“Umm.” Wide eyes blinked up at me. “Will you be wanting me to spend the night?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh.” His blue eyes grew even bigger, and I frowned. How the hell did a prostitute keep that look of charming innocence?
“May I use your bathroom?” he asked. “I’d like to freshen up before we begin.”
“Sure. Go ahead. The bathroom is to your right.”
For a guy with such short legs, he was quick. The door shut behind his disappearing back. I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over the back of an ivory chair with gold accents. Rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, I walked over to the wet bar to pour myself a drink. I started to pour him one too, then hesitated.
How old was he? I was losing my edge. Just because he worked the streets didn’t mean he was legal. I should have asked him that before I picked him up.
The door to the bathroom didn’t make a sound when it opened, but I knew the exact moment he entered the room.
“There’s something I need to ask you.” I turned to him and lost my train of thought for a moment. He was naked except for the collar around his neck, the kitty ears, and a pink-and-white lace thong that matched the collar around his neck. His creamy white skin was on full display, meant to seduce and drive men crazy.
He wasn’t the first man I’d seen naked, so it didn’t bother me, even though he was gay. Maybe he looked lovelier than the other boys I’d used at some point, but that was a blessing.
“What was your question?” He sat on the edge of the bed, clearly aware of his sex appeal in the way he braced his hands on the mattress behind him so his body curved seductively. A posture that would have worked on someone else—someone into men.
“How old are you?” My voice came out huskier than usual. I cleared my throat. “I should’ve found out if you were jailbait before I picked you up.”
And now that I was staring at him, it wasn’t a farfetched idea he could be a minor. Fuck. That would explain his natural innocence. Was some worried parent out there waiting for him to return home? He’d mentioned a pimp. What if they forced him into this against his will?
Fuckity fuck.
Liam would kill me if I fucked this up.
“I’m twenty.” He flashed those killer dimples. “But thanks for asking. I know I look a little younger, but most men don’t care where they get their dicks wet.” His eyes wandered to the drink in my hand. “What are you drinking? Can I have a glass?”
“Sure.”
I walked over to the wet bar, poured him a glass from the water goblet, and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He took a sip and made a face. “That’s plain water!”
“Did you expect something else?”
“You’re not drinking water.”
“And I’m also thirty-eight. The law requires you to be at least twenty-one to drink.”
He snorted but downed the water. “I thought you’d be more fun.”
“Hmm, depends on what you consider fun.”
“I’m listening.”
I took the glass from him and put it back on the liquor cabinet, then strolled to the bathroom and snagged the robe hanging from the hook. “Put this on. I’ve seen enough, and you’ll do.”
He frowned, clutching the thick, gray robe to his chest. “I think we should talk about my fee before we go any farther. I charge three hundred an hour, more depending on—”
“Not necessary. I need to ask you some more questions.”
He squirmed. “What the hell’s going on?” He sprang to his feet. “Something’s off about you. You’re okay with paying to fuck me but won’t allow me to drink? Are you a cop? Is that it?”
“No, I’m not a cop. Do you think a cop could afford this room on his salary?”