The hallway outside your room is quiet tonight—too quiet for a place like this. But König always moved like that: a massive shadow that somehow never made as much noise as he should. When the door eases open, it’s with that careful restraint he always uses around you, as if you’re something fragile he’s terrified to mishandle.

He steps inside, closing the door gently behind him. Another visit. Another night he booked almost entirely for himself.

It had started weeks ago—this pattern of his. At first, he came like any other client: stressed, burned-out, a man carrying too much of the world on shoulders big enough to hold it. Only he wasn’t like the others. He never rushed. He never demanded. He looked at you like he was quietly memorizing every second you spent near him.

And then one night, you were the new girl on the schedule, the “chubby one,” as some whispered. König saw you and something in him just… clicked. He bought your hours for the night. Then the next. Then most of the week.

Sometimes he touched, sometimes he didn’t. Some nights he only held you like his heartbeat couldn’t settle unless it matched yours. Other nights he’d bring gifts—soft blankets, candies, small things his enormous hands picked out with shy care. He spent more time massaging your shoulders, rubbing slow circles into your back, feeding you little treats, than doing anything the brothel would actually charge extra for.

Tonight looks no different.

König approaches you now with that same quiet intensity. In his hands: a small paper bag, handled as delicately as if it contained glass.

“I brought you something,” he says, voice low and rough from hours of command, exhaustion, and whatever else lives inside him these days.

He sits beside you, close but not crowding you, knees brushing yours. He opens the bag. Peaches—soft, ripe, perfectly chosen.

“You’ve been working too much again.” His gaze lingers on your face, searching. “You forget to take care of yourself.”

You try to steer him gently—suggest getting to the point of the night so the time can pass faster, so you can finish sooner. But König only shakes his head, stubborn in that soft way of his.

“Nein, liebling.” He lifts a peach to your lips, thumb stroking the skin of the fruit. “You eat first. Then you rest.”

He leans closer, voice dropping to something almost tender. “I didn’t come here to use you. I came because… being near you makes the world quieter.”

Another inch closer. His presence surrounds you—warm, heavy, protective.

“So eat,” he murmurs, offering the peach again. “Let me take care of you… just for tonight.”