just like heaven

Harry was nearly in a state of disbelief at your answer that night, resulting in him practically floating throughout the office for the next few days. A soft smile was permanently plastered across his face, and his mother instantly knew that he met someone.

The nagging from his parents has subsided since Christmas. Charlotte’s getting closer to her due date, so they’ve been putting all their focus on her and Peter. Harry is thankful for that, of course, but he still doesn’t expect it when his mother pulls him to the side after a long meeting.

“Who did you meet?” she asks, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“What are you talking about?” he feigns nonchalance, earning a small huff from her.

“You can’t hide from me, Harry,” she says softly. “Who is she?”

Harry’s expression softens, giving in to his mother and telling her about you. As he does, he can’t keep a smile from tugging at his lips, a knowing glint glistening behind his mother’s eyes.

But he knows he still has to be careful. He doesn’t want this to end up the same way it did with Lucy, so he’d keep his cards close.

Within the following week, you’d let him know that you would be free all day on Friday. The two of you agreed that you would take turns picking where you went on dates. Since he picked Scalini Fedeli, he let you pick the next place.

What he doesn’t expect is you picking a diner near Central Park. It’s nearly 30 minutes away from his place, and Bryce could barely see the place because it’s so tucked away. A hidden gem, you called it over the phone. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, wondering what you meant exactly.

It’s deeper into the city, surrounded by trees that are starting to bloom again in the early spring. The city seems quieter over here, like it’s muffled by thick smoke, unaware of by the public.

Harry approaches the place cautiously, dressed casually just like you asked. 

This isn’t his scene. There’s no bling. No expensive looking decor. Just something warm and almost familiar, like it’s a family owned business.

He pulls out his phone after it buzzes in his pocket, the screen lighting up with a new message from you.

“I’m inside. Just come right in (back corner by the big window).”

Harry takes in the information, pocketing his phone and pushing the glass door open. The smell of sizzling bacon hits his nostrils immediately, a bell over the door chiming to signal a new customer.

“Sit wherever you like!” a woman calls out, carrying a large tray of steaming breakfast.

He takes in his environment: natural lighting, the atmosphere warm and inviting, mostly families in the booths, vinyl seats cracked from love, and the air thick with the smell of maple syrup and freshly cooked eggs.

The appeal is very obvious to him. 

His eyes dart around the place, spotting you in the back corner booth, just like you said. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his feet carrying him towards you quicker than his mind can process.

You’re dressed just as casually as him, if not more. A cropped white shirt hugs your frame, paired with light-washed baggy jeans and white Converse to match your shirt. Your hair falls loosely around your face, its natural form more present today. He’s never seen you so… relaxed.

When you stand to give him a hug, it takes him by surprise. Though, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle and inhaling your scent. It feels better than it should for going slow, and he’s almost tempted to let his hands roam. 

But he keeps it respectful, chastising himself for letting his mind go there when the both of you agreed to go slowly.

He doesn’t pull back until he feels your arms slip from around his neck, a mischievous glint shimmering in your eyes. “I hope you didn’t get too lost.”

Harry chuckles, sliding into the booth across from you. “This place was a little difficult to find.”

You shrug faintly, “I said it was a hidden gem, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Harry nods once, a waitress coming over to place a menu on the table for him.

“Ah,” the woman starts, “your date finally showed?”

 “He did,” you nod, confirming Mabel’s question. “He got lost.”

She chuckles warmly, “Yeah, this place is a treasure. Been around for… 70 years now.”

Harry stays silent as you and the woman speak, noting how familiar the two of you seem with each other. His eyes scan over the menu, practically everything sticking out to him and making his mouth water.

How the hell did he not know about this place? It’s a wonder – the places he can still find in a city he’s lived in his entire life. To be fair, he’s only been around luxury growing up, so this is a strangely nice change of pace in things.

He’s showing you slices of his life and you’re showing slices of yours.

Perhaps this is what he needs: someone to keep him humble and down to Earth. He already isn’t one to flaunt his money in people’s faces, but he does enjoy splurging nearly every day. It’s just what he’s used to.

But is that what you want? Someone to splurge on you and buy you all the fancy things you could possibly think of?

If it is, he doesn’t think he’d hesitate to do so. Hell, he’d probably give you the moon and stars if you asked.

Slow, he reminds himself. The two of you agreed to take things slow.

He’s learned from his past mistakes when it came to relationships. When he was younger, he’d buy his partner a $4000 bag if they just looked at it too long. In doing so, he learned the hard way that a lot of people will stay with someone just because of how many numbers are behind the first comma in their bank account. 

You don’t seem to be someone like that, but looks can be very perceiving. 

To Harry, you seem very put together and happy with the way you’re living. He wouldn’t shy away from making your life better – but only if you asked.

When Mabel walks away, he glances at you over his menu. “You two seem very friendly,” he points out.

You cross your arms, placing them on the table. “Are you jealous?”

He chuckles faintly, deciding to be honest. “A little, yeah.”

You chuckle with him, “I’ve known Mabel almost my entire life. She’s practically like a mother to me.”

