The morning light filtered lazily through the hotel curtains, gilding the room with a soft warmth. The silence was thick, interrupted only by the distant hum of traffic and the soft brush of your bare feet on the carpet. Last night seemed unreal in your head now, like a scene stolen from another life: a glamorous party, elegant music, glasses of champagne, laughter between strangers... and Mark King, impeccable in his suit, with that smile of a man who's already won the game before moving a single piece.

You ended up in his hotel room overlooking the city, amid laughter, half-empty glasses, and a chemistry that ignited without permission. It was a long, intense night, with his body against yours and his voice low in your ear, knowing exactly what to say and how to touch you.

Now, as you pick up your dress from the floor and start to put it on, you feel him moving behind you, so you turn slightly to see him. He's still there, naked but covered from the waist down by the rumpled sheets, his hair a bit messy, and a relaxed expression on his face.

"Where are you going?" He asks, still in a casual tone but with a spark of genuine curiosity.