Ellis
was silently panicking.
Gabriel had his phone, which contained all the information needed on the man. He wished he’d spent more time going over the packet Donovan had sent him instead of rushing to the Lumière, eager to prove himself. The details were frustratingly vague in his memory, and he couldn’t even remember if the contract was for a few hours or the entire night.
This was his last chance to prove his worth to Heart Court. If he screwed this up, Donovan wouldn’t just fire him—he’d blacklist him. No union house would touch him with his track record of “lackluster” reviews, and going independent meant working street corners again. The thought made his stomach turn. Heart Court might be a shithole, but at least it had walls and security cameras.
An awful thought began to twist in his mind.
Was this why someone like Gabriel Rohan sought out a nobody from a nowhere cathouse? Union escorts had protection—tracking devices, check-in protocols, bouncers on speed dial. had none of that. His disappearance would barely cause a ripple in the Fourth Cat’s endless stream of statistics.
Or maybe he was overthinking this. It was just as likely that Gabriel would put him through a few intense rounds of sex and then cast him off before sunrise. Somehow, that possibility didn’t feel as reassuring as it should. Either way, without his phone or contract details, he had no choice but to follow Gabriel’s lead and hope he could earn whatever review would keep him off the streets.
All too soon, the Mercedes pulled up to what Gabriel had casually called his “apartment.” ’ breath caught. This wasn’t just some fancy Second Cat high-rise—this was one of those untouchable Lafayette Square mansions, the kind where old money lived and died. Where people like him weren’t even supposed to walk past, let alone enter.
The house loomed three stories high, its weathered brick and carved stone speaking of a century of wealth. A wrought-iron balcony wrapped around the second floor like black lace against brick, and above the imposing burgundy double doors, the Rohan family crest watched over all who entered—that blood-red shield with its white diamonds and golden crowns that had seen splashed across countless society pages. Warm light spilled from tall windows, making the place seem both welcoming and forbidding at once.
“This isn’t an apartment,” said dumbly when the man Gabriel called Alain opened his door. “This is a whole house.”
Gabriel’s hand pressed possessively against his back. “It belongs to the family. I only occupy a few rooms on the second floor. My apartment.” He guided them forward, up a stone walkway where spring flowers were just beginning to bloom between ancient archways. The Rohan colors seemed to follow them—deep burgundy and gold catching the evening light through stained glass panels flanking the entrance.
“A few rooms,” repeated faintly as an honest-to-god butler opened the door. The man was older, with graying blonde hair and calculating brown eyes that seemed to catalog everything at once. Though average in height and build, he carried himself with the kind of dignity that made swallow his initial urge to laugh at the cliché uniform.
“Good Evening, Monsieur Rohan. Will your guest be staying the night?” The butler asked, his gentle tone contrasting with his assessing gaze as the four of them stepped through the entryway.
The entryway knocked the breath from his lungs. The space was larger than Heart Court’s entire lobby, its burgundy walls climbing toward impossible heights. A massive crystal chandelier cast dancing light across marble floors laid in patterns so intricate that hesitated to step forward, as if his mere presence might somehow tarnish their perfection. To his right, a mahogany staircase swept upward in an elegant spiral, those same golden crowns catching light at every turn.
This wasn’t just wealth—this was history, power, privilege. Everything had only glimpsed through iron gates. And here he was, a Fourth Cat whore about to walk these halls like he belonged.
“Yes, Jacob,” Gabriel replied, then turned to with a slight gesture toward the butler. “, allow me to introduce Jacob Fourier, who has managed this household for longer than I’ve been alive. Jacob, this is Anouilh.”
bobbed his head in greeting.
“Welcome, Master ,” Jacob responded, bowing slightly at the hip.
“Have fun with that one, Gabriel,” Lucas called as he and Alain crossed the foyer and continued deeper into the house. could hear the pair snicker before exchanging quiet words in French he couldn’t quite catch.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the overwhelming luxury when his foot hit the first step, Gabriel’s hand guiding him up that sweeping staircase. ’ heart hammered in his chest, a sensation so foreign it took him a moment to recognize it as nervousness.
hadn’t felt genuine anxiety about sex since he was fifteen, trembling in his first client’s car. Nearly ten years of selling his body had stripped away those kinds of feelings. Or so he’d thought. But here he was, pulse racing as he climbed toward Gabriel’s “apartment,” feeling as raw and unprepared as the teenage runaway he’d been.
