The neon haze of the city clung to the windows like smoke. Joe lit a cigarette he didn’t need—an affectation he wore like his velvet jacket. He wasn’t a lover, not really. He was a gigolo built for it, sculpted by the demands of wealthy patrons who wanted companionship packaged like art.
That’s when she walked in.
Her name was whispered through the underworld like a hymn—Lisa. A woman with the presence of a goddess and the reputation of a storm. Her beauty wasn’t delicate—it was overwhelming, deliberate, the kind that made even the boldest men stumble.
“Joe,” she purred, her voice like honey poured over steel. “I hear you’re the best money can buy.”
He smirked, flicking ash into the dark. “Money doesn’t buy me. It only borrows me.”
Lisa leaned closer, her perfume a trap of memory and desire. The city outside hummed with neon electricity, but in that hotel suite time bent around her. She was not just a client—she was a predator, dressed in silk, eyes sharp enough to slice through his cool exterior.
“You think you’re in control,” she whispered, circling him like a lioness. “But I didn’t come here to rent you, Joe. I came here to own you.”
The gigolo’s mask cracked—just for a heartbeat—as her hand traced his collar. He had serviced countless souls, but this one felt different, dangerous. She wasn’t a client. She was a test.
And for the first time, Joe wondered if he was the one being seduced.