Chapter 1: The Bar and the Bargain
The neon glow of the go-go bar bled through the sticky air like a wound that wouldn't close. Pink and blue lights flickered across mirrored walls, catching the glitter on half-dressed bodies moving in practiced, hypnotic rhythms. The bass thumped through the floor, up through the cheap wooden bar, vibrating against the bottle of Singha in Jussi's hand.
He'd been here three nights now, and he still felt like a tourist in the worst way—too tall, too blond, too obviously Finnish. The other men at the bar had that hungry look, the one he'd seen in his own mirror back in Helsinki before he'd booked this trip. But their hunger was different. Sharper. More desperate.
Jussi just felt... lost.
The dancer on stage caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back, raised his beer, then looked away. She was beautiful, but they all were. That was the point, wasn't it? He'd come to Thailand to escape the crushing monotony of his life back home—the same apartment, the same job, the same faces in the same bars—but he hadn't expected to feel so transparent here. So readable.
His phone buzzed. A message from his sister: Are you having fun? Send pictures!
He typed back: Lots of fun. Beach is amazing. He didn't mention he'd spent most of the day walking aimlessly through Patong, dodging tuk-tuk drivers and ladyboy catcallers, feeling the sun burn his pale skin while other tourists laughed and drank and paired off like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Hello, handsome man."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, soft and accented, curling through the bass like smoke. Jussi turned, and there she was.
She slid onto his lap with the grace of someone who'd done it a thousand times, and the ease of it should have been off-putting. But Jussi found he didn't mind. She was wearing a tiny red bikini top and even tinier shorts, her flat, toned stomach brushing against his arm as she settled against him. Her dark eyes glittered in the pink light, sharp and assessing, taking him in.
"You look lonely," she said. "You are Finnish? Swedish? German?"
"Finnish," Jussi managed. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "Jussi."
"I am Mali. But my friends call me Ploy." She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "You do not like my bar, Jussi?"
"I like it fine." He gestured vaguely at the stage. "It's a lot."
"It is a lot." Ploy laughed, and the sound was surprising—genuine, almost warm. She shifted on his lap, her firm breast pressing against his chest as she leaned closer. "But you are not dancing. You are not talking to anyone. Just sitting here looking like a sad puppy."
Jussi snorted. "That obvious?"
"Very obvious." Her hand landed on his thigh, light and casual, but her eyes were watching him with an intensity that made his stomach twist. "I think you need help. I am very good at helping."
The price came out quiet, almost gentle, like she was offering him a glass of water after a long hike. Jussi's heart hammered against his ribs. He should say no. He barely knew this girl. She was so young—God, she had to be around his sister's age.
But she was also looking at him like she could see straight through his skin to the hollow place inside, and that was more tempting than any dance on that stage.
"How much?" The words came out before he could stop them.
Ploy smiled, slow and knowing, and slid off his lap. She held out her hand. "We discuss later. First, you buy me drink. Then we see."
The walk to his hotel took five minutes. The corridor was cheap and dim, the carpet stained in places, and Ploy walked beside him with the unhurried confidence of a cat. She didn't hold his hand, didn't link her arm through his—she just walked, hips swaying, head held high.
Jussi fumbled with the key card, feeling clumsy and too big in the narrow hallway. Ploy leaned against the wall, watching him with an amused glint in her dark eyes.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"A little." He didn't bother lying. She'd see through it anyway.
"Don't be." She pushed off the wall and stepped close, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something sweet and floral, oddly innocent. Her hand came up to his chest, flat against his heart. "I am very good. You will enjoy."
The door clicked open. Jussi pushed it, and they stepped into the room together.
The sterile white sheets glared in the flickering fluorescent light. The air conditioner hummed in the corner, spitting out cold air that did nothing to cut the electric tension crackling between them. Ploy walked past him, kicked off her sandals, and turned to face him.
"Lock the door."
Jussi did. His fingers were shaking slightly as he slid the bolt home. When he turned back, she'd already shed her top.
She wasn't trying to be provocative about it—she simply removed it like it was a chore, folding it neatly and setting it on the dresser. Her breasts were full and heavy, out of proportion with her petite frame, and Jussi felt his mouth go dry. She caught him staring and smirked.
