The Closer

When Jim’s client picks the other guy, he knows he’s fucked. So he makes one call. London River walks in like she already owns the room. She doesn’t pitch. She doesn’t smile. She just shuts the door. Her ass fills the seat across from him and his eyes drop straight to it. She notices. She always notices. One heel comes off, then the other, and she plants a bare foot right on the desk between them. Toes flex. He swallows. She tells him to get on his knees and kiss. He does. Tongue drags over her sole, between each toe, while she watches without blinking. When she’s satisfied she stands, turns, and peels the skirt up. Nothing under it. She backs onto his face and drops her full weight. He disappears under her, nose buried, mouth smothered, her cheeks swallowing every inch of his face. She rocks slow, grinding down, making sure he feels every curve. He’s hard before she even touches him. She reaches back, fists his cock, and strokes him while she rides his face. Each pump matches the roll of her hips. Her ass cheeks flex and spread, smothering him deeper. He tries to speak. She presses harder. No words. Just wet sounds and her steady grip working him. He signs whatever she puts in front of him. She stands, wipes her foot across his lips one last time, and leaves the signed papers on the desk. Deal closed.