The sun was blinding as I stepped out of the high-rise, the morning air crisp against my skin. Every muscle in my body felt the weight of the night's "marathon," but my cock was already starting its slow, steady recharge. I had done what no one else in the industry could—I had tamed the Queen and convinced her to put her crown back on for one last show.
Two-bit pulled the Cadillac up to the curb, the chrome gleaming in the daylight. He didn't even wait for me to reach the door before he started leaning out the window, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators, a massive grin on his face.
"Damn, man. You look like you just crawled out of a war zone," Two-bit mocked, taking in my disheveled shirt and the literal exhaustion written on my face. "Hope that master whore didn't break your back like Willow did? You look like you're walking on toothpicks."
I groaned as I slid into the plush leather of the back seat, the coolness of the interior feeling like a godsend.
