Stiles sat frozen on the plush cream sofa, the glass of orange juice forgotten in her hand. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker. Talia and Peter watched her carefully, like they were waiting for her to bolt—or laugh in their faces.

“Seduce your son,” Stiles repeated slowly, voice soft but edged with disbelief. “Date him. Fuck him. Make him feel good. That’s the job?”

Talia leaned forward, hands clasped tight in her lap. “Yes. Derek… he’s missing out on so much. He’s brilliant, top of his class, kind to everyone. But he’s so shy. Girls try to talk to him and he just… blushes and runs. He’s never even been on a real date. Never kissed anyone properly. Never felt… that rush. That connection. We’re terrified he’ll graduate, move on to some big career, and look back wondering why he never let himself live.”

Peter’s deep voice cut in, quieter than usual. “He’s our only boy. We’ve given him everything—money, education, safety. But we can’t give him confidence with women. That has to come from experience. Real experience. Someone gentle. Someone who knows what she’s doing.”

Stiles blinked, processing. “And you think I’m that someone.”

Talia reached into her designer handbag on the side table and pulled out a small, glossy printed photograph—professional quality, the kind taken for a family album or university profile. She handed it to Stiles with both hands, almost reverently.

Stiles took it. Her fingers brushed the edges.

The photo showed Derek standing outside what looked like the university library. Tall. Broad shoulders filling out a simple white t-shirt. Messy dark hair falling into his eyes. Full lips curved in a shy half-smile, like he didn’t even realize someone was capturing the moment. Big, warm doe eyes looking straight at the camera—innocent, devastating, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Stiles’s breath caught hard.

Holy fuck.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was… unreal. The kind of face that made your thighs clench just looking at it. She could already imagine how those soft lips would feel trembling against hers, how those long fingers would hesitate before finally gripping her hips.

Talia watched her reaction closely. “That’s our Derek.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, thumb brushing over his face on the print. “He’s… gorgeous.”

Peter exhaled, almost relieved. “We thought you’d see it.”

Talia continued, voice earnest. “We’ll pay you. A lot. One million dollars. Just one or two months. Meet him by ‘accident’—we’ll tell you exactly where and when. Flirt. Date him. Take him to bed when he’s ready. Show him how incredible it feels to be wanted. To touch. To come. To have someone moan your name like you’re everything.”

Stiles stared at the photo again, heart pounding. A million dollars. She could vanish after this if she wanted. No more clients. No more late nights pretending. Freedom.

But this boy… this shy, perfect boy staring back at her from the paper…

She looked up. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” Peter said. “We’ve thought this through. You’re perfect. Experienced. Kind—we read the reviews. You make people feel good, not used.”

Stiles let out a small, breathless laugh. “And you’re okay with me fucking your barely-legal son?”

“He’s twenty-three,” Talia said quickly. “Adult. And we trust you to be gentle. Patient. Make it beautiful for him.”

Stiles bit her lip, eyes flicking back to the photo. God, those lips. She could already picture them parted in a gasp when she first touched him.

“I’ll do it,” she said finally. “Sure. I’m in.”

Talia’s shoulders sagged with relief. Peter gave a single nod.

“But,” Talia added, voice firmer now, “there are rules.”

Stiles raised a brow. “Of course there are.”

“First—no falling in love. He’s only twenty-three. You’re thirty. You’re… in this line of work. We don’t want him getting attached in a way that breaks his heart when it ends. This is temporary. A lesson. Not forever.”

The words hit Stiles like a quiet slap. A sharp pang bloomed in her chest—unexpected, unwelcome. She covered it instantly with a bright, practiced smile. “Of course not. I don’t do love, darling. I do orgasms. He’ll be safe.”

Talia exhaled. “Good. Second—no other clients during this time. Exclusive to him. We don’t want any… overlap. Any risk.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Understood. No side dick.”

“Third—protection. Always. Condoms. Every time. He’s never done this before. We want him healthy. Safe.”

“Obviously,” Stiles said. “I’m clean, tested monthly. I’ll make sure he wraps up. Or I’ll handle it.”

“Fourth—and most important,” Peter said, leaning forward. “He can never know this was arranged. Ever. It has to feel natural. Organic. Like fate. If he finds out we paid someone to sleep with him… it’ll destroy him.”

