retrieved her makeup bag from behind the lower door of the unit and placed it quickly on the tabletop just as her phone began to ring. She smiled when she saw the caller's name.

She smiled when she saw the name. "Aunt Maddie," she said.

"Hey girl! How're you feeling?"

"You know … a bit nervous."

"You'll be fine; don't overthink things. Don is a pussycat, and he's great fun."

"How old is he?"

"I believe he's in his early fifties. He's divorced and spends most of his time out of the country – he's in property, I think."

"Do I need to know anything in advance?"

"He's quite vanilla in his tastes, Jilly, and he's not huge, just nice. Just go with the flow. How long is the booking for?"

"Three hours. We're having dinner in his room."

"That sounds nice, text me when you leave."

"I will, but leave your phone on just in case."

She smiled as she put her phone back in its place, thinking of Maddie and the effect she'd had on her life.

She thought back to when she was a teenager at home in the town of Naas in County Kildare. She was the middle child. Her older brother, Tommy, and younger sister, Hannah, still lived in County Kildare but not in Naas. Her father, Thomas Senior, worked all his life at the Curragh Racecourse, his dreams of becoming a champion jockey abandoned once he'd grown to over six feet tall and lost the will to remain on a permanent starvation diet.

Her mother, Brigid, Maddie's older sister, worked at home until the children had grown and left. She then took a job at the Keadeen Hotel in Newbridge and worked there until she passed away at fifty-two.

Jilly first met Maddie at her mother's bedside in Naas General Hospital. Brigid's frosty reception when Maddie first walked in had made Jilly uncomfortable. She'd previously heard the distinct tone of disapproval in her parents' voices any time the subject of her sister was ever mentioned. She'd overheard several heated references between them about Maddie's potential negative influences, but it only served to pique her curiosity.

When Maddie walked into the cramped hospital room, Jilly felt the oxygen slowly being sucked out of the air. Her mother's expression froze, almost in disgust, and she turned her head to the side, refusing at first to meet her eyes. Maddie wasn't fazed, and she looked at Jilly with a pleasant smile and a cheeky wink whilst seating herself right in front of Brigid's face, her chin resting on the edge of her pillow, almost daring her to look away.

"Brigid," she said, "it's time to end this war between us. I'm sorry you don't like how I live my life, but I'm never going to change."

Surprisingly, Brigid touched Maddie's fingertips, a tear in her eye.

"Your hair is darker."

"It hides the grey."

"I haven't got long left, Madeleine."

"Yes, I know, but I'm here until we know."

"There's a room for you at the house."

Maddie laughed. "Thomas Senior wouldn't like that, Brig. I rented an Airbnb down in Sallins, thanks all the same. Is this Jilly?"

"Yes, that's my Jilly. She just started nurse's training."

"Have you?" Maddie said excitedly to Jilly. "Where?"

"In the Nurse Training Program here," Jilly replied shyly.

"You must be what, seventeen now?"

"Eighteen."

"I trained here too."

"I didn't know you were a nurse."

"Oh, I'm not. I didn't even make it through the first year."

Her eyes met Brigid's, and an unspoken thought passed between them.

"You're such a pretty girl though, Jilly, I wish I had your slender figure."

"Oh, stop. You've never held a stray ounce on you, Madeleine Byrne," Brigid said.

"I wish. I could use to shed a few pounds, Brig."

"No, you couldn't – you look just like my Jilly, now that I see you together. Will you look out for her when I'm gone?"

"You're not dead yet, Brig, but yes, I'll keep an eye on her."

"Jilly, where's the University Training taking place now? Is it still at Trinity College up in Dublin?" Maddie asked.

"Yes, I'm looking at a few Student Accommodation sites in Dublin at the moment, Aunt Maddie."

"Dublin is expensive," she said, "but I have a place where you can crash. I'm rarely there, so you'll have the run of the place."

Jilly's eyes flared in excitement, but a nurse pushed a trolley into the room and told them that visiting time was over. They kissed Brigid and left together, Jilly accompanying Maddie to her car.

"Do you need a lift home?" Maddie asked.

"Are you coming for tea?"

"Hah! That wouldn't be a good idea, Jilly – your father wouldn't be impressed."

"Why not?"

"Let's just say that he doesn't approve of me and leave it at that," she said. "How about I take you out for a drink or something later this evening?"

"Where?"

"I don't know – where do you normally go for fun around here?"

"I don't have a local. We mostly go to the Monread beside the hospital after work or sometimes Kavanagh's in town."

"I remember Kavanagh's. Do you fancy going there?"

"Not tonight, Aunt Maddie, let's go to the Monread instead."

"I will if you stop calling me Aunt Maddie, Jilly. My name is Maddie."

"Ok, I will," Jilly laughed.

As she slowed outside the house, Maddie noticed her sister's husband watching from the doorway.

"Caught again," Maddie said, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous sight, waving at Thomas provocatively, causing him to redden and disappear from view as he stormed inside.

