The suite was dimly lit, bathed in a sultry crimson hue. A designed velvet-lined walls that absorbed sound; giving the space a near-sacred silence. A low jazz melody played from the hidden speakers, brushing the air like fingers against skin.
As Asher stepped in, the door locked behind him with a heavy click. The day's weight peeled off with every layer he removed— jacket, shirt, belt. By the time he came to a stop at the threshold of the bathroom, only the briefs of his dark boxer clung to him.
His body was a sight to behold. Carved from a relentless gym schedule and an even stricter diet. All of it told stories of his discipline. The broad shoulders, a chiseled chest that tapered, to a defined waist, and a sculpted lines of muscle marked on his stomach. The perfect kind of form that drew eyes, whispered want, and carried power without needing to shout it.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the spacious shower glass-walled, and marble-tiled. Its rainfall head releasing a soothing cascade of hot water. The heat soaked into his skin, washing away the tension, the noise, the world outside.
A few minutes passed.
When he emerged with a towel slung low around his waist. The suite had taken on an even more intimate mood by now. The scent of sandalwood had deepened, mixing with something softer, floral… feminine.
And there she was.
Laid out across the master bed, was a woman with curves draped in black silk. Her glowing skin against the sheets. She shifted on setting eyes on him, a slow feline grace to her movement.
Her eyes was locked with his— inviting, tempting, sultry, confident. Not intimidating, nor desperate. Just... ready.
Asher paused.
His usual slow smirk curving his lips. The kind he wore when business went his way, or when pleasure made itself obedient to his mood.
She slid from the bed, one leg at a time, every move deliberate. Seduction wasn't in any way new to her— it was an art. She slowly allowed her robe whispered open, revealing smooth thighs and lace that did more to tease than conceal. Her bra, little to hiding those hard tits.
She reached him without saying a word, fingers gliding up his chest, tracing its patten as her it came to a rest against his heart.
And just like that, the mood snapped into place.
Asher tilted his head, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her in with a quiet dominance. Just in his element.
Her breath was warm against his skin as she leaned in, lips brushing the line of his jaw— barely a kiss, more a suggestion. A silent dare. Asher's hands moved lower, splaying across her hips, thumbs grazing the lace that barely clung to her. As he sent it deeper through her pants. A gasped instinctively escaped her lips as she slightly bit on it. Enough to send Asher off.
He stepped forward, guiding her backward toward the bed without a word, their bodies speaking in the hush between heartbeats. She let herself be led, sinking into the silk sheets as he followed, towel slipping from his waist and forgotten on the floor.
He hovered above her, gaze burning into hers. There was no rush— he liked to take his time, especially when the world outside had tried to pull him apart. Here, in this room, control was his again.
Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. He kissed her then— slow at first, lips coaxing, claiming, until the pace shifted. His tongue parted hers, the kiss deepening, growing heavier with intent.
She moaned softly into his mouth, arching under him as his hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every place that made her shiver. Lace gave way to bare skin. Silk pooled around her arms. She was open for him now, every inch a canvas, and he—he was an artist with no patience for half-measures.
He slid lower, mouth tracing a path from her collarbone down to her navel, leaving heat in his wake. She writhed under him, whispering his name between breathless gasps.
"Asher…"
He loved hearing it— loved how it sounded in a voice unraveling.
His fingers gripped her thighs, pulling her closer as he lowered his head between them. His mouths doing it's magic as he took into her wet pussy. No hesitation. No mercy.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she dug her fingers into his hair. Her head falling back as esctasy took the best of her. She worked her waist around his mouth as his tongue drove deeper and deeper in.
His fingers brushed against her rock hard nipples in the process as she moans and groans. After a while, he broke it off. Kneeling between her thighs as he brought his prink to her already swollen and wet area.
Without warning, he pulled her closer, pushing harder into her like the slave she was to him. She moaned, and he groaned, picking up the pace with every thrust. Going deeper and deeper- working his shaft into her.
The night stretched, draped in heat and the sound of skin meeting skin, soft cries echoing off velvet walls. He gave and took in equal measure, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.
And when it was over, when the fire dimmed and the room lay cloaked in silence again, Asher remained on his back, breath still heavy, and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He felt calm.
A brief silence engulf the room while Asher's breath steadied, and the haze of satisfaction began to clear from his mind like smoke trailing out a cracked window.
He slowly turned his head to glance at her —still sprawled across the bed, her lips parted, one leg tucked lazily over the other as she watched him with a small, satisfied smile.
But it didn't last. Nothing of this sort always last for him.
Intuitively, he sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his hair. Then, without another glance, he grabbed her robe from the chair nearby and tossed it onto the bed.
"You should get going," he said flatly. His tone had changed— no longer that velvet and heat, but cool and clipped. Detached.
She blinked once, then a soft, almost amused chuckle. "Back to reality, hmm?"
But there was no reply. Already on his feet, he walked toward the window, briefly pausing by the bar to grab a cigarette and his lighter. With a flick, flame met tobacco, and the first drag hit deep in his lungs.
Smoke curled from his lips as he moved to the floor-to-ceiling glass, naked but unbothered. The city stretched out beneath him, cloaked in the warm amber glow of early evening. Cars moved like slow veins of red light, and buildings stood like silent titans in the distance.
Behind him, he heard her shift— probably getting her things together. Fabric rustling, the faint click of heels, the whisper of lace being slipped back on.
"You ever get tired of this?" she asked quietly, pausing at the door.
Still staring at the city, he answered without turning. "Tired of what?"
"This," she said. "The endless dance. Pleasure without feeling. Touch without staying." Her gaze remained fixed on his turned back as he exhaled another long breath, smoke trailing from his mouth like a sigh.
"Feeling complicates things." He answered.
"And staying?" she asked.
"That's not part of the deal," he said simply.
She didn't argue. She never did. A few seconds passed before the soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the suite.
Alone again, Asher stared at his reflection in the window— tall, strong, every inch the man who had it all… and yet still haunted by something unnamed. Something he refused to acknowledge.
He took another drag, the ember glowing brighter in the dim room.