The admission hangs between both of you, Harry’s expression softening at the thought. “That’s very sweet of her,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I cried to her and Sloane for hours after…” You trail off, not really wanting to talk about that point in your life.

Harry takes the hint, deciding to change the topic of conversation. “Sloane is your friend, right? I picked you up from her place?”

“My best friend,” you correct him gently, “And yeah, that was her place.”

He nods, taking in the information. “How’d you two meet?”

You chuckle fondly as your memories of prepubescent Sloane and you fill your mind. “We met in middle school. A boy was messing with me at lunch – I think he was trying to put gum in my hair or something, I don’t really remember.”

Harry listens intently, noticing the smile that won’t stop tugging at your lips as you reminisce.

“But Sloane got up from her table, walked over and pushed him to the floor,” both you and Harry share a small laugh. “She had a very authoritative tone when she told him to leave me alone, as well as all of the other girls he’d been bothering. And then she turned to me and said, ‘My name’s Sloane, and I’ll be your new friend.’ Before I can really process anything, she picked up my lunch tray and told me to follow her to her table, and now we’re here.”

Harry laughs quietly, “She sounds like a really good friend.”

You nod, “She is. I can go to her for anything and everything.”

Before he can stop himself, he says what’s on his mind. “I hope you don’t ever have to go to her about me.”

A look of surprise flashes across your face, heat spreading to your cheeks before you chuckle incredulously. “I kinda already have: I was freaking myself out before our last date… which is part of the reason why you had to pick me up from her place.”

Harry shakes his head slowly, “I mean for problems.”

You huff softly, nodding once. “Right, I knew that.”

Both of you share a laugh, the conversation flowing effortlessly. It feels like the both of you have known each other for years rather than just a few months. Harry never thought his life would change this much since meeting you in December, but he’s more grateful for it than he can admit right now.

After finishing breakfast, you watch Harry wipe his mouth with a napkin, leaning back in the booth with a content sigh.

“So?” you ask, an expectant look on your face as you clasp your hands together and rest your chin on them.

Harry chuckles, doing the same thing with his hands but putting them in his lap instead. “It was really good,” he states, shaking his head playfully. 

“Great,” you smile softly, “I have a very short list of people that I’ve brought here, so you’re lucky.”

“Am I?” he asks, placing his forearms on the edge of the table, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Should I be grateful for that?”

You mimic him, leaning in slightly, “You should.”

He leans in as well, eyes boring into yours. This close, you can count the freckles on his face, his deep espresso eyes that remind you of something familiar. Whether you’ve been there or not is up in the air now, but you wouldn’t say no to being taken there.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he softly murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” you say in the same tone, nodding once.

Harry’s eyes wander, landing on the tote bag he finally notices next to you. He points his chin towards it, “What’s in the bag?”

You chuckle, blindly reaching to cover the contents of your bag. “It’s a surprise.”

“Uh-huh,” for now, he brushes it off, reaching for his wallet when Mabel brings the bill and collects empty dishes. 

“We should probably go to the restroom before we head to the park,” you suggest, watching him place his credit card on top of the receipt.

“Why is that?” he asks.

“Because we’ll be there for a while,” you smile sweetly at him, batting your eyelashes.

Harry chuckles quietly, placing his wallet back in his pocket.

Mabel comes back after a minute to collect the receipt and Harry’s credit card, giving you a subtle wink. You stand up when Harry does, placing your bag over your shoulder and heading towards the back of the diner where the restrooms are. Harry follows after you, stopping in front of the men’s restroom to look over his shoulder at you before you both disappear into your respective restrooms. Only, you don’t stay in yours. 

Quickly, you make your way to the front of the building, spotting Mabel waiting for you with Harry’s card in hand. “Are you sure you wanna do this, hon? I mean, this is an American Express card. You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, pulling out your own wallet. “He’s paid for everything we’ve done so far, so it’s my turn,” you hand her your credit card, exchanging it out for Harry’s.

Curiosity gets the best of you, prompting you to study his card. “He’s had this for a while,” you murmur, noticing the ‘MEMBER SINCE 09’ indented on the card.

The chime of your card approving pulls you out of your small daze, smiling faintly at Mabel as you take it back and sign the receipt.

“You know,” she starts, “a little birdie once told me that you hate when someone else takes care of you.”

Of course you know she’s talking about your father, pulling a huff from you. “Within good reason,” you claim, “The only person that will constantly show up for you is yourself.”

She frowns slightly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Well, Harry seems to be doin’ alright so far to me. Let him take care of you the way that he wants to.”

You nod once when she pats your shoulder before walking over to your table to place down the receipt. You mull over her words. You hated when she was right, but you know the woman is full of wisdom and experience. 

Mabel used to be exactly like you, until she met her husband. And they’ve been together for 60 years now.

As you walk back towards the restrooms, you place Harry’s card on top of the receipt with care before slipping into the restroom.

When you come back, Harry is chatting with Mabel. He seems relaxed with her and it brings a smile to your face. “Well,” you start, stopping next to him, “who seems friendly now?”

