Peter Langston was a man of precision—timely flights, structured meetings, and the same hotel every time he travelled into the city. The Grand was more than just a place to rest; it was a ritual. The staff knew him well enough to greet him with warm familiarity. “Good evening, Mr. Langston,” the concierge would always say with a smile. “Your usual suite is ready.” But tonight was different. A delayed meeting had kept Pete...

The key turned in the lock with a soft click as Emily stepped back into her house. The familiar scent of fresh flowers and old carpet met her, as did the low creak of the hallway floorboards under her heels. She slipped them off without a sound, carrying them in one hand as she stepped quietly through the stillness of her home. It was just after 3:00 AM. The house was dark, save for the soft glow of the living room lamp l...

The message had come late Friday night, brief and assured. “Come to me on Saturday at 8 o'clock. I want you all night." Emily hadn’t responded. Not with words. But her body had. She felt it the moment she read it — a quiet ache, a pull deep in her belly, the ghost of his fingers already tracing the inside of her thigh. By morning, the decision had already bloomed beneath her skin. She woke early. Moved slowly like a woman...

Peter barely moved. She stirred only slightly—an almost imperceptible shift of breath, the gentle flutter of her eyelashes against his chest. Her fingers tightened for a second in his side before relaxing again. Then came the slow stretch of her leg, the slow uncurling of her body like she was blooming under sunlight. He smiled, the kind of smile that came from somewhere too deep to fake. Emily’s head tilted up, her eyes...