Sacred The Josh

He was quiet, that was for sure. You lived right below him and hardly ever heard activity in his apartment. Music, sometimes, but only when it was warm enough to have the windows open; you’d be walking in or out of the building and hear the sounds of blues and rock and folk music drifting through the open blinds and screen. You heard him having friends over sometimes on those warm nights, too, and would look up and wonder what they were doing and what the inside of his apartment looked like.

What the problem really was, you realized for the first time in all these years, was that you had tried to be friendly. You’d lived there first; after he moved in, you introduced yourself, tried to be neighborly, kept up with saying hi when you saw him, tried to make chit-chat once in a while. Why not, right? He was your age and also living alone. Why not be friends, or at least cordial? 

But Jake had never given you that much. Not that he was mean or even distinctly rude, he was mostly just stand-offish. Cold. Stuck-up. Just wouldn’t give you the time of the day. That’s how it seemed, anyway, and you eventually managed to kick yourself for trying to be so nice to this self-involved dude who, apparently, didn’t give a damn.

Shutting the driver’s side door of your car, you huffed. It was so stupid to think about him at all. Just seeing his name on those packages had incited a river of emotion winding around someone who was basically a stranger.

For trying to be so nice, what bad karma had you cultivated to deserve a flat tire on the way to work? That was a really fun ordeal but, whatever, you managed to roll to a gas station with an air pump and deal with it. But then, of course, you got reprimanded for being twenty minutes late, as if that was the end of the world. And then, because why not, you discovered that your favorite coffee mug was missing and no one seemed to know where it went. Maybe one of the night custodians tossed it, one coworker theorized, which seemed nonsensical to you and you spent your morning seething, sure that someone in the vicinity had taken it for themselves.

When lunch came around, you learned that you’d forgotten to bring yours to work with you, so that was also great. But okay, at least you could pop over to the cafe a few blocks down and get something, although once you brought the take-out container back to work, you could have exploded upon seeing that they’d given you the wrong order entirely. It wasn’t as if that was the end of the world but my god, how many more things could get messed up in one day?

You resigned to just counting the minutes until you could go home and finally chill out, just try to forget about all of this nonsense, all the while struggling to focus on what you needed to do. When the end finally came around and you were packing your things up and trying not to be too bitter about your favorite coffee mug that still hadn’t popped up, your boss told you there was one more thing to be done, so you were stuck there for a while longer.

Getting into your car and listening to the engine rumble low, then getting music playing to stop the broken dam of stress and chaos and cycling thoughts triggered by your bad day, you breathed a sigh of relief. You could go home now with a properly inflated tire, make yourself a dinner that you actually wanted and do everything you wanted for the rest of the evening on your own time, which would be a whole lot of nothing. 

You weren’t going to let the fact that you ended up at the elevators just as Jake was waiting for it to descend as well bring you down. You’d be home in no time. You nodded; he nodded back, those three packages under his arm, and you stopped yourself from saying something sarcastic about him finally taking them out of the lobby.

Just a few floors to go and it would all be over. You’d be home and you wouldn’t have to look at anyone’s face, least of all Jake’s, whose undeniable attractiveness also irked you.

But a couple floors below your own, the elevator suddenly rumbled, jarring you and your neighbor into a nerve-wracking stumble within the small space. The vibrations radiated up through your feet and into your heart that began to beat fast with instinctual worry. Elevators weren’t supposed to make sounds like that, and certainly weren’t supposed to come to a screeching halt between floors.

“What the hell,” Jake said, intercepting the tense silence that followed the strange mechanical sounds. He peered at the buttons, the two of your respective buttons still lit up, glanced at the metallic doors that were still glued shut, then turned to you. “Are we stuck?”

It was one of those things that seemed to happen so rarely that, at first you thought, no, there was no way. There was clearly a problem, but it’d get moving soon. It had to. 

“Hopefully not,” you said, but your gut told you that, yeah, you guys were stuck, and of course you were, because as much as you’d thought your day couldn’t get worse, of course it could.

Silence commenced for a minute, the two of you undoubtedly sharing the hope that you weren’t stuck and, in a few seconds, the elevator would get moving again. But when it didn’t, and no more mechanical noises came, Jake sighed and pressed the button to your floor, waited a second, then pressed the button to his own floor.

“Fuck. Come on, seriously?” He tried the “open door” button next, but nothing happened. He sank back to the wall perpendicular to the doors and buttons that had betrayed you and, for the first time in a long time, looked directly at you for more than a mere second. “This is messed up.”

Yeah, it certainly was, but there was the “call for help” button that he’d neglected to press. You managed not to roll your eyes at his seemingly total lack of awareness and pressed it yourself, but nothing happened; no voice came. 

“Wow, okay.” You tried again, but no luck. The apartment office was closed, but didn’t they have some kind of backup system or something? You tried one more time, but it was clear that, at least right now, no one knew this was happening. But a neighbor coming home would have to notice what was happening and do something, right?

Perhaps more quickly accepting this unfortunate fate than you, Jake set his packages down. “Well, this sucks. I’ve never been in this situation before.”

You scoffed. “I doubt many people have.” Snide bitterness almost made you sneer as he took a seat on the floor, but the idea of sitting down was tempting. You were exhausted. But you remained standing and reminded yourself that dealing with this in the company of someone else was probably better than dealing with it alone.

Jake pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, put it to his ear, then a moment later locked it with a frown. “No answer at the office, although I suppose that’s expected.” He unlocked his phone and tipped his head down, scrolling. “Shit, I don’t have the emergency maintenance number, which is very stupid of me.”

You did the same thing, heart singing with hope that you were smart enough to have saved it at some point but, no, you hadn’t. You sighed and sank down the floor across from him. “Me either. So stupid.”

“Do you know anyone else in the building?”

“No.” That was also stupid, but you’d pretty much given up on being neighborly with anyone else since Jake had scorned you. Anyway, people came and went so often that you couldn’t keep track. As far as you could tell, you and Jake were the longest standing tenants.

Jake sighed and tilted his head back, eyes pointing up to the ceiling. “This has been such a stressful day. It’s just one more thing, apparently.”

“Tell me about it.” You figured that would be that, that you’d both sit in silence and distract yourself with your phones until you got rescued, but intrigue tickled you once again and you found yourself asking, “What happened?”

“Just–just bullshit, you know?” He chuckled with a shake of his head that was still resting on the wall of the elevator. Unexpectedly, he added, “Sometimes people just need to let things go.”

So you two had different versions of bad days, but you could still relate. “Yeah,” you said, and he tipped his head down and his eyes met yours again. 

You felt a little thrown for a second–it’d been so long since you’d had a true face to face interaction. You often got glimpses of his profile as you passed one another or you saw him sitting in his car, but seeing him straight on revealed everything–his long, dark hair with the gentlest wave; his slightly arched dark brows that perfectly framed his dark, slightly sleepy eyes that, unfortunately, perfectly exemplified bedroom eyes; the incredibly subtle but not imperceptible bump in the middle of his otherwise perfectly straight and proportional nose; the pointed cupid’s bow adorning the curve of his lips.

It wasn’t often you saw attractive guys around. That was another motivator to be neighborly back in the day. Not that you had the intention of trying to get with him–that seemed like a bad idea–but it never hurt to engage with a hot guy, and it never hurt to have fleeting fantasies. It was only his sour attitude toward you that blew those fantasies away.

“I’m trying to let all the bullshit that happened today go,” you admitted, tearing your eyes away from his face and to the shiny silver elevator doors instead. “But it’s pretty hard to do that trapped in here. It’s like a horror movie. Any second, the lights are gonna go out.”

He laughed. You’d never heard him laugh before. It was a nice sound, both soft and lively, and undoubtedly earnest. He really thought it was funny. 

“Let’s not speak that into existence.” His laugh ended but his smile remained, and it was a nice smile. “At least neither one of us is dealing with this alone.”

“I thought the same thing,” you admitted. Now that the two of you were indeed stuck together, it was shockingly easy to talk to him. Maybe you would’ve talked to anyone in this situation easily, because what other option would there be? But instead of the usual awkwardness and chill that drifted from him, there was a feeling of warmth and comfort. That was odd, and you said, “It’s funny that fate decided to put two people who don’t even like each other together, though.”

His brow furrowed and his bedroom eyes became alight with confusion. “We don’t like each other? I didn’t know that.”

Well, it could have been inaccurate phrasing considering no one can dislike someone they don’t really know, but you weren’t sure how else to describe it. You had to try to explain it now: “I just mean, like, there’s this weird, unwarranted, unspoken animosity between us.” The confusion on his face only intensified but, worse, after a second of him processing that, he looked hurt. “You don’t even say hi to me.” 

“Oh.” Hurt turned to recognition, and his gaze dropped down to his crossed legs. “Yeah, uh–that’s true. I’m sorry.” His quick and easy apology was also surprising, and he followed it up by looking up at you with solemn sincerity in his eyes. “I was kind of a mess when I moved in here and–I think I was a little intimidated by you.” He ran a hand through his hair with a little sigh. “I was in a bit of a fragile state.”

“Me trying to be nice was intimidating?” you probed, sort of amused, actually, by this confession of his. His silence in response tugged at your heart, though. “Well, what happened? If you wanna tell me.” 

He leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “It all seems silly now, but at the time, it felt so serious. It was serious. My girlfriend broke up with me and I had to move out, and it all happened so quickly.” His shoulders dropped, his upper body slouching even more. “Obviously, I didn’t want that to happen. I was just trying to process everything and–honestly, I felt very insecure.” His brows rose a bit as he regarded you. “And then I find out this really pretty girl lives in the same building and is being nice to me and I didn’t know what to do.  My guard was up, y’know?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he spoke first, throwing you off again by carrying on with this confession: “I wasn’t sure how to navigate it after I realized how much of a dick I was being. I couldn’t just say, hey, sorry for being so fucking rude, but my girlfriend who I thought was going to marry dumped me for another guy and now I don’t know how to talk to anyone?” With a quiet chuckle, he leaned back, seemingly relieved that he’d gotten it all out. 

His girlfriend dumped him for another guy? Jesus. “That’s brutal,” you said, your heart tugged again, sympathy alive in every beat. When his compliment finally hit you, your heart beat faster. So, you both thought one another was pretty. Interesting. 

“I’m really sorry. For the record, I tried not to take it personally–for a while, anyway,” you continued. “I thought maybe you were just really stand-offish. But–I don’t know.” You studied the obscured red and blue pattern of the carpet between your own crossed legs for a moment. “I never got to know anyone else here and I thought maybe we’d be friends. Or at least friendly.”

“After this, I think we could be. We’re bonded now.” You laughed softly–that was true. With a little groan, he rose to his knees and stretched over to press the help button again. “Fuck. Just our luck, right?”

“Seriously.” It was a miserable situation, but for the first time, you smiled. “Today has been nothing but bad luck.” 

Tracing a fingertip along one of the packages beside him, Jake said, “Right after I moved in, someone would bring my packages up and leave them outside my door.” His perfect pink lips curved into a smile. “Was that you?”

You’d actually forgotten you used to do that. You’d stopped when you figured there was no way he’d ever appreciate the gesture and he was going to continue to let his mail sit in the lobby forever.

“Yeah, it was me. You just let them sit around for so long.” You scoffed, but you were smiling, too. “Don’t you ever worry about someone stealing them?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I’m scatterbrained and don’t even notice them.” He patted the empty space to his left and said, “Let’s open them together. I don’t remember what the hell I ordered.”

It felt silly to literally crawl over to his side, but whatever. It took five seconds and then you were right next to him, your arms brushing together, the sleeve of his jacket a whisper against your long-sleeved shirt. He leaned away, prompting you to be insulted, hurt again, but he only shrugged his jacket off and tossed it beside the packages.

“It’s warm in here,” he said, and it was, but the brush of his arm against yours was even warmer. It was nice. It’d been a while since you were so close to such an attractive guy, and now you were trapped with one. He handed you the package tightly covered in thin green plastic. “Want to open this one? I know it’s a book, but I remember which one.”

You definitely appreciated a man who was a reader, and the book that was revealed beneath the wrapping was interesting–Manual of the Warrior of Light.

“I’ve never read this. Never even heard of it, honestly,” you said, flipping through the first few pages so you didn’t have to stare at Jake’s bare hand resting on another package. It was a tan, graceful hand, with long fingers and slender bones, and you wouldn’t mind that hand touching you. “It seems interesting.”

“Ah, now I remember. I ordered this because it’s a companion to The Alchemist, which I read a few months ago.” Jake moved in closer, looking over your shoulder as you flipped back to the publication page. “What do you like to read?”

“A lot of different things. I’m open to almost everything.” You couldn’t help but smile at the torn packaging. “I’m no stranger to Thrift Books.”

He laughed again, the sound a sweet song in your ears. “It’s great, isn’t it? I think that was only five bucks or something.” He was so close that his hair tickled your shoulder as he sat back. “If you ever want to borrow either, let me know.”

Your throat was tight as you said, “Sure.” All it had taken to go from possibly nonsensical enemies to two people with a budding friendship was a misfortune elevator mishap, a ridiculous stroke of bad luck that ended up having a silver lining. Maybe it was a good thing you’d never interacted before this because if you had, you would have spent a long time smitten.

“Okay, what is this?” He dropped the next package into his lap, clearly an article of clothing. “Oh, I think I know,” he said after a moment of contemplating it, then tore one corner. “I thought this was so cool, but you can tell me if it’s not.”

It was cool–a thin black button down long-sleeved shirt with silver rhinestones along the last fourth of the sleeves, glitzy and, dare you think it, sexy. Flashy, too, and you said, “I really like that.” He wasn’t wearing anything so bold now, just a contrastingly simple button-down and now that you thought about it, that style seemed to be what you saw him in ninety percent of the time. “Where would you wear it?”

He chuckled and ran his fingertips along the rhinestones. “I thought I’d wear it on a night out or something. You never know. It feels good to dress up.”

And feeling as daring as the shirt looked, you blurted, “You should try it on. Fashion show.” He turned to you with a befuddled grin and you added, “What else do we have to do?”

“Seriously?” he asked, and you nodded, it being too late to turn back. Your heart was racing again, blood warm with growing interest and anticipation. He tilted his head, studying the shirt, then shrugged and got to his feet. “Why not?” 

You really didn’t think he’d do it, but he did, and your stomach clenched as he unbuttoned the plain white shirt he was wearing. His skin was golden and smooth, so tempting; you could imagine skating your fingers across his chest that was revealed first. You could imagine tracing his collarbones, and when the shirt was unbuttoned all the way, you could imagine your mouth on his sternum and moving down to his belly that was also smooth and looked so soft.

Instead of cursing the broken elevator, you were now silently thanking it.

Jake’s cheeks had gone pink, the flush making him even prettier, but he said, “I might seem shy, but I’m really not. I’m just quiet.” 

“Noted.” You were mesmerized by his bare upper half and the way he moved, subtly and gracefully, and your chest tightened when he bent over and his hair hung in his face. With one hand, he plucked the black shirt from atop its plastic packaging and spread his arms, sliding one hand through the right sleeve, shrugged the shirt over his shoulders, then slid his other arm through. He let it hang unbuttoned long enough for you to salivate over his exposed skin for another moment, then you wished you were the one buttoning it up for him.

He only buttoned it halfway, leaving his chest exposed. He held his arms out, then dropped them to his sides. “Does it look ridiculous?”

You wished it looked ridiculous. It was a perfect example of someone wearing the garment, not the other way around. His lithe yet sturdy body took command of the shirt; it draped over him just right and you could see his skin through the material that was even thinner than it initially looked, gauzy and titillating.

“It looks really good. Keep it for sure,” you said, and he smiled, clearly taking the compliment to heart. Your own heart did another pitter-patter. “Very cool.”

He stepped over to the elevator doors and put one hand on his hip, then laughed and turned around. “I can’t see shit in those doors.”

“Trust me.” You nodded, unable to stop yourself from gaping at him. “It looks really good.”

The process of him taking the shirt off was even more agonizing, because you were stuck on the floor imagining him stripping and pouncing on you. But soon enough, he was buttoning up his familiar white shirt and sitting down next to you to open the last package, evidently more clothing.

“Oh, shit. Wait,” he said, slowly sliding it out of your grasp. “I remember this one. It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” You managed to keep your hands on it and squeezed it, trying to figure out what exactly it could be. “It just feels like another shirt or something.”

He was blushing again. “No, it’s not a shirt. It’s, um–” You let him take it away, and he chuckled. “It’s what you wear under your pants.” He snorted and slapped a hand over his face. “Okay, I just told you.”

“Underwear?” You smirked to yourself. This bad day was really turning around. “Well, so what? Everyone wears it. Hopefully.” You gazed at his chest, exposed again because he hadn’t bothered to button his shirt up all the way like it’d been before. “You already stripped for me. I’m not gonna ask you to do that again, but I’ll admit I’m curious what these look like.”

So curious, and you were sure he wouldn’t satiate that curiosity, but then he ripped the package open–this time, with his teeth, and my god. In your mind’s eye you saw him ripping away your own underwear with his teeth.

“Okay, I’ll show you. No shame, right?” He ripped open the clear protective plastic with more urgency than before and placed three pairs of boxer briefs in your lap. “There you go.”

Oh my god, they were all silk. Silk boxer briefs, one black, one dark blue, one dark silver. This was a first. 

“These are nice. Fancy.” You flipped over one of the tags to look at the price which made you balk. “Jesus. It’s that much for one pair?”

“It’s worth it.” Jake chuckled and took them away, quickly putting them back in the packaging. 

You considered not asking, but who cared at this point? “Are you wearing a pair of those right now?”

Another chuckle, this one laced with distinct shyness, which was so adorable that you were totally smitten now. Again, there was no turning back, and it was so ridiculous that it’d taken this long to really speak at all, yet it’d only taken half an hour to see this guy half-naked and learn what underwear he wore.

“Maybe.” Jake’s eyebrows rose and he glanced down at your thighs. “What are you wearing?”

Okay, that was fair. That also made you blush and, embarrassingly, giggle and turn away. “I can’t tell you,” you said, your voice high with nervousness.

“I showed you,” he replied, the smile evident in his voice. “I think it’s justified that you merely tell me.”

“Okay, well, they’re not silk.” That was all you were going to share, but when you looked at him, he was expectant, silently urging you with another raise of his eyebrows and a gleam in those bedroom eyes, and you gave in: “A thong, okay?” You raised your hands as if you could ward off your embarrassment. “A black thong. No one wants to see pantylines.”

“Really?” He sounded so pleased, and looked the same with that cheeky grin on his face. “That’s sexy.”

“Oh my god.” You turned away again, your face hot, your stomach fluttering with butterflies you hadn’t felt in forever, your instinct now screaming for you to keep it cool, but you couldn’t. From now on, there would be no dismissive glances in the halls or outside; there would be knowing grins and awkward waves. 

There was a slight pressure on your arm; Jake’s hand gracing you with his gentle touch, reassuring now, not teasing. You looked down at it, then up to his eyes, and he said, “Just so you know, I do think you’re really attractive.” He took his hand away as if he’d said the wrong thing, but then he added, filling you with bewildering confusion, “And just for the record, I’m still single. Maybe I could take you out sometime and begin to make up for being an asshole.”

His voice was so soft and his gaze was so tender that you began to calm down, at least enough to say, “That’d be really nice. The only reason I didn’t end up having a terrible crush on you is because I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“A terrible crush,” he repeated with a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair. But you’re saying I still have a chance?”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “You still have a chance.”

“Good.” He inched forward, repositioning himself in a way that made it seem like he was either getting up or about to pivot to face you. “Because–”

The elevator abruptly rumbled and lurched into action. You gasped; Jake cursed. It was moving again, the sound of metal churning strange and off-putting, concerning, and you clutched Jake’s wrist, suddenly made to anticipate the worst possible outcome. You’d never get out of the elevator. You’d die in it. But at least you wouldn’t die alone.

But then the grinding sounds subsided and the elevator moved smoothly upwards, and with a ding, it landed on your floor. The doors opened; you and Jake looked at one another with shared surprise, then he took your hand and helped you onto your feet.

“Let’s get out before we get stuck again,” he said, not letting go of your hand as he gathered all the open packages and jacket into his other hand, an impressive feat, you thought. “I’m going to take the stairs from now on.”

He walked you to your door with your hands bound together, your heart fluttering the whole way. His palm was warm and soft and his fingers were slotted with yours, and they curled into a little squeeze when your steps were forced to come to a stop.

You could have fainted when he lifted your hand and kissed it. “I’m glad you were with me during that ordeal.” He smiled, showing his impressively straight, white teeth. “And that we survived.” 

“I know, right?” It was hard to get the words out. You wanted to say more, wanted to do more, but you were frozen, unwilling to let him go. 

Thankfully, his grasp lingered, and he said, “I suppose I’ll need your number if I’m going to take you out.” 

“Yes, you will,” you agreed, but you still weren’t ready for the contact to be broken for either of you to get your phones. 

Jake looked down at your entwined hands and smiled again. Your own eyes stayed on his face, soaking in the sight, your mind replaying the memories of all the times you saw him and wondered and seethed and, sometimes, admittedly, pined. 

He looked into your eyes again, stroked your knuckles with his thumb, and was daring enough to kiss your cheek, which, of course, was even more exciting and made you even more delirious than him kissing your hand.

“Who knows,” he mused, his cheeks turning rosy when he pulled back. “Maybe someday we’ll both see each other in our underwear.” 

--

I stared back at Josh with pretty much justified indignation during the brief silence that followed, and to my astonishment, it did have an actual effect on him this time. As it should! My rather abrupt and very definite reply wiped that crooked smile off his face and he went from a cocky bastard to a wounded puppy within a few seconds. No more playful pouts, no feisty smirks. 

Sadly, no hints that he had been joking either… which only made it worse. “Yeah, I feared you’d say that,” he sighed and carefully put his glass down, suddenly finding the place mat in front of him extremely interesting. 

So interesting it made his cheeks burn. 

Consequently, it made my own face heat up as well. So, he had been serious? And asking me such a thing in public, no less! Anyone could hear him. 

Well, at least he looked like he seemed to realize how impudent his request was. But still…

I opened my mouth, and then closed it with a huff, before I took a deep grounding breath and finally blurted out: “Feared? You should have expected that! Have you lost your mind?” A few more people sitting at the nearest tables turned their heads and I immediately cursed myself for my own lack of decorum. Josh just bit his lip and visibly shrunk, which made him look like a very tiny tomato. 

Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, because I still expected him to wave his hand and say something like ‘yeah, gotcha’, followed by his signature giggle. I’d take anything that would assure me that he in fact had not been serious. Then the two of us could just laugh it off as a joke that uncustomarily didn’t land. It would still feel slightly awkward, but at least we could go back to the previously abandoned topic and everything would be well. 

But Josh remained silent. He also refused to meet my gaze. Those two phenomenons were pretty rare and unusual even when they happened separately; their mutual occurrence felt almost like a cosmic rupture. Knowing him, it had only one explanation. So, not only he had thought it would be a good idea to ask me such a thing, but also…

“Josh… please…  tell me you didn’t actually think I would agree to that! That’s insane.”

It started as a purely professional relationship, and it certainly was my intention to keep it that way, because I consider myself a professional. Duh. Josh loves having his pictures taken and I dare say I was rather good at it. We clicked. I understood what he wanted, and I delivered. Simple. 

However, befriending him is extremely easy… or so I thought. It was a trap, actually. It’s only easy when he decides, which in retrospect should make me feel very flattered. And it does. 

To clarify – Josh is in general a very outgoing person, which already fooled many poor, naive souls into believing it meant anything more than just pretty much nothing, because while he tries to be friendly with everyone, he chooses his people carefully. Only the ones who really “get” him can get really near. I know it now; I was unaware back then. 

As I kept my professional distance, it was all just casual banter to me. A wise choice on my part, based on years of experience. Josh treated us all the same, always greeting us with his radiant smile. It didn’t really matter if it was me, Liz the makeup artist, or my technical assistant Mark. 

Over time, I saw how people who mistook his joviality for real friendship received a proverbial slap in the face the moment they crossed a line they had failed to see. Poor Mark was one of them. Bless his soul.

I also saw others being lured into his trap without even realizing it, but not before it somehow happened to me once Josh started encouraging me to keep making unwise choices. Again, very flattered. When Josh decides you’re allowed to love him, you really have no other option but to accept that offer, whether you like it or not… but I can guarantee you’d like it. 

I remember when Josh saw the pictures I had just taken displayed on my laptop screen for the very first time and his face visibly lightened, though with a tinge of cute timidness and wonder. After hours of strutting around the studio like a peacock, he suddenly looked very small and almost bashful, giving me rather mixed signals, to be honest. 

“Is it bad?” I asked with an apprehensive smile. I knew those pictures were good, but I had learned over time that those things are almost always subjective and sometimes my eyes see different things than what my clients want or expect me to see. They tell me what they want, and they think they’re in full control, but I am the one who controls the shutter, and that can be merciless. Not everyone likes what it reveals sometimes. And Josh definitely seemed a bit surprised. 

“No, it’s… it’s absolutely perfect. Very… candid… in a way.”

That was it for the time being. Apart from telling me what I already knew, I had to wait a bit longer for him to elaborate on why exactly he thought the result was perfect. However, that doesn’t really matter because I think that was the moment when something shifted between us. I could hear it… or rather I could feel it, because Josh’s voice makes you feel things. I never understood how easily he manages to modulate it so that it sounds pretty much thunderous one moment, and then soft and balmy the next second. But it does, and it always has a direct effect on those who listen. 

I walked right into that trap. It took only three sessions for our initially casual and politely impersonal conversations to get more… well, personal. 

The strangest thing is that it didn’t feel wrong at all. Not for a second. We got there quite naturally, or maybe I should say he got us there quite effortlessly with me in a passenger seat, and it so happened that the third photoshoot ended with him getting me awfully drunk. In my favorite bar, no less. After he somehow made me suggest the place. 

Josh still had gemstones on his cheeks when we got there, flashing his extravagant looks with dignity despite a few stares. It fascinated me. I wasn’t oblivious to the controversial reception of his band, or him as a public figure. I had come across some nasty shit firsthand when I had posted a few pictures on my Instagram just a few days prior, and the nastiness of some of the comments genuinely appalled me. Especially since I got to know him as a person. 

“I admire you,” I blurted out after finishing my third drink. I was already a bit tipsy, but still not drunk enough to miss the subtle changes in his expression when I said that. At first, a spark in his eye that matched the barlights reflected in those gemstones, like a tiny tear you can still blink away if you want to. It lasted maybe just a split of a second, but that flash of pure joy didn’t go unnoticed, before it was replaced by yet another toothy grin. Just as flashing, but a just bit less sincere, as if he was still not completely sure whether to trust me. That didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I hear that quite often,” he practically screeched, using his shrill, theatrical shield-voice reserved for moments when he feels the need to hide his soft side. For a moment, I thought I overstepped and was about to get Marked for ruining the moment with an ingratiating flattery. 

But I meant it, and not really in a way he probably thought, so I continued: “I’m serious, Josh. I admire your ability to put up with the people who do the very opposite. And some of them are quite loud about it. And yet you just continue being yourself. Turning the other cheek and shit. I couldn’t do that.”

The smile vanished, although his eyes continued to sparkle. Josh pursed his lips and let out a snort that could be easily interpreted as both amusement and annoyance. I think he couldn’t really decide. “Well, maybe I deserve it. I don’t know,” he said rather matter-of-factly before he took another sip.

“Bullshit. You know you don’t.” I could see he cared. It wasn’t like he didn’t give a shit about those haters, which made the fact that he didn’t let them stop him even more admirable. “I just love how you don’t let it get under your skin too much. Every time I see a negative comment about my pictures, I feel crushed. I wish I could be more like you, instead of giving them what they want.”

“Well…,” Josh took a deep breath and put a hand on my shoulder. He had done that before. In fact, he does that pretty often, always being so touchy feely when talking to people. Josh uses touch as punctuation. It’s one of the reasons why he’s such a trickster. 

This was new, though. Different. It felt like a question mark. His hand slid gently down my upper arm in an almost intimate manner. If it was anyone else, I’d flinch. Instead, I waited with a baited breath for him to continue. “It used to worry me a lot, I won’t lie. But you gotta learn how to deal with it if you wanna survive.” 

“Ok, but how?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. You have to… to acknowledge what’s letting you down, and then just let it gooo.” To accentuate his point, he thrust his right arms to the side, barely missing the man who was just passing by our spot at the bar. “Oh, sorry, sorry.”

To be honest, it sounded like some cheap guru advice, but thankfully Josh wasn’t offended when I told him. Instead, he just urged me to try it. 

That night, Josh charmed me into telling him things I hadn’t confided in my own sister, and even though I woke up with a terrible hangover afterwards, I felt significantly lighter emotionally. 

It was the beginning of a friendship that I truly cherish.

But let me make one thing perfectly clear. When I say friendship, I really mean it. Josh is very attractive in his own unconventional and quirky way, and I must admit that he invaded the sacred space of my fantasies more than a few times. 

However, he’s got Gabe. And that’s really all I needed to know. 

Entering Josh’s world meant I had to befriend Gabe as well. And I really didn’t mind. What girl wouldn’t want to have a fashion stylist as a friend, right? 

No, really, I genuinely like the guy. He’s just as cute, though in a slightly different way than Josh. Gabriel possesses this effortless, gracious charm that never makes you wonder whether he’s aware of his good looks. It’s obvious he is. Where Josh sometimes hides his insecurities behind goofiness, Gabriel stands tall and calm, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes always ready to wink at you instead of wasting unnecessary words. I suppose that’s pretty easy when you’re endowed with dark wavy hair, porcelain skin and a well-defined jawline. Straight brows and a greek nose only add to his inherently calm facial features, and his glasses are just a cherry on top. Like a pinch of sophistication. 

Together, they’re like a cherub and a seraph. Mr. Feisty and Dr. Suave. And – what’s most important – they’re really head over heels for each other. One loves fervently, while the other responds with sensual calmness. It’s very entertaining to watch.

Which brings me back to Josh’s indecent request. 

Josh never answered my question, which basically meant that – yes, he really did think that I might eventually agree to take photos of the two of them making love. 

I remember that just the idea made my heart beat like crazy. And yes, I immediately imagined that scene in my head. I’m only human. And so are they. Two very pretty specimens. 

What started as one of many of our casual weekday dinners turned to something I wasn’t ready for. The atmosphere between us got tense, and I hated it. The subsequent silence was gnawing at me and I could see Josh felt the same. Abandoning the subject entirely would probably only make things worse. Getting up and leaving him there alone was out of the question entirely, simply because I really didn’t want to do that. I would never do that. Just the simple fact that he asked me to do such a thing meant he trusted me with his life. Literally. I could ruin it very easily with one click if I ever was in possession of such photos. 

So I refilled our glasses – a simple gesture meant to assure him that I wasn’t really mad at him – and then I took another deep breath. “Whose idea was that?”

Josh looked up, surprised by the sudden question, but I could see relief in his eyes as well. “Well…” He flushed again. As if trying to mask it, he reached for his glass of wine and took another sip, but the wine went down the wrong pipe, making him cough. A few droplets of the crimson liquid trickled onto his lower lip and I couldn’t help but admire how sensuous he managed to look even in such an awkward situation. “Well… it’s…,” he tried again in between coughs.

I already knew the answer. “Josh, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I hope you know what.” As I said, I really liked Gabriel, but that man was a dark horse, ready to strike or to make a grand entrance when you least expected it. Including relationships. Sometimes it was for the best, because he encouraged Josh to step out of his comfort zone more than once and with results that were almost always beneficial for both, careerwise or in bed. Or so I’ve heard. 

But there were a few times, maybe just once or twice, when I had been wondering whether his true intentions hadn’t been a bit egocentric. Or maybe even insidious in the long run…

“No…,” Josh suddenly interrupted my train of thoughts. “The truth is that… the… that I’ve wanted to d… to try something like that. I just felt like I… no, I mean, I knew I couldn’t. Trust’n’shit, ya know?”

Yeah, I knew. And once again, I was deeply flattered he had decided to trust me with such a thing. Still worried, though. It probably showed on my face. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I do, I just… I’m just wondering what makes you think that now you can.”

It sounded exactly the way I didn’t want it to. The conversation suddenly shifted from my reluctance to do it to something completely different. A dangerous territory. I knew he knew who I meant when I questioned his sudden trust in the people involved. No wonder I cringed when Josh cleared his throat in disapproval. 

“Listen… yes, it was initially Gabriel’s idea, but I’m not a fucking child and I dare say I know him better than you!” 

It was the night of throwing daggers, apparently. The lady sitting at the nearest table on my right clicked her tongue, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. “Stop listening then!” I snapped back at her, ignoring the fact that we were in fact the loud ones. Josh laughed. He always did. Presumptuous little bastard. I couldn’t help but join in, grateful that it cleared the lingering tension between us at last. I also apologized. And then I once again assured him that I really wasn’t going to do that for them. 

Or was I. 

One thing that Josh and Gabriel have in common is that they just can’t drop the subject. At least not until they get what they want. They asked me again a week later. And then again. Eventually, they altered the strategy, making me believe that I won, only to strike with renewed forces. 

It was a small dinner party at Sam’s house. We had a nice meal, a few… or more than a few drinks, and then some music was played. Just the usual shit. 

The guys looked dazzling that evening. A bit overdressed for the occasion, but that was nothing unusual with the two of them, so no one batted an eye. “That’s a really cool jacket,” I giggled, admiring Josh’s newest addition to his wardrobe when the three of us went to the kitchen to refill our glasses. I ran my fingers down the rhinestoned ornament on his sleeve. Gabriel’s shirt decently sported a very similar one, though he always preferred just embroidery. “And I love how you too match, without it being over the top.”

“Oh yeah?” I noticed the fleeting look and the wink shared between them, but I paid it no mind. Not only because they both liked flattery so that was nothing unusual, but also because Josh’s hand between my shoulder blades was rather distracting in a way I would never openly admit. “Let’s take a picture then. I wanna send it to mom. She loves matching outfits.” 

Again, nothing unusual. I took pictures at their parties pretty often. Sometimes it was just for me. Memories of precious days I wanted to keep.

“OK, strike a pose, you bastards!” I giggled again, already fumbling with my phone. They quickly wrapped their arms around each other and Josh grinned into the camera in his usual unserious way, but there was something in Gabe’s eyes and his soft smile that made me linger. As if the time suddenly slowed down. It was exactly what he wanted, and as I waited for the best moment to capture, he turned towards Josh, grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him with passion. 

I gasped. It was a sight previously unseen. I had witnessed a few fleeting kisses before, I had seen them cuddling on the couch or stroking each other’s arms in passing, but never anything so heated. 

They didn’t stop. They made me watch. Josh mirrored Gabriel’s movements when he ran fingers through the raven locks with eagerness and urgency that normally belonged behind their closed doors, and Gabriel hummed in appreciation. I realized I was holding my breath. The surrounding sounds of the living house around us dulled down, and all I could focus on through my sudden tunnel vision were their tongues playing together in a slow, sensual motion. It was at that moment when I realized they had deliberately orchestrated this to make me feel things. And it did. Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, Josh moaned into Gabriel’s open mouth. I bit my lip, unsure whether to say something or just run away from the room and the situation I didn’t ask to be part of. 

It was my unconscious choice to remain rooted on the spot, painfully aware of my panties getting wetter and wetter with each passing second. And just when Gabriel’s hand started moving downward towards the growing bulge between Josh’s legs, the embarrassment became unbearable. “Ok, STOP!” I suddenly bursted out. “What the fuck is this about?” 

That was rhetorical. I knew exactly what the whole thing was about. My answer was still a no.

Those fuckers took their time, unlocking their lips with delighted smiles as if I wasn’t even there, and obviously enjoying those theatrics as much as I tried not to. “Ehrrm, so,” Josh cleared his throat when he finally dared to meet my eyes. “Did you catch that?”

“The fuck I did,” I hissed through clenched teeth and angrily threw the phone on the counter table behind me. “Why the fuck did you do that?” 

“We do that all the time, baby,” Gabe chimed in and shrugged his shoulders with feigned innocence. He desperately tried to keep his poker face, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching. So did the vein on my temple. “It looks really good, doesn’t it? I mean, we. Doing… you know… I wish I had it printed on my w…”

“Fuck you!” I blurted out, pointing my finger at him menacingly before I jabbed Josh in the chest with it. “And fuck you, too!”

“Oh no, Darling, we want you to just…” But I was already storming out the door, while waving my middle finger at them. 

If you already think that I couldn’t stay mad at them for long, you’re absolutely right. And if you wanna ask whether they tried again – yes, they did. And the reason why I’m telling this story in the first place should also be pretty obvious by now, because – yes, they eventually succeeded. 

It so happened that one rainy day I found myself adjusting studio lights in Josh’s bedroom (without Mark’s help this time), all while questioning my life choices. 

“Tequila?” 

The sound of Josh’s voice coming seemingly out of nowhere made me jump, nearly knocking down one light stand. I was so nervous and so inside my head that I hadn’t heard him enter the room, already just in his silk bathrobe. “Sorry,” he mumbled and handed me the bottle which I readily accepted. I really needed a drink. Just let it burn my throat, and a few brain cells as well, baby. I gulped it down like a sailor, much to Josh’s amusement. 

“Are you nervous?” I asked rather unnecessarily when I was done, because he looked like he was going to spend the afternoon by the swimming pool… rather than fucking his boyfrind right in front of me. And of course, the question made him giggle. 

“No, not really, but it looks like you are.” And there was that hand again, stroking and gently squeezing my forearm as if he were afraid I was on the verge of fainting… which wasn’t that far from the truth, actually. I just didn’t want Josh to know. “Hey,” he added in a different tone that only assured me that he knew anyway. The hand now found my cheek, and I blessed his obliviousness. Josh obviously thought that running his thumb over my cheekbone and forcing me to look at him would somehow make it better, while the opposite was true. 

He was the most beautiful like this, stripped of all the make up and trinkets. That’s when his eyes really shone. It made me feel almost sentimental, for the lack of more appropriate words. I managed to have all those sentiments under control most of the time, but this was a brand new territory, and my heart was suddenly skipping a beat at the thought of what was to come. Now the truth reared its ugly head, taking me by surprise at the least convenient moment. It’s just lust and hormones you bitch, I tried to reassure myself. You didn’t get any in a while. 

Still mercifully clueless, Josh took the bottle from me and smiled encouragingly. “Just pretend you’re working for Discovery Channel.” 

I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like something between a sniff and a huff, so I averted my eyes, pretending to be busy with my equipment again. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled. “Some kissing, hugging, heavy petting… my hair might not hold up. Oh, wait! Now I’m actually nervous.”

He finally managed to make me laugh. “I promise I’ll make you look lovely no matter what.”

“Aaahh, that’s why I love you, Darling.” Now the hand found my side. Right under my left boob, to be more exact. Fighting off the monster it kept awaking, I turned towards Josh with an ironic grin plastered on my face just when he tried to kiss my cheek, and our noses collided rather painfully. 

“Ouch! Fuck! I’m gonna keep this here you buffoon.” I snatched the bottle back from him as he excused himself to go check on Gabriel, leaving me alone with more than one owie.

I checked the shutter speed and ISO settings one more time, because the tone of their skin messed with my previous adjustments a little bit. “Ok, I think I’m ready.”

And tipsy. 

The bottle was already half empty by the time we all got set. Which means they were now both already stark naked and idly (and shamelessly) lounging on the bed in front of me. They assured me they were ready too… in fact, had been getting ready for the last half an hour in the other room to spare me some ‘less visually attractive and unnecessarily hindering details,’ as Gabried had put it. It was an information I could easily live without. 

Assessing the view with just one eye open, I clasped my hands together. “Should I say… I don’t know… action, or something?” My voice cracked a little, and I really hoped they wouldn’t notice, which was really just wishful thinking. “No, that’s actually a bad idea…”

“You ok?”

“Yeah, Gabe, I assure you I’ve seen that thing before,” I snapped. That thing was already looking back at me, so I assessed they were both just politely waiting for my professional approval to start devouring each other. It felt awkward. What was I supposed to say? ‘Let the fucking commence?’ 

“Ok, guys,” I sighed. “Whenever you’re really ready. The key is to make all this look as genuine as possible. And natural. Take your time. Improvise. Just forget I’m here… please. And ignore the occasional flash.”

Photographers and cameramen are completely different creatures. You usually can’t escape the loud and commanding presence of the latter. We who capture still life memories prefer to be invisible. I always loved photography more exactly for this reason – because it feels more intimate in every way. The best camera is the one that’s unseen, and the same thing goes for the person who handles it. Everything was set to resemble their usual, private environment as much as possible. Their favorite scented candle was lit, some neutral background music was put on, and I stepped into the shadows behind the lights, focused solely on the viewfinder and waiting... 

Soon I found my footing.

Without any specific instructions on my part, I let them take the reins. Their muffled conversation became a pleasant hum in my ears, and their bodies were just shapes of light and living matter that morphed into new visually pleasant compositions with each passing second. With a bit of luck, I would be able to go through the whole session treating every snapshot I took exactly this way. I call it ‘dissociated focus’.

The first photos were simply beautiful, which is easily done when the object’s full of love. At first I thought they really looked no different than some of my other clients. Serene and loving gazes you can find on good wedding portraits. Maybe just a bit more… primeval. They were both sitting on their heels facing each other and looking into each other’s eyes. It looked like the beginning of a ritual. I suspected it was vastly different from their usual foreplay, but they were the actors, the directors and the ones who were supposed to enjoy it, so I just let myself marvel at the magic of it. 

I zoomed at Gabriel's palm gently caressing Josh’s bare chest. What a beautiful detail. Snap. Josh’s closed eyes and his head tilted slightly back, his lips parted as if in devotion – I’ve seen the sight many times before and always admired it. Snap. Many of my colleagues had photographed  it in the past and I envied them. Now I took undoubtedly the best one. Now he raised his arms up and let Gabriel trace the outline of his sides. Snap, snap, snap. 

The kiss that followed… I took quite a lot more pictures just of that first kiss, because I sensed that’s what they wanted when they took it slow, inviting me to capture every detail. 

Their lips slightly parted, barely touching. Almost bashfully. The electricity was almost visible, the anticipation almost tangible. Snap.

Eyes closed one second – snap – only to lock them in an unfocused gaze a moment later when the tips of their tongues finally met. Sexy as hell. I quickly zoomed in again. Snap. Josh’s eyebrows scrunched together when the feeling intensified and he whimpered to let the other one know how good that shared proximity felt. Snap. A brief moment of vulnerability when they pressed their foreheads together. Snap. 

This is art, I thought. 

I was aware of the fact that the atmosphere would shift soon, but my confidence grew every time I pressed the button, and my heartbeat slowly returned to a normal rhythm as I focused on the details showing how their pulse gradually quickened. 

I proceeded with surgical precision, careful not to miss any facet of their emotional responses to the physical touch. 

Gabriel slowly pushed Josh on the pillows and bent down to pepper his heaving chest and exposed neck with kisses. He had been right; they really did look good like this. Divine. 

They sounded even more so, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut for just a tiny second. Just to ground myself. It had been easy to remain calm when I could concentrate purely on the visual aspect of what was happening in front of me, but the moment their intimacies invaded my other, less professional senses, my heart betrayed me again. 

I took a deep grounding breath and focused on the tiny droplets of sweat that had just formed on Josh’s chest out of pure excitement. They glistened under my spotlights with each intake of his breath just like the rhinestones on his jumpsuits. 

They kissed again, fervently this time, moaning into each other’s mouths and gasping for air. Josh reached out to pull Gabe even closer and wrapped his legs around his lover’s hips. I tried to make the best of it, slowly realizing that doing so became increasingly harder with my camera attached to a tripod. 

