The app dings. My thumb taps confirm before my brain catches up. Thursday. 6 PM. Same room. Same door. Same man.
I don’t hesitate. I never do anymore.
He’s already in the suite when I step inside. Towel slung low over his hips. Chest bare. Skin like dark honey under the warm lights. Eyes locked on mine like I’m the only thing in the building.
“You’re early,” he says. Voice rough. Ground floor.
“Traffic was light.”
I set my bag down. Heart already racing.
He crosses the space in three strides. Fingers thread through my hair. Tilt my face up. Thumb strokes my lower lip.
“Session’s twenty minutes longer today,” he murmurs. “Consider it a late fee.”
I swallow. Nod.
He knows I’ll say yes. He knows I always do.
My hands tremble as I unbutton my blouse. He watches. Dark, hungry, completely unbothered.
“Take it all off,” he orders. Soft but firm. Daddy tone. That low, velvet command that unravels me every time.
Fabric pools at my feet. I step out of my shoes. Leave the rest where it falls.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even blink. Just drinks me in like he’s memorizing every curve. Every dip. Every inch of skin he’s already claimed.
“Steam room’s warmed,” he says. Guides me by the waist. “Follow me.”
The door clicks shut behind us. Heat hits my face like a physical thing. Thick. Wet. Heavy.
I step inside. He’s right behind me. Close. So close.
The glass fogs. Condensation beads on his skin. On mine.
He turns me around. Presses me back against the heated tile. His chest meets my front. Hard. Solid. Real.
“You booked it again,” he says against my ear. Breath hot.
“Every week,” I whisper.
“Good girl.”
His hand slides down. Over my ribs. My waist. My hip. Fingers dip beneath my waistband. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.
I arch into him. Already wet. Already waiting.
“You’re dripping,” he notes. Voice rougher. Darker.
“I know.”
He hooks two fingers into my panties. Slides them down my thighs. Kicks them aside.
His palm presses flat against my core. Rubs slow. Circular. Teasing.
I gasp. Head falls back. Shoulders hit the wall.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do. Eyes locked. Breathing shallow.
He doesn’t rush. Never does. He knows I need the build. The tension. The promise.
His fingers find my clit. Light at first. Then firmer. Rhythm matching the steam. The heat. The way my body just begs for him.
“You’re addicted,” he murmurs. Thumb working in time with his fingers.
“To your hands,” I admit. Voice breaking.
“Liar,” he says. But he’s smiling. Small. Dangerous. “You’re addicted to me. All of me. Every inch. Every drop.”
I nod. Can’t speak. Can only feel.
He pulls his hand back. Turns me around. Presses me forward. Brings his chest to my back.
“Bend over,” he says.
I do. Knees hit the rubber mat. Hands brace against the warm glass.
He steps in. Hips flush. Cock already hard. Already pushing.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Every week. Every time. Every drop I put inside you.”
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask. Just slides in. Thick. Scalding. Filling me completely.
I cry out. Fingers grip the glass. Back arches.
“Fuck,” he breathes. Chest heaving against mine. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”
He pulls back. Slams forward. Deep. Relentless.
The heat of the room. The slick of our skin. The sound of our bodies colliding. It’s too much. Not enough.
I push back. Take him deeper. Need every inch. Need the claim.
“Say it,” he demands. Hands grip my hips. Fingers digging in. Marking.
“Yours,” I gasp. “Only yours.”
“Again.”
“Yours, Daddy.”
He curses. Drives harder. Faster. Each thrust claiming what’s already his. Breeding deep. Hitting that sweet spot that makes my vision blur.
I come apart. Shaking. Screaming his name. Clenching around him. Pulling him deeper.
He follows. Grabs my hair. Holds me in place. Groans like a man starving.
“Take it,” he orders. “Take every drop. Let me fill you. Let me make you mine.”
He bottoms out. Hips still. Cock pulsing. Pumping hot cum deep inside my womb.
I whimper. Feel it spill. Feel it claim. Feel it root me to him.
He stays buried. Chest rising. Falling. Breathing hard.
