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I paid it. Four hundred and twenty quid for a bottle of fizz I’d had one glass of.
The barman ran my card without blinking. Jade watched from the end of the bar, gave me a little wave and a kiss blown off her palm, and then went straight back to work on a man in a pinstripe suit.
I sat on my stool in a kind of daze.
I replayed the last half hour in my head. Her arse pressed into my lap. Her tits slick with champagne. Her breath in my ear, telling me what she would do if only the rules were different. She’d made me so hard I could barely walk. She hadn’t let me touch her once. And I’d paid six hundred and twenty quid, in total, for the privilege.
The worst part was that I’d loved it.
I watched her for another hour. Watched her do almost exactly the same routine for the man in the suit, right down to the champagne trickling between her tits. “Oops.” He bought a bottle too. I felt a strange sort of kinship with him.
At midnight I got up to leave. My legs were stiff. My balls ached in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager.
On the way out, Dez the bouncer held the door for me.
“Jade’s champagne?” he asked.
“Jade’s champagne.”
He nodded, almost sympathetically. “She does that to everyone, mate. Every single Friday.”
I drove home, wanked twice in the shower, and went to bed broke and smiling. By Thursday I knew I was going back. The only question was how.