open to: females (+21-45 years old)
muse: leo kane (theo james), early/mid-thirties, heterosexual, switch, rent a boyfriend/elite escort for high paying women.
plot: this is the first time your muse hires leo.
the lights were dimmed just enough to cast a golden haze over the penthouse suite — the kind of lighting that whispered instead of screamed, that promised softness while hiding edges. leo kane moved with unhurried grace, the navy suit clinging to his frame like it had been stitched there by hand, every button, every seam in its rightful place.
the night had started well. dinner at a rooftop restaurant, laughter shared over candlelight and clinking glasses. she was smart, way too pretty for his own sanity, with a quiet sort of fire that simmered beneath polished manners. but now, back in the fancy suite she’d reserved — her territory, technically — he could feel the tension rising in the air, subtle but unmistakable.
he uncorked the wine with practiced ease, poured two generous glasses, and turned toward her. “here,” he said, offering her the deep red like it was something sacred. his own glass he cradled lightly in one hand, the other still resting casually at his side.
he took a slow sip, letting the taste bloom before speaking again, voice smooth, edged in velvet.
“you don’t have to be nervous, you know.” his eyes rose over the rim of the glass, locking on her with a look that wasn’t demanding — just certain. every movement he made was confident, not cocky. there was a stillness to him, like a man who never questioned whether the room would bend to his energy.
leo stepped closer, quiet, never pushing. she could bolt if she wanted to, but he didn't think she would.
“we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” he murmured, holding out the glass to her, close enough now for his cologne to reach her — warm masculine, with something darker underneath. his mouth curved, not quite a smirk, but something knowing. intimate.
“i’m here to serve you,” he added, voice dipping lower. “in any way you need me.” even if that meant just talking. or sitting. or nothing at all.
though, if she walked away from this night untouched, it would be a shame. she looked fucking delicious in that dress, after all.