He chuckles at your tease, picking up the receipt and turning it towards you. “You paid?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” he draws out, shaking his head. “Just this once, okay?”

His response takes you by surprise. “You keep saying things like that, and I might think you like me, Harry Castillo.”

“Maybe I do,” he murmurs, looking down at you as he juts his chin towards you.

A mischievous look spreads across your face, narrowing your eyes and pointing your finger at him.

The air smells of pollen, meat from a vendor, and freshly cut grass. This past winter was quite harsh in New York and Harry doesn’t know when the last time they had a day this warm was. It’s a nice change from the last few months.

Various people lay in the grass, some under trees on a picnic blanket, others directly under the sun and enjoying sandwiches.

“What are we doing here?” he asks once you find an unoccupied tree.

Instead of answering, you pull out a quilt from your tote bag, laying it out in the shade. “Patience,” is all you say, sitting down and patting the spot next to you.

Harry looks around, hands in his pockets before he sits with a groan. When the two of you make eye contact, you share a laugh.

“How well did you do in art class?” you inquire, pulling out the contents of your cream tote bag.

Suddenly, Harry is back in school, hearing his art teacher tell him to present his drawing to the class. He groans when you pull out art supplies, “No, no. This is one thing you do not want me doing.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at your belongings like they’ve personally offended him.

“You’re cute,” you scrunch your nose at him, taking out the rest of your stuff.

Despite himself, warmth blooms in Harry’s chest at your comment, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“How about,” you start, staring at everything you brought, “instead of painting as well, we just draw with pencils. No expectations. Just… draw whatever comes to mind.”

He weighs the two options, deciding to go for the latter choice. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly, “Great.”

Harry takes a small canvas when you hand it to him, murmuring a thank you before he picks up a pencil. He has no idea what he’s going to draw, but he begins anyway.

Conversation flows as the both of you focus on your own canvases, birds flying high, the sun dipping lower in the sky, making the air breezier. Laughs are shared, Harry shamelessly admiring the way your whole face lights up when you find something amusing. 

He wants to see that more. Even better if he’s the one making you smile.

Perhaps this is the type of relationship he needs; one where there’s no expectations, no rules, no rush. 

Just easy.

No math.

Maybe Lucy was right – as much as he hates to admit it. He didn’t think she was when she first told him that, but now that he’s looking at you, he knows exactly what she meant. 

It’s nearly enough to make him forget entirely about taking things slow. Just to know how you take your coffee in the morning, whether you sleep on the right or left side of the bed, whether you’re a morning person or night owl. To know how your hand feels in his, how soft your skin is, whether you fit against him like a puzzle piece or not. 

All these little things that he’d love to know about you, but he knows he needs to have patience.

Honestly, he never thought he’d find himself on a date in the park, but this isn’t so bad. At least you’re here with him and enjoying the time you’re spending together.

Somewhere in the distance, the familiar tune of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off You’ by Frankie Valli starts playing, causing you to chuckle and look up from your canvas.

“Oh, boy,” Harry laughs along with you.

“Maybe someone’s getting proposed to,” you infer, “Lots of proposals happen in this very park.”

“Yeah?” he tilts his head to the side slightly, amused that you know that. “You sit here often then?”

You shrug faintly, “It’s a good place to sit with my thoughts if I don’t want to be in my apartment anymore.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement, taking in your words. The differences in your lives still amazes him; you like to go to diners and have dates in the park, he prefers fancy restaurants and the finest things in New York. 

To him, the more expensive the date is, the more romantic it is. But to you, the more intimate it seems, it’s more romantic to you.

Harry likes it more than he’ll let on.

The two of you continue drawing, listening to the peaceful surroundings as the sky slowly changes colors as the sun sets. A breeze passes through, rustling the trees and whispering through your hair.

Despite himself, Harry steals a long glance at you. The soft, golden light filters through the branches of the tree, landing on you. Your skin almost glows, making you look more beautiful than ever. He has to fight the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear, or run his knuckles over your cheek.

Taking it slow is going to be a lot harder than he thought. Perhaps he shouldn’t, but he also doesn’t want to rush you into anything you’re not quite ready for.

For now, he’ll keep his cards close, as long as you do. He considers himself a gentleman and he wouldn’t want to ruin this before it even got started.

After a while, he finishes his drawing, showing it to you. “How’s this?”

You study it, a grin spreading across your face at the flower he drew. It was a pretty detailed lilly – considering it was only done in pencil and he doesn't think he can draw. “That looks really good, Harry,” you gently take the canvas from him, studying the intricate details. “I thought you didn’t enjoy drawing?”

He shrugs, “Just because I don’t enjoy it, doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”

A small huff leaves you, shaking your head slowly as you hand it back to him. “I guess, yeah.”

“Now, let me see yours.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, narrowing your eyes by a fraction. “Bossy much?”

“What?” he feigns innocence, “Are you afraid that I’m a better drawer than you?”