I lean back against him. Head on his shoulder. Heart hammering.
“Regular,” he murmurs against my neck. Lips brushing. Teeth grazing.
“Every week,” I agree. Voice wrecked. Happy. Whole.
He turns me around. Lifts me easily. Carries me to the jacuzzi. Drops me into the bubbling water.
I sink down. Water laps at my thighs. My chest. My neck.
He strips the towel. Steps in. Sits me in his lap.
Water sloshes. Bubbles pop. Steam rises.
His hands are everywhere. On my breasts. Down my stomach. Inside me.
“Still sore?” he asks. Thumb circling my nipple.
“Always,” I whisper.
He smiles. Kisses my forehead. My nose. My lips.
“Good.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. Press close. Breathe him in. Cedar. Heat. Him.
He holds me. Fingers tracing my spine. Palms warm. Solid. Real.
“You never have to book it again,” he says. Voice quiet. Serious.
I look up. Frown. “What?”
“You don’t need to pay. You don’t need to schedule.” He cups my face. Thumbs stroking my cheeks. “Just come. Whenever you want. Whenever you need. I’m here. Always.”
My throat tightens. Eyes burn.
“I want to,” I say. “I want every session. Every extension. Every time you fill me.”
He laughs. Low. Rich. Happy.
“Then that’s what you get,” he says. Leans in. Kisses me slow. Deep. Claiming. “Regular. Every week. Every month. Every year. However long you’ll have me.”
I nod. Cry. Smile. “However long you’ll have me.”
He pulls me closer. Legs wrap around his waist. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.
The water bubbles. The steam rises. The world outside fades.
There’s only him. Only us. Only this.
My hand slips between us. Finds him. Hard. Aching. Already ready.
He groans. Grip tightens.
“Again?” I tease. Voice soft.
He answers by rolling me under. Pulls me on top. Guides me down.
Cock slides back in. Deeper. Fuller. Perfect.
I grind down. Sigh. Settle.
He holds my hips. Watches me. Dark eyes. Full heart.
“Ride it,” he murmurs. “Take what’s yours.”
I do. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder.
He doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t need to. Just watches. Claims. Loves.
I come again. Shaking. Crying out. Clenching him.
He follows. Pulls me down. Buries his face in my neck. Groans.
“Mine,” he breathes. “All mine. Forever.”
I kiss him. Deep. Sweet. Sure.
“Yours,” I whisper back. “Always.”
The jacuzzi bubbles. The steam holds us. The water cradles us.
No more bookings. No more fees. No more pretending this is just a service.
This is us. Regular. Routine. Real.
And I wouldn’t change a single thing.
*
The next week arrives like a promise kept.
I walk in before six. Don’t bother knocking. The door is unlocked. Always is now.
He’s on the chaise. Towel around his waist. Glass of whiskey in hand. Eyes tracking me the second I cross the threshold.
“Early,” he says. Sets the glass down. Stands.
“Missed you,” I admit. Walk to him.
He catches my waist. Pulls me flush. Nose buried in my hair. Inhales slow.
“Missed you more,” he murmurs. Lips at my temple. “Counted the hours.”
I shiver. Lean into his chest. Feel his heartbeat. Steady. Strong. Mine.
He steps back. Hands on my shoulders. Turns me gently.
“Room’s yours,” he says. “Stay as long as you want.”
I nod. Start unbuttoning my cardigan. He watches. Doesn’t rush me. Never does.
He likes to watch. Likes to memorize. Likes to own the moment before it becomes history.
I let my clothes fall. Step into them. Let him see everything.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just reaches out. Palms my hips. Squeezes.
“Beautiful,” he says. Voice thick. “Always.”
I bite my lip. Heart swelling.
He leads me to the steam room again. Same tiles. Same heat. Same glass.
But this time, we don’t rush.
He turns me. Presses me back. Hands slide down my arms. My stomach. My thighs.
“Let me,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”
I nod. Eyes flutter shut.
His fingers trace my spine. Work the knots. Soothe the ache. Massage the tension out of my shoulders. My neck. My lower back.
