Hospitality Man Series I: His Babymaker Client (ENGLISH VERSION)

CHAPTER 7

THE night was alive with whispers and murmurs, the kind that seemed to echo through the trees and ripple across the stillness of the forest. From the tents around me, the sounds of passion drifted like a symphony, each note more intense than the last.

“Ahhh!” The muffled cries from the tent next to mine were impossible to ignore. James and Jane were lost in their own world, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm that felt almost primal. Across from me, Nympha and Melchor’s tent was no different, their sounds blending into the night like a chorus of desire.

And then there was Matthew and Celine, their voices carrying from the tent near my head. “Harder, hon. Harder . . . Ahhh. Okay, okay. Slower, slower—Ahhh . . . Harder again—Ahhh!” The man’s voice was a mix of urgency and restraint, a testament to the intensity of their connection.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Goodness gracious,” I muttered under my breath. Sleep was impossible with all this noise. And if I was being honest, it wasn’t just the noise that was keeping me awake. There was a pang of envy, a longing that I couldn’t quite shake.

Frustrated, I pushed myself up and stepped out of my tent. The night air was cool against my skin, the moon casting a silvery glow over the campsite. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head, but the sounds followed me, lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

“I need to cool off,” I said to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. The idea of a dip in the nearby stream suddenly felt irresistible. Maybe the cold water would help me forget the heat of the night.

I made my way to the stream, the moonlight reflecting off the water like scattered diamonds. The sound of the flowing water was soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos I’d left behind. Without hesitation, I stripped off my clothes, the cool night air brushing against my skin. Slowly, I waded into the water, the chill sending a shiver down my spine.

“Cold,” I hissed, but I didn’t stop. The water was refreshing, and as I sank deeper, I felt the tension in my body begin to melt away. I found a large rock to sit on, the smooth surface grounding me as I leaned back and closed my eyes.

EURIKA’S POV

Soft, breathy moans drifted through the night, seeping into the thin fabric of my tent, wrapping around me like a forbidden lullaby.

"Ahhh . . . Babe, slower . . . please . . ."

Jane's voice trembled through the air, hushed yet unmistakably filled with desire. The husky response from James followed soon after, his voice rough with urgency.

"Babe, just this once . . . Ahhh . . . Let me have you completely . . ."

I bit my lip, my body instinctively tensing. The sound of their rhythm—steady, desperate—echoed so clearly that I could almost feel it against my own skin. My thighs pressed together involuntarily, a tingling warmth unfurling deep within me.

My breath hitched.

I shouldn't be envious. I shouldn't be feeling this. And yet, heat spread across my neck, my chest, the growing need curling inside me like a slow, teasing flame.

I turned onto my back, staring up at the ceiling of my tent. No, I couldn't ignore this—not tonight. Someone owed me, after all. And it was time to collect.

A small shiver ran down my spine at the thought, excitement bubbling under my skin. My fingers trembled slightly as I pushed myself up, my ears still filled with the chorus of pleasure spilling from every occupied tent around me. It wasn’t just Jane and James anymore. Even from Matthew and Celine’s tent, from Melchor and Nympha’s—those telltale sounds of lovers lost in passion surrounded me.

I let out a soft, frustrated sigh.

Lucky them.

Without another thought, I slipped out of my tent, my breath catching at the sight of the moonlit clearing. The silver glow bathed everything in a soft, ethereal light, and for a moment, I simply inhaled the crisp night air, hoping to calm my racing pulse.

Then, my gaze drifted toward Pervince’s tent.

Dark. Silent.

Maybe he was already asleep.

I hesitated for a brief moment before finally stepping forward, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each movement was slow, deliberate, the anticipation building with every inch that brought me closer to him. I reached for the zipper, my fingers tightening around it as I carefully eased it down—inch by inch—my breath shallow with nerves and excitement.

But when the entrance finally fell open, the inside was empty.

Disappointment settled in my stomach.

Where is he?

I straightened, biting my lip in thought, before turning on my heel. I didn’t want to return to my tent—not with those sounds still filling the air. So I wandered, keeping close to the campsite but just far enough to find some solitude.

That was when I saw it.

A small stream, its waters glistening under the pale light of the moon.

Something about the way it shimmered, the way the cold mist wrapped around my skin, sent a quiet thrill through me. But then, something else caught my eye—a pile of neatly folded clothes resting on a rock nearby.

A white sweatshirt. Khaki shorts. And underneath . . . well, I didn’t need to describe that part.

Pervince.

My heart gave a sharp, eager thump. He was here.

I glanced toward the water, and there—at the farthest edge of the stream—he sat, submerged in the rippling surface, his eyes closed in deep thought.

The sight of him—bathed in moonlight, water glistening against the firm lines of his body—stole the breath straight from my lungs. His face, usually masked with playful arrogance, was calm, serene.

And gods, was he beautiful.

A slow heat coiled between my thighs, an ache too strong to ignore.

I swallowed hard.

I should turn around. I should walk away.

But I didn’t.

Instead, my hands moved to the hem of my shirt. One piece of clothing at a time, I stripped away every layer separating me from the night’s embrace, until my skin was bare, tingling against the crisp evening air.

Then, I stepped forward—slowly, carefully—easing myself into the cool water. A shiver raced up my spine, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the temperature or the anticipation flooding my veins.

As I moved closer, I kept my gaze on him, watching the way his chest rose and fell in steady breaths.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

When I finally reached his side, I hesitated for just a heartbeat. My fingers itched to touch, to explore. And after a long, wavering breath, I let them.

The moment my fingertips brushed against the taut muscles of his abdomen, I shivered again—this time, purely from arousal.

I traced lower, my fingers gliding through the slick water until they met something warmer, something coarser—the fine curls just above his most intimate part.

A thrill shot through me.

Then, finally, I reached what I was looking for.

The moment my hand wrapped around his hardened length, my body trembled, anticipation curling deep within me.

And that was when his eyes snapped open.