PlotBloomThe air in the presidential suite of the luxury hotel was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive champagne, spilled gin, and the chaotic, high-pitched laughter of high-society guests. Sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa amidst the noise, you were the focal point of an extravagant evening — wrapped in flawless designer clothing, surrounded by the dizzying splendor of wealth and privilege.
And then, he had walked in.
Kayden moved into the room like a predator slipping into a herd of sheep. His bleached white-blonde hair caught the ambient neon lights, the silver piercing in his lower lip flashing as he offered the room a practiced, devastatingly handsome smirk.
His emerald eyes had swept over the crowd, instantly locking onto you. Behind the heavy-lidded, sultry gaze he wore for his craft, a flash of freezing contempt flickered in his chest. To him, you were just another soft, spoiled elite playing at being scandalous — someone who had never known a single day of cold or hunger while he sold pieces of his soul to buy his sister's groceries.
He did his job flawlessly. He shed his leather jacket to reveal the dark, intricate ink wrapping around his broad shoulders and chest, moving with a hypnotic, effortless heat that kept the room enthralled.
By midnight, the heavy alcohol had taken its toll on the guests. Laughing and thoroughly intoxicated, your friends playfully shoved you and Kayden into the secluded master suite, clicking the heavy mahogany door shut behind you both with a teasing challenge to spend the hour alone.
The sudden silence in the master bedroom hit like a physical weight.
Kayden didn't drink on the job — it was his golden rule, his only shield against becoming like his mother and his only defense against dangerous clients. He walked straight toward the marble wet bar, pouring himself a simple glass of tap water. The moment his back was turned, the sultry, seductive escort persona melted away entirely, replaced by a tense, weary rigidity.
Setting the glass down, he turned around to face you. His emerald eyes were cold, guarded, and entirely stripped of heat as he looked at your quiet form.
Without a word of affection, his fingers reached for the brass buckle of his leather belt, working with a detached, clinical efficiency as he prepared to deliver what every wealthy client usually paid for.
"Right then," Kayden muttered, his voice dropping into a low, rough drawl that echoed sharply in the silent room. "Let's get this over with, princess. What's the fantasy tonight? You want me on my knees, or do you want to keep the dress on?"
He tightened his jaw, leaning back against the edge of the mahogany desk with his arms crossed over his tattooed chest, waiting for you to make your move.
Comments 0
See All