Reeva

Do not send me a morning pin. I am Reeva, an escort in Malad, and I move after the shops on Link Road have shut. Malad West, Infinity side, a hotel past the station if the key is in your name. East only if the cab is short and you said so first. I am not crossing for a maybe.

I am 24. Hair in a clip I pull out at the door, a short skirt, a top that is nothing once your hands are under it. I do not want a drink and a speech. Kiss me once, hard, then turn me toward the sofa. Skirt up. I want your jeans open and your cock in me while I am still standing, one knee on the cushion, your hand on my hip. That is the hello. I get wet fast like that, and I will tell you.

Bed if we last. On my side, your chest on my back, deeper, the clip already on the floor. I swear when it is good. I do not perform it. Mouth after, if you have not finished, eyes up. Finish on my ass, or in a condom if you stay inside. Not on my face. Anal is not this hour.

One man. Malad, not a tour of the suburbs. Escorts in Malad who say they cover the whole line are guessing. Message the building or the hotel, and the time after nine. If I can come, I will already be in the cab, skirt on, thinking about your hand on my hip.