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.