“Right,” you draw out, “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

He snorts, setting down his canvas and crossing his arms over his chest. He nods towards yours, “Let me see it,” he repeats, gently this time.

You chuckle faintly, turning it around to show him. You drew a side profile of someone – said someone is Harry.

His breath catches as he stares at it.

It looks just like him. You captured the curve of his nose, the birthmark on his neck, the pout of his lips, his curls. 

He examines it for a minute, seeming to have lost his voice before he slowly reaches for it. You let him, wondering if the gesture is too forward for the status of your relationship.

Maybe he hates it.

Maybe he doesn’t want it.

But then he looks up at you – really looks at you. Like you’re the sole reason that the sun rises day after day. Like you’re the breath of fresh air that keeps the flowers alive during the spring.

“This is…” he trails off, looking down at the drawing again. “Wow.”

Anticipation fills you, desperately waiting for him to say something – anything. You’re not one to ask for a man’s validation, but for whatever reason, you want Harry’s.

“You really drew me,” he murmurs more to himself, the awe evident in his voice.

The sudden loss of words brings a small smile to your lips, giving you all the validation you need. 

He appreciates it.

“Thank you,” he meets your eyes again, “It’s perfect.”

Bryce drives the two of you to your apartment building. Harry keeps some distance in the back of the car. While you appreciate the chivalry, you wouldn’t mind if he insisted on you being pressed up against him – maybe an arm around your shoulders or waist, too.

Still, you bump your knee with his every now and then, watching his eyes drop to them in your peripheral vision, his lips curving under his mustache.

When he steps out, he offers you his hand, making your heart flutter at the gesture. “Such a gentleman,” you tease once you’re out, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

Harry chuckles, “I try.”

He walks you to your door in silence, his head down with his hands in his pockets. When you reach for your keys in your bag, he lifts his head, “I had a lot of fun today.”

You smile softly, “Really?” you inquire, unlocking your door but making no effort to go inside just yet.

“I’ve never done something like that before,” he admits, “but it was more enjoyable than I expected.”

“Well, I’m glad,” you murmur, feeling your blood rush to your cheeks.

How flustered you get around him isn’t normal for you, but it’s a welcome change. Guess he just has that kind of effect on you.

He nods once, a grin plastered on his face. “You’ll let me know when you’re free again?”

“Wow,” you draw out, deciding to mess with him, “So many dates in a row. I’m gonna start thinking that you enjoy my company.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now why would I admit something like that?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. Naturally, you tilt your head to the side, leaning closer towards him. “Because it’s true,” you whisper, watching his cheeks turn a faint shade of red this time.

“You caught me,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender, grinning from ear to ear, his dimples popping. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

It’s scary to admit how fast you’re falling for him. If you acknowledge it, that makes it real and serious. You haven’t had anything real in… well, ever, really. That’s the only thing holding you back from being bold with Harry. But if he won’t make a move, you might have to.

When he turns around, you swallow your pride, hooking your finger in his belt loop to pull him back towards you. He turns around, hands in the air when he feels your lips touch his.

Your fingers card through his soft curls at the nape of his neck. Harry doesn’t pull back. His hands come up to cup your face, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours, pulling a small moan from the both of you.

The kiss feels perfect, like the two of you were made for each other, for this.

This is still considered slow, right?

No, it’s not and you have zero self control.

Before it can go too far, you pull back first, placing a final kiss to his lips. You blindly reach in your bag, grabbing his canvas and pressing it against his chest.

Harry stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, his plush lips slightly red and swollen from kissing you. A sight you’d love to see again soon.

He shuffles back, placing his hand over the canvas.

“See you later,” you murmur, opening your door and slipping inside, leaving Harry in the hallway.

You lean back against the door; chest heaving, cheeks bright red, heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. God, you feel like a teenager all over again – smitten just because a boy said he likes you.

But Harry isn’t some boy.

And you know you’re falling hard.

The smile doesn’t leave your face, your hand lifting to press your fingertips to your lips. Heat spreads throughout your hand, your mouth still warm from Harry’s touch.

After all this time, you never thought you’d feel like this again. 

Yet, here you are.

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You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder. 

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin. 

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always. 

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.” 

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.” 

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction. 

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle. 

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning. 

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.” 

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.” 

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator. 

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you. 

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.” 

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs. 

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is. 

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel. 

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t. 

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator. 

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it. 

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.” 

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body. 

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin. 

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch. 

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.” 

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something. 

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated. 

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough. 

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t. 

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery. 

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements— it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you. 

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel. 

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.” 

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped. 

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor. 

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again. 

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

You’re not a prude. Sex isn’t aversive to you. And you suppose it can’t be considering what it is that you do for work.

A camerawoman for dirty films. Not a director, just the lucky girl that points and shoots. It’s not a bad gig, even though sometimes you do wish it paid a little more. Then you’d be able to drop your bartending job.

Recording people fucking all day then tending the bar all night, you rarely ever have time for yourself or any of the hobbies that you’ve attempted to start but haven’t nurtured simply because there aren’t enough hours in the day. 