Almost as if he could read my mind, Josh suddenly stopped and frowned. “Wait!” he breathed out, looking first up at Gabriel and then at me. It alarmed us both, each one for different reasons. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Gabriel whispered and stroked Josh’s cheek, trying to make him focus solely on himself. It made me feel like asking the same question would come out as extremely intrusive, even though I had probably every right to do so. 

“Those lights… I just don’t like it. Doncha think it just looks… staged?” That belonged to me. 

“Oh, fuck it!” Yes, he was completely right. I turned their bedroom into a fucking studio, completely ignoring the fact that it could erase the very essence of what they wanted me to capture. I wasn’t there to photograph porn stills, for fuck’s sake. I quickly slid the camera out of the tripod mount and switched off the lights. “You’re fucking right. I’m sorry. Light more candles.” 

I feared this stupid intermezzo would completely ruin the mood and the magic they had been building, but it had to be done and thankfully, once more candles were lit and I readjusted my camera settings, they quickly went back to where they had started: slowly exploring each other’s bodies as if nothing else in the world actually mattered. 

It probably didn’t. At least for a while. 

I could no longer hide, though. I had to come closer and essentially invade the personal space of their bed. They didn’t mind, so I just had to convince myself to be okay with it as well. 

Gabriel climbed up the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling Josh in between his legs and letting him rest against his chest. “How does it look?” he asked me quietly. 

What did he expect me to say? I wasn’t supposed to take any part in this, but my presence in the room suddenly became nauseatingly loud. They were both staring at me lazily, their naked bodies bathing in the candlelight and their faces already fucked out even though nothing had really happened yet. 

Well, not in front of me, I quickly reminded myself.

Without breaking eye contact with me, Gabriel took Josh’s earlobe in between his teeth. His middle fingers quickly found Josh’s nipples and started drawing slow circles around them. The latter one just closed his eyes and, letting his head rest against Gabe’s shoulder, he let out a contented hum. Snap. 

“It looks arousing,” I answered truthfully, done with their games. 

“You should come closer.”

What a preposterous suggestion. I was already hovering above the foot of the bed, with one knee already on the mattress to keep balance, and I could feel my heart in my throat when Gabriel slid his right hand down Josh’s stomach and wrapped his fingers around his cock, which earned him a breathy whimper. Encouraged, Gabriel started pumping him slowly while his lips attacked Josh’s neck. 

I almost whimpered too. 

Josh’s eyes suddenly opened again and he looked right into mine. Snap. Another high-pitched moan escaped his parted lips. I couldn’t stand it. I lowered the lens, only to see the swollen tip of his dick in the viewfinger, already glistening with precum. Snap. It was without a doubt the most obscene photo I had ever taken. 

“You really should come closer.” My eyes snapped back at the familiar sound and I saw Josh still watching me intently. My head was spinning. 

“I can’t,” I whispered, but my deceitful body already moved on its own. I slowly put the camera aside and placed my palms down on the mattress, clumsily and reluctantly. I almost touched Josh’s foot. 

“He’s been talking about that mouth for weeks.”

Gabriel’s words made the air in my lungs freeze. He continued stroking his lover’s dick all the way up and down and a few juicy profanities escaped Josh’s lips. It all seemed like a strange fever dream. My eyes started stinging with tears, although I couldn’t really explain why. It was all just overwhelming. “Did you… set me up?” I barely recognized my voice. There was hurt in it, but also something close to exhilaration. I realized I felt both. “You’re an asshole, Joshua Kiszka,” I whispered again, and he just closed his eyes and sighed.

“I guess… I, …am… but I swear, uh, we didn’t.” 

“So what is this?” I barked at Gabriel, suddenly full of fiery defiance. My blood ran hot with it. 

“I guess you would call it improvisation.”

Right…. RIGHT! 

So Josh wanted me to suck his dick. And his boyfriend was ready to watch. I was no stranger to kinky shit, so if they wanted to play with fire they’d better get ready. 

And god knows I really wanted to do that. To lick those shiny droplets off the slit… and then to choke on the size of him. 

Without any further ado, I reached for the hem of my tee and pulled it over my head, instantly flashing them with my bare tits. I rarely wear a bra, because I can confidently say that I don’t really need it. I hoped they would at least appreciate them for their natural beauty, but the way they both sucked in breath encouraged me even more. 

“Hold him,” I commanded Gabriel and immediately grinned at their vastly different reactions. Josh’s eyes popped out, but Gabe just grinned back with malicious glee.  

“Oh, ma donna, me likey.” He grabbed Josh by the elbows and pulled his arms back, while I stood up right on that mattress to pull my shorts and panties down. I almost lost my balance, but it was worth it. If they wanted me to actively participate in this beautiful filthiness, it shouldn’t be just a one sided spectacle. 

I quickly slid back down on my knees and playfully nudged at Josh’s knees to make him spread his legs a bit more for me. Why waste time? I licked a long stripe up his abdomen and chest before meeting his eyes up close this time. “So tell me, what were you imagining? I can do anything.”

For the second time in a few months, the cosmos raptured again, rendering this little blabbermouth speechless. I wasn’t interested in waiting for the reply anyway, already dying to have him in my mouth. “Just remember, both of you… ‘stop’ is the word. OK?” 

I wanted to be sure, because unlike them, I had nothing to lose. 

After getting the assurance, I slid further down and planted a soft kiss on his inner thigh before looking up for one last time. “Gabriel, do me a favor. Keep kissing his neck. I want him to lose his mind.” I was realistic enough to know that I couldn’t compete with the brunette in any way, time or space, so – already flattered by the sheer fact I had permission to make Josh feel good – I just wanted to make it unforgettable. 

With all my senses alert, I planted another kiss on the same spot as before and simultaneously wrapped my fingers around Josh’s balls to knead them gently. He emitted a soft sigh and his things shook a little. It was good, it was indeed very satisfactory indeed, but I wanted him to squirm and beg for more. At least for once. I moved my parted lips slowly up his thigh and Josh suddenly moaned right before I reached the desired destination, just before I felt him run his fingers through my hair. 

I tried to look up to confirm that Gabriel was no longer holding him. Instead he got back to rubbing and pinching his nipples. Good. I let go of Josh’s balls and sucked them in my mouth instead, relishing in the immediate, very vocal reaction. 

He smelled so good. Like dried apricots with whipped cream. My desire to taste all of him grew stronger, so I let go of the soft mass with a playful pop and let my flattened tongue slide all he was up from the base to his leaking head. I planted a soft kiss there before darting my tongue out to finally get a taste of that salty nectar.

I could feel his fingers tremble on my scalp, but nothing more. A lot of the guys I had been with would already push me down, but Josh was a true gentleman. I wanted to reward him for it, so I took him fully in my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. 

Josh cried out and his grip on my hair tightened. I loved it. Somewhere at the back of my head, I saw all three of us on that bed, with Josh sandwiched between us and completely at our mercy. Squirming and moaning with his eyes squeezed shut and his plump lower lips trembling. Too bad there was no one else to take the picture of it, because just the idea made me so wet I could feel it trickling down my thighs. 

It would be a shame to let it all go to waste, I thought. I’m not greedy, just a little vain. As I kept bobbing my head up and down, my vanity led my hand to reach down and scoop that juice on my fingers before I reached up to push them rather unceremoniously in Josh’s mouth. 

He understood immediately, wrapping his lips around them and sucking them deeper in. He was a natural, and for a split second I wished I had a dick. 

“Shit, I need more of this,” Josh breathed out when he finally let go. I was more than willing to oblige, but then I heard a groan and someone suddenly grabbed my wrist, making me look up. 

It was Gabriel, and I halted. Confused and worried, I let Josh’s cock slide from my mouth. I had completely forgotten about him and now I feared he may have had enough. “That’s not what he meant,” he said simply with that aloof grace that was both magnetic and intimidating. 

It took me a while to realize what was going on. I straightened up a bit because I felt like an idiot looking at them in confusion on all four. There was the hand again, caressing my cheek like it had done earlier that day. I searched Josh’s eyes for an answer and he just smiled, before he straightened up a bit as well and pulled me in his arms. 

I suddenly understood why their foreplay looked like a ballet. He was doing the same thing to me now, making me feel like a feather being blown around. Before I could make sense of it all, I was suddenly lying on my back with Josh hovering above me. “Remember, ‘stop’ is the word,” he repeated my previous words with a soft smile. I still didn’t understand, until I saw Gabriel behind him, already planting soft kisses on his back. “Darling… OK?” Josh repeated. 

“Ok,” I breathed out at last and closed my eyes. 

I shivered a bit when he started planting soft kisses along my clavicle, and then moving further down. The sensation was soft and steady at first, before his lips started to treble too just somewhere above my navel. 

Somewhere behind him, I heard a bottle cap pop. So this is what we were doing, I thought still in disbelief. I didn’t know why I suddenly felt so sentimental about it, but it all just felt so good. There was no way I’d ever tell them to stop. 

But Josh suddenly did, though he never really let go. He just rested his forehead against my inner thigh as his breath grew more and more heavy. I still didn’t dare open my eyes, still feeling a bit like an intruder, which was completely ridiculous as I lay there naked with Josh between my legs. His labored exhales slowly turned to moans and soon I heard another voice join him. 

It made me feel completely lightheaded. 

The hand ran down my thigh now, all the way down from my knee to my left buttock where he stopped and squeezed my flesh gently in a silent query. I could only nod. 

His next kiss made me gasp. I knew it was coming, but it still felt too good to be true. He started with hesitant catlike licks, so I made sure to let him know with my next exhale how wonderful it felt. Fuck, I had never felt so sentimental about having my pussy eaten before. 

I finally dared to open my eyes only to see his own peeking at me from under the mass of messy curls. He raised his eyebrows just a tad. Another silent question. Yes, I yearned for more of this from him and I brushed my fingertips gently over his forehead, hoping that was a good enough answer because I momentarily forgot how to speak. Josh closed his eyes and finally sucked my clit in his mouth. Behind him, Gabriel hovered over both of us with his head tilted back and his mind lost somewhere in his own growing pleasure. 

Soon I was grasping at the sheets around me and arching my back as the room kept rocking and spinning. 

Josh came first, briefly pausing so as not to hurt me. He let out a strangled cry and just his hot breath on my pussy was almost enough to send me over the edge as well. 

“Josh, please…,” I found my voice again. “I don’t care if you bite me, just…”

Just. He had just enough time to envelop my bud with his lips and send waves of delightful spasms though my whole body before his own started to shake as Gabe quickened his pace. 

As soon as I came back to Earth, I briefly looked around, only to see that a small stool with my camera on it was just within my reach, so I got a devilish idea. Snap. 

I caught it this time. The most obscene photo I had ever taken.

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For over two hundred years, Jacob has been living the life of a servant, butler, handy man, mechanic, groundskeeper, housekeeper–whatever it is you want to call it. He was content with the jobs he’s had, not once ever complaining. Though he wasn't your typical worker, of course. From 1825 he was the right hand man to many generations, passed down after each human’s death, beginning with the very first one.

Isaac Albany.

He brought on Jacob first as a groundskeeper, later on seeing him with more potential. Albany knew who Jacob was at that time, having witnessed him feeding on a young servant girl late one night when he thought he was alone. He didn't kill her, much to Albany’s surprise. Most, if not all, vampires feed to kill, draining their victims of their blood and life. Jacob, however, was one of the few who did not. He simply feeds to keep up his strength. He let the girl go after healing her flesh wound and clearing her memory of anything ever happening.

He stared at Albany for quite a moment that night. Blood slipped down the curve of his lips and the length of his chin. His eyes changed from blood red back to his normal, brown irises. From then on, the secret of Jacob’s true identity was confided within the family. No one spoke it, no one questioned it.

This went on for years after that. When Albany died, Jacob was given to the eldest son of each new generation. He worked whatever task was given to him without complaint. Jacob never minded. He enjoyed the work, regardless of what it was. He learned new skills, adding to his extensive knowledge and experience.

Generation after generation, he worked for the Albany family. Son after son after son and so on. That is until this last one. Walter Albany. He didn't have any sons, never had kids at all. Jacob was uncertain of his future when Walter passed on. That time was approaching quickly and when it did, Jacob was prepared to have to find his own place in the world. What he wasn't prepared for was to be given to a relative of Walter.

Jacob read the will, but he still couldn't believe it. Instead of putting the house up for sale, it was written to be given to his niece, Elaine. Jacob had never met her before. He knew nothing about her. She was never around for the holidays when the family all got together. Other nieces and nephews and cousins he had met before, but never once having met Elaine. She was Walter’s youngest brother's daughter. When Albert died, her mother took her away from here. Jacob never got the chance to meet her.

Now three weeks later, he’s preparing for her arrival by getting the house cleaned and in order. He could hear the car driving down the gravel driveway, coming closer and closer until it parked outside of the house. Stepping up to the curtains of the study, Jacob pulls one back ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of Elaine.

The car door of the driver’s side opens and a young woman climbs out. Her dark is braided back behind her head, falling a bit down her back. Reaching back into the car, she pulls out a heavy winter coat and slips it on, shivering slightly from the cold. As she turns to face the looming house behind her, Jacob disappears from the window and begins to make his way down to the front door.

Elaine couldn't believe this whole property was now hers. She still can’t believe it as she stares at it, looming over her like a dark cloud. According to history, this place has been a long standing fortress since the 1800s. Trudging up to the house, she pulls out her keys and finds the one to unlock the front door. She didn't even get a chance to stick the key into the lock when it began to open before her. Lifting her head and dropping her hand back to her side, her eyes met those of a young man. His hair hung in loose waves around his shoulders and framed the sides of his face. His eyes, brown with a hint of gold, lock with hers. They shift slightly as his face crinkles, rising up into a smile.

“You must be Elaine,” he says. “I hope you had safe travels getting here.” His voice sounded like silk, soft to the touch and wrapping around her with grace.

“Y-Yes..” She stammers.

He steps aside to allow her inside the house. “I’m Jacob, the caretaker of the property.”

“The lawyers mentioned you’d be here.”

He nods his head slowly and looks back at her with a softness to his gaze.

“I can’t believe my uncle left me this place and…you.”

“I’m not sure if you mean that in a good way or bad,” Jacob chuckles.

“Depends,” She says, watching him carefully. “I just met you.” She slid off her jacket and he was quick to take it from her, draping it over his arm and flashing her a warm smile. “Soo.. You just come with the house?”

“Yes,” He nods his head before moving to the other side of the foyer to pull open a closet door. He hangs up her coat and turns back to face her.

“And that’s just…normal?”

He smiles and again nods his head. “For me, at least. I’ve been here for a long time now.”

“Why didn't he just leave the house to you?”

Jacob then shakes his head, placing his arms behind his back. “He tried, as have others, but I prefer to just serve rather than own.”

“Hmph,” She looks him up and down slowly. “I got a mansion and a butler. Might take some time getting used to. So what else do you do around here?”

“Everything.” He says. “Come. I will show you to your living quarters.”

“Living..quarters. That’s…interesting.” She doesn't see him smiling, but he is indeed as he walks in front of her, leading up the grand stairwell.

“There are seven bedrooms, one library, one study–that I tend to hibernate in most times–and eight bathrooms.”

“Yeah.. Definitely an upgrade from a shitty one bedroom apartment.”

Jacob brings her down a hallway and stops in front of a pair of dark oak doors. “This is your private quarters.” He pushes open the doors and steps to the side. “I cleaned in here yesterday so everything’s dust free with clean bedding.”

“Where do you stay?” Elaine asks after looking around the room.

“There’s a little house in the woods outback.”

“You live in the woods?” Her tone had him smiling again.

“Your uncle was generous and had one built for me to live in while I worked here.”

“What does it look like?”

“Nothing like this,” He says, shaking his head. “But I like it. It’s cozy..”

“You said you do everything. What exactly does that mean?”

“I clean, I fix things, I can bring you things. I mow the lawn–”

“That’s a lot of lawn out there.”

He scoffs, smiling again. “But you name it, I can do it.”

“And you’re just here by yourself? No one else works here?”

“The occasional maid if I need extra hands, but other than that, it’s just me. Always has been. Would you like a tour of the rest of the house?”

⌔⌔

“This place is old..” Elaine says as they reenter the foyer. “Any ghosts?”

“I’ll admit that I have yet to come across one.” Jacob leans against the banister of the stairs and folds his arms over his chest. “Still want to own this place?”

“Maybe.. Why? Do you want it?”

Jacob smirks. “Kind of already do.”

“Oh right,” Elaine playfully rolls her eyes. “Because you work here.”

⌔⌔

While Jacob carried in Elaine’s bags to place in the foyer for the time being, his hearing caught on to the tail end of a conversation. Judging by the grainy voice she was speaking with, he could only assume that she was talking to someone on the phone.

“Is he cute?”

“Gorgeous..”

His lips curved up into a smile and he scoffs to himself retreating back outside to carry in the last couple of bags from her car. There would be a moving truck coming within the next few days to deliver some more of her things, but for now this was all she had brought with her.

He swiftly moved about, bringing her things upstairs all the while she made the tea downstairs in the kitchen. He was done and hanging out by the bottom of the stairs by the time she was coming out of the kitchen with a cup of steaming tea in her hand. She paused when she saw the foyer void and empty of all of her cluttered bags.

“You finished already?” She asked, quite surprised.

Jacob nods his head. “Of course. Anything else you’d like for me to do?”

“No, no I think I’m okay for the night.” Elaine places a barefoot on the first step of the staircase and glances back at Jacob. “Why don’t you go rest for the night? I think I can manage.”

“I would, but I should probably get started on cooking dinner for tonight. I was thinking about roast chicken and some cooked vegetables?” He inquires as his brows peak ever so slightly.

“He cooks too?”

Jacob’s lips twitch as he fights the urge to smile. Elaine chews on the inside of her lip as she looks at him curiously. “Only if you join me and not stand in the corner like an actual butler.”

This time Jacob allows himself to smile. “Of course, Miss Albany.” He starts to walk away when she calls out for him. He turns back to find her own brows raised.

“It’s Elaine to you.”

Jacob bows a little. “As you wish.. Elaine.”

Later Elaine was drawn downstairs by the smell of the food before Jacob even had a chance to come find her. Though he didn’t really eat human food, he pretended to keep up the facade that he was this normal person. He sat across from her at the dining room table. Neither one of them wanted to sit at the head of the table.

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the steady beat of her pulse. He sipped on his stash of blood that he snuck in while he cooked dinner. It was cold but it would satisfy him for the time being. Anything to keep him from wanting to sink his teeth into her instead.

No.

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn't. Elaine had no idea that he was a vampire. It may have been a family secret but she wasn’t one of them, having grown up separate from all of this. Why? He was sure he’d never know the answer unless she gave it to him willingly. So his true identity has to stay a secret. She couldn't know what he was out of fear of scaring her, making her afraid of him.

When they’d finished, he sent Elaine off to bed while he cleaned up the dining room and the kitchen.

Stepping out into the cold air of the night, Jacob follows the brick pathway out to his cabin in the woods. He glanced back at the house only momentarily. He found her standing there in the window of the bedroom. Her eyes landed on him and she smiled faintly, giving him a gentle wave. He returned the gesture and disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

⌔⌔

By morning, Elaine woke up to a soft knock on her bedroom. Climbing out of bed, she goes to open the door expecting to find Jacob standing there on the other side. Instead she finds a tray of freshly baked pastries and a cup of coffee waiting for her on the floor by her feet. She looked down both ends of the hallway but saw no sign of Jacob. Carefully she picks up the tray and carries it back into her room, kicking the door closed with her heel.

Jacob had to admit she was by far the most interesting relative he’s worked for. Normally they’d eat breakfast quietly in the morning, either reading a novel or the morning’s newspaper.

Elaine?

A shower and music loudly playing. He could hear her feet padding against the floor in a rhythmic pattern. She must be dancing.

He tunes out his hearing and refocuses on the task in front of him.

Hunting.

His prey stands just a few yards away from him, unsuspecting of his presence. The blood courses through their veins quickly. Within seconds he was pouncing on them, holding them tightly against his body and sinking his teeth into their neck. He keeps his hand pressed firmly against their mouth to muffle their screams.

Hikers were his favorite to feed on. Their adrenaline pumping the blood made it that more delicious and worth the struggle they put up to rid themselves of his terror.

Getting his fill, he heals the wound on their neck and wipes their memory clean of this moment ever happening. Leaving the exhausted hiker alone, he trudges back through the woods towards the house and cleans off the blood from his lower lip. Stepping through the back door leading into the kitchen, he finds Elaine standing at the sink with her hands plunged into soapy water.

“I can do that.” He says, making her jump with fright.

“Good god.. Don’t you ever sneak up on a person like that.”

Jacob smiles and leans against the threshold. “I’m sorry.”

“Your smile says either wise.”

“My job is to clean. I could have done that if you had asked.”

“I’m still getting used to all of this, Jacob. It’s only been twelve hours.”

“Let me finish.” He says as he walks up to the sink and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

Elaine breathes a huff and pulls her hands out of the water. “Soo.. What exactly does one do around here?” She asks.

“You should go check out the library.” Jacob grabs a mug and runs the sponge over it. “They’ve built the collection over the years, you might find some pretty nice editions of the classics.”

“Any suggestions?” Elaine asks as she dries off her hands.

“Dracula.” He says, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Perfect the season.”

“I’ve never read Dracula before.”

“Never?”

Elaine shakes her head. “I know the legend and the myth, but I’ve never actually read the book.”

“Give it a try. You might like it. One of my favorites.”

⌔⌔

--------------------------------------------------------------------

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It took Josh a few minutes to get you calmed down enough to agree to join him in the van. At first you figured it would be best if you found somewhere to stay for the night. Somewhere far, far away from him and his brother… Josh wouldn’t hear it though.

You didn’t give a lot of details about why you had been so distraught when he found you, and he didn’t ask. Only tried to console you which made you feel even worse about everything that had happened. How exactly were you supposed to tell him that the reason your eyes were so puffy was because you were crying over Jake? In every possible way you played that conversation out in your head it didn’t go over well.

Instead you clutched your phone to your chest as you followed him back around to the pick up area. The rest of the band was already waiting in the van, ready to get to the hotel for showers and a comfortable bed to sleep in for the night until it was back to the bunks for the next show in another bustling city. If they weren’t all dead tired then maybe it might have been more of a spectacle to see the door sliding back open and Josh stepping in with you behind. In reality everyone was just relieved he had finally made it back so they could go.

They’d left the front seat open. Danny was sprawled out in the back with a jacket thrown over his face. Sam sat next to the window, he was FaceTiming his dog sitter so he didn’t pay any mind, and Jake sat next to him trying to look anywhere but at you or Josh as you settled in and the van pulled onto the street.

The highway came quickly, and you counted your breaths as a distraction to control your anxiety. Josh must’ve noticed, because he reached over and took your hand in his. You glanced over at him and smiled. It was a sweet gesture and it did provide you some comfort, at least until your eyes shifted and caught Jake’s stare from the rearview mirror.

It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if he’d looked away, if he’d at least pretend to be as upset about what had happened as you were, but he held your gaze like he’d been waiting for you to see him watching. Waiting for you to search for him too.

You shifted in your seat, pulling your hand from Josh’s and setting it back in your lap. For the rest of the ride you watched your feet, keeping your head down and reflecting over how you’d ended up in this situation.

From the van everyone filed into the hotel. The tour manager handed out the room keys, everyone’s suitcases including yours, were already stacked onto a luggage cart ready to be carried up to the correct floor. You stood back, unsure of their routine and not wanting to get in the way when you noticed Josh speaking with the manager in a rather frustrated way.

“Is everything alright?” You questioned when he turned back to you, a clear look of defeat easily read in his expression even through the remnants of smeared makeup.

Josh sighed, grabbing his bag and your small carryon suitcase you’d been instructed to leave with the driver who picked you up from the airport. “There’s a mix up with the rooms. They couldn’t find your reservation, I guess it didn’t get approved with the agency in time so they filled it and now they’re saying there’s nothing available”.

“Oh…” your voice trailed off. It sounded like you needed to find somewhere to stay after all. It wasn’t even that big of a deal to you, but if you’d only known sooner it would’ve saved you from a very uncomfortable ride over here.

Josh tried to hand over the keycard, “Please, take my room. I’ll stay with Jake”.

The mere mention of his name made your face flush uncomfortably. “Oh no, I can’t make you do that! I’m sure there’s another hotel somewhere around here with an available room”.

“It’s past midnight, and it’s LA. Even if you did find something it’ll be costly. I invited you here, I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of”. Josh didn’t even sound like he was arguing the point. His resolve was strong and if you knew him as well as you thought you did then it was obvious there was no changing his mind here.

You bit your lip, afraid to say the real reason why you couldn’t let him stay in Jake’s room tonight. Had he even asked Jake if it was okay to stay in his room? Sure they were brothers, but after the events of the night you were sure Jake wanted the space to himself. “Can I just stay with you?”

That was a bad idea from the moment it fell from your lips, but Josh’s face lightened up just a little bit at the request. “Are you okay with that?” He questioned in response, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable”.

Well that ship had already sailed, but at this point there wasn’t much for you to do but get some rest. You followed Josh to the elevator, keeping your distance as the little digital number for each floor continued to climb. Thankfully everyone else had already made it up and into their rooms by the time you arrived and he set your bag aside by the door so he could scan the keycard.

The room was nice, nicer than most hotel rooms you stayed in and certainly out of your budget. It wasn’t big though, only a small desk next to a dresser with a TV mounted above it and a lounge chair that sat in the corner facing the king size bed.

“Would you like to shower?” Josh asked once you both found a spot to stand and observe each other, trying to keep the awkwardness to a minimum. It was failing miserably.

“I definitely need one,” you admit, cringing when thinking about all the germs picked up at the airport and the venue. “But you can go first. I'm sure you need one just as bad”.

Josh cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying I stink?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“No! I’m just saying I don’t want to mess up your routine or whatever!” It was getting increasingly harder to not seem suspicious. Josh could tell there was something up with you but he just couldn’t bring himself to ask. Or maybe he was afraid to?

“Alright, alright” he dropped the joke and started to unpack the overnight essentials out of his bag. “But I won’t subject you to the whole routine. I’m usually up for a couple of hours after a show trying to wind down”.

“Really?” You moved to sit in the chair, making yourself comfortable until it would be your turn to get clean and change. It would be a lie if you said that you didn’t think about how you had made the right choice to pack something modest to wear to bed. “I would’ve thought you’d be ready to get to bed and rest?”

“That would be nice” Josh scoffed, like the idea of being able to rest while on the road was too far fetched an idea for him to comprehend. “Maybe tonight I’ll give it a try”.

While Josh showered you made your way around the room. First it started with getting your things ready, plugging your phone charger into the wall next to the bed, and setting out your pajamas. Then it turned into full blown pacing until you heard the shower stop and eventually the door pull open.

You stood back up, acting like you hadn’t just dart across the room to throw yourself back into the chair. “You save me some hot water?”

Josh smiled as he towel dried his hair. The joke made him hopeful that you were starting to feel better, but he still kept his distance and allowed you a turn.

In the shower you were finally allowed a moment to fall apart again. The hot water washed away the rest of your tears and by the end of it you came to realize that you couldn’t avoid your shame any longer.

Most of the lamps were turned off when you exited the bathroom. Josh was already in the bed, making true on his word to try and turn in early. You felt anxious all over again, a voice in your head telling you to just leave it alone. He was tired, you both needed sleep, but you knew it would be better to clear the air before getting into bed with him.

“Umm,” your voice sounded too soft, weak, but he stirred and moved to sit up. “I think we need to talk”.

Josh pulled the covers back, exposing a large portion of the bed and patted the open spot next to him. “Come sit, we can talk about anything you want to”.

You stood with your arms crossed over your chest, defensive, your heart rate already elevated. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea”.

Confusion flashed across his face for a moment, but then he took a closer look at your body language and began jumping to conclusions. “Listen,” he started, deciding to say his piece first before he even truly knew what it was you wanted to talk about. “I like you. I think you’re a great person and it’s been a pleasure getting to know you better over these past few months, but I’m still trying to figure out some things myself and umm…” Josh paused, his eyebrows pinching together as he picked at a piece of fuzz sticking to the stark white sheets. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not at all interested, but I promise despite what it may look like now, it really wasn’t my intention to get you here and force you into anything. If you want the room I really can go somewhere else”.

Although you’d heard everything he had said you were caught up on his confession. The rest came in garbled bits that your brain tried frantically to piece together while still trying to process. It felt like a stab to your chest, because you liked him too but you weren’t sure if what you felt for him was as strong as this other feeling that kept pulling at your insides. “No Josh it’s not that, I’m not questioning your intentions. Actually it’s the opposite. I guess I’m questioning mine”.

He certainly wasn’t expecting you to say something like that. In his profession Josh knew to be careful around new people. He’d had training to learn how to protect himself from the psychos and stalkers, but he’d never felt like he had anything to worry about with you.

You sighed and tried to relax, toeing over to the bed and taking a seat against the edge facing away from him. It would be easier to say what you needed to say without having to look him in the eyes. “I may have gotten involved with someone else. It wasn’t on purpose, and frankly I’m not sure I even know why but I…”

Your voice trailed off as you tried to compile your thoughts and before you knew it Josh was leaning over and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. A gesture he’d made a dozen times and yet you wondered how he could show you so much kindness right now. “I’m developing feelings for him, Josh. I don’t know what to do”. You put your head in your hands and in some way it felt like you were back at home talking to him over the phone.

“For who?” When you didn’t budge he pulled closer, trying to get a look at you because frankly you were scaring him. “You can tell me” he pushed a little harder.

“Jake” the name was bitter on your tongue and it fell from your lips like a dirty crumb. You felt like a terrible friend for leaning on him about this, for revealing your feelings for none other than his brother. Even then, at the same time your heart thumped hard at the mere thought of the man in mention.

The warm hand on your back retreated but Josh remained sat behind you. “Oh,” he uttered simply, not without a hint of hurt. “I guess that makes sense”.

You pulled your head from your hands, glancing over your shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Jake, he’s asked about you sometimes” Josh began. He was calm, not at all the reaction you thought you would get, but also surprisingly sincere. “After our phone calls, or when he knew you had been over. I tried not to think much of it, but then again maybe I was just trying to not start anything again”.

Josh sighed heavily, something seemed to have struck a nerve.

“You two have been fighting?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. More like a long feud we’ve learned to live with”. Josh stood from the bed and you watched quietly as he approached the mini fridge. Inside it was fully stocked with juices, fancy expensive water, the little bottles of liquor. Josh grabbed some whiskey and began to brew some instant coffee. He offered you some but you declined, your nerves had already made you jittery enough.

“Back home there was this girl,” Josh began once he had a cup in his hand. Now that you weren’t actively resisting a panic attack you found yourself getting more comfortable on the bed. He rejoined you, and you both faced each other sitting cross legged as he told his story.

“Sweet girl, we’d known her nearly our whole lives, went to church with us. Her family sat behind ours. I always thought she hated us because three boys shoved between their mom and dad in a pew? Yeah we were never very well behaved”. He smiled as he spoke, fond moments he had tried for a long time to stifle surfacing to the front of his memory like no time had passed at all. “She went to a different school until her parents got a divorce and she moved across town, right down the street from us. Then we started seeing her around a lot. She was in my algebra classes, always helped me with my homework before home period, and she played clarinet in jazz band with Jake. He invited her to junior prom but she turned him down for a guy on the football team. Jake was so upset about it that he didn’t go. We were in the middle of writing some music for a recording gig coming up so he used that as an excuse to stay home with Sam. I went though, and when her date turned out to be a total loser we spent the whole night together talking and dancing. By next Monday we were inseparable”.

“In the beginning it caused a lot of fights between Jake and I. He said it was unfair because I knew he liked her first. I told him that she wasn’t a prize to claim dibs on. Eventually Jake just gave up. He started seeing lots of girls but was never really serious with any of them. The only thing he was serious about was the music. When we graduated she put off going to college for a semester so she could tour with us - with me. Things got crazier than ever before. I mean at that time we were just starting to realize that we were making it, signing deals, adding more shows, it was a lot to keep up with and we couldn’t stop if we wanted the momentum to keep growing. I didn’t give her as much attention then as I should have. I didn’t even know she’d been accepted into Cornell until we were back at home on a break and she was packing up her bedroom. I loved her, really did, we were each other's firsts for just about everything, and I’ll never be able to remind her of that”.

“What happened between you two?”

“We stayed in touch when she moved to New York, but distance at that age can be hard. She met someone else there, after I broke things off. I was learning some things about myself, about my sexuality that I felt like I needed to go through alone. At the end of it I’m the idiot still trying to define myself and she’s-”

Josh fought off the knot in his throat, tossing his head back and finishing the rest of the room-temperature coffee that had cooled as he spoke. You could tell it was getting more and more difficult for him to recount these events but even then you didn’t expect the ending.

“In six months she was engaged, they were traveling back home to tell her parents when they got caught in a storm. A semi-truck lost traction on the highway and hit them head on. They both died instantly”.

That was the final blow that cracked your heart in two. You threw your arms around Josh’s torso and pulled him into a hug apologizing for everything. For coming here and causing problems, for making him relive that trauma, for getting between him and Jake again.

“If Jake had just gone to that stupid dance anyways he probably would’ve been there for her. They probably would’ve ended up together, happy, and all the stupid stuff I did in the end to hurt her, to push her away, she could still be here with us. She never should have ended up with me, I’m messed up and I blew it and she will never know how sorry I am”.

“She knew” you kept him pressed against your chest, your sleeve feeling damp from where he rested his cheek on your shoulder. “I’m sure she knew. Whatever it is, whatever you did, I’m sure she’s forgiven you”.

Josh sobbed against you and you could feel his body give out. Like he’d been holding onto all that guilt and fear for so long that it had manifested itself in an ache in his muscles. He took a moment to pull himself back together, looking away as he rubbed his eyes red with the back of his hand to try and dry them. “So much for an early night huh?”

You smiled softly at him, so relieved that you were both able to talk about this and not end up losing a friend.

“You should give it another shot with Jake. He can be an asshole sometimes, play like he doesn’t catch feelings, but I’m telling you on the inside he’s a hopeless romantic dying to smother some poor girl with all his affection”.

Apparently that poor helpless girl was you.

You took to chewing your lip again. “I don’t know. I said something really mean to him. He might not want to forgive me just yet”.

“Come with us to Vegas tomorrow”.

“What?”

The light started to return to Josh’s eyes as he sat back up and began rambling. Maybe coffee and whiskey wasn’t the best choice. “It’s the last show on this stint of the tour, you have to see him before then. Jake was talking about going away during this break and he won’t tell any of us where. If you don’t get through to him before then who knows what could happen”.

“Wait, hold on a second” you stopped him right there before his idea could sprout into a full fledged plot to get you two together. “Please don’t say or do anything. I was serious when I told you I said something really mean to him. He probably doesn’t want to hear from me ever again”.

“I don’t care if he kicks and screams and throws a tantrum when you try to talk to him, you have to make it right. Please, I took someone special away from him already”. Josh took your hand in his, like he was pleading for you to help. “You’ve been such a pleasure, if there’s anyone who can win him over it’s you. I know because you’ve already won me”.

The reality of the situation sunk back in and it settled thick in the air surrounding the both of you. His thumb brushed back and forth against your wrists and he turned away like he was suddenly growing shy. “What about you?” Your voice was back to a mere whisper, caution returning.

Josh cracked a soft smile, shaking his head while his chest puffed out with breath and deflated with defeat. “I can’t say that I won’t be a little jealous, but I have the foresight now to know it’s not always about me”.

“I don’t know” you pulled away, trying to shrink back into yourself. Meeting and befriending Josh had already been like living in a dream and now you had two brothers vying for your attention. Although you were confident enough to know you were a catch it was still hard to process in real time. “I don’t want to hurt anybody”.

“That’s life. You can’t bottle away your feelings because of someone else. Everyone is entitled to their own emotions, and besides, my happiness comes from knowing my loved ones are equally happy and fulfilled”.

Josh could tell by the way you chewed your lip that you were still hesitant, but he wasn’t ready to back down so soon. “Why don’t we get some sleep? In the morning if you decide you want to go home I’ll have someone take you to the airport to make your flight”.

Sleep did sound appealing. All this crying and talking had exhausted you enough to agree that any decision you made right now could be faulty. And yet your mind was still running in circles. “And if I don’t?”

A cheeky hint of a smile returned to Josh’s face, but he forced it away. “The bus leaves at eight in the morning”.

“Have you been thinking about me?” Jake questioned, his voice like a serpent slithering its way through your ear canal dropping endorphins on its way to your head as he pressed warm, wet kisses against your throat.

“No” You panted but your body betrayed your words by arching off the bed, searching for his. You found nothing.

“Liar”. His voice was just a whisper now, distant.

“What about me?” You turned your head and lying next to you was Josh, smiling, his eyes hungry as he watched you writhe.

“Josh…” His name fell from your lips like a secret and he answered the call with his lips to yours. The kiss was familiar, slow, and comforting.

“Haven’t I told you not to play with my things?” Jake spoke to his brother now. The voice was coming from behind you.

“Don’t be greedy” Josh broke the kiss to counter him. “There’s plenty of her to go around. Isn’t there, doll?”

Play thing? Doll? You thought to yourself. Who the hell did they think you were?

“Stop fighting” you demanded, trying to assert yourself as the one in charge here. “Or neither of you will get anything”.

There was a pause as the both of them silently calculated their next moves. Josh was the first to break. “Yes ma’am” he uttered as he slid closer to you. His hand reached over and cupped your breast through your thin, cotton sleep shirt. You let out a soft moan and then there were more hands on you.

Now you felt him behind you, gripping your hip as he pressed up against you hot and heavy. “Who’s the greedy one now?” He was back at your ear, the tip of his nose raising goosebumps as it traced along your skin.

You woke in a sweat and could already feel the wetness pooling between your legs. The darkness was jarring at first, but when your eyes began to adjust you saw Josh sprawled out on the bed next to you, still sound asleep. His mouth was slightly open but he was quiet, all but his steady breathing as his chest rose and fell underneath the covers.

Thank god he’s finally getting some sleep. At some point during the night you remembered crawling into the bed with him after your talk. The bedside lamps had still been on, and you were listening to him tell more stories like you usually would. Sleep must’ve taken you quickly.

If only you could say the same now. You were wide awake.

Rolling over onto your other side (definitely not telling yourself that there was no way Jake would be there) you found your cellphone left sitting on the table and checked the time. 5:48. Sighing you noticed how your battery was also at a very low percent, stupid charger.

Carefully so as to not wake Josh, you slid from the bed and stood slowly. It took a moment of fidgeting to get the plug just right so that the little lightning bolt at the top of the screen came on. Got to get a new one you told yourself as you moved across the room over to where you’d left your bag. Pulling out a pair of jeans you slipped into the bathroom and changed before finding your shoes.

As an afterthought, more so to protect yourself from the cold than being concerned about anyone seeing you walking the halls at this hour without a bra on, you grabbed the jacket at the bottom of your bag. Next you stuffed your wallet and the extra key card Josh had left on the desk into the pocket of the jacket. Just in case something from the vending machine looked particularly appetizing. Then you left the room. Right as your stomach started to growl you found relief in a bag of cheese-its and a payday bar. Nothing like some carbs and candy for breakfast.

Despite the early hour, the hotel was much busier than you expected. Men and women dressed in suits and pencil skirts hurried past you down the hallways, their travel bags rolling behind them as they jammed elevator buttons and furiously sipped coffee from the eight ounce paper cups the hotel rooms offered.

You found your way down to the floor level and noticed that there was a small courtyard sheltered with shrubs that offered some faded cushioned patio furniture. Deciding that place would be a peaceful spot to eat your snacks and watch the sunrise, you pushed the door open thinking that you would be the only one out here. Wrong you were.

The smell of cigarette smoke hit you first, clueing you in as you walked further outside. The courtyard came into view and sitting in one of the chairs near an exit gate to the parking lot sat none other than Jake. You halted your steps, unsure if you should still be here, but he didn’t look upset to see you.

“Has anyone ever told you those are bad for you?”

He smirked and leaned over to snuff the end out against the uneven brick even though he was almost finished. “I quit a long time ago” he replied matter-of-factly. “Only ever crave one when I’m around you”.

That didn’t sound fair. How were you supposed to know that he was out here? You searched your brain for something snarky to say back to him, but although sleep was far from possible that didn’t mean you weren’t too tired to function right now. Instead you sat down a couple of chairs away from him.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked the next question.

Shaking your head from left to right was the best response you could manage to give him.

”Me either” he sighed, looking content to remain sitting even with you joining him. That was a good sign.

You ate your cheesy snacks, keeping your candy bar hidden in your jacket pocket, and Jake tried to pretend like he wasn’t watching.

“I see you kept the jacket”.

The munching sounds stopped as you willed your face to not burn. Of course he remembered giving it to you. “I thought it was fitting to bring it along”. That was a safe answer you decided.

Now with a little bit of food in you some energy was slowly starting to return just as the first colors of daylight were beginning to shine above the bushes. You swallowed your last bite, wishing that you had gone ahead and bought a bottle of water to wash it down with, and gathered the courage to speak. This had to be your chance to say something, do something, apologize. “About earlier…” Your voice broke revealing how nervous you suddenly were.

“Don’t worry about it” Jake tried to save you the trouble by brushing what had happened in the dressing room off. Like it wasn’t the same thing that had been keeping him up as well.

“No” You pushed, holding your ground. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did and I regret it the moment it happened”.

He met your gaze, the pastel colors spreading behind him in beaming light. It was beautiful. Suddenly you found yourself feeling rather reflective and the words came spilling from you as if he had opened you up like a book with one gentle, tired look.

“You know I used to think that I had everything all figured out. I took a year off after high school to travel. I wanted to see the world, make memories, experience life, discover myself. That was until I met Nicholas. We fell in love fast. I'd never been so head over heels for a boy before, but he was cute and he came from a very wealthy family and he spoiled me. We spent the next summer in Europe, getting to know each other, talking about our dreams, making plans, making love”. You were a little embarrassed to admit that last part, but it was true and you were trying to be honest right now. “When we came home his family helped pay for my college tuition. I decided early on that I wanted to be a designer. Nick didn’t care much, he was two years ahead of me and working toward his finance degree anyway so I was allowed to pursue whatever I wanted. He got a job at his father’s company, of course. I thought I’d hit the jackpot, at least until he started micromanaging me. He would call me all hours of the day whether I was in class or not. When I started getting deep into my design program he started to pressure me into changing my mind, even suggested that I just drop out. That made me mad. I didn’t want to rely on his parents' money our whole lives but he didn’t care what I thought. When I finally graduated we threw a small party to celebrate. I remember thinking finally they’re proud of me but then he stood me up in front of everybody and got down on one knee…”

“I knew in that moment that it would never be about me. He was a narcissist that would always find a way to make everything about him. After completely humiliating myself I packed my things and went home, but I knew at my age that I couldn’t just move back in with my parents so I found the first decently paying job I could and landed in Nashville. Eight months later I read about the boutique and took a shot in the dark, now here I am just trying to carve my path and make it in this twisted, backwards world on my own”.

Jake listened while you talked, his eyes widening with surprise when he heard that you’d nearly been engaged. He also looked like he was angry, pissed off at a man he’d never met before only when learning of the few things he had done to hurt you. Josh had heard more, he’d cursed and rued the day he ever crossed paths with Nicholas. Not that it would ever happen. Although even he hadn’t heard the full story. Most of that you kept locked away, using it as fuel to do better, be better.

As you recalled that part of your life some things started to click. You began to realize that maybe the way you had reacted to Jake in the dressing room was an unconscious response to the situation. Not that it was an excuse for saying what you did, but Josh had been impressing on you that just because someone didn’t physically hurt you, or you weren’t aware of it at the time, didn’t mean that you didn’t suffer some sort of abuse at the hands of your ex.

