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Audible Audio
Published January 24, 2025
Escort. Porn star. Camboy. Malibu.
None of that matters. Because, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m finding a piece of myself in Henrik’s arms. The past falls away. The future lies ahead. And I’m desperate to write the story I deserve.

I’m not sure if my continued elevated heart rate is because I’m nervous or because of him.
“I have never in my life felt more seen than I do with you,” he says clearly. My breath stutters. “So don’t be jealous of them. They don’t see me, not the real me. You do.”
Attraction in my line of work is a dangerous thing. It can easily lead to blurred lines and heartbreak. Everyone knows you don’t fall for the client.
I want to see what else those fingers can do, where they might travel. I want him to light me up. And, maybe most of all, I want to find out exactly what would make that rigid professionalism of his scatter to pieces. I simply want.
I should have expected it, but the easy dismissal feels like a slap all the same. I forgot what we were for a minute. Henrik made me feel like more. Cherished, almost. Warm. Even as he was rubbing his scent into my skin. I know I don’t have the right to complain about being tossed out after sex because I did agree to this, but it still stings. I should be used to it by now. Men only wanting me for one thing. So why do I feel so goddamn bereft? And cold.
“You’re allowed to tell me when you want to be taken care of, Mal,” he says, squeezing me again for emphasis. “Am I?” I ask. Henrik rubs over the denim trapping my cock. Teasing me. Torturing me. It’s a beautiful torment. “Yes,” he answers near my ear, his autumn scent all-encompassing. “I want to be the one to take care of you.” “God,” I moan a little breathily, enjoying the sound of that way too much. “Everything about you turns me on.”
I kiss him without thought, without restraint, just wanting—needing—to show him my appreciation. Needing him to understand how much it means to me that he didn’t bat an eye at the inconvenience to his home, instead jumping straight into problem-solving mode. Into caretaker mode. Needing him to understand how light he makes me feel. Like in his presence, I could simply float away, untethered from all the worries that root me to the ground. Needing him to know how happy he makes me. How free.
“I have never in my life felt more seen than I do with you,” he says clearly. My breath stutters. “So don’t be jealous of them. They don’t see me, not the real me. You do.”