When a beautiful woman sits across from you, and encourages you to slide your hand up her leg, and tells you she’s granting you free rein over her stunning body? When she begs you to use her as a plaything, when she takes the improper word you threw out—unspeakable—and gives it oxygen, uses it as a threshold for how you should profane her? A man doesn’t take a proposition like that lightly. Which is why I’ve sat at my desk all day, pretending to assess the efficiency of our capital structure and, in reality, fantasising. Fantasising hard about this gift. This gift that’s totally fucking
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