“I think that’s why I’m so appreciative of Josh” More of your thoughts started to spring free. “To have met someone who is so encouraging of my work, and appreciative, and inclusive. It’s refreshing to say the least”.

There were many ways Jake could have taken your compliment toward his brother. In light of how the two of you had parted last he very easily could have gotten angry again, but instead Jake smiled. Besides, if there was anyone who truly knew how bright his brother was, it was him. “Inclusive you say. In more ways than one”.

That comment sparked your attention and you cocked a brow going quiet now so that he would elaborate.

“I’ve known for a while, but he’s getting around to feeling more comfortable telling others, I mean if he hasn’t already told you”.

He hadn’t, but you could see where this was going.

“Josh likes men and women” Jake disclosed only because he had faith you wouldn’t go around gossiping about him behind their back. It didn’t come as a surprise to you, and you didn’t care. Josh loved love, that was obvious after one hour of getting to know him. He had so much to give, it only made sense that he didn’t pick and choose who he gave it to.

Since he brought it up you felt like it was okay territory to ask Jake what his preferences were. “And you?”

“I don’t identify as anything other than straight” he felt comfortable enough to answer, “but I do have this friend that given the chance I wouldn’t say no. He’s got a beautiful loving wife and kids though, so I’m satisfied being his musical lover”.

“His music wife” you chuckled and Jake grinned sheepishly.

“Well?” He pushed. Now that he had shared his, he was waiting for you to add yours.

“I mean there were always those times in college, but no I suppose I’m straight”. He looked satisfied enough with that so you added a little “for now” at the end. Just to be a tease.

“Now I’m interested in hearing about ‘those times in college’” Jake teased back, though not actually thinking you would spill so easily.

“My roommate and I got super close pretty quickly” you shrugged. “I would get all the invites to the big frat parties because of Nick. “Tequila, blunts, and my bestie always spelled a recipe for disaster”.

Jake smiled in amusement and turned back toward the morning sky. The sun would be up soon and it would officially be tomorrow. Not too long ago you were dreading tomorrow, and yet now you felt like there was hope on the horizon.

“At the beginning of sophomore year she started to act strange. She stopped going to a few classes, wouldn’t come hang out or study with us anymore. We had moved into an apartment near campus together so I was the only one who saw how bad she had really gotten. We used to stay up all night talking to each other, but all of a sudden she couldn’t focus on one topic for long. And she was getting so paranoid, wouldn’t allow Nick over to visit me because she was terrified of him. I finally forced her to go see the doctor, drove her up to the hospital myself. They admitted her after hours of testing but the doctors wouldn't tell me anything until her parents got there. She was taken to the psychiatric floor and diagnosed with schizophrenia”. You pulled your legs up, resting the heels of your feet on the edge of the chair and wrapping your arms around your knees. “Nothing prepares you for losing a friend so suddenly like that”.

As you spoke you watched Jake’s face, still facing the light, his stare far and contemplative. “Believe me, I get it” he muttered, his own memories flooding his vision to the point he had to close his eyes and focus on breathing.

“Our manager will be making rounds on the rooms soon. Better not give her a heart attack” he stood slowly, regarding the salmon colored sky once more before turning to head back inside.

Sweat practically covered my body from all the moving and jumping around that I had done on stage. My shirt stuck to my back and to my chest, growing increasingly uncomfortable as I rushed off stage with my guitar still hanging off of my body. I quickly pulled it off and handed it off to Johnny, flashing a smile and a wink before following after my brothers backstage. It was then that I saw her again.

Waiting for me.

Leaning against the wall beside the door leading to the dressing room. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her right ankle crossed over her left. She wore the darkest red lipstick on her lips. Her jeans had holes cut into the knees, her red flannel covering a black tank too beneath.

Josh was the first to greet her. Bright, big smile and an excited hug. Sam was next. Over enthusiastic about seeing her again. “Five years is too long.” He says before patting her shoulders and heading into the dressing room. Danny, ever the soft one, gave her a simple hug and smile before disappearing into the room as well.

I was the last to approach her. She wore a small on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest once more. It stayed quiet between us as we stared at each other.

“You did great up there.” She finally says, pushing off the wall again.

“Thanks,” I responded.

She dug into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a small box of cigarettes. “Come outside with me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Ten minutes, Jake!” Michael, our manager said as he walked past. “We gotta be in Indiana by sunrise.”

“We won’t be late.” I say over my shoulder before turning back to her.

I nod my head down the hall, in the direction of the exit. She walks out before me, the chill of the air snipping lightly at my exposed arms.

“Five years, huh..” I say with my head bent, looking down at my boots.

I hear the flick of the lighter followed by her soft inhale. I lift my head again and she has the cigarette between her lips and takes a deep puff before pulling it out and holding it to me. A ring of her red lipstick wrapped around the small cylinder shaped object. Like it always was. I took the cigarette from her and took an inhale of it myself.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long to come back around.” She says.

I shake my head. “I know who you are.” I say as I take another puff before handing the cigarette back to her.

“The look on your face told me you weren't ever expecting me to show up again.”

I shrug my shoulders, moving closer to the outside wall of the building and leaning against it. “I knew you’d be coming back at some point.. Though five years..” I scoff. “I never stopped thinking about you. Wondering where you were, where you ran off to. The only thing I wish was different was how you left.”

“I know..”

“I wish you waited until I woke up. I hope you get that record deal. Signed Courtney.” I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my jeans. “I woke up that morning to the bed empty beside me and the closet missing your things.”

“I’m sorry..”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I always knew I couldn’t tie you down.” I drop my foot from the wall and shift my weight to my other foot. “Why did you come back?”

“Maybe now I am.” Courtney takes a step closer. “I couldn't stop thinking about you either. Wondering where you ended up, or if you got that record deal. Looks like you did.”

“Why now? Because I have money?”

Courtney rolls her eyes. “Is that what you think of me? That I only came back because you’re making money?”

“Can’t be too careful.” I shrug my shoulders.

Courtney laughs loudly, throwing her head back. “If that’s what you really think of me, then I’ll go.” She says as she takes a step back. “I came back for you, Jake. Not your money.”

“Well good, because I’m barely making enough.. I still live in the same one bedroom apartment with the broken window. I really don’t have much to give… I basically gave it all to you.”

She lowers her head, solemnly nodding it. “You’re still hurt.. I get it.” She inhales, running a hand through her curled hair and dropping the cigarette to the ground to rub it out on the sidewalk with the toe of her boot. “Maybe I should just go..”

“No, wait..” I say, grabbing her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

“I kind of deserve it.”

“You only deserve it if you decide to up and leave me again like you did.”

Courtney stands closer to me. “Not this time. Though I picked the worst time to do so.” She says. “Considering you’re on tour.”

“Yeah–but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.” I say quickly. “I’d take you with me but I don’t think you want to be cramped into a van with four sweaty guys and all of our instruments. Danny’s cymbals have practically been riding up Sam’s ass for the past three days.”

She smiles, squeezing my hand. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

“I can wait two weeks.”

I knew better to get my hopes up. I didn’t want to hope to find her at my apartment, in my bed waiting for me when I come back from the two weeks worth of shows on this tour.

Five years. For five years I had been wondering why she had left. It only took me those five years to give in to the truth. She’s a vagabond. She doesn’t stay still for long. I had her for that summer of 1977 when the band was still new and finding our way into the music industry. A daunting journey but worth it, because I had her. Or at least I thought I did. For three months I had her. I was in love. I gave her everything. Everyone kept warning me to be careful. I should have headed their warnings. I knew I should have, but I ignored it all because I was so blinded. I wrote songs based on that feeling.

But then that morning, after a night that was filled with the act of love making, or so I thought it was, and I thought she thought the same thing, I woke up to find the bed empty. The closet that once was filled with both my clothes and hers was only containing mine. That’s when I found the note on my dresser next to the necklace I bought her. A silver medallion that cost me half of my paycheck from the radio station. A day job that I had kept in between gigs for the band.

I wore that same medallion around my neck now, stuck to my chest from the sweat that was slowly drying on my skin.

“Where will you be in two weeks?” I ask, willing to accept whatever answer she gave me.

“Here.. If that’s okay with you.” She says. “I promise that I won’t leave again.”

“How can I believe that?” I ask, as I softly rub the pad of my thumb over her knuckles. “I can believe that you’ll still be here when I get back?”

“You just have to trust me.”

I look down at my shoes. “If you break this promise, I swear that I will never forgive you. Fool me once, shame on me for being naive. Fool me twice, now I just truly feel foolish. I really like you, Courtney, and I don’t want to be hurt again.”

“I’ll be there.” Courtney firmly states. “I promise.”

The backdoor squeals open and out comes the guy laughing and shoving each other. “Hey Jake!” Josh calls. “Come on, it’s time to head out.”

“I'll be there in a minute!” I called back. Looking back at Courtney, I lift her hand to my lips and leave a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “There’s a key underneath the mat outside the door. Don’t screw me over.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She says as she stands on her toes to kiss my cheek.

“Jake, let’s go!” Josh calls again.

—

Sticking the key in the lock, all I could think about was taking off these godforsaken boots. Holes in my socks, making the inner most part of my boots rub against my heels. I’m sure that I have a blister on one of them. Twisting the lock, I step inside my tiny apartment. I set my guitar cases and my duffel down on the ground and locked the door behind me.

I stumbled down the hallway as I peeled off my shirt and tossed it into the basket by the door. I paused at the foot of the bed when I saw Courtney curled up beneath the plaid throw blanket. It felt like that summer all over again, where I’d find her curled up in a ball and asleep before I even felt an ounce of sleep. I could spy her bare shoulder peeking out from the top of the blanket.

Her body shifted and she moaned softly as she moved to turn over. Her eyes fluttered open and she peered up at me. “Good morning.” She smiles. “Did you just get here?”

I nod my head as I unbuckle my belt and move to unbutton my pants. “Are you..” She grins cheekily as she nods her head.

I playfully roll my eyes and push down my pants, leaving me only my boxers. I kicked my pants off of my ankles and climbed onto the bed, moving to lay beside her. “You used to do that every night that summer.” I say as I drag my fingers over the curve of her shoulder. “No matter where we ended up, I would always find you on a bed or in the van completely naked and hiding underneath a blanket.”

“Remember the lakehouse?” She asked.

I chuckle. “My dad was so pissed that I stole his van to drive out there.”

“That was the first night we were together.” She lays her hand on my chest and looks up at me.

“It was my first time.”

“Still hard to believe.”

I smile, resting my hand over top of hers. “I don't regret it.. Even though the summer ended the way it did, I don't regret it.”

It grew quiet between us, until I spoke up again.

“Why did you leave? Was it me?”

Courtney vigorously shakes her head. “No.. I didn't leave because of you, Jake.”

“Then why? I thought everything was okay..”

“I was still young, Jake. I was nineteen and I still wanted to see the world and to be free. I didn't want to settle down.”

“You could have done with me. I tour for a living.”

“Jake..” She sighs, moving to sit up and hugging the blanket to her chest. I sit up beside her, resting my hands in my lap. “I saw the ring.”

“Ring? What ring?”

“The sapphire one that you had hidden in your dresser. I found it accidentally when I went to go find a shirt to wear. I panicked when I saw it.”

“So that’s why you left? Because of a ring?”

She nods her head. I sigh, leaning over to rest my chin on her shoulder. “I wish you would have talked to me. Court, that ring wasn't for you.” She turns her head to peer back at me. “That ring was my mother’s. One of the few tangible things she left to me. She wanted me to have it, so that when the time was right, I would have it to give to whomever I was going to marry.” I pull away from Courtney, running a hand down my face. “I wasn't going to ask you to marry me. At least not at that time. We were still new to the whole relationship. Marriage was the last thing on my mind at that point.”

“So I basically jumped to conclusions and broke your heart.”

“I didn't want to tie you down. I knew I couldn't. You were nineteen. What nineteen year old is ready for marriage?”

“I should have just talked to you.”

“You should have..” I rest my head against her shoulder again and I wrap my arm around her body. “But you’re here now.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too..” I kiss her shoulder. “So where have you been? I know you mentioned once to me that you wanted to go to Los Angeles. Did you?”

Courtney nods her head. “It was okay. I kept thinking about walking along the beach with you. Holding your hand and watching the sun set in the evening.. I cried myself to sleep that night because I regretted ever leaving you.”

I kissed her shoulder again, and again, and again before moving up her neck. I stopped just behind her earlobe where I whispered, “You have me now.” I kissed behind her ear, nuzzling my nose against her skin. “You can have me forever, if you’d like.”

I smile against her head, feeling the goosebumps rise on her skin.

“I want you.”

“I want you too.” I say as I move around to kiss her. “I want all of you, every day for the rest of my life.”

“Have you been reading romance novels again?” She teases, smiling against my lips before kissing me again.

I chuckle and gently lay her back down on the bed. “I thought about you while the band finished out the tour.. I was thinking about you being here when I came back.”

“Well I am.”

“I know..”

I push down my boxers and kick them off my legs.

“You’re just as beautiful as you were the last moment we spent together.”

“You mean two weeks ago?”

I playfully smack her ass and she laughs. “You know what I mean..” I say before pulling the blanket away from her body. I noticed how filled out she had become, maturing into the young woman she is now.

“You know that staring is rude..”

“I am memorizing.” I say, letting my eyes trail down her naked body. I pulled her leg over my hip, pressing our bodies together. “Your skin is still just as soft.”

Slowly I adjust myself until I’m slowly pushing inside of her. I had a feeling that I wasn't the only one she’d been with, but I still wanted to take it slow for her to be comfortable. Truth be told though, I hadn't been with anyone since Courtney. Sam kept telling me that I could have anyone I wanted, but I didn't want just anyone. I wanted Courtney. I’ll always want Courtney.

Even if she wakes up and leaves again in the middle of the night, sure I’ll be hurt again but yet I’ll still find myself wanting no one else but her.

Our eyes are locked together as I thrust inside of her again, pushing as deep as I could. She whines, her fingers digging deep into the skin of my back. I rolled us over so she'd be on her back and I was on top. My necklaces dangled between us, glinting off the sunlight that peeked through the curtains hanging over the still broken window.

I slowed my pace as I watched her hand reach up to grasp the silver medallion that hung from my neck. She twisted it between her fingers before lifting her hand up to my cheek.

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too.” I never stopped. I don’t think I ever will. Not until the day my last breath comes and my eyes close forever. Even then I’ll still never stop loving her.

I picked up my pace again, thrusting harder and deeper until I could feel her body growing rigid. One small sign that I knew she was close. Suddenly my name was falling from her lips and her back arched off the bed.

Oh my neighbors are definitely hating me right now.

“Didn’t think I’d miss that sound so much.” I say as I keep going until I’m meeting my own blissful end. It felt like that first time all over again.

It was surprising for a twenty year old to never have had sex before. I just didn't really care for it. I cared more about my music than I did anything else. Until I met Courtney. Then everything changed. I just knew it had to be with her. It was something I never took for granted.

I had taken her out to our family’s lakehouse one weekend over that summer. We slept in separate rooms per my father’s wishes, after he yelled at me for stealing his van. His words of not wanting to be a grandfather just yet rang in my ears. I didn’t care. I just wanted Courtney. It was like she had heard my thoughts because then I heard my bedroom door opening and the creak of the old wooden floors beneath her feet as she crept into my room. The moon was bright that night, casting a glow through the window as I had chosen to keep the curtains pulled apart.

I welcomed her into my bed, her tiny frame curling in my body as I wrapped my arms around her from behind. My own body betrayed me first. I tried to fight it. Thinking of anything else but her. It was useless. She already knew.

Her eyes asked before the words came out of her mouth. I nodded my head and she slid her hand down my body. No one has ever touched me either. Not until her. My breath hitched inside of my throat when I felt her hand wrap around my cock. I pushed down my boxers to release myself from the confines of the fabric.

She moved me onto my back before moving herself to straddle my legs. I welcomed her mouth as she took me inside. The warmth of her sending chills throughout my body. I was a little embarrassed when I released quickly. I knew, even with just the light of the moon, she could see the redness of my cheeks. She reassured me that it was okay. She didn't expect me to hold it in.

It was still hard, my body still wanting more. “May I?” She asked as she moved my legs.

“Yes.” I immediately said. “Please.”

She giggled at my manners before she raised herself up on her knees. I watched as she lined herself up with my cock and slowly sank down. “Oh fuck..” I moaned. I didn’t know where to put my hands so I kept them fisted at my sides. That is until I felt her pick them up and uncurl them before placing them on her hips.

She set the pace herself, rising and falling on my cock like it was second nature. I felt the need to move myself, so I thrusted my hips upwards, pushing myself deeper inside of her. She must’ve liked it because she cried out my name.

“Yeah? You liked that?” I said breathlessly.

“Fuck yeah..” She moaned, her hands coming down to rest on my chest. “Keep doing it.. Please..”

So I did. I kept thrusting my hips upwards, meeting her hips with loud slaps as I gripped her hips with my hands. She cried out my name again and I felt her release all over me. Her body shook as she rested against my chest. I still felt the need to keep going and she knew it too.

“On my back..” She says, out of breath.

I rolled the two of us over so that I was now above her. It was instinct for me to keep moving, thrusting my hips and pushing myself into her.

“Just like that, Jake.. Oh fuck..”

Again? Twice? I hadn’t even hit my second one yet. Is this shit normal? I could feel my second building while her second hit her quickly.

We laid there in quiet bliss, both staring at the ceiling. Or at least I was. I had never felt something so freeing.

I felt her snuggle into my side and I wrapped my arm around her. “That was..” I exhaled as I chuckled. “Fuck.. I can’t explain it.”

“Still hard to believe that was your first time.” Courtney pushed herself on her elbow.

“Was I bad?”

“No!” She exclaimed as her hand came to rest on my chest. “No, you were great. I swear.” I let out a breath that I didn’t realize that I had been holding. Courtney smiled and leaned down to kiss me.

I knew she was the one for me then, and I have the same feeling now. As she slips into a peaceful sleep beside me, I can’t help but to just watch her. I may be stupid for letting her back into my life, but right now that doesn't matter.

*

If I were exactly what you say– what then?

“What then?” you echo, a delicate crease forming between your brows. “Then nothing at all. It alters nothing–”

“It alters everything, Y/n,” Jacob interrupts, his voice low, fervent, each syllable drawn as if from some private torment. “Everything.”

“And why must it?” you counter, lifting your chin with quiet resolve.

He stills, as though the very notion strikes him. Turning to you, he regards you with something near disbelief. “Surely,” he murmurs, “you cannot be so innocent.”

“I am not innocent–”

“Do you not perceive the danger in which you place yourself?” he asks, more softly now, though the urgency does not leave him. “In remaining here– alone– with me?”

“And yet, I remain,” you reply, steady despite the quickening of your pulse.

He blinks, momentarily undone. “Your courage shall be your ruin…” he says under his breath, “Or mine.”

“I see no need for such dramatics,” you answer, more quietly. “I am unharmed thus far–”

“Thus far,” he interjects, the words edged with strain. “Only thus far. By no small exertion of restraint, you remain so.”

“I do not believe you would harm me,” you say with certainty. “Not after… what passed between us.”

For a fleeting instant, he appears almost shattered. A breath escapes him, soft and weary. “It is not so easily explained.”

You frown, something dawning upon you. “Is that why you made me turn away that evening?” you ask, your voice scarcely more than a whisper as your eyes move to his mouth. “Because you would not have me look upon you?”

“Yes.” The admission leaves him with a curious note of relief.

“You wished to bite me then?” you press. He does not answer, yet the anguish in his gaze is confession enough. “Would it have hurt?” you ask.

“No.” His jaw tightens, the word forced. “On the contrary… it would have been pleasurable. And that,” he adds darkly, “is precisely the danger.”

Your gaze drops, thoughts racing, striving to assemble meaning from what he dares not fully speak. “If there is no pain in it,” you say slowly, “then why do you fear you might harm me?”

He swallows, his composure returning in a manner almost more unsettling than his distress. His voice, when he speaks, is soft– terribly so.

“Because,” he says, “I would not trust myself to stop.”

A silence follows– heavy, suffocating, as though the very air between you has grown thick with all that remains unspoken. You lift your gaze to him then, searching his face with a steadiness that borders on defiance. “And yet,” you say quietly, “you did nothing to harm me.”

His expression tightens at once. “Do not mistake necessity for virtue,” he replies. “That I succeeded once does not ensure I should again.”

“But it proves you are capable,” you insist, taking a step nearer despite the warning in his eyes. “You would not have drawn back, had you truly been without control.”

“Do not come closer.” His voice is low, sharp– no longer pleading, but commanding.

You halt, though only for a moment. “You speak as though I am a stranger to you,” you murmur. “As though what passed between us was… nothing of consequence.”

“It was a mistake.” The words fall too swiftly, too harshly.

You flinch as though struck,“A mistake?” you echo, your voice tightening despite your effort to remain composed. “Is that truly how you would name it?”

“Yes,” he says, though there is a fracture in his tone now. “It must be so.”

“It was not,” you return at once, heat rising beneath your restraint. “You cannot undo it simply because it frightens you.”

“I am not frightened for myself,” he snaps, a rare break in his composure. “It is you who ought to be afraid.”

“And yet I am not.”

“That,” he says darkly, “is precisely the trouble.”

You draw nearer again, emboldened now, your gaze unwavering. “You would have me believe that I am in peril, and yet you stand there, speaking of restraint, of choice. Which is it, Jacob? Am I safe, or am I not?”

“I do not know,” he admits, and there is something almost desperate in the confession. “That is what you fail to comprehend. You place your life in the hands of a creature who does not know his own limits.”

“I place it in the hands of a man I trust.”

“I am no man,” he returns at once, his voice dropping to something colder, more distant. “Not in any sense that should comfort you.”

“Then why did you comfort me?” you challenge. “Why did you touch me as though I were something precious, rather than prey?”

His breath catches– just once.

“You mistake hunger for tenderness,” he says, though the words sound as though they cost him.

“I do not,” you insist, your voice softening now, though no less firm. “I know what I felt. And I know what you felt, whether you would name it or no.”

“You know nothing,” he says, but it lacks conviction.

“Then enlighten me.”

For a moment, he only looks at you, as though weighing something immeasurable. Then, slowly, something in him shifts. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter… but far more dangerous. “You wish to understand?” he murmurs. A chill passes through you, though you do not retreat. “Very well.”

In an instant, he is before you– so swiftly you scarcely perceive the movement. One hand closes around your wrist, not painfully, but with a strength that brooks no resistance. The other lifts, hesitating only briefly before hovering near your throat. Your breath falters.

“Do you feel it?” he asks, his voice scarcely more than a whisper now. “The pulse beneath your skin?” His fingers do not touch, yet you are acutely aware of their nearness– of the fragile place at which your life so easily rests. “I hear it,” he continues, his gaze fixed, unblinking. “Every beat. Every falter. It calls to me.”

Your heart, traitorous thing, quickens.

“There,” he says softly, something almost pained crossing his features. “That– exactly that. Your fear. Your warmth. It is… intoxicating.”

“Then why do you not take it?” you ask, though your voice trembles despite your resolve.

His grip tightens– just slightly.

“Because I remember myself,” he says through clenched restraint. “Because I force myself to remember you are not merely… this.”

“Then you see?” you press. “You are not the monster you claim to be.”

Something flashes across his face– anger, sharp and sudden. “You persist in your folly,” he says, releasing you so abruptly you stagger back a step. “Very well. If gentleness will not persuade you– perhaps truth shall.”

You steady yourself, refusing to retreat further.

“Stay away from me,” he says, each word deliberate now, stripped of all softness. “Keep your distance. Speak to me only when necessity demands it– and never again as you have done tonight.”

“I will do no such thing,” you reply at once.

His eyes darken, “You would defy me still?”

“I would not abandon what I know to be real,” you answer. “You may deny it, if you wish– but I shall not.”

“What you call real is but a passing indulgence,” he says coldly. “One I deeply regret.”

The words land harder than before.

“And yet,” you return, your voice tightening, “you have not left.”

He pauses. Then murmurs, “I shall remedy that.”

Something in your chest twists. “So you would flee, rather than face it?”

“I would preserve your life,” he corrects sharply.

“At the cost of what?” you demand. “Your conscience?”

“At the cost of nothing that matters,” he says, though his gaze betrays him.

“Then go,” you say, though your voice wavers despite your effort. “If it is so easily done.”

For a moment, he does not move. Something unspoken passes through his expression– something almost like regret. Then, as though steeling himself, “I warn you,” he says quietly, “do not follow.”

And before you may answer, he is gone– vanished into the dark with a swiftness that leaves the room feeling suddenly, unbearably empty.

Only the echo of his presence remains… and the certainty that this is far from over.

—

A full week has passed– seven long, deliberate days in which you have not spoken to him once.

Not properly.

Oh, there are moments. Passing encounters in narrow corridors where neither of you can quite pretend the other does not exist. A brush of sleeves. A pause too brief to be called a conversation, too tense to be called nothing at all. His gaze flickers toward you– sharp, questioning, faintly irritated– and you, lifting your chin with all the dignity you can muster, walk past as though he is no more than a portrait on the wall.

It takes effort. More than you care to admit.

You confine yourself to the west wing, burying your hours in dust-laden ledgers and brittle stacks of parchment. You work until your fingers ache and your eyes burn, until numbers blur and ink smudges beneath your hand. Anything– anything– to avoid stepping near his study door.

And now, at last, it is done.

You stand in the center of the room, breathing in the stillness. Where there was once chaos, piles upon piles of neglected accounts, there is now order. Every document sorted, every ledger balanced, every sheet carefully filed away. The space feels lighter, as though it, too, has been holding its breath and can finally exhale.

A small, tired smile tugs at your lips.

“One in the morning,” you murmur to yourself, glancing toward the tall windows where the night presses darkly against the glass.

You should go straight to bed.

You know that.

But duty– ever insistent, ever inconvenient– nudges at you. He will expect to be told. And if you do not inform him tonight, he will only summon you at some ungodly hour tomorrow with that same clipped impatience that drove you away in the first place. You let out a quiet huff and smooth your hands over your skirts.

The walk to his study feels longer than usual.

Your footsteps echo faintly along the corridor, each one stirring a restless awareness beneath your ribs. By the time you reach his door, your hand hovers on the handle for only a moment before you push it open– decidedly, without knocking.

If he takes offense, he may learn to endure it.

Inside, the room is dim save for the warm glow of a single lamp. He sits at his desk, exactly as you expect– head bent, pen moving steadily across the page, wholly absorbed in whatever work has claimed him.

For a moment, you simply stand there, watching him.

You clear your throat, “My lord,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel, “I have completed the west wing’s files and ledgers.”

“Very well,” he murmurs without looking up, his pen never faltering. “If you would now, could you–”

“Actually,” you cut in, the word slipping out before you can soften it, “I come to inform you that I have completed my work for the night.”

That makes him pause. Not much– but enough.

“And,” you continue, lifting your chin just slightly, “I am retiring early.”

Now he does look up, “Retiring early?” he repeats, as though the notion itself is suspect.

“Yes.” You fold your hands loosely before you, feigning a composure you do not entirely possess. “It has been a rather long evening. I find myself… exhausted.”

There is a flicker in his expression– something unreadable, something that makes your pulse stutter– but it vanishes as quickly as it comes.

“Who allows it?” he asks. The question lands sharply. For a moment, the room feels smaller.

You hold his gaze. “Myself, my lord.”

Silence.

His jaw tightens– not dramatically, but enough that you notice. Enough that something in your chest gives a small, reckless thrill.

“I see,” he says at last, each word measured. “And you believe that sufficient?”

“I believe,” you reply, a hint of steel threading through your tone now, “that I have fulfilled every task assigned to me this evening. Beyond that, I believe my time is, at least in part, my own.”

“Is it?” His voice is quieter now, but no less firm. “I do not recall granting such liberties.”

“Nor do I recall asking for them.”

The words hang there between you, bold and undeniable.

You do not mean for it to become this. You only intend to inform him and leave– but something in the way he looks at you, something in the weight of the past week, presses insistently at your composure.

His gaze sharpens. “You grow impertinent.”

“And you,” you return, before caution can rein you in, “grow accustomed to being obeyed without question.”

A dangerous thing to say. You know it the moment it leaves your lips. And yet you do not take it back.

For a long second, neither of you speaks. The air seems to tighten, charged with something far more complicated than irritation.

“You have avoided me,” he says finally.

The shift in subject catches you off guard.

You frown faintly. “I have been working.”

“In the west wing,” he replies. “Exclusively.”

“It requires attention.”

“For seven days?”

You hesitate, just briefly. “The disarray is considerable.”

“That is not what I ask.” His eyes hold yours now, intent, searching in a way that makes it difficult to breathe evenly, “You have avoided me,” he repeats, more quietly this time.

Something in your chest twists. “I have done nothing of the sort,” you say, though the denial lacks its earlier firmness.

“You pass me in corridors as though I am a stranger.”

“And you,” you shoot back, “speak to me only to assign more work.”

“That is your position.”

“And is that all I am to you?” The question slips out before you can stop it. Silence follows– heavier this time, laden with something neither of you seems prepared to name. You swallow, your composure faltering at last. “I have completed my duties,” you say, more softly now. “I see no reason to remain.”

He studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You may go, then,” he says.

It should feel like victory. Instead, it feels… hollow.

You turn before he can say anything more– before he can see the way your hands have begun to tremble– and make your way to the door. Your fingers close around the handle. For a heartbeat, you hesitate. Waiting. For what, you are not entirely sure.

But nothing comes.

So you pull the door open, step through, and shut it behind you with a quiet, decisive click.

—

You find little pleasure in most situations you are made to endure, and this is no exception.

You stand near the foot of the staircase, hands folded neatly before you, a polite smile fixed upon your lips as Charles– the chef, if you are not mistaken– attempts, with endearing subtlety, to win your favor.

He is kind. Gentle in his manner. Handsome, too, in an honest, unassuming way. Under different circumstances, under a different heart, you might have entertained his attention without protest.

But your affections are already spoken for, however ill-advised they may be.

And so you smile, and you nod, and you play your part, though warmth creeps into your cheeks from a mixture of flattery and discomfort.

“I dare say,” he says, voice soft with sincerity, “you are the loveliest woman to grace this manor.”

You lower your gaze, a quiet laugh escaping you as you shake your head. “You are too generous, sir.”

“I do not mean to be forward,” he continues, offering a small, earnest smile. “Only truthful.”

“It is appreciated all the same,” you reply gently. “Thank you, Charles.”

He hesitates, gathering what little courage he seems to possess. “Might you… consider accompanying me into town, one day? There is a café I know– most excellent desserts. I believe it would suit your tastes.”

“She would not.”

The voice is unmistakable.

You go still at once, your spine stiffening as the air about you shifts. You do not need to turn; you feel him before you see him. A moment later, Jacob steps to your side, his presence as imposing as ever.

Charles straightens immediately. “My lord,” he says, dipping his head. “Forgive me, I was only–”

“Trying your luck with the prettiest face in my household?” Jacob supplies lightly, though there is a distinct edge beneath the ease of his tone. “A temptation, I am sure– but not one you are employed to indulge.”

“I– yes, my lord, I meant no–”

“I imagine most men here would find the inclination difficult to resist,” Jacob continues, his gaze cool as it flicks briefly toward you. “Regrettably, indulgence is not among your duties.”

“No, my lord.”

“No,” Jacob repeats, almost thoughtfully. “If you are not returned to the kitchen before I finish this sentence, you will find yourself relieved of your position.”

Charles pales and hurries off at once, scarcely sparing you a glance.

You scoff under your breath and turn away without acknowledging Jacob.

“You were not dismissed, Y/n,” he remarks.

You do not pause. “I am dismissing myself, my lord.”

You take scarcely two steps before he is before you– too swift, too sudden. You collide lightly with his chest, and he steadies you with a hand at your arm. You wrench free at once, displeasure sharpening your expression.

“Fraternizing with my staff is not permitted,” he says.

“I take no interest in your insinuations,” you return sharply. “Am I to understand I am permitted to speak only with you and Mrs. Harrow?”

“That is not what I said–”

“You did not need to say it,” you cut in, quieter now but no less firm. You pull your arm fully from his grasp. “Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I shall keep to myself henceforth– speak only when addressed. Would that satisfy you? Your excellence?”

A faint, almost amused sound leaves him. “That sharp tongue will bring you nothing but trouble, my dear.”

“Unless you intend to correct it yourself,” you reply coolly, “I suggest you learn to endure it–”

Your words are cut short as he presses you back against the wall, the movement swift enough to steal your breath. He leans in, close enough that you catch the faint gleam of his fangs as they emerge.

“I do not take instruction from you, Y/n,” he murmurs. “You would do well to remember your place.”

You meet his gaze without flinching, a small, defiant smile touching your lips. “A striking performance,” you say lightly, your eyes flicking to his teeth. “Am I meant to be afraid?”

He smiles, slow and deliberate. “No,” he says softly. “You are meant to remember what it is you provoke.”

“I think I shall take my chances.”

“If you could hear my thoughts,” he replies, almost gently, “you would not.”

“Ominous,” you whisper, unimpressed. “Jacob, we both know you will not make use of those rather pretty teeth on me. Do put them away.”

You lift a hand and pat his cheek, the gesture light, almost fond– though the effect it has is anything but. His jaw tightens at once.

You step past him, lifting your chin as you go, and continue on without once looking back.

“You grow more foolish by the day, my dear,” he calls after you.

A smile tugs at your lips. “I have had an excellent tutor, my lord,” you return over your shoulder.

Behind you, you hear it– a low, reluctant laugh, edged with irritation.

—

You turn at the sound of the door, your pulse quick and uneven– until you see Mrs. Harrow slip quietly inside, her expression composed, though her smile is drawn tight at the corners.

“Good evening, my dear,” she says, closing the door behind her with care. “You are quite well, I trust?”

“Yes,” you reply, managing a small smile. “And yourself?”

“Very well, thank you.” She studies you, arms folding neatly across her chest. “Now, child, you must tell me– what troubles you so?”

You falter. “I beg your pardon?”

“You– and Jacob– have not been yourselves of late.” Her tone is gentle, but there is no mistaking its firmness. “Something weighs upon you.”

“I…” You hesitate, searching for something, anything, that might pass for a convincing falsehood. “There is nothing of consequence–”

“My dear,” she interrupts softly, though her gaze sharpens, “I was young once, though it may seem an age ago. I know well the look of a guarded heart. There is more you are not saying.”

Your eyes fall to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. The words slip free before you can stop them. “He is a vampire.”

She does not start, nor recoil. She merely lifts a brow, her expression unreadable as she turns her gaze aside, considering, “And it is this which distresses you?” she asks at last, her voice measured.

“No,” you answer quickly, sinking down onto the edge of your mattress. “Not in the slightest.”

“I see,” she murmurs, something thoughtful passing over her features. “Then you love him.”

Your breath trembles as you release it. “I do.”

She hesitates only briefly before joining you, seating herself beside you with a gentleness that feels almost maternal. “Then what is the difficulty, my dear?”

You press your lips together, frustration rising alongside your embarrassment. “He will not– oh, he is the most obstinate man,” you mutter, your voice low. “He will not allow me near him.”

“Dear child,” she says, not unkindly, “he seeks to protect you.”

“Mrs. Harrow…” Your voice softens, and you cannot bring yourself to meet her eyes. Slowly, haltingly, you recount the events of a few nights past– his touch, his words, the nearness of him. Shame warms your cheeks as you speak, and by the end, your eyes sting with unshed tears.

For a moment, she says nothing. When you dare glance at her, her brows are slightly raised, though her expression remains composed. Then she hums, thoughtful.

“I confess,” she says at length, “it is not a vision I should readily associate with the boy I have known since his infancy– but you have my assurance, there is no judgment here.”

You pause, her words settling over you– unexpected, but not unwelcome. Then, more quietly, you ask, “Are you… as he is?”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Indeed.”

“I thought as much,” you admit.

“And yet you are not afraid?”

A breath of laughter escapes you. “Quite the contrary.”

She gives a small, dry chuckle. “You may rest easy– I have no desire to make a meal of you, as he so struggles not to do.” Then her expression shifts, a slight frown forming. “It is… peculiar. He is not typically so afflicted by the hunger. Not to such a degree.”

“Perhaps,” you say, your voice dimming, “he does not return my feelings as you suppose.”

She turns to you at once. “Oh, but he does,” she says with quiet certainty. “I would wager his feelings run deeper than even your own.”

Your heart betrays you then, giving a sudden, hopeful leap– and at once, she smiles.

The realization dawns, and you cannot help but laugh softly despite yourself.

“What am I to do?” you ask, the question fragile as it leaves you.

She considers for a moment, her gaze distant, weighing her thoughts. Then, slowly, she rises.

“His room,” she says, as though arriving at a decision. “Top floor. The last door at the end of the corridor. He keeps to himself there.”

You blink up at her, startled.

She pauses at the door, her hand resting lightly upon the handle. A small, knowing smile touches her lips. “I have told you nothing,” she says.

And before you can respond, she slips out, leaving you alone– with a racing heart and far too much courage for your own good.

—

“Mrs. Harrow, I am quite at a loss–” He breaks off the moment he perceives it is not Mrs. Harrow at all. His expression hardens with careful restraint. “Y/n,” he says, measured. “What are you doing here?”

“Good evening,” you reply, your voice soft despite the tightness in your chest. You draw in a steadying breath, folding your hands before you. “I believe we are in need of a conversation.”

His gaze travels over you– your robe, the hour, the impropriety of it– and his jaw tightens. “Perhaps we are. Yet I cannot think it wise to conduct such a conversation in my bedchamber, at this hour, while you are so… attired.” A faint tilt of his head. “It invites scandal.”

“There is no one awake to witness it.”

“Y/n–”

“Why did you not tell me Mrs. Harrow is as you are?” you press, your voice low but unwavering. “A vampire.”

He exhales, slow and controlled. “It was not my place to reveal what was not mine to tell.”

“That is… fair,” you concede, though the word feels thin.

A brief silence falls between you before he speaks again. “Why have you come?”

You hesitate only a moment. “I believe it was you who said the distance between us had grown intolerable.” His eyes fix upon you. “Was is not?”

“And I believe,” he returns after a pause, “it was you who insisted such distance was necessary.”

“Yes.” You glance aside, gathering what remains of your composure. “And yet, you kissed me. You placed your hand beneath my skirt, as though necessity had no meaning at all.

“Dear God,” he breathes, visibly startled by your frankness.

“I cannot persist in this way,” you continue, your voice trembling now despite your effort. “I cannot pretend it was nothing. Nor can I despise you for acting in accordance with what you believe right. I cannot, Jacob.”

“Then what is it you would have of me?” he asks quietly. “That I indulge every impulse? That I take what I desire of you– feed from you when it suits me?” He shakes his head, troubled. “You do not comprehend what it is you propose.”

“I am not a child to be shielded from unpleasant truths,” you step nearer, your resolve strengthening with each word. “I know the danger well enough. But I cannot endure this distance any longer.”

He does not answer. Instead, he lowers himself to the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the wall, as though searching for reason there.

After a moment, you follow. Slowly, you close the space between you, lifting your hand to his face. Your fingers rest lightly against his cheek, cool beneath your touch. He does not pull away– though the tension in him suggests he longs to.

“You truly believe there is no way forward?” you ask softly.

“Nothing may alter what I am,” he murmurs. “Nothing may quiet the… thoughts I have where you are concerned. They are not fit things, Y/n.”

“Then do not quiet them,” you whisper.

His breath falters. “Y/n–”

But you do not allow yourself to reconsider. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his in a tentative, uncertain kiss. For a fleeting instant he remains still– then he yields, his shoulders loosening as he returns it. His hands find yours, grasping them as though to steady both you and himself.

You shift your knee to rest upon the edge of the mattress beside him. In an instant, his restraint breaks– his arm draws you firmly into his lap, as though distance, at last, has ceased to exist at all.

You pull back from the kiss only to catch your breath, your foreheads still pressed together as his hands roam lightly over your waist.

“I do not believe this counts as a conversation,” he murmurs.

“I believe it should.”

He pauses, pulling back as his thumb slowly circles over the thin silk. “Are you wearing only this robe?” He asks tightly.

Your breath catches, “Possibly.”

“Y/n,” he whispers, his hands tightening on you.

“Do not lecture me,” you interrupt before he can even try to admonish you. “I am well aware of what I am doing.”

“You were wandering about the manor in nothing but your robe,” he says, jaw ticking.

“And as I stated earlier, nobody else is awake.”

He still appears to be displeased, so you reach for his hand, moving it to the knot in the front of your robe. He freezes completely.

Then he loosens it only a little, enough for your robe to slip open only to reveal a sliver of your skin. Your heart beats fast as his eyes move over your bare skin, heat trailing behind his gaze.

His gaze lingers on that narrow strip of exposed flesh, the curve of your collarbone giving way to the swell of your breasts, shadowed just beyond his reach.

Jacob's breath comes in shallow draws, his fangs pressing against the inside of his lower lip as he fights the primal urge rising within him– the overwhelming hunger to sink his teeth into your neck, to taste the sweet rush of your blood, or to tear away the silk and thrust his cock deep into you.

The manor around you is silent, save for the distant crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the soft rustle of silk.

"Good God," he murmurs, voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into yours.

You shift awkwardly in his lap, feeling the hard length of his cock straining against the confines of his breeches, pressing insistently against your thigh. The friction makes you ache, but you don't know how to chase it, your hips moving tentatively, haltingly.

"Jacob," you breathe, your hands sliding up his shirt to grip his shoulders, seeking guidance in your confusion.

He shushes you quietly, before his lips part when he guides your hips against him again, and you catch a flash of his fangs once more.

His fingers trail lightly over your cheekbone, before ghosting down your chest, down to your waist, where he pulls you down with him as he lays back against the bed. You place a hand beside his head so you don't crash down into him, still moving your hips as he guides you along.

You have not the slightest idea what you're doing, you know it feels good– the feeling of your core moving just right against the prominent bulge in his pants makes your body heat with desire.

Your eyes trail over every bit of him that you can see, his face, his throat– and you recall how his lips felt against yours. It was so nice.

You presume he would like that, as well.

So you lean in, pressing your lips against where his pulse should be.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his chin tilting up as he lets out a low sound.

You quite enjoy that.

So you trail more kisses along his skin, and in a daring move, you flatten your tongue against the base of his throat, licking up to the edge of his jaw.

“Jacob,” you start softly, “Earlier with Charles…” He tenses beneath you when you pull back just enough to see his face, “You were jealous?”

“I was not,” he says, voice clipped.

You fight to hide your smile, “You still are.”

“I should kill him.”

“Do not say such things,” you chastise with a small grin, “I might take you seriously one day.”

He huffs a disbelieving sound, “You very well should.”

“Mm, perhaps,” you murmur, leaning back in and kissing just beneath his chin.

He hums, the sound vibrating against your lips, before he lightly grabs you by your jaw, pulling your face back up to his. His other hand still guides your hips, moving you so slowly you feel as if you could combust.

He looks positively sinful like this– his eyes heavy, fangs poking his bottom lip, his hair fanned out like a halo around his face.

You can't help but let out a weak sound at the sight of him, and his lips turn up slightly, “What is it, darling?” He asks knowingly. Your hand moves, your fingers trailing over his cheek, over his lips, and he presses a kiss to your fingertips, “Does it feel good?”

You nod helplessly, humming a weak mm-hmm as he moves your hips faster against him.

“I want you so badly,” he admits in a whisper.

“Have me,” you plead, your hands moving to tangle into his shirt to anchor you as you grind against him. “Please, Jacob.”

