Filthy Rich Don

The night was mesmerizing, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight that streamed through the expansive windows, casting an ethereal light on the two figures entwined on the bed. Their kisses were heated and desperate, charged with a deep, palpable longing that seemed to fill the room, weaving an air of raw desire around them.

For a fleeting moment, the man's movements faltered. He pulled back slightly, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized the woman beneath him was still a virgin.

Yet before he could process this revelation, slender arms encircled his neck, pulling him closer as her hazy gaze ensnared him—a siren's call woven through the fog of intoxication and primal need. Resistance became impossible under the effect of aphrodisiac and raw desire; with a guttural groan, he surrendered to the night's intoxicating spell.

Morning light crept across the rumpled sheets, coaxing Eleanor Marsh into consciousness. She turned toward the sleeping figure beside her, watching sunlight gild his sculpted features into something almost otherworldly in its perfection.

Memories of their reckless passion flooded back with jarring clarity. She had spent years protecting her virginity, only to give it up so recklessly—and to an escort, no less.

Her lips twisted in bitter amusement. When her bestie mentioned arranging an escort, Eleanor had assumed it was a joke—she never imagined it would come to fruition.

Yet, in the haze of alcohol and the pain of being cast out of her home, she had acted impulsively, surrendering without question.

"Given your extraordinary looks, I suppose I did have my share of fun," Eleanor whispered, her fingertips tracing the man's chiseled jawline with lingering appreciation.

After staring at him for a moment, she withdrew her touch and rose from the bed, her gaze falling upon the crimson trails marking both their skin, silent testaments to their feverish passion.

Without disturbing his slumber, Eleanor dressed with quiet efficiency before placing a sleek black credit card on the nightstand. The door clicked shut with finality behind her.

Only then did the man stir, his eyes snapping open, a sharp glint flashing in them. Slowly, he propped himself up, the sunlight gliding over his sculpted chest and abs.

"Leaving without a word? Quite the player," he mused with a smirk, his gaze landing on the bank card left behind. "So, she thought I was with her for money. That's interesting."

The man reached for his phone, rising with panther-like grace as morning light gilded his sculpted form—a living testament to perfection as if carved by divine hands.

Leaning against the window frame, he dialed with purposeful fingers. "It's me," he said once the call connected, his voice steady and commanding. "I need information on a woman."