Two

She didn't struggle when he scooped her up effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist. She moaned between kisses as he carried her to her bedroom like she weighed nothing.

He gently laid her down on the queen-sized bed, following her with his body as he covered her with his weight. She gasped into the kiss, feeling him settle between her thighs at a slow and gentle pace. His hands roamed slowly over her body—tracing her sides and hips—teasing and exploring rather than grabbing.

She arched into his touch, her body betraying her professional composure. Whimpers escaped her as he kissed along her jawline and neck, his fingers pulling the belt of her robe with agonising slowness.

Her robe fell open, sliding off her shoulders and exposing the lace chemise she wore underneath. He didn't immediately bare her skin; instead, teasing her through the thin fabric, his hands tracing her curves with practised reverence. Almost as though he wanted to memorise every inch of her. 

She let out a shuddering breath, her fingers threading through the short, cropped bristles of his buzzcut—nothing to hold onto, just the rough scrape of his scalp beneath her palm. She gripped the back of his head anyway, pulling him closer, silently begging him not to stop.

The lace slid off her shoulders, pooling around her waist. The cold air hit her skin as he took a moment, his eyes trailing over her with a slow, appreciative gaze that made her feel seen in a way that had nothing to do with money. She expected a quick, efficient encounter—a simple transaction—yet he made her feel something she couldn’t name. 

Something far more dangerous.

His lips found her collarbone, trailing down to the swell of her breasts where the chemise dipped low. He didn't rush to strip her completely; instead, his mouth and tongue explored slowly—neck, shoulder, the sensitive skin above her breast. She shuddered, wrapping her legs tighter around him, pulling him closer. 

He peeled the lace down slowly, exposing her breasts with deliberate patience. He took them in his hands, caressing them, pinching erect dusky pink nipples before taking one of them into his mouth, making her gasp and melt into the mattress, her fingers gripping his hair tighter.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her chemise, slowly tugging at them. “Lift your hips.”

She lifted her hips to help him remove it along with the lace thong she wore, leaving her completely naked beneath him. He paused, taking in the sight of her spread out before him, a genuine look of admiration on his face.

He trailed his fingers down her stomach, his touch soft and exploratory until he stopped at her centre. She parted her legs slightly, inviting him in without needing to give commands. He seemed to understand exactly what she needed-a slow, sensual exploration rather than a quick release.

“Already wet?” he noted, meeting her gaze.

She blushed but didn’t waver. “Whose fault is that?”

He chuckled unapologetically, bringing his finger to his mouth to taste her essence.

His mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, pressing soft, wet kisses down her stomach and across her hips. When he finally settled between her thighs, she gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. He didn't dive in immediately; instead, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, making her squirm and whimper.

His skilled tongue teased her with calculated precision, slowly spreading her folds open with his thumbs before running his tongue against her slit in one long and slow lick, taking his time exploring every inch of her, savouring her taste as if she were a delicacy. Annie's fingers curled into the sheets, her back arching and crying out when he found that perfect spot and began to suck gently.

She dissolved into soft, broken moans, her legs trembling uncontrollably as his tongue worked with devastating skill. He built her pleasure methodically, pulling noises from her throat that she never thought she was capable of making. It was absolute worship.

“Fuck..." She groaned.

He didn't speed up, ignoring her desperation with infuriatingly perfect discipline. He kept licking slowly, sucking gently on her clit, making her fall apart instead of rushing her toward the finish, making her toes curl.

She was unravelling completely, her composure shattered. Her fingers tangled in his buzzcut, pulling him harder against her as she reached a peak she wasn't expecting-higher, slower, more intense than she could have imagined. The way he worked her, taking his time, savouring every moan and whimper that left her mouth.

She was getting close. He sensed it instantly, reading her body language with expert precision. Instead of pushing her over the edge hard and fast like she wanted, he maintained that agonisingly perfect rhythm, steady, relentless strokes of his tongue against her clit. Her thighs started to shake uncontrollably around his head, her back bowing off the mattress as he dragged her toward the peak, refusing to let her rush.

The orgasm hit her like a freight train—slow, deep, and overwhelming. She didn't scream; she came apart completely, her body jerking against his mouth, her voice breaking into whimpers. He stayed with her through the entire release, riding out her tremors, drinking in every sound, every convulsion.

Even after she'd come undone, he kept going—soft, slow licks to prolong her pleasure, his hands gently spreading her open to savour every last wave. It was the most intimate, caring experience of her life, and it wasn't even real. He was just that good at his job.