During your downtime, you’re either sleeping or tending to your shit apartment that’s conveniently located above Lucky’s–– your night job. The only reason you can afford to live in Los Angeles is because of the cheap rent there and well, beggars can’t be choosers.

You hit the button on the elevator, currently taking you to the sixth floor of the surprisingly nice hotel the production company has booked a room in for tonight’s shoot.

Once you make it to room 606, you’re greeted by Steve, the sound guy. “You’re early.”

“Daddy got us a new toy and I wanted to test it out before we shot.” There’s a playful smile on your lips as you carefully show off the brand new camera bag with the device inside.

Steve whistles lowly, stepping aside to let you into the room. Looks very typical. Nice, grand bed in the center of the space. Desk, television stand, blah blah blah, and a bar cart.

You suavely make your way towards it, eyeing the small bottles that littered the glass top.

“Surprised you even got that thing. He’s as cheap as they come.”

You shrug, uncapping the small Fireball plastic bottle and swiftly downing it, the burn familiar and taste delicious. “I know, but considering how much money we’re making him, maybe he’s starting to realize our worth.”

You both share a knowing look then laugh. As if. That man would find any way to cut a corner. It’s honestly surprising how well his pornos do.

“Who are we shooting today?” You ask casually, beginning to set out the camera and all its attachments neatly on the desk.

“Lexxie Gold and…” He trails off, lanky form walking over to where his equipment is half set up, pulling out a tattered notebook that he flips through until he lands on the intended page. “Javier Peña.”

You can’t help the grimace that crosses over your face. Great. You’ve shot Peña a few times, each with a story that reminds you how much you dislike the guy.

Sure he seems to be a good fuck— but man was he cocky, annoying, and so damn full of himself.

Just because you have the biggest dick in the world, doesn’t mean you have to act like one.

“How fun.” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on the blonde man across from you and he doesn’t press— knowing you don’t get along with the star.

You curiously start messing around with the camera, flitting through its different settings, taking random videos of Steve as he finishes setting up while you chastise him playfully from the other side. 

Your fucking around is disrupted by a heavy knock on the door then the familiar voice of your boss and the director, Robbie, and you let him in with a brief hey.

The scene is simple enough: a honeymoon. How romantic. He wants to focus on close ups, hence why he bought the new camera.

“Gotta show them how pretty and erotic it really is.”

“I don’t really think they’re watching for the riveting cinematography.”

He shoots you a look and you raise your arms defensively before shrugging your shoulders and getting back to making some last minute camera adjustments.

Steve helps you finish dressing the place up, making the hotel room look like a lover’s getaway. Rose petals everywhere, moody lighting, it helps that the sun has fully set to really set the scene.

Not long after do Lexxie and Javier show up, his arm thrown around her shoulders, seemingly having met up on the ride up the elevator. She’s giggling over something he’s whispered in her ear, pushing at his chest playfully.

You suppose that’s why he’s so good at what he does— that goddamn charisma that seems to charm the underwear off of any woman, hell even some men, that cross his path. 

His chemistry with his co-stars is what’s made him so popular in the industry. Aside from his appearance: cut jaw, full and fitting pornstache, golden lean body and nice cock; Javier ate pussy like his life depended on it and fucked women into oblivion— he usually ended up leaving set with one on his arm.

You remember one time his prowess had been so magnetizing, that he ended up taking the makeup artist home. The fucking makeup artist.

But things with you are different, somehow. You can feel it, he can too. Maybe it’s because you’re a no bullshit type of person that just shows up to do your job then you’re out.

In the beginning, he had attempted to flirt with you, but you weren’t really in the market to reciprocate.

A shock to anyone who meets him because what do you mean you didn’t jump at the chance to be charmed by Javier Peña?

You don’t mix business with pleasure, no matter if the pleasure seems to outweigh the business. 

And since then he’s made it his life’s mission, it feels like, to push your buttons until you’re lit up like a fucking soundboard.

The flirting, petty comments, sometimes weaponized incompetence just to get you to move the camera into a more desirable position for him— yeah it really irks you.

With it being a simple, smaller shoot today: it’s only you, the director, Steve and the two stars in the room.

As Lexxie finishes doing some last minute touch ups in the bathroom, Steve and Robbie head out to the balcony for a quick smoke, leaving you in the room with Javier as he checks his appearance in the full-length mirror by your equipment.

The shoot is starting with them already half undressed, so he’s got an unbuttoned white collared shirt on, his toned chest on full display, with a pair of dress pants hanging low on his hips. He’s not wearing underwear, so you get a peek of the prominent V of his pelvis and the enticing trail of dark hair leading below the fabric.

Goddamn him.

“Lookin’ like somethin’ crawled up your ass and died, sweetheart. All good?” He asks, no real concern in his voice but the typical condescending tone he uses when he speaks to you.

You ignore him, wiping off the lens of your camera, lowkey wanting to down another small bottle of liquor. 

“It’s rude not to speak when you’re spoken to.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m not exactly thrilled to have your balls slapping against my new camera.”