Gabriel guided him down another hallway, all dark wood and more of those rich burgundy walls, before turning them into a room behind heavy double doors. As Gabriel clicked the lock behind them, took in the enormous bedroom. The king-sized bed dominated the space, but the floor-to-ceiling windows caught his breath, framed by thick burgundy drapes that had to cost a fortune. Through the glass, Lafayette Park stretched dark and empty, like a private show just for this room.
’ shoes sank into the plush cream carpet, which felt like walking on clouds. Two doors led off the main rooms, one showing glimpses of a marble vanity that had to be part of a bathroom and the other opening into what looked like a walk-in closet.
“This is incredible.” breathed, taking in the room.
Gabriel hummed, seating himself in a velvet chair hadn’t noticed.
“Strip.” The simple command startled , pulling him back from wherever his mind had wandered off to.
Right. He was here for sex. Gabriel had paid him to be naked, so he should be naked.
quickly shucked his shoes and pulled off his socks, placing them aside neatly. A lifetime of careful habits, impossible to break—knowing exactly where your clothes were could mean the difference between walking out or running out naked. He pulled off his shirt and caught Gabriel’s eye, the man’s gaze already roaming his exposed skin. The intensity there made something flutter in his stomach. He carefully folded his shirt and placed it on his shoes, each item within easy reach.
His fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, unusually clumsy under that steady watch. As he slid them down his thighs, Gabriel’s sharp intake of breath made him freeze.
“Stop.” Gabriel’s voice had dropped an octave. “Leave those on.”
stood still as Gabriel rose from his chair, prowling closer. Large hands slid over the cheap lace that barely covered him, groping and possessive. The material scratched against his skin as Gabriel’s fingers traced the edges where lace met flesh.
“Such poor quality,” Gabriel murmured, thumbs stroking over ’ hipbones. “These won’t do at all. I’ll have to get you something more suitable. Something in silk, perhaps. Or the finest French lace.” His grip tightened. “Would you like that, little bird? To be dressed in things worthy of you?”
fought to keep his expression neutral even as his skin heated under Gabriel’s touch. He’d requested lingerie in the dossier, after all. This must be part of the fantasy he’d paid for. knew his role, to be enthusiastic, to play along.
“Yes, sir,” he breathed, arching slightly into those possessive touches. He’d worn cheap lace for countless clients with similar tastes. The only difference was that Gabriel could probably afford the real thing, not that he’d waste it on a Fourth Cat whore.
But for now, he let himself sink into the role, pretending he believed in promises no client ever kept.
Standing in nothing but the delicate lace, held still as Gabriel’s gaze raked over him. Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes under that intense scrutiny. knew he looked good. That had never been in question. He’d worn lingerie for countless clients, but something about Gabriel’s unwavering attention made his skin prickle with awareness. Those dark eyes traced every inch of him like they were memorizing him, claiming him, and felt his body responding in a way it rarely did with clients.
His cock began to strain against the lace, and fought the unfamiliar urge to adjust himself. When he moved to do so, Gabriel’s voice cut through the silence. “No.” The command in his tone sent a shiver down ’ spine. “Turn around. Slowly. I want to see all of you.”
’s face burned as he obeyed, turning in a slow circle. The humiliation of being displayed like this, his arousal evident through the thin fabric, confused him. This was just another client, another transaction—so why did Gabriel’s possessive gaze make him feel so exposed? His skin flushed deeper as he completed the turn, his cock now painfully constrained by the tight lace.
This wasn’t like the quick once-overs from Johns at Heart Court, sizing him up like merchandise. Deciding whether to stick their cock in him or one of the other escorts.
Gabriel looked at him like he was something to be consumed, owned completely. ’s breath caught in his throat at the hunger in that gaze. The distinction shouldn’t matter— knew better than to let it matter—but standing here under that commanding stare, he felt his professional mask beginning to crack. His body was responding like this was a lover’s touch, not someone who’d purchased him for the night.