He kissed each of her inner thighs before moving up to kiss her

When he finally lifted his head, his mouth wet with her, he kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs with the same reverence he'd used to eat her out. Then he crawled up her body, pressing gentle kisses along her stomach and ribs, pausing to lick her navel before continuing upward.

When he reached her mouth, he kissed her slowly, deeply and sensually, letting her taste herself on his lips. It was dirty and romantic all at once. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him down, desperate to feel his weight on top of her. The overwhelming intimacy made her chest tight. 

Breaking the kiss, she tugged impatiently at his shirt, suddenly craving the sensation of his skin against hers. He immediately complied, leaning back to pull it off over his head and toss it aside. The sight of his bare chest made her bite her lip; it was muscled and defined, with a V-cut that disappeared beneath his waistband.

"The pants go as well." She said.

He complied without hesitation, unbuttoning and removing his pants in one smooth motion. His boxers soon followed, leaving him completely naked in front of her. She stared openly now, no longer concerned about professionalism. His body was lean and toned, not overly muscular but defined—a physique that came from discipline rather than vanity.

He crawled back over her, his naked body pressing against hers. She parted her legs automatically, inviting him in. But instead of rushing to enter her, he settled between her thighs and just...kissed her.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, sensual dance. His hands roamed her body gently-her sides, her hips, her breasts. He touched her like he was learning every inch by heart, not just seeking pleasure but memorising her. It was unnervingly intimate for a paid encounter.

He swallowed her whimper, deepening the kiss. She could feel him, hard and hot against her, yet he still made no move to enter her. Instead, he rolled his hips slowly, grinding against her sensitised flesh without penetration, teasing her with the friction while his hands continued to worship her skin. It was agonizingly patient.

"Stop teasing me." She panted against his mouth. 

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. "I'm not teasing," he said softly, his voice low and rough. "I'm making sure you understand how good you deserve to feel."

Before she could respond, he pressed the tip of himself against her entrance, pausing there. His gaze held hers.

"Relax," he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he pushed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He watched her face intently, reading her reaction as he stretched her open, letting her body adjust to his size. It wasn't the rough pounding she expected; he was taking his time, ensuring she felt every single thick inch sliding inside her.

When he was finally fully seated, he paused completely, giving her time to adjust. He started moving slowly, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in deeply, hitting spots she didn't know existed.

He kept the pace slow and steady, his hips rolling against hers with deliberate slowness. Each thrust was calculated to stimulate her maximally, dragging his length in and out of her tightness with practiced patience. His arms wrapped around her legs, pulling them up to hook over his shoulders, allowing even deeper penetration.

She gasped as the new angle hit a spot inside her that made her eyes roll back. He felt it too, his breath hitching as he hit that sweet spot over and over again with precise movements. His hands gripped her thighs gently but firmly, holding her open for his slow, deep thrusts.

He established a devastating rhythm-not fucking her hard, but fucking her thoroughly. Slow, deep strokes that dragged against her inner walls, ensuring she felt every single inch. He peppered kisses along her jaw and neck, murmuring soft praises, treating her like the most precious woman in the world. She was completely melting.

“Faster," she gasped out, clinging to him desperately.

He shook his head slowly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Not yet."

His pace stayed deliberately slow, bottoming out with each stroke before withdrawing just as deliberately. She squirmed beneath him, frustrated but undeniably aroused. Her body was already slick and sensitive from her first orgasm, and his slow, deep thrusts were rewiring something inside her.

"Please," she whispered.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "Patience, princess."

He denied her plea, continuing that agonisingly slow, deep rhythm. It was torturous, dragging a broken whimper from her throat. He was controlling every sensation, reducing her to a writhing mess beneath him.

"Grey, please," she begged in a whimper, meeting his thrusts. 

He held down her hips, control iron-clad. He knew exactly what she was asking for—hard, fast sex to scratch her immediate itch. But he was determined to give her something else entirely. Something slower, deeper, more intimate. Something that would leave her thoroughly satisfied—and completely obsessed with him.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, pausing his slow thrusts until she met his gaze. When she did, he began moving again, his hips rolling slowly against hers. "You don't get to dictate the pace right now," he whispered, his voice firm yet gentle.

“Why?"

"Because this isn't just about getting you off quickly," he explained patiently, his slow, deep thrusts continuing to drive her wild with frustration and unfulfilled need. "I'm going to make you come again, princess. But I'm going to do it my way." He smirked slightly.