He smirks at the bite in your voice, “With the amount of times you’ve seen my sack, I figured you’d be used to that by now.” You roll your eyes and bite your tongue because he’s right and that wasn’t the best retort you could have given him.

You’ll admit, sometimes his attractiveness throws you off and that only pisses you off further.

“New camera, huh?” His eyes meet yours in the reflection, thick brows raising in amusement, “Honored to be the one to christen it. ‘Specially with Lexxie.” He whistles lowly, brown eyes flickering over to the cracked door of the bathroom, “She’s a sexy little thing, isn’t she?”

You ignore him again so you don’t get tongue tied by trying to outwit him, breathing out a sigh of relief when Steve and your boss reenter and the older man begins to throw out orders for everyone to follow.

“I want this to feel real. Aside from the close ups, I need some filthy, dirty talk. Sell it, make those horny bastards bust their load over the believable newlyweds.”

Lexxie is leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, a beautiful white lingerie set on her curvy body, obscured by a silk robe.

You’re both jealous of her for looking so goddamn pretty and jealous of Javier for having the pleasure of getting to fuck her.

“We’re not amateurs, Robbie.” 

Okay, so maybe Javier isn’t all that bad and you do tend to overreact sometimes.

It’s just hard not to, he has a penchant for getting under your skin like no other. Kind of like the annoying boys you used to go to high school with that would relentlessly tease you for being you.

No time to project your insecurities. You’re at work, you remind yourself, listening intently as your boss turns to you and begins to describe how he wants you to shoot the scene.

Intimate. Very. Intimate.

He yells action and the scene begins to play out naturally.

Lexxie stands by the window, her white silk robe loosely tied around her waist, revealing glimpses of her smooth, brown skin. The moonlight accentuates her curves, making her look like a vision of desire against the backdrop of the shimmering city.

Javier watches her from the bed, gaze dark with anticipation. He can’t take his eyes off her, the way the silk clings to her body, hinting at the treasures beneath.

She turns to him, a playful smile dancing on her lips, and slowly walks toward the bed, her hips swaying seductively with each step.

Steve holds the boom mic above them, out of the camera’s view, as you follow Lexxie’s movements with careful precision, zooming in on her long legs then panning up to her thick thighs.

As she reaches the bed, she unties the belt of her robe, letting it fall open. Javier licks his lips, the outline of his cock prominent against the fabric of his pants.

She climbs onto the bed, straddling his hips, her hands gliding over his chest.

“I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone.” Her voice is a sultry whisper as she traces her fingers along Javier’s jawline. “I can’t believe we’re finally here, just you and me.”

There’s a lopsided smile on his lips, large hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. “You look incredible, baby. Couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. My pretty wife.”

She leans in, her breath warm against his ear. “Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it.” Her words are a teasing challenge, her teeth biting down on his earlobe.

He groans softly, hands roaming over her curves. “I want to touch you, taste you. Feel you shiver under my hands, hear you moan my name.” His voice drops to a near-growl. “I want to make you mine, over and over again.”

You’re on the bed with them, knees digging into the comforter as you hold the camera at eye level, the small screen that extends from it giving it that grain that makes it look even more erotic. 

All of this is beginning to feel too intimate but you block that out, even if it’s fucking hard to. This is what your boss wanted, anyways.

You feel your clit pulsing, heat pooling at your core as you watch them and it’s infuriating.

She smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she kisses him deeply, her tongue dancing with his and you make sure to get a good shot of it. “Then take me. Show me why I married you.” She pulls back slightly, her gaze locked with his.

He pulls her closer, his lips capturing hers in another passionate and hungry kiss. They’re absolutely unbothered by your presence.

“I’m going to worship every inch of you.” His tone is thick with promise, bringing his hand up to wrap around her neck. “I want to hear you scream for me, break that little throat then soothe it with my cum.”

Your breath hitches at his words and for the life of you, you don’t understand why you’re being so affected by this.

While faint, he hears your reaction and you don’t miss the subtle smirk that tugs at those pink, pouty lips of his. 

“Yes. I want you. I need you. Fuck me like it’s our last night on earth.” Her words are a plea, filled with raw desire and feigning love.

A little corny, but what the hell, that’s half the appeal of these things anyway.

Their bodies press together, the heat between them palpable that you can feel it from where you are.

Her fingers tangled in Javi’s hair as she deepens the kiss, her body moving rhythmically against his.

The passion they exacerbate is undeniable, an electric charge that ropes you in as you move the camera closer, igniting your every nerve.

His skilled fingers move to pull down the cups of her bra, freeing her breasts and he uses his hold on her neck to tilt her back slightly, leaning down to wrap his lips around her stiff nipple. He suckles on it, drawing out a moan from the star on his lap as his wet tongue darts out to flick rapidly against the pebbled flesh.

He does the same to the other, you following his movements and your own nipples hardening, the friction of them rubbing up against your sports bra with each deep breath you take enough to gradually turn you on even more.

After lavishing her chest with his attention, leaving her tits glistening with a layer of his spit, he goes to kiss her again and they share more of that porny dialogue that usually makes you cringe.

