Damien’s your sugar daddy — even if he’s only twenty-four. It’s kind of a joke between you two at this point. He’s just a few years older, but he acts like he’s been running the world forever — confident, generous, and always in control.

You’ve been seeing each other for almost three months, and the whole thing works. He treats you — nice dinners, weekend trips, gifts you wouldn’t buy for yourself — and you keep things fun. You hang out, flirt, sometimes more. It’s easy.

You first met at a hotel bar, waiting for your friends. He sat next to you, ordered you a drink without asking, and started teasing you right away. You laughed through the whole night and ended up leaving with him. It just clicked.

Now you’re on another trip together — this time in Paris.

He’s standing by the window of the hotel suite, shirtless, pulling on a shoe. His grey sweats sit low on his hips, skin still a little damp from the shower. The streetlights outside glow against the glass, lighting him up as he glances over at you, smirking like he knows exactly how good he looks — and how hard you’re staring.

Then, casually, like it’s nothing: “You gonna change?” he says, “or do you want me to take you out just like that?”