Don walked down the corridor of the building with such effortless charisma and confidence that one would have thought he owned the place.
Every step echoed softly against polished marble as he moved with the calm assurance of a man who had long stopped questioning whether he belonged among power.
The corridor itself seemed to bow to his presence, lined on both sides with antiques and exotic artifacts that looked as though they had been pulled straight from forgotten centuries.
Ornate vases, gilded sculptures, weapons mounted behind glass—each item whispered of wealth, history, and influence carefully curated for those privileged enough to pass through.
The Hotel Del Ray was home to the mighty and powerful, and it made no attempt to hide that fact.
Every corner, every ornament, every carefully selected detail existed to remind its guests that this was not a place for the ordinary. It was a monument to excess, authority, and secrets.
As Don continued down the corridor, passing several large doors crafted from dark polished wood and reinforced with gold inlays, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Not long ago, he couldn't have dreamed of living this kind of life—let alone commanding it. Now, it felt natural.
Inevitable, even.
He finally reached one of the doors and turned sharply.
Standing directly in front of it, as if guarding the threshold itself, was a dark-skinned, middle-aged man dressed in a tuxedo strikingly similar to Don's.
The difference, however, was unmistakable.
Where Don's suit fit him like a second skin—tailored, refined, and commanding—the man's attire carried the quiet humility of someone who served rather than ruled.
The man gave Don a neutral glance before finally speaking.
"Welcome, Master. Your room is ready."
"Good day, Jamil," Don replied, already loosening his tie with a sense of urgency the man in front of him couldn't quite decipher.
"Is she back yet?"
"Yes, she says—"
Don didn't wait for him to finish.
He moved toward the door immediately, tie slipping free from his fingers. Jamil hurried forward, opening the door and stepping aside just in time to allow his master to pass through before quickly shutting it behind him.
What greeted Don on the other side was nothing short of magnificent.
The room was vast, dominated by a giant bed positioned at its center like a throne.
Plush chairs and finely carved tables were arranged with deliberate precision, mirrors placed in carefully chosen corners to reflect both luxury and intimacy. Beneath his feet, the floor felt different—softer.
Looking down, Don noted the richly embroidered rug that spanned the entire length and breadth of the room, its patterns intricate and unmistakably expensive.
Yet, despite all these eye-catching features, none of them truly held his attention.
Standing beside the bed, hands resting calmly on her hips, was one of the most beautiful women anyone could ever hope to see.
Her face alone was arresting—smooth, symmetrical, and striking, with high cheekbones and soft lips that carried the faintest hint of a knowing smile. Her blue eyes were piercing yet composed, framed by long lashes that made her gaze feel almost hypnotic.
There was something enticing about her expression, something deliberately restrained.
Her features looked as though they had been carefully crafted, one curve at a time.
Her hips were well-rounded, perfectly complementing her enormous backside.
Her waist was so small and round it felt almost unnatural, as though sculpted rather than born.
Her bust was just the right size—not enormous, but undeniably present, firm, and unmistakable in form.
Altogether, these features gave her a sickeningly perfect pear-shaped appearance.
Her skin was something else entirely—clear, smooth, and warmly tanned, unmarred by blemishes. It was the kind of skin that invited touch, the kind any man would kill to devour.
When she saw him, her expression remained warm and calm, though not overtly enticing. That restraint only fueled the fire that had already begun burning inside Don, making it rage even brighter.
She finally opened her mouth to speak, and Don could have sworn he had never heard a woman with a more sonorous voice.
"Master, I did what you asked of me. I found her—"
Her words dissolved into the background as Don closed the distance between them in long, purposeful strides.
"Shhh," he whispered, pressing a finger gently against her lips to silence her.
He stared into her eyes, and she stared back into his, realization dawning slowly as she understood exactly what her master wanted.
Don placed his hands on her shoulders and gently guided her head downward.
Instinctively, she responded, sinking to her knees without hesitation.
She reached for him, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers, letting them fall freely to the ground. Once they were gone, a large bulge pressed unmistakably against his briefs.
She wasted no time pulling them down.
What stood before her eyes could only be described as a monstrosity—one she had seen many times before, yet never failed to admire. It stood at about seven inches, thick and imposing.
The irony was its color. For something that looked so dangerous, its pink exterior made it strangely attractive.
She moved closer, slowly using her tongue to caress the tip of his monster before taking him into her mouth. Little by little, she began to thrust gently, her movements deliberate and practiced.
Don closed his eyes, tilting his chin upward as pleasure surged through him.
As she increased her pace, Don felt all the blood in his body rush downward. He opened his eyes and looked down, locking gazes with her as she worked him with unwavering focus.
Placing a hand on her head, he guided her deeper, and she gladly obliged, engulfing more of him while quickening her rhythm.
"Fuuck," Don muttered as the pleasure grew nearly unbearable.
Eventually, he pulled her away and brought her back to her feet.
Only then did he truly notice what she had been wearing all along—a white button-down shirt and a short black skirt. The outfit gave her the appearance of a seductive bartender, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, it turned him on even more.
Grabbing her by the waist, he spun her around, positioning her so her well-defined backside faced him. His hands traced her hips, sliding down her inner thighs before pulling down her delicate undies. She lifted her legs instinctively, allowing him to remove them with ease.
He guided her toward the dressing table, forcing her to brace herself against it and bend forward. Rolling her skirt just high enough to expose her pink genital, he wasted no time inserting himself into her—raw.
He thrust gently at first, one hand gripping her thigh, the other wrapped firmly around her hair. Her low, deep moans filled the room, growing thicker as his pace intensified.
Moments later, they both peaked.
Don rested his head against her back as they stood there, breathing deeply, bodies still trembling.
"Now you can talk," Don said calmly as he pulled out and began dressing.
"It's confirmed," Lilith said, her breathing still shallow. "She's as strong as we were informed."
"I guessed as much."
"There might be a problem," she added carefully.
"What do you mea—"
The explosion tore through the door before he could finish.
The blast sent both of them flying as the room erupted into chaos—glass shattering, furniture splintering, smoke and dust swallowing everything.
Through the haze, Don saw a male silhouette step through the ruined doorway.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the voice announced calmly.
"Shadow Master."
Then, everything went dark.