Try to negotiate

Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Ethan's chest. He couldn’t just… hand it over. That would mean standing here, in the open doorway, completely exposed to Gaby—to anyone who might walk by. His mind raced, scrambling for a way out.

“Uh, about the towel,” he began, his voice tight as he **** a laugh. It came out more like a dying pigeon. “I mean, look at it—it’s practically vintage at this point. Antiques Roadshow might pay money for this thing. I could, uh… upgrade you? Get you something fluffy. Luxurious. Spa quality.”

He gestured vaguely down the hall with one hand, the other instinctively pressing against the knot at his hip—the way someone might try to hold a dam closed with a single finger.

Bad move.

Her eyes dropped instantly.

The thin white cotton was betraying him spectacularly. A clear tent now pushed outward, the outline of him unmistakable. The soft head of his cock strained against the top hem, threatening to peek over like it was trying to introduce itself. A faint dark spot of pre-cum bloomed at the tip, making the thin fabric cling indecently.

Gaby’s eyebrows lifted, her smile sliding into something warm, knowing, and predatory. “Oh, sweetheart,” she crooned, dripping with faux sympathy. “You look like you’re growing very fond of it. But it’s mine. And a deal’s a deal, isn’t it? I’m sure Chloe explained the rules.”

Ethan let out a weak laugh. “Oh, she explained things, all right. She left out the part where my soul would be on the line, but, you know—minor oversight.”

Gaby leaned in slightly, lowering her voice in a way that made his knees wobble.

“Unless,” she murmured, “you want to come in and discuss… alternatives.”

Her gaze locked on the stiffening towel.

The invitation was blatant. Dangerous.

He felt himself throb in response—deep, involuntary, humiliating.

Before his brain could even begin to process the possibility—the terrifying, thrilling image of stepping inside her apartment—a sharp metallic ding echoed down the hallway.

The elevator.

Someone was coming.

His blood froze. His head snapped left. The doors halfway down the hall were sliding open, and the sound of voices spilled out—two of them. Female. Laughing about something. Getting closer. They would walk down a hall and turn, into the section of hallway where he stood.

He was half-hard, getting harder, wearing nothing but a towel that was on loan from the woman currently watching him like a cat watches a cornered mouse

He had seconds.

Gaby didn’t help. She didn’t close the door. She didn’t even pretend to hide him. She just watched, amused, delighted, expectant—the exact expression Chloe must have promised her.

Ethan swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…okay, cool, cool, cool, no panic, love this journey for me.”

He had to decide.

Right now.