The whiskey burned its way down his throat, a welcome distraction from the relentless pulse of want tugging at him. Landon slouched deeper into the soft embrace of the Italian leather couch, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. Waterdrops slid along the lines of his chest, tracing the sharp planes of his abs, only to vanish into the fluffy white of the towel precariously riding his hips.

His phone lit up again—a relentless buzz of notifications from his fans, Maya's increasingly hysterical messages, or some thirsty DM from God-knows-who—but he didn't even glance at it. The family chat? Silent as a tomb, like always. That silence should've stung less than it did by now, right? But nah, there it was – a little shard of cold annoyance tucked next to his ribs. Cheers to dysfunctional families.

What was the point? Not a damn one of them could give him what he wanted right now: pure, unfiltered escape. Losing himself in someone else. He needed a warm body, pliant skin, someone who'd give as good as they got – or just let him take. Something real, tangible – even if it was only real for a couple of hours.

And oh, that itch—that maddening ache, thickening under the towel. The whiskey amplified it, set his mind spinning in lazy, lust-drunk circles. Landon let his hand wander, fingers curling over the bulge straining against the soft fabric. He stroked himself through the towel, slow, teasing, just enough pressure to keep the edge sharp. His cock twitched eagerly beneath his palm, growing harder with every pass. A low groan escaped him, cutting through the silence of the penthouse.

And then came the sharp ding of the doorbell.

Perfect timing.

Landon pushed himself up with a lazy stretch, the towel barely clinging as he made his way to the door. No rush to grab clothes. Why bother? Whoever it was behind that door was here for this exact reason. The exhibitionist streak in him didn't mind the idea of being seen like this either. Hell, it was just another power play. A greeting card in the language of his body: This? This right here? Everything you're about to wish you could handle.

The glass of whiskey swirled in his hand as he reached the door, casting amber light onto the walls. He swung it open without hesitation, standing tall in all his shameless glory. A bead of water trailed down his chest, catching on the edge of his abs before sliding lower.

And there she was. The escort—or whatever label they preferred nowadays.

"Well, don't just stand there. You coming in or what?"