"I’ll be in my office," I tell the production crew as they pack up for lunch. I eye the shirtless model under the spotlights one more time and make a beeline toward my office. It’s been a hectic morning, testing the new high-definition cameras I bought and getting them ready to go, and I need a break. A long one.

I step inside my office, shut the door behind me, and collapse on my chair, stretching as I yawn. I should be getting lunch right now, not lazing around inside my office, but we won’t pick back up till 3, so I’m not exactly in a hurry. Maybe I’ll answer a few emails before heading out.

Just look at me, turning into a workaholic beast all of a sudden. Believe it or not, it hasn’t always been like this. I guess starting your own company forces you to develop some work ethic. Especially when it’s a company that revolves around sex.

Oh, you thought that having a production crew and a few cameras meant I was a respectable young entrepreneur, didn’t you? Well, I guess that depends on your definition of respectable. As far as I’m concerned, working in the sex industry is as respectable as any other job; it’s just more fun. And, if you ask me, the sanest people I’ve ever met always have the craziest backgrounds.

It all started when I graduated college. Fresh out of Yale and with a finance degree tucked under my arm, I was ready to take the world by storm—except I was broke, of course. Welcome to the 21st century, right?

Thankfully, one day I got a call from a headhunter, and he was interested in seeing some pictures of me. I almost hung up then; I thought he was just one of these run-of-the-mill creeps, preying on desperate pretty girls. But, as it turned out, his offer was a pretty legitimate modeling gig. Sure, it was a racy modeling gig, but it paid handsomely.

So, smart girl that I am, I rolled up my profits into currencies and stock, and put my finance degree to work. When I reached a considerable monthly income, I gave up on the idea of getting a regular 9-to-5 job. So, yeah, I escaped the rat race before I even had a chance to participate in it.

I was only 23 years old when I opened up my first business. Instead of opening up a respectable burger franchise, or something equally boring, I instead decided to go for something a little more entertaining—a webcam business. And I don’t need to explain to you what a webcam business is, do I? I wasn’t selling webcams, if that’s what you’re wondering.

It was a wild success. From there, I expanded into the streaming-porn business, and it was only a matter of time until I caught the attention of the biggest shark in the ocean: Ethan Kane.

Owner of a billion-dollar porn industry behemoth, Kane did right by me; instead of treating me as a rival and shutting me down, he straight up bought my business. I was 24 years old and had enough money to retire for good.

For a few days I contemplated moving somewhere next to the beach and sipping on margaritas until I grew old and wrinkled. I took a two-week vacation in the Bahamas, but I grew tired of that hedonistic lifestyle quick enough. I grabbed a plane out of there and came back to New York, ready for another business venture.

Kinky Amy’s—does it ring a bell? It’s my new company slash club slash studio, and it’s on 43rd and 8th Avenue. And I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s all about sex. I mean, hell, the name’s Kinky Amy’s, not Prude Amy’s.

It’s basically a sex club with a specific department devoted to filming. I run what’s called an online peep show, and it’s blowing everyone else out of the water. Ethan Kane has once again offered to buy me out, but this time I decided against it. I love money, sure, but I need to keep busy. What the hell am I supposed to do all day if I’m not working?

Anyway, so that’s where I am right now, and this is my private office. The new huge cameras outside are my latest investment, and let me tell you: they were expensive. But I guess that if I want to keep on thriving in this business, I have to invest in top-of-the-line stuff, right? Always go for the best; that’s my motto in this business, and you can rest assured that I’m talking about more than just video cameras.

That’s why the shirtless model out there was as hot as a supernova. Square chin, washboard abs, and a delicious smile—you know, the works. That’s why I love my company. Where else would I have the chance to work in a place packed with scorching hot men? Yes, I love hot men and I’m not ashamed of it, not one bit. Why would I be? It’s not like I live in the 19^th century, even though there are still some assholes that’d prefer women to wear chastity belts all the time. Thank you very much, but I’ll pass.

God, just thinking of hot men makes the gears inside my head start turning. And when that happens, I know exactly what I need.

Picking up my Kindle from one of the drawers, I prop my feet up on the desk and lean back against my chair. I power the Kindle up and launch Pierce Me, one hell of a steamy book by Simone Sowood. Oh, you haven’t read it yet?

It’s coming. She just sends it to me first because I’m just so awesome.

It’s surprising how fast I go through these books. As busy as I am, I should be reading one or two books per year… but I just can’t stop reading these dirty books. It’s like an addiction. The sweetest kind of addiction.

I pick up right where I left off, right before one steamy scene, and let my eyes wander over the words on the screen. Too bad perfect men only exist in Book Land; I wouldn’t mind having the power to just snap my fingers and make one of these men pop up into the real world.

And, God, why does Simone have to write so well? Seriously, two pages in one of these sexy scenes and my thong's already sticking to my skin. Okay, I need some action, and I need it right now.

I place my Kindle on the desk and jump up to my feet. I walk straight to the door and, opening it just a crack, I stick my neck out. "Justin!" I call out, and a few heads at the end of the room turn toward me. The production crew is having lunch on a makeshift table at the end of the studio and Justin, the model, is sitting with them.

"You need me?" he asks, jumping up to his feet. There’s an eager expression on his face, and I can’t help but smile at that. Justin has been eyeing me since his first day of work here, and today’s his lucky day.

"Yeah, I need you. Get in here," I tell him, and then take a few steps back as I wait for him to walk across the studio. He swings the door open hesitantly, and then shuts it behind him.

"What is it?" he asks me, trying hard to avoid staring at my cleavage, but failing miserably.

"I’m bored," I say with a coy smile, opening the top button on my blouse. His eyes widen and he smiles hesitantly, this time completely entranced by my breasts.

"I … I can help with that," he tells me, taking one careful step toward me. God, would it hurt for him to be more assertive? Seriously, what’s wrong with men today? Even the handsome ones seem to walk on eggshells around me. Am I that intimidating?

"You sure can," I whisper, reaching for him and hooking my fingers on his belt. I pull him into me, eager to get him out of his clothes and show him what a real woman can do.

He lays his hands on my hips, sliding one down to my ass and squeezing my cheeks, and then he leans into me. My eyelids droop as his mouth comes for mine, and I flatten the palm of my hand over his crotch, feeling his hard cock underneath his pants.

"AMY! Jesus Christ, have some decency!" I hear a woman’s voice cutting through the fog of my mind, and my pussy dries up in a fraction of a second. That woman’s voice, you know to whom it belongs? My mom, Katherine Meelios. Yeah, thanks Mom, I really needed for you to barge in here when I’m about to have some fun.

I pull back from Justin (who’s now looking from me to my mom with a scared expression on his face), and place my hands on my hips. "Haven’t you ever learned to knock? This is my office, you know?" I tell my mother, tapping my foot on the floor.

She’s standing by the doorway, her hand still on the door’s handle, and her lips are tightly pursed in a disapproving expression.

"You’re my daughter," she simply says, walking inside my office and turning her attention toward Justin. "Out," she tells him drily, and he just scurries away like a frightened mouse. Yeah, my mother has that effect on people.

"What the hell do you want?" I ask her, still pissed off that she had the audacity to storm inside my office like that. I mean, it’s my lunch break, and I was about to have some much needed fun. It should be illegal to ruin moments like these.

"I want you to turn on the TV," she tells me, and her harsh tone of voice tells me that something’s coming.

And, whatever it is, it isn’t good.