Eric stood outside the door, his mind running through the client file he'd committed to memory.
Bianca Morrison. Twenty-eight years old. Married for two years to a businessman who traveled frequently. No children, which was apparently becoming a problem.
The request had been unusual but not unprecedented. She wanted him to impregnate her. It was a service Eric provided occasionally, though it cost significantly more than his standard rate. The logistics were complicated, the emotional stakes higher, and the commitment required multiple sessions over specific timeframes.
But the money was excellent. Nearly triple his usual fee, paid upfront, with bonuses if the desired outcome was achieved.
'Her husband is gone for a week,' Eric reminded himself. 'Business trip to Capitol City. His parents are pressuring them about the lack of children, threatening to push for divorce or remarriage if she doesn't conceive soon.'
It was a mess of traditional family expectations and modern desperation. Eric didn't judge. Everyone had their reasons for seeking his services.
He knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, like she'd been waiting right behind it.
Bianca Morrison was stunning.
She had the kind of figure that made men stop and stare, bursty and curvaceous in a way that suggested genetics and careful maintenance in equal measure. Thicker than Isabelle, with more pronounced curves that her fitted dress did nothing to hide. Her breasts were substantial, drawing the eye automatically, what Eric mentally classified as high-tier assets that promised interesting possibilities.
'Those could do a lot for me,' Eric thought appreciatively, his professional assessment kicking in automatically.
Her hair was a striking red-orange, lighter than Eric's copper tones, falling in waves past her shoulders. Amber eyes, warm and nervous, met his with obvious anxiety. She had that shy, almost apologetic demeanor that some clients adopted, like they were embarrassed to need his services.
"Eric?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
"That's me." Eric smiled, warm and professional. "You must be Bianca."
"Yes. Please, come in." She stepped aside, gesturing into the apartment.
Eric entered, taking in the space with practiced observation. Clean, modern, tastefully decorated. Nothing ostentatious, but everything quality. Money without the need to show it off.
Not Isabelle's level of wealth, but comfortable. Upper-middle class, professional income, the kind of financial stability that came from two people with good careers.
The living room was spacious, with large windows offering a view of Stardale's nicer neighborhoods. A couch that looked expensive, artwork that was probably original, small touches that suggested someone had put thought into making this place a home.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Bianca asked, fidgeting with her hands. "Water? Wine? I have coffee if you prefer—"
"Water's fine," Eric said gently. Nervous clients needed to be put at ease, given time to settle into the situation. "Thank you."
Bianca disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two glasses of water. She handed one to Eric, her fingers trembling slightly, then sat on the couch at a careful distance.
Eric took the armchair, giving her space, his body language open and unthreatening. "So," he said conversationally, "tell me about yourself. How long have you lived in Stardale?"
"Five years," Bianca said, grateful for the normal conversation. "I moved here after college. Met my husband at a networking event. We married pretty quickly, probably too quickly, but it felt right at the time."
"And now?" Eric prompted gently.
Bianca's face fell slightly. "Now it's complicated. David, my husband, he's a good man. He works hard, provides well, but he's always traveling. And his family..." She trailed off, pain crossing her features.
"They're pressuring you about children," Eric supplied.
"Yes." Bianca's hands twisted in her lap. "Traditional family. Very focused on legacy and continuing the bloodline. When we didn't get pregnant in the first year, they started making comments. Second year, the comments became demands. Now they're threatening to encourage David to remarry someone who can give them grandchildren."
"Have you seen doctors?" Eric asked, keeping his tone clinical, professional.
"Multiple." Bianca's voice was barely above a whisper. "They all say the same thing. I'm perfectly healthy. Everything works. But David..." She paused, clearly struggling with what to say next.
"It's okay," Eric said. "Whatever you tell me stays between us. Complete confidentiality."
Bianca took a shaky breath. "David has fertility issues. Low count, poor motility. The doctors said natural conception is extremely unlikely. But he won't consider alternatives. Won't do treatments, won't adopt, and absolutely refuses to let his family know there's any issue on his side."
"So you're taking the blame," Eric concluded.
"Yes." Tears welled in Bianca's amber eyes. "His family thinks I'm defective. That I'm failing in my duty as a wife. And David lets them believe it because admitting the truth would damage his pride."