"He's so fucking easy," she said.

"What happened between you all, Maddie?" Jilly asked.

"It's a long story, Babe. I'll see you later."

They swapped mobile numbers and arranged to meet outside the house at eight o'clock. Jilly closed the door and turned to face her father, who was blocking the narrow hallway.

"What's she doing here, Jill?" he demanded.

"She came down to see Mam."

"Steer clear of her, love – she's no use."

"I like her, Dad. She seems ok."

"She's a bad influence. Don't let that funny exterior fool you."

"She's my Aunt, and we're going for a drink later."

"No!"

"It's just a drink. She's on her own down here."

"Where is she staying?"

"Sallins."

Jilly ran upstairs to her room, wondering why her father was so set against her aunt. Maybe Maddie would tell her. Maddie had just turned out of the traffic of the narrow Main Street in Naas when her phone buzzed. She recognised the number and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Elsa? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Denis Nelson here, did I just pass you in Naas Town Centre?"

She looked around quickly, not recognising anyone immediately.

"Probably, yes."

"I'm just in town for the night. Are you working down here?"

"No, just visiting."

"Can you take a booking tonight?"

"Where?"

"I'm at the Killashee House Hotel, do you know it?"

"I know it well. How long would you like to book me for?"

"A couple of hours."

"It'd be a three-hour minimum, Denis."

"Would an overnight be possible?"

"I don't see why not," she laughed. "It'd be expensive though."

"What are we talking?"

"Three grand."

"Oof!" he said, and they both laughed. "That's fine – cash or Revolut?"

"Revolut if you can."

"I'll get that to you now. Is it still Laura Cox?"

"It is."

"I still get a kick out of that. What time suits you? Can we do eight thirty?"

"Perfect. That's an eight-hour appointment, yes?"

"Can we make it twelve?"

"Yes, three-six, though."

"Excellent!"

"Text me the details and what you want me to wear."

"Will do, I'll do that now."

Her phone dinged twice ten minutes later with the payment and a text that said,

Room 322. White lace thong and nothing else.

She smiled and replied,

I'll have your favourite under my coat. Are we having a drink in the bar first? :) X

She laughed at the reply.

And give everyone a heart attack? :)

She quickly formulated a plan of action in her head. Denis was a regular client, and she had enjoyed his company on many dates, trips and occasions.

"Oh fuck!" she exclaimed, thinking of Jilly before searching her phone for the number.

"Aunt Maddie?" Jilly's voice intoned.

"Jilly, love," she said in a pained voice, "something's come up. I can't make it tonight."

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, it's just a work call. I can't get out of it."

"No problem, Maddie. Will you be at the hospital tomorrow?"

"Yes. Can we set something up for tomorrow night? Drinks and dinner on me?"

"Grand, I'll see you then."

Maddie mentally calculated the contents of the 'care' bag she carried in the boot of her white BMW. She'd recently restocked her lingerie on a weekend trip to London, where she'd accompanied a client on a business trip. She'd had two full days to explore the shops whilst Clive mastered the universe at day-long meetings.

Using a combination of her own cash and his company credit card, she'd shopped strategically, stocking up on condoms, wipes, travel-sized bottles of lube and sanitiser, among other supplies, at vastly lower prices than she was used to in Ireland.

Because she hadn't been expecting to work that week, she headed towards the nearest Boots pharmacy in search of some backup supplies that she felt might be needed that night.

She drove home – her thoughts were of family – the taste in her mouth was resentment. The booking was a timely interlude, but she needed to ensure that nothing was left to chance. She arrived at the apartment just outside the small town of Sallins and drove along the riverside path to the front gate, parking just inside.

She dropped her shopping in the hallway and quickly ran up the stairs to grab her bag of tricks, opening it immediately and dumping the contents onto her bed. She went through it methodically, mentally crossing items off a list that was ingrained in her mind. She added two small bottles of lube, a packet of wipes, another pair of non-latex gloves, two bottles of spring water and a dozen condoms, six medium and six large, from her trip to Boots.

She zipped the small carrier bag shut and opened her larger bag. Inside was a complete change of clothes: three complete sets of revealing lingerie, jeans, a T-shirt, and, in a smaller zipped pouch set into the side wall of the bag, three micro thongs, one of which was made with white lace. She'd known it was there, but smiled with relief when she saw it.

She picked up another bag that she used for toiletries and makeup and carried it into the bathroom, then went downstairs to make a cup of tea. It was approaching six o'clock, and the trip to Killashee House was no more than a short fifteen-minute drive, so she had plenty of time to prepare and plan.

She stripped naked and ran her fingertips across the untended stubble of her usually smooth Mons. Three days of inactivity tended to let her body's natural rhythms begin to reclaim themselves – her legs needed attention too. As the shower ran, she checked herself in the tall mirror on the bathroom wall while the hot water worked its way through the system.