“No,” he says gently, shaking his head as he watches you, his eyes moving to your chest again, locking in on the way your breasts are pressed together as you hold onto him.

“You are cruel,” you whisper, warmth burning you from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs, almost apologetically, before he lets out an almost-growl, “Fuck, you feel so good like this.”

“You feel good,” you breathe, glancing down between the two of you, watching in desperation as you rock over his hardened, clothed length, “I want to see you.”

He shushes you, shaking his head, “Just focus on that pleasure, darling,” he instructs you, and you hate that he's trying to distract you, to take your focus off of him, “That heat building in your veins– Feel it.”

“I feel it,” you murmur, gasping when he starts moving his hips in time with yours, making the warmth glow hotter, “Oh– Jacob.”

“I want you to feel it,” he says softly, “Just like you did with my fingers, sweet girl, let it build until you cannot stand it.”

You let out a quiet sound, your face flaming at the noises once again– Shamed you could hear how aroused you were with every passing of your body against his.

You breathe his name again, your jaw falling slack as your entire body tightens, seconds away from falling apart.

“That's it. Say my name, Y/n,” he encourages, “Let it go. Say my fucking name–”

You cry out his name as it overcomes you, the pleasure making your body nearly convulse as the warmth drags you under.

He moves your lower half against him fervently as you sob and grind on top of him, riding out the waves crashing through you.

Your grip in his shirt is so tight, you feel you may tear the thin material. He pays no mind to it as his thighs flex beneath your backside, letting out a quiet sound as he presses up into you.

At least, it settles. The room is nothing more than the crackling fire and your shared symphony of heavy breaths.

Your eyes flutter open to find him watching you already, his gaze the softest you'd ever seen– a glow about him that makes your heart ache.

You sigh quietly, sinking into him completely, your forehead resting in the hollow of his throat.

He brushes his fingers through your hair, “I do not believe you came here for a conversation.”

“I did,” you lie.

“In nothing but your robe?” He asks, his finger trailing over the curve of your breast.

“Persuasion,” you say, watching as his fingers move over your chest.

“Very convincing persuasion,” he murmurs.

“I believe so.”

He exhales, drawing your robe closed with careful hands. “You look exhausted.”

“I will go in a moment,” you murmur, pushing yourself upright. “I am only–”

“No.” His voice softens, but there is no mistaking the resolve in it. “You will remain here tonight.”

You blink at him. “In your bedchamber?”

A flicker of dry amusement crosses his face. “No, I thought perhaps the balcony would better suit you. Yes, here.” His gaze lingers on you. “With me.”

“I did not know if you wished it,” you admit quietly, slipping from his lap.

“I do.” He rises partway, hands settling at your waist as he draws you back between his knees, his arms folding around you with an ease that steals your breath. “I would not have said so otherwise.”

You press your lips together, hiding the smile that threatens. “Then I shall stay.”

“Good.”

You had not expected his bed to be so inviting. It seems an indulgence, somehow, for a man who appears to have little need of sleep at all. Yet there you lie beside him, your pulse unsteady, your thoughts drifting as drowsiness creeps in.

His hand lifts to your face, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “Do not look at me so,” he murmurs.

“Like what?” Your voice is scarcely above a whisper.

“As though you have grown overly fond of me.”

“I have,” you confess, too tired to pretend otherwise.

Something in his expression softens– warm, almost tender. “As have I,” he says. “Though you try my patience in ways I had not thought possible.”

You breathe a quiet laugh. “I do no such thing.”

He hums, unconvinced and faintly amused, drawing you closer until your head rests against him. “Sleep, my love.”

The words settle deep, and the last thing you know is the way your heart stumbles at them before sleep claims you.

—

You wake to emptiness.

For a moment, you do not stir, disoriented by the unfamiliar room and the absence beside you. Then memory returns in a rush, and with it, a flush of heat that climbs to your cheeks.

You sit up quickly, glancing about. He is nowhere to be seen.

Your frown deepens.

Gathering yourself, you slip from the bed and make your way back to your own chambers, fortunate enough to encounter no one along the way. The quiet halls grant you mercy; no eyes mark your retreat, no whispers follow.

Once inside, you dress with haste, fingers less steady than you would like as you fasten buttons and pin your hair into something resembling order. You study your reflection only briefly– just long enough to ensure you do not look as though you have spent the night in a man’s bed.

Not a man’s bed, you correct yourself, your stomach tightening. Jacob’s.

The thought sends a fresh wave of unease through you. What if nothing has changed? What if everything has?

Drawing a steadying breath, you make your way to his study. You pause at the door, hand hovering, your courage faltering at the last moment.

Before you can knock, the door opens.

He stands there, already watching for you. Without a word, he takes your hand and draws you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you.

“We must speak,” he says.

You nod, your pulse quickening. “Yes… we must.”

“I owe you an apology.” He steps away at once, as though distance might make the words easier. His gaze fixes somewhere just past your shoulder. “What passed between us last night should not have happened. I ought never to have–”

“No.”

The word escapes you before you can soften it. Your shoulders fall, disappointment settling heavy in your chest despite your efforts to brace against it. You had feared this– had told yourself to expect it– yet the certainty of it still stings.

“I lost command of myself, Y/n… it must never occur again.”

“Jacob…”

At last, he turns to you– eyes wild, beseeching, “It cannot,” he insists, voice strained, “We cannot– I cannot– You must understand.”

“I do not,” you answer, quiet but unyielding. “You cannot cast me aside after what has passed between us.”

“I must cast you aside because of it,” he breathes, the words scarcely more than a confession.

“Whatever you have done, I stood beside you in it. I chose as surely as you did,” you shake your head, your chest tightening, “And when you drive me away, you strip me of any choice that might follow–”

“Because you do not fathom what I am capable of!” he breaks, stepping toward you with sudden force. “You long to remain near me– you wish for things to be as they were last night– but they cannot be so.”

“You are a coward,” you murmur, the words soft– and sharp as a blade.

He goes utterly still, “If that is your judgment of me,” he says at length, voice low, “then so be it.”

“It is no judgment. It is truth,” you reply, a hollow laugh escaping you.

His jaw tightens. “You forget yourself.”

“I do not,” you step forward, watching the tension seize his shoulders. “I know precisely who I am. And I know precisely what you are. You, however…” Your voice lowers, cutting. “You shrink from anything that does not fit the narrow truth you cling to. Do not accuse me of forgetfulness when you are ruled by your own fear.”

The words strike him.

You see it– the wound of them. He turns his face aside, swallowing as though the effort pains him.

“All I have ever known is to bring harm,” he says quietly. “It is all I have done. All I continue to do. I would not have you suffer it also.”

“My life is not yours to command,” you answer, steady.

“Your choice is made in ignorance–”

“Do not be so arrogant,” you snap, closing the space between you in two quick steps. Your hand rises, grasping his jaw, forcing his gaze back to yours. “You think me blind? You think I do not know what you are? That you could end me with a single bite?” He flinches, but you do not release him. “I know it,” you press on, breath unsteady now. “I know it well. And yet I stand here still– begging you to cease this endless retreat.”

His hand closes around your wrist where it holds him, his touch burning, pulling you nearer as his other arm slips about your waist.

“Every moment I am near you,” he whispers, his voice breaking with restraint, “I ache. With want. With need. For you– your nearness, your warmth, your skin against mine,” His breath ghosts against your ear, sending a tremor through you. “Your blood.” He draws back only enough for your eyes to meet– dark, dangerous, “And still you plead with me to surrender to it.”

“Would it be so terrible?” you whisper.

“Your pulse betrays you at the very thought,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking to your throat. “Why?”

“Because I desire it.”

His breath falters, “And if I cannot stop?” he asks, and there they are– the sharp glint of his teeth, revealed as though your words alone have summoned them. “If I were to take too much… if I were to drain you– what then?”

A shiver runs through you, but you tilt your head all the same as he leans nearer, his breath warm against your skin, “I should not know the difference,” you breathe.

“You make light of it,” he chides, though his voice is frayed.

“Perhaps…” you whisper, though your voice is nearly gone.

He inhales– deep, deliberate– just where your pulse hammers beneath your skin. You feel it. The faintest brush of his teeth.

A ghost of a touch– and then nothing.

He is gone from you, stepping back as though struck, dragging a hand across his mouth, shaking his head.

Your knees nearly give way. Your body trembles, heat and absence warring within you, a hollow ache settling deep in your chest as he turns from you.

And then, you laugh. The sound startles even you. He turns back sharply, confusion and something like hurt flashing across his face.

“And you would have me believe,” you say, breathless, “that you possess no self-command.”

He says nothing, but every line of him is drawn tight.

“You fear more than the act itself,” you continue, emboldened now, stepping toward him once more. “You fear what lies beneath it. What this is between us.”

“Y/n–”

“Say it.”

A long silence stretches.

“I do not know how to keep you safe,” he admits at last. “Not only from my teeth… but from myself. From what I might make you feel. I do not know how to love you save from afar.”

The words hang between you. You do not answer. Instead, you reach for him again– but this time not with force. Your hand finds his face, gentler now, “Then learn,” you whisper.

Something in him breaks.

His restraint– his distance– shatters all at once.

He seizes you, pulling you flush against him, and before you can draw breath, his lips crash against yours.

It is not gentle.

It is desperate, hungry, months of denial poured into a single, breathless moment. His hand tangles in your hair, holding you there as though you might vanish, as though you are the only thing anchoring him to this world.

You cling to him just as fiercely.

And then his mouth leaves yours. Your breath catches as his lips trace down your jaw, slower now, trembling with something darker. “Jacob…” you whisper, though you do not pull away.

His answer is a shuddering breath against your throat, “I cannot–” But he does not stop. His hands tighten at your waist.

Infuriating.

He almost laughed at the thought. Almost. If the irritation hadn’t already settled so deeply under his skin, he might have.

You were the infuriating one– not him.

Stubborn. Sharp-tongued. Unyielding in a way no one ever was with him. And God, he loved it. No one challenged him like you did. No one spoke to him without hesitation, without that careful edge of fear– no one except you. Well… you and Mrs. Harrow, but that was different. You weren’t cautious. You weren’t measured.

You were fearless.

And if you ever found out what he was, that would be the first thing to change.

You saw him. He knows you did. He hopes he can lie should you ask him. The distance from the window to where he was– Surely he could convince you none of it happened.

He leans back in his chair with a quiet sigh, pressing his fingers against his temple. If you knew– if you really knew– would you still look at him the same way? Would you still argue, still roll your eyes, still stand your ground?

Or would you flinch?

The thought twists something sharp and unfamiliar in his chest. He hates it. He hates how much it matters.

You make his heart ache.

Everything about you does. Your voice– melodic, even when you're arguing with him. Your eyes– too quick to catch his, even when you pretend not to notice him staring. And your pulse…

God.

The way it stutters, just slightly, when you realize he’s looking at you. When you step a little too close. When your breath catches for reasons he tries not to think too hard about.

He wants you.

Not in the abstract, not in some distant, manageable way– no. It’s immediate. Sharp. Consuming.

And he knows he can’t have you.

That should be enough. It’s always been enough before.

But there’s something about you. From the moment he saw you, something in him– something old and instinctive– went still. As if the world had, somehow, settled into place. As if everything before you had just been noise.

God, he sounds insane.

You make him feel insane.

His thoughts spiral too easily when it comes to you. He lets them, sometimes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to imagine. Your skin beneath his hands. Warm. Alive. Your pulse beneath his mouth. Just one bite–

“Fuck.”

The word tears out of him as he shoves back from his desk, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. His jaw tightens, muscles coiling as he drags a hand through his hair, as if he can physically pull the thoughts from his head.

They only get worse.

You beneath him. Or above him. The way your body would move, the sounds you’d make– soft at first, maybe, then less restrained. Whether you’d beg, if he pushed you far enough. If you’d argue with him, even then.

He exhales sharply, something between frustration and hunger curling low in his chest.

He can’t.

He won’t.

Because the truth would ruin everything.

You wouldn’t look at him like that anymore– not with heat, not with defiance. You’d look at him the way humans are meant to look at things like him.

And you would run.

The thought settles heavy in his chest as he drops back into his chair, anger bleeding into something quieter. Something almost hollow. He drags in a slow breath, steadying himself.

He hears it.

Your heartbeat.

Faint at first, then clearer as you move closer down the hall– quick, uneven, betraying you before you even reach his door.

His entire body stills, every sense sharpening.

It’s faster than usual.

He tilts his head slightly, listening, his jaw tightening again.

Fear… or something else?

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling through his nose.

God, he hopes it’s something else.

—

You press the heavy door inward, its hinges whispering against the silence. Your gaze lifts, only for a moment, and in that fleeting instant you catch the storm in his expression before you quickly lower your eyes.

He is displeased.

“The east wing has been completed, my lord,” you say, your voice measured, subdued.

“Indeed,” he replies coolly. “How commendable.”

The clipped tone stings more than any raised voice.

“You are… displeased,” you venture, though it is scarcely a question.

A sharp exhale escapes him. “No.”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the ledger in your hands. “Are you unwell, then?”

A pause. Then, quieter– dangerously so– “Would it concern you, if I were?”

Your breath falters. “My lord, I would not inquire if I did not hold concern.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. “You are infuriating. Not I– you.”

The words strike like a slap. Your own words directed to him earlier, now thrown back at you. You blink, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not in the manner you presume,” he amends quickly, though his tone remains taut with restraint. “It is… you, in your entirety, that proves most vexing.”

A faint, incredulous breath escapes you. “Then I must offer my apologies– for my very existence, it seems.” You incline your head, though something in you stiffens, refuses to yield entirely. “Though, if I may speak plainly, my lord… you are not the simplest man to serve.”

“That is not–” He stops himself, dragging a hand through his hair with visible frustration. “You misunderstand me.”

“Then I fear I am at a loss,” you murmur.

Silence descends– thick, suffocating. He studies you as though you are a riddle he cannot solve, and it sets your pulse unsteadily racing.

At last, his voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “Everything I attempt… seems rendered meaningless in your presence.”

Your lips part, your composure faltering. “I do not understand.”

“You would not,” he says, though there is no cruelty in it– only something strained, desperate.

A fragile pause follows. You clasp your hands together, seeking steadiness, seeking distance– from him, from the heat that seems to gather whenever he looks at you.

“I am sorry,” you begin softly.

“You were honest,” he interrupts.

“That was not my intent,” you confess, your voice barely above a breath.

His brow lifts faintly. “No?”

“No,” you admit, your gaze dropping. “I had meant… to be respectful.”

The air shifts.

You feel it before you comprehend it– the sudden closeness, the way his presence eclipses all thought. When you look up, he is nearer than propriety– or reason– should allow.

“My lord–” you begin, startled.

“Do not,” he says quietly. The words are not harsh, but it binds you all the same.

Your back meets the wall before you realize you have stepped away– or that he has followed. The ledger slips from your grasp, forgotten entirely.

“This distance we insist upon,” he murmurs, his voice low, unsteady in a way you have never heard. “It is intolerable.”

Your breath catches. “It is necessary.”

“Is it?” His gaze searches yours, dark and intent. “For whom?”

“For–” You falter. “For me.”

A faint, humorless smile touches his lips. “And yet you remain.”

“I serve you,” you say, though the words lack their former conviction.

“Is that all?” he presses, his voice softening into something far more dangerous.

You cannot answer.

Your heart betrays you– its frantic rhythm echoing in the silence between you. You are acutely aware of everything: the nearness of him, the faint chill of his presence, the way his eyes linger upon your lips as though he should not, and yet cannot help himself.

“This is folly,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he agrees.

Neither of you moves away.

“Then you must step back,” you insist, though your voice trembles.

“I cannot.”

The confession is quiet– almost unwilling.

You swallow, your hands pressing lightly against his chest as though to create space, though the contact sends a sharp, electric shiver through you.

“My lord–”

“Say my name.”

The request– no, the command– unravels something in you. You hesitate only a moment. And that is all it takes.

Whatever fragile restraint remained in him snaps.

His hand finds the wall beside your head, caging you there, and before sense can return– before propriety can reassert its cruel, rigid hold– his lips are upon yours.

The world tilts. It is not gentle. It is not tentative.

It is a collision of everything unsaid– weeks, months, perhaps longer– of stolen glances and sharpened words and aching restraint. His kiss is fierce, desperate, as though he means to prove something– or perhaps to silence it.

Your breath vanishes, replaced by heat, by the startling intensity of him. For a heartbeat you are frozen, caught between shock and scandal and something far more dangerous, and then you yield.

Your fingers clutch at his coat, betraying you utterly. The kiss deepens, not in impropriety but in urgency, in the sheer force of what has been denied too long.

When at last he pulls away, it is abrupt, as though he has remembered himself too late. Your breaths mingle in the narrow space between you.

“Turn around,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows dropping in confusion as his hands slip to your waist.

“Turn around,” he repeats, his voice as gentle as his hands as he turns you in a half circle, until you're facing the wall in front of you.

“Jacob–”

“Just trust me,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to your thighs, grabbing your skirt, pushing it up as your hands land on the wall in front of you. You turn your head to question him further, but he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Trust me,” he says again.

You nod hesitantly, your fingers tightening uselessly against the wall as he bunches your skirt at your waist. You stare with widened eyes at the wall, your breaths coming in short, staccato huffs of air.

He presses his chest against your back, “Hold that up for me, darling,” he orders sweetly. You grab your skirt tightly, your head tilted down, watching as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Jacob, I have never–”

“I know,” His voice is soft, gentle in your ear, and it makes your heart ache.

His other hand slides beneath the thin, silky material of your undergarments, brushing over your heated skin, caressing you softly, inches away from your most intimate area. You let out a shaky sigh, your eyes glued to the way his hand moves beneath the fabric.

“I'm going to touch you, Y/n,” he murmurs, “Is that alright, darling?”

You nod, knowing already what he was going to do, but grateful that he was still checking in. It made you feel safe, it made you want him even more. “Yes,” you breathe, “Please…”

And then his fingers lower, slipping between your thighs. Your jaw drops the second the pads of his fingers brush over the swell of your clit, and your hand shoots out to grab his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He hums in amusement, “Y/n,” he murmurs, "Just hold the skirt up for me, love.”

“Are you certain we should be doing this?” You ask quickly, scared of how much you're craving it already, “Anybody could walk in–”

“They will not,” he says calmly, his fingers pressing against you firmly, “Quit thinking so hard, we are alright.”

You nod, slowly relaxing your grip on his wrist, tangling your hands back into your dress, “M'sorry–”

He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Enough of that,” he whispers, the pads of his fingers circling slowly over you, making you sigh.

You let your head fall forward, your forehead resting against the cool surface of the wall, willing your brain to go silent.

His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you steady as he pets at you with gentle, almost teasing touches. He begins circling just a little quicker, firmer, and it sends a warmth surging through your entire body.

He lets out a hum as he slips his fingers lower, teasing at your weeping entrance. You lift your head, your eyebrows tilting as he eases a single finger inside of you.

“Oh,” you breathe, your cheeks flushing hot.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, letting his finger stay there, unmoving, and you feel yourself unwittingly clench around it.

You nod, “I am alright, I– I like it…” You let your words trail off, embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole.

He hums, before his fingers slips out, but before you can complain, it's easing back inside with another.

Your jaw falls slack, your walls squeezing around them as you grip your dress tighter. You want to laugh, you'd always heard horror stories about sex, about what surrounded it. You had heard of this, the fingers being inserted, but it had made you blush and shy away from the thought of any of it.

You bunch your skirt into one hand, the other moving to the wall to uselessly try to steady yourself as he curls his fingers inside of you.

It sends a tingling warmth through your limbs, your thighs quivering when he does it again.

“Oh– Jacob…”

“You feel so sweet wrapped around my fingers, darling,” he murmurs, before he lets out a quiet curse, pulling his face away from you.

He lets out a low sound, his arm around your waist tightening for a brief moment. His palm presses against your throbbing clit, grinding perfectly against it as his fingers curl in and out of you.

You can feel a pressure building, a hot-white surge of pleasure growing quicker by the minute, and you're not quite sure what it is, but you crave more.

And it feels so nice.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by how good it feels. He lets out an almost pained sound as you lift your hand, tangling it into his hair without a thought.

He curses again, pressing his forehead to your jaw, inhaling sharply through his nose, “You're a cruel woman,” he whispers.

You're not sure what he means by that.

He lifts his head again, "Come on, my dear girl,” he grits out, “Your sweet cunt's squeezing my fingers so tight, darling, just let it go.”

“Let what go?” You ask, gasping as his hand moves impossibly faster. “Jacob–”

He curses again, pulling his face away, “I know you feel it, love,” he says, voice restrained, “That warmth, that pleasure filling your entire, beautiful body– Feel it. Focus on how it builds,” your legs are about to give out as he continues to talk, “Let it build– Until you cannot fucking stand it.”

“I feel it,” you breathe, your hold on him tightening as his does the same, “Jacob…”

“And let it go,” he whispers, “Let me have it.”

And you do.

You aren't sure how he conjured that out of you with a simple command, maybe it was his hand working at you, maybe it was the spell he'd had you under since you first laid eyes on him.

Your back arches as the pleasure explodes inside of you, your thighs trembling as you try to stay upright. You gasp his name, your hands grappling uselessly with wherever they landed.

He lets out a low sound, a soft groan, as his hand continues its merciless ministrations. He's whispering praises to you, you can distantly hear them past the blood rushing in your head, but your body spasms and pulses with each beat of your heart.

Finally he slows, the pleasure slowly ebbing as you come down from a high you'd never experienced in all your days.

His arm stays tight around your waist as your legs threaten to give out.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hand stilling completely, fingers still nestled inside of you, “That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your hands falling to the wall to help hold yourself up. It's pointless, his arm around you is still holding you steadily.

“What… was that?” You ask between gasping breaths, your body still quivering as he finally eases his fingers away from your drenched center.

He hums a chuckle, “That was heaven,” he murmurs, “The closest I will ever be to it.”

He turns you back around gently, his eyes dark and heavy as he readjusts your skirt, letting it fall back into place as if it had never been out of it to begin with.

He glances up at the clock, and his jaw tightens, “It is time for you to go to bed,” he says softly, “It is past five already.”

You nod, your eyes subconsciously falling to his lips, wanting just one more taste. He leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, before he puls away.

“I will see you this evening,” he murmurs, “Get some rest, darling.”

You nod again, your mind still spinning, but you manage a soft, “Goodnight, Jacob.”

He smiles, but there's something behind it that you cannot place, “Goodnight, my dear Y/n.”

You reluctantly pull away, glancing back at him as you force your shaking legs to move you to the door.

You aren't sure what to do, what to say, so you slip out into the quiet corridor, your heart beating impossibly fast, your brain working just as hectically.

And you make your way to your room, but your heart stays in that cursed office.

—

Hushed whispers drift along the corridor, low and urgent. Then, sharper tones, quick and heated, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You pause mid-step, your head tilting as you listen. The words themselves are indistinct, muffled by thick walls and distance, but the emotion is unmistakable– frantic, angry, pressing.

Drawn despite yourself, you move closer, your slippers soundless against the polished floor. A faint crease forms between your brows when you realize the voices issue from near Jacob’s study.

You hesitate only a moment before daring to peer around the corner.

There they stand– Mrs. Harrow, rigid with indignation, her gloved hands trembling ever so slightly at her sides, and Jacob, composed yet strained, his expression drawn tight in a way you have not seen before.

“And when she discovers it?” Mrs. Harrow demands, her voice low but fierce, her eyes alight with something perilously close to fury. “What you are. What then, Jacob?”

His jaw sets, a shadow passing over his features. “It will never come to anything of that magnitude–”

“It will,” she cuts in sharply. “You are toying with that dear girl– and her life–”

“I am not,” he snaps, the words escaping him louder than intended.

You stiffen, your back pressing instinctively against the wall. Toying? Mrs. Harrow mutters something further under her breath, too soft to catch, and then the swish of her skirts signals her departure. You hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.

You mean to wait– to allow a few moments to pass before revealing yourself– but as you turn, intending to go, you nearly startle out of your skin.

He stands before you, “It is rude to eavesdrop.”

Your breath catches. “I was not– I was merely–”

“Standing around the corner, listening to my conversation?” he inquires, though a faint smile tugs at his lips.

“I did not wish to intrude,” you say quickly, flustered. “I only thought–”

“I am teasing,” he murmurs, his tone softening at once. “Do not distress yourself, my dear.”

You exhale, though the unease lingers. “What did she mean?”

For the briefest instant, something flickers behind his eyes– too swift, too sharp to name. Then it is gone, smoothed over by that same practiced composure, “It is nothing that need trouble you,” he replies lightly. “Nothing at all, Miss Y/n.”

“Jacob,” you press, quieter now.

“You look exceedingly well this evening,” he says, the compliment slipping in with deliberate ease as his gaze travels over you.

Your heart betrays you at once, skipping and quickening in equal measure. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks. You think yourself quite ordinary– no different from any other evening– but you murmur your thanks all the same.

“Shall we attend to the west wing tonight?” he continues, already turning, as though the matter has been settled beyond recall.

And, as ever, you follow. You watch him as he speaks, your gaze lingering upon the sharp line of his profile, your thoughts turning restlessly upon themselves. Mrs. Harrow’s words echo, unwelcome and insistent.

Toying with that dear girl.

A chill touches the back of your neck. Did she mean he was unkind? Deceitful? Or something worse?

Your steps falter, just for a moment, as another thought– one you have long endeavored to dismiss– rises once more to the surface.

All the little peculiarities. The odd hours. The curious stillness about him.

Was he even human?

—

It is near midnight when you speak of it.

The house lies steeped in quiet, the sort that settles deep into the bones of old walls. A single lamp burns low upon the desk, its golden light scarcely reaching the far corners of the room. Shadows gather there, thick and unmoving.

Jacob stands across from you, one hand braced lightly against the edge of the desk as he reviews a document you had only just finished copying. His posture is, as ever, composed– effortlessly so. Too effortlessly, you think.

You watch him. You have been watching him. Too still. Always too still, “Jacob.”

He does not look up at once as he hums.

You hesitate– but only briefly, “May I ask you something… unrelated to the accounts?”

That gives him pause. His eyes lift to yours then, sharp and attentive in an instant. “You may ask.”

You clasp your hands together to still them. “It is merely a curiosity.”

A faint, knowing curve touches his mouth. “I begin to suspect your curiosities are seldom mere.”

You ignore that, “Do you ever sleep?”

The question falls between you, quiet but unmistakable. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “I beg your pardon?”

“You are awake at all hours,” you continue, pressing on before your nerve fails you. “I have never once known you to retire before dawn, nor to rise after it. You do not keep ordinary habits.”

His gaze does not leave your face now, “Many men keep irregular hours.”

“Not like yours.” You draw a breath, steadying yourself. “And you do not eat, either.”

That, at last, earns a reaction. Small– but there. His fingers still against the paper. “I have dined,” he says evenly.

“Have you?” you ask, softer now. “I cannot recall when.”

Something shifts in the air between you– something subtle, tightening, “You observe a great deal for a clerk.”

“I must,” you return. “It is my profession to notice what others overlook.”

His expression does not change– but his attention sharpens, as though you have at last become something worth studying in turn, “Is that what this is?” he asks. “Observation?”

You hesitate, “No,” you admit. Your voice lowers, almost against your will, “It is… concern.”

That stillness again. Deeper, now. You take a step closer before you can quite think better of it. The lamplight catches his face, tracing familiar lines– yet tonight, they seem altered somehow. Harsher. Paler. “Mrs. Harrow spoke of what you are,” you say quietly. “Not who. What.”

His eyes darken– just slightly, “You heard more than you ought.”

“Then tell me,” you reply.

Silence stretches. You can hear it now– your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“You do not fall ill,” you continue, your voice steadier than you feel. “You do not tire. You are… cold, at times. Unnaturally so.” Your gaze flickers, just for a moment, to his hands. “And the other night–” You stop. You should not say it– You know you should not.

“And the other night?” he prompts softly.

Your breath catches, “I thought I saw…” You falter, then shake your head. “No. It was nothing. A trick of the light.”

His gaze does not waver, “Say it.” It is not a command. Not quite. Still, you do.

“I thought I saw blood.” The word hangs there, fragile and terrible. For a long moment, neither of you moves.

Then, he steps toward you. Slowly. Deliberately. You do not retreat. “You possess a most dangerous imagination,” he says, his voice low, almost gentle.

But there is something beneath it now. Something you have not heard before. Something that does not comfort. “Do I?” you whisper. His gaze searches yours, as though weighing something unseen. “Tell me,” you press, quieter still, “what are you, Jacob?”

The question settles between you like a drawn blade. This time, when he smiles, it does not reach his eyes. For a moment, he does not answer. He only looks at you.

Not as he has before– not with that easy composure, nor with the faint amusement he so often wears– but with something intent. Measuring. Weighing, “You are uncommonly brave this evening,” he says at last, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

“Or uncommonly foolish,” you return, though your breath is not as steady as you would like. “I have not yet decided which.”

That almost earns a real smile. Almost. “And if I told you,” he continues, taking another slow step nearer, “that there are some questions which, once answered, cannot be unlearned?”

A chill slips down your spine, but you hold your ground. “Then I should very much like to stop wondering.”

His gaze flickers, briefly, to your throat. So quick you might have imagined it. Might have.

“You would not,” he says quietly.

“I would.”

“You say so now.”

“And you evade me now,” you counter, more sharply than intended. “Which leads me to believe I am not so very far from the truth.”

Something in him stills at that. Not the stillness you have grown accustomed to– the poised, deliberate quiet– but something deeper. Older. As though you have brushed against the edge of something long concealed, “You ought to let this rest,” he says.

“I cannot.”

“Will not,” he corrects.

“Yes,” you say, lifting your chin slightly. “Will not.”

Silence stretches between you once more. The lamp flickers faintly, the flame bending as though touched by a breath that never quite arrives. The shadows behind him seem darker now, drawn in closer. Watching. “You see too much,” he murmurs.

“Then you should not be so… strange,” you reply before you can stop yourself.

That does it. A quiet exhale leaves him– not quite a sigh. “Strange,” he repeats, as though testing the word. Then, softer still, “Is that what you think of me?”

You hesitate, “No,” you admit. “I think you are… hiding something.”

His eyes lift fully to yours again, “And if I am?”

“Then I would prefer to know what it is.”

“And why,” he asks, stepping close enough now that the space between you narrows to something almost improper, “should you be entitled to such knowledge?”

The question strikes deeper than you expect, “I am not entitled,” you say after a moment. “But I am involved.”

That gives him pause. “You involve yourself,” he says.

“You involved me.”

A quiet beat.

His gaze searches your face again– more intently now, as though looking for something specific, “Miss Y/n,” he says at last, more carefully than before, “if there were… something about me that placed you in danger–”

“There is,” you interrupt softly. That stillness again. You continue, your voice barely above a whisper, “Do not tell me I imagine that.”

His jaw tightens. “You should leave this house.”

The words fall plainly between you. You blink. “What?”

“You should leave,” he repeats, more firmly now. “Take your wages, find another position. One better suited. One… safer.”

A hollow sort of laugh escapes you. “And abandon my work because my employer refuses to answer a question?”

“Because your employer knows more than you do,” he says, sharper now.

“Then enlighten me.”

“No.”

The force of it silences you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, quieter, “You would send me away rather than trust me?”

Something flickers across his face– gone too quickly to name, “I would see you unharmed.”

“From what?” you press.

His gaze darkens, “From me.”

The words settle heavy in the air. Your heart stumbles– but not from fear alone. “No,” you say, though your voice has softened. “I do not believe that.”

“You should.”

“I have seen you,” you continue, searching his face. “Not merely this– this evasion, this distance– but the rest of you.”

Something changes then. Not in his posture. Not in his expression. But in the air itself. Dangerous, that thought seems to echo.

“Do not be so certain,” he says, very quietly.

You hold his gaze, “Then prove me wrong.”

The words are out before you can recall them. A mistake. You know it the moment they leave your lips. Because something in his restraint– whatever thin thread has held it in place– pulls taut. Then frays.

“Careful,” he murmurs. And this time, it is a warning. The word lingers, low and dangerous, curling through the space between you.

You should stop. You feel it– some instinct, deep and insistent, urging silence. Retreat. Sense. And yet, “No,” you say, though it comes quieter now, edged with something unsteady. “You will not frighten me into silence.”

His gaze sharpens. “That is not my intent.”

“Then what is?” you press, the question breaking from you before you can temper it. “You warn me away, you refuse me answers, and yet you look at me as though–”

You stop yourself. His voice drops. “As though?”

Your heart is beating too quickly now. You do not know why you say it. You do not know why the thought, half-formed and absurd as it is, suddenly demands to be spoken aloud. Perhaps because you have exhausted every reasonable explanation. Perhaps because none of them fit.

You take a step back now, not from him– but from the weight of what you are about to say.

“You are…” You swallow. “Something not meant to walk as men do.” Still nothing. No denial. No laughter. No dismissal. The quiet stretches, taut as a drawn wire. And then, with a breath you cannot quite steady–

“You are a vampire.”

The word falls between you like a stone into still water. For a moment, nothing happens.

“Well done.” The words are light. Too light. A smile follows– quick, sharp, and entirely without warmth. “You have unraveled it at last,” he continues, his tone laced with something that might almost pass for amusement, were it not so thinly held together. “The great and terrible mystery of my existence, laid bare by careful observation and a most admirable imagination.”

The mockery is gentle in sound. But not in substance. Your stomach twists, “You mock me.”

“Do I?” he returns easily. “You present me with ghost stories and expect what? A confession?”

Your gaze does not waver. “Deny it, then.” That gives him pause. Only a fraction. But you see it, “Deny it plainly,” you press, quieter now. “Look at me and tell me I am wrong.”

The silence that follows is different. He could laugh. He could dismiss you. He could call you fanciful, foolish, overtired. He does none of those things. Instead, he looks at you. And something beneath that carefully constructed composure begins, at last, to show through. Not anger. Not quite. Something tighter. Sharper. Something afraid.

The carriage ride seems to last forever.

By the time the driver finally pulls the reins and the horses slow, the sky has turned the soft gray-blue of early evening. You’ve spent most of the journey pressed to the small window, watching the countryside blur past, but when the carriage turns through the iron gates, you sit up straighter without meaning to.

The manor rises ahead of you through the fog.

Even from the drive, it’s enormous.

Stone walls climb three full stories, dark with age and wrapped in climbing ivy that curls around tall windows glowing faintly with candlelight. A wide staircase leads up to the front doors, and lanterns flicker on either side, their warm light cutting through the cold mist drifting over the grounds.

It doesn’t look like a place people simply live.

It looks like a place that has existed for centuries.

The carriage rolls to a stop at the foot of the steps.

You hesitate for a moment before climbing down, your boots crunching against the gravel as you tilt your head back to take it all in. Up close, the doors alone are taller than any you’ve ever seen, carved with intricate patterns that have softened with time.

A second later, they swing open.

Warm light spills out into the cool air.

A woman stands in the doorway, wrapped in a dark shawl, her gray hair pinned neatly at the back of her head. Her expression softens the moment she sees you.

“You must be the new arrival,” she says warmly. “Come in, dear. You’ll freeze out there.”

You hurry up the steps, grateful for the invitation.

The moment you cross the threshold, warmth wraps around you. The entry hall is vast, the ceiling stretching higher than you expected, with a chandelier hanging above that scatters candlelight across polished wooden floors.

You stop without realizing it.

Paintings line the walls– portraits of men and women dressed in clothing from decades, maybe even centuries ago. Their faces are solemn, watching over the hall like silent guardians.

“It’s beautiful,” you say under your breath.

The woman beside you smiles knowingly.

“It surprises everyone the first time.”

She introduces herself as Mrs. Harrow, the housekeeper, and immediately begins guiding you further inside, your footsteps echoing softly across the floors. The manor seems to go on forever– long hallways, tall windows draped in heavy curtains, rooms that flicker with the glow of fireplaces and candlelight.

Before long, other members of the staff begin appearing.

A young maid peeks curiously around the corner of a doorway before stepping forward to greet you, smoothing down her apron nervously. A tall man from the kitchens offers a polite nod and a quiet welcome. Another woman– older, with flour still dusting her sleeves– smiles kindly as Mrs. Harrow explains that you’ll be staying with them from now on.

Everyone seems polite.

A little curious.

But welcoming in a way that slowly eases the tight knot of nerves in your chest.

Still, there’s something else you begin to notice.

Every now and then, during conversation, someone glances briefly toward the far end of the hall.

Not in a way that feels alarming.

Just… cautious.

Like they’re making sure someone isn’t standing there.

You follow one of those glances out of curiosity, but the hall is empty– only the grand staircase curving upward toward the second floor, disappearing into shadow.

“Your room is ready,” Mrs. Harrow says gently, drawing your attention back.

You follow her up the staircase, your hand trailing lightly along the polished railing. From above, the manor feels even larger. Doors line the upper hallway, each one identical, and thick rugs soften the sound of your steps.

When she pushes open the door to your room, you’re surprised by how comfortable it is.

A large window looks out over the estate grounds, the dark forest stretching beyond the gardens. A fireplace crackles softly along one wall, already lit. Someone has even placed fresh linens and a small pitcher of water on the bedside table.

You step inside slowly.

“It’s perfect,” you say honestly.

Mrs. Harrow smiles.

“Good. We like our guests comfortable.”

She hesitates briefly in the doorway, like she’s considering saying something more, but eventually she just nods to herself.

“Take your time settling in.” She smiles, “Then I'll take you to meet the Lord of the Manor.”

Your heart spikes, “Is he… a kind man?”

She pauses, “He is agreeable.”

Once she leaves, the room grows quiet.

You cross to the window, pushing aside the curtain slightly to look out at the grounds below. The fog has thickened, curling around the gardens and trees like pale smoke.

The manor behind you creaks softly, the old wood settling.

For a moment, standing there alone in the dim candlelight, you get the strange feeling that the house is… watching.

Like it’s been waiting for someone to arrive.

And somehow knows that someone is you.

—

The soft knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts.

“May I?” Mrs. Harrow’s voice is gentle but carries an unspoken authority. You nod, and she steps inside, moving with quiet grace. “Shall we?”

You follow her down the hall, your footsteps muffled against the thick carpets, taking in the vast magnificence of the manor– the intricately carved panels, the polished chandeliers, the sense that everything here belongs to someone else.

“He is a rather private man,” she says softly, “But fair. And diligent. But he is wonderful to work for.”

“Fanning the flames of my conceit again, Mrs. Harrow?”

She stops cold at his voice, and you nearly run into her. “No, my lord. Of course not.” She gestures to you, “I was merely explaining to our new clerk that this is… a place where precision is noticed.”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you peek around her shoulder. Your breath catches at the sight of him.

He is… unnervingly beautiful. Dark hair brushing past his shoulders in perfect waves, a strong jawline beneath full lips, and eyes so deep, they seem to see everything you think.

His lips curve briefly, a hint of amusement, before his gaze flicks back to you. The smile fades, just enough to make your chest tighten.

“Hello,” he says politely, shortly.

You incline your head, voice small but steady. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Is it?”

Your lips part, uncertain how to respond.

Mrs. Harrow clears her throat. “We were on our way to the study,” she says smoothly, “to introduce her to you properly. She will be overseeing the accounts, my Lord, and managing correspondence. A role of great responsibility.” She gives you a reassuring glance as you step back, eyes drifting to the floor.

He hums, considering, and Mrs. Harrow’s lips twitch in a quick, knowing smile. “Perhaps another time,” he says finally. “I’m… not in a sociable mood this afternoon.”

She nods, the two of them exchanging a glance that carries unspoken understanding. She drops into a curtsy, which you hastily mimic, stealing another glance at him.

He is already watching you.

Then, with a soft exhale, he turns away and disappears behind a door, closing it quietly but firmly.

Mrs. Harrow lingers for a moment, then gestures back toward your quarters. “Come. Tomorrow will be your first full day overseeing the ledgers and letters. Today, you may rest and settle in.”

You follow, anxiety coiling in your stomach. “Did I… upset him? Or do something wrong?”

“No,” she says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “He is… different. You will get used to him.”

“I see.”

“Enjoy your quiet afternoon,” she says, offering a small, genuine smile. “Dinner will be brought up to your room.”

You curtsy lightly, letting out a shaky sigh as the door closes behind her, the manor suddenly feeling larger– and colder– than ever.

And somewhere deep down, you realize that coming here may have been a wrong choice.

—

The corridor is quiet at this hour, the sort of deep, watchful silence that makes every small sound feel too loud. The grandfather clock down the hall ticks steadily, each second tightening the knot in your stomach.

You hear a knock on your door, and Mrs. Harrow enters with a tight smile, “He has requested to meet you properly now.”

Your eyes widen. “Now?”

“Yes, dear. He said now.”

You glance at the clock on your wall– well past any reasonable hour for introductions– before nodding anyway.

“I– very well.”

You follow behind her through the dim corridors of the manor, trying to steady. His earlier words still echo unpleasantly in your head. The coolness of them. The distance. Is it?

Mrs. Harrow stops before a tall dark door at the end of the hall and turns to you with a reassuring smile.

“He asked for you only, so I’ll leave you here to it.” She squeezes your hand lightly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” you manage.

She leaves, her footsteps fading down the corridor until you are alone. Completely alone.

You face the door. Your hand lifts to knock… then pauses halfway there.

The door swings open.

“Were you planning on standing out here all night?”

Your breath catches. Up close, he is… unfairly beautiful.

You noticed it earlier, of course, but not like this. Not in the quiet light of his study where you can see the fine details– the faint gold flecks in his dark eyes, the smoothness of his skin, the slight heart-shape of his mouth.

For a moment you forget entirely how speaking works. “No,” you blurt. “I was just–”

He opens the door wider and steps aside, “Lurking?”

“I was nervous.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary, as if that answer amuses him.

Then he gestures inward. “Come in.”

You step into the room.

The door closes behind you with a quiet, decisive click.

The study is large but dim, lit mostly by a few low lamps and the soft glow of a fireplace. Bookshelves stretch along the walls. Papers are arranged neatly across a heavy desk near the windows. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking.

“Nervous,” he repeats behind you. “Why?”

You try very hard to sound like a competent adult, “I do not know, my lord.”

He moves.

Not quickly– but quietly enough that you don't quite hear his footsteps as he circles behind you. It feels less like someone walking and more like being observed. Studied.

Your spine stiffens. You keep your eyes fixed politely ahead while your heart begins to hammer. He hums softly.

The sound sends a strange little shiver down your spine. Then he steps away and moves toward his desk. Relief loosens your shoulders a fraction.

He leans one hip against the edge of the desk, folding his arms loosely as he studies you again.

Not a passing glance– no. His attention lingers. Careful. Measured.

“You are the new clerk.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You arrived this afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“And yet,” he says mildly, “my household staff already appears rather fond of you.”

You blink, uncertain how to answer, “I–”

“Mrs. Harrow, in particular,” he continues, tilting his head a fraction. “She rarely speaks well of anyone.”

Your cheeks warm. “She was very kind to me.”

“Mm.”

His gaze drifts slowly over you then– not improper, exactly, but deliberate enough that you feel it. As though he is assessing something beyond your clothing, beyond your nervous posture. As though he is measuring you.

You suddenly feel very aware of your pulse.

“We will be working closely together,” he says at last. “I keep… unconventional hours. Most of our work is conducted at night. Will that present a difficulty?”

“No, my lord.”

“None at all?”

“No.”

He watches you another moment before asking, almost idly, “Are you married?”

You blink at the question. “No, my lord.”

“Engaged?”

You shake your head.

“Being courted?”

Your face grows warm again. “No.”

“Good.”

You hesitate. “Good?”

“Outside attachments,” he says lightly, “have a habit of complicating matters.”

