Forbidden Cravings
Chapter 79: Thoughts Over Work

Chapter 79: Thoughts Over Work

The brothel’s private room had fallen into a hushed stillness, the lullaby I’d been playing now silenced, leaving only the faint, muffled beats from the main dance hall seeping through the walls. The amber sconces cast a dim, golden glow across the red satin bed, now empty and crumpled.

I stood alone, my body heavy with exhaustion, the rustle of my clothes the only sound as I dressed. *Clack.* I fastened the buckle of my belt, the metal cold against my hips, tugging my jeans into place. Grabbing my black t-shirt from the floor, I pulled it over my head, the fabric clinging to my dried skin. Thank god AC in the brothel or else I would be sweaty as hell.

I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror by the door, straightening my shoulders. *Ahem.* I cleared my throat, smoothing my hair with one hand, trying to shake off the weight of the night. My eyes looked tired, shadowed, I sling my bag over one shoulder—I pushed open the heavy door and stepped out and the growing pulse of music came from the main floor.

The hallway was darker, the music louder now, a pounding beat that vibrated through the polished wood floor. Men and women were tangled together along the walls, their hands roaming on each others body. Their laughter sharp and drunken. A few women glanced my way, their eyes lingering, their smiles suggestive, but I kept my gaze forward, ignoring them.

I was done with my clients—Raya and Kalina’s giggles still echoed in my head, but my job for the night was over, and all I wanted was to keep moving.

Near the railing overlooking the dance floor, Jonathan stood, his beach vibe shirt open, a beer in one hand, a cigar in the other, the smoke curling lazily around him.

The crowd below was a sea of motion, people dancing under flashing lights, the DJ’s beats shaking the air, bodies pressed close, lost in the music.

"Hello, Mister Handsome," Jonathan called, his voice loud and teasing, a grin spreading across his face as he spotted me.

"Hey," I said, exhaling heavily, leaning on the railing beside him. The cool metal felt good under my hands, grounding me as I let my shoulders slump, the weight of the night settling in.

Jonathan took a drag of his cigar, eyeing me with a smirk. "You seem tired, man. What happened? Girlfriends of mafia members too much for you?" He laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder, the force making me sway a little.

I chuckled, shaking my head, the tension easing just a bit. "Yeah, because handling two women is *tiring*, you bet!" I said, my laugh rough but real, rubbing a hand over my face. "Those two... they don’t stop."

"Hahaha, understandable," Jonathan said, his grin widening as he took a swig of his beer, the bottle glinting under the neon lights. "You pulled it off, though. They left happy. You’re a pro, Ezra."

I shrugged, my smile fading a little, my eyes drifting to the crowd below. "Guess so," I said, my voice quieter now, the words feeling heavier than they should.

I leaned more, looking down, my tone shifting, curious.

"Why don’t you ever serve clients? When there’s no one to give service, you just push the clients away, saying it’s close for today. Even though you can take that client for yourself." I asked glancing down at everyone moving and dancing on the loud music but there is silence in my mind.

"Nah, what the fuck, man. I’m married, dude," he said, throwing his hands up, the cigar trailing smoke. "Got a five-year-old daughter, and I freaking love them to death. If push comes to shove, I’d leave all this behind for them, no question." His voice was firm, his eyes softening for a moment, like he was picturing them—his wife, his kid, a life outside this place.

I nodded, my gaze dropping to the crowd again.

My chest tightened, Aeri’s face flooding my mind—her soft laugh, the way she smiled, the warmth of her hand in mine. I loved her so much it hurt, and none of this—the brothel, the clients, the money—mattered compared to her.

I am only here because of the cash, because I needed it to build a life with her, to get out of this world for good. The music pulsed, the crowd swayed, and I leaned more on the railing, the weight of that truth pressing down, heavy but clear, as Jonathan’s laugh faded into the noise.

"Everything okay?" Jonathan asked, glancing at my silent face, his brow furrowing slightly, his voice cutting through the noise. He took a sip of his beer, waiting for me to answer.

I tilted my head, hands stuffed in my jeans pockets, my gaze drifting to him.

"Your wife knows you manage a brothel," I said casually, my voice low but curious. "How come she never minded it?"

Jonathan laughed, a deep, easy sound, leaning back against the railing.

"Because she trusts me? Haha," he said, shaking his head like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Sounds weird, but it’s true. She knows I’m just running the show, not part of it. We’ve got an understanding."

"I see," I said slowly, my eyes tracing the swirl of dancers below. Trust. The word hit me hard, Aeri’s smile flashing in my mind, her warmth a contrast to the cold reality of this place.

I wondered what she’d think if she knew the full truth of what I did here, even if it was just for the money.

Jonathan turned to me, his expression softening, his hand patting my shoulder gently. "Do you want a few days’ break or something?" he asked, his voice quieter now, like he could sense the weight I was carrying. "You look beat, man."

I managed a small smile, glancing at him. "Thanks, but I’ll let you know," I said, my voice steady.

"As you say," he said, tightening his lips in a knowing smile, his hand giving my shoulder one last pat. "Do let me know right away, though. Don’t burn yourself out, Ezra."

I nodded, taking a step back, the music swelling around us. "Well, I should go now," I said, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "Aeri’s probably waiting for me."

Jonathan raised his beer in a mock toast, flashing a two-finger salute.

"Okay, dude. Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight," I said, returning a quick nod before turning to walk out.

The brothel’s heavy steel door loomed ahead, and I pushed it open, the chilly night air hitting my skin like a slap. The cold winds swept over me, sharp and biting, cutting through my t-shirt as I stepped onto the street, the neon sign above flickering faintly.

I glanced at my wristwatch, the hands glowing under a streetlight—11 p.m.

"Damn, it took too much time," I muttered to myself, my breath visible in the cool air, a deep sigh escaping as I started walking.

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