But not today.

Not as you watch how they touch up on each other, the way he slowly releases his hold on her neck and she pushes the shirt off his shoulders then shimmies down his body, pulling his pants down and revealing his cock.

You’ve seen it dozens of times, it shouldn’t phase you (just as how he reminded you of earlier), but fuck— with the way you’re so heated right now by unofficially being part of this twosome, you can’t help how your mouth floods with saliva at the sight.

It’s got just the right amount of hair surrounding it, looking real heavy and swollen with arousal as she wraps her fingers around it.

You move down to get a good POV shot, bending at the waist and accidentally wagging your ass in his face. 

While Lexxie begins to blow him, showcasing her skill to the camera, Javier’s eyes are glued to your ass and how good it looks in the jean shorts you’re wearing.

You can feel it, his stare heavy as lead, as one of his hands comes down to make a makeshift ponytail of the woman’s curly hair while the other just barely grazes the back of your thighs.

If you weren’t so hyper aware of his touch, you would have missed it. Your hips involuntarily moving subtly and you play it off as you shuffling to get more comfortable to record the oral he’s currently receiving. 

Sounds of her gagging and his grunts fill the room. Steve’s brows are furrowed in concentration, picking up every single thing and you pray that he doesn’t hear how ragged your breathing has become.

You didn’t even notice it until the camera in your hand started shaking just a little.

So unprofessional, this shoot is gonna haunt you for weeks.

But Robbie doesn’t seem to mind, and you wonder if you’re the problem with how Steve and him seem to be so locked in while you’re sitting here, all hot and bothered, trying not to think of Javier despite seeing his spit slick cock slipping in and out of her mouth so filthily.

The director orders them to switch and you try not to be too hasty when you move off the bed, allowing the couple to do as they’re told.

You avoid Javier’s eyes, the ones looking for yours, as he settles in between Lexxie’s spread legs.

He comments on how wet she is, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he begins to kiss her over the lacy fabric of her fancy panties.

There’s an obvious wet spot from both her slick and his saliva. You alternate, panning the camera from his ministrations, up her gorgeous body, then to capture the look of pure fucking bliss on her face.

She squeezes her tits, moaning obscenely as he pulls her underwear to the side and begins to suck and lick at her pussy— wet sounds of his lips smacking against her folds and clit has your own cunt dripping and the rough fabric of your jean shorts rubbing against your underwear is just embarrassingly pleasurable. 

It’s like you can feel his tongue on you as it flicks over her flesh, her arousal coating his face and dampening his mustache.

Javier begins to finger her and the director urges you to get a closer shot of it, which you do and it has you so close to their intimacy; you can smell her pussy.

Your thighs clench.

She cums all over his fingers and he pulls back, traversing up her body slowly, his lips marking their path until he’s kissing her messily again before shoving those sinewy digits into her mouth, and she expertly cleans them off, not breaking eye contact with him.

You lick your lips, practically tasting her, and they’re directed to start off in missionary then end in doggy.

“Put her head on your lap, get a shot of her tits down with his torso in view. Lexxie, scream his name like it’s the best cock you’ve ever had inside you.”

“Won’t be hard to do. It is the best I’ve had.”

You roll your eyes at the smug smile that tugs at Javier’s lips at her words, that statement enough to calm you down as you shift into the optimal position, her head on your lap as Javier strokes his dick and rids her of her panties, leaving her with the cups of her bra still below her tits and the garter belt on her waist.

The white stockings brush up against his thighs as he hitches her legs up on his hips.

He begins to fuck her, each thrust sending her further up your body and you grip onto your camera as you zoom in on the way her body moves, her back arching and needy whimpers pushing past her plump, glossy lips.

Your eyes are glued to the small screen, his toned body looking like a sculpture and a thin sheen of sweat making him glow.

Yeah, this tape is going to fucking sell.

“Get over here and get a shot of her pretty pussy when I push her legs up.” Javier instructs you and you can’t help but drop your jaw at the audacity.

There’s an insult on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be lashed out but Robbie agrees and you fight the urge to fling the camera at him.

Javier senses your irritation and fucking smirks, but you pay it no mind (or at least try not to) as you move away from Lexxie, off the bed, and beside him.

He spreads her thighs and pushes her knees up to her chest, her pussy on full view as his cock continues to piston in and out of her.

It really is so hot. Usually, some stars would have to use lube to get the process going but not Javier. Never Javier. 

He eats pussy so messily and knows just how to treat his girls, they’re usually fucking drenched and dripping by the time he’s ready to fuck them. He doesn’t need anything artificial to help him out.

Lexxie is moaning and spitting out pure filth as he continues to fuck her, you’re doing a good job at capturing it all. 

Suddenly, Javi leans over to whisper into your ear.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, camera once more shaking slightly in your grasp and your skin warms. What the hell is his deal?

And why does the idea of being spread out like this for him suddenly so fucking enticing?

Your eyes flicker over to Steve, who both watched that little interaction happen and picked it up on his mic, an amused expression on his face.