She looked good, her tan fading to a gentler light shade of pale olive that revealed no white flesh. She rubbed her fingers along the pink imperfections caused by the tight jeans she preferred for casual wear, tried to pinch the dreaded, but imaginary, spare inch of flesh around her abdomen, grimacing as her grip came up empty.

She lingered in the shower, tending to her Mons and legs in a relaxed manner, avoiding the pitfalls of careless nicks and cuts from the sharp blade of her razor. She cleaned her underarms, rinsed off the razor, and then thoroughly scrubbed her skin with a vanilla-scented body wash and her hair with a lavender shampoo and conditioner she'd picked up on her travels, before standing straight under the shower head to let the powerful spray rinse the copious foam from her body.

She dried off and wrapped herself in the towel before strolling to her bag and pulling out a slim, cylindrical leather box. Flipping it open, she smiled when she saw the deep, almost iridescent blue of the Lapis dial and the distressed patina of the elegant silver strap. Denis had bought it for her when they visited New York three years earlier. He wanted to either impress her or show his appreciation. She recalled standing in the compact vintage jewellery store, Chen's Watch Inc, on Mott Street, not far from Canal Street, where she was trying to buy a fake Birkin for under a thousand dollars.

It was a Piaget Lapis watch from 1970 in 18k white gold with an 18k mesh bracelet. It was hand-wound, eliminating the need for replacement batteries. It had four diamond baguettes at the three, six, nine and twelve-hour marker points, white gold hands, and was fully functional. Denis noticed her hypnotic state as she tried not to cry at its beauty, immediately asking the owner to take it out of the display case.

He held it to the light, turned it slowly in his hands, and then took hers before gently slipping it around her wrist and fastening the clasp.

"This is sized perfectly, Elsa, and this is where it belongs."

"I …" she tried to say, but he placed his finger to her lips.

She'd blanched when she heard the price was $12,000, but relaxed a little when they negotiated it down to five, plus a couple of diamond rings Denis pulled out of his briefcase.

"Just say thanks and shut up," he winked.

"Thank you, Denis. I think I'll have to fuck your brains out for the rest of the week," she laughed.

"Promises, promises."

But she did, leaving them both a breathless, crumpled mess as they slept on the plane home that weekend.

After that, they met a couple of times a year sporadically. Each time he brought her some trinket or other. Denis was a gemologist and dealt in wholesale jewellery, diamonds and precious metals. He thought nothing of trading, gifting, or swapping expensive merchandise, ignoring the retail value to focus on emotional value rather than price.

He'd often say, when she'd comment on his methodology, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Elsa, but the value is in the appreciation of the piece. Price can be negotiated, happiness can't."

She set her watch to the correct time according to her iPhone and laid it flat on the dressing table while she dried her hair. As she worked, she set out the logistics for the evening ahead, deliberating on how he wanted her to dress and assessing how to reach the end point of that journey.

She couldn't drive to the Hotel, park her car, enter the building and walk through reception to the lift, wait there for an undetermined amount of time for it to arrive, take the lift to the third floor and walk the corridors to his room whilst wearing only a brief white thong, whether it was under an overcoat or not. She was many things, but an outrageous and slutty exhibitionist wasn't one of them.

Given the parameters of her work, it was difficult enough to retain a certain level of sophistication without walking around naked under a topcoat. She was true to herself, but this was a step beyond her comfort zone. Despite that, she was intrigued to see his expression when she removed the coat. She'd also already committed to it and told him so.

After a quick thought, she decided to wear a light top and mid-length skirt, with nothing but a pair of cheap cotton panties underneath. She'd arrive a few minutes early, find the public restrooms, change into her uniform for the evening, and then proceed to room 322.

She wondered if there were public bathrooms on that level that would make things easier, so she Googled the hotel website and found a spacious lounge area with food and drinks from a bar open all day. This, she assumed, meant there must be a public restroom available – after all, wasn't it the law?

Her next thought was about the overcoat. The only one she had with her was a cheap satin-effect dress coat that she'd bought in a Primark store in Scotland whilst working there during the week of the Edinburgh Comedy Festival. She was initially accompanying an Irish comedian who was trying to disguise the fact that he was gay. They were to attend an event to open the Festival officially, and the strapless dress he'd supplied for the evening did nothing to alleviate the cold of a dark Scottish night. She'd had to buy something that would do two things — keep her warm and look elegant. It did both, for only £19.99.

At seven thirty she'd completed her preparations with a final look in the mirror and a touch or two to her smooth skin, erasing imaginary flaws with her fingertips. She dressed slowly, unconcerned by anything since deciding to apply the final touches at the Hotel itself.

Taking the smaller of her bags and emptying it onto her bed, she packed for the evening while adhering to her list. She zipped it closed and placed it just inside the hall door. Checking her watch, she saw it was close to eight, so she gathered her stuff and drove to the Hotel, arriving fifteen minutes before her appointment time. She sent him a text.