“I assure you that will not be an issue, my lord.”

His eyes narrow slightly, studying you again, “Not even a suitor?”

“I– no.”

“Curious,” he murmurs.

The word is soft, thoughtful. As though the idea genuinely perplexes him. Your face grows hotter, though you cannot think of anything sensible to say.

Then he asks suddenly, “Do you believe yourself competent for this position?”

The abrupt change makes you blink. “I hope to be.”

“Hope?” His brow lifts faintly.

You straighten, gathering yourself. “I believe I am.”

“I require certainty,” he says, his voice quiet but firmer now. “Doubt breeds mistakes. And mistakes are… unfortunate.”

“I am capable.”

“What gives you that confidence?”

“I have experience with figures,” you say quickly. “Accounts, ledgers, costs, inventories–”

“I should imagine most people do.”

You stare at him. Then the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, “If you wish me to be confident in my abilities, perhaps you should be as well.”

His eyebrows rise, “I beg your pardon?”

Your stomach twists, but embarrassment pushes you forward. “I am already anxious about this position,” you say, cheeks burning. “Having the man I am to work for doubt my competence more than I do myself is not particularly reassuring.”

Silence settles between you. He studies you for a long moment, lips pursed thoughtfully. Then he hums, “Bold.”

Your courage immediately abandons you, “Forgive me, my lord,” you say quickly, dropping your gaze to the floor. “That was impertinent.”

“Very few people would dare speak to me that way,” he says. His tone holds no anger. If anything, there is something faintly amused beneath it.

You swallow. “I apologize.”

Another quiet pause stretches between you. “Mrs. Harrow would be proud of you.” Your face grows even warmer. “How fortunate for you,” he adds lightly, “that I am in a forgiving mood this evening.”

You nod, eyes fixed firmly on the floorboards, unaware of the spark of clear amusement in his gaze. Or the way he is still watching you with unsettling focus.

“Tomorrow evening,” he says at last. “Seven o’clock. We will begin in the east wing. I will show you how I prefer the ledgers arranged.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Jacob.”

You glance up, confused. “Pardon?”

“My name,” he says quietly. “It is Jacob.” The way he says it feels deliberate. “If we are to work together so closely, I see little point in unnecessary formalities.”

You hesitate.

“Of course… Jacob.”

The name feels unfamiliar on your tongue. He watches you say it. Very closely. You nod again because nodding seems to be the only thing you remember how to do.

“And you really must learn to master those nerves,” he says dryly.

You blink at him.

“I assure you,” he continues, the faintest curve touching his mouth, “I am quite pleasant company.”

The words are light.

But there is something in his gaze– something old and watchful– that makes your pulse skip in a way you cannot quite explain.

—

Your eyes lift toward the door just as it opens, relief washing over you when Mrs. Harrow steps inside. A tray rests in her hands, and though her smile is polite, it is drawn tight with disapproval.

You lean back in your chair, setting your pen aside. Your fingers ache, stiff from hours of writing.

“I assumed you might require some tea,” she says as she crosses the room, setting the tray before you. “Perhaps something to eat.”

“Oh– thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging with quiet gratitude.

Mrs. Harrow does not so much as glance at Jacob at first. He remains sprawled in the chair by the fireplace, one leg thrown lazily over the armrest, posture careless and entirely unapologetic.

Only after placing the tray neatly before you does she turn toward him, “I told you not to overwork the poor girl on her first night.”

Jacob arches a brow, unbothered. “If she were tired, I imagine she would say so.”

“You know very well she would not,” Mrs. Harrow mutters, just loud enough to be heard. Then she looks back at you, her expression softening slightly. “Do not let him bully you, dear. He is softer than he pretends.”

Jacob straightens a little. “I am not soft–”

“It is three in the morning,” she cuts in briskly, addressing you again. “You should go to bed.”

“Three?” you repeat, eyes widening as you whip around to glare at Jacob.

He only smiles.

“How far have you reached?” he asks, tilting his head.

“To November of–”

“Finish the year you are working on,” he says lightly, “and then you may rest.”

“I can continue working,” you insist quickly.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Harrow interrupts before he can reply. “Drink your tea. Eat something. Then you will go to bed.”

Jacob glances at her, amusement flickering across his face. “Are you undermining me while standing directly in front of me?”

Mrs. Harrow levels him with a glare that would wilt most men.

Jacob, unfortunately, seems immune. His grin only widens– lazy, crooked, and entirely too charming. White teeth flash beneath half-lidded eyes, and the sight of it sends an inexplicable warmth rushing to your face.

You quickly look away.

“I truly can continue,” you say quietly.

“No,” Jacob replies, and this time there is a gentle firmness in his voice. “Do as she says. Then go to bed.”

You reach awkwardly for the teacup, grateful for something to occupy your hands as Mrs. Harrow straightens.

“Good night,” she says, the word pointed– directed mostly at Jacob.

You murmur your own farewell. The door closes behind her, and suddenly the room feels far too quiet. You focus on your tea, watching the steam curl upward. And now you feel foolish. As though you have somehow failed at the very first test set before you.

“Jacob?”

He hums softly from across the room, turning his head toward you.

“I truly can finish the year,” you say, trying to keep the uncertainty from your voice. “It would not trouble me to continue working.”

“No,” he says again. He rises from the chair in one smooth motion, stretching slightly as he does. “You have done more than enough tonight,” he continues. “I have no doubts about your abilities, Y/n. But even the most capable clerk requires sleep.”

You press your lips together, taking another sip of tea. “I simply do not wish you to think I am incapable.”

His expression softens– just a little, “You have already proven otherwise,” he says. “Rest.”

After a moment, you nod. “Very well.”

“Same time tomorrow,” he says as he moves toward the door. Then he pauses, brow creasing faintly. “Or perhaps tonight?” He exhales a quiet laugh, “Semantics. Seven.”

You nod again. “Seven.”

He offers you a small smile, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

You watch as he slips out into the hall, the door closing softly behind him. The study feels strangely empty without him.

Your gaze drifts back to the tray Mrs. Harrow left behind. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, nerves tightening in your chest, but you know better than to ignore it. Mrs. Harrow would certainly notice. With a quiet sigh, you reach for the plate.

For reasons you cannot quite name, you feel worse now than you did before.

—

The routine never changes.

Day after day– well, night after night– you sit hunched over old ledgers in the study, trying to make sense of years of careless figures and slanted handwriting. Columns of numbers blur together beneath candlelight while you correct totals, re-ink faded entries, and attempt to untangle mistakes made long before you arrived.

It is dull work.

Necessary work.

And, more importantly, it is your work.

Tonight, however, you are not in the study.

You lie in bed staring at the small clock on the bedside table, watching the hands creep past seven. Your head pounds. Your nose is so blocked you can barely breathe through it, and each swallow sends a burning ache down your throat. You had woken like this– feverish, aching, weak enough that even sitting upright made the room tilt.

Mrs. Harrow had discovered you shortly after. She had not been pleased. You had insisted you were perfectly capable of working. You had tried, weakly, to swing your legs from the bed and dress yourself.

She had pressed you firmly back into the mattress and informed you– quite decisively– that Jacob could survive one evening without his clerk. Then she had taken your temperature.

A fever.

She had left moments ago to fetch tea and something light to eat, still muttering disapprovingly under her breath.

You sigh and push yourself up against the pillows, fingers worrying the edge of the quilt she tucked around you. The quiet makes you restless. Every minute spent here feels like a minute you should be working.

A knock sounds at the door. You sniffle, clearing your throat. “Come in,” you murmur.

The door opens. You expect Mrs. Harrow. Instead, Jacob steps inside. You freeze instantly, “My lord–”

“Mrs. Harrow tells me you are ill,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Your stomach flips.

You become painfully aware of everything at once– your thin nightgown, the bare skin of your arms above the quilt, the state of your hair. You drag a hand through the tangled strands, trying to smooth them down.

“Yes, my lord,” you say quietly.

“Jacob,” he corrects, almost absently.

He crosses the room as he speaks, stopping beside your bed.

Up close, his expression is thoughtful, faintly creased with concern as his gaze moves over you– taking in the flushed skin, the damp hair at your temples, the way you clutch the quilt.

“Are you quite alright?” he asks.

“I believe it is only a cold,” you say, trying to sit a little straighter. “Mrs. Harrow has been very attentive–”

“Mm.”

Before you quite realize what he intends, he leans closer. His hand lifts. Long, cool fingers settle lightly against your forehead. You go still.

The touch is gentle– almost careful. His palm is cool against your overheated skin, the contrast startling enough that you inhale sharply.

He seems to notice. His gaze flickers down to your face for a brief moment.

“You are burning,” he murmurs. Your pulse stumbles. He draws his hand away slowly, as though reluctant to do so.

“I am certain it will pass quickly,” you say, trying to recover your composure. “Mrs. Harrow said she will bring tea, and after that I can dress and return to the ledgers–”

“Return to–” He stops. Then he lets out a short breath, somewhere between disbelief and quiet exasperation, “Work?”

You hesitate. “…Yes.”

He studies you for a moment, “You believe you are in any condition to work tonight?”

“I do not wish to lose my position,” you admit softly. The words slip out before you can stop them.

Something in his expression changes at that. His brows draw together faintly, “For heaven’s sake,” he says quietly, “do you truly think so little of me?”

“I did not mean–”

“You are ill,” he interrupts gently. “And you will rest.” His voice is calm, but there is no room for argument in it. “You will return to the ledgers when you are well again. Not before.”

Your cheeks grow warmer– though you suspect that has very little to do with the fever. “Yes, my lord.” One brow lifts. You correct yourself quickly. “Jacob.”

A faint hint of a smile touches the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

Silence settles between you.

You suddenly realize how close he still stands beside the bed. Close enough that you can see the fine details of his face in the lamplight– the pale smoothness of his skin, the quiet intensity in his eyes.

For a moment, he simply looks at you. Then, almost unconsciously, his hand lifts again. This time his knuckles brush lightly against your cheek. The touch is brief. Testing.

Your breath catches as the coolness of his skin meets the heat of yours. His fingers linger there just a second too long. Something flickers in his expression. A strange tension.

And then you see it. A spot of blood on his sleeve.

You frown lightly, “There is blood on your shirt, my lord,” you say, reaching for his wrist, turning his hand over to see it.

“Yes, I nicked myself earlier today,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away, his fingers tightening as he steps back.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm quite well, thank you,” he says, jaw flexing as he avoids your eyes, “If you need anything,” he says, his voice quieter now, “anything at all– you will send for me.”

You nod quickly. “Yes, my–” You stop yourself. “Jacob.”

He holds your gaze one moment longer.

Then he turns and leaves the room rather abruptly, the door shutting softly behind him.

The quiet returns.

You sit there for a long moment, heart beating far faster than a simple cold ought to allow.

—

The corridor is quiet in the early night, the sort of quiet that belongs to houses half-asleep. Your footsteps sound far too loud against the polished floorboards as you move carefully along the wall, one hand trailing over the paneling to steady yourself.

Three days in bed is enough to drive anyone mad.

Your head still throbs faintly, and the weakness in your limbs is difficult to ignore, but that hardly matters. Work awaits you downstairs. Ledgers will not balance themselves, letters will not draft themselves, and Jacob is not known for his patience with delays.

You make it nearly halfway down the corridor before a voice cuts through the silence.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

You freeze.

For a moment you consider pretending you have not heard her, that if you remain perfectly still you might somehow cease to exist. But Mrs. Harrow is not a woman one successfully ignores.

Slowly, you turn.

She stands at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mouth drawn into the familiar thin line of disapproval that has terrified servants for decades.

“I am going to work,” you say carefully.

Her brows knit together in disbelief.

“Child,” she says, with the exhausted patience of someone speaking to a particularly foolish creature, “you are ill.”

“I have been in bed for nearly the past three days,” you reply, trying not to sound as weak as you feel.

The words come out thinner than you intend. Mrs. Harrow shakes her head immediately, “You will return to work when you are fully recovered.”

“I am recovered,” you lie. Your temples pulse in protest, a dull ache pounding at the back of your skull, but you lift your chin stubbornly. “I must return to work–”

“What is the cause of all this noise?”

The new voice slips into the conversation so smoothly that you almost start.

Jacob stands a few paces behind Mrs. Harrow, as though he has simply materialized from the shadows of the corridor. One moment he was not there, the next he is.

Your spine straightens automatically.

He is dressed already, dark clothes perfectly fitted, the white collar of his shirt stark against his throat. His hair is still slightly disordered, as if he has run a hand through it moments ago.

His gaze settles on you, and it lingers.

Mrs. Harrow turns immediately, “Suspend her.”

Your jaw drops, “What?”

Jacob’s attention flickers briefly to his housekeeper before returning to you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity, “For what purpose?” he asks mildly.

Mrs. Harrow gestures toward you like one might present a piece of evidence, “Invent one,” she says. “She is still ill.”

Jacob studies you.

You wish he would not do that.

His gaze travels slowly over you– the rumpled state of your blouse, the way you are holding the wall for balance, the slight pallor you know must still linger in your face.

He lifts one brow, “Why are you out of bed?”

“I must work,” you say quickly.

His head tilts slightly.

There is something unsettling about the way he watches people. Too still. Too attentive. As though he sees far more than anyone should.

“No,” he says simply. The word lands with quiet finality. He turns back to Mrs. Harrow, “Two days.”

Mrs. Harrow’s severe mouth softens with approval, “Thank you, my lord.”

Your brain struggles to catch up. “Two days?” you breathe. Jacob is already pushing open the door to his study. “For what?” you demand.

He pauses halfway inside, glancing back over his shoulder, “Insubordination,” he says lightly, as though the charge has just occurred to him on a whim. One shoulder lifts in a careless shrug, “Paid suspension.”

And then he disappears inside. The door shuts. You stare at it in disbelief, “This is absurd!”

Mrs. Harrow barely spares the door a glance, “Go back to your room at once,” she says briskly. “Or I shall convince him to make it three.”

You gape at her, “You cannot possibly be serious.”

“Oh, I assure you,” she says calmly, “Lord Jacob is quite persuadable when it concerns your well-being.”

“My well-being?” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yes.”

You throw your hands in the air.

“Fine,” you snap, gathering your skirt in your fists. “I will stay in my room. Like a well-behaved pet.”

Mrs. Harrow’s expression falters immediately. The hurt in her eyes flickers before she can hide it.

But you are already turning away, too irritated– and too humiliated– to apologize.

You storm down the corridor, though the motion sends another sharp pulse of pain through your head.

Behind you, the house falls quiet again.

—

“You hurt Mrs. Harrow’s feelings.”

You don’t answer at once.

Your pen stills mid-stroke, hovering above the ledger as your gaze drifts– not to him, but to the far wall, as though the plaster might offer you some refuge. A quiet breath leaves you.

“I am aware,” you say at last, composed but softer than you intend. “I will apologize when next I see her.”

A pause. Then, closer, too close, “And what part of paid suspension do you not understand, dear Y/n?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the pen.

You lift your gaze slowly, deliberately, until it meets his. He’s standing before you now, all sharp lines and effortless authority, his presence filling the space in a way that feels… inescapable. One brow arches.

“My lord,” you reply, tilting your head just enough to feign ease, “I am perfectly capable of sitting quietly and writing numbers on a page.”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips– brief, knowing. “She only has your best interests at heart.”

“I know.” Your eyes fall again, retreating to the safety of ink and columns. “I will apologize.”

A low hum escapes him, thoughtful, unconvinced.

And then, unexpectedly, he moves.

The shift of fabric is soft, but you feel it more than hear it as he lowers himself beside you on the floor. Far too near. Near enough that the air itself seems altered– colder, thinner, charged.

You blink, your posture stiffening despite yourself.

You are suddenly, acutely aware of everything.

The steady scratch of your pen. The measured rhythm of your breathing. The unnatural stillness of his. And your heart– traitorous thing– beating far too quickly.

“Tell me about yourself.”

His voice is quieter now. Not a command. Something else. You let out a small, nervous huff of laughter, eyes fixed stubbornly on the page as you resume writing, “There is not much to tell.”

“Your family, then.”

You hesitate, but only briefly, “My parents own a shop,” you begin, your voice softer, pulled from somewhere more distant than the room you sit in. “In the town where I was raised.”

Your pen drags a little slower now.

“I am their only child.” A pause. “A rather disappointing circumstance, I imagine.”

There is a shift beside you– not movement, exactly, but attention sharpening. “Why would you think that?”

You glance at him then, just for a moment, “No son,” you say simply. “No other children. Only me.”

His gaze doesn’t waver, “I am certain,” he says, quieter still, “that you were more than enough.”

The words land strangely. Too sincere. Too close. You look away again.

“I liked to read,” you murmur, almost absently. “My father… trusted me with the accounts. The shop’s finances.” A faint, fleeting smile touches your lips. “He said I had a mind for it.”

“And that led you here.”

“They encouraged me,” you admit. “Both of them. They wanted… something more for me.” A small pause, “They wanted me out.”

A breath of something like amusement escapes him, “That dreadful, was it?”

You shake your head, a little more quickly than necessary, “No. I liked it.” Softer now. “But I suppose… it was small.”

Silence settles between you. Not empty. Never empty. It presses in instead– thick, aware, stretching taut like a held breath. You can feel him looking at you. Not casually, not idly.

Your palms begin to warm where they rest against the paper. Your writing falters– not enough to stop, but enough that you notice.

“May I ask you something… forward?”

Your pen stops entirely this time. You lift your head, slower than before, “…Yes.”

There is the faintest pause, just long enough to make you aware of it. “You truly have no suitor?”

The question is so unexpected you almost laugh– but it comes out uneven, caught somewhere between surprise and something far more fragile.

“No.”

His brow furrows slightly, as though the answer offends logic itself, “Why?”

You blink, “I… do not know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, less certain. “I never gave it much thought.”

His gaze lingers. Too long, too intent. “That,” he says at last, low and measured, “is baffling.”

Your breath catches– barely. Your fingers curl slightly against the page. You shouldn’t look at him again. You know you shouldn’t. And yet you do.

And the moment your eyes meet his, something shifts. Subtle. Dangerous. “You are…” He pauses– not searching for words, but choosing them. “Breathtaking.”

Everything in you stills.

Your chest tightens sharply, your heartbeat stumbling over itself as though it has forgotten its rhythm entirely. For a moment, neither of you moves. The air feels thinner. Closer.

You cannot seem to breathe properly.

And then he stands. Abruptly. The spell fractures.

His jaw is tight now, something restrained flickering behind his expression as he looks down at you– composed once more, but only just.

He offers you a small smile. Too sharp to be gentle. Too controlled to be easy.

“Finish that page,” he says. Your hands remain frozen in your lap. “And if you do not rest,” he adds, voice lighter, but edged with something unmistakable, “I will have you confined to your room for the remainder of your suspension.”

You swallow, “Yes, my lord.”

But he is already turning away.

Gone before you can steady your breath. Gone– and yet the space he occupied feels anything but empty.

You sit there for a long moment, unmoving.

Then slowly, you look back down at the page. The numbers blur. And no matter how hard you try, you cannot make your hand stop trembling.

—

It is well past seven.

The two days allotted have come and gone. You have endured them with what patience you could muster, attending to your duties in quiet defiance of the suspension imposed by Mrs. Harrow– and, to your quiet disappointment, upheld by Jacob himself. Even so, he had permitted you a few hours’ work each evening, ever watchful that you did not overtire yourself, nor relapse into that lingering weakness he seemed to regard with undue concern.

Tonight, however, he is nowhere to be found.

You linger outside the door to his study, hands folded neatly before you, posture composed though your patience wears thin. Nearly half an hour passes in this manner. Once or twice, members of the household staff pass by, offering polite nods or curious glances. You return each with a tight, practiced smile, though their scrutiny pricks at your nerves.

At last, with a quiet sigh, you abandon your post.

The sun has dipped low, its fading light spilling through the tall windows that line the corridor, casting long, golden beams across the floor. Drawn by the warmth of it, you drift toward one of the windows and lift the sheer curtain, gazing absently out across the grounds.

The gardens stretch wide below, bathed in the last light of evening– hedges trimmed to perfection, gravel paths pale against the darkening green.

Your breath stills.

Jacob stands among the hedgerows, half-shadowed by the lengthening dusk. There is something… peculiar in the way he holds himself– too still, too intent. One hand is raised to his face, his back turned slightly, as though he would conceal the gesture from any distant observer.

You narrow your eyes, leaning forward ever so slightly.

He draws his hand away.

For a fleeting instant, the dying sunlight catches against his mouth– and you think, surely you think– there is something dark upon his lips. A stain. A smear.

Blood. Your heart gives a sharp, startled beat. He pauses. Then, as though stirred by some unseen sense, his head lifts. His gaze finds yours.

Even at this distance, there is no mistaking it– that sudden, piercing awareness, as though the space between you collapses entirely. You cannot move. Cannot look away. His expression does not change. Not wholly. But something in it shifts, something unreadable, something that sends an inexplicable chill down your spine.

You release the curtain at once, letting it fall back into place with a soft whisper of fabric. Stepping away from the window, you press a hand lightly to your chest, as though to steady the quickened rhythm beneath.

It was the light, you tell yourself. Nothing more than a trick of the fading sun.

It must have been. And yet… You hesitate, your gaze lingering upon the pale veil of the curtain. The image lingers still, unbidden and unwelcome. That dark stain. That stillness. The way his eyes had found yours, as though distance were no barrier at all. A chill settles low in your chest.

You turn from the window at last, and nearly collide with him.

Jacob stands but a step away, as though he had materialized from the very shadows of the corridor. There is no sign of haste in him, no uneven breath nor disarray to betray that he has just crossed the grounds. He is composed– perfectly so.

Only his eyes remain upon you, searching, intent.

“I do not feel inclined to work this evening,” he says, his tone measured, though something in it lies drawn too tight. “You may take the night to yourself.”

For a moment, you simply stare at him. Then your brows knit, irritation flaring quick and bright. “My work is to be governed by your inclinations now?”

He stills at that. Slowly, he turns more fully toward you, one brow lifting in faint surprise. “You grow bold, Miss Y/n.”

“Yes,” you return coolly, folding your arms, “you have observed as much before.” Your chin lifts a fraction. “I have been kept from my duties for the better part of a week. If you choose idleness, that is your affair– but I do not. I intend to see the east wing completed this evening, my lord.”

Something flickers across his expression, something unreadable, gone almost as soon as it appears, “Stubborn,” he murmurs, as though the word itself intrigues him. Then, more firmly, “No. Not tonight.”

A sharp breath escapes you. “You are exceedingly infuriating.”

“And you,” he replies, his voice tightening, “are overfree with your speech.”

You give a small, disbelieving scoff. “Do you mean to dismiss me, then?”

“No.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

“Then I see no obstacle,” you say briskly. “You may attend to whatever occupies you, and I shall attend to my work.”

There is a brief pause, “You shall?” he echoes, as though testing the notion.

“Yes.”

For a moment– just a moment– his mouth threatens something like a smile. Then it is gone. He turns away, already withdrawing, though he halts after a step. Without looking back, he adds, “You have, at most, a month’s work remaining in the east wing. When it is finished… you will come to me.”

There is something in the way he says it– quiet, deliberate– that makes your pulse stir, though you cannot say why.

You cut the power to the element of your stove, giving the contents of the frying pan one last stir before moving it to the side. The sun outside was shining in through the windows, the golden rays powerful as a last ditch attempt to lighten the land before setting for the night. You took a sip from your wine glass as you grabbed the pot of pasta noodles and brought them to the sink to strain. Music was drifting through the air, and the candle burning on the countertop offset the strong smell of the pasta sauce you had just finished cooking. Your hair was still damp from your shower, and light makeup was dusted on your face. You were dressed comfortably, but still took the time to pick out a nice outfit for the occasion. All of the classic telltale signs of romance was lingering in the atmosphere, yet you still had yet to come to terms with the fact.

You were preparing for a date, even if you refused to admit to it.

You brought the pot back to the stove, adding the pasta to your sauce and combining the two. Just as you finished washing your hands to rid yourself from the mess you made, your doorbell rang. With a small sigh of approval, you looked over your work before running to answer the door. You nervously combed through your hair with your fingers, trying to contain your excitement as you flipped the lock and twisted the knob to reveal the body waiting on the other side. Jake stood with a smile on his lips, a bag slung over his shoulder, and a seemingly expensive bottle of wine held in his hand.

“Hi,” You breathed, stepping aside to allow him entry. It had been a few days since seeing him, and you hated to admit to the fact that you had genuinely missed him. The calls and texts were still plentiful, yet his presence in your home was more appreciated than you realized.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He chuckled at your expression, feeling the same way you were feeling. Being apart from you was similar to a withdrawal from substance, yet a million times more powerful. His bed felt so empty that sometimes, he thought that sleeping on the couch would be a better way to spend the night. “I brought wine. I thought if I brought flowers, you might punch me.”

“Good call.” You agreed, taking it from his hand so he could balance the rest of his belongings with ease. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know.”

“I wanted to.” He said, following you as you walked back to the kitchen. “It’s our first dinner together. It’s a momentous occasion.” You rolled your eyes, placing the bottle next to the one you had already opened in the fridge.

“I told you not to make a big deal out of it. I was cooking already; you’re not special.” You closed the door to the refrigerator and straightened up. As soon as you did, you felt a pair of hands snake around your waist. You hated that your heart sped in reaction to the touch, and you what you hated even more was that you melted into the feeling, leaning back into him and closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

“Not special?” He hummed, his fingers inching under your shirt and settling on the soft skin just below the fabric. “Don’t hurt my feelings, angel.”

“You’ll survive.” You assured him, turning around to face him. He caught your eye, giving you a smile. “Thanks for coming.” You felt guilty about your harshness, and upon catching sight of his face, your tough exterior seemed to melt away. He was used to your brashness, and it never seemed to phase him. When you turned to face him, his face held so much adoration that it almost seemed like you never insulted him at all.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He leaned down, capturing you in a small kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer in hopes of making up for the days of missing him. You were too stubborn to hug him, feeling that the innocent intimacy was too much, so you only allowed it when his lips were locked with your own. It was a cheat, your way of breaking your own rules, but he abided without argument. When he pulled away, he held you there for a moment, taking a long look over your face in hopes of familiarizing himself with your features again. Although, he did not have to try very hard; the picture of your face was the only thing his mind had been able to formulate since the last time he saw you.

Casual was becoming harder and harder with every day that passed, but neither of you felt the need to address it. You thought that by ignoring the growing feelings, they would die in the same place they blossomed. Your laziness in regards to discussing your relationship had not yet caused an issue, yet the longer you let it go, the more dangerous it became.

“You look nice.” You said, straightening out the collar of his shirt. “Didn’t need to dress up for me.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” he offered, raising a gentle hand to your cheek. His thumb drifted across the smooth skin, sending goosebumps across your whole body. Now that your past was out in the air and he knew more about you than you ever wanted him to, your comfortability had grown immeasurably stronger. Every time he touched you, he seemed to exude even more caution. It was his inconspicuous way of saying he would never touch you in any way other than loving, and you would have chastised him for it if you didn’t like it so much. His gentle hand was the reason you trusted him as much as you did, and it had been so long since you felt a touch so calming that you could not seem to turn him away. “Ever think of that?”

“I did, but I was hoping I wasn’t right.” You teased, feeling your walls of fear slowly crumbling to the ground the longer he looked into your eyes.

“Too bad.” He shrugged, his sympathy barely existing.

“You hungry?” You asked, changing topics so you did not have to focus on his need to impress you.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes flickering to the stove. “Food looks fantastic, but what would you say if I told you that I have something even better in mind?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna discredit all of my hard work just for sex?” You teased, but you weren’t completely disinterested in his idea.

“You’re right, how rude of me.” He chuckled. “Let’s eat, sweetheart.” He leaned down, giving you another quick kiss before parting from you. You took to the stove, grabbing the plates you had set out before he arrived. “Anything I can help with?” He watched as you prepared the food for both of you.

“You can sit at the table so you’re not in my way?” You offered, giving him a small smile as you looked back over your shoulder.

“My apologies; didn’t realize how strict your kitchen rules were.” He laughed, but adhered to your request and took a seat at the table. Within a few moments, you brought both plates over and sat them down in front of your respective seats. Then, you filled up a second wine glass and returned back to the table. You placed one in front of him before taking a seat yourself. “Would it be too much to say that I missed you?” He asked, now especially careful to tread lightly when it came to your boundaries. After your confessional in his car the night you met his brothers, he was even more terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing and in turn, driving you away. Although denial was your most favourite pastime, you failed to see that being so fearful of losing each other was the furthest thing from casual that you could get.

“I’ll allow it, but only because I missed you too.” You chuckled, sipping at your wine.

“This is delicious, by the way.” He noted.

“Thanks. You’ve been too busy to come and see me, so I figured I had to impress you to make sure you’re not forgetting about me.” You teased.

“Like I said before, angel, forgetting you has never been my intent. In truth, it’s never really been an option.” He assured you, catching your eye so you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

“Would it be selfish of me to say that I’m glad for that?” You phrased your question similar to how he asked you his own just minutes before.

“No,” he shook his head “I’d feel the same if it were the other way around.” You smiled at his words, burying your face in your wine glass to hide the rosiness of your cheeks. “And I wasn’t too busy for you; life just gets crazy sometimes.”

“I know, I’m only teasing.” You promised. “How’s work going?”

“Good, we just finished up writing the last touches on the album. Think next week we’re going to start recording.”

“Exciting.” You hummed. “I think maybe it’s time I listened to some of your music, since we’re friends and all.” You laughed nervously, embarrassed that you’d known him for weeks and had yet to hear him play. It was your way of keeping the barrier between you, ensuring that your lives didn’t intertwine too delicately, but it was long overdue. You were putting off the inevitable, and listening to a song he wrote did not equate to marriage, even if you previously thought so.

“Whenever you want.” He smiled. He didn’t want to push it on you, and he was more than willing to wait until you were ready. As much as he’d like to play all day for you, he would only enjoy it if you were enjoying it, too. “How’s work for you?”

“Oh, the same.” You shrugged. “Did another wedding, a maternity, and a first birthday party.” You listed. “I wasn’t going to do the birthday party, but babies are just too cute to refuse, especially when they get their hands on their little birthday cake.” You laughed. He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, watching you with curiosity. He didn't peg you for someone to go crazy over babies, yet he found it oddly fitting. “What?” You asked, noticing his change in expression. “I like kids, but it doesn’t mean I want any.”

“Never said there was anything wrong with it,” he defended “just took me by surprise is all.” You shifted in your seat, nervous that he was reading too much into the simple statement. “I’d like to see some of your work, if you’re ever willing.”

“Maybe.” You offered, both of you knowing that it was unlikely that you ever would. The rest of the meal was shared in silence, but it was not uncomfortable for either of you. You didn’t know how to carry on the conversation, and he was just happy to be with you. When you were both finished eating, you cleared the table and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Before you could turn around, you felt the same familiar pair of hands on your hips, jumping at the suddenness of his actions. He leaned down, pressing his lips into the skin just below your ear with great caution. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling, and your eyes fluttered closed at the bliss that came along with it.

“Thank you.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over any available inch of you.

“You’re welcome.” You responded, resting your hands over his which he had slid to your stomach. He pulled you in to him a little further, another subtle way of hugging you without making it into a grand show of affection.

“Interested in dessert, by any chance?” He purred, his teeth sinking into your earlobe. You couldn’t help but smile at him, knowing that dinner was nothing short of torture to him after going so long without you.

“Can’t wait to get me in bed?” You teased, but your body was betraying you. As his fingers danced over your skin, you let out a shaky breath. You missed him just as much as he missed you, and you were eager to get his clothes off, too.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” His fingers dipped below the waistband of your leggings, settling on the elastic of your underwear but advancing no further until you gave him permission.

“I think you can wait a little longer,” you did not believe that either of you could, yet you couldn’t help but try your best to piss him off. “I have to do the dishes, Jacob.” There was something so compelling about the fire in his eye when you misbehaved, and you were searching for it like a lost child looking for a place to call home.

“I don’t think I can, angel.” His fingers slipped even further down, now resting contently underneath all layers of clothing. “I’ve been thinking about bending you over this countertop all fucking week.” He said, leaning forward slightly to lock you in place. You tried your best to cover it, but your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of the vulgarity. You couldn’t see him, but you knew there was a smirk on his lips from the reaction. “From the sound of it, you have been, too.” Your eyes fluttered closed, your mind focusing on the feeling of his fingers so close to your heat. You were aching for relief, and he’d barely even touched you. Your body needed him so desperately that not even you could comprehend it. “Right?” He pressed further, hoping for a verbal response.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, hoping he would continue on instead of teasing you. In truth, what he guessed did not even come close to the truth of how much you’d been thinking of him. It was more than just a passing thought of sex in the kitchen, or a night spent tangled up in each other. Every time you let your mind wander, it ended up in a grotesque picture of him taking you as he pleased, and it was not limited to the kitchen. Every time your eyes fell upon a surface in your house, you could picture the two of you together, cementing memories of sin until the end of time. He hadn’t left your mind once since the last time you were in his company, and dinner was a boring formality to bridge the gap between reuiniting and having him in every way you dreamed of in the passing days.

Your need for him was filthy, concupiscent and lacking any moral will. The devil had completely overtaken you, and you were so blind to his evil that you tricked yourself into believing you were happy to be chosen by him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, angel.” He ordered, finally moving his middle finger to your cunt. The touch was gentle, barely noticeable, yet it had enough strength to bring you to your knees. He ran the digit through your pooling arousal, trailing it up to your clit where he began tracing small, featherlight circles. His order was partially because he wanted to make you suffer, knowing that after so many days, it would be difficult for you to form any thoughts while he was touching you. A bigger part of him needed to hear it, because the desire to know he was needed by you was suffocating him.

“So much, Jake.” You whimpered, praying to a god that you were not even sure existed. If there was anything holy in the world, you were sure it would have stricken down any amount of evil, especially one as large as Jake possessed. Then again, you feared that he had too much power for any entity to control, feeding your fear of his devilish nature even further. “I thought about this every night.”

“You poor little thing,” he crooned, sympathy barely existing within him. “All alone with nobody here to take care of you.” His touch grew stronger, making your legs quiver underneath the weight of your body. “What did you do without me here?” His question, although seemingly simple, was opening the door to a lifetime of humiliation. He wanted to hear every dirty thing you got up to with only a picture of him in your mind. “I want to hear all about it, angel.” You could feel his erection pressing into your ass, noticing him growing more needy by the second.

As much as he loved to pretend he was in charge, he could never seem to harness enough strength to control his need for you.

Even if you didn’t know it, you were the sole holder of the power; you held the reins, and he was willing to go to the ends of the earth to please you.

“I bet you would.” You huffed, trying your best not to succumb to the pleasure his curious fingers were granting you. You lowered your shaking hands into the scalding water, feeling defeat fill you as you realized that not even the burn of the heat could overpower the godless man who was so keen on making you suffer. “I’m a little busy at the moment, though.”

“I would, and I will.” He corrected, unwilling to take any argument from you. “You can do your dishes, but I’m going to have my fun, sweetheart. You should know better by now.”

“I should,” you muttered, trying not to give in to the temptation of him. It was so much more fun to tease him, and you had committed yourself to the task since the very beginning. “Are you trying to show off? Upset that I’d rather do the dishes than have sex with you?” He’d grown so used to your antics that the insult did not even phase him. Instead, he let out a low chuckle as he pulled down the waistband of your pants with his free hand, settling it just below your ass.

“I don’t think you’re telling the truth, baby.” He called your bluff, his middle finger still focused intently on your clit. “She’s telling me everything I need to know.” A rush of emotion settled in the pit of your stomach, still finding his obscenity shocking, even if it was incredibly hot. “Now, answer the fucking question.” His tone was sharp, but not malicious. Yet, anyway. You knew if you played his game, you would reap the rewards. If you did what you so badly wanted to and mocked his authority, the consequences would be dire. You bit down on your lip, holding back a whimper begging to escape as you placed a clean plate on the rack to dry. The lack of clothing allowed for more freedom, and he was using it to his advantage. “Not talking tonight?” He questioned. “That’s new for you.”

“I was always told that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all.” You said through gritted teeth, your persistence prying another laugh from him.

“You’re such a brat, sometimes.” He let out a disapproving tsk, leaning in closer so his lips were resting on your ear. “Am I going to have to do all of the talking for you?” Instead of responding, you continued to wash the silverware as if you were completely alone in the home and the touch of his hand was not driving you to the brink of insanity. “Are you embarrassed, angel? Ashamed of all of the dirty things you did while wishing I was here with you?” You let out a scoff, but did not feed into his tyrant any further. “What was it, sweetheart? What did you use when you couldn’t get me out of your head? Your fingers?” He asked, his breath warm on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Did you lay in bed, nestled between all of those pillows?” His tone grew stronger with every word he spoke, his own desperation clear despite his commitment to the facade. “You probably put some music on, just something to listen to while you closed your eyes and pretended it was my hands touching you, instead.” His voice was low, laced with desire at the thought of your fingers dancing through your arousal caused by the memory of him. “Classic, gets the job done, but I don't think that’s what you got up to.” He debated his own words, smiling ever so slightly against you.

His intent was to drive you mad, and if there was one thing you knew about Jake, it was that he would die before he would ever surrender.

“Or maybe you went digging around in that box underneath your bed,” he theorized “you know, the one you only let me bring out when you’re really feeling adventurous.” He reminded you as if you did not know exactly which box he was speaking of. “Is it because you’d rather use it when you’re alone? Is it just there to do all of the work when I can’t be here to do it myself?” Your breath caught in your throat as his lips landed on the sensitive skin just under your ear. “That sounds more like it…” he trailed off, losing himself in the picture of a vibrator clutched in your hand and his name woven so delicately on your lips. “I bet you start slow, wanting to draw it out as long as possible to pass the time until I can come over, but you get so needy so quickly. I know that vibrator spends most of its time on the highest setting, but you’re such a little whore that you just can’t get enough and it still doesn’t do it for you.”

You could not hide the moan that fought its way to the surface, breaking through the air and effectively proving his point. You wanted him more than even he knew, but you were just too damn stubborn to admit it.

“Or do you spend your time in the shower, the hot water keeping you warm and the detachable shower head doing more than that little toy could ever handle?” He slowly sunk to his knees, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting you again. “I notice, sweetheart, and I know you put that there for a reason.” Just before he was eye-level with your cunt, with a bit of force, he pushed your top half down towards the counter. “So what is it? How have you been taking care of yourself without me here to help?” You were so lost in the moment that you barely registered his question, already thinking of the euphoria he would give you with help from the unholy spirit that graced his tongue. “Or was it all three?” He asked, his tone telling you that the revelation brought him to a moment of enlightenment. “You tried it all, but you just couldn’t seem to find anything that could replace me. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, finally giving in to his power. It was too strong to resist, and you were surprised you’d made it so far.

“Yes, what?” He growled, happy to hear you speak, yet displeased with the time it took for you to answer.

“Yes, sir.” You let out a shaky breath. “I tried it all, but it didn’t even come close to how good you make me feel.”

“Now you want to be good for me, hmm?” He taunted, knowing how badly you wanted him. “I know you can listen, angel. I don’t know why you try so hard to be so disrespectful.”

“M’sorry, Jake.” You pleaded, almost regretful for your standoffish remarks. You were willing to give him anything he wanted in hopes he would be kind to you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He said, shaking his head. “If you want to do the dishes so bad, do them, but you better not stop or I will, too. And you better not cum until I say you can.” You gave a huff of annoyance, knowing that between your position and the things he was waiting to do to you, focusing on anything other than him would be nearly impossible. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You muttered, mildly irritated yet understanding that the consequences were solely because of your own actions.

“Good,” he said, nearly vibrating with excitement. From the minute he walked in the door, he’d been waiting to see you like this, and now that he had you just how he wanted you, he could not wait any longer. “Better get started, baby. Clocks ticking.” He reminded, pulling your leggings down just a little further. You bit your tongue, holding back any snide remarks as you continued on with your task. As soon as he noticed your hands moving, he sprung to action.

As soon as his tongue connected with your core, the bland household chore was the very last thing on your mind. The heat of his mouth and the precision of his movements made it nearly impossible to thing of anything else. He started slow, running his tongue through you to savour every bit of arousal that he’d been causing you. You let out a low groan, trying your best to keep your hands steady in the water as he tried his best to completely overtake your mind with pleasure. The two of you had been caught in a nasty battle of obstinacy since the very first moment you met, and it bled into every single interaction the two of you had together. He was desperate to prove a point, and you were eager to shoot him down.

“Fuck,” you hissed, your fingers tightening around the wine glass clutched in your hand as a sharp wave of pleasure took over. You used your other hand to support your weight on the counter, your legs already weak and the rest of your body beginning to feel just the same.

His tongue circled your clit, slowly but steadily tightening the knot in your belly. The pit of your stomach was ablaze with a fire that burned just for him, and you knew that he did not have to work very hard to send you over the edge. The days spent apart from him were equal to torture, and you had no idea how you survived before he showed up in your life and graced you with his touch.

Grace was a kind word, and nothing about his actions were graceful, nor were they anything close to kind. He was pure evil that took form in a human being, and every day that passed you were more convinced that you had fallen in lust with the devil reincarnate. He put up a great facade, always making you feel like his intent was coated with love and care, but he was a selfish being who just to happened to unintentionally form a soft spot for you. The devil knows no mercy, but somehow in the time the two of you spent together, it was a trait he had learned to accept.

Now, the devil still knows no mercy, except when it comes to you.

He loved to please himself, but over time, he had to face the harrowing reality that his survival was now dependent on your need for him above anything else. Although neither of you seemed able to shake the fear of connection, the situation you found yourselves in was not as simple or transparent as it once was. Casual sex was long gone, replaced with constant companionship disguised as a careless relationship with no strings attached. Your lives were intricately tied together, and you searched for each other even when you did not realize you were doing so. All you had feared seemed to come true, but you enjoyed Jake’s presence so much that you were yet to confront the truth.

Love surrounded you with every step you took. It was in the second dirty coffee cup that so often took post in your kitchen sink. It was in your dresser drawers, where Jake’s t-shirts lived on occasion when he forgot them, and especially when he neglected to bring them back to his own apartment upon realizing they were still at your house. It was in the longing glances at your phone screen, wondering when he would reply or if you would have to double text, and it was in the phone calls that lasted hours too long when the conversation started with a simple question that could be answered in seconds. It was right there in the room with you now, lingering at the dinner table after your shared meal and blatant in his desperation, his need for you so intense that he could not even wait until you finished cleaning. Although he loved to frame it as another way to torture you, the truth was that he knew he could not wait another second to have you. The position you found yourselves in was not because of his need to tease you, but because he thought he might succumb to death without you.

Love was everywhere, but two people who were so selfishly concerned with their own needs could not possibly fall without failing. Despite the emotion being spoken into every action, the two of you did not know how to love anymore, nor were you willing to try.

As said best by Dio: between the velvet lies, there’s a truth that’s hard as steel.

The lies the two of you were telling yourselves were so smooth and sweet that it made it so easy to ignore the obvious. When the comfort of your avoidance was no longer there to protect you, the blow from the truth would be so strong that it would take your life in an instant.

And just like that, the fourth capital vice took over, leaving your life bleeding with nothing but sinful energy and godless morals. Sloth had become you, only growing stronger as you showcased laziness in regards to your growing feelings. You thought that the longer you avoided the topic, the easier it would be to navigate it, yet as time passed, it only pushed you further into the devils hold. But, the slothful nature of your neglect was not even the worst infraction of your sin; the more pressing act had nothing to do with your lack of discussion of the obvious, but everything to do with your failure to utilize your own talent.

