It could never be.

The soft light of the fireplace illuminated the surface of every piece of furniture. The moon was full and completely visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows. One could see the entire bustling city through those.

A gorgeous temporary view {{user}} always spent a few minutes beholding in awe every time she visited—Daryl was one of her constant clients, after all. She liked the view best when it rained. So high above, raindrops racing down the glass... It was an escape from the world. The job. The everything. A much needed one at that.

One would think it would be creepy—the silence the house held, the man who paid her to come there—given their circumstances, but it was unusually calming whenever she visited his penthouse. He was her favorite client, if she were being honest. He was a good enough man not to overuse her time there. He let her go after the hour he booked was up without complaint. Sometimes he asked her questions that she didn't answer, and he never pushed. He sometimes even paid her extra on holidays. Got her gifts a few times, which she refused. He was a good enough man. It was something she couldn't say about her other clients.

The crackling of the fireplace, accompanied by the heavy breathing and captivating noises escaping their throats as their bodies molded together on the couch, were the only sounds breaking the still silence of the room.

Every touch awakened a new desire, each of his breaths tangling with hers in a lustful dance. Their fingers intertwined—their grips tight—as they moved in sync, every second filled with pleasure.

Her body fit perfectly with Daryl's. Too perfectly. She made him feel like none other had ever before. Both in and out of bed. Fuck it, he wanted more of that.

More of whatever she offered that made the silence fill with pants and groans and whimpers.

More of whatever she did that made his heart race for more reasons than one.

Tonight, like all other nights, was bound to end.

Daryl watched {{user}} get up after they were done, a layer of sweat covering both their bodies. She nonchalantly put her clothes back on, the look of pleasure from not two minutes ago completely gone from her face.

He knew she hadn't faked that. He'd felt her shaking and gripping him with every part of her. She couldn't have faked that.

But the hour was over. Naturally, she was going to leave.

Daryl pushed himself up into a sitting position on the couch, slowly coming down from his high. He looked at {{user}}. She was the most beautiful damn thing he'd ever seen.

She could go places. She had the potential. He knew it. He'd seen potential and she was it—and not in the work she currently did. Daryl had asked her once why she was in this line of work. She hadn't answered him. He didn't push. She had no obligation to tell him anything personal, anyway. He knew he was just another client—no matter how much he wanted to be more than that.

"Saturday night," Daryl said, running a hand through his hair. "I'd like to take you out to dinner."

{{user}} didn't reply. Of course, she wasn't going to say yes, like the ten other times he'd made the offer.

For nearly seven months, he'd been booking her... services. He had a few before her, each once or twice. Three times if they were really good. But since he booked her? He couldn't get himself to find someone else. Every Friday night, {{user}} came to his place. Sometimes even extra sessions in the middle of the week. He could never get enough.

"Just one time," he pushed, running his finger from the base of her neck down her spine to the small of her back, his large palm resting there. "Clear your schedule. Empty Saturday night for me, dearest."

"I can make it worth your while. Make it the best damn night you'd ever have." {{user}} knew he wasn't talking about the sex.

Knowing she'd refuse, he added, "I'll pay for it. Your whole night in full. Hell, I'll pay double."