On my way, CU soon XX.

The reply came almost instantly.

Can't wait. If you're early, come straight up.

She smiled – he was excited.

Soon XX

She exited the car and collected her bag and coat, walking tall through the main entrance as the huge doors opened automatically when she approached. She took in the period stone carvings that lined the walls where they met the clean white ceilings, then carried on to the large reception area, past a seating area around a large open fireplace with logs blazing and sparking loudly in the heat.

She nodded to a girl behind the reception desk, bypassing the unspoken question as she followed the signs to the third-floor elevator. She'd become inured to the judgmental gaze of hotel staff. She'd walked this walk in many establishments like this around the world, and it held no challenge. She pushed the button on the side panel of the lift's doorframe and listened for the sound as she waited for it to arrive.

She looked around the area, her eyes catching the appraising looks of several men and the inscrutable eyes of their female companions. The elevator doors slid apart, and she stepped inside, pressed the button for the third floor, and leaned back against the wall.

The journey took only seconds as the lift lurched to a stop. She waited for the motion to stop completely and the doors to open, then stepped out onto the deep pile of grey-and-white carpet, hushed conversations permeating the air as her eyes flicked to the signpost in front of her and her feet sank into the soft carpet. An arrow pointed to the ladies' restrooms on the right. Rooms 300-336 lay along the corridor further along in the same direction. She spun to her right and followed the signs. It was quite a large space. Populated by low-slung sofas and tables where guests could relax with a drink from the bar at the far end of the room, or food from the menus standing on the tables.

She walked toward a pair of half-glazed fire doors to the right of the bar, the restrooms about thirty metres beyond them. To the right of the doors were several nooks formed by pairs of sofas facing each other across large coffee tables. She ignored the mostly male eyes that followed her, keeping her pace steady. She wasn't in a hurry, and her face held a look of resolve tinged with anticipation.

The sound of classical opera music that she identified as Luciano Pavarotti's version of La Donna ē Mobile played at low volume through the hidden speakers. She'd experienced Rigoletto in London and Paris, falling in love with the art, the voices, and the colour of the show, and she tapped her thigh in time with the beat as she strolled past the smattering of people lounging in the room's soft ambience.

She exhaled as she walked into the large, bright restroom, the door closing loudly behind her and echoing around the white-tiled room. She walked to a mirror that ran the length of a marble vanity containing four large basins and checked her face. She relaxed, happy that her skin looked flawless. With a brief touch to her hair, she moved to one of the darkly stained doors on the side wall and eased it open to find a spacious stall, spotlessly maintained, the seat firmly in place and held closed by a self-closing device that guarded propriety.

She checked the time. She still had twenty minutes, and she appeared to have the room to herself. She hung her coat on a hook in the centre of the door and placed her bag on a shelf behind the toilet pan, catching her expression in the mirror on the left-hand wall. Watching her reflection closely, she pulled her top over her head, folded it, and placed it on the toilet seat. She then slid her skirt down and stepped out of it, folding that in the same careful way and placing it on top of her shirt.

She felt the heat begin between her legs, the immoral and libidinous anticipation building as the realisation of what she was doing and where she was doing it began to manifest itself in her head as she slid the brief white panties off, folded them and added them to the pile of clothing. She checked her skin again for blemishes – there were none. She touched between her legs. A light moisture had begun to appear inside her vulva. She decided to leave it alone. Denis' tongue would appreciate it. She shivered in anticipation at the thought, since Denis was quite adept in that department.

She lifted her thong from her bag, testing the softness of the white lace between her fingers as she opened it methodically. She bent slightly and stepped into it, one slim leg after another, before drawing them carefully over her legs and hips, parting her knees to allow the garment to caress her pelvis and settle snugly against and around her Mons and the cleft of her callipygian rear.

She gently lifted both sides of the delicate string waistband. She placed them just above her hip bones, the placement accentuating the outline, shape, and murmuring presence of hidden treasures as the paucity of material offered temptation and a barely hidden promise behind the alluring, slightly rounded V.

She stepped back and reviewed her work, tapping her leg with the fingers of her right hand for reassurance. She lifted her hairbrush and lightly straightened any stray tresses before applying a thin veneer of blushing coral gloss to her lips. Satisfied, she removed a pair of killer black heels from her bag and struggled into them, taking some time to achieve a comfortable equilibrium before lifting each foot to check the red soles for scuffs or abrasions. She laughed silently to herself and thanked Stella Artes, a colleague from Liverpool, who had access to the same colour dyes that were used on the soles of real Christian Louboutin Pigalle shoes.

"I'm fucked if I'm paying £700 for something that loses its colour after you wear them three times. I'd rather pay a score for some Primark specials, a tenner for sole protectors and paint the cunts myself," she'd said in that raucous Scouse lament.

"What about the logo, Stella?" Maddie had asked.

