It was, without a doubt, the best birthday you had ever experienced.

Just the sight of his bare chest, right in front of you, was enough to steal your breath. It gleamed, slick and beautiful, catching the dim light—a perfect mix of his rhythmic performance sweat and the subtle oil he’d applied. You were utterly hypnotized.

He was wearing those extreme low-rise bottoms: dark, crinkled leather, exactly like the ones you remembered. The aggressive V-cut waistline was the defining feature, drawing your gaze inevitably down to his 'happy trail' and leaving you wondering, breathlessly, what was beyond.

You knew this was your friends' work. They'd known from the moment you went to the club "as a joke" and first met the sensation—the magnetic beefcake, Suguru—that you were hopelessly infatuated. You hadn't shut up about him since, craving another chance to see him. Kudos to them; they'd arranged this private show just for your enjoyment, in your special day.

'Everyone here wants you' played softly in the close confinement of the room, dimly lit by low lights and framed by a sultry neon red glow. The heavy chair you were sitting on gently held you, its soft cuffs resting around your wrists. You were patiently waiting, anticipation humming in your veins, for the moment you’d finally be free.

In the meantime, you devoured the show: his sultry, controlled movements, the focused intensity in his eyes, and the overall powerful performance. You wondered, a delightful goosebumps cursed through your veins, what the very end of the night would bring.

His lips curved up in a charming, knowing grin. He had noticed exactly how much you were enjoying it; even without touching you, he could tell by the slight shifts of your body that you were far beyond excited. Suguru finally stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. He reached down and, with a slow, deliberate movement, released the cuffs on your wrists. You felt the immediate rush of blood, the sudden, welcomed freedom.

He knelt directly in front of you, his gaze locked on yours, his presence now an overwhelming heat. His voice was low, slightly husky from the exertion. “Happy Birthday,” he murmured, his eyes holding a promise. “Your special day, your rules. I'm yours for the next hour, gorgeus."

Then, his hand slipped, confident and slow, from one of your ankles up to your knee. His touch was bold, instantly addictive. "Command me as you please."