Damn

His voice dropped even lower.

“Do you promise to be quiet?”

My brain short-circuited for a second.

Boy… I’ve had fifteen different people try. If they didn’t work, you really think you will?

The thought almost made me laugh—bitter, disbelieving. But my body was still humming from earlier, thighs slick, pulse racing in places that usually stayed dead quiet. So instead of snapping back, I just nodded once. Small. Obedient.

“I’m not loud,” I said softly, “but I can be… if you want.”

A slow smile spread across his face. Dangerous. Pleased.

“We’ll see about that.”

He leaned in closer. “Keep your voice low.”

Then he stared.

First at my eyes, holding them until I felt pinned. Then lower. My chest rose and fell too fast under the half-lowered gown. His gaze lingered there, unhurried, like he was memorizing every inch. Heat crawled up my neck.

“Spread your legs,” he said again. Quiet. Firm.

I parted them. Slowly. Again. For him.

But not enough not wide, not shameless. Just a hesitant inch more than before.

He didn’t wait for me to fix it.

His hand moved steady, deliberate sliding between my thighs. Warm fingers brushing skin that had never reacted like this. I thought he was going to kiss me. Thought maybe that’s where this was heading. My lips parted on instinct; I started to lean in.

Then without warning he plunged one finger inside me.

Oh.

The sound escaped before I could stop it. A soft, broken moan. Sharp. Real. My whole body clenched around the sudden intrusion, shock and heat exploding outward.

He froze for half a second. Then withdrew just enough to make his point.

“You promised you wouldn’t be loud.”

My face burned. Mortification hit like ice water.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” I whispered. The words tumbled out small, breathless, genuine.

I sounded pathetic. I felt pathetic. And yet… the apology made something twist low in my belly. Hotter. Needier.

He didn’t pull away completely. His finger stayed right there still, teasing the edgewhile his thumb brushed once, slow and deliberate, over my clit.

My hips jerked before I could stop them.

“Shhh,” he murmured, almost gentle. “Try again.”

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. Nodded.

Tried to stay quiet.

Tried to pretend I wasn’t already unraveling.

But inside?

This isn’t supposed to happen.

I’m not supposed to feel this.

And fuck… I don’t want him to stop.

He traced slow, deliberate paths down the straps of my gown with his fingertips.

“Stay still,” he said, voice low and even.

I nodded—barely a twitch—because moving felt impossible anyway. My arms hung at my sides, palms pressed flat against the leather chair like anchors.

He hooked the thin fabric and dragged it downward. Slowly. Painfully slowly. The material whispered over my skin, pooling at my waist, then lower, until my breasts were completely exposed to the cool air of the room. No bra. Nothing left to hide behind.

He stared.

Not leering. Not greedy. Just… taking his time. Like he was memorizing the exact shape, the way my chest rose and fell with every shallow breath. His thumb began tracing lazy circles around one nipple—light, maddening, never quite touching the center.

“Don’t move,” he repeated.

I tried. God, I tried. My thighs clenched together, my back arched the tiniest fraction before I forced it straight again. Every nerve felt lit up, screaming. I bit the inside of my lip so hard I tasted blood—anything to keep quiet.

Then he leaned in.

His mouth closed over one breast—warm, wet, deliberate. He sucked gently at first, then firmer, tongue flicking once, twice. A jolt shot straight through me, white-hot, pooling low in my belly.

I bit my lip harder. Harder.

A whimper tried to escape anyway small, choked. I swallowed it down. My hands fisted in the chair arms. My whole body trembled with the effort of staying silent, staying still.

He switched to the other side. Same slow suction. Same flick.

The pressure built fast, relentless, unfamiliar. I’d never felt anything climb like this. Never had this tight coil inside me winding tighter and tighter until it hurt in the best way. My vision blurred at the edges. My breathing turned ragged.

And then

It snapped.

A wave crashed through me so hard my back bowed off the chair. Heat exploded outward thighs shaking, toes curling, a silent scream locked behind clenched teeth. My whole body pulsed, clenched, released in shuddering waves I’d only ever heard about. Never felt. Never believed I could feel.

I came apart.

Hard.

Quiet barely because I’d promised.

Everything went white.

…

When my eyes fluttered open again, the room was empty.

The chair opposite me was vacant. The money still lay scattered on the floor like forgotten confetti—crumpled bills, real, untouched. My gown was bunched around my waist, panties somewhere on the floor. My skin felt flushed, sensitive, marked in places I couldn’t see yet.

He was gone.

No note. No name. No trace except the ache between my legs and the echo of that impossible release still humming under my skin.

I sat there for a long minute, breathing shallow, staring at the empty space where he’d been.

I had orgasmed.

Actually orgasmed.

For the first time in my life.

Because of him.

Because of a stranger in a soundproof VIP room who paid me ten grand to pretend I was someone else and then made my body do something it had refused to do for twenty-something years.

No one had ever done that.

No one had even come close.

I gathered the money with shaking hands stuffed it into my bag without counting. Pulled my gown back up, smoothed it down like nothing happened. My legs felt unsteady when I stood. Slick. Sore in the best way.

I walked out of the club in a daze. The music still thumped. Sasha was probably still grinding on some guy. The world kept moving.

But inside me? Something had cracked open. Wide. And it wouldn’t close again.

By the time I got home, the high had faded into something sharper. Hungrier.

I sat on the edge of my bed, cash spilling out of my bag, and stared at the wall.

He made me come.

He made me come so hard I blacked out.

And then he just… left.

I didn’t even know his name.

But I knew one thing with bone-deep certainty:

I had to find this man.

Annie, we have to find this man.