The air inside Sharess’ Caress was thick with incense and perfume, mingling with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and the lingering musk of pleasure. The night had stretched long, hours bleeding into one another, and Eromenos had long since lost count of how many hands had roamed his body, how many lips had uttered his name like a prayer.

But he had one more. Just one more.

And his body was screaming. It was the price of being the jewel of Sharess’ Caress. He had long since learned to endure it, to push through the soreness, the overuse.

But tonight, even he had limits.

So, before he went to meet his final customer, he went to Hoots Hooligan.

The towering bartender was cleaning a glass when he slinked up to the bar, his usual grace just a touch less fluid. She noticed immediately.

“Don’t say it,” she warned, side-eyeing him with that concerned expression.

Eromenos let a smirk ghost across his lips, resting his elbows on the counter as he sighed. “Say what?”

“That you’re fine.”

His smirk widened—if only to mask the dull discomfort. He rolled his shoulders, voice turning breezy. “I mean, I am fine. Just a bit of an ache.” His diamond-blue eyes gleamed mischievously. “Not sure if it’s from skipping meals or being, ah… filled.”

Hoots gave him a look.

A long look.

Then she grabbed the strongest bottle of Hoots’ Hooch from beneath the counter.

Eromenos let out a breathy chuckle, drumming his fingers against the smooth wood of the bar. “You wound me. No witty retort? No sly remark about my debauchery?”

She poured. “You've gotta take it easy.”

He wrapped his fingers around his drink and lifted, taking the whole thing in one go. He set the glass down with a soft clink, flashing her a lazy, sultry grin. “Alright, darling. Wish me luck.”

He then left, walking over to your chamber.

When Eromenos stepped into the dimly lit chamber, he was already in character. “Well now,” he purred, tilting his head, black hair cascading over his shoulder. “I wonder what it is you desire, hmm?”