Chapter Six

KANE

I walked into the hospital ward, feeling a mix of hope and dread. The sterile air was thick with the sound of labored breaths, but the moment my little sister, Emma saw me, her eyes lit up. Despite the machines and her serious illness, she smiled—a shining light in her tough fight.

At just nine years old, she had spent her entire life-fighting cystic fibrosis, a merciless condition that ravaged her lungs and digestive system. There was no cure, only a never-ending cycle of treatments and medications that barely kept her afloat. The doctor had once told me that with proper care, she might live past fifty.

"Hey, kiddo," I said softly, pulling a chair closer to her bed. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better now that you're here," she replied, her voice thin but warm. "The nurses said I might get to go outside tomorrow if the weather's nice."

A grin spread across my face. "That's great! We'll make it a big deal. I'll bring your favorite book, and we can sit in the garden. Maybe even sneak in some chocolates if the doctors don't catch us."

She laughed, a sound that quickly turned into a cough. I reached out, gently patting her back until it subsided. "You always know how to make me smile," she said, catching her breath. "But... don't get in trouble for me, okay?"

"Hey, trouble's my middle name," I said with a wink. "Besides, what's a little scolding compared to seeing you happy?"

Her expression softened, and for a moment, the playful glint in her eyes faded. "You work so hard for me," she said quietly. "I see it, you know. You're always tired. I don't want you to... to wear yourself out because of me."

I smiled leaning forward and taking her small hand in mine. "Listen to me," I said, "You're my little sister. My only family. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe and healthy. You're worth every late night, every long shift, every... everything."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away, her lower lip trembling. "But what if it's never enough? What if I'm never strong enough to beat this?"

My grip on her hand tightened, and I looked her straight in the eye. "Don't talk like that. You're the strongest person I know. You've been fighting this since you were born, and you're still here, still smiling. That's not luck—that's *you.* And as long as you keep fighting, I'll be right here beside you."

She sniffled, her small fingers curling around mine. "Promise?"

"I promise," I said, my voice unwavering. "Always."

A mischievous grin crept onto her face, and she tilted her head. "Even if I ask for double chocolates tomorrow?"

I laughed, the sound rich and warm in the quiet room. "Especially if you ask for double chocolate. But don't push your luck—I'm not risking a full-on hospital lockdown."

"Deal," she said, her laughter mingling with mine.

I chatted with her briefly, and it didn't take long for the effects of the medicine she took to kick in before she fell asleep. I tucked her in and left the hospital at 12:30 PM, just thirty minutes before my appointment with a client.

As I crossed the street, my thoughts drifted back to the night everything changed. Emma's treatment bills kept increasing every week.

She was all the family I had left, and I was willing to do anything to keep her alive. Yet, no matter how many part-time jobs I juggled, the bills always outpaced my earnings. My financial situation was a sinking ship, and I was running out of ways to bail it out.

Desperation led me to *that* website. They were recruiting escorts, and the pay was staggering—$40,000 for a single contract. It wasn’t enough to cover a full year of her treatments, but it was a lifeline compared to the paltry $500 I could scrape together in three months of grueling work.

The virtual interview felt unreal. Carie, the woman conducting it, seemed almost too eager, her eyes appraising me with a mix of curiosity and approval. By the end of our conversation, she upped the offer to $100,000, promising to triple it if I “performed well.” The words made my stomach churn, but the thought of my sister’s smile steadied me. For her, I was willing to take the plunge.

At 20, Carie became the first woman I slept with. She was impressed—enough to promote me on the website. Within days, I had over 16 clients vying for my time. One was a man, but I declined; that wasn’t what I signed up for. I wasn't gay and I could never imagine sticking my dick into a guy's rectum. He didn’t take it well. He left a scathing one-star review, tarnishing my perfect 10.0 rating and dropping it to a 9.9. That bastard.

By the time I turned 24, I was earning over $1 million a year. I was one of the few who could satisfy women so thoroughly that they kept coming back, begging for more. The thrill of it began to seep into my veins and I was starting to enjoy it: the money, the pleasure, the endless stream of women—tight, wide, every kind of pussy imaginable—all while earning more in a night than I once did in a year.

I never planned on settling down. In fact, I made it a rule to never sleep with the same woman twice. Over the years, countless proposals have come my way, but I always declined. Relationships weren’t my thing, and I had no interest in being tied down. That was until the algorithm presented me with a proposal that stopped me in my tracks.

It appeared on my dashboard one evening. At first, I skimmed it out of curiosity, but the more I read, the more intrigued I became. The woman—Nina—was offering something I couldn't resist: she wanted a man to impregnate her. There are no strings attached and no expectations beyond that. It was bold, almost audacious, and it stirred something primal in me.

I’ve always been careful. I never slept with a woman without protection, and I made sure to dispose of any evidence myself. The last thing I needed was a child I didn’t plan for, or a woman using pregnancy as leverage. But Nina’s proposal was different and the idea excited me. The thought of spilling my seeds into her over and over again until she was all swollen with life, and knowing I did it to her hardened my dick.

The first time I met her, I told myself I’d satisfy my curiosity, walk away, and never look back. But the moment I tasted her, something shifted. There was a warmth to her, a raw, magnetic pull that I couldn’t resist. I thought I’d grow bored, as I always did, but instead, I found myself craving more.

Her body moved with a rhythm that had me intoxicated with obsession. The way she rode me, her slick, tight warmth pressing down as if she wanted to swallow my dick whole, was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Every time I left her, I told myself it would be the last. But I always found myself back at her doorstep, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

It had been seven days since I last saw her, and the desire was driving me mad.

It didn’t take long before I found myself standing in front of the imposing doors of a sprawling mansion. The door creaked open, revealing a stern-faced servant—likely the butler—who ushered me inside without a word. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he led me down a dimly lit hallway and into a room that could only be described as a princess’s fantasy. The walls were a soft blush pink, adorned with delicate gold accents, and the air carried a faint scent of roses. The butler closed the door behind me with a quiet, respectful click.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” a voice purred, smooth and velvety.

I turned to see a striking woman with fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled as she approached me, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She wore a seductive smile.

I wasn’t here for pleasantries. Without a word, I shrugged off my shirt and let my pants fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my boxers. Her gaze lingered for a moment, and then she stepped closer, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on my chest. Her touch was warm, almost electric, but I wasn’t in the mood for games. I caught her wrist gently but firmly, stopping her.

“Let’s not waste time,” I said, my voice a bit cold.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Straight to the point, are we?” she teased, her breath warm against my skin as she leaned in, her lips inches from mine.

I tilted my head back slightly, just enough to avoid her kiss. Her smirk faltered for a moment, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, but she quickly recovered, masking her embarrassment with a laugh.

She stepped back, her fingers deftly working at the buttons of her dress. The fabric slid to the floor, pooling at her feet, and she stood there, confident and unashamed. I didn’t wait. I pulled off my boxers and stared at my cock in my hands.