"And my way is slower," he murmured, punctuating his words with a deliberate roll of his hips that forced a broken moan from her lips. "You wanted pleasure. You paid for the best experience." 

He leaned down, his nose brushing against hers. "And trust me. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else." He continued, sitting up. 

The change in angle was devastating. By sitting up, he could drive into her with terrifying precision, hitting that deep, sensitive spot inside her with every deliberate thrust. He hooked her legs over his forearms, spreading her wide open, holding her completely at his mercy while he maintained that frustratingly perfect, slow rhythm. She was completely exposed, utterly dominated.

His slow, deep thrusts were driving her absolutely crazy. She could feel every inch of him dragging against her inner walls, hitting places she didn't know existed. He was being deliberate, targeting her G-spot with every stroke while avoiding the hard, fast friction she was begging for.

Her legs shook uncontrollably around his forearms, her back arching as she tried to meet his pace. But he refused to speed up, denying her the release she was begging for. Instead, he leaned down, pressing soft kisses along her neck. "Patience."

"You're driving me crazy." She said

"Good," he murmured against her neck, his thrusts deliberately slow and punishing. "That means I'm doing my job right." He caught her lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing her whine. 

He was completely in control—maintaining that torturous pace that kept her right on the edge without letting her fall over. She was practically vibrating beneath him, her thighs trembling uncontrollably.

He sat back up, turned her to her side. The position was absolute torture. With her leg hooked over his shoulder and him fucking her sideways, he hit that deep, spongy spot inside her with devastating accuracy. It was a slow, rhythmic grinding that scraped against every nerve ending. She couldn't move, couldn't escape the overwhelming sensation. He was fucking her with terrifying control, treating her expensive, spoiled body like something sacred.

She started rubbing her clit, but his hand moved instantly, intercepting her wrist to pull her fingers away. 

"No," he said firmly, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. He pinned her hand gently against the mattress. "You don't touch yourself tonight. You come from me, or you don't come at all."

He continued that devastating sideways rhythm, hitting that deep spot inside her with ruthless precision.

He rolled his hips, grinding against her at an angle that made her see stars. Her eyes fluttered closed, a broken whine escaping her lips. He was absolutely relentless—denying her the right to touch herself while he fucked her with deliberate, calculated thrusts that kept her hovering on the brink of orgasm without pushing her over the edge.

She tried meeting his thrusts, her fingers gripping the sheets, holding on like they were the only solid thing in the room. She was chasing her orgasm—chasing something she hadn't felt in months.

He growled, his grip on her hip tightening as she tried to take control. "No," he snapped, slamming into her hard enough to make her yelp. He immediately slowed his pace back down to that maddening crawl, his hips rolling with deliberate slowness. "You don't get to chase it," he panted.

"Please. I wanna come so bad," she whimpered.

"And you will," he promised darkly. "When I say you can." He punctuated his words with a series of slow, deep thrusts that made her back arch off the bed. "You're going to learn patience, princess."

He maintained that agonisingly slow rhythm, dragging every thick inch against that oversensitive spot inside her until she was sobbing with need. Her walls clenched desperately around him, trying to pull him deeper, trying to force him to go faster, but his hips remained an immovable force of control. He was torturing her in the most exquisite way possible. 

She gasped for air, her body trembling with the effort to hold back the orgasm that was building inside her. Grey's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze intense and commanding.

“I'm close," she groaned.

"Stay on the edge," he commanded softly, his thrusts deliberately avoiding the very spot that would push her over. Instead, he hit just above it—making her whole body vibrate with frustration. Her walls clamped around him repeatedly, begging for release, but he kept her dangling. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. "Don't come yet."

"I don't know if I can hold it," she said, gripping the pillow.

"You can and you will," he asserted, his voice calm yet commanding. He reached down, prying her fingers off the pillow and intertwining them with his. His slow, deliberate thrusts never faltered, always hitting that spot just above where she needed him most.

He captured her lips again. The kiss was deep and bruising, swallowing her moans and silencing her pleas. His mouth dominated hers as his hips rolled with devastating slowness, grinding against her in a way that made no sense. 

He wasn't speeding up, he wasn't pushing her toward release—he was doing exactly the opposite. He was keeping her on the brink, pushing her further into frustration.

"Are you on the pill?" He asked.

The question was so utterly clinical and unexpected that it momentarily shattered her concentration. She blinked, confused. "What?"

