Cold Comfort Farm
‘What are you doing?’ he cried, clutching his briefcase. ‘Where are your morals?’
Kim sprawled naked on the king-size bed, half buried in heaps of euros, yen and rouble notes. ‘You can’t blame a girl for having certain – appetites.’
He turned away. ‘I didn’t come here for this.’
The bed rustled as she writhed on her back, tossing handfuls of paper money into the air. ‘Not for me, baby? Are you sure?’
‘Oh Christ,’ he gasped, opening his case and tipping hundreds of used dollar bills onto the nude woman.
She opened her arms. ‘Come here, lover.’