Stiles met his eyes. Serious now. “I understand. I’m good at making things feel real. He’ll think he seduced me. Or that I couldn’t resist him. Whatever story works. No slips. No hints.”

Talia smiled, small and grateful. “Thank you.”

Peter reached into his jacket, pulled out a slim envelope. Opened it. A check. Two hundred thousand dollars. Advance.

Stiles’s eyes widened. She took it with careful fingers.

“The rest when the job’s done,” he said. “When he’s… confident. Dating on his own. Living.”

Stiles folded the check, tucked it into her tiny purse. “Deal. I promise—I’m gonna bring your shy boy out of that shell. He won’t know what hit him.”

Talia stood, eyes shining. “We trust you, Stiles.”

Peter gave her a small, rare smile. “Thank you.”

Stiles rose, smoothing her tiny dress down her thighs. “I’ll make him feel like the hottest man alive. You’ll see.”

They walked her to the door. Hugs—awkward but warm. Talia even pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Be gentle with our baby,” she whispered.

Stiles winked. “I’m always gentle… until he begs me not to be.”

Then she was gone, heels clicking down the marble hallway, check burning a hole in her bag, Derek’s printed photo carefully tucked between the pages of her planner.

Back in her apartment—small, cozy, fairy lights strung across the ceiling—Stiles kicked off her heels, peeled the white dress down her body like shedding skin. Naked now, skin flushed from the adrenaline.

She padded to the bedroom, pulled the printed photo from her planner, and set it on the pillow beside her. Derek’s face stared up—shy smile, big eyes, that perfect throat.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Talia.

“Saturday morning, 10 a.m. High-end grocery store —the one with the organic section. He goes there every Saturday to buy his things. Make it look natural, okay? Good luck.”

Stiles smiled slow and wicked. She typed back: “Sure thing. I’ve got this.”

She set the phone aside. Legs spreading automatically on the silk sheets. She picked up the photo again, holding it close so she could stare right into those innocent eyes.

“God, Derek…” she whispered, voice already husky. “You have no fucking idea.”

Her free hand slid down her stomach, fingers finding her clit—already swollen, slick with anticipation. She circled slow, breath hitching.

“Gonna ‘accidentally’ bump into you in that aisle… bend over real slow to pick up something off the bottom shelf so you see how short my skirt is. See the lace of my thong barely covering my fat pink pussy.”

She pinched her nipple hard, rolling it. Hips rolling up into her touch.

“Gonna flirt until your ears turn red. Call you ‘handsome’ just to watch you stutter. Brush my tits against your arm when I reach for something. Watch your jeans get tight.”

Faster circles now. Her clit throbbed under her fingers.

“Gonna drag you somewhere quiet eventually… maybe the parking lot, maybe your car if you let me. Kiss that pretty mouth until you’re shaking. Teach you how to touch me—how to squeeze my big tits, how to suck my nipples until I moan your name.”

She moaned low, thighs trembling.

“Gonna drop to my knees for you, baby boy. Take that virgin cock down my throat. Let you fuck my face while you whimper and pull my hair. You’re gonna come so hard you forget how to breathe.”

Two fingers slipped inside her—pink, fat pussy clenching greedily. She fucked herself slow, deep, imagining it was him—tentative at first, then desperate.

“Then I’m gonna ride you. Sit on that big dick and bounce until you’re begging. Gonna make you feel how tight I am. How wet. How much I want you.”

Her back arched. Breath ragged.

“Gonna make you come inside me—condom on, but I’ll clench so hard you’ll think it’s heaven. Whisper in your ear how good you are. How big. How perfect. How I can’t get enough.”

She curled her fingers, hitting that spot. Thumb frantic on her clit.

“Come for me, Derek… come in your shy little mommy’s slut… fuck—yes—”

She shattered. Hard. Legs shaking, pussy pulsing around her fingers, a broken moan tearing from her throat as she stared at his photo the whole time.

When she came down, panting, sweaty, she pressed a soft, filthy kiss to the printed photo—right on those full lips.

“Saturday, baby boy,” she murmured. “Your life’s about to get so fucking good.