Chapter 18

We got into his car—a big black beast that looked like some executive armored ride. The kind of car that seems smarter than the guy driving it. It was roomy inside, dead quiet, and the AC blasted cold air that made you wanna live there forever. Everything screamed comfort, tech, power. I sank into the seat like landing on a cloud and caught myself thinking: “Bet there’s a button on that dash that brews espresso.”

We headed to his place. To my surprise, it was in the same neighborhood I lived in, but tucked away in some fancy hidden corner, like a swanky sub-neighborhood of old houses, all discreet. No flashy show-off bullshit. These were homes for folks who’d had money so long they didn’t need to prove shit to anyone. Old money. Families born at the top of the heap.

When we pulled up to the house, he hit a remote and the garage door slid open with a soft click. I turned my head to take it all in, trying not to look too impressed. The place was big. Tall. Imposing, but with this quiet, almost melancholic vibe. As soon as we stepped out, he said:

“My parents lived here for a long time. The house still has a ton of their stuff. Antique furniture… I like that, you know?”

I nodded, not sure what to say right off. You could tell everything there had a story. The details on the porch, the window frames, even the air had memories. And that gave me a little chill in my gut. I was walking into this guy’s house—a man I barely knew—totally on my own. And risking losing my damn mind.

Inside, the living room was bigger than my whole apartment, with separate spaces, a piano, a huge chandelier overhead, and all the high-tech stuff seemed hidden away or tucked into corners that didn’t scream for attention. He offered me something to drink. I said sure, and he headed to the kitchen but first mentioned there was a powder room if I needed it.

“Thanks!”

While he went to the kitchen—probably whipping something up or pretending to give me space—I took the chance to hit the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door, I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Jules.

“How’s the live stream going? Grabbed a movie night with a friend, heading to her place after. Here’s the address, back by ten! Kiss, sis!”

I attached the location and made the return time clear. If shit went south, she’d come looking—no complaints there. Jules was all kinds of messed up in a lot of ways, but when it came to protecting me, she turned into a damn lioness. In her own style, sure. But she did.

I checked myself in the mirror. The reflection looked tired, a bit dizzy, but still with a hint of vanity. I ran a hand over my face and muttered under my breath, just to myself.

“Okay. Just fuck the guy, pretend you’re into it, and get the hell out. Simple.”

I was talking to myself like rehearsing a part—a role that wasn’t me, but one I’d agreed to play. But before I could finish my little act, my phone buzzed in my hand.

“Huh, Jules already?”

I glanced quick, but it wasn’t her. It was the bank app.

At first I thought it was spam, some overdue bill alert—end of the month was closing in. But then I read closer: “Deposit received”.

My stomach flipped.

I opened the app and there it was. Clear as day, no mistake. Ten thousand reais. Ten grand.

In my account.

For something that, if I’m honest… I might’ve done for free. Or better: ten grand to make official what had been just a dangerous game till now. Ten grand for my new undeclared title—professional hooker.

I stepped out of the bathroom still dazed, trying to play it cool. He was at the base of the stairs leading up, holding two bottles.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure what you’d want to drink. Got this rosé and a port. What do you think?”

“Rosé’s perfect for me. I love it,” I replied, a little awkward, forcing a smile, slipping into the character I’d made up to get through this.

He smiled back and started up the stairs. That was an invite. Shit was about to go down upstairs.

“Come on, let’s head up. I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

I followed him up with my heart pounding. Up top felt like a different house—more modern, more his age. A nice lounge, quiet. He showed me around: two empty suites, a guest room, a small office. And finally, his.

The bedroom was massive. Dark decor, elegant, with modern touches compared to the rest of the place. It had a decent closet, a gorgeous bathroom, and a corner he used as an impromptu office. Everything said he spent a lot of time in there. Masculine, low-key, comfy.

He went to the corner of the room, poured the glasses, and came back with one in hand. He sat in an armchair at the foot of the bed and gestured for me to sit beside him, handing me the wine.

I took it. Breathed deep, like gearing up to jump off a cliff.

“So… now what?” I asked, trying to cut through the nerves bubbling inside. I got like this even just fucking a stranger—imagine now, with him paying? “I… hell, I don’t know. Dance? Get on my knees? Suck you off first?”

Truth was, I was turned on by him. Thought he was hot, interesting, smelled good. But I’d always been the type to only give it up for love. Even knowing that cheap romantic shit probably didn’t live in me anymore. I knew someday I’d just do it for the hell of it. That wasn’t what felt weird. It was the weight of it all. Knowing I was there as a transaction. Don’t get me wrong—I wanted it. I did. But…

“No need. That’s not you,” he said, pulling back a bit, his eyes scanning me calmly, like he was reading past the surface. “Or is it, and I’m reading you wrong?”

I let out a short laugh, kinda embarrassed.

“Look… I’m no saint either, okay? I’ve got my sins.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow with that teasing vibe. “Tell me one.”

“No way. I’d die of shame.”

“Then do one with me.”

The way he said it, with that sly grin and low voice, hit me hard. My whole body responded, hot, straight-up, no permission asked.

I looked at him, a little less shy now, a little more letting go.

“You paid for this, right…” It slipped out unfiltered, and as soon as it did, I felt the weight. But he didn’t mind.

He just smiled lightly, almost tenderly. Took the glass from my hand gently, set it on the floor. Then his hand returned to my face, warm fingers stroking my cheek with care. The touch was soft, unhurried, like he was easing me into forgetting there was a price tag.

He leaned in slow, eyes locked on mine, and when his lips finally met mine, it was like the whole world shrank down to just that moment.

The kiss didn’t come on aggressive, or demanding. It was slow, full of intent and gentleness. His lips moved on mine like they knew me, like they had the exact measure I needed. Warm, wet, intimate. His tongue showed up later, tentative, seeking space, asking permission—and I gave it. Opened my mouth and let him in.

The kiss felt good.

My body heated up gradually, like every part of me was warming from the inside out. I could feel myself blushing, from the heat in my cheeks and how my skin got extra sensitive to his touch. A light sweat started beading at the base of my neck, along the curve of my breasts, and I didn’t even try to hide it—it was nerves, arousal, everything at once. And I liked it. Liked that moment more than I should.

He smiled into the kiss, no rush, and pulled me slowly onto his lap. My body went willingly, soft, like it already knew the way. I settled in naturally, like I was his girlfriend, something intimate, everyday. The way he held me was sweet. A quiet affection. He tucked my hair behind my ear, ran his thumb along my jaw softly, like he was reading me with his fingers. Didn’t even feel like I was a woman he’d just bought.

I could feel his bulge between my legs, still trapped in his pants. It was thick. And even so, I felt safe, calm, almost too comfortable. If he asked right then, I’d say yes without a second thought. And maybe that scared me most: how it didn’t feel wrong anymore.

Then he pulled his lips from mine, still smiling faintly, eyes fixed on mine. His voice came low, steady.

“Come on. Get up.”

He helped me off his lap carefully, without letting go of my hand. When I stood in front of him, he straightened up, sitting tall, legs slightly apart, gaze darker.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, like saying “make yourself at home.” With a hint of command, loaded with desire.

And I stood there, looking at him, heart racing and my head screaming in a panic, I’d hoped it’d be worse but he was doing it just the way I liked.