It’s not sexual. Not at first. Just touch. Just care. Just him.
I melt. Lean back against his chest. Breathe him in.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs. Thumbs working my hips. “Carrying the world on those pretty shoulders.”
“I work,” I whisper. “I live. I breathe.”
He laughs. Low. Warm. Hands slide around to my front. Palms cup my breasts. Thumbs stroke my nipples.
“I know,” he says. “And you’re allowed to rest. With me.”
I turn in his arms. Look up. He’s looking down. Eyes dark. Devoted.
“Stay?” I ask. Voice small.
He doesn’t hesitate. Drops to his knees.
I gasp. Hands fly to his hair.
“Daddy—”
“Shh.” He guides me back. Presses me against the warm tile. Knees between my thighs.
His mouth finds me. Slow. Reverent. Devouring.
I cry out. Fingers tangle in his hair. Back arches.
He tastes like salt. Like heat. Like mine.
He doesn’t rush. Works me with his tongue. Fingers. Lips. Sucks. Licks. Nibbles.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my core. “So wet. So ready. Taking my cum like it’s oxygen.”
I whimper. Head falls back. Eyes roll.
“Say it,” he demands. Voice muffled. Wet.
“Yours,” I gasp. “Only yours. Always.”
He hums. Vibration against my clit. Sends sparks straight to my spine.
I come fast. Violent. Shaking. Screaming into the steam. Clenching around nothing. Just his mouth. Just his hands. Just his love.
He catches my legs. Pulls me down. Holds me through the aftershocks.
When I finally still, he stands. Lifts me. Sets me on the heated bench.
I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him down.
He doesn’t use lube. Doesn’t need it. I’m still slick. Still dripping. Still his.
He lines up. Pushes in. Slow. Deliberate.
I sigh. Head falls back. Eyes close.
“Feel that?” he murmurs. Lips at my ear. “Feel me claiming you?”
“I feel it,” I whisper. “So good.”
He pulls back. Slides in. Hits my cervix. Perfect.
I moan. Fingers grip his shoulders. Nails dig in.
He sets a rhythm. Deep. Relentless. Breeding pace. Hitting that spot that makes me see stars.
“Cum for me,” he orders. Hands on my hips. Thumbs digging in. “Let me see you break.”
I do. Shaking. Sobbing. Clenching. Dropping him deep.
He follows. Groans. Buries his face in my neck. Hips stutter.
“Mine,” he gasps. “All mine. Take it. Take it all.”
He empties inside me. Hot. Heavy. Deep.
I feel it flood my womb. Feel it pool. Feel it claim.
He stays buried. Chest heaving. Breath ragged.
I hold him. Kiss his jaw. His cheek. His lips.
“We’re keeping it,” I say suddenly. Voice steady. Sure.
He stills. Looks at me. Eyes wide. Dark. Burning.
“What?” he breathes.
“The baby,” I say. “I’m pregnant. I took the test this morning. Positive.”
His hand flies to my stomach. Palms warm. Trembling.
He looks up. Eyes glistening. Voice cracking.
“Yours,” I whisper. “Our baby.”
He groans. Pulls me down. Crushes me to his chest. Buries his face in my hair.
“Daddy,” he chokes out. Voice raw. “Thank you. Thank God.”
I cry. Laugh. Hold him tight.
He lifts me. Carries me to the jacuzzi. Drops me into the water.
I sink down. He follows. Sits me in his lap.
His hands find my stomach. Palms flat. Rubbing slow. Circular.
“So small,” he whispers. Eyes shining. “But so strong. Like you.”
I lean back against his chest. Feel his heartbeat. Feel his hands. Feel my belly.
“Regular,” he murmurs. Kisses my shoulder. My neck. My lips. “Every week. Every month. Until it’s time. Until we need them more.”
I nod. Press my hand over his. Over our baby.
“Regular,” I agree. “Forever.”
He holds me. In the steam. In the heat. In the water.
The world outside doesn’t matter.
This is enough.
This is everything.
His. Mine. Ours.
Regular.