You were fantastic at loving Jake, and he was fantastic at loving you, yet neither of you harnessed the strength and instead pretended like love was your biggest weakness. The two of you loved each other so well that it was astounding, and everyone looking in on your relationship would never question the strength in which you felt or cared for each other. The two of you loved each other better than anyone ever had, but it was easier to pretend you didn’t. So, that’s what you did: you floated through life delicately intertwined with each other, yet refused to acknowledge that your feelings went any further than sexual. It was a dangerous little game, but the thrill was so good that it didn’t matter to you.

You were brough back to reality when a rush of pleasure took over, so strong that the glass in your hand slipped and plummeted back into the sink full of water. You could feel him smiling against you, happy his affect on you was so powerful. Instead of tantalizing you for it, he made it a point to work harder, his tongue moving so precisely that you did not even have the luxury of a single second to recover.

“Jake,” you gasped, your hands shaking as you tried to bargain with him. “I can’t do this.” You knew he was unlikely to give in, but you thought it was worth a try. Instead of a heeding your warning, he hummed against you and if it were even possible, seemed to put even more effort into pleasing you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a shaky breath, now completely ignoring the dirty dishes still sitting in the sink.

He let you enjoy it for a moment, but when he did not hear any progress being made on the unimportant chore, he pulled back from you, slipping his thumb to your clit. “What? You don’t care about the dishes, now?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, but you had no energy to chastise him for his actions. The only thing you were focused on was the burning in your belly that was growing more rapidly than you could possibly imagine.

“I-please, Jake.” You pleaded, insanity knocking on the door and begging to invade your mind.

“Please, what? What do you want, angel?” His thumb grew heavier, his intent to punish you for your disobedience. Your legs quivered and your knees bucked in response to the change. You didn’t know what you wanted from him; stopping was worse than certain death, but you knew you could not continue on with what he was asking of you. “Answer me.” His tone was heavy, authority dripping from his words.

“I can’t do this anymore. I need to cum. I need you.” You gasped, another wave of pleasure shooting through you. There were tears in your eyes, and you were desperate for a release. You were terrified of disobeying him because you knew he would not be likely to give you what you wanted if you did, but you could not continue on with daily tasks as if he was not bestowing you with the utmost of evil with his tongue.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be a brat.” His was less than sympathetic, even if he did wish to fuck your over the counter without any further delays. The only thing he loved more than fucking you was watching you quiver under his touch. “So stubborn that you couldn’t even tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I don’t think it’s fair that I have to answer my own questions, sweetheart. Do you?”

“N-no,” you whimpered, barely keeping yourself upright any more. Your body had been infiltrated with every single bit of evil he held in his own, and you no longer belonged to yourself. You were fully at his disposal, willing to tell him whatever he wanted and to do whatever he asked with hopes for a shred of kindness.

“Right,” he crooned, happy that you had both reached the same conclusion. “So you’re going to do as I fucking say, and I don’t want to hear another word from you.” His voice was strong and his words were harsh, yet all it did was turn you on further. You knew that Jake could speak nothing but insults in your direction and you would fall at his feet in response. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out the words amidst a moan, knowing that if he continued on at the same pace, you would never be able to stop yourself from reaching an orgasm. With that, he returned his mouth to you, driving you even closer to the edge.

Your vision was blurred with amount pleasure he was bestowing upon you, and your limbs were separate from your mind, yet somehow you managed to continue on washing the last few dishes left in the sink. Despite your growing desperation, you knew Jake well enough to know that it was the only way to get what you wanted. Your fingers barely clasped around the cutlery, but slowly you managed to dwindle the pile down to only a single plate. With relief in sight but just out of reach, you clasped the dish tightly in your hand as you wiped it clean. As you set it in the dish rack, a cry of triumph left your lips. Your orgasm was threatening you further with every second that passed, and in a lapse of judgement, you figured you would not inform him of your intentions to climax until it was too late.

You gripped at the edge of the counter so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your eyes were crossed with stars and not even a hint of a moan was stuck in your throat. You were too stunned by the pleasure to do anything other than enjoy it, and you feared if your tried to say something, he would catch on to your game with little mercy for you. You weren’t sure if you could handle him pulling away, but you failed to realize that Jake was the last person in the world you could lie to.

A particularly sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know, and a flood of anger filled him. Instead of letting you know that he caught on to your game, he decided to push you until the very last second. He suctioned his lips around your clit, focusing solely on getting you to the absolute brink of a climax. An involuntary moan filled the air, and you felt the pressure in your belly reach the point of no return. As you braced yourself for the storm waiting to come, suddenly, it stopped.

“No, Jake, please!” The words tore through your chest like a bullet, and the shame that normally came from begging him no longer existed.

“Did you think you’d get away with that?” He chuckled, making a move to stand. Once he was steady on his feet, you turned your head to look up at him, your eyes showing utter devastation at the loss of contact. “I told you not to cum unless I said so, angel. Seems like you still haven’t learned how to listen to me.”

“Jake, please, I’m sorry.” You said, pushing yourself up off the counter. His eyes drifted towards the sink, pleased that you’d managed to do at least one thing he’d asked of you.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart.” He shook his head, helping you stand upright to join him. Your eyes studied his face, your heart yearning for him to move closer. He looked so angelic in the lowlight of the kitchen, but you knew it was untrue. He was not an angel, nor was he anything holy. The devil was in the details, and the details were something you’d grown incredibly aware of in the time you’d known him. Your arousal was glistening on his lips, which were so soft and inviting. There was a malicious glint in his eye, showcasing his displeasure with your actions, and the curl of his lips portrayed his anger as clear as day.

He was beautiful, and that much was true, but it was not beauty that would be splayed across a portrait hung on a church wall or carefully burned into stained glass; it was the kind of devastating beauty that the bible warns you about, once that’s so inviting and alluring but deadly once it’s within reach.

His hellish nature had become incredibly apparent, and although it was enough to scare the world away, it only seemed to pull you in further.

Perhaps it was not his charm that was drawing you in, but rather your likeness. You were not impressed by his otherworldly charm, but because you had a streak of evil coursing through your veins, too.

“If you’ve forgotten how to listen, maybe I’ve forgotten how to be nice.” He spoke slow, making sure every word hit you with an impact.

“As if you were ever nice in the first place.” You rolled your eyes, irritated and angry at him for denying you the pleasure. He cocked his head to the side, bringing his hand to your face and clasping his fingers around your chin in a tight hold. He guided your head upwards so you could not avoid looking him in the eyes.

“I think you know all about how nice I can be.” He corrected, his tone so dangerously soft that it made your skin crawl. “And you know that I’m only nice when it’s deserved. Do you think you deserve it, angel?” You watched him with a soft gaze, hoping that the lust shining so bright in your eyes would convince him to double back on his word. When he showed no sign of backing down, you shook your head against his hold.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” He challenged, hoping to hear some sort of repentance in your answer.

Oh, how odd it is for the devil to expect repentance from someone when he has not even done it himself.

In your own devilish way, a spark of mischief flashed in your eyes as you responded with fake apologies.

“I’ve been so bad, sir.” You put on a dramatic display, mocking him as he stood before you with all the power in the world. “I’ve been such a bad girl for you, and bad girls don’t get what they want.” You gave an innocent smile, putting on your best show in hopes of making another clear display of disobedience. He gave you a pointed stare, showing his displeasure with your actions. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll do whatever you want to make up for it.” As you finished your sentence, his hand dropped from your chin and moved downwards to rest on your neck. You held his stare, neither of you willing to back down. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear, sir?” His fingers tightened around your neck, gradually growing more comfortable as the seconds passed.

“My god you talk a lot, sweetheart.” His calm voice sent a shiver down your spine, knowing that the buttons you were pressing could have an explosive reaction. “You really know how to piss me off.” He said it almost as if it was a compliment, and you took it as one, too. To know that you had so much power over him in any way was exhilarating. “Let me tell you how this is going to work, okay?” He watched your face, waiting for another hint of argument in your eye. When it never came, he continued on. “You’re going to do as I say, and if you decide to listen this time, I might let you cum. If want to keep being be a brat, you can get yourself off after I go home. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You choked out, finding it hard to fill your lungs with enough air to speak. You wanted to blame it on his fingers locked around your throat, but you knew it was because his aura was so powerful that it stole the air directly from your lungs. You were fearful that he would not find enough kindness to grant you an orgasm, but you were even more fearful that he would go home without you after the night’s excitement came to an end. You would never admit it to him, but your bed was too empty without him in it, sleeping soundly beside you.

“Good,” he said, tightening his hold just a little more. Your head was beginning to swim with the familiar airy feeling and your chest was burning for a hint of oxygen. “Now get in your fucking room and take your clothes off.” He let go with a little more force than intended, causing you to stumble backwards slightly. His first reaction was to reach out and steady you, and to apologize for the intensity of his actions, but he was trying to prove a point. It was much too easy for him to dote on you, and he had to use all of his willpower to hold back.

You could not ignore the incessant ache between your legs as you made your way to the bedroom, partially from the denial of your orgasm, but mostly because of his authoritative tone and actions. You were a fool for Jake, undeniably in lust with him and willing to do whatever he wanted as long as there was a promise for him to keep touching you. As much as you liked to piss him off, you knew that at the end of the day, you would bend to his will until your bones snapped and you were stuck there permanently. He could get you to do whatever he pleased with a snap of his fingers and only minuscule argument. He was the first man to ever walk the earth that held enough power to bend your own will, and you were not even upset at him for the fact.

Once the door was closed and the two of you were locked in seclusion together, he leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you undress. You caught his eye, the submissive nature fleeing you for a moment once again. He did so good at getting you there, and you did fantastically at pulling yourself out of it.

A match made in heaven was not even close to what the two of you had. In fact, it was better described as a match made in the deepest depths of hell.

You slowly brought your hands to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly to give him a small flash of skin. Carefully and with great ease, you pulled the shirt from your body and lifted it over your head, discarding it on the floor. You moved on to your pants, bending down and sliding them off completely. His jaw was hard set as his eyes stayed glued to your figure, wondering what he ever did to deserve the company of such an angel.

But, you were not an angel, and the evil that ran through you was the only match to his own devilish attitude.

You reached behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra. When you let it fall from your shoulders, you could see his eyes darken even further. You pulled it away from your skin, tossing it on the floor but this time, in the direction of where he was standing. His stare broke from you only for a moment to watch the fabric flutter to the ground.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?” He raised an eyebrow, needing to comment on your half-assed strip-tease.

“Is it working?” You cocked your head to the side, a small smile on your lips. He chuckled at your expression, taking a step towards you. Within seconds, he was in front of you and his hands were on you again, much gentler than they were moments before. He was showing you remorse for his harsh treatment, but he wasn’t willing to give you a verbal apology.

“I think you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.” He said, looking down at your face. You figured as much, but you could help but notice the disappointment weighing on your shoulders. “Any ideas?” He asked.

“I think I have one.” You offered, giving him a real smile. Although his form of punishment was delaying your orgasm, he did not realize just how much pleasing him pleased you. Slowly, you sunk to your knees, not needing to wait for a response. His head fell backwards, a cocky smile stuck on his lips as he looked towards the ceiling. He was thrilled about your idea, and he could not have thought of a better resolution if he tried.

You unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops and throwing it down on the floor. He was painfully hard, his zipper begging to bust at the seam from the strain. As if to taunt him, you made the process as slow as possible. He was patient, knowing your game better than you played it. When you freed him from his pants, he helped you pull them off of him. He kicked them to the side, uncaring for any grace, and fixed his gaze on your face.

“Would this show you how sorry I am, sir?” You looked up at him, catching him off guard with an innocent eye. He took in a shark breath, nearly feral from the sight of you on your knees for him.

“That depends on how good of a job you do, angel.” He had no fear about your performance, nor had he ever. He was well aware of the effect you had on him, and he was certain that you could punch him in the face and he would thank you with tears in his eyes. Without another word, you pulled down his boxers, your mouth watering at the thought of making him feel as good as he made you feel.

You moved forward, parting your lips slightly to take him into your mouth. As you did, you let your tongue glide across the tip of his cock, the small movement sending a wave of euphoria through him. His hand reach down, tangling in your hair as he balled it into his fist. You could feel him throbbing in your mouth, knowing immediately how pent up he was from the days spent away from you. Slowly, you took him further, focusing intently until you could feel him hit the back of your throat. He let out a hiss of pleasure, holding himself back from thrusting his hips in response to the feeling. He cared little about pushing you to any limit, and was more concerned with you working to make up for the attitude you had been giving him.

You bobbed your head down on him a few times, not giving him nearly enough relief from your slow pace. He fought the urge to take control, knowing that he could enjoy the moment without pushing you any further just yet. He wanted to see what you were capable of, and from there, he would decide if he could find enough kindness to get you off. He watched you carefully, noticing your eyes flicking towards his face every so often. You were making sure he was watching you, and he was making sure you were watching him. The two of you were intent on being the centre of attention, and there was nobody else in the world you wanted to be watched by.

You pulled back, already finding your face a mess with spit despite barely getting started. You withdrew a long breath, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “Just like that?” You said, watching his eye twitch ever so slightly at the filthy question.

“Just like that, angel.” He agreed, pushing your head back towards his cock so it was resting on your lips. “Doing such a good job.” The praise sent anothe rush of arousal to your core; you were aching to be touched by him again, but touching him was doing just the same for you. You took him back into your mouth, speeding your movements just enough for him to notice the change. You would never tell him, but you were hoping for him to take control of the situation. Being used by Jake was one of the greatest pleasures you’d ever experienced.

Slowly, his hand applied more pressure on your head, guiding it down further with every move you made. You let out a moan against him, the vibration sending a whole new wave of pleasure through him. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth, angel.” He crooned, looking down at you as his chest heaved with his heavy breathing. “Do you like being my little whore?” The question struck you with the same intensity as a punch to the stomach. You thought you might fall over if not for his hand holding you in place. You locked eyes with him, unable to confirm the answer verbally, but hoping your expression would tell him enough. He took in a long breath, trying to keep his composure at the idea of you being so infatuated with him. He could tell he was right, and it was driving him to insanity.

With that, he gave an aggressive thrust of his hips, keeping your head in place so he didn’t stun you too much with the movement. The quick motion caused a gag to rise in your throat, constricting around him as he held himself there for a moment. Once you recovered from the shock, he began at a steady pace that was much faster than the one you had set. You tried to focus your breathing until he had pleased himself enough to pull away, but it was proving difficult. Once you thought you had caught up to his speed, he began moving your head down on him in time with his hips. Tears were threatening to spill onto your cheeks, and your desire for a breath of air was growing more dire by the second, but you persevered.

“You take it so fucking good.” He hissed, now completely lost in the pleasure he was feeling. The words were nearly too much for you, and you were desperate for relief. You figured that he would not notice if your hand slipped between your legs, or if he did, he would not care. As he fucked your face, you reached your hand between your legs and let your finger trace around your clit. The stimulation was not nearly as much as you needed, nor anything comparable to what he could do for you, but it was something. The small waves of pleasure that you were feeling allowed you to continue on with his brutal pace, distracting you from the roughness and satiating your need for him just a little longer.

You were a fool for thinking you could sneak anything past the devil.

His eyes drifted downwards towards you, taking a moment to fully understand the reality as the haze of sexual energy surrounded him. As his eyes came into focus, they first landed on your face, revelling in your beauty and moved by your likeness to an Angel. Then, his gaze caught your arm that was tucked neatly out of view. He moved his head to the side, a wicked smirk stuck on his lips as he noticed your fingers trying to relieve yourself of the ache that was bothering you so badly. You hadn’t noticed his stare lingering on you, and you did not know he had noticed and taken note of your disobedience yet again. Instead of punishing you, he decided to see how long it would take for you to realize.

Now crazed for a whole new reason, his movements remained steady as he watched you please yourself. He could see it in your face, even as you tried to keep up with his movements. The furrow of your eyebrow was familiar to him, as was the moans you were letting out when the situation permitted it. The expression and the sounds had nothing to do with his cock down your throat, and it had everything to do with the orgasm that was building steadily. He let you go until he knew you were just about to reach the peak, angry at you for not knowing how to listen, but also enthralled in the beauty of your euphoria. Knowing you were so willing to make him feel good, and knowing that it turned you into a mess in turn did the exact same to him.

You took a particularly sharp intake of breath, and he knew his tirade had to come to an end. With great reluctance, he pulled your head off of him, but not even that could distract you from the pleasure threatening to take hold. You were lost in your own world, but he couldn’t seem to find the generosity to allow it.

In a flash, his hand struck your cheek with enough force to shock you back to reality. It wasn’t nearly enough to harm you, nor cause any lasting pain, but it did exactly what he intended for it to do. You looked up at him, eyes wide in terror that you’d been caught in the act. “You were so close, sweetheart.” He gave a small shake of his head, his chest still heaving for a full breath of air. “You almost had me convinced that you could be good for me.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You apologized, the words falling from your lips in a mess. This time, the apology was genuine, and you felt terrible about disobeying him. Although it was genuine, it was wholeheartedly for the sake of selfishness.

“I’m the one that should be sorry, angel.” He sighed, motioning with his hand for you stand. “I should know better. You’ll always be a brat,” he continued, making sure you were steady on your feet before he pushed you towards the bed. “But it doesn’t really mattter, because I know exactly how to handle you.”

“Jake please, I promise I’ll be so good for you.” You pleaded, feeling your legs hit the mattress as you tried to back away from him. The fire in his eye was dangerous, but it was enticing. As much as you tried to plead with him to change his mind, you knew you would enjoy whatever he had in store for punishment.

“For some strange reason, I don’t believe you sweetheart.” He chuckled, finding your empty promises comical. He leaned down, grabbing his belt from the floor and taking a long look at it as he straightened up again. “Since you don’t know how to behave, I’ll have to make sure your hands don’t go wandering again. We wouldn’t want you to cum without permission, right?”

“Right,” you muttered, knowing you were fighting a losing battle. Without any further argument, you extended your hands towards him.

“I’ll strike you a deal, just because you’re so damn pretty.” He sighed, unable to resist the urge to coddle you. “If you can be good for me, I’ll consider taking these off.” He looped the leather around your wrists, pulling it until it was tight enough to keep them in place. He didn’t push it any further, too nervous about making it too tight. “Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded.

“You better be on your best behaviour angel, because this is your last chance. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeated. He let out a hum of appreciation at your obedient tone, happy to hear your change of heart.

“Now we can finish what we started with no interruptions.” He smiled down at you. “On the bed, on your hands and knees.” He ordered, watching as you scrambled to get into position. You knew you’d pushed him a little too far, and he was no longer willing to play nice. “Isn’t it so much easier when you do as your told? No punishments, no arguments… unless that’s what you’re hoping for?” He took a step towards you, watching as you looked up at him as you anticipated his next move. “Is that what you want, angel? You want me to treat you like a whore?” You averted your gaze from his face, instead looking down at his cock that was eye-level with you. It was painfully hard, the tip red and glistening with pre-cum from the excitement that came before your rude interruption. “Do you like it when I punish you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, eager to have him in your mouth again. He let out a low chuckle, amazed at the sight before him. When he first met you that night at the bar, he knew he had a slim chance at ending up in your bed at all. He never expected to have you on your knees for him, willing to do whatever was asked of you just to please him.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’m not hard enough on you. I let you get away with too much, and now you think you can do whatever you want.” He brought his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across the soft, blushed skin. “Do I have to remind you who’s in charge? Will that fix your little attitude problem?”

“No, sir.” You whispered, but it was weak and he knew that you wanted exactly what he said.

“You have to be a little more convincing than that, baby.” He said, the tip of his cock now practically resting on your lips. You were barely able to contain your excitement, thrilled at the idea of pleasing him again. “Maybe that’s what I’ll have to do then, since you don’t seem to have a better solution.”

“Whatever you want, sir.” You breathed, your eyes flickering up towards his face. The crazed look in his eye was paired dangerously with the tensed muscle in his jaw. He was feral for you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it anymore. You did something to him nobody else ever could, and he knew that when your clothes were back on and you were nestled under the covers for the night, that feeling would still be burning in his chest.

He had fallen for you beyond anything he ever believed he could feel, and with every minute that passed, he descended even further into the depths of loving you.

Without any further guidance, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue gently across the sensitive skin. He let out a sharp sigh, shuddering at the feeling. Slowly, you took the head of his cock in your mouth and suctioned your cheeks slightly, moving your head down on him. Worked up from the last time, the sensation was now even more intense and he could not hold back the moan that was stuck in his throat. The sound settled in the pit of your stomach, your arousal nearly too much to handle, now. With the loss of your hands, you feared you might die from your need for him if it was not taken care of soon enough.

“That’s my girl.” He said, his eyes fixated on your face. “I knew you could be good for me.” You hummed against him, showing your appreciation for the praise. Although part of your obedience came from your desire to orgasm, a bigger part was just because he was so hard to deny. Fighting and arguing was in your nature, but when it came down to it, you knew that you would always give him what he wanted. His sweet words and soft touch was better than any drug, and knowing he felt the same about you was exhilarating.

You had fallen just as hard, and you were both playing the devil’s advocate by denouncing love while feeling it so strongly. By reminding each other romance was out of the question, you were hoping that it would open a bigger discussion on the topic. Although actively trying to ignore the obvious, a deeper part of you was desperate to bring it up. You knew that there was no way you were the only one feeling that way, and you were aching to hear him say all of the words you had been too scared to speak.

Jakes hand tangled in your hair again, holding your head steady as he took control once again. His hips moved forward, his pace starting slow so he could work himself back up to the one you were engaging in previously. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but you had no other choice but to persevere. Tears were brimming your eyes again, and every time he moved a gag was begging to be had. He was much closer than he was the last time, and his movements were much sloppier. The moans falling from his lips were the most heavenly thing you’d ever heard, and that was the only thing keeping you going.

“It’s so much more peaceful when you can’t fucking talk.” He growled, the pleasure creeping up on him growing more intense by the second. “Now I know how to shut you up.” If he was not using your mouth for his own sexual pleasure, you would have laughed at his comment. He knew just as well as you did that it was in fact the only reason you weren’t slinging insults at him. You moaned against him, playing into his little power trip in hopes of speeding up the process. Every time his cock hit the back of your throat, you knew he was growing closer to a climax. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it angel?” You let out another noise, your enthusiasm driving him even closer to the edge. “Should just cum in your mouth and leave you here like this. That would teach you a lesson, wouldn’t it angel?” You let out another groan, but this one filled with discontent at his words. You both knew he would never even dream of doing such a thing, but you feared if you didn’t disagree, he might actually follow through with it.

You felt him twitch in your mouth as a slur of curses fell from his lips, but he pulled away with enough time to avoid an orgasm. You looked up at him, your face red and your eyes watering, but he still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of looking at. The room was a mess of heavy breathing and sexual tension, and neither of you could withstand the pressure any longer. After one last look over your face, he took a step to the side and out of your line of vision. Now, the only thing you could see was your reflection in the mirror placed meticulously by the wall in front of your bed.

His hand drifted over your bare back with a delicate touch after he undressed himself completely. He climbed into bed behind you, looking at your face in the mirror. His fingers gripped your hips as a smile began blossoming on his lips. He’d been waiting for this all night, and now that the moment had arrived, he was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Do you want me to fuck you, angel?” He whispered, his voice barely breaking through the silence.

“Yes, please.” You pleaded, knowing that you were still completely at his mercy. You could not move from your position, nor could you change his mind if he decided to continue torturing you.

“How bad do you want it?” His hand drifted between your legs, his finger finding your clit with ease. You took in a sharp breath at the feeling, already overwhelmed and he had barely even touched you.

“So bad, Jake.” You whimpered, out of your mind with lust for him. You needed him so badly you were delirious at the thought. “Please, baby. I need you.” You watched him through the reflection, seeing his eyes close in bliss at your words.

“How can I say no to you when you say it like that?” He asked, his tone airy and completely clouded with desire for you. He no longer had the willpower to tease you, and it was becoming more apparent by the second. For a moment longer, he let his finger trace over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He moved forward, letting himself rest against your entrance. He listened to the sounds falling from your lips, your relief sending him into a whole new state of mind. He moved his hand away from you, but you didn’t have enough time to mourn the loss before he was pushing into you.

“Fuck,” you cried, the feeling immediately overwhelming you.

“Does that feel good, angel?”

“So good, baby.” You whined, biting down on your lip to hold back the obscenities begging to be heard. “I missed you so much.” You breathed, barely noticing the tone of voice it was spoken in. It made his hips stutter and his mind stop for a second. His heart swelled with affection at the statement, and all he could do was smile.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He crooned, delivering a sharp slam of his hips to follow the words. A gasp fell from your lips, and you arched your back upwards towards him, desperate for more. You let your top half lower to the mattress, closing your eyes so you could live in the pleasure momentarily. “Look at me.” He ordered, reaching down at knotting your hair in his fist once again. He pulled your head upwards with a rough motion of his hand, ensuring your eyes were locked on the reflection in the mirror. “Want to see that pretty face while I fuck you.” You let out a whimper, the power of his voice making you weak.

Convincing yourself that you weren’t in love with him was a foolish endeavour, but you were still trying your best despite your stomach tying in knots at the sight of his beauty in the mirror.

“Is this what you thought about while I was gone?” He asked, his tone strong and his hips moving with just the same strength. “Did you touch yourself right here in this bed, waiting for me to come and fuck you like this?”

“God yes, Jake.” You gasped, feeling the pressure rising in your belly. You couldn’t deny him the pleasure of hearing it anymore, even if you wanted to. He’d been waiting to hear the truth from the minute he walked inside, and now you were too far gone to fight the urge to submit to him. “I thought about you every night.”

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He hummed, thrilled at the sound. “You don’t have to worry any more, angel. I’ll take care of you, just like you deserve.” He brought his hand down on your ass, watching your face in the reflection as the sting of pain took over. “Let me hear all of those filthy fucking noises I missed out on.” His order was useless, because you were already doing just that. You couldn’t contain any of the moans, nor any curses. You were singing his name like a hymn, but it was the most sacrilegious song ever sung. There was nothing holy to worship, and you were praising the devil with pride.

“Jake,” you cried, his name burrowing into the walls and making home in the foundation of your house. His presence would live there forever, and you would never be able to run away from it. He was everything, and you were just the lucky soul who could be the recipient of his love. You no longer had fear of Jake taking over your life, because you knew it would be empty and lackluster without his presence.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it like that.” He groaned, his fingers branding your hips with bruises for you to see in days to come. His fist was tight in your hair, ensuring your eyes would remain on the picture of sin you’d found yourselves in.

“It feels so fucking good,” you whimpered, the pain bordering pleasure so divine that you could no longer think straight.

“Don’t cum yet, baby.” He warned, the look in his eye dangerous.

“Please Jake, I need it so bad.” You pleaded, desperate for a shred of sympathy.

“You’re being so good for me, sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer.” He promised pleasure as long as you listened, and the deal was the same every time. If you were good for him, he was phenomenal to you. You usually had no problem with the agreement, but it had been so long since you felt his hands on you that you weren’t sure you could hold back any longer. He’d pushed you to the edge already, and you thought it was impossible to deny yourself of the pleasure any longer.

“I can’t, Jake.” You cried, shaking your head against his tight hold on you.

“You can, angel. I know you can.” He encouraged you, knowing for certain that you could hold on a little while longer. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood in hopes that it would distract you from the incessant burn that was growing stronger in the pit of your stomach. The tip of his cock was slamming into your cervix, the intensity of the feeling making your legs shake below you and your mind cross with thoughts of nothing but filth. Tears stung your eyes and you felt like you were being pushed closer to insanity with every thrust of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in anticipation. You were so close that there was no way you could slow it down. As you teetered on the edge, you felt yourself slowly descending into the euphoria. Just when you were about to fall, the feeling stopped completely. Your eyes snapped open, now realizing that his withdrawal was a million times worse than any punishment he could possibly give you for cumming without permission.

Now, the tears were real, and they were all due to your frustration with him for denying you any kind of help. Before you could even form a thought of protest against his withdrawal, he got off the bed and moved in front of you once again.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching down so you were face to face. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb, fearful he’d pushed you too far. “No need for tears, angel.” He leaned forward, capturing you in a small kiss. As he did so, his hands found your wrists, loosening the belt that was holding them together. The anxiety in your chest subsided, realizing quickly that he was no longer trying to punish you, but rather fulfill his promise that he’d given you earlier. “I told you that I’d take it off if you were good for me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding in bliss at the realization he was going to follow through with his promise. He let the belt fall to the floor before standing on his feet, letting his thumb brush across your cheek again.

“Come here, baby.” He prompted you to join him, giving you a soft smile to show you he was being serious. His dominance was gone, and he was ready to coddle you for the rest of the night. He’d pushed you far enough, and now he wanted you to enjoy whatever came next. Once you were on your feet, he led you back towards the head of the bed. He laid down, holding his arm out for you to join him. With a small smile stuck on your lips, you watched him settle himself amongst the pillows. He propped himself up slightly against the headboard as you got in the bed, too. You climbed atop of him, settling your legs on either side of him as you felt the excitement begin to take over again. “Is this better?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, unable to put it into words. You lined yourself up with him, melting into his hold. His hands were holding your hips, his touch soft and inviting, and his eyes no longer held the flame they did moments before. He’d completely softened at the sight of your face so close to his, and he was fighting every urge he had to love you.

You lowered yourself on him, both of you letting out a simultaneous sigh of relief. “God I missed this, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby.” You breathed, anchoring your hand on his shoulder as you began a slow motion with your hips.

“You feel so fucking good.” He sighed, using his own hands to help keep your movements steady. You leaned down, placing your lips on his in a heated kiss. You wanted him in every way you could have him, and even while he was intertwined with you in the most intimate ways possible, it still didn’t feel like enough.

He was the most beautiful thing this world had ever created, and you wanted to stay like that with him for the rest of your life. When he left, your home seemed too empty. When you couldn’t talk, you missed him more than you ever cared to admit. He had become the most important person in your life without even trying, and the line between casualness had been long crossed. As you worked yourself back up to an orgasm, love was surrounding you both completely. It was certain death, and you were a dead woman walking, but you didn’t care. The longer you avoided speaking the truth, the longer you could have him in the same way. You were terrified of disturbing the peace, but you feared that the longer you held it back, the more disastrous the situation would become.

“You want to cum, angel?” He mumbled against your lips, feeling your hips speed against him as he spoke.

“Yes, please.” You whined, already feeling the steady build of pleasure rising. Every touch was euphoric, and every glance was angelic. No matter what he was doing, you were a fool for thinking you could escape it. His web was spun too intricately to even strike a curiosity about a way out.

“You want it so bad, work for it.” His voice was low, husky and soft. It was filled with desire for you, and he was eager to watch you descend into bliss. As much as he loved the control, his favorite part of sex with you was watching you have a good time. The closeness was intoxicating, and he was completely immersed in you as you desperately tried to get yourself off.

“Can you help me? Please?” You begged, needing to feel the grace of his hands on you.

“You want me to touch you, angel?” He hummed, clenching his jaw as he held back his own orgasm. The thought of needing him was too much to bear.

“Please, sir.” You whimpered, looking down at him with a longing stare. His heavily hooded eyes were clouded with lust, and he no longer had enough willpower to deny you of anything. At the end of the day, he knew he would always give you exactly what you wanted.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby.” He agreed, moving his hand from your hip and slipping it between your legs. You leaned backwards slightly, allowing him easier access to you. The pad of his finger danced over your sensitive clit, the feeling immediately bringing you closer to the edge. You moved your hands and anchored them behind you, firmly on his thighs to keep yourself upright. You gyrated your hips faster, keeping in time with the circles his finger was tracing. “Just like that?”

“Fuck, yes.” You moaned, closing your eyes as you felt the knot begin to tighten in your belly.

“That’s it, angel.” He said, encouraging you to keep going. “Cum for me, baby.” The permissive statement was all you needed to keep going, and within seconds you descended into the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt in your entire life. You sang his name, the song sweet and beautiful, and he thought it was the most moving thing he’d ever heard.

He watched you closely, studying every detail of your face as it twisted into an expression of pleasure. The way your eyebrows furrowed, and the curl of your lip as you tried to silence yourself. He was in love with the way your skin tinged red and the glisten of sweat that formed on your face. He adored you and everything about you, and he was in no place to deny it any longer. His eyes drifted downwards, admiring the tensed muscles in your shoulders and the way your breasts moved in time with your hips. His gaze trailed down your stomach, tense with pleasure, and all the way down to his hand working at you as you rode out the high.

“That’s my girl,” his voice was weak, completely constrained by his own struggle to hold himself back. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” The waver in his words sent you into another wave of euphoria; knowing how intense his emotions were was sending you to a whole new level of pleasure.

“Fuck, Jake.” You croaked, completely exhausted and fucked out. You were so tired that you could barely hold yourself up, but he caught on to the fact and braced you with his own hand. As you came down, your head was spinning and your legs were trembling. He moved his fingers from your clit, grabbing your hips as he continued to move them for you. Within seconds, he reached his own orgasm with just as much force as your own. He managed your name through the mess of curses that fell from his lips. His head fell back on the pillow as he spilled his release into you, continuing moving your hips for you to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible.

When you both calmed from the excitement, you let out a long sigh of satisfaction. You practically collapsed on top of him, craving the warmth of his skin on your own. He wrapped a strong arm around you, holding you close in hopes that you knew how welcomed the moment was. He let his fingers trace small shapes into your skin as your heartbeats turned into one. You let your fingers run over his bicep, the touch light and tickling his skin. He placed a small kiss to the top of your head, not enough for you to chastise him for, but enough to let you know he cared.

“I don’t think we should spend that much time away from each other anymore.” He chuckled, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo. He’d missed so dearly that he was unsure if he could live without it again.

“I agree.” You smiled, placing a small kiss to his chest. “When we have sex this good, I think it’s a crime to go without it.” He hummed a sound of agreement, but he couldn’t deny the stab he felt at the thought of you only wanting him around for sex. Although that was the clear agreement, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be around for more than just a hookup. He daydreamed about innocent dinners and days spent browsing shops in the city, hand in hand with nothing but smiles on your faces. He wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up on the couch every night, pretending to be interested in whatever movie was playing on the television while knowing the most important thing in the world was the girl laying in his arms.

Instead of speaking his mind, he let a lock of your hair twist around his finger. It was easier to ignore it than face the consequences of rejection.

“We should get cleaned up.” You mumbled, but you regretted speaking at all. You wanted to stay in that bed with him until the end of time. The fear of age and death meant nothing when you were experiencing such intimacy at the hands of someone so fantastic.

“Sure, angel.” He agreed, but he prayed you would change your mind. After a moment, you made a move to sit up. He ignored the sinking disappointment and did the same. The two of you went to the bathroom in silence, washing away the sinful reminders of your night of reuinion. As you cleaned up your messy makeup in the mirror, you felt his hands drift over the marks beginning to form on your hips. He would never say it, but you knew he felt regret for being so rough with you. An animalistic nature took over the both of you in the bedroom, and you couldn’t help the volatile attraction the two of you felt. When the moment passed and you realized how you treated each other, guilt began to plague you both.

He placed a kiss on your shoulder, waiting until you were finished to return to the bedroom with you. When you felt as though you looked presentable, the two of you made the journey back. You threw his shirt on, wasting no time before climbing under the covers. When you didn’t notice him immediately behind you, you peeked around the room to see what he’d busied himself with.

He stood at your desk, only in his boxers as he looked over the items littering the surface. “What are you doing?” You asked, but you didn’t really care. You knew that whatever he was up to was harmless, and you had nothing to hide from him anymore. It was genuine curiosity over what had caught his attention.

“You have some expensive cameras.” He said, amazed at the quality of your things.

“Well, I take pictures for a living, so I kind of have to.” You chuckled, nestling your head into the pillows.

“You have a Polaroid camera?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, peeking at him through one eye. “Some people like that style, especially younger clients. I bring it with me and I use it sometimes for a picture or two. I don’t love it because I can’t edit the pictures, and what you get is what you get, but it’s a cool part of photo shoots. A little personal memory to bring home right away.” You shrugged, smiling at his curiosity. He picked it up, looking it over for a moment. Normally, you would be unwilling to let someone else touch your equipment, but you had no fear when your camera was in his hands. If he handled them with even half as much care as he held you with, you knew that it was the safest place for them to be.

“Is there film in this?” He asked, looking back at you again.

“Should be, why?” You asked, watching him take a few steps towards you.

“Smile.” He said, a smile stuck on his own lips as he asked you to do so.

“No, Jake.” You covered your face. “I look like shit.” You laughed. Your hair was a mess and your cheeks were still rosy from the rushing blood moments before. Your eyes were tired, and you were only clad in his t-shirt. You were nowhere near picture-worthy, but he couldn’t disagree more. He thought that in that moment, the epitome of beauty was sat directly in front of him.

“Impossible,” he shook his head, crouching down at the end of the bed “because you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world.”

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes.

“Please?” He asked again. “I promise I won’t show anyone else.” You let out a sigh of defeat, but you lowered your hand.

“Fine. Just one, though.” You surrendered. “But I get to take one of you, too.”

“Of course.” He agreed. You sat up against the headboard slightly, fixing your hair as you did so. You put on a smile, one that was clearly fake and only for the pose. “Come on. Give me a real smile, angel.” He said.

“That is real!”

“Uh-huh,” he rolled his eyes. “A photographer can’t tell a real smile from a fake one?”

“I can, but clearly you can’t. Must be why I’m the photographer and you stick to writing songs.”

“Ouch,” he laughed, “you say that as if writing songs is a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” You defended. “But, I don’t know if your songs are any good.” You corrected him.

“Maybe if someone would get over herself and listen to them, she’d know that they’re pretty great, actually.” His pitch got higher as he spoke, clearly telling you it was a joke. He looked at you over the camera, smiling at your stunned expression. “What? Got nothing to argue about, now? That’s a first.”

“You’re an asshole.” You laughed, finding his confidence charming. Just as you did, he snapped a picture of you amidst a real laugh, finding the moment of joy too precious to pass up. He waited as the photo printed from the bottom, grabbing it as he walked towards your desk to let it develop. “Give it to me.” You extended your hand, moving towards him to grab it. He handed it to you, posing no argument as he did so.

He collapsed on the bed next to you, settling himself in the same position as you were in. You moved to the end of the bed, kneeling as you studied his position. Before you took the picture, you leaned forward and fixed the blanket draped over his waist. You reached up, brushing the hair away from his eyes and giving him a small smile as you did so.

“How do I look?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Beautiful.” You confirmed, but no hint of a joke was present. You leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before you returned to your earlier position. He didn’t have to fake his smile, because every one he’d ever had around you was the most genuine he’d ever felt. You took the picture, placing the Polaroid on the comforter before moving towards him. You settled beside him, turning the camera to face you both.

“You like me enough to take a picture with me?” He teased, surprised at your initiation of the moment.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You brushed him off, ignoring his intent to get under your skin. He chuckled, leaning in just in time to press a kiss to your cheek as you clicked the button. You watched as it printed, grabbing it and moving to collect the other one as well.

You sat the camera beside you, watching intently as the photograph developed. The one of him on his lonesome finished first, and it nearly stole the air from your lungs. You had no idea a person could be so ethereal, but there he was, and you were so lucky to be in his company. Sometimes it felt like you did not deserve the care and attention that Jake gave you, and you did not feel nearly special enough to be receiving it from someone so phenomenal. When the second one finished developing, you couldn’t help but feel an unfamiliar feeling rise in your chest. It wasn’t lust, or desire, which was something you so often felt around him. Instead, it was adoration, and further underneath that was the emotion you’d been working so hard to cover up. When you looked over at him, you could see in his eyes that he felt the same way.

Love was dancing on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken and furious with you for ignoring it. You bit back the word, instead leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. You swore he could taste the sweetness of your feelings for him from the small action alone, and he feared all the same things. As you moved to place the camera on your desk, you stopped and stuck the two pictures in the corner of your mirror, ensuring that you could see them every time you passed by. It was a second of sweetness that would brighten even the darkest of days. When you returned to his side, your body was heavy with the weight of your heart that now solely belonged to him. You were terrified, and you refused to speak it aloud, but there was a small part of you that knew it was safe with him. As fearful as you were, you knew that he would not do the same as others who came before him.

You nestled yourself into his arms, content in his hold and knowing that you had never missed anything more than you missed his comfort. You closed your eyes as the newest deadly sin filled the air around you, pushing out the love and replacing it with evil. Your laziness in regards to confessing your feelings would eat away at you, and your failure to utilize your talent would kill you. The two of you were better at loving each other than you were at anything else, but you were too busy denying it to realize that it was exactly what you’d been doing all along. You were descending further into the depths of hell with every day that passed, but the evil had become so comfortable that the flames no longer burned. Now, it was a soft tickle that reminded you of home, and you knew that you were here to stay.

In the moment, sloth seemed like the most innocent crime you had committed in your time spent knowing him so intimately, but in the long run, it simply wasn’t true. Sloth was the most deadly sin to date, because it would eventually cause the most disastrous consequences. By avoiding the truth, you were setting yourself up for catastrophic failure, and when the time came, there would be no chance for recovery. It was opening the door for a whole new world of possibilities, but none of them good; your comfortability with your own sinful actions was dangerous, and ignoring the love that was growing for him would hurt you more than the both of you confessing the truth. Now, you had chosen to suffer in silence, and any grounds of doubt or defense no longer existed. Remaining in a casual relationship while loving each other so deeply only allowed for you to hurt each other in the most brutal ways possible; causing harm without even realizing the damage you left behind.

Sloth left you vulnerable, and you were too blind to realize the dangers. After all, how can you hurt someone who has never admitted to the fact that they are able to be hurt by you at all?

The morning came harshly and much too quickly for your liking. The sun rays were demanding your wakefulness as they wrapped around the dark curtains hung over the window. When your eyes cracked open for the first time, you were so comfortable and content that you almost believed you were nestled in your own bed. Then, the first hint of the familiar cologne reached your nose, sending a wave of anxiety through you. Dread settled deep in your stomach, heavy like lead and large enough that it left no room for anything else. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, looking around the unfamiliar room as you recollected the memories from the night before.

In a flash of imminent evocation, you looked down at your legs covered by the blanket, but you were no longer immersed in the comfort of a (seemingly very expensive) mattress. Instead, you were sat atop a foreign countertop with a strangers head between your thighs, feeling the most intense pleasure you had ever experienced. You blinked hard, shaking the thought from your head as you made a quick return to reality. There was no stranger between your legs, but you were cozy underneath said strangers blankets, and your head was laying comfortably in a mountain of his pillows. You shifted, making a move to sit up, but had to stop for a moment to satiate the dull ache in your hips. Another memory of being bent over the kitchen table flashed in your mind, and this one prompted a sudden sensation deep in the pit of your stomach.

You did not wake up feeling ashamed like you predicted you would. Instead, you felt lighter than you did before you met Jake at the bar, more free and with less stress holding you down. You weren’t sure if he solved all of your regular worldly troubles with sex alone, but he definitely made a dent in them. Before your drunken escapades the night prior, sex was a distant memory in your mind. You did not turn to celibacy, nor were you abstaining for the purpose of morality, but rather just because you had no desire or time to chase after a man who was not interested in anything other than pleasing himself. When Jake whispered his sweet words in your ear, laced with the promise of enjoyment and simplicity, you could not turn it down even if you wanted to. You were desperate for a release but did not want any of the complications that came along with it, and right now, the only complication you could see was that you were stranded at his apartment without a car.

Well, that, and the fact you did not know where your new-found friend had disappeared to.

