It was a beautiful, quiet morning, with nothing scheduled on the calendar. Normally, whenever Kira had plans, she made sure to forward her itinerary to Miguel like clockwork. But today was different. She sent him nothing. Not a single update.
The day passed slowly, Kira slipped out in the evening without a word, dressed in sleek black, her perfume sharp and intoxicating in the air. She hadn't told him where she was going.
Miguel caught her slipping out of the house, quiet as a shadow. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Because every time Kira disappeared, it meant she was up to something.
Without a word, he followed silent, focused, and already knowing she was hiding something.
From the shadows, he trailed her across the city through neon-lit streets and quiet corridors of luxury hotels. He watched her glide through the lobby of the Hotel Mirane, a place infamous for late-night meetings that money made private. She greeted the man waiting inside with a kiss on the cheek tall, suited, older. Foreign.
They disappeared into the elevator.
Miguel stood frozen outside the revolving glass door, his fists clenched in his coat pockets, his heartbeat hammering like a war drum.
He didn't know what she did in those rooms.
But his imagination was cruel.
By the time she returned home past midnight, barefoot, makeup flawless, Miguel was waiting in the dark.
Kira barely glanced at him. "Didn't know you waited up for me like a husband."
Miguel didn't speak.
She set down her clutch. Unwrapped her scarf slowly. Deliberately.
He stood. "Who was he?"
Kira paused. Who?
"Kira," who is that old man?
She answered "You're my bodyguard. Not my boyfriend."
His jaw flexed. "You don't answer the question."
She turned to face him fully now, one eyebrow raised, silk dress clinging to her hips like temptation itself. "You jealous, Miguel?"
"I'm protecting you."
"From what?" she whispered. "From the men I choose to be with?"
Something in him snapped.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his voice low and rough.
"From being used."
Her eyes flickered with something sharp anger, lust, maybe both. "And what were you last night, Miguel? My protector or my plaything?"
He grabbed her wrist not hard but firm. His other hand pressed to her lower back, pulling her close. Her breath hitched.
"I should've walked away," he muttered.
"You didn't," she said, brushing her lips against his jaw, teasing. Because you like being used by me.
Miguel growled, spun her around, and pinned her gently against the wall. Kira gasped, but her smile curled with wickedness. She thrived on this fire.
"You hate that you want me," she whispered.
I don't just want you, Miguel said, his voice dark and low. "I want to own you."
Kira let out a sharp, bitter laugh, her eyes glittering with challenge.
"Own me? You wish." She stepped closer, lips curling. "Your bank account can't buy this, Miguel."
She leaned in, voice a whisper meant to sting.
You may work under me but at least you've got a dick that's useful to my pussy.
He pressed into her, voice dark.
She breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
The air turned thick with tension as their mouths crashed together hungry, punishing. She clawed at his shirt, he gripped her thighs. Every touch was war. Every kiss, a dare.
Their bodies moved with desperation and rage, tangled in silk and shadows.
Miguel's grip tightened in Kira's hair as she gasped against the wall, her bare skin flushed with heat, her body trembling with every punishing thrust of his hips.
"You love dick so bad," he growled into her ear, voice low and dangerous, "that you even went behind my back to get it?"
Kira moaned shamelessly, turning her head slightly, eyes blazing. "I love it."
Miguel's chest heaved. "You love what?"
I love sex… especially when a man's jealous, she purred breathlessly. The bang is different.
He yanked her hair back, forcing her arch to deepen, and slammed into her with raw force. Kira cried out, her fingers clawing at the wall for balance.
"Go deeper, Miguel harder," she begged, her voice strained and quivering. "Make me forget every man but you."
"You don't need another man," he rasped against her neck. Only I get to satisfy you. I'll make you forget they even exist.
His rhythm grew merciless. Every thrust echoed through the penthouse like a vow brutal, possessive, addicting. Kira's body convulsed with wave after wave of pleasure, her moans collapsing into gasps that shook the very walls.
When her legs gave out beneath her, Miguel caught her never stopping, never relenting.
And when she finally screamed his name, her body arching, trembling, utterly undone Miguel wasn't far behind.
He buried himself in her with a final, aching thrust, releasing with a groan that came from somewhere deeper than lust.
The room fell silent except for the heavy sound of their breathing.
Kira's legs shook violently. Her hands trembled. She couldn't walk.
Miguel scooped her up in his arms effortlessly.
She didn't protest.
In the bathroom, he set her gently under the warm cascade of the shower, washing the sweat from her skin with slow, reverent care. He wrapped her in a towel afterward, carried her to bed like she was something precious.
She blinked up at him sleepily, dazed. Spent.
Miguel brushed damp strands from her cheek, his voice low, husky.
"I hope that was enough punishment to remind you you don't need anyone but me."
And with that, he turned and walked out leaving her breathless, aching, and maybe… just a little bit addicted too.
Miguel closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the weight of what just happened still clinging to his skin. Kira was still in the other room naked, breathless, and asleep in his bed but it felt like she was everywhere.
Her scent was on his hands.
Her voice still echoed in his ears.
He ran a hand through his hair, his chest tight, and crossed the room to where his phone sat on the desk. He needed to breathe. Think. Reclaim control. So he did what he always did when the world tilted too far he called Spain.
The line rang twice before a voice answered.
"Senor Delmas."
"Is everything ready for the Madrid deal?"
Miguel asked, his tone clipped and professional, the warmth gone from his voice cool, distant, and all business.
Yes, sir. The Arab investors signed this morning. They've agreed to the offshore terms and transferred the first portion of the funds. Two hundred million euros cleared.
Miguel nodded to himself, pacing slowly across the room. "And the Seoul project?"
Final stages. We only need your signature on the legal packet. I've sent it to your encrypted email.
"Good. Handle it," he said, gripping the edge of the desk. If this deal goes through, we'll control three major ports by the end of the quarter. Make sure no one screws it up.
There was a short pause, then the man on the other end cleared his throat.
Understood, sir. Just one thing, when are you coming back to Spain?
Miguel's jaw clenched. His eyes drifted to the closed door.
He exhaled slowly.
"Soon," he said, though he wasn't sure if it was a promise or a lie.
After the call ended, Miguel leaned back in his chair, the silence of the room pressing in around him. His mind drifted inevitably back to Kira. The way she moved. The way she felt. The way she responded to him like no other.
He ran a hand across his face, exhaling low. She doesn't feel like a woman who's been passed around. Not even close.
"Kira's body…" he murmured to himself, staring at nothing. It's nothing like what you'd expect from a pornstar.
She was soft. Clean. Tight too tight for someone who claimed to fuck for a living.
He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to solve a riddle. With how many men she's supposedly been with, it shouldn't feel like this. She shouldn't feel untouched.
And if she had been with that old bastard before coming home, he would've known. He would've felt it. But there was nothing. No trace and the reason she was so weak now had nothing to do with the old man. It wasn't because she'd been with him. It was the alcohol she was drunk, not used.
Miguel's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Kira… who the hell are you?"