The moment Mika stepped into the private suite, she sensed it: the tension, thick and simmering just beneath the surface.
Her next client, Kenji, sat on the couch with a glass of whiskey in one hand, staring out the window like a man with something heavy on his mind. He was older — late thirties, early forties maybe — sharp suit, expensive cologne, thick wrists and a thicker jaw.
They'd met twice before.
He was polite, intense, reserved… but Mika remembered the way his grip tightened when he came. The way his eyes lingered on her even when they were supposed to be "done."
Tonight felt different.
"Hey," she said softly, closing the door behind her. "Miss me?"
He turned.
His eyes moved over her body in one long, slow glance.
She wore a pale pink lace bodysuit under a silk robe. The soft color clashed with the hunger in his stare.
"I saw the photo from your last session," he said, standing. "That young guy. You let him fuck you against the mirror."
Mika blinked. "You asked for the fantasy file?"
Kenji took a step forward. "I wanted to know what I'm paying for."
His voice was calm — but it had an edge. Possessive. Aroused.
She tilted her head. "Are you upset?"
"I don't like sharing."
She raised an eyebrow, walking slowly toward him. "You do know what this is, right?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached for her robe and tugged it open.
"You wore pink for me," he said.
Her breath caught.
"You said I looked soft in it," she whispered. "Sweet."
He leaned in, voice hot against her neck. "I want to ruin that."
Kenji backed her up against the bedpost and kissed her hard — teeth, tongue, hands grabbing her ass like he owned her. Mika moaned into his mouth, feeling the difference immediately.
This wasn't sweet.
This wasn't play.
He was claiming her.
His hands slid into the lace bodysuit, fingers curling around her bare breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples until she gasped.
"You give this body to everyone?" he growled, twisting gently, just enough to sting.
She arched. "Only the ones who pay well."
"Then I'll pay more."
He pushed her onto the bed.
Climbed over her.
And tore the bodysuit down the middle.
Mika gasped, the cold air hitting her bare skin.
Kenji's eyes devoured her — breasts, stomach, the smooth warmth between her thighs.
"You're wet already," he murmured, running two fingers through her slit. "From just being looked at?"
"No," she whispered, eyes locked on his. "From being wanted."
He groaned and pushed two fingers inside her.
Her back arched. She moaned as he pumped them steadily, curling to stroke her just right.
But when she reached to undo his belt, he grabbed her wrist.
"No."
She looked up, breathless.
"I'm not letting you take the lead tonight," he said. "I've seen you in control. Now it's my turn."
He stood, pulled her off the bed by the wrist, and bent her over the dresser.
Without a word, he dropped his pants.
Mika caught a glimpse in the mirror — thick, dark, already leaking. Her breath hitched.
He dragged the head of his cock along her folds, teasing her slit.
She whimpered. "Please…"
Kenji slid in with a groan — slow, thick inches filling her until she was gasping, nails clawing the wood.
"Ohh—God…"
He grabbed her hips and started thrusting.
Hard.
Sharp.
Deep.
The sound of skin on skin filled the room.
Her moans echoed off the walls — high, needy, broken.
"You don't moan like that for him, do you?" he panted, slapping her ass.
"N-no—fuck—just you—"
He pulled her hair, yanking her head up so she had to look at herself in the mirror as he pounded into her.
"Look how you take me."
She did.
And it turned her on more — the sight of herself being used, body flushed, hair messy, breasts bouncing with every thrust.
He slid a hand between her legs, circling her clit.
"Come while I fuck you. Now."
She bit her lip, crying out as her orgasm slammed into her, wetness gushing around his cock.
He groaned, staying deep, letting her ride it out.
He pulled out suddenly, chest heaving.
"I'm not done with you."
He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the shower.
The hot water steamed around them, fogging the glass.
He pinned her against the wall tiles, lifting one of her legs and sliding back in.
This time was slower. Deeper.
Their slick bodies pressed tight, water cascading down her back as he kissed her hard.
"You feel so fucking good," he breathed, thrusting up into her, hand gripping her thigh.
Mika was shaking.
"God… you're gonna make me—again—"
He drove into her harder.
She came with a scream, water soaking her face and hair as her whole body trembled.
He groaned and pulled out again — turning her around, pressing her breasts to the fogged glass, and slamming back in from behind.
Her moans were muffled by the wall. Her cheek pressed against the glass. Her hands spread flat as he used her, fucked her through wave after wave until he finally cursed, pulled out one last time, and came thick ropes all over her back and ass.
Hot. Marking her.
Claiming her.
They stood in the water for a moment, both panting.
Mika slowly turned to face him.
He looked different now — less angry, more… satisfied. Softened.
"Better?" she asked, voice husky.
He stepped closer, kissed her forehead.
"I still don't want to share you."
She smiled. "Then book me first."
Back in the bedroom, she lay on the sheets with his scent still on her skin.
He was gone twenty minutes later.
But the way he looked at her when he left — like he wanted to bite every man who touched her — stayed with her.
Some clients wanted sex.
Some wanted power.
Kenji?
He wanted possession.
And Mika wasn't sure if that scared her… or turned her on.