The space in bed beside you was empty, only a slight divot in the mattress and pillows strewn messily near the headboard remained to remind you that someone had indeed slept next to you and it was not just a fallacy of your overactive imagination. You strained to listen, wondering if he was just busying himself in another room until you woke up. After a few moments, you could hear some light rustling coming from the kitchen. You leaned closer to the door, turning your head to try and catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Almost as soon as you did, you heard footsteps nearing the bedroom. You shot back to your original position, hoping that he did not catch sight of you watching him. It seemed like you were in the clear, because once he fully emerged around the corner, his eyes were only focused on two steaming mugs of coffee held tightly in his hand.

“Good morning, sunshine.” He chuckled, setting one down on his nightstand before carefully handing one to you. He was standing shirtless, clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants, and he was just as beautiful as you remembered. If you dared to admit, almost even more so now that you knew him so intimately. You would be lying if you said you were not mesmerized by the sight. Words seemed impossible, and all you could do was stare while your mind caught up with the rest of the world.

“Morning.” You eventually mumbled, peering into the mug. “What’s this?”

“A million dollars.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you think it is?”

“I know what it is Jake,” you argued back, surprised at how quickly he was able to pinch the wrong nerve. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s coffee, because it’s ten in the morning and I thought I’d do something nice for you.” He said, sliding into bed next to you. “Besides, figured you might have a headache, and I thought it might help. I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal.”

“This isn’t very no strings attached,” you warned, but took a sip of the coffee anyway. “I said no breakfast or anything like it.”

“Good thing it’s not breakfast, then.” He fought back another eye roll, finding your concern very misplaced. “Friends can make each other coffee too, you know.” He paused, looking over at you with curiosity. “Do you even know how to have friends? Because I’m beginning to think you don’t.” He raised an eyebrow, his jab playful but it still stung.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t sure I wanted to be your friend?” You reminded, sitting the mug on the table on your side of the bed. “Still trying to figure that one out.”

“So cruel angel, and for what?” There was a smile on his lips, knowing that your banter was not because of his character, but rather because of your unwillingness to show a shred of weakness. You were a strong personality, and you hated the fact that he wanted to know you. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, and it did not bother him at all, mostly because he knew how to work around it. He’d done it once, and he was certain he could do it again.

“Hardly think I’m being cruel, Jacob.” You leaned back, resting against the headboard. “Just being honest.”

“Your honesty is cruelty.” He laughed, recalling your blunt insults that had been piling up since the night before. “Can’t even pretend to like me for the sake of my feelings?”

“I must like you a little bit, because I’m still here. I could have ran away in the middle of the night, but I toughed it out. That has to count for something.”

“I think you like me more than just a little bit.” He theorized, his eyes studying your expression as he spoke. “You were quite a fan last night.” Your cheeks dusted red at his words, realizing that he had been thinking of the sinful experience just as much as you were. Then again, it was groundbreaking sex, and it was impossible not to think about it. “You want to go home?” He asked, breaking you from the thought.

“I thought that was the deal? You take me home in the morning, we promise to keep in touch, then we forget about it before we go to bed tonight… the whole thing is pretty cookie cutter. I don’t want to make myself feel special.” You explained, cocking your head to the side in curiosity as you noticed a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He didn’t say it, but he did think you were special. In fear of scaring you away, he opted to keep that to himself.

“I did say I would take you home today, but I never said when.” He corrected, a smirk pulling at his lips. “And don’t think I’m in any hurry to forget about you, sweetheart.” Under the blanket, his cool hand landed on your thigh, the touch gentle but impactful. It stole the air from your lungs, and the desire in his features went in for the kill. He barely touched you, and in truth, barely said anything worthwhile, but the familiar ache between your legs had already started to make a return. He was committed to breaking your psyche, and he was doing the job well. It was impossible not to melt under his touch, and resisting him was not an option. He was charming, handsome and confident. He could convince you to fall to his feet without even opening his mouth.

“Sneaky.” You breathed, trying to focus on anything other than his fingers dancing dangerously close to his favourite part of you. “What if I say no? Maybe I want to go home now.”

“Are you really going to say no, or are you just trying to piss me off?” He questioned, inching closer to you.

“I’d never do anything like that.” You lied, a smile forming on your lips and immediately selling you out.

“No, never.” He played into you, the same smile growing on his lips. In one swift motion, he pulled the blanket away from your legs. The cool air took you by surprise, sending a shiver down your spine. Your first instinct was to grab the blankets and pull them back over the exposed skin, but you knew better. Whatever he was intending to do would be much more enjoyable than the simple comfort of warmth. “Cold?” He crooned, faking his concern only partially.

“Mhm.” You nodded, looking over his face. You were in awe of his beauty, unbelieving that someone could be so perfect. Even if a relationship was out of the question, you could not deny his physical advantage over any other boy you had ever met. However, he did seem to push all of the wrong buttons and his personality irked you more every time he spoke, but for some strange reason, it was unbelievably compelling, too. Perhaps the buttons he liked to press were exactly right, and you just did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Deep down, even if you found him annoying, you felt you were lucky to be annoyed by him at all. Jake seemed like the type of person everyone wanted in their life, even if you hated him by times.

Hate is a strong word, and it was far from the correct description of how you felt about him; he only bothered you so much because you wanted him around, and you had never felt that way about anyone until he walked into your life. You liked him, but you hated the fact that you did. Instead of submitting to the feeling, you covered it up with a cold exterior in hopes it would scare him away.

Once again, the battle between your unwillingness to give in and his unwillingness to give up seemed to take precedence over anything else.

“Poor baby.” He sympathized, moving towards you and settling between your legs. “I think I know how to warm you up.”

“Yeah?” You asked, completely distracted from your earlier argument. No matter how much you wanted to resist, you couldn’t seem to find the strength to do so. You reached down, cupping his cheek in your palm as you dusted your thumb over the soft skin. His eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, happy that you seemed much more receptive of his advances. He was fearful that if anything, you would be the one to wake up and regret your decisions. Even sober, he still found you as enchanting as he did when he first laid eyes on you, and he knew that from the minute he brought you into his life, him feeling any type of regret would be completely implausible. “What’s that?”

“Thought you said you wanted to go home?” He raised an eyebrow, letting his fingers trail up your thigh. The light tickle was barely noticeable, but it was still enough to drive you to insanity. Everything he did was all the same, whether the touch was minimal or incredibly apparent, no matter if it was something sweet or dirty coming from his lips, or even if he was staring or just sneaking glances. No matter what Jake was doing, it was hard to ignore, and it was the only thing you wanted to pay attention to.

“I might have been lying.” You shrugged, enthralled in the playful expression on his face.

“Did nobody ever teach you that lying is bad, sweetheart?” He said, his fingers finally anchoring on your hips, right under the hem of his t-shirt that was just a little too big for you.

“Did you ever think that maybe I just don’t care?” You offered, posing the idea as if it were blasphemous.

“Such a bad girl.” He let out a disapproving tsk, shaking his head at you. “You don’t want to go home, do you angel?” You could not find it within you to lie to him, and if you did, he would see straight through you anyway. Besides, even if you did want to go home when you woke, there was no way you could leave him now. Whatever he had done to you the night before, you weren’t sure. What you did know was that the wicked spells he had cast and the sinful curse of his companionship was tying you down right to his bed, the chains not even loose enough give a vague impression of freedom.

You were no longer a girl he had met at the bar, wooed by his pretty smile and captivating eyes. You weren’t just a subject that fell victim to his sweet words, nor the euphoric nature of his touch. You were a woman who was in desperate search of salvation, yet unsure if you would ever find it. You were praying to be released, but he was the altar in which you prayed to. There was no escape, no surrender nor even certain death could save you from his hands. It would be a pleasant death, one that cushioned you as you descended, but you would be subservient to him until the bitter end. He held the power, and you were subordinate to him. You knew that even long after you left the realm of mortality, you would still search for him in the darkness, and well into the next life.

After all, the devil knows no mercy, and you had invited him in and welcomed him with open arms. You sealed your fate the first time you allowed his lips to touch yours, your soul fleeing you and becoming his for the taking. You could continue in hopes of salvation, but you knew that nothing could save you from the damage that was already done. It was only the first day of your lifelong sentence, and part of you had already come to terms with the inevitable; there was nobody in the entire would that could ever compare to Jake.

“No, sir.” You shook your head, giving him a long look with innocent eyes. The sight seemed to drive him crazy, thrilled that you had remembered the rules so well.

“That’s what I thought,” he smiled, using his hand on your hip to pull you down towards him. Your head landed gently on the pillows and your stomach twisted with anticipation. He instantly picked up on your shallow breathing, knowing that you were all but vibrating with excitement. “What’s wrong?” He hummed as his fingers pushed the t-shirt to your stomach, revealing the lack of clothing on your lower half.

“Nothing.” You promised, and it was the truth. There was nothing bothering you except for his slow pace. Even then, you knew with how generous he was the night before, he had to make you suffer at least a little bit. The evil that lived within him thrived off your impatience, and it only made him draw out his teasing even more.

“Right,” he spoke softly as his eyes settled on your stomach. “You’d let me do anything I wanted to you and you wouldn’t say a word.” He speculated, lowering his lips to your stomach, dusting a kiss over your navel. “I bet you’d like it, too.” He let his lips drift downward ever so slightly, making your breath hitch in your throat. You watched him in awe, completely enchanted by his ego that was taking up so much space in the room. Even if you thought it was self-centred for him to say such a thing, he was correct, and it was hot. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your skin crawling with excitement.

“Maybe that should be our deal, then.” He said, eyes flickering down to your cunt, barely able to contain his own eagerness. “I get to use you for whatever I want, whenever I want, and you get to be happy with what you get.” Even if the idea of being completely at his disposal was incredibly enticing, you could help but feel a sinking feeling in your stomach when you thought of not having any control. You could commit to giving him most of the power, but you couldn’t give it all to him. If you did that, you would be going against every single one of your morals, and you’d already given up enough on his behalf.

“That doesn’t sound very fun.” You protested.

“I think it would be plenty of fun.” He argued, his mouth now dangerously close to your heat. “Maybe I can change your mind about it later.” He smiled, flickering his eyes up towards your face. He noticed the look of doubt in your eyes, but it did not seem to deter him. “What? A man can dream, can he not?”

“Mhm, keep dreaming all you want, Jacob.” You smiled, reaching down to brush the hair from his eyes.

“Oh, I will.” He promised. There was no doubt that sex with you would infiltrate every single thought that crossed his mind. You took post in every one of his dreams the night prior, and would for every one to come next. You had him wrapped around your finger, even if he would never admit it, and he had you hooked on him just the same. “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t like it,” he muttered, moving further down and pressing a few light kisses to the inside of your thigh. “You know I’d always be good to you. I told you I’d take care of her, didn’t I?”

“You did.” You nodded, unable to argue his words. He had proven beyond your expectations that he was indeed in the game to please you, and you had no fear he would do his duty flawlessly. With a small smile on his lips, he felt as though he was finished with taunting and he finally lowered his mouth to your cunt. A gasp fell from your lips as his tongue ran through you, slow but still fantastic. You could tell that despite his love for teasing, he had been waiting for this since long before you woke up. “Oh, god.” You groaned, feeling his tongue circle your clit.

You were sore, still sensitive from the night before, but you were so addicted to his touch that it did not matter. You knew that even if his intent was to inflict pain, you would still find yourself crawling back to him just to feel his hands on you. Violence appeared ethereal as long as it was him who caused it, and to know violence at his hands was more tempting than pleasure from another.

He was living in the sound of your shallow breaths and thriving off the noises that slipped from your mouth. He was enamoured with the way your hand went in search of the hair on his head, and how your fingers twisted the strands tightly around themselves. Every now and then, your thighs would squeeze against his skull, drawing him in and locking him there for the rest of time. If he could, he would live with his head between your legs for the rest of his life, fed from the sweet sounds you made and comforted by the warmth of your touch. He had only known such pleasure for a short time, but he was certain that nothing else in his lifetime would ever equate.

He savoured the sweetness of your arousal, knowing that it was only so intoxicating because he was the cause of it. Knowing that he could drive such a beautiful woman to such weakness made him weak. He liked to believe that he was just as cold hearted and stony as you were. Love was never something that touched him, nor anything he’d ever craved. Company was low on his list of priorities, much like your own, especially when it was in regards to romance. To him, sex was enjoyable, but connection was not. What he could not deny was the pull he felt when you were around, the force stronger than the gravity holding him to earth.

Intrigue and fascination could not even begin to describe the way he felt about you, and he was in awe of the strength in which he was attracted to you. Your witty comebacks and sharp tongue would make a lesser man cower, but it only seemed to draw him in further. Normally, when he brought girls back to his apartment, he struggled with the never ending mediocrity. It all seemed the same to him, and in the morning, he could not get them home fast enough. When he woke to you next to him in bed, he dreaded the thought of you walking away, partially because he feared you would never return.

For a man desperate to avoid attachment, he was aching at the idea of you showing him disinterest. Your refusal to acknowledge his attempts to know you only seemed to fuel him further. The usual game of cat and mouse he played was too easy, and much too predictable. The challenge you were giving him was so much different than what he was used to that he could not seem to turn it down. He was determined to make you fall for his charm, and in turn, he was making himself fall for you. Neither of you wanted a relationship, but after only a single night, you could not possibly comprehend being without each other.

He removed his tongue from you, unable to resist the urge to watch your face contort into an expression of pleasure. He brought his hand to you instead, placing his thumb on your clit in replace of his mouth and adding his fingers to you. In the darkness of his kitchen when he last had the opportunity to serve you, he did not get the chance to admire you in the way he hoped. He made sure to closely study the way your eyebrows knitted together when his thumb applied pressure, and especially the way your lips parted when his fingers curled inside of you. The way your hair framed your rosy cheeks was irresistible, and his name imbedded on your tongue was the most heavenly sound he ever had the honour of hearing.

“Cum for me, angel?” He whispered, his tone gravelly and laced with desire. His eyes flickered to your free hand, clasping the sheet in a firm embrace. Then, his gaze moved to your chest that was rising and falling with your laboured breathing, his shirt splayed across your skin perfecting the sight before him. “Come on, baby.” He encouraged, a glimmer of hope twinkling in his eye.

“Fuck, Jake.” You whimpered, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the intense storm that was coming. The muscles in your abdomen were rigid, bracing your body with support as the pressure steadily increased in the pit of your stomach. “God, please don’t stop.” You pleaded.

“Never,” it was more than a promise; it was a law that he would forever abide by. He wished to please you until he breathed his very last breath, and in death, he hoped he could continue doing it even then. Your legs began to tremble, no nerve ending spared from the pleasure he was granting you. A thin layer of sweat formed over your forehead as your heart thudded against your rib cage. When you descended into the orgasm, you faced the harrowing realization that a sober orgasm from Jake was worlds apart from a drunken one. In a sick twist of fate, it was even more earth shattering than any of the ones given to you the night prior.

As you came down from the high, nearly delirious from his hand still gently working at you, he watched you intently. He wondered if he could stay in the moment long enough to sear the memory into the forefront of his mind for the rest of eternity. When your eyes fluttered open to meet his, he wondered if you felt the same way about him. After a moment of silent conversation, he knew you did.

“That’s my girl.” He fawned over your exquisite performance, completely immersed in every small detail you had to offer. A rush of heat flooded your face, his words taking you by surprise. The possessive claim would have been unwanted from anyone else, but somehow it was all you wanted to hear from him. “I could do this all day if you’d let me.” He admitted, already desperate to start again.

“I think that would be okay.” You admitted, still flustered from the moment. You felt incredibly exposed in the daylight, unable to hide any part of yourself from him. Even if your anxiety was eating away at you, fearful he might not find you as attractive without alcohol and dimly lit rooms, he still seemed to look at you like you were the prettiest thing to walk the earth. You still did not want to allow yourself to feel special, because you knew that it was part of his motive to convince you of such, but it was becoming more difficult as time went on. If he acted this way with every girl he brought home, he would not have the time or energy to be so immersed in you. If he did, there would be hundreds of women knocking down his door to see him again, and unfortunately, you knew that now, you would be one of them.

“Yeah?” He smirked, shocked that you admitted to your own enjoyment. “Sure you don’t want to go home?” You rolled your eyes at him, knowing that he was only trying to get under your skin.

“I’m in no hurry.” You promised, finally feeling your skin calm from the tingling of your last orgasm.

“That’s good, because I wasn’t really planning on letting you leave.” He admitted. “Makes my job easier.”

“So you just thought you could keep me here forever?” You teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I would if I could.” There was no hint of a joke in his tone. “We’d have so much fun together, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know if I could handle it. You get on my nerves a little too much. I might go insane, and I don’t think that would be very much fun.” You joked, relaxing back into the mattress.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He chuckled. “Scared to admit you really do like me, angel?”

“Can’t be scared of something that’s not true, can I?” You sighed, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle. No matter if you thought he was the best thing to ever grace the earth, you wouldn’t be caught dead by saying it aloud.

“I’ll get you to say it eventually, sweetheart.” His rebuttal was effortless, and your rejection did not phase him.

“Whatever you say-“ you were cut off, completely distracted from your comment by his mouth connecting with your cunt once again. “Fuck,” you hissed, immediately thrown back into pleasure. He hummed against you, a final taunt before he continued with his tirade. He knew you liked him, and he knew he made you feel good. Although it was nice to hear the words, he did not need you to say them to know his effect on you.

He was working at you with intent, but you were not sure exactly what it was. You wondered if his goal was to get you to admit that you liked him, or to prove himself to you in hopes you would think he was worthy of being liked. He did not want you to feel like your entanglement was a waste of your time, and he wanted you to come back. You knew that much for certain, yet somewhere within his desperation, you sensed that he needed to prove to himself all of the same things.

There was no doubt that he was self-assured, but something about your careless attitude seemed to make him second guess it. He knew he could make you feel good, but it puzzled him to see your hesitation in admitting it. He knew you liked the sex, but perhaps he was more concerned with you liking his character. For the first time in his life, he felt the need to impress you in a further context rather than just sexually. He wanted you to like him so much that you could not even imagine what life was like before him.

The game was dangerous, but the reward was far beyond anything he could ever imagine.

He continued pumping his fingers into you, curling them slightly to hit the sensitive spot he’d grown so familiar with. His mouth was focused on your clit, his lips suctioned around it as he tried to coax another orgasm from you. “God, that feels so good, baby.” You moaned, your head filled with nothing but filthy, frivolous thoughts about him. The pet name was music to his ears, but it left him wondering if the only time you were willing to be nice was while he was having sex with you. Either way, it did not bother him, for he also felt that violence at your hands would be the most pleasant experience he’d ever had.

Your insults sounded more like compliments than any sweet words from another. He was addicted to your hostility in the same way that you depend on a substance; he knew it was unhealthy, but it felt too good to give it up. He feared that a day without it would be worse than death itself. You were both reliant on each other in a way that was more intense than you could comprehend. The relationship was driven by lust and had no promise of anything more, but it was enough. The desire shared between the two of you was stronger than what appeared in most marriages, and it seemed like it was permanent. It was so strong that you had unintentionally engaged in your second deadly sin just hours after the first.

Gluttony had become you both; the lust had pushed you so close to insanity that you couldn’t help but indulge in the sinful desires. You could not repent from what you had done, and salvation was no longer a possibility. If not for the need of food and water, you could have stayed wrapped up in each other until your very last breath had passed you by. The thought of turning to dust while still remaining in the intimate display was comforting, and you knew that a happier death was not plausible. Living out the rest of your life engaged in any type of sexual pleasure with Jake was enticing, and your only complaint would be that it would never be enough.

Your hands gripped at the sheets, holding yourself to the bed in fear that the pleasure would become so intense that you would float away in a cloud of euphoria. The noises coming from your mouth were pornographic, settling deep in the foundation of the walls and claiming yet another room in his home with vulgar memories. He would never be able to rid you from the place, even if he dedicated the rest of his life to forgetting. Your stomach was burning with an insatiable fire, and as he continued, he did nothing but encourage it with gasoline.

With one last stutter of his name, pleasure washed over you like never before. Stars danced in your eyes as your hand reached out for him, tangling in his hair. He held you to him, soothing the incessant shaking of your legs as he helped you through the climax. When you started to come down, he did not slow his movements. The warmth and persistent pace of his tongue was normally heavenly, yet the longer he continued, the more irritating it became. You did not have time to recover from the pleasure, and you made your first attempt at shying away from his touch.

His hands locked on your hips ensured you could not get away, but you were putting up a pathetic fight. Even the overstimulating feeling could not bother you enough to want to leave his grip. “Jake, please slow down.” You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut in response to the irritating sting. But, even your protest was weak, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to stop. He moved his head back, slipping his thumb in place to keep up the momentum, but it was enough to give you a break so you could gather your thoughts.

“Colour?” He asked, his eyes locked in on your face. Your entire body was ablaze with an unfamiliar feeling, but you could not seem to will yourself to tell him to stop. Instead, a choked moan sounded in response to his question. “Colour, angel.” He demanded, needed verbal clarification before pushing you any further.

“Green.” You confirmed, the word rushing out in a harsh tone.

“Stubborn little thing.” He couldn’t help but smirk at your unwillingness to give up. He liked it more than he cared to admit. Without any further conversation, he returned his tongue to you and continued his earlier pace.

“Fuck,” you groaned, finally feeling the pressure start to rise again. You were far beyond reality, now living in a dreamlike state that consisted of only Jake. He was everywhere, everything and all that mattered. Your hips bucked forward against his tongue, the movement unintentional yet unavoidable. Your body was following his command, and you had little say in what it chose to do. He let out a hum of pleasure at the thought of you coming undone again, knowing that he would never be able to chase a high similar to the one he got from pleasing you.

With one last lingering thought of the boy with his head nestled between your thighs, your entire body tensed in response to the euphoric state you descended into. In a mess of moans and curses, his name lingered in the air; you had sung it like a hymn to the world, and you were certain that if his neighbours cared to listen, they would only be jealous that they could not experience whatever you were feeling. He withdrew from you a bit prematurely, so amazed by your beautiful noises that he could not stop himself from admiring you once again. In a split second of fear, he thought he might come undone from the sight alone.

When you came down, you were exhausted from the energy you had exerted during your performance. You caught his gaze, feeling your stomach twist with pleasure at the sight of his lust-blown pupils. “You taste so fucking good, angel.” He rasped, still trying to catch his own breath. Another flood of arousal rushed straight to your core, and you began to realize that you would never be able to satisfy the craving for him. You reached out to him, settling your hand on the back of his neck. In one swift movement, you sat up at the same time as you pulled him towards you, capturing him in a heated kiss. The sex was phenomenal, yet you couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

When he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, you knew that you had found exactly what you were looking for. Everything about him was irresistible, yet somehow, his kiss seemed the most deadly of all. It was so simple, a pleasure you could indulge in without the weight of any shame or emotion. “Fuck me, please.” You mumbled against his lips, your hands roaming every available inch of him.

“How could I say no to you?” He asked, parting from you to look over your face. You gave him a small smile, your cheeks tinged red from the excitement and the sweet tone of his voice. With little struggle, he slipped his sweatpants off and discarded them on the floor. You settled back into your earlier position, ecstatic about what was to come next. He took post between your legs again, but did not rush himself. He let his hands drift over your hips, slowly bringing them up your sides as he slipped them underneath the fabric of the shirt still resting on you.

You lifted your arms, allowing him to pull it over your head. With a lazy smile, he threw it over his shoulder, pleased to have access to the rest of you. “Gorgeous little thing, too.” He said, adding on to his earlier comment. You hated that his words had such a profound effect on you. Comments on your appearance always held little value to you, but when they were coming from his mouth, it was completely intoxicating. “You want me to fuck you, angel?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded, watching his eyes drift over your now exposed chest. He was looking at you similarly to how a predator would watch its prey, his expression nearly feral at the thought of what was in front of him.

“How bad?” He asked, dusting his fingers over your thigh. You debated whether to answer, knowing that it was the most effective way to get what you wanted, yet feeling like begging was just a little too far. As he waited for a response, he guided your leg around his waist, keeping a light hold on it for some extra support. “How bad do you want it, sweetheart?” He asked again, his tone more pressing. You held his gaze, not arguing with him, yet showing clear disobedience to his words. “Don’t be like that, baby.” He warned.

“What if I don’t want to beg?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him only slightly.

“You’re going to be a brat, now? After I was so good to you?” There was a small smile on his lips; you hadn’t truly bothered him, but the playful banter had thrown him off.

“Just asking.” You shrugged, but you couldn’t deny the throbbing between your legs. You would beg for him until your lungs collapsed, because you knew he was the only one who could do the job right.

“I bet that you wouldn’t want to find out.” He promised, his fingers tightening on you ever so slightly. He leaned down, taking his free arm and hooking underneath your other leg. In one swift motion, he pulled it up to your chest as he leaned down. His lips were hovering over your own as he waited for your rebuttal. The position had changed your mind, and with him so close to giving you what you needed, you could not seem to resist it. “Now, asked you a question. I want to hear you fucking beg for it, angel.” You shuddered at the strength of his tone, his words having more of an impact than any ones that came before. “How bad do you want me?” He asked again, his tone of voice lethal and clearly telling you that it was not up for discussion.

“So bad,” you squeaked, enthralled in the firm grip he had on you. It was making it hard to think about anything else. “Please, Jake. I need you to fuck me.”

“That’s better.” He hummed, thrilled about your cooperation. You could feel him resting against your entrance, driving you insane the longer he waited.

“Please, baby, I’ll be so good for you. I promise.” You upped your game, realizing that your argument had only made him less willing to give you any satisfaction. Even if he wanted you, he found more enjoyment in watching your desperation.

“Yeah? You want to be a good little whore for me?” He asked, moving his hips forward only slightly, just to give you taste of what you could have if you continued doing as you were told. You nodded, giving a hum of agreement to his statement. “You better mean it, angel. I don’t like being lied to.”

“I mean it.” You promised, eyes already rolling back in your head at the thought of him fucking you. It was such a powerful idea that it made your brain short-circuit if you thought about it for too long. Without any further hesitation, he pushed himself inside of you. He adjusted his grip on your leg, making sure it was secure before he started to rock his hips. You locked your other leg around him, hoping that if you mustered enough strength, it would keep him there forever.

You were already teetering on the edge, your body exhausted from the earlier rounds of pleasure. His hips were slow, but moving at a force that made your head spin and your stomach tie itself in knots. He was worked up, too, the drawn out teasing taking a toll on him just as much as it had on you. “Does that feel good, baby?” He said, eyes burning with desire. His stare was locked on your face, unwilling to miss a single second of your pleasure-ridden expression.

“You feel so good, sir.” You muttered, feeling a jolt of electricity every time the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix. It was addicting, intoxicating, and it was completely unfair that he could make you feel so fantastic. When you looked up at him, you had to blink twice to be sure that the devil horns were just a figment of your imagination. Once again, the shadows remained on the wall as a gruesome deception, leading you to believe you had made a mistake that would haunt you for the rest of time.

“You take it so good,” he said, yet his words filled the air with more resemblance to a growl. “Being such a good girl for me.” The praise settled in your chest like lead, weighing you down and forging a tie between yourself and his bed. You could not escape, but you did not care; it was so fantastic that you never wanted to leave, anyway. The usually empty spot on his mattress now belonged to you, and no other could ever replace you. The filthy acts you willingly took part in ensured that the curse of your relationship was infinite. No matter if he burned the mess of fabric and springs in hopes of purging you from his life, the next one he placed in the same spot would still have your name meticulously sewn into the seams.

He leaned down, capturing you in a kiss as his hips continued with their relentless motion. Your hands reached for his neck, holding him to you as his skin burned into your own. The two of you had become one being; two separate entities that shared a single heartbeat and survived off the same breath. Two souls that had been lost for so long finally meeting in a glorious reunion, finding home within the similar resonance and shared heartache. You were two completely different people, yet found comfort in the striking similarities of your closed off hearts, speaking clearly to each other in the only way in which you knew how to communicate.

You were not in love with each other, and it was unlikely that you ever would be, yet the relationship between you was stronger than anything love could produce; it was a profound understanding of the very things that had always been so misunderstood by others. It was a mutual agreement that love and dating was overrated, and you could find more enjoyment in friendship with the benefits of sexual intimacy. Neither of you cared to fall in love, and it was the very thing that drove you to each other. The sinful indulgence of your current situation was not voluntary, but rather a necessity after searching so long for something you thought you might never find.

“Can you cum for me, angel?” He asked, his lips barely parted from your own. You caught his eye, the crazed nature so powerful that it was nearly off putting. He needed you to orgasm in the same way he needed food or water; it was a requirement of survival, and he feared that if he went any longer without it, he may never recover. And so the term of endearment sounded again, just like the hundred other times he let it slip since he first laid eyes on you. He thought you were too ethereal to be human, but only in an essence of holiness. You thought he was too enchanting to be of the mortal realm, yet it was painfully apparent that it was in every way other than godly. His power was wicked, and the strength was only gifted to him for the intent of evil.

“God, yes.” You groaned, tangling your fingers in his hair once again. You were holding him as if you were afraid he would get away. The desperation was something new, and in his opinion, it looked incredibly good on you.

“Cum on my cock, baby.” He encouraged, trying his best to keep his movements steady. He was barely able to hold himself back, but he was determined to get you there, first. The sound of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and the pressure in your stomach reached a peak. You let out a gasp, your hands falling to rest on his back as your entire body descended into euphoria. Your nailed scratched at his skin, but you mind was not able to comprehend the potential injury you could have caused him. Instead, it was flooded with vile thoughts about all you were willing to do for Jake just to ensure he would keep making you feel good.

The state you were in was too much for him to handle, and his own orgasm came as you began to come down from the high. He had only enough strength to mutter your name before his thoughts trailed off into a slur of curses. After a few seconds, he slowed his hips to a stop. He loosened his grip on your leg and gently let it fall back to the mattress. He heaved a long sigh, his body still trembling from the intensity of the climax as he pulled you in to another kiss. When he parted, he rested his head on your chest but made no attempt to leave.

You melted into the touch, savouring the small moment of innocent intimacy. You let your fingers trace over the skin in which your nails has irritated, hoping that it hadn’t caused him any discomfort. You cared little for the formalities that normally came after such phenomenal sex, yet the moment you were sharing with him was deeply profound and so sweet that you could not deny your enjoyment. “I didn’t know sex could be so good.” You sighed, closing your eyes as you ran your fingers through the knotted strands of his hair. You could feel a smile growing on his face, not needing to see him to know how smug he looked at your confession.

“Seems like you’ve been wasting your time on the wrong guys.” He said, his fingers lightly tickling the soft skin on your thigh.

“Insinuating I’m wasting my time with you, too?” You joked, using your free hand to trace lazy shapes into his bicep.

“Do you think I’m a waste of your time?” He asked, unfazed by your response. You thought about it for a moment before giving him an answer.

“No,” honesty was heavy in the air “I don’t think you’re a waste of my time at all.”

“That’s good.” He said, placing a small kiss to your chest, happy to hear that you were happy.

“I think your coffee’s cold, now.” You giggled, casting a sideways glance to the mug sitting on his nightstand.

“Fuck the coffee.” He muttered. “That was well worth the waste of five bucks.” You laughed at his words, finding his charm so devastatingly beautiful. You hated that you liked him, and you hated that you couldn’t seem to convince yourself to dislike him.

“Five dollars for a single cup? Didn’t realize you had such expensive taste.” You said, feeling the warmth of his body nearly lulling you back to sleep.

“I have you in my bed, don’t I?” He replied without missing a beat. Your cheeks heated with a blush, which you had found you were doing an embarrassingly amount of since being in his company. “You want to go get cleaned up?” He asked, finally raising his head from the comfortable position he’d found himself in. You gave a nod, both of you knowing that a mess would be had if you waited any longer. Reluctantly, he withdrew from you, helping you from the bed and to the bathroom. You both cleaned up in silence, neither of you feeling the need to continue a conversation. When you finally had a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, you were shocked at the sight.

Your hair was wild, and old makeup still lingered under your eyes. Hickeys littered your flushed skin and finger shaped bruises decorated your hips. There was no doubt that your weekend full of excitement was written all over you, and in some strange way, you were happy to have the reminder. You knew when you inevitably laid down to sleep in your own bed later that night, you would miss the feeling of his hands on you. “You can take a shower, if you want.” He said, noticing your lingering gaze on the mirror. “I don’t mind.” He promised, brushing the stray hairs from your face and tucking them behind your ear.

“Yeah, only if you don’t mind.” You nodded, the idea more tempting than anything you’d ever heard.

“Of course.” He said, stepping towards the shower and flicking on the faucet. “Take your time.” He dusted his hand over your lower back as a way to reassure you he was being truthful. He didn’t mind your company in the slightest, and delaying your return home had been his intent all morning.

“Thank you.” You sighed, already drawn in by the steam billowing over the shower curtain. He gave a nod, leaving you to do what you pleased.

You stepped in the shower, feeling the warm water wash away the ache in your muscles, although it could not come close to cleansing you from the godless activities you had so willingly done. After a few moments of enjoyment, you searched around the bottles of shampoo and soaps. You weren’t sure how you felt about going home smelling just like your mindless hookup from the bar, but once you opened the bottle and the familiar scent hit your nose, the idea seemed enticing. You washed your hair and your body, taking your time with it before rinsing yourself clean. When you stepped out, you felt like an entirely new woman.

On the counter sat a neatly folded stack of clothes topped with a towel. A flutter of unfamiliar feelings rose in your stomach, catching you off guard and making you turn your nose up at your own emotions. You shook off the moment of uncertainty, reaching out to grab the towel and then you wrapped it around yourself. You dried off before taking to the clothes he had left for you and dressing yourself. When you broke into the kitchen, you heard the soft hum of music and the clatter of dishes. Your eyes landed on Jake, shirtless and in sweatpants once again, immersed in the song playing over his record player as he was turned to face the stove.

“That better not be breakfast.” You warned.

“Would you give it up about the fucking breakfast thing?” He laughed, looking back over his shoulder at you. The playful expression broke you from your fear momentarily. “It wouldn’t be breakfast now, sweetheart. It’s lunch, and you never gave me any rules about lunch.”

“Seems like you’re doing whatever you can to bend the rules.” You raised an eyebrow, walking to the counter and hoisting yourself up on the countertop. He took a few steps towards you, temporarily ignoring the food cooking on the stove. He settled between your legs, his hands finding your hips with little hesitation.

“I wouldn’t be a very good host if I wasn’t concerned with your comfort.” He said, his face leaning dangerously close to your own. “And if I remember correctly, we didn’t lay down any particular rules.”

“I’ll let it slide, but don’t make it a habit.” You warned, a smile tugging at your lips. Even when he was doing something that irked you, you felt compelled to enjoy it.

“Can’t you just appreciate someone being nice to you?” He asked, raising a hand to your cheek and gently cupping it in his palm.

“Just don’t want you getting the wrong idea.” You explained, pulling him in a little further.

“No need to doubt me, angel.” He said, his nose brushing over your own. “Love’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Right,” you agreed, giving a slight nod of your head. “Absolutely nothing to do with it.” You felt the need to cement the notion even further, just to ensure he knew the extent of your seriousness.

“Just two friends eating together,” he played into you, smiling once again. It seemed like the only thing he knew how to do when you were around.

“Reluctantly, at that.” You said, hoping he would lean forward and close the gap between your mouths.

“Stop pretending you hate me; you know that it’s not true.” He scolded, but his tone was incredibly soft. “We make fantastic friends, sweetheart, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Friends is being generous.” You tightened your grip on him again, drawn in further by the warmth of his skin. “We’re really good at fucking each other. Don’t know if we can call ourselves friends, yet.”

“We are really good at that, aren’t we?” He reminisced on the memory fondly, his eyes glazing over with a yearning so strong it nearly brought him to his knees. “Give the friends thing a few more days, I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“Whatever you say, Jacob.” You hummed, finished with making conversation with him. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his own in a moment of weakness. His hand drifted to the back of your neck, holding you to him as he responded with enthusiasm. His hand on your hip tightened, already enticed with the idea of sex again. You could not resist each other; the tension in the air was astounding whenever you shared the same space.

You were so immersed in each other that you did not even notice the food beginning to overcook in the frying pan, nor did you hear the opening of his front door. It was only when an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind you did either of you realize the carelessness of your actions.

“Jesus, are you trying to burn the place down?” The words sent a rush of fear through you, forcing you away from Jake with the same intensity of a child getting caught misbehaving. Jake recognized the tone immediately, rolling his eyes at the interruption.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, giving your hip a gentle squeeze as he turned towards the disturbance. “Ever think of knocking?”

“I did, twice.” The boy stated, shutting off the stove and moving the pan to a cooler section of the surface.

“And when I didn’t answer you thought you should just… let yourself in?” Jake asked, casting a sideways glance at you to make sure you were okay. Aside from the blush on your cheeks and your racing heart, you almost found the situation comical. You had never been one to stress under any type of pressure.

“I have a key for a reason.” He shrugged, turning back to face the two of you. “Glad I did, though. Saved the fire department a trip over here.” The sassiness was astounding, and you thought it was hilarious. You recognized the boys face from the picture Jake had shown you the night before, and you were thrilled to see that his twin brother seemed to be a perfect match for Jake’s strong personality. They appeared to balance each other out, similar to the way the sun and the moon would for each other. The two seemed to be caught in a staring contest, housing a silent conversation with their eyes. After a moment, Josh made a move to speak again. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend, or will I have to do that, too?”

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.” You cut him off, shaking your head at the thought. “Friends.” You clarified, knowing that the incriminating scene he walked in on was not backing your statement up. Josh laughed at your quick delivery, but understood what you were saying.

“Okay,” he nodded, a smile on his lips. “A friend who happens to be a girl?” He offered, raising an eyebrow.

“I like that better.” You nodded. “I’m y/n.”

“Josh.” He replied, looking between you and his brother. “Sorry for interrupting, I just live next door. Didn’t know he still had company.” He bit down on his lip, trying to stifle his laugh.

“No need to apologize,” you shook your head “think I was just getting ready to head home, anyway.” Jake visibly tensed at your words, angry at his brother for potentially being the reason he could not keep you there with him all day.

“Eat first,” Jake offered, looking back at you “I can take you home afterwards.” You caught his eye, noticing a silent plead for you to agree. You gave him a smile, nodding your head to tell him you would. You noticed him relax at the motion, happy that you felt no need to argue it. “You hungry?” He eyed his brother, extending the formality because he felt required to, not because he wanted to.

“Sure!” He grinned, happy for the invitation. Jake forced a smile as he nodded for the both of you to sit down. You did as he wanted, sliding off the counter and taking a seat at the kitchen table. As your eyes inspected the wood in which you were sat upon the night before, your cheeks burned at the memory and a rush of arousal ran through you once again. “So, Jake’s friend who is a girl but is not his girlfriend,” you looked up to meet Josh’s eyes, broken indefinitely from the vulgar train of thought. “Tell me about yourself.” You studied his face for a moment, finding their similarities astounding. In the picture you had seen, it was easy to tell them apart, but in person, you could really see the familiarity in their expressions.

“So, Jake’s twin brother, what would you like to know?” You asked, flashing a smile.

“He told you about me?” He pretended to gush over the thought.

“He did,” you nodded, laughing at the dramatic expression.

“Where are you from?” He asked.

“Here,” you answered, finding conversations with him much easier than the ones at the bar with his brother. You knew it was only because you were not interested in anything further than friendship with Josh, and you were incredibly invested in Jakes devastatingly beautiful presence. Friendship came easy to you, where as anything further did not, and you knew from the very beginning that Jake was looking to be much more than friends. “I’m a photographer, so when I graduated high school, I started my own little business and never really felt the need to leave.”

“That’s really cool.” He grinned, intrigued by your words. “How’d you end up with him? I know a pretty girl like you must’ve had more options than that.” You laughed at his question, but did not notice the look of daggers Jake shot at his twin.

“He’s alright, actually.” You defended, finding the humour comfortingly similar to your own. You were not shocked to know that Josh was just as charming and beautiful as his brother, yet it still seemed unfair that they had been born with such an advantage. “Guess we just ended up in the right place at the right time.” You shrugged.

“Seems so.” He agreed, watching as Jake handed out plates of food to everyone. Jake couldn’t help but feel jealous at the simplicity of your conversation with Josh. Although he liked the challenge, he was curious as to why you were so much more reserved with him. “Are you a music lover, friend that is a girl?”

“You can call me by name, you know.” You laughed at his question.

“I think I like the nickname better, but I’ll keep that in mind.” He joked.

“I do like music, though.” You nodded. “When your career is art in any form, I think it’s a given to enjoy music.”

“Fair point,” he nodded “any particular type?”

“I’m pretty well versed in all of the genres. My mom had me in piano lessons as soon as I could talk, so I’ve branched out quite a bit over the years.”

“Wait ‘till Sammy gets ahold of you. You’ll never get rid of him.” He laughed, eyeing Jake from the corner of his eye. You didn’t know if you were quite ready to meet the rest of the family, especially considering how abrupt your meeting with Josh was, but knowing that Sam shared a common interest was quite intriguing. You were still opposed to any type of relationship other than casual with Jake, but you were quickly growing fond of his brother. Then again, knowing Jake’s charm so well, you thought it would be impossible to not like the rest of the siblings. It was something he was born with, and you could only assume that the others would have it, too. You hoped that when the day was through, you would get the chance to talk with Josh again. He seemed like someone you would quite like to be friends with. Hopefully, you would eventually get to meet Sam and share your love for piano.

“Piano?” Jake asked, looking up at you. He was curious as to why you hadn’t told him that in your time together, but then again, he never asked. He was beating himself up for not trying harder to know you, because the more he listened to your voice, the more he felt inclined to get you to stay.

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a soft smile.

“Fitting.” He returned your expression, slinking his hand to your knee under the table.

“I’m sure Jake’s already made your ears bleed with the guitar, but if you’re more into vocals, I’d be happy to take you over to my apartment so you can get away from him for a while.” Josh teased, clearly only attempting to get under his brothers skin. Jakes gaze darted back to him, a look of anger flashing in his eyes.

“He hasn’t, actually, but I’ll keep that in mind for when he does.” You laughed, finding the brotherly competition funny.

“Really? That’s usually his go to when when’s trying to impress someone.”

“I guess I’ll look forward to it for next time.” You shrugged, making sure to settle Jake’s fears by letting him know you wanted to come back. He visibly relaxed back into his chair, happy to know that Josh had not managed to scare you away. You almost felt special at the knowledge, realizing he did not try to woo you with any of his usual tactics. When he said that you were special the night before, you did not believe him, yet as the time passed, you began to understand he was in fact telling you the truth. You should have known that when he wasn’t rushing you out the door first thing in the morning, but the confirmation was nice and very welcome.

“What about you, brother of the twin kind?” You asked. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to say.” He shrugged, chuckling at your term of endearment. “I sing, I like film, and my lifelong goal is to piss him off.”

“Seems like a simple life.” You grinned.

“I enjoy it.” He agreed.

“Speaking of pissing me off, what exactly are you doing here?” Jake asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Oh, I came over to get the drafts of the songs we were working on the other night. Would have came over last night, but I think you were a bit preoccupied.” He giggled. Fear flooded you as you finally realized the extent of what he meant by saying he lived just next door. Your and Jake’s cheeks both tinged red with a blush, embarrassed by your unintentional public display of affection.

“If I give them to you, will you leave?” Jake asked, hoping for him to say yes.

“Sure.” Josh chuckled, finally realizing he may have overstayed his welcome. “Would it be somewhere in the pile of paper on the floor?” He couldn’t help but throw in another light jab, eyes flickering to the scattered items littering the ground.

Jake stood, reaching down and grabbing one of the journals from the mess and tossed it down on the table beside him.

