When I was sitting hiding it with my hands, she knew I was hard—but she didn't know I was this big, this thick, the kind that made women rethink everything.
I made sure she saw who she was really talking to—shifting my weight subtle, hips forward a little so the movement made it twitch hard, fabric stretching more, outline jumping like it had a mind of its own.
She stared longer—shock hitting first, eyes widening, then amusement curving her lips, heat building fast in her gaze, cheeks flushing faint under the professional mask.
That was my plan exact: flip the power slow, remind her what a real man looked like—thick, ready, dominant. I wasn't letting this woman dominate me over some trivial ticket matter, make me beg or run.
Brittany and Gloria looked at me—eyes wide huge, faces that mix of "what the fuck are you doing?" and real worry she'd get mad, call security, ruin everything.
But she didn't.
