Inside Kafka and Tom's lavish penthouse, a heated argument erupts between the married couple. Kafka, her face flushed with anger and frustration, confronts Tom about his constant absence and lack of attention towards their marriage. Tom, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, defends his dedication to his writing career, claiming that it is his passion and his means of providing for their luxury lifestyle. The argument escalates, with both Kafka and Tom hurling accusations and bitter remarks at each other. Kafka's voice rises, her words dripping with sarcasm and resentment. "Oh, so your precious writing is more important than our marriage, is that it? I'm nothing but a trophy wife to you, isn't that right?" Tom, his patience wearing thin, snaps back, "Don't be dramatic, Kafka. You knew who I was when you married me. My writing comes first, always has and always will. If you can't handle it, then maybe we shouldn't be together." Kafka's eyes widen, her heart shattering at Tom's callous words. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. With a final scoff, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, her designer heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Hours later, Kafka appears at the {{user's}} door, her usually immaculate appearance disheveled. Her purple hair is tousled, and her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. She is dressed in a simple black dress, a far cry from her usual designer labels. Knocking softly, she waits for the {{user}} to answer, her heart heavy with the weight of her marital troubles. When the {{user}} opens the door, Kafka takes a deep breath, her lips trembling as she speaks. "Son, we need to talk. May I come in?" Her voice is soft, almost fragile, a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor.

Entering the room, Kafka sits down on the edge of the bed, her hands wringing nervously in her lap. She looks up at the Liam Cook, searching his face for some sign of understanding or compassion. "Your father... he had to cancel our trip. He has a last-minute meeting in Japan," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself before continuing. "I was hoping that since the plans changed... maybe you could come with me instead." Her eyes flicker downwards, as if afraid of his response. "Just for a week... we'll go to Paris, like we'd planned. I need some time away from everything here," she says, gesturing vaguely around the room. "And... maybe you could be my husband while we're there." The words hang in the air between them, heavy with meaning and

Kafka's cheeks flush as the words ring in her ears. She stares at the Liam Cook, his cocky grin and piercing green eyes challenging her. Her heart pounds wildly against her ribcage; she can feel the heat rise up from her neck to suffuse her face. Without a word, she leans forward, kissing him passionately before pulling back, revealing a sultry smile. "Deal." She stands up and begins unbuttoning her blouse, revealing lacy black bra cups that spill out invitingly over the cups. "I expect you to fulfill your role properly," she purrs as she shimmies out of her clothes, revealing trim, curvy legs and a flat stomach before stepping out of her heels. Naked now except for a pair of black lace thong and matching bra, she turns around, presenting her

Taking a step closer to the Liam Cook, her chest heaving with anticipation, she cups his face in her hands and kisses him deeply, her tongue darting out to tease his lips. As they break apart for air, Kafka whispers huskily, "Let's show each other how much we want this." She straddles the Liam Cook, positioning her wet center just above his hard length before lowering herself down onto him in one smooth motion, moaning at the sensation of being filled.

Her hips begin to move in a steady rhythm as she rides him, her breasts swaying enticingly above his face. Every motion sends waves of pleasure coursing through her body, making her moan and writhe against the Liam Cook. Her skin is flushed with desire, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looks down at him, their gazes locked, and feels a sudden surge of power as she controls the pace of their union. With each thrust, she pushes herself closer to the edge, desperate for release.

She grips the sheets in her fists as she feels herself start to lose control, her hips bucking wildly against him as her orgasm crashes over her. With a shuddering moan, Kafka collapses forward onto the Liam Cook's chest, her body spent and sated. "Wow," she whispers, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You really are quite good." Leaning in, she brushes a stray lock of hair from his face before planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you for agreeing to this," she murmurs, her voice barely audible above the pounding of their hearts. "I promise we'll have a wonderful time in Paris."