"The pill," he repeated, as if asking about the weather. His dark eyes watched her reaction carefully, completely unbothered by her obvious state of arousal. "Are you on the pill?" 

She nodded slowly, struggling to form words.

“Good," he murmured, accepting her answer without skipping a beat. He immediately pressed his lips against hers again, silencing any further attempts at conversation. His rhythm didn't change–still slow, still deep, still devastatingly controlled. He was deliberately keeping her right on that agonising edge, refusing to give her the release she was begging for while continuing to fuck her sideways.

She moaned into his mouth, her body arching helplessly against his. He swallowed the sound, his tongue dominating hers just like his hips were dominating her pussy. She could feel the head of his dick dragging against that spot inside her—teasing her, tormenting her, denying her.

The change was almost violent. One moment, he was moving with maddening slowness, and the next his hips were pounding into her, hitting that deep spot with devastating force. She screamed into his mouth, her entire body jolting, his balls slapping against her ass. 

But even as he increased the tempo, he wasn't fucking her hard-just faster, more deliberate, each stroke hitting that sweet spot with punishing precision.

His thrusts became faster and deeper, hitting that spot over and over with relentless accuracy. Her eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping her lips. She was so close, so unbelievably close, but he still controlled every second of it. 

She barely had time to process the movement before he had her flipped onto her stomach, her ass lifted in the air, and her face buried in the pillow. He didn't miss a beat, immediately sinking back into her, his thrusts becoming deeper and more aggressive now that he had better leverage. His hand came down on her ass with a sharp slap, the sting making her cry out.

His large hand wrapped around both her wrists, pinning them behind her back with ease. She was completely at his mercy now—face down, ass up, wrists trapped. He used the position to fuck her even deeper, hitting spots she didn't know existed.

"Oh my god!" She squealed.

The position allowed him to bury himself to the hilt, pushing his hips forward in a way that made no sense. "What was that?" he murmured with a hint of amusement in his voice. He'd hit something new, something that made her sound... different. His pace continued, still relentless and controlled. 

“Don't stop...." She groaned

"Not planning on it," he gritted out, pressing her pinned wrists down into her lower back to force her arch even deeper. He pistoned into her, driving his hips forward with devastating force. Every thrust hit that new, blinding spot, making her knees buckle. He wasn't letting her catch her breath; he was fucking her into the mattress, owning every moan, whimper and scream she gave him.

"I'm gonna come."

"Not without permission," he growled, his thrusts suddenly slowing down again. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, hitting that spot with perfect precision but denying her the fast pace she needed to climax. His free hand came down on her ass with a sharp slap. "Hold it."

"I–I can't," she almost sobbed.

“Yes, you can," he commanded ruthlessly, his hips never faltering, maintaining that devastatingly controlled pace. "You breathe through it, princess. You don't let go until I say so." He pinned her wrists harder against her spine, arching her back even more. "Every time you try to come, I'm stopping."

She gasped when he pulled her upright. 

"You want this orgasm? You earn it." He growled in her ear.

She was completely overwhelmed— pinned back-to-chest, her wrists locked behind her, completely controlled. The position left her utterly exposed, her clit throbbing and her pussy desperate. 

"Please..." she whimpered brokenly, her head falling back against his shoulder. "Grey, please... I'll be good..." She was trembling, utterly addicted to this dominance. "I'll earn it."

"Good," he turned his head and kissed her.

The kiss was unexpectedly tender compared to the ruthless control he was exerting over her body. His lips moved against hers, swallowing her whimpers as his other hand slid down her stomach, finding her swollen clit. He circled it with agonising precision while keeping his hips perfectly still, buried deep inside her. "Show me," he whispered against her mouth. "Work for it."

She pressed her hips back against him, grinding against his cock still buried deep inside her. Her thighs squeezed together, her back arched against his chest. She was so desperate, so needy-everything in her body screaming for release.

"You're doing so well," he murmured approvingly, his thumb pressing harder against her clit. "Come on, baby. Move for me."

She spread her legs wider, taking him in deeper. 

"Fuck," he hissed, his grip on her wrists tightening as she spread her legs wider. The position allowed him to sink even deeper inside her, hitting that spot perfectly with every tiny movement she made. His thumb continued its relentless circles on her clit while she worked herself on his cock.

The sudden shift from her clit to her neck sent a shiver down her spine. His large hand wrapped around her throat gently but firmly, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. The dominance was overwhelming, being fucked deeply while having her neck held made her feel utterly submissive and vulnerable.