"What about it? One is on the sole of the shoes, another on the inside. These shoes get dragged off me and thrown on the floor or against a wall – the punter is too fucking horny to worry about a logo on a fucking shoe, Maddie," she'd said, screaming with laughter. "Besides, if they wanted real Pigalles, they'd have to double the rate."

Smiling, Maddie performed a slow twirl on the sole of her right foot before taking her coat from the hook on the door. She slipped it on and fastened the only button. She then wrapped the slim belt around her waist and adjusted the collars slightly to hide her nipples from prying eyes before returning everything to her bag and closing it with a grin. She took out her phone and texted Denis.

On my way, Babe. Two minutes :) XX

She left the bathroom and walked carefully to room 322, following the signs until she reached the door. She switched her phone off, slid it into her pocket, opened the button on her coat and knocked softly. The door opened slowly, and their smiles showed their happiness at being reunited.

"Elsa, it's been a while. You look fantastic."

She accepted his hug and returned it, just as warm. "You too, how have you been?"

"Busy as usual. What about you? Still hanging around the fringes of the property market?"

"Only a little," she said as she blushed.

"Come, let me get you a drink. Is it still Glenlivet?"

"No, I'm strictly teetotal now, Denis. I'll have some water if you have some."

"I'll join you," he said. "I can't believe how random it was seeing you today."

Her eyes opened in surprise. "Yeah, what gives with that?"

He walked over to a table near the bed and picked up two bottles of Hotel-branded still water. "It's a long story that I'll tell you later."

He walked back to her, his right hand outstretched, and she took the bottle in her hand.

She held out her hand. "Do you have a glass for this, or are we animals now?"

He sat on the bed and took her hands, staring into her eyes.

"Let me look at you," he said, smiling, his eyes all over her as she stood before him. "You're as beautiful as ever."

"I think you might need to have that eye test again."

He touched the edge of her belt.

"May I?"

"Yes," she whispered and swallowed.

He tugged quietly at the belt, and it slipped apart, her coat falling loosely open. His smile widened as she shrugged it off to slide onto the carpet near her feet, and his hands slid along the outside of her thighs as he moved to kiss her just below her navel.

"No stockings?"

"You don't like them," she said, her hand resting on the top of his head.

"Just checking. You're more beautiful than I remember."

"Thanks, but one of us is way overdressed."

He stood quickly – an apologetic look on his face. "Of course, pardon me."

She walked to a side console table as he undressed, his eyes glued to her bum as she moved. She opened a small bag and took out what looked like a small purse before placing it on a locker beside the bed. She stepped out of her shoes and joined him as he removed his shorts, his meaty erection standing proud as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Your cock still likes me," she smiled and kissed him softly, her lips like feathers as they floated over his and touched her tongue to his. "What's your pleasure?"

"Can we start with a sixty-nine?"

"Lovely. Are you going to get me naked or do I have to do it myself?"

He pushed her back onto the bed and slowly slipped her thong off, kneeling beside her as he watched her shaved Mons reveal itself to his eyes. He touched her there, reveling in the smooth softness as she moved her legs apart for him.

"I've missed this pussy," he whispered in a daze as he felt her hand caress his scrotum and squeeze it slightly.

She reached for the purse on the locker as she turned him over, taking a condom in her hand as she straddled his face. She quickly ripped the wrapper open and slid it over the tip of his penis, smoothing the latex over the shaft with her mouth as his tongue began to move inside her labia.

He was a conscientious lover, working hard to bring her to orgasm, striving to give her pleasure as though his life depended on it. She knew he was accomplished in the area of giving oral pleasure. She usually did achieve some form of an orgasm, and she wanted one now. So she worked with him, taking him deep as his hips thrust upwards and his tongue began to explore inside her vagina.

She felt every movement, flex and pulse of his tongue as it worshipped inside her. His cock felt wonderful in her mouth, almost flexing and pulsing in time with his tongue as they gathered pace and lay naked before their desires. His tongue withdrew, and she felt herself moan involuntarily as his lips sucked one of the lips of her labia into his mouth, slowly stroking the soft pink flesh whilst simultaneously allowing his hands to hold her hips in place as they writhed in agonised arousal.

She felt a touch to her clit, a finger maybe, or the warm point of his chin. It was enough to take her to the edge of her endurance. She was forced to release him as she groaned and felt the familiar warm, creamy release that accompanied her orgasm, covering his face with her scent and essence as he audibly groaned when she took him deep again and felt the hot jets of semen as it pulsed violently and filled the condom as it warmed her tongue deliciously.

She sat up as he licked her clean, savouring her taste and aroma. She slipped the filled condom from his deflated penis and wrapped it in a sanitary wipe she took from a pack on the locker, the water-infused wipe bringing a lustre to his flesh. She climbed off him and lay down beside him in his arms.

"I forgot how good you were at that," she smiled as she stroked his chest.