You shoot him a look that basically translates to Don’t and he shakes his head lightly, holding back a snicker.

They’re directed to switch again, both stars getting closer to their orgasms, and you use this a chance to take a step back and fucking collect yourself. No doubt that your cunt is an absolute mess right now.

Maybe you’ll rub one out before going in tonight. That is if you have the time. Maybe if you’re not so tired after, you’ll pick up one of the men at the bar and use him to fuck Javier Peña out of your mind.

Now bent over, her ass and pussy are on full display. Javier, once more acting like he’s the goddamn director, moves aside so you can get a good shot of it. You do, bristling as he brushes against you whenever he gets back into position behind her, entering her pussy in one swift motion and beginning to fuck the shit out of her.

Jesus. Christ. It must be because of how fucking weird this shoot has been but man, is he giving it to her good.

A few delicious spanks are brought down to her ass, his large palm making the meaty flesh jiggle and he grunts loudly at how it feels against his dick.

There’s more dirty talk, him telling her how good this pussy feels and that it belongs to him now. Her doubling down and telling him that he’s the only cock she’s ever going to take.

You move below his spread legs, getting a good view of his heavy balls slapping against her clit, his precum and her arousal coating the flesh of his sack, the sound of it smacking against her is for sure going to make some poor soul release their spunk all over their keyboards or whatever it is that they’ll watch this on.

Getting more footage of their full bodies, you maneuver yourself all around the bed, knowing that when this sucker is edited together, it’s really going to feel like an intimate telling of a couple’s honeymoon night.

You’ll give it to Javi and Lexxie— they’re good at what they do.

She reaches her peak first, shouting that she’s coming and her body flails and tenses, squeezing his cock and gushing cum out of her hole.

You make the mistake of looking up at Javier, finding that he’s already staring at you and he growls, stilling inside her and filling her up with his load.

It’s like everything else melts and disappears, leaving just you two suspended in this moment. The way his brown eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite decipher has your entire body quivering and your heart beating wildly in your chest.

What the fuck is going on?

“Get the money shot!” Robbie barks at you, seeing that you’ve been lost in a fucking daze and you shake your head, snapping out of it and moving off the rose petal covered sheets, again moving next to Javier as he pulls out.

Lexxie positions herself sexily, and not long after does her pussy flutter and milky cum begins to seep out of it, an obscene squelching sound as it drips lazily onto her engorged clit then the mattress.

It’s so fucking hot, you’ll admit it. That’s the point of these things, isn’t it? To turn others on. You can’t blame yourself for the way its intended effect washes over you.

Except your mind is still hazy from how Javier had looked at you while coming inside of another woman.

The pornstar shakes her hips erotically, giggling as Javier smacks her ass.

“And cut. Great fucking job team. You guys just made me a whole lotta money.”

You quit recording, licking your lips and moving off the bed quickly, closing the camera and making a beeline to the other side of the room, not being shy about the way you snag up another travel sized bottle of Fireball and shoot it.

“Drinking on the job?” Javier tuts, walking over to you with his soft cock hanging between his legs and you do your best to not let your eyes drop down to it. He’s got an unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips. “Very unprofessional.”

Lexxie has disappeared off into the bathroom again to clean up, Steve and Robbie discussing who knows what.

“Yeah well.” You’re flustered and hate how you’re conveying it. He’s reveling in the sight of you. “I got thirsty.”

“Hmm,” he hums, gaze narrowing ever so slightly, “Camera like what it saw?”

You clench your jaw, turning from him to begin packing your stuff up. You don’t have time for this, for him. You need to leave and get ready for the bar.

“You heard Robbie— just made him a whole lotta money, so what do you think?”

“Let me rephrase that. Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

You freeze, static in your brain like an interrupted television broadcast and your body feeling feverish. You need to get out of here.

“And you say I’m acting unprofessional.” You scoff, trying to act like you’re not affected by him and his stupid words and that dumb mustache and his fucking bare cock.

He snorts out a laugh, prepared to say something else to grate your nerves but you don’t give him a chance, slinging the strap of the camera bag over your shoulder and grabbing your purse, pushing past him.

“Alright, Robbie I’m out. I’ll swing by the office tomorrow and drop this off after I’ve reviewed the footage.”

You can see Javier from your peripheral, tight jeans up on his hips and moving out into the balcony to smoke.

You feel like you can breathe a little easier now.

“Sounds good. I’ll have your check for it then.”

You nod, saying bye to Steve who has a shit eating grin on his face. “You workin’ at Lucky’s tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there ‘round eleven for a beer… and to discuss whatever the fuck all that was.” He motions vaguely and you roll your eyes.

“I’d rather not.”

“S’too damn bad. I drink Michelobs, by the way.”

Your face scrunches up, “I shouldn’t let you in based on that alone.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips at his reaction, but it’s all in good fun.

This little interaction is almost enough to make you forget about… all that. Almost. The door to the balcony slides open again and you take that as your cue to get the hell outta dodge.

“Alright, whatever, I’ll see you then. Hopefully we’re not too busy.”