Chapter 6 chapter 6
Lyra stood on the balcony outside her quarters, the sea air cool against her skin, her thought on the handsome man who she is to take care of for the week, when a knock sounded at her door.
“Mr. Damon requests your presence.”
Her breath caught. At this hour?
She nodded, . “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
The attendant left, and Lyra took a moment to steady herself. It wasn’t unusual for guests to call on their courtesans late in the evening, to keep them company and warm through the night. But something about Jake Damon didn’t feel routine. He was too precise, too controlled, and his gaze carried the quiet weight of a man used to being obeyed.
She crossed the marble corridor toward his suite, her footsteps echoing softly. The corridors of the House of Seraphine always felt like a dream at night — golden light spilling from antique sconces, the distant hum of the sea.
When she reached his door, she hesitated before knocking.
“Come in,” his voice called, low and even.
Jake stood by the windows overlooking the sea. The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a single lamp. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, papers scattered across the desk behind him. He didn’t turn immediately when she entered; he seemed lost in thought, watching the sea as if it held the answer to some unspoken question.
“You sent for me, sir?” she said quietly.
A faint smile touched his mouth, “Sit.”
She did, hands folded neatly in her lap. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.
“I’ve watched you these last few days,” he said finally, his tone unreadable. “You’re not like the others here.”
She blinked. “I wasn’t aware I stood out.”
“Oh, you do.” He turned fully now, leaning against the desk. “The ladies here are fake and prentious, but you are not”.
" maybe thats because i am a peaceful person"
Jake studied her a moment longer. “Peace. That’s an interesting word for a place like this.”
She gave a faint, dry laugh. “You have no idea.”
“I might,” he said quietly.
Something flickered in his expression then, something akin to self-recognition. Lyra felt her pulse quicken. She didn’t know why she was here, why he’d called her, but the conversation was no longer about pleasuring him or keeping him company .
He gestured toward the chair opposite her. “You’ve been here… two years?”
“Yes.”
“And before that?”
She hesitated. The House taught them discretion. “Before that, I was someone else.”
His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “You still are.”
The room fell into another stretch of silence, thick but not uncomfortable. Outside, waves crashed softly against the cliffs, rhythmic and endless.
Jake moved toward the desk and gathered a few papers, flipping through them absently. “Madam Seraphine runs a remarkable operation,” he said, as if changing the subject. “Efficient. Profitable. But there’s a cost to efficiency, isn’t there?”
Lyra didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
After a long pause, he spoke again — almost to himself. “Everyone here is bound by something. Contract. Loyalty. Fear.” He glanced up. “What binds you, Lyra?”
Her throat tightened. “Survival.”
He nodded, as if that confirmed something he already suspected. “That’s honest. Most people would have said ambition.”
“Ambition is for people who have choices.”
That earned her the faintest spark of admiration in his eyes.
Finally, Jake closed the file in his hands and said quietly, “Tonight is my last night in Greece and I want you to pleasure me before I leave..”
Lyra’s demeanor changed immediately, she went into an erotic stance. “ what would you like me to do sir”? she purred
I just want a sexual performance from you, nothing too intense, but something to make me relax”.
The air in the room was charged with electricity, The dim glow of oil lamps cast flickering shadows across the room. lyra, reclined on the plush divan, her sheer robe parted just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts and the smooth expanse of her thighs. Across from her sat Jake.
His eyes locked on the vixen before him—Lyra, a lithe courtesan with sun-kissed skin and lose hair cascading down her back, her body a weapon of temptation, clad only in a skimpy harness of golden chains that draped over her full breasts and dipped low between her thighs, barely concealing her smooth, shaved pussy.
“ touch yourself for me” murmured Jake while touching himself.
She bent forward slightly, grinding the air as if riding an invisible shaft, her pussy lips peeking out, already slick and swollen from the thrill of performance. The rhythm quickened; she spun back, dropping low to the floor in a squat, knees spreading wide. Her hands trailed up her thighs, fingers brushing the edges of her folds, parting them briefly to show the wet pink inside before rising again in a sinuous wave.
“ Enough” Jake growled, his breath grew ragged, his hand unconsciously adjusting the growing bulge in his trousers.
“ you can leave, I will call on you when I need you”.
She rose, smoothing her dress. “Goodnight, sir.”
As she turned toward the door, he said her name again — not a command, not even a request, just a sound that carried weight. She looked back.
“Lyra,” he said, “if you could walk away from this place tomorrow, would you?”
Her heartbeat stumbled. “Walk away?”
“Yes.”
She held his gaze, uncertain how to answer. Then, softly, “If I could, I wouldn’t look back.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though memorizing the words. Then he nodded once. “You may go.”
Outside, Lyra walked the long corridor back to her quarters, her legs trembling, heart beating faster. Trying to process what just happened to her.
The sea wind threading through the open windows. She didn’t know what to make of the conversation or the meeting whether it was just curiosity or something more deliberate. But for the first time in years, she’d spoken truthfully to someone who seemed to listen.
Behind her, in his suite, Jake tried to process what happened, why did he asked her to stop? This is unlike him.
He has never asked a courtesan vixen to stop, especially one as beautiful and enticing as lyra. He just couldn’t leave her in Greece.
He picked up his phone and dialed a private number.
“Madam Seraphine,” he said when the line clicked open. “It’s Jake Damon. We need to talk”.
A long pause. Then, in that silk-smooth tone of hers, “I assume this is about my girl?”
Jake’s expression didn’t change. “Let’s just say I’m interested in negotiating new terms.”
He hung up before she could reply.
Miles away, in her candlelit office, Seraphine stared at the phone on her desk. For the first time in years, her composure slipped. She looked toward the ledger that listed every woman under her employ, and only one name jumped at her, Lyra.
“Terms,” she repeated quietly to herself. “Interesting.”
The night deepened, and outside, the wind carried the first whisper of a storm rolling in from the sea.
