LINGERIE ONLY: Red Light District

HIROTO’S POV

I could hear the Dean’s voice in the background as I drifted back to sleep again. As sleep began to weigh down on me, even the table in front of me started to look like a very comfortable pillow.

Thwack.

A sharp elbow jabbed into my ribs, and I jolted upright, my pen skidding across my notebook and leaving a jagged ink trail.

"Hiroto, wake up before the old man uses the next thirty minutes to rim you in front of the class," a hushed voice hissed next to me.

I blinked, my vision clearing to see Kenji—my roommate and the only person who could tolerate my erratic sleep schedule—staring at me with wide eyes. He was already scribbling notes, his brow furrowed.

"I’m up, I’m up," I whispered back, rubbing my face. My skin felt tight. I’d only managed three hours of sleep after getting home at 4:00 AM.

"You look like shit, Hiroto," Kenji muttered, not looking away from the whiteboard. "Seriously. Are you sick? You’re always nodding off in the 8:00 AMs lately."

"Just... studying," I lied. The word tasted like ash. "Scholarship pressure."

Kenji sighed, a sympathetic sound. "Don't kill yourself over a GPA, man. You’re already the department's darling."

I forced a smile and nodded. I was 21, 5’7”, and supposedly the most promising Business student at XXX University. To everyone, I was just a hardworking international student trying to make it. They weren't exactly wrong though but my life was a lot more complicated than anyone could possibly imagine.

Twelve hours later, I was seated in a dimly lit room getting ready to perform. I was the star of Leash and Lease, an underground cathedral of sin, hidden beneath a nondescript laundry front. Here, I was a male stripper named Cinder.

I stood in the dressing room, the air-con chilling my bare skin. I stepped into the low-slung silk trousers that clung to my hips, leaving nothing to the imagination. I snapped the silver filigree mask over my eyes. My dark hair was swept back, and my pupils were already blown wide with the adrenaline that always hit right before a set. I'd be lying to say I didn't enjoy my job despite being terrified of the thought of someone finding out what I do.

"Ten minutes, Cinder," the manager called.

I walked out to the stage and climbed the pole, my movements fluid and seductive. I love the effect I had on the men and women, especially the men. Lust? Hunger? Adoration? Perhaps, a blend of all. I had no plans to service any of them though, I never have in my two years of working here.

Not until Marcus, the owner, stepped out and killed the music.

"Tonight is different," Marcus announced, his voice booming over the confused murmurs of the wealthy elite. "Tonight, the 'Untouchable' is finally up for grabs. We’re auctioning off a weekend with Cinder. No rules. No limits."

My heart hammered against my chest, this wasn't the plan. I looked at the exit, but I saw the faces in the front row—men with more money than morals.

“Marcus, I never agreed to this,” I whispered to Marcus.

“Think about the money we'll make if I do something so spontaneous,” he whispered back. “The money you'll make tonight will be more than your three months salary, and since it's you, I'll only be taking thirty percent.”

I hated that he knew my situation and knew that money mattered to me the most. Damn it!

“Marcus,” I called, my voice low but filled with annoyance nonetheless.

"Opening bid: five thousand,” he announced, completely ignoring me. At this point, I could only pray to end up with a decent looking guy.

"Ten!"

"Twenty!"

I scanned the VIP lounge as the bidding went on, my gaze landing on a man who looked entirely out of place. He wasn't cheering or waving a hand. He was gorgeous. He had thick, chestnut blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail and eyes the color of a frozen lake.

He looked at me, and my breath hitched. 

"One hundred thousand," he said.

The room went silent. The man stood up, his suit fitting his muscular frame perfectly. He walked toward the stage, his presence sucking the air out of the room.

Marcus let out a breathless laugh. "Sold! To the gentleman in the grey."

The man stepped onto the stage. Up close, he smelled of expensive sandalwood. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around the back of my neck. His thumb pressed into the sensitive skin behind my ear, a dominant, possessive gesture that made my knees wobble.

"You’re a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he murmured. His voice was deep, smooth, and carried a faint foreign lilt that made my skin prickle.

He didn't wait for a response. He leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from mine. "I didn't pay a hundred grand for your conversation, Cinder."

My blood turned to ice. He was intimidating, gorgeously so.

"Don't look so scared," he whispered. "By Sunday night, you’ll be begging me to keep you."