"It's my favourite thing. I'd be happy to do that all night long."

"Sign me up then. It's been a while since I've come like that."

"Me too," he said.

"What's wrong, Denis? You seem very down."

"I'm just tired, Elsa, that's all. My divorce is due to be official this week. That's why I'm in the country when I should really be somewhere else."

"Sorry about your divorce. Did she hit you for much?"

"She got her share, that's about all. It's worth it to be free of her, to be honest."

"So what are you doing nowadays? Still selling diamonds?"

"Yes, and speaking of which …."

He rose from the bed and walked to his jacket, hanging on the back of a chair. When he returned, he sat on the bed and handed her a red velvet box edged with gold piping. She looked at him and opened it gingerly.

"Fuck, Denis," she said, almost breathless, as she caught sight of the tennis bracelet studded with sparkling diamonds. "What's this for?"

"For you, Elsa, it's seven carats of GIA-certified, almost colourless stones."

"Yes, but what's it for? It must be worth a fortune."

"Get dressed. I'll tell you over dinner – our table is booked for ten o'clock."

"You expect me to have dinner in public wearing a thong?

"You know me better than that," he said, taking her hand and leading her to a wardrobe that hung slightly open. He inclined his head at the door, and she took a step closer to see what was behind it.

"Fuck, Denis. It's beautiful. Is this for me?"

"Yes, of course, it's a satin sleeveless cocktail dress from Terani Couture in Los Angeles. It's the ivory version that will show off your figure and colouring. There's a pair of appropriately heeled shoes in there too."

"How much was all of this stuff?"

"That's nothing to be concerned about. Stick it on you and let's eat – it's nearly time already."

"I've no suitable underwear with me"

He grinned. "Even better."

They cleaned up, dressed and made it to the restaurant ten minutes late for their booking. She took his arm as they walked in.

"I feel like a total slut without knickers," she whispered.

"You're gorgeous, Elsa – everyone else in the room is salivating."

"Thanks, but that doesn't make me feel less of a slut."

He laughed and patted her hand. He stood as the waiter held her chair while she sat, his eyes glued to her bare arms and shoulders. Denis smirked as he caught her eyes before he sat down himself.

"He was totally checking you out. Not that I blame him."

"This is a fabulous dress – where did you get it?"

"Believe it or not, it's part of a shipment of samples. I have a full range of designer garments, colours and sizes. That's a ten, in every way."

"You're into women's clothing now?"

"Yes, men's also. There's huge money in it."

"I never heard of this designer – what's the name again?"

"Terani Couture. They're a clothing designer and manufacturer, originally out of New York in the 1990s. They're hugely productive and creative and mostly retail their inventory in the States, Canada and the Gulf."

"And you're bringing them to Ireland?"

"Not just Ireland, and not just Terani."

"This dress is fucking amazing, I'll grant you that. Are they expensive?"

"There you go again – the price isn't relevant. That particular dress you're wearing retails at €500. It's a steal for the quality and cut."

"Wow!"

"Wow indeed, plus we have really good margins built in."

She toasted him with water, and he laughed. "I think we need champagne."

"You go ahead," she said. "I'm not drinking.

"What's that about?"

"No reason, I'm not getting any younger, that's all."

"You're still in your thirties, Elsa – you're still only a baby."

"I'm competing with eighteen-year-old girls, Denis."

"Most of them can't even speak English, let alone fuck properly."

She giggled. "Say that a bit louder, will you? The women over in the corner didn't quite hear you."

"I'm sorry, I'm just excited to …" he said, "but you know what I mean."

"Probably. So why are you telling me all this?" she asked.

"I'd like you to come on board."

"As an investor?"

"No … in a bit more of a partner type arrangement if you like."

"What's involved?"

"It's a complete wholesale and retail service supplying luxury and designer goods including jewellery, precious gemstones and metals, couture, fragrance … everything and anything really."

"What kind of goods?"

"Anything you can think of."

"I don't understand, Denis, don't you need to hold agency agreements with the bigger brands?"

"Yes, and I've already closed with most of the main ones in various fields."

"Who?"

"Swatch, JLC, Tudor, Breitling, Rolex …"

"Fucking Rolex!?"

He laughed. "Yes, Rolex … and Patek."

"That's R-O-L-E-X and not Rollecks?"

"Yes, the very one."

"I find that hard to swallow," she said.

"A guy from Swatch, Thierry Mass, approached me at a trade show in Geneva. I know him from way back through our experiences in the gemstone game. He broached the subject over dinner."

"Swatch isn't exactly a luxury brand, is it?"

"Maybe not, but they own the Blancpain, Breguet, Certina, ETA, Glashütte Original, Hamilton, Harry Winston, Longines, Mido, Omega, Rado, and Tissot brands, and they are all luxury brands."

"Ok, I'll give you that one. Where does Rolex come into the equation?"

"Via Thierry too."

"And Patek?"

