Ryan stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, skin still glistening from the scalding shower. The knock came soft but insistent—three polite raps—before the door card beeped and swung inward.

“Housekeeping, sir—night turndown service,” came a calm female voice.

Mia froze one step inside the threshold.

He froze too.

There he stood: six feet of bare, muscled torso, dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the white terrycloth, cock already half-hard from the hot water and the simple freedom of being alone. No robe. No boxers. Nothing between them but humid air and the faint scent of his cedarwood shower gel.

Mia’s eyes flicked down—only for a heartbeat—then snapped back to his face. Professional smile never wavered, but the faintest flush crept up her throat.

“Sorry, sir. I can come back later—”

“No,” Ryan heard himself say, voice rougher than he intended. “You’re already here.”

She hesitated, then pushed the small cart just far enough inside for the door to click shut behind her. The lock sounded louder than it should have.

Mia was smaller than he’d expected—five-four maybe, black uniform dress hugging slim hips and full breasts, crisp white apron tied tight around her waist. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat low bun, but a few strands had escaped during the long shift. She smelled faintly of clean linen and something warmer, something female.

She moved toward the bed with practiced efficiency, turning down the duvet, placing the chocolate on the pillow. Ryan didn’t move. He watched the way her thighs flexed under the skirt when she bent, watched the slight tremble in her fingers when she smoothed the sheet.

“You always come in without waiting for an answer?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Most guests are asleep by now.” She straightened, met his gaze squarely. “Or pretending to be.”

A beat of silence. Thick. Electric.

He reached out—slowly—brushed the stray strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

Instead she tilted her head just enough that his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe.

That was all it took.

Ryan’s hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers curling into the bun, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp. Her lips parted. He covered them with his own—rough, hungry, no preamble. She tasted like mint gum and adrenaline.

Mia kissed back just as hard, small hands fisting the towel at his hips and yanking it free. His cock sprang up between them, thick and already leaking. She wrapped cool fingers around him without hesitation, stroking once, twice, then squeezing at the base until he growled into her mouth.

“Fuck—” he bit out, breaking the kiss. “Turn around.”

She didn’t argue.

Mia spun, braced both palms on the freshly turned-down bed. Ryan kicked her feet wider, shoved the black skirt up over her hips in one impatient motion. Black lace thong. Sheer enough to show the shadowed cleft of her ass.

He hooked two fingers under the thin strip of fabric and ripped.

The material tore with a sharp, satisfying snap. Mia jolted, let out a startled laugh that turned into a moan when he pressed the blunt head of his cock against her puckered hole—no warning, no lube beyond the bead of pre-cum smeared across her by his thumb.

“Wait—Ryan—”

“No,” he rasped against her ear, chest flush to her back, one arm banding around her waist to hold her still. “You walked in here knowing exactly what you were interrupting.”

He pushed.

Hard.

The first inch forced a choked cry from her throat. Tight—fuck, so tight—her body resisting even as it yielded. He didn’t stop. Kept pressing forward in one relentless slide until his hips met the soft curve of her ass and he was buried to the root.

Mia’s nails clawed the duvet. Her forehead dropped to the mattress. A long, broken whimper spilled out of her.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Take it.”

Then he fucked her like an animal.

No rhythm at first—just deep, brutal thrusts, each one slamming her forward until her knees nearly buckled. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the quiet room. Her torn thong dangled uselessly around one thigh. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, yanking her back onto his cock every time he drove forward.

Mia started to push back—meeting him, greedy now, ass clenching around him on every upstroke. Sweat beaded along her spine. He leaned over her, teeth sinking into the slope of her shoulder, hard enough to mark.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Fucking ruin me.”

He did.

One hand slid around to find her clit—swollen, slippery—rubbing fast, merciless circles while he pounded into her ass without mercy. Her moans turned raw, animalistic. The bed creaked violently beneath them.

When she came it was sudden and violent—whole body seizing, hole spasming so tightly around him he nearly lost it right then. He fucked her through it anyway, chasing his own release, hips snapping erratically until the pressure snapped.

He pulled out at the last second, fisted his cock, and painted thick white ropes across her trembling ass and lower back. Some landed on the torn scraps of her thong still clinging to her thigh. She stayed bent over, panting, dripping, ruined.

For a long moment neither spoke.

Then Mia straightened slowly, skirt still hiked around her waist, cum sliding down her skin. She turned to face him, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy but sharp.

She reached down, scooped a streak of his release onto two fingers, brought them to her lips and sucked them clean while holding his stare.

“Room’s done, sir,” she said, voice hoarse. “Anything else I can… take care of before I go?”

Ryan’s cock gave a tired twitch against his thigh.

He smiled—slow, dangerous.

“Lock the door on your way back in.”