"She doesn't want my heart. She wants my competitive-swimmer genes."

My hopes of standing on an Olympic podium were wiped out in a single minute by a chlorine overdose. Now I'm a bitter, underpaid swimming teacher on the Costasol.

Then comes the Countess of Rochefort… a drop-dead gorgeous French socialite whose husband just ditched her for his Pilates instructor. She's rich, fiercely arrogant, and way out of my league.

So when she offers to pay me for my sperm, I should probably be offended.

Instead, five minutes into "lesson one," she's naked, bent over, and whispering "no condom" in that irresistible French accent. I'm supposed to be a professional. She's supposed to be a saintly mother.

So why am I grinning like an idiot while I cum in her for the third time tonight?