Sasha had her heart set on a trendy, neon-soaked boutique hotel in West Hollywood—the kind of place where the lobby is a nonstop party and the paparazzi camp out 24/7. But I wasn't in LA for the aesthetic or the clout. I was here for the power.
"Change of plans, Sasha," I said as we stepped into the back of the SUV. "We aren't checking in just yet. I need to handle a few details first."
Sasha pouted, her arms crossed tight under her chest. The movement made her perky tits strain even harder against the thin white fabric of her tank top, her nipples still hard from the flight, practically begging for attention. "Druski, come on. It's been a long flight. I wanted a shower, a bed, and you... in that order."
"You'll get all three. Just be patient," I told her, already pulling out my burner phone.