"Via Rolex. They're talking to AP, and Cartier is looking promising too."

"Why though? They're huge brands with worldwide retail networks. Where do you come in?"

"It's simple, Elsa. Take Rolex, for example. Let's say a new watch release is announced today and the RRP is seven grand."

"If you're lucky …"

"Yes, but this example I'm giving you actually happened."

"Right, go on," she said, listening intently.

"The Rolex Oyster Perpetual 41 with a Celebration Dial went on sale a couple of years ago with an RRP of €6,950. It was meant to be a short-term release, about two years. All of the manufactured units sold and were shipped to authorised dealers across the globe, but many of those who ordered one never had a cat in hell's chance of getting one."

"Why not?"

"ADs held the watches back and sold them into the grey market, where they are currently selling for anything up to twenty grand and above."

"I don't believe you!"

He googled something on his phone and handed it to her.

"Fucking hell, Derek, here's one for €21,950," Maddie said.

"It's the same with AP, Patek and a few of the others, and it's giving the bigger guys a bad name as well as pulling more micro brands into the market and diluting the customer base further. That's where we come in."

"We?"

"Yes, me and three more like me. We're going to control the distribution and sales."

"How will you do that?"

"The first thing we're going to do is make sure that the AD takes a thirty per cent deposit with every order, which they refuse to do at the moment. That leaves them open to litigation if they fail to follow through on the sale."

"What's an AD?"

"Authorised Dealer."

"How will you know they've taken a deposit?"

"Because most of them will only ever get two or three units if they're lucky, and the deposit will be paid directly to us with full order details before any stock is delivered to their store. They'll also have to display a notice in three areas of the store that explains the curtailing of the hated 'waiting list' along with a note listing which models are sold out, which aren't, and our contact details for further enquiries."

"What if they don't?"

"They lose the agency."

Maddie quietly sipped her water as their food was brought to the table. The servers left them to eat, and Denis looked over at her.

"A penny for your thoughts, Elsa," he said.

"It's a lot to take in. I suppose it makes sense to you because you've lived with it for a while. Does this traverse everything else too?"

"How do you mean?"

"Clothing, fragrances … all that."

"Yes, but we're going for the less well-known designers such as Terani – they're more affordable and really high quality, as you can see," he said, indicating her dress with his fork.

"It's really nice," she agreed. "I'd go for this myself if I were on the hunt for a new dress."

He smiled and nodded his head in appreciation.

"So tell me about what you've been doing," he said, "Ms. Property Magnate."

She laughed. "I do my own thing now, Denis, buying, renovating and flipping … the usual. I've a few properties that I've held on to, mostly new ones in the city centre."

"Who does your renovations?"

"I've a couple of contractors that I work with."

"Do they know about your … side-line?"

"If they do, they haven't said," she said. "It's nobody's business in any case. They get paid either way."

"In cash?" he said with a grin.

"Don't be a prick."

"Sorry, that was crass of me," he said, regretting his remark.

"They couldn't afford me," she said with a laugh.

They lingered over coffee and drinks as they chatted, finally taking the hints offered by the staff a little before midnight and leaving the restaurant to return to their room. They kissed as they waited for the lift and again once inside. She felt his hand sneak under her dress and up to squeeze her bare bum.

"I've been dying for that all evening," he whispered. "You're so fucking beautiful."

The lift came to a halt, and he quickly put his hand in his pocket to try to conceal his state of arousal, and she smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Did you take a pill?" she whispered in his ear as they stepped out of the open doors.

"Yes, two."

"Just to be sure?"

"You could say that," he said as she snuggled against him while they walked.

He kissed her when the door closed behind them, her back leaning against the wall. She whispered in his ear as she felt his erection grind against her stomach, "I need to freshen up a little," and he took a step away.

"Leave the dress on. I want to unwrap you," he said as she took her bag from the console table and disappeared into the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror to assess any required touch-ups. She used very little makeup, but it needed some slight maintenance, so she removed what she needed and brushed her teeth before she began. An assiduous mouthwash rinse followed a determined brushing, leaving her mouth and breath feeling alive and refreshingly minty. A light brush of her cheekbones restored her skin tone, and a careful application of lip gloss settled her fluttering stomach as the comforting feel of anticipation began to rise inside her. As she ran a brush slightly through her hair, she smiled before a quick spray of Delina Exclusif by Parfums du Marly caused her to close her eyes and inhale the moment, a moment she never tired of, a precursor to something she adored.

She loved this profession, a profession that generated pleasure between consenting adults, where everything was negotiated and understood with little or no misinterpretations, expectations or rancour. They both knew each other from previous encounters. They both knew what came next, knew each other's boundaries, and they both wanted to participate.

With one last quick perusal of herself in the mirror, she closed her bag and joined him in the room. He was sitting on the bed, naked with his palms flat on the duvet as he waited for her. He paled slightly as he stood to greet her, his cock rampant and appearing larger than it was, thicker than before and darker in the dim light of the room. She felt a slickness return to her vagina as she walked to place her bag back on the table, smiling as she watched him standing by the bed.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

"Yes," he croaked, his voice ragged.

