He switched on the living room light. The expensive blazer was tossed carelessly over the back of the sofa. With his tie loosened, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, dragging it off his shoulders and letting it fall behind him as he walked. The Swiss watch caught the light for a second before he dropped it beside an armchair; the tailored trousers were unfastened and discarded along with his shoes. The clothes trailed after him like a skin being shed.

The CEO’s muscles still carried the day’s tension: endless meetings, aggressive phone calls, million-dollar contracts waiting on his signature, and family pressure. The alcohol had only dulled the surface of his anger and exhaustion—not erased them. He took a deep breath, his chest rising slowly.

When he was finally naked, the contrast between his refined aura and the body marked by maritime tattoos became impossible to miss. Across his chest, a map intertwined with a compass; on his left arm, an anchor plunging into rough seas, wrapped in a ribbon that read “Mother” at the top and a date engraved beneath; on his other arm, an old-style ship, as if lifted straight from pirate tales. Symbols of direction, loss, and belonging—ones few people knew how to read.

He moved across the soft carpet, his steps heavy, yet guided by an invisible pull. He pushed open the bedroom door and turned on the light.

What he saw made him stop.

There, stretched across the bed, was her.

Olívia.

Her delicate body, covered only by red lace lingerie, looked like it had been sculpted for sin. The tiny panties traced against her fair skin, highlighting the firm curve of her hips. The thong disappeared between her lifted backside, where the tattoo began at the front of her waist and curved sinuously until it ended at her cheeks: a stylized map with a compass rose, as if marking the path to a hidden treasure. Her skin seemed to glow under the light.

The man braced a hand against the wall. His eyes burned with desire and disbelief. His body demanded a step forward, but his mind hesitated. He’d seen everything, yet that image disarmed him in a strange way—as if she were a painting made for him.

“Damn…” he murmured, his voice slowed by alcohol, eyes wide. “What a woman…”

It came out lower than he’d meant to say it—a rough whisper swallowed by the room.

He turned the light off again. The bedroom was lit only by the flashes of lightning splitting the sky outside. He approached the bed slowly, each step marked by the strange sensation her presence stirred in him. He couldn’t retreat. There was something beyond instinct—something magnetic, irrational, irresistible.

He knelt beside her. Olívia’s sweet perfume mixed with the lingering scent of wine on her parted lips. He ran his hand along the curve of her thigh, slowly up to the delicate lace. Her body shifted, but she didn’t wake. He bent and pressed a kiss to her skin—soft at first, almost a tease.

Olívia moved, sleepy, murmuring something without opening her eyes.

He continued, scattering warm kisses along her leg, rising to her waist, exploring every curve with his mouth. When he reached her most intimate place, he pressed his lips with more intent, and a soft moan slipped from her—pure instinct.

“Mmm…” She arched slightly, eyes still closed. “Love…”

Her voice, heavy with intoxication, carried tenderness and surrender.

He lifted his head, watching her. His heart thudded, but lust won over hesitation. He kept going until her moans grew clearer. Then he rose over her body, kissing her stomach, pausing at her breasts, until he found her full lips.

The kiss was ravenous. She responded with a quiet moan, her delicate fingers sliding over his broad back until they dug into his skin.

“You’re delicious,” he murmured, his voice rough against her mouth. “I’ve never tasted anything like this.”

Olívia pulled him closer, lost between pleasure and confusion.

“Love…” she moaned, breathless. “Slow down… it’s my first time.”

The words stopped him for a second. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard, as if fighting something invisible.

“First time?” he repeated, surprised. Then he gave a crooked smile, almost incredulous. “I’ll be gentle, angel. I’ll show you pleasure without pain.”

He lowered his mouth to her ear. His warm lips brushed her skin before he whispered, thick with dangerous promises.

“I want all of you… to feel every part of you tightening around me… moaning… begging me not to stop.”

Olívia shivered, goosebumps rising, and her blue eyes opened for the first time in the darkness. Confused, she clung to the belief that it was Peter touching her.

“Slow… it hurts… love…” she pleaded, panting.

He paused with every movement so her body could adjust. His lips grazed her ear, encouraging her with husky words, heavy with desire.

“Relax, beautiful… just feel the pleasure… I’ll be gentle.”

He kissed her intensely, stealing her breath.

Her moans mixed with his words. Each push was a shock of sensation until Olívia’s body surrendered completely. She clawed at his back, pulled at his hair, whispering disconnected phrases between pleasure and illusion.

He guided her through every position, shifting between firmness and tenderness. The suite filled with moans, broken breaths, and forbidden whispers.

“You’re so tight…” he whispered, voice thick with pleasure. “God, you have no idea what you do to me…”

The movements found their rhythm. A hard, deep back-and-forth. Olívia moaned loudly, her eyes rolling, her hand caressing his face as she called him love.

Until the climax came like a crushing wave, dragging them both into ecstasy.

Silence.

The man pulled Olívia against his chest, stroking her hair. Her heartbeat raced against him, her breathing gradually slowing until she fell asleep in his arms.

But the night still wasn’t over. Before dawn, desire spoke louder. There was another round—more intense than the first. That man discovered in Olívia a craving, a flame he couldn’t put out.

Morning arrived with soft light slipping through the hotel curtains. He woke first. He ran a hand through his hair, stunned by the intensity of the night. Then he turned and watched her.

Olívia slept deeply, naked beneath the white sheet. Her lips were slightly parted, her face serene like a work of art. For long minutes, he stayed there, motionless, intrigued by that escort and everything she had awakened in him. He didn’t want to admit it, but something was different. She didn’t feel like just another woman who had passed through his suite.

He got up. He walked into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and dressed. He had a business trip scheduled. As he tied his tie in front of the mirror, he caught his own reflection and, for a moment, wondered what the hell he was doing. He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Back in the bedroom, his eyes fell on something that made him stop.

On the sheet, there was a discreet stain of blood.

A chill slid down his spine. He inhaled slowly, stepped closer to the bed, bent down, and pressed a soft kiss to her back. Then he reached into his wallet and left a black card on the nightstand—silent, enigmatic.

He left without looking back.

The hotel corridor felt longer than usual; with every step, the sound of his shoes on the carpet echoed like a question without an answer. In the elevator, he avoided his reflection in the mirror.

Hours later, Olívia woke up. The bed was cold. She stretched, still hazy. His scent still lingered in the air, mixed with the hotel’s expensive linens.

“Peter?” she called, her voice fragile.

No answer.

Smiling to herself, she concluded:

“He must’ve already gone to work…”

She wrapped herself in the sheet and stood. That was when she noticed the card on the nightstand. She picked it up carefully, her heart racing.

“My love… you left me a gift,” she murmured, her fingers gliding over the card. “It’s a different kind of gift… could it be about our wedding?”

Her eyes filled with tears. To Olívia, it wasn’t just a card—it was confirmation that the night had been the most romantic of her life, and that Peter wanted to take their relationship further. A wave of hope flooded her body. To her, that gesture wasn’t just affection, but a clear sign that the moment had mattered, and that everything was moving toward marriage.

She threw herself back onto the bed, convinced she had the most wonderful boyfriend in the world. Even leaving without waking her, he had made sure to leave a tender gesture—a proof that the night had been meaningful, and that a future together, with a ring on her finger, felt closer than ever.