He is professional

When Kimberly opened the door of the guest bedroom, she was greeted by the sight of a tall figure standing by the window. At the sound of the door, he turned around.

His face was not clear, but the outlines of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs all hinted at a very handsome man. Especially the way he stood there looking at her, with a distinct air of aloofness, she found it quite appealing.

Before she spoke, he had already approached the bed.

The room was silent; he said nothing, which made Kimberly feel a momentary embarrassment. They were still strangers meeting for the first time.

However, the moment demanded action. She cleared her throat to break the silence and said, "Come here. Take me to the bed."

Having paid for the service, she intended to enjoy the best of it.

The man sitting on the bed paused briefly before getting up and walking towards her. As he approached, she caught the scent of his woody shower gel, crisp and clean. His height was imposing up close, an oddly familiar pressure she couldn't place.

Without waiting for her to react, he bent down and scooped her up effortlessly. She felt so light in his firm, hot palms, delicate and fragile.

He laid her gently on the bed and, after a moment of silence, asked, "What next?"

The cool detachment in his voice made Kimberly frown; it sounded familiar. In the circles she frequented, she met many people – they might have crossed paths before, but it didn't matter. Their arrangement was precise: a simple transaction.

He was after money; she was after his body.

She extended a slender finger to hook his belt. The room was warm from the floor heating, and he was wearing just a white shirt and black trousers. She hadn't expected such professionalism that he would wear a suit to meet a client.

Up close and accustomed to the dim light, she noticed the distinctive logo on the belt buckle – Hermes. Despite his qualifications, he indulged in this vanity-driven line of work. As long as he pleased her, she would take care of all his luxury expenses in the future.

Her hand moved to his trousers' zipper.

But just as she touched the zipper, he seized her wrist abruptly.

His calm voice, now slightly hoarse, warned, "You sure this is what you want."

She looked up at him, puzzled.

Bathed in moonlight, she could see his strong jawline and Adam's apple moving slightly.

She answered him not with words but with action, and this time, although he still held her slender wrist, he did not resist.

She swallowed nervously, suddenly losing her courage to continue.

"Having regrets?" he asked.

"Who's regretting anything?"

She was, a little, but would not admit it, stubbornly maintaining her pride.

"That's good."

With that, his strong arms pulled her into his warm and spacious embrace. The woody fragrance was deeper now, almost penetrating her being, and she liked this scent very much.

"Let me do it," he offered.

Then his relaxed lips pressed down on hers. Caught off guard, Kimberly turned her head away in a panic.

His abrupt stop due to her rejection filled the air with awkwardness.

Kimberly could still taste the hint of sweet mint he left on her lips.

Her reaction might have seemed hurtful. She wanted to explain but decided against it; as the employer, her preferences were paramount.

Even though things had progressed this far, she had a bit of a cleanliness fetish. Their relationship was strictly business; there was no need for kisses like lovers.

He recovered from the brief shock, not asking anything further, seemingly understanding her unspoken thoughts. His subsequent kisses deliberately avoided her lips, moving to her jawline instead.

His scent surrounded her, and she liked it.

This man might engage in a frowned-upon profession, but he had a taste, hitting all her preferences just right.

"..."

His kisses were dense and devout on her neck her collarbone, hesitating before moving lower, his voice husky as he asked, "May I?"

She had invited him here, and now he was asking for permission. Was this his first day on the job?

Impatient with his dallying, Kimberly moved to take matters into her own hands.

"Let me do it."

He took over, fumbling a bit before finally taking off it.

But Kimberly wasn't paying attention; she was thinking about the ambiguous words she had said earlier about hanging up on Steven, wondering how angry he might be now.

Despite his aloof exterior, he had a tyrant's potential, not tolerating disobedience.

Suddenly, a warning nibble, "From now on, you're mine. Don't even think about other men."

"..."

The white shirt was still a blur in the dark, almost like a mirage, as she felt his body's warmth and firm muscles, satisfying her expectations and then some. He wasn't just muscle; his body felt like it was regularly exercised, toned to perfection, reassuring Kimberly of her choice.

The two entangled and fell back onto the bed.

"Call me 'husband', let me hear it," his voice was husky, pausing for emphasis.

Kimberly's expression turned cold at the word, her passion fading.

The man above her noticed the shift.

His voice, controlled but with an almost undetectable tinge of disappointment, said, "I was just joking."

The next moment, Kimberly regretted her response, feeling like her earlier bravado had been a facade. She planned to berate Steven come morning, blaming him for everything.

She muttered under her breath, "Liar."

Fortunately, he was somewhat professional, not minding his desires, instead focusing on tenderly kissing her, his tone oddly soothing and happy.

He was exceptionally considerate of her feelings, and the room filled with intimacy.

"...What are you doing?" her voice was soft and weak, a reminder of the significant sum she'd paid for professionalism.

"Let's save it for after we're married," he mumbled against her neck, his words muffled.

Kimberly's mind was still blank, unable to comprehend his words.

After some time, exhaustion took over, and she drifted into an exhausted sleep, only vaguely aware of the man's gentle movements as he got up, carrying her like a fragile treasure to the bathroom to clean her up and then changing the sheets.

Kimberly hummed contentedly as she rolled back into the comfortable bed. However, a slight dissatisfaction nagged at her in her dream; it wasn't her familiar bed; the master bedroom's bed was more relaxed.

When she awoke, the man was gone.

The disorder of the room and the marks of passion on her body were the only reminders that last night wasn't a dream.

Kimberly reached for her phone by the bed but couldn't find it; then she remembered she had left it in the master bedroom, and the alarm hadn't gone off. Looking at the daylight outside, she knew she had overslept.