Eric felt a familiar surge of contempt for the husband he'd never met. "That's not fair to you."
"No," Bianca agreed, wiping at her eyes. "But I love him. Despite everything, I still love him. And I want to save our marriage. So I'm doing this."
She looked at Eric directly for the first time, vulnerability and determination mixing in her expression. "I need to get pregnant. Soon. Before his family pushes for divorce. This is my last option."
Eric nodded, understanding the full picture now. "I've reviewed your cycle information. You're in your fertile window starting today, which is why the timing works."
"Yes." Bianca's face flushed. "I've been tracking everything obsessively. This week is optimal. And with David gone..."
"We have the time and privacy to maximize chances," Eric finished. "I understand. And I want you to know, I take this kind of work very seriously. This isn't just physical for you. There are emotional stakes, relationship stakes. I respect that."
Bianca's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Thank you. I was worried you'd think this was weird or desperate."
"Everyone who contacts me has their reasons," Eric said simply. "I don't judge. I provide a service that people need. That's all."
They talked for another twenty minutes, Eric asking questions about her health, her stress levels, anything that might impact success rates. Bianca gradually relaxed, the initial nervousness fading into something more comfortable.
Finally, Bianca set down her water glass and met Eric's eyes. "I think I'm ready," she said quietly. "If you are."
Eric stood, moving with deliberate calm. "Let's take this to the bedroom. And remember, we can stop at any time if you're uncomfortable. This is your call, always."
Bianca nodded and led him down a hallway to the master bedroom. It was large, dominated by a king-sized bed with expensive linens. Personal photos lined the dresser, including several of Bianca and a man Eric assumed was David.
'He has no idea his wife is about to sleep with another man,' Eric thought. 'And if this works, he'll raise my child as his own.'
The ethical implications were messy, but Eric had made peace with them long ago. He wasn't here to judge people's choices. Just to provide what they needed.
Bianca stood nervously by the bed, her hands fidgeting again. Eric approached slowly, giving her time to process, to back out if she wanted.
"You're beautiful," he said softly, and meant it. Bianca was gorgeous, her curves impressive, her face pretty despite the anxiety written across it. "Relax. Let me take care of everything."
He kissed her, gentle at first, testing her response. Bianca tensed initially, then melted into it, her lips parting under his. Eric's hands found her waist, pulling her closer, letting her feel his warmth, his solid presence.
Years of experience guided his movements. He knew how to read a woman's body, how to find what pleased her, how to build arousal gradually rather than rushing. His hands roamed over her curves, appreciating the thickness of her hips, the fullness of her breasts straining against her dress.
"You're so tense," Eric murmured against her neck. "We need to relax you first."
His hands worked at the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly. Bianca shivered as the fabric fell away, revealing a lacy black bra and panties that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin.
"God," Eric breathed, taking in the sight. Her breasts were even more impressive without the dress, full and heavy, straining against the lace. "Your husband is a fool for not worshipping you every day."
Bianca's face flushed deeper, but she smiled. "You're just saying that."
"I never lie to clients," Eric said, meaning it. His hands cupped her breasts, feeling their weight, and Bianca gasped. "These are perfect. Absolutely perfect."
He unclasped her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled free, pale and pink-tipped, and Eric couldn't help but stare for a moment.
'Those lemons could do a lot for me indeed,' he thought appreciatively.
He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one nipple while his hand kneaded the other breast. Bianca's gasp turned into a moan, her hands tangling in his copper-orange hair.
"Oh God," she breathed. "That feels..."
Eric worked her breast with lips and tongue, alternating between gentle and firm, gauging her reactions. When he switched to the other breast, Bianca's knees buckled slightly and she clung to him for support.
"Bed," Eric murmured, guiding her backward. "Lie down."
Bianca complied, stretching out on the expensive linens, her red-orange hair fanning across the pillows. Eric took a moment to undress, revealing his athletic build, the results of his stat increases evident in his defined muscles.
Bianca's amber eyes widened as she took in his physique, then widened further when she saw what he was working with below the waist.
"That's..." she started, then seemed to lose words.
"We'll take it slow," Eric assured her, climbing onto the bed. "I promise."