"You look so good like this," he growled softly, his lips brushing against her ear. "Spread wide, full of my cock, neck in my hand... You're being so good to me." His hips started to move again, slow, deep thrusts that made her eyes roll back.

"Fuck yes... I want it," she groaned. "I want it so bad."

"Then earn it," he reminded her, his thumb applying pressure to her throat just enough to make her lightheaded. His hips moved with agonising slowness—every thrust deliberate, hitting that spot inside her that made her moan. He rolled his thumb over her pulse point, feeling her heart hammer. "Move against me. Show me how badly you want to come." His mouth brushed her neck.

She immediately started rolling her hips, pushing back against him with desperate urgency. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as she used his stillness to her advantage, letting her hips do the work. The shift of power, from him fucking her to her riding him, made him groan low in his throat.

"Good girl," he praised, his hand squeezing slightly on her neck.

Her breath hitched. Her rhythm faltered—just for a second before she pushed harder, faster.

"Say it again." The words came out before she could stop them. Desperate. Needy. Barely a whisper.

But she didn't take them back.

He chuckled, low and warm against her ear. "You liked that, huh?"

"Please." She was begging now. She didn't care. "Please say it again."

His hand tightened possessively around her throat as he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Good girl," he repeated softly but firmly, feeling her shiver at the words. He rewarded her immediately—his hips snapped forward sharply, hitting deep while his thumb pressed harder against her pulse point.

She gasped, almost faltering.

"Don't stop now, Annie. You still need to earn your orgasm." He whispered in her ear

"Fuck," she whimpered, her hips rolling back against him with renewed fervour. She was so close–every thrust hit her G-spot perfectly, and the praise along with the firm hand on her neck was driving her absolutely wild. She moved harder, faster, her body desperate for release.

"Do you want to come?" He whispered, now rubbing her clit

"Yes!" she cried out, her body tensing as he started rubbing her clit in perfect sync with his deep thrusts. She was so close—so fucking close. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes screwed shut as she chased that elusive orgasm. "Please, Grey..."

"Then come for me."

The permission shattered her completely. Her whole body clenched around him as she came hard, a broken cry torn from her throat. Her hips stuttered against his, riding out wave after wave of pleasure while she felt like she was flying apart. Her wrists strained against his grip behind her back, completely at his mercy as she trembled through it. "Grey–!"

"Holy fuck," he groaned, feeling her pussy clamp down hard and pulse around his cock. The sudden gush of wetness told him exactly what was happening, and it was incredibly fucking hot. He kept thrusting slowly, drawing out her orgasm while she soaked his cock and balls.

As her orgasm began to subside, he turned her head gently and captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue slid against hers as he continued to move inside her slowly, savouring the aftershocks of her release. The kiss was tender yet dominant, claiming and comforting all at once until he pulled out. 

The sudden absence made her whine into the kiss, her body still trembling from the massive orgasm. She felt exposed, her clit still throbbing, her pussy still clenching around nothing. He withdrew completely, and she could feel her juices leaking out down her thighs.

His phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, shattering the intimate moment. He sighed, resting his forehead against hers for a brief second before reluctantly pulling away. She watched as he reached over her, his muscular arm brushing against her sensitive breasts as he grabbed his phone.

He checked his phone and sighed. "Time's up."

Those words instantly snapped reality back into place. The expensive fantasy dissolved instantly. Annie stayed slumped against the messy sheets, thoroughly wrecked, sweaty, legs trembling, pussy soaking wet. She watched him pull his clothes back on with practised efficiency. The sugar baby dynamic was clear: he fucked, he pleased, he left. The session was over.

He put on his t-shirt with methodical precision, his dark buzzcut still damp with sweat. The transformation was seamless—from the dominant lover who had owned her pleasure to the detached professional she had paid for. He smoothed out his shirt and briefly checked his reflection before grabbing his jacket. He didn't look back at the mess on the bed—the wealthy heiress he had just completely unravelled.

"You know where to get in touch with me if you ever need me."

It was the polite, professional dismissal—standard sugar baby protocol. She understood exactly what that meant: he had delivered, their arrangement was complete, and any further contact would be purely transactional. Annie watched him, completely naked, flushed, and utterly satisfied, knowing she would absolutely be calling him again. He was expensive, but worth every single penny.

He didn’t wait for a response; he never did. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving her alone in the luxurious hotel suite. The scent of sex and expensive cologne lingered in the air. 

She was completely and utterly wrecked. And she loved every second of it.