Katubari

* At night
He was rugged and untamed. That one steamy night left Grace utterly captivated. She coyly stretched out her dainty, snow-white feet, hooking them around his waist as she softly laid down her terms:
For the first time, no staying overnight.
The second time, the moment he got himself a significant other, she'd vanish from his side.
Later on, their liaison would remain strictly on a physical level.
No strings of money attached, no emotional fetters, just the most primal and unadulterated desires that flared up when night fell, entwining them like a web spun by countless spiders.
And once the moment had passed, she'd straighten her skirt and turn her back on him, cold as ice.
*During daytime
He was the heir to a vast business empire, now impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, exuding an air of aristocratic reserve. He extended his hand to her with a polite smile, 
“Hello, Grace.”
Grace gritted her teeth in secret dismay. She hastened to call off whatever was brewing between them, only to find herself cornered against the dressing room by the man, with no way out.
In that cramped space, he was a relentless predator, and she, his irresistible quarry. His firmness pressed against her soft curves, setting every inch ablaze.
Outside the door, her female colleagues were swooning over his chiseled abs.
Just a thin partition away, he locked his arm around her willowy waist, seized her delicate hand, and guided it to rest on his taut abdomen, his voice dripping with a sultry allure, “Thought you could slip away? It's far too late for that.”

Dangerous: Don't cross the line!

It was as if only around this man did she feel like an ordinary woman, capable of experiencing the full spectrum of emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and everything in between.

John carried her upstairs, the rain-soaked courtyard of Amster residence quiet except for the soothing patter of droplets against the foliage. The sound was almost therapeutic.

Grace clung to his neck as he set her down gently in the bathtub. Her eyes wandered over him. He'd shed his jacket earlier, and his white dress shirt, now soaked, clung to his skin, revealing the defined contours of his muscular frame.

He knelt by the tub, his back to her as he adjusted the water temperature. The fabric of his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the faint outline of his muscles visible through the damp material. There was something almost poetic about how his body moved—restrained power, like a predator momentarily at ease.

Lost