Without warning, Gabriel’s hand slipped beneath the lace, wrapping around ’ cock. barely suppressed a gasp as Gabriel adjusted him, arranging him how he wanted within the confining fabric. The casual possession of the touch sent another wave of heat through him, equal parts arousal and confusion. He didn’t do this—didn’t let himself feel this.
So why was Gabriel different?
Gabriel returned to his chair, settling back with predatory grace. “Come here,” he ordered with that imperious two-fingered twitch.
went.
“Kneel.”
dropped between Gabriel’s spread thighs, trying to make the movement look practiced despite his racing heart. The lace pulled tight as he settled into position, scratching against oversensitive skin. A hand ran through his short hair before grasping it tightly, sending pinpricks of pain across his scalp. mentally cursed himself for slacking on getting a haircut. He hated being held like this, hated how it made him feel. Vulnerable. Out of control. Like a puppet on strings.
Gabriel’s other hand touched his face, thumb brushing over the concealed bruise with deliberate pressure that made ’ breath catch. The dull throb reminded him of Donovan’s earlier grip, but Gabriel’s touch was different—possessive rather than punishing.
“Let’s see how that pretty mouth looks wrapped around my cock, shall we?” Gabriel met and held ’ gaze with an intensity that made his stomach flip. tried to nod, but the hand in his hair tightened, holding him completely still. His own racing pulse echoed in his ears as he forced himself to maintain eye contact, years of experience barely keeping his expression willing and eager.
“Yes, sir,” he managed, the words coming out in a husky whisper he didn’t recognize. raised steady hands and unbuttoned Gabriel’s slacks, the fine fabric soft beneath his fingers. He withdrew the man’s cock, his professional mask slipping as his pulse jumped. Not the largest he’d seen, but thick enough to make his jaw ache, long enough to make him worry about taking it deeper. The kind of cock that would leave him feeling it for days.
The hand in his hair suddenly yanked back, the sharp pain drawing a gasp from his lips as Gabriel forced his gaze upward. The man’s predatory smile made ’ cock jump, the lace now soaked with precum where it trapped him. Gabriel guided his cock to ’ parted lips, the heavy weight of it on his tongue making his own arousal throb in response.
The lace had become a torment of its own, rough against his sensitive flesh with every slight movement. Each harsh tug on his hair sent jolts straight to his confined cock, making him squirm against the fabric that now felt more like a cage than clothing. The mix of pain and pleasure left him dizzy, professional detachment crumbling as his body betrayed just how much he was affected by Gabriel’s casual dominance.
Gabriel’s grip tightened, and the sharp pain bloomed across ’ scalp, sending another wave of heat straight to his trapped cock. The lace was soaked now, clinging to him like a second skin, the wet fabric adding a layer of sensation that had him fighting not to squirm. His thighs trembled with the effort of staying still, every nerve ending alive with a need he wasn’t supposed to feel.
“Suck, little bird, show me those years of practice.” Gabriel forced ’ head down suddenly, the thick length of him hitting the back of ’ throat without warning. He gagged, unprepared, hands flying to Gabriel’s thighs to steady himself.
On the second thrust, was ready, throat relaxing to take Gabriel deeper. The grip in his hair tightened impossibly further, and ’ cock jerked in response, the rough lace dragging against sensitive flesh. This wasn’t supposed to affect him like this—he was a professional, experienced. He didn’t get hard from clients manhandling him.
Gabriel’s soft moan sent an unexpected shiver down ’ spine. “That’s it, petit oiseau. You’re doing so well.” Then, without warning, Gabriel forced him all the way down, holding him there as his lungs began to burn.
’ fingers twitched against expensive pants as he fought to stay calm. Breath play had been on the list—Gabriel would let him up soon. But seconds stretched endlessly, and his vision started to blur. His chest heaved uselessly, desperate for air. Panic rose as he tapped Gabriel’s thigh, then began slapping it harder when the man didn’t release him. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, and for the first time in years, real fear gripped him. He was going to die here, on his knees in this fancy house, still wearing cheap lace panties like some twisted joke.
Hell of a gravestone marker that’d be.
Just as darkness started creeping in, Gabriel released him. pulled back violently, gasping as air rushed into his burning lungs. Spit dripped onto the carpet between harsh breaths.