"You like?"
Jussi nodded, unable to form words.
"Good." She stepped toward him and unbuttoned his jeans with practiced ease, dropping to her knees. "Now we have fun."
The first time was embarrassingly quick. Jussi lasted maybe two minutes, tops, his face burning as he buried himself inside her—she'd guided him in, showing him exactly how to angle his hips, her hand wrapped around the base of the condom to keep it in place. He'd gritted his teeth, tried to think of anything else, but her warmth and the way she looked up at him with those dark, patient eyes undid him in seconds.
"Sorry," he gasped, collapsing beside her. "I'm sorry, I—"
Ploy laughed, light and genuine, and rolled onto her side to face him. "Is okay. Happens to everyone. You Finnish men are always so apologetic." She traced a finger down his chest, following the line of sweat. "We try again?"
Jussi blinked. "You're not—you don't mind?"
"Why would I mind? We have all night." Her smile softened, just a fraction. "Unless you are done?"
No. No, he wasn't done. The embarrassment was already fading, replaced by a surge of determination. He reached for her, pulling her into a kiss, and this time he was ready.
She took him in her mouth first, and the sight of her—kneeling between his legs, her dark hair spilling across his thighs, her tongue working with practiced skill—dragged a low groan from his throat. He buried his hands in her hair, not pulling, just holding, and she hummed around him until he was hard again.
"Now," she said, ""You take me."
She straddled him, and Jussi's breath caught. She looked like something out of a dream, riding him slowly at first, her hips rolling in a rhythm that felt ancient and perfect. Then she leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, and the angle changed, and Jussi thought he might die.
"Yes," she breathed, picking up the pace. "Like that. That's good."
He gripped her hips, helping her move, losing himself in the sight of her. The way her body arched. The way the light caught the sheen of sweat on her skin. The way she looked at him like she was enjoying herself too, not just performing, but actually feeling it.
The second time, he lasted longer. When she finally slid off him and turned around, bending over the edge of the bed with her palms flat against the mattress, Jussi's mouth went dry. He stepped behind her, gripped her hips, and drove into her.
The sound she made was not performance. It was raw. It was real.
Jussi found his rhythm, his hands sliding up her back, her shoulders, pulling her toward him until her spine curved and she gasped. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the skin there, and she moaned his name—not Jussi, but the way she said it, Yu-si, so soft and broken.
Something cracked open in his chest.
The third time was the last, and it was the one that destroyed him. Ploy guided him onto his back, then lifted her legs onto his shoulders, and the position was so intimate it felt like a violation. He could see everything. The way her breasts swayed with each thrust. The way her lips parted. The way her eyes stayed fixed on his, dark and deep and unreadable.
He drove into her with everything he had, chasing something he couldn't name, and when the orgasm hit, it was like lightning through his spine. He roared, a sound torn from somewhere primal, his hands gripping her hips as he emptied himself into the condom.
Ploy came too—or pretended to, he wasn't sure—her body shuddering around him as she cried out, her fingers curling against his shoulders.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ploy laughed, soft and breathless, and carefully lifted her legs off his shoulders. She peeled off the condom, tied it off, and dropped it in the trash can by the bed. When she turned back, she was smiling, her cheeks flushed, a strand of hair stuck to her forehead.
"See?" she said."I told you. Very good."
Jussi lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. His entire body hummed, boneless and wrecked.
"That was..." He struggled for words. "That was incredible."
"I know." Ploy slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. She wiped herself clean with brisk efficiency, then picked up her top. "I have to go. Another customer waits."
The words hit Jussi like a bucket of cold water. He sat up, opening his mouth to say something—what, he didn't know.
"You can stay if you want," he heard himself say. "I mean, if you want to just... hang out. Or sleep."
Ploy paused, her top half-on. She looked at him, really looked, and something flickered in her eyes. But it was gone before he could name it.
"That is not how it works, Yu-si." She pulled on the top, fastened her shorts, and slipped her sandals back on. "But you were nice. Kinder than most." She touched his cheek, a brief, almost maternal gesture. "Maybe I see you again."
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, and Jussi was left alone in the humming silence of the room.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, smelling her perfume still caught in his skin.
The room felt emptier than it had before she'd arrived.