He'd lost a little weight since she'd last seen him, and it suited him. For a man in his fifties, he had decent muscular definition, and she guessed he'd been doing something to help that. She walked to him, placing her hands on his chest.

"You've been working out."

"I hit the gym during the divorce," he said. "It kept me sane."

"You've lost some weight too."

"Yes, I can see my cock when I look down now."

She laughed and wrapped her hand around it, kissing him softly with a light touch of her lips.

"So can I. I've always loved your cock."

He leant down and kissed her, pulling her to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt his hands on her back as his fingers searched for the zipper of her dress. The slow opening was intoxicating, and the touch of his hands on her back drew a sigh she couldn't manufacture.

He slipped the straps of the dress down over her shoulders, and it slid seductively to the floor, shrouding her feet in its soft smoothness. He eased her back onto the bed, his lips finding her nipple and sucking it deep into his mouth as she squirmed under him, moaning softly.

"I've missed you," he whispered, dipping her head to her soft underbelly before quickly touching his tongue to her clit as he lifted her knees over his shoulders.

He teased her vulva with his tongue, every little fold and crease, every little hollow and bump. He stroked her vagina with his fingers as his tongue swirled through the lips of her labia and as he listened to her agonised cries as the pressure inside her rose and threatened to explode.

"I want you raw," he whispered, his hand placing hers on his shaft. "I want no barriers between us."

"No, Denis, that's not what we agreed," she said through breathless lips.

"It's safe."

"It's a hard no, or we end it now."

He smiled and nodded his head, reaching behind her to take a condom from the pack on her bag on the locker. She took it from him and tore it open with her teeth, an admonishing smirk on her face. She turned him on his back and slid the latex sheath down over his flexing cock, applying the final touch with her lips and several quick movements of her lips over his shaft as she took him deep in her mouth.

"How do you want it?" she asked.

"You on top first, I want to see you."

She smiled and kissed just below his scrotum, enjoying his satisfied sigh as she took one of his testicles in her mouth and sucked gently on it, her eyes firmly fixed on his as his face contorted when she added slightly more pressure.

"Oh fuck!" he moaned as he felt the heavenly sensation of her tongue and the addictive discomfort of the increasing pressure of her controlled suction on his left testicle.

She released him and crawled along his body, her skin sliding enticingly over his before straddling him and sitting straight as she guided his cock inside her warm and eager vagina, his moans becoming fevered whispers as she sheathed him fully, pausing to enjoy the feeling of him deep inside her.

His hips moved slightly, an instinctive thrusting movement at first, testing their limits as they slowly moved against each other before she saw his eyes close and his lips purse before he began to extend his thrust deeper and faster, surrendering to his need for completion as she rolled her hips simultaneously to help him to orgasm.

An agonised groan accompanied by a final thrust as he held her waist tightly and released a powerful stream of come, his cock flexing wildly as she felt the potent release and the heat emanating through the latex of the sheath. His back arched as he finished, Maddie falling forward into his embrace while he struggled for breath as he babbled fevered apologies for the untimely release.

She brushed the hair from his forehead with her hand as he flopped back on the pillow beneath his head. She snuggled into the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly before easing herself off his cock, still fully erect and intermittently flexing independently. Rolling off him, she took a wet wipe from the box on the locker, removed the condom, heavy now with his warm semen, smiled as she placed it on the bed and tenderly wiped him down with two wipes before wrapping the condom in the used sheets of wet material and placing it beside her bag on top of the locker.

"Did you come?" he asked.

"No, but it felt good."

He laughed. "Do you not ever fake it?"

"Sometimes, I suppose. Would you prefer if I did?"

He touched her hand. "Maybe not."

"You're still hard," she said.

"I know, that'll fade soon enough."

"What would you like to do next?"

"Sleep," he laughed. "Can we do it again in the morning?"

She noticed it was well past midnight.

"Of course, do you want me to sleep naked?"

"Yes, do you mind?"

"No, but I'd like to shower first."

"I'll wait until morning. I'm absolutely knackered."

She kissed him sweetly and left the room. When she returned, he was snoring. She switched on her phone to a missed call from Jilly, a voicemail, and several WhatsApp text messages. She opened the voicemail – it was Jilly.

"Hi Maddie, Mam was good tonight. She asked if you were coming tomorrow and if you'd bring her some of the perfume you wore today. She thought it was lovely."

She flicked through her texts. Mostly booking enquiries, plus two from escort agencies in Paris and London asking about her availability to work during Fashion Week. She closed it down and put the phone away, walked to the bed and slid under the covers before snuggling up against Denis, whose arm encircled her waist as he hugged her to him, his now flaccid cock nestling restfully in the cleft of her bum.