3 A Paid Service

Setting the wineglass aside, I quickly glance at myself in the mirror.

Sure, the man is… technically hired, but what woman wouldn’t want to look attractive — seductive, even — in such a situation?

For that very purpose, I bought myself an outrageously beautiful black lingerie set and endured the torturous depilation session performed by my sadistic colleague Anya.

But that’s for later.

Right now, I straighten my short, tight black dress, toss my soft, curled light-brown hair over my shoulders, and check if my red lipstick hasn’t smudged.

My big blue eyes look terrified, but I try to give my face an expression of confidence and boldness.

No fear this time. No hesitation.

With a deep breath, I walk toward the door and open it.

“Hi,” Nazar greets me with that white-toothed smile of his — the kind that freezes me for a second.

“Hi. Come in,” I reply, stepping aside to let him into the hotel room.

As soon as the door closes behind us, I turn around — and once again can’t help but marvel at how perfectly built and devastatingly handsome he is.

We’d seen each other just a week ago, yet tonight… he looks slightly different.

I take a closer look — the same features, the same face — but there’s something new about his energy. More intense. More… magnetic.

“You look good with that haircut,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised, as if he didn’t expect me to notice the change. Last time, his hair had been longer — now it’s slightly shorter, neater.

God, could I sound any dumber right now?

Meanwhile, he looks perfect: stylish, ironed trousers, a light shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a strong neck and a glimpse of some tattoo.

He radiates self-confidence and dizzying dominance — and my already trembling legs start to weaken even more.

I don’t remember him having such a strong effect on me last time.

Maybe it’s because tonight, no matter what, I’ve decided to finally ride this storm — literally and figuratively.

“Wine?” I ask, my voice trembling, as I make my way stiffly toward the small table with the snacks and quickly pour myself another glass.

“No, thank you. I’m driving,” he replies — and the sound of his velvet voice sends a wave of ticklish goosebumps racing down my spine.

“I can keep you company with a glass of water, though,” he adds with that devastating smile again.

That’s it. Tonight I have to ride this man.

Vika, men like that don’t just walk around on the street!

Well… not walking, but available for purchase, whispers my inner voice, and I can’t help but giggle nervously to myself.

I grab the glass pitcher and pour him some water. When I hand him the glass, our fingers brush — and I swear, I feel a faint electric spark where our skin touches.

Judging by the way his gaze lingers on our hands and the thoughtful smile that curls his lips, he must have felt it too.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Nazar says, settling into the soft chair across from me, looking relaxed as he takes a sip of water.

Oh, come on! He probably thinks I’ll chicken out again and wants to waste time with small talk.

“No,” I say firmly, meeting those green, spring-leaf eyes with newfound determination and taking another sip of wine.

“No?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow in amusement as he drains his glass and sets it aside. “I thought we wanted to get to know each other.”

“We do,” I reply after clearing my throat. “Just let me finish a little more wine, and then we’ll get acquainted — properly.”

“Don’t rush,” Nazar laughs softly, reclining in the chair with that lazy grace that makes my pulse race. He rests his elbows on the armrests, one hand half-covering his lips as he watches me with teasing amusement.

“Not even going to tell me your name?” he asks, his tone both curious and playfully mocking — as if he’s genuinely entertained by how adorably lost I must look right now.

Well, no wonder he’s surprised — I’ve run away so many times before...

“It’s not necessary,” I murmur, taking a few more sips of wine. I can feel the warmth spreading through me — boldness growing with every heartbeat as I look at the gorgeous man sitting across from me. Heat rushes to my cheeks, melting down my body, pooling lower with an ache I can no longer ignore.

Nazar’s gaze changes too — it’s no longer casual or teasing. There’s something darker now, heavier. The way he looks at me only fuels the hunger curling inside.

I take a slow step toward him, so close that my knees almost touch his. Without breaking eye contact, I reach for the thin straps of my dress and begin to slide them down my shoulders. The fabric whispers down my skin before pooling silently at my feet.

For a second, Nazar freezes — caught off guard by how bold I’ve suddenly become. But then he collects himself, and the raw hunger that flashes in his eyes makes my pulse stutter.

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out low and rough, his gaze hungrily tracing every line of my body wrapped in delicate black lace.

“I’m ready,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “Now seduce me… make me forget everything.”

“Listen, you don’t have to—” he starts, his tone gentle but strained. Yet it’s clear from his eyes and the tension in his body that he doesn’t believe his own words.

“Exactly,” I interrupt, meeting his gaze steadily. “You’re the one who has to.”

I take another step closer, my voice trembling but resolute.

“I want you, Nazar. And I’m not letting you leave this room until we cross that final line.”

The man lets out a surprised hum, his expression flickering between confusion and something else—admiration mixed with desire.

Nazar rises slowly from his chair, his gaze locked on me, towering over me like a predator about to claim its prey. My heart races. Gods, he’s tall… and impossibly handsome. I can’t regret choosing him—not for a second. A purebred stallion if there ever was one.

In a swift motion, his strong hand wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his solid chest, while the other trails up to my cheek, tracing it tenderly as his eyes study my face. I forget how to breathe. Heat coils low in my stomach, twisting with electric intensity, and I’m stunned by how fiercely my body responds to him. Judging by the hard pressure against my stomach, I’m not the only one losing control.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I should tell you… my real name is Kirill.”

“I don’t care,” I interrupt before he can continue. Surely all men in his line of work have stage names. “You could be the Pope for all I care. Can we stop talking and get to the point?”