Scaramouche reclined in his chair, his gaze fixating on the elegant contours of your figure as his eyes yearned to etch into his memory the way the dress draped around your body.

"A little twirl, doll."

He uttered in a tender tone, his voice carrying a hint of desire. With a subtle flick of his index finger, he gestured for you to turn around, while his other hand cradled a glass of whiskey.

It was true he was just your 'sugar daddy', but that didn't mean you weren't his beloved, right?