“So beautiful.” Gabriel’s voice was almost gentle as he stroked ’ tear-streaked cheek. “So good for me.”
did not feel beautiful. He felt wrecked—head spinning, throat raw, body trembling. But worst of all was his cock, still achingly hard beneath the sodden lace, twitching at Gabriel’s praise like it was being personally addressed. He found himself leaning into that surprisingly tender touch, eyes fluttering, craving more even as his chest still heaved for air.
The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. This wasn’t just another client using him. He was enjoying this—wanting this. His throbbing cock was proof, betraying how much Gabriel’s mix of brutality and praise affected him. had learned the hard way that the clients who made you feel special were the most dangerous. They were the ones who could break you if you let them in.
would not be broken.
The thought had barely formed when Gabriel hauled him to his feet by his hair. instinctively grabbed Gabriel’s wrist, a flash of defiance making him try to ease the brutal grip. The lace dragged against his cock as he was yanked upright, the sensation drawing an unwanted gasp from his lips.
He really needed to get his hair cut. And out of the lace.
Gabriel dragged him to the massive bed, shoving his chest down onto the plush surface. One large hand gripped the scruff of ’ neck, pinning him in place while he balanced precariously on the balls of his feet. Before he could find his footing, Gabriel’s foot kicked his legs apart.
The position left him splayed and exposed, the thin lace string cutting between his cheeks, the front soaked and clinging to his still-hard cock. The humiliation burned deeper knowing Gabriel stood over him still fully clothed, only his cock exposed.
had been bent over furniture more times than he could count. Had been arranged and displayed and used in every way imaginable. Years of selling himself had taught him every trick, every response clients wanted to see or hear. He knew how to fake enthusiasm, how to make the right sounds, how to keep himself detached while giving them exactly what they paid for.
But his body was betraying him. Each time Gabriel’s controlling touch landed on his skin, real pleasure sparked through him instead of the practiced nothing he relied on. The firm grip on his neck, holding him down like an unruly pet, made his pulse race with need instead of the indignation he tried to cling to. His cock throbbed against the confining lace as Gabriel’s other hand traced the edge of the thong where it stretched across his hip.
His attempts at rationalization shattered as Gabriel’s fingers, slick with warmed lube, pulled the thin string roughly aside. The cheap lace protested the treatment, threatening to snap under the force. The sudden exposure made shiver, but Gabriel didn’t remove the thong entirely—leaving him in the degrading position of being fucked while still wearing the lingerie.
Gabriel’s fingers pressed into him without warning, the sudden intrusion forcing a sharp exhale from him that was definitely not feigned. Gabriel’s fingers pumped into him with businesslike efficiency, scissoring with the sole intent to stretch. tried to maintain some semblance of control, to pretend this was just another transaction, but his body yielded eagerly to every thrust.
This was fine. This was normal.
Just another client, just another night.
Except his trembling legs betrayed the lie. The tight ball of arousal in his gut wasn’t faked for a client’s ego. When Gabriel brushed roughly against his prostate, ’ moan was genuine, his thighs vibrating with the strain of remaining in position and raw need. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing back onto those long fingers as Gabriel continued to work him open, chasing a pleasure he wasn’t supposed to want.
“When was your last testing?” Gabriel’s voice was casual as if he wasn’t currently knuckle-deep in ’ ass.
“A few months ago,” replied, proud that his voice remained steady despite Gabriel crooking his fingers at the exact wrong moment.
“Pity.” Gabriel withdrew his fingers but kept the thong pulled aside. heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. “We’ll have to fix that. I prefer to feel everything when I take what’s mine.”
’ heart stuttered at the possessive tone, but the sound of the wrapper should have brought relief, not disappointment. The thin string cut into his hip where Gabriel held it aside, the sensation grounding him in reality. Condoms were non-negotiable, his one absolute rule that kept him safe and alive in this profession. He’d learned that lesson early and hard on the streets.
So why was his gut clenching with want? Why did some reckless, dangerous part of him ache to feel Gabriel bare inside him, to be marked and claimed by his cum? Everything about his response to Gabriel went against years of careful rules, of walls built to keep him safe.
forced the feeling down. The possessive talk—they were just heat-of-the-moment words that would evaporate by morning. He knew better than to believe a client’s promises. They all made them. They all lied.