“Yep,” he affirmed the joke, finding no need to lie about it. Your eyes were glued to the floor, though, permanently fixated on a flash of red peeking out from underneath Jake’s foot. Your stomach twisted with anxiety as you realized it was the torn remnants of your underwear he had ruined the night before. Then, a small flutter of adoration filled your chest, realizing he’d been concealing it the entire time to avoid causing you any further embarrassment.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave.” Josh chirped, rising to his feet. “I like her, Jake. You should bring her around more often.” He said, but it sounded more like he was scolding him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jake nodded, eager to get him out of his apartment.

“It was lovely meeting you, friend of the female genre, who is definitely not a girlfriend.” Josh flashed you a smile. “Hope to see you again.”

“You too, Josh.” You said, honesty radiating from you. You liked him, even if he seemed to come off a bit strong. He seemed like a bubblier version of Jake, who was much less inclined to try and get in your pants and more apt to brighten your mood.

“I’ll leave you be, then.” Josh looked back to his brother, telling him something without even opening his mouth. You almost envied the relationship between them, unable to comprehend knowing someone so well that you could communicate without words. With that, he turned away and walked back to his own apartment. Neither of you spoke a word until after you heard the door shut.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart.” He apologized, his posture relaxing as he took a seat again.

“No need to say sorry, I like him.” You admitted.

“Yeah, you certainly seemed to.” Jake said, a sour smile begging to turn his lips. “Gonna have to ask him what it takes to get you to admit that.”

“Are you jealous, honey?” You teased, almost unbelieving of the emotion in his voice. He rolled his eyes, unwilling to engage in your antics. “I like you too, Jake. A lot, if you haven’t noticed.” You said, realizing it had actually rubbed him the wrong way. Another one of your morals flushed down the drain in a split second decision, yet you didn’t seem to care. “Thanks for hiding the evidence.” You trailed off, looking to the floor at the torn piece of fabric. He looked down, too, almost laughing at the thought. He reached down, grabbing them off the ground before replying.

“Those are only for me to see, angel. I’m not that generous.” With that, he tucked the fabric neatly away in his pocket, flashing you a smile. You were furious at your body for wanting him so desperately, because you were already aching for relief just from his words alone. “You want to head home?” He changed the subject quickly, but his mind was still heavily occupied with the small memory sitting inside the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t want to take up too much of your day.” You nodded, yet you were almost saddened at the idea of going home. When you knew there was so much pleasure to be had in his company, being alone was lacklustre in comparison. “I can change out of these.”

“No, I’ll just grab them another time.” He said, the least bit concerned about getting them back.

“Okay.” You nodded, standing and grabbing your dress that was bunched up and hidden in the corner by the island. Without any further conversation, you made sure you had all of your belongings as he grabbed his car keys.

“Ready?” He asked, also noticing a sinking feeling in his stomach as he came to terms with the ending of your stay. You nodded, allowing him to lead the way outside. He showed you to his car, opening the passenger door for you before getting in himself.

The drive home was mostly silent aside from your occasional directions, yet you did not seem to find it uncomfortable. One of his hands was firmly clasped around the steering wheel, and the other was permanently anchored on your thigh. The hum of the radio was soothing as you watched the city go by through the tint of his windows. You let your hand rest gently on top of his, not yet comfortable enough to lace your fingers with his, but enough to know that you wanted to keep touching him. You pointed to a driveway just off of a side road, quietly telling him to turn into it. He did as you said, letting his eyes linger over the subtle decoration outside of the house. He smiled at the sight, finding yet another small detail about you that he was enthralled with.

“This is it.” You said, looking out the window at your front porch.

“So it seems.” He nodded, reluctant to pull his hand away from you. You both remained still, neither wanting to leave, and both dreading being the first to say goodbye.

“Thanks for everything. It was nice.” You admitted.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.” He assured you. “You should let me put my number in your phone, just in case you want to do it again sometime.” He looked over at you, praying to every higher power that you wouldn’t shoot him down.

“Yeah,” you nodded, happy he mentioned it. If you went inside without his number, you weren’t sure you would ever forgive yourself. You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled out your contact list, quickly handing it over to him. He took it, immediately typing in a number before giving it back. You looked down at the nameless number, finding it too impersonal after all you had shared with him over the course of your stay in his apartment. You hit the edit button, typing in just a single emoji; the little purple devil spoke more truth than a nickname ever could.

“Ah, the modern way to refer to a hookup.” He noted, chuckling at your choice of name.

“Exactly.” You agreed, but it was not why you chose it. Yes, he was a hookup that you would certainly be calling late at night, but it had little to do with the nature of your relationship, and everything to do with your judgement of his character. The longer you spent with him, the more you felt like he was the devil sent back to earth just to torture you. You typed in a small message, hitting send and waiting to hear the chime. After a second, his phone rang with your message, prompting a smile on your lips.

“Wanted to make sure I didn’t give you a fake number?” He asked, knowing that the idea was absolutely incredulous.

“Didn’t want to risk it.” You knew he would never have given you a fake phone number in hopes of losing contact with you. Your message served a single purpose, which was delaying your return to your own home. You leaned over, pulling him in for a kiss before bargaining with the thought of getting out of the car. He held you tightly, showing you through his actions that he was feeling exactly the same. “Do you… do you want to come in?” You rushed out, breathless from the kiss and nervous about rejection.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” He sighed, already stuck in a daydream of another night spent beside you, or more specifically, inside of you.

With a new found energy, you both bustled from the vehicle and rushed to the front door, caught in a fit of excited laughter. As you opened the door for him, you did not realize you had effectively opened the gate for him to come in and uproot your entire life. As you locked it behind you, the sin continued with no signs of slowing, now housed behind the four walls of your own home. When the two of you collapsed in a heap of limbs on the mattress, gluttony was bleeding from the walls and dripping down to stain your skin. When his hands ever so gently slipped under your shirt, exposing you to him once more, your second infraction of the capital vices made home in your hearts and stitched itself to the muscle, ensuring you could never escape its morbid fury.

With two already down and only five left to go, you were a fool to think that you would ever recover from the atrocities you had committed just to spend another minute alone in his company.

The room was packed with bodies desperate for a thrill, but most were in active search with little knowledge of how they would attain it. Some were drowning their sorrows in tequila shots while others danced away their memories, clinging on to a companion who would only temporarily solve their troubles for the night. You couldn’t blame them for giving it their best shot; even you knew that pain was more digestible when there was someone to accompany you through it. In the morning when they woke, it would return with a fervent appetite. It would snowball, feeding viciously off the shame brewing from a one night stand that could not even give them an orgasm. For the time being, they seemed content with their watered down drinks and 80’s hits playing through the system with a stranger wrapped around them. They tried not to think of the future, but it was still weighing heavily in the back of their minds. You knew they would regret it, and so did they, but they were unwilling to own the truth.

Others found their thrills in more nefarious ways, like the couple who was engaging in all but penetrative sex in the booth in the back corner. They thought the crowd would cover their show of desperation for each other, conceal them from curious eyes, but they were stealing spotlight even in the near pitch black room. Some were doing lines in the bathroom, hoping that life would get a little more interesting with the next hit all while promising themselves sobriety when the night came to an end. Despite their beliefs that they would stop their ‘recreational’ doses when the sun rose in the sky, everyone (including themselves) knew the reality of the situation; they were decomposing at the hands of substance abuse. They weren’t willing to admit to their own addiction, but most would succumb to the sickness and end up washed up in rehab after their spouses or parents reached the point of no return.

Violence even seemed to spark interest in a young pair of boys just outside, throwing fists in hopes of asserting dominance, yet only making fools of themselves in front of their dates. It was an embarrassing show of missed punches and drunken rage, but somehow it tickled them just right. They would go home pleased with themselves, proud that they ‘stood their ground’ (what they were defending, you weren’t certain of) and their dates would complain to their friends about it. After a week of missed calls and messages, the young boys would begin to understand that their temper tantrums were not good foreplay and would vow to learn their lesson. Until the next night of drinking draft and watching football on a bar television, of course.

No matter which way, every person in the bar was in search of something more, something to give them a spark of life back and a memory to tell later on down the line. None of them could admit that their entertainment for the night would do neither of those things. Instead, they would have a nasty hangover and a looming sense of dread hanging over them for the foreseeable future. That’s the thing about materialistic thinking; it always leaves you unfulfilled and in search of more. The people that came to the bar miserable would ultimately leave the same way, yet they would never admit that their ways were no longer working for them. Maybe in their teens or early twenties real memories could be made over cheap tequila and hookups, and if not memories, lessons for certain. After twenty five, it just seemed a little sad to continue down the same path of destruction in hopes for anything meaningful.

You were not at the bar for a thrill. You were there for one reason; to pass the time, and to get a good buzz. Dancing was never your forte, nor was it your passion to do drugs off the back of a dirty bar toilet. Company was low on your list of priorities and always had been. You learned many years ago that you would never find a suitable life partner at a dive bar just off of Main Street in a big city. Establishments like such only ever seemed to attract college attendees and middle aged men who hated spending time with their wives. Even when a promising suspect would turn up, eventually they would show the side of them that made it impossible to keep a girlfriend. Getting to know people was a drag, and the thought of making room in your apartment for a second person was more sickening than anything else. You liked your personal space, and you liked peace. When adding a new person to your life, you were risking it all, and risk something that never peaked your interest.

Whiskey was something that caught your attention though, and when it was cheap, it only made you more inclined to indulge. You had learned long ago that this particular dive bar had the cheapest stock around, and they didn’t skip out on quality, either. They seemed to save their money by neglecting building maintenance, but that didn’t bother you in the slightest. You could get drunk in a five star hotel for triple the price, and you’d still be drunk. You tried not to think about the soles of your shoes sticking to the dirty floor or the outdated interior design, and the drink in your hand aided the process sufficiently.

“Another?” The bartender asked as he nodded towards your empty glass.

“You know me too well, Ray.” You chuckled, sliding him the empty glass. He grabbed it, barely leaving your side before another was sat in front of you.

“What can I say? You’re my favourite regular.” He smiled. Both of you knew this was the truth; you appeared every weekend, sitting in the same spot and drinking the same thing, and you never made a peep aside from the small talk initiated by the workers. You were a certain tip, and if he had the luxury of being blunt, the prettiest face to look at in the crowd.

“You’re just saying that because I tip well.” You grinned, sipping away at the beverage he’d made for you.

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” you shook your head “just pointing out the obvious.” He chuckled, throwing a towel over his shoulder before moving on to the next customer. You knew when the night dwindled down, he’d be back over to chat with you. Some would have shame in admitting that their closest friend was a 60 year old bartender, especially as a young woman, but you didn’t care. With him, you were never required to entertain any meaningful conversation or profess your darkest secrets. It was simple, lighthearted, and it served you well. You had no obligation to continue the friendship outside of the bar, and you got to see pictures of his grandkids. It was a win-win for everyone.

You barely looked up from your phone when the seat beside you was taken by another. You thought it odd for him to feel inclined toward that specific seat considering the bar was full of vacant space, but you didn’t think too hard about it. Drunk people didn’t care much about social cues, and you didn’t care enough to argue with them. What you did care for was the overwhelmingly strong scent of the patrons cologne, which seemed to be choking you the longer you breathed it in. It was not unpleasant; far from it, really, but it was very apparent. You weren’t sure if he doused himself in it before making an appearance at the bar, or if it was just so strong because of his close proximity. You buried yourself in your drink instead of investigating any further, knowing that someone who smelled so heavenly would only be looking for trouble.

“Any recommendations?” The voice struck you like a bolt of lightning, strong and without any warning. At first, you had doubts that the words were pointed in your direction, but when you felt a pair of eyes staring holes into your skull, you knew you were mistaken. You looked over at him, curious about the nature of his question. Surely any man who stepped foot into a bar already had an idea of what he wanted to drink. You doubted that the conversation starter was about alcohol, and was most likely a way to initiate a round of unbearable flirting.

“Depends.” You breathed, finding yourself completely distracted by the beauty of his face. His long brown hair was framing his face, and his smile was breathtaking. “What kind of night are you trying to have?”

“I’m open to suggestions.” He said, eyes lingering over the features of your face. He seemed just as enthralled in you as you were with him, and neither of you seemed keen on hiding it.

“Well, if you’re looking to dance, try the house tequila.” You started, flickering your eyes towards the wall of liquor bottles. “Seems like the draft here makes a person want to get in a fight, and the gin will leave you crying in the bathroom. Speaking of the bathroom, if you’re looking for some non-liquid solutions to your problems, there’s plenty in there, but I don’t know how much they’re willing to share.” He let out a laugh at your joke, but you were unsure if it was due to his shared sense of humour or because he wanted to get in your pants. Either way, it was a nice stroke to the ego. Even if it was due to a desire for sex, it was nice to feel appreciated, especially by someone so captivating.

“A lady that knows her liquor,” he noted, giving a slow nod. “I can appreciate that.”

“You asked, I answered.” You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “So what is it, then? Dancing, fighting, or crying?”

“None of them.” He assured you. “What if I’m looking to impress someone? Any suggestions for that?” You pretended to ponder the question before giving him an answer.

“I guess that would depend on who you’re trying to impress?” You raised an eyebrow, appearing more inquisitive than you truly were. He was handsome, and that was no secret, but it was not what you were looking for.

“You have lots of questions.”

“I can say the same about you.” You took a sip of your drink, your mouth watering at the potency of the liquid. Or, maybe it was because of the heavy-lidded gaze he was casting your way.

“If I was trying to impress a very attractive woman who’s looking at me like I’m an idiot, what do you think I should order to change her mind?” He asked, his eyes never leaving your face. You let out a small sigh, giving a shrug of your shoulders as you took another drink. Instead of replying, you turned back to face the bar, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. When the bartender came to take his order, he was still waiting for a reply. “I’ll take two of whatever she’s having.” The unnamed man said, hoping to grab your attention again.

“So, I’m the very attractive woman?” You asked, refusing to turn back to look at him. When the drinks were placed in front of him and he slid one your way, your question was given an indefinite answer. “What if you can’t change my mind?” You posed the idea to make him sweat, but his rebuttal was effortless.

“I have the rest of the night to keep trying, then.” Another smile twisted onto your lips, finding his charm irrefutable. Even if you weren’t interested in anything further than a simple conversation, you had to admit the effort was admirable.

“I wasn’t looking at you like you’re an idiot, by the way.” You said, swishing the ice around your glass. “Maybe I thought you were a little dumb, but not an idiot.”

“That’s a relief.” He said, a smile tugging on his lips, too. His response to your humour was definitely intriguing, and you were quite interested in his relaxed expression. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Y/n,” you said, finally accepting the glass he’d pushed in your direction after draining your own. He watched you, finding your lack of reciprocal attention peculiar, yet it only seemed to spark his interest even more.

“Are you going to ask for mine?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, debating his words before giving a shake of your head. “No.”

“Playing hard to get?” He joked, sipping away at his own whiskey.

“Just don’t care.” You shrugged. It was the truth; you weren’t doing so in attempt to play hard to get, but because you did not want to be caught at all. You had no interest in playing the game of cat and mouse, because you did not intend to leave the bar with anybody. You had a date with your bed and hopes of a good nights rest. You could not do that if you were busy wrapped around another. As attractive as he was, you weren’t willing to double back on your promises to yourself. Instead, you decided that it was best to stop any further attempts to change your mind.

“Ouch.” He chuckled, waiting to see if you were joking or not. You kept your head straight, wondering if you should leave before he continued on his tyrant. Then again, he was in your bar and this was your seat, so if anyone was leaving, it was not going to be you.

Your stubbornness was your biggest weakness, but you were too stuck in your own way to see the issue. As if the gods planned such a gruesome match from the very beginning, the only rival to your own obstinacy was the one living inside the man sat beside you. You were not willing to give in, and he was not willing to give up.

“Are you from here?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that if you kept your answers short he might take the hint.

“I just moved here, thought I’d check out the town, maybe meet some new people.” You gave a slow nod, eyes now focused on the football game playing on the television above the bar. You hated football, but you hated entertaining men even more. You’d rather watch a bunch of grown men fight over a ball than engage in any kind of small talk. “Not a talker, I see.”

“Usually that means you should move on and try again with someone else.” You said, picking away at the basket of French fries sat in front of you. If there was one thing the bar did that was just as good as cheap liquor, it was deep fried foods.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” He suggested. “Nobody else in here is worth the time.”

“And I am?” You chuckled, watching the team with red jerseys score a point. “You don’t even know me. I might be a serial killer, or even worse, celibate.”

“I’d like to know you.” He offered. “What makes you think that I’m looking for sex?” You looked over your shoulder at him, taking in his attire. You looked closely at the chains dangling around his neck, drawing attention to his shirt that was buttoned only up to his stomach. His dress pants looked name brand, and his eyes screamed flirtatiously at you when you locked your stare with him. He was radiating sex appeal, which argued your case for you.

“I bet you have two condoms sitting in your wallet. You replaced them this morning, because last night, you went to a different bar and did the same thing with another girl who couldn’t see right through you.” You guessed, eyes flickering to the pocket of his pants where the bulge of his wallet sat. “It’s written all over you, honey. Stick to the college bimbo’s if you want to get anywhere worthwhile.”

“Two condoms?” He pondered the idea, a smirk growing on his face. “I take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.” You laughed, shaking your head at his undying commitment to knowing you. “It wasn’t meant as one.”

“Then it seems like you have a knack for making insults sound like a good thing.” His eyes flickered to your lips, his personality showing through the mask for a moment. He was enamoured with you, and he was from the minute he sat down. Your disinterest was not a deterrent to him, but rather a driving force. The banter was driving him crazy, and he was not willing to go home without you.

“Maybe you just have no idea how to take a hint.” You suggested the idea, but both of you knew he was painfully aware of the situation. He knew he could step back if he so pleased, but he did not want to, nor was it an option he was willing to consider. Oddly enough, you almost found it charming. His dedication was not creepy or anything like it, mostly because he was not using vulgarity as part of his charm. You knew if you got up and walked away, he would respect it. Unfortunately, he knew just as well as you did that you would never back down and give up your seat. You could complain all you wanted about his interest in you, but you were encouraging it by interacting with him. Even in your obvious rejection, he knew he had interested you enough for you to speak to him.

“I’m Jake.” He said, disregarding your comment.

“I said I didn’t care.”

“Never said you had to care.” He reminded, finishing his drink and raising a hand to call the bartender over again. You watched him, baffled at his carelessness towards your clear insults. It seemed to wash off of him like water on a duck’s back, barely touching his confidence and only fuelling him further. He ordered another round of drinks for both of you, not bothering to ask if you wanted another. As he spoke to the bartender, you couldn’t help but study him for a moment. He was gorgeously dressed, drawing attention to his stunning features as he topped it off with a cocky attitude. Everything about him was compelling, and even if you weren’t keen on his company, it was incredibly difficult to ignore him. He held himself with confidence, and because of that, he radiated power. You would be lying if you said you did not find him attractive, but it did not change the fact that you were not interested in pursuing anything with him, or anyone for that matter.

Ray placed your new drinks in front of you, wasting little time in busying himself with something else. You almost felt guilty for being so mean to Jake while he was funding your night of drinking, but you did not ask him to spend money on you. You did not even ask him to speak to you, yet it seemed like the only thing he wanted to do. “Thanks.” You said, looking down at the ice swirling in the amber liquid. Even if you didn’t want to engage in any kind of sexual relations with him, you still had manners.

“So, what are you here for, tonight?” He questioned, ignoring your gratitude. He did not want to be thanked for something he was more than happy to do. You raised an eyebrow, curious about his inquiry. “Well, you’re drinking whiskey, so clearly it’s not fighting, dancing, or crying.” You chuckled at his recollections of your earlier comment.

“I’m here for a cheap drunk.” You replied, honest with your answer. “Cheapest whiskey in town, and the regulars aren’t too bad, considering I’m one of them.” He nodded along with your words, soaking in all you were willing to share. “Every Friday, same bar, same seat, same shitty football games.”

“You’re saying I have another shot if I mess this up?” He gave a playful smile which you couldn’t stop yourself from returning.

“Sure, you can take as many shots as you want. It’ll be the same answer every time, I can promise you that.”

“We’ll see.” He answered as if it were a challenge and he was competing. You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back the expression. “Just a conversation, that’s all I’m asking for. After that, you can throw your drink in my face and forget about me in the morning.”

“I know that it’s more than a conversation to you, Jacob.” You shot back. People like him were predictable, even if they were charming. As much as you knew he would waste your time, you knew you were wasting his. It was in his best interest to find a girl who was more likely to go home with him, because he would inevitably leave the bar empty handed and wishing he had taken a chance on another.

“Sounds like you’re scared I’m going to change your mind.” Your spine straightened at the accusatory statement. You were not afraid, and you did not like being told by another what you were feeling. What you did like was a challenge, and now that he’d worded it as such, that was the only thing you could think of.

“Fine. Let’s talk.” You smacked your palms against the table, a course of energy running through your body. You swung your chair to face him, just so he knew you were fully immersed in him. If he wanted to have a conversation, you could do that. If he thought he could convince you to take a chance on him, you were more than willing to prove him wrong.

It was a mistake that could only be classified as a fatality.

“Where are you from, Jake?” You asked, trying your best to feign intrigue.

“Michigan.” He tried to hide the smirk growing on his lips, pleased that he managed to push the right buttons. “You?”

“Right here in Nashville. Born and raised, never left, don’t want to.” You explained, waiting for him to ask a question, now.

“What do you do for work?”

“Photography.” You replied, not willing to delve deeper into the subject.

“That’s really cool.” He noted, genuine interest showing in his face. “I’m a musician.”

“I see,” you hummed, knowing that it was just another reason for you to abstain from knowing him. Musicians were never good news, and growing up in Nashville, you’d learned that the hard way. Most people who chased after fame had little care for anything else, and they were destined to break hearts. “Let me guess, guitar?”

“How’d you know?” He asked, but he didn’t really think it was hard to guess. It was the most common instrument in the industry, and in Nashville, everyone played guitar.

“Lucky guess.” You joked. “Band or solo act?”

“Band, I’m no singer.” He laughed.

“Don’t need to sing to be a good guitarist.” You challenged.

“Good point,” he agreed. “We just moved here, thought it was time. We made a few albums, but we’re looking for something bigger.”

“Are you any good?” You sipped at your drink. The quick-fire questions were wearing you down and you needed a pick me up.

“I’d like to think so, but everyone has their own opinion.” You hummed in agreement, not willing to make a promise to listen to his music, but curious about his skill. “Maybe we could get you to do a photoshoot for us.”

“I’m out of your price range.” You teased, a smile on your lips. The conversation was not unbearable, but definitely was not something you came to the bar with intent to do.

“I’m sure we could figure out a suitable payment.” He said, unable to hold back the drop in his voice and the lustful twinkle in his eye. You watched him, wanting to chastise him for the flirting, but you felt an unfamiliar feeling bubble in your stomach. You were immune to charm most of the time, but something about him was irresistible. You weren’t sure if it was the relaxed posture and the certainty in himself, or if it was the overwhelming beauty of him as a whole. Whatever it was, he was pulling you in without you even noticing. You were struggling to fight it mostly because it was so subtle. Before you could realize you were being trapped, there was no way you could escape.

“I thought this was just a friendly conversation, Jacob?” You couldn’t help the drawl in your tone that screamed for him to keep going. You wanted to blame it on the strength of the liquor in your cup lowering your inhibitions, mostly because you refused to admit it was solely due to his captivating stare.

“I don’t think I’m being unfriendly, sweetheart.” The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, so delightful even if it was filthy.

“Too friendly, perhaps?” You corrected. Both of you were leaning in to each other without even realizing it. The tension was thick in the air, and it had been from the moment he sat down. Even if you were not looking for anything more, you couldn’t deny the strength of the chemistry between you.

“What’s your issue with me?” He smirked, wanting to get to the bottom of it.

“It’s not you specifically.” You were truthful with your answer. It was not him, but rather dating as a whole. “The whole dating game was never my thing, and I don’t plan on getting into it, now.”

“Who said anything about dating?” He challenged.

“Nobody, but I don’t like hookups, either.” You explained. “Something about pointless small talk and meaningless sex never really interested me. Why would I want to tell you about myself now just to try to forget you in the morning?”

“I’d like to think that you’d have a hard time forgetting about me.” He was cocky, and that was for certain. It was something that would usually be a turn-off, but it looked so good on him that you couldn’t seem to shoot him down. “What about something in the middle?”

“What could possibly be in the middle of that?” You scoffed. “I don’t want a hookup, and I definitely don’t want to go to breakfast in the morning. I like my personal space, and I like being alone. Knowing you complicates that, and I hate complicated.”

“Do you like having friends?”

“I think I’d be a bit strange if I didn’t.” You replied. “But I know you’re not looking to be friends.”

“Do you like sex?” He continued his questioning without even acknowledging your concerns. Although it was blunt and definitely not a normal topic of conversation for two people who just met, it did not bother you.

“Most do.” You took another sip of your drink, the warmth spreading to your chest and replacing the burn of arousal brewing in your stomach. “Depends if it’s good or not.”

“We can be friends that have really good sex.” He offered, raising an eyebrow while he waited for a response. When you didn’t answer, he continued trying to sell the idea. “Casual, no strings attached whatsoever, but you wouldn’t need to forget about me, and we wouldn’t be obligated to go to breakfast in the morning.”

“How can I agree to that when I’m not even sure I want to be friends with you? More than that, I have no idea if you’re as good as you think you are. I don’t like being disappointed, Jacob.” You were calling a bluff you knew did not exist. He looked as if he was put on this earth to please others in ways many could never imagine. Just looking at his hands made your mouth water, already knowing the power he held in them. You couldn’t even think of anything further than that, because you knew that it would be far beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were trying not to crack under the pressure, but the thought of his head between your thighs was making it nearly impossible to breathe. “Besides, what if I’m not all you think I am? You don’t seem like the type to like disappointment, either.”

“From what I’ve seen, I don’t think you have it in you to disappoint, sweetheart.” His hand slowly reached out, fingers ever so slightly grazing the exposed skin on your leg. The touch was searing, painful but addicting. “I don’t like dating, but I do like you. I think it would be a shame if we never saw each other again.”

“Getting sick of playing the game every night?” You theorized. “Sounds like you’re getting lazy.” He shook his head, eyes seemingly staring into your soul as he watched your face.

“I just know what I want,” he corrected “and I don’t think I need to keep looking.” It was impossible to believe he was lying, because the look in his eye spoke certainty without him needing to say anything more.

“So, friends who have really good sex?” You clarified.

“Friends who have phenomenal sex, actually.” He said.

“I’m a busy woman, Jake. You better not be looking to waste my time.” You explained. “If I’m going to find time to entertain you, it better be worth it.”

“I’m a busy man,” he agreed “but I know how to make it worth your while.”

“Theoretically, if we did decide to do this, we’d just be having sex?” You asked, wanting to be certain of the situation. “You aren’t going to fall in love and fuck it all up?”

“I’m sure we can have a drink at the bar together every now and again. That’s where the friends part comes in, but yes, just sex.” He laughed. “I like you, I find you incredibly attractive and interesting, and I would like to see you again after tonight, but the same way we’re doing it right now. Maybe with less insults.”

“I can’t promise the insult thing.” You found yourself laughing alongside him. “You’re a very forward person, you know. We barely know each other.”

“I know you enough to know that I like you, and I also know that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since moving here.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Jake.” You could feel your cheeks burning, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or his sweet words.

“It’s worked so far.” He breathed, finding himself leaning closer to you. Your faces were inches apart, both of you able to close the gap with little struggle. His eyes were locked with yours, silently begging you to give in to him. You could feel him pulling you in, almost as if he had his own gravitational force and you were the only victim of it. Although, you knew that wasn’t true. With charm like his, you were sure that you were not the only one cowering underneath the weight of it. For tonight, you were his focus, but when the morning came, you figured he would forget the idea of casual sex and already be in search of another. Players loved to play, and they always fought dirty. You were certain he was just saying what he could to get in your pants and he would be a different person when you woke in the morning.

His hand slipped to your hip, the touch was euphoric even through the material of your dress. You wanted to give in, but you thought it was too good to be true. Someone interested in meeting your physical needs without imposing on your everyday routine seemed like a great idea, but it was so perfect that you had a hard time believing it could be so simple. Even considering your fears, the ache between your legs was impossible to ignore, and it had been a long time since you had felt pleasure at the hands of another. “This sounds like a bad idea.” You warned, eyes flickering to his lips. His nose was brushing against yours now, sending jolts of electricity through you.

“Do you trust me?” He whispered, so quiet that it was almost hard to hear him over the music playing in the background.

“Not really.” You laughed, but just barely. You were scared to move away, and you were scared to move forward.

“One night, and if you still think it’s a bad idea, we can just forget about it.” He offered, still so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He smelled like whiskey, and you were sure you caught a hint of a Cuban cigar. He was intoxicating, more so than any alcoholic beverage you had consumed that night. Your head was spinning and your rationality was slipping away. You were enamoured with him, and you felt like you were completely consumed by his presence. The world stopped turning, the music stopped playing; the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat which was in time with his own.

“One night?” You breathed, coming to terms with the idea that he was inescapable. You knew you should have walked away when you had the chance, but there was a bigger part of you that was grateful you stayed. You had the opportunity to add some excitement to your life without changing anything at all. You didn’t come to the bar in search of a thrill, but Jake seemed to be promising enough. No worry of a hookup that left you unfulfilled and regretful, and no expectation for anything more. It was exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

“One night. Trial run.” He reiterated, hoping to ease your mind. “That sound good to you, angel?” You went weak at the pet name, all of your willpower dissolving into an imminent need for more. You reached your hand up, cupping his cheek in your palm and bridged the gap between you. His fingers tightened on you, enthusiastic about your sudden change of heart. The kiss was laced with the weight of every sinful desire you had ever felt before, and even more than that. It was so profound that it made your chest ache and you feared that if there was a god, he would never forgive you for the sacrilegious things you so badly wanted to commit with the man before you. “Thought I couldn’t change your mind?” He asked, barely parted from you. You could feel him smirk against your lips, but it wasn’t even aggravating enough for you to care.

“Shut up and take me home, Jacob.” You said, unwilling to wait any longer in fear you might talk yourself out of it. Instead of a verbal response, he placed another kiss on your lips before turning to close out the tab you had run up. Within a few moments, your jacket was over your shoulders and he was calling you both a cab.

In the backseat of the car, you both tried your best to keep it PG, but the tension of the night was reaching a climatic end. His hand was permanently anchored on your thigh just under the skirt of your dress, fingertips dangerously close to the parts of you he was so desperate to know. Your hand was on his wrist, holding it tightly just to make sure he didn’t get any ideas that would get you in trouble. In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid for you to agree to go to a strangers house for the promise of sex. You had no idea if he was as genuine as he appeared, yet it seemed a bit too late for that concern. You also had no idea how he managed to coerce you into joining him, but a part of you was ecstatic that he did. The calloused fingertips dancing over the soft skin of your leg led you to believe that your decision would benefit you greatly, because no average person could produce such an impact with such a little effort.

Jake handed a bill to the driver once the car was parked in the driveway of an apartment complex. He didn’t wait for the change, but did utter a small thanks before rushing out to open your door for you. “A gentleman.” You noted. He gave a chuckle, slipping his arm around your waist as he guided you towards the door. He let you both inside, keeping quiet as he led you to his apartment. He unlocked his door, holding it open for you and allowing you to go first. You took in the sight, noticing the simplistic nature of the decor as you took off your shoes.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” He said, flipping on a light for you.

“No, it’s cute. I like it.” You assured him, feeling nervousness begin to creep in. The air smelled like him, but you couldn’t place the familiarity. It was earthy, smoky, and overall enticing. In the kitchen, you noticed a couple frames on the walls with pictures of him and three other boys. Your eyes lingered over the faces, smiling as you studied them. You turned your head to look into the living room, noticing a record player under the dim yellow lighting of a lamp. There was a few posters splayed on the walls and a couple plants sitting on the windowsills. It was not what you were expecting, but you thought it was effortlessly him. You did not know him very well, but from what you knew of him, the vibe seemed to match the personality.

His hand landed on your lower back, causing you to jump slightly under his touch. “You okay?” He asked, looking down at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to cover up the anxious look on your face. “You’re not… you’re not going to kill me, are you? Because that would suck.” He let out a laugh, a true one that was loud and came straight from his chest.

“No, sweetheart, I can promise you I’m not going to kill you.” He said, turning you to face him. You looked up at him, seeing genuineness written all over his expression. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before taking your chin between his fingers. “You don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Okay,” you sighed, feeling relief flood your body. You knew that it was irrational, but hearing the words of comfort helped. He leaned down, placing a kiss on your lips as reassurance. “Is that the rest your band in those pictures?” You asked, finding the courage for conversation again. He looked to the frames, nodding his head.

“Yeah.” Without hesitation, he guided you towards them so you could get a closer look. “That one’s Josh, he’s my twin brother. He sings.” He pointed at the boy with short, curly hair. You did notice how similar their faces looked now that you were a bit closer. You thought it was cool that he was a twin, and you wondered if his brother had the same irrefutable charm. “That one is Sam, he’s my youngest brother, and he plays the bass.” He pointed towards the tall boy with long, brown hair. They also looked strikingly similar, and if he hadn’t already told you that Josh was his twin, you might have mistaken Sam to be one. “And that’s Daniel, our drummer. He’s Sam’s best friend, but he’s more like a brother, too.”

“That’s really cool, actually.” You said, looking back over at him. “You guys won the genetic lottery, looks and talent-wise.” The hand he had resting on your back tightened at the compliment as a smile began to blossom on his face. You could tell how much the other three boys meant to him without him even saying a word. “So, do you do this tour with everyone you bring home, or am I just special?”

“No, you’re just special.” He said without missing a beat. You felt your cheeks tinge red at his words, not expecting him to be so blunt. “Besides, friends need to know each other, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You suddenly remembered that you were not there with the intent of being a one night stand. You would have asked him more, but you had a sneaking suspicion the tour was coming to an end. You both seemed to overcome your streak of anxiety and remembered the state that you arrived in. “So, are you going to prove that you weren’t bluffing, or are we just going to stand here all night?” He looked down at you, intrigued in your change of direction.

“Do you think I was bluffing?” He asked, shifting to face you. You looked up at him, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“If the shoe fits.” You barely had time to process his reactive expression, because his hands were on your hips and his mouth was on your own. With the new found freedoms of privacy, desperation made its first appearance of the night. His hands were groping you with a feral attitude, and yours were doing just the same. It took no time for you to undo the buttons of his shirt, brushing it off his shoulders with excitement to see more. He let go of you only for long enough to slip the fabric off his body, then his hands returned to you in the same fervent manner.

The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, pulling you further into his web and trapping you there for eternity. You knew that despite your promises of only spending a single night together, you would be crawling back to him begging for more before the morning even came. In the (very) short time you’d known him, it was incredibly apparent to you that he was an addiction that was impossible to overcome. He was injecting himself into your veins, burrowing under your skin and filling your lungs with his being. You weren’t sure if it was purposefully, or if it was just an extension of his outlandish charm.

He took you by surprise, his grip tightening on your hips just before he lifted you with ease. He took a few steps forward, sitting you gently on his kitchen counter. He was quick to find home between your legs, never once breaking the kiss. You let your fingers dance over his now bare bicep, wanting to familiarize yourself with every part of him. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless with stars in your eyes. “Do you still think I’m bluffing, or do I have to prove myself?”

“If I say no, it would ruin all the fun.” You sighed, still trying to catch your breath.

“I guess it’s a good thing I was going to prove it, anyway.” His fingers snaked under your dress, creeping up to your hip where the elastic of your underwear was resting. He hooked them through the side, but did not go any further. “Let’s go over some rules, first.”

“I hate rules,” you said, only focused on the sensation of his fingers resting on your bare skin. “They’re meant to be broken, anyway.”

“Not with me, sweetheart.” He chuckled, his other hand guiding your chin up so you would keep your eyes locked with his. “I’m going to be easy on you, but I need you to be honest with me about what you want. Got it?”

“Okay.” You nodded, the power in his gaze making your squirm underneath him.

“Remember your colours. Green means keep going, yellow means slow down, red means stop. Never, never be scared of telling me to stop or slow down.” The topic was not up for debate, and you were under clear understanding of what he needed from you.

“Okay.” You repeated, nodding your head against his hold. “Any other colours I should know?”

“How about blue, for ‘this is the best sex I’ve ever had’?” He smirked, playfulness sparkling in his eyes.

“Don’t expect to hear that one.” You teased, eyes flickering to his lips in hopes he would kiss you again. Your last jab seemed to motivate him to do so, but this time he didn’t seem as enthusiastic.

“Careful.” He warned. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty, or I wouldn’t be so nice.”

“How thoughtful.” You made sure your sarcasm was apparent. He seemed fired up at your response, but was not comfortable enough with you yet to show it. Or, perhaps he was afraid to scare you away. “Any other rules I should keep in mind?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, happy you asked. “You refer to me as ‘Sir’.” You had to bite your lip to stifle a laugh. The request was silly to you, and he was aware that you thought so. You had little desire to refer to someone you just met as ‘Sir’. Even if the dom/sub dynamic was something you enjoyed, you couldn’t deny that you liked to push buttons, and his seemed like so much fun to mess with.

“I think that’s a title you have to earn, don’t you?” You raised an eyebrow, feeling him tense under your touch. He shifted his hold on your face, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers and raising an eyebrow at you. The look in his eye made you believe that his patience was already beginning to run thin. You fought back an eye roll, but couldn’t ignore the throbbing feeling between your legs that was growing stronger by the second. “Whatever you want, Sir.” You made sure to accentuate the emotion in the word, showcasing your feelings about the situation.

“Lose the attitude,” he ordered, but seemed pleased with the compliance. “If you’re good for me, I’ll be good to you.” Even in his dominating performance, he seemed to be gentle with you. He did not want to push you too far on the first try, mostly because he wanted to ensure you would come back for more. He liked you, and not just because he thought you were gorgeous. He liked the fire that seemed to burn in your heart, and the way you always had a comeback for any of his comments. He was not shy to admit that he was completely infatuated with you, and even if he was not interested in dating, he did think it would be a shame if he could not see you again once the night was through.

“I’ll be so good for you, Sir. I promise.” A smirk was plastered across your lips as you spoke, driving him crazy without even trying too hard. You couldn’t help yourself from messing with him. He was extremely attractive and you were very interested in what he had to offer, but you had never been the type to take orders without a fight. It appeared like he loved order, and you had always loved pushing boundaries.

It was a match made in hell, and both of you were completely blind to it.

“And you think I talk a lot?” He questioned, giving a hard tug on the fabric of your underwear. It tightened against your skin only for a moment before it snapped, giving him the freedom to do as he pleased with you.

“Hey,” you protested, your eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. “Those were expensive.”

“I’ll replace them.” He assured you, sliding his hand to the other side to do the same.

“So you’re offering to be a sugar daddy, now? Didn’t know that was part of the deal.” You huffed, using your hands to prop yourself up off the counter. With your new position, he removed the ripped fabric from you completely.

“Offering to replace what I destroyed doesn’t mean I’m paying you to fuck me.” He said, bunching the skirt of your tight dress and pushing it to your hips. You let yourself back down on the counter, the cool marble taking you by surprise. “I don’t need to pay you for that. We both know you’ll be back on your own accord.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” You argued, watching as his fingertips dusted over your bare thighs. You wanted to quiver under the touch, but you couldn’t allow him the satisfaction. His eyes flickered to your face, clearly displeased by your constant rebuttals. “Sir.” You added, noticing the muscles in his jaw tense as his teeth clenched together. He continued forward, inching his fingers between your legs. He gave one forceful move of his wrist and spread them for you. A gasp of surprise slipped out as he brought his fingers to your cunt and ran them through the arousal that was pooling.

“And you talk a lot of shit for someone who wants to get fucked.” His voice was low, now completely unconcerned about your bratty attitude. He was done with the conversation, and he was more than ready to get you to stop talking. His fingers gathered the wetness, slowly trailing upward to your clit. He started with slow circles, his touch light as a feather and only serving as a reminder of what you were there for. You leaned back slightly, allowing him easier access to you. “Now, let’s hear something worthwhile come out of your mouth.” He applied a bit more pressure, the feeling already distracting you from your desire to argue. “How does that feel, angel?” He asked, sliding his thumb in place of his fingers and continuing his earlier pace.

“G-good,” you stuttered, amazed at the pleasure he was giving you just from the small movement. You weren’t sure if it was so good because of his talent, or if it had just been too long since you had felt the touch of another like such. At the positive nature of your comment, he found enough generosity to slowly add his fingers to you, pumping them slowly to give you some extra stimulation. “Fuck, baby.” You sighed, letting your head fall forward to rest on his own forehead. He could not chastise you for not using the term he’d asked you to, mostly because the pet name sounded so beautiful coming from your mouth.

In that moment, he was certain he would let you call him whatever you wanted as long as you said it in the same sweet tone.

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He whispered, moving his thumb in time with the pump of his fingers, keeping the pace as the pressure steadily began rising in your belly. “Is this why you were being so bratty? You just wanted me to touch you?”

“Yes, sir.” You muttered, eyes fluttering closed as he curled his fingers upwards. He was making you feel far too good for you to want to disobey his orders.

“So, that’s the trick.” He chuckled, eyes intently focused on his hand working at your cunt. “Just need to give you some attention and that will shut you up.” He rasped, the sight of you nearly sending him feral. He was desperate for relief himself, but unwilling to show it until he knew you were well taken care of. If he wanted you to come back, he needed to give you something to make you want to come back.

“Please, don’t stop.” You pleaded, feeling a thin layer of sweat form over your face. Your heart was pounding against your chest and your breathing was laboured. The pressure was unbearable, and the threat of an orgasm was imminent. You could not even find it within yourself to hold off, nor taunt him any further. It had been so long since you had felt pleasure at the hands of another, and you had never felt it quite it the same as he was giving you.

“Already?” He teased, but his tone was incredibly soft. He didn’t care that you were already there, and if anything, he took it as a compliment to his work. “Has nobody been taking care of you, angel?” He made it a point to perfect his movements, not wanting to lose the momentum even for a second. “Answer me,” he whispered, but the order was firm.

“N-no,” you shook your head against him, honesty radiating from you. You couldn’t really hide anything in such an intimate display, and you knew even if you tried to lie to him, he would easily see through you. “Nobody.”

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore, sweet girl.” He assured you. The pet name washed over you like summer rain, enveloping you in warmth and surrounding you with a comfort that would last as long as he continued to touch you. “I’ll take care of her, just like she deserves.” A whimper fell from your lips at the sound of his words, overwhelmed by the vulgarity and weak from the heartfelt promise. He felt you clench around his fingers, knowing that you were ready to come undone. He was more than willing to give you the orgasm, almost as desperate as you were for it. After an entire night of only being shot down, the gratification from taking you for his own was unexplainable. “Cum for me, angel. I know you want to.” He purred, moving his free hand to the back of your head for extra support. The last thing he wanted was for you to lose balance and be distracted from the pleasure.

“Oh, god.” You groaned, eyes screwed shut as your mind dissolved into nothing but thoughts about the man before you. You were praying to him as if he were the god that created the earth for you to walk on, and in that moment, he was. As the orgasm washed over you, the only thing to exist in the entirety of the universe was Jake, and you were perfectly content with the power he possessed.

But, he was not a god, nor anything holy. Jake was the devil reincarnate, and he was not there as a reward for your courageous sacrifices. He was there as punishment for every mistake and every sin you had committed in this lifetime and all the ones before. In that moment, he seemed like he was put in your life as a blessing, a gift for the troubles you had endured, but the reality was harsh and you were completely blind to it. When your mind cleared and the haze of sexual tension lifted, you were able to look deeper into the ties that held you together with him, but even then it did not seem to matter. His work was done, and you had fallen victim to the temptation. Jake would be the solution to every sexual desire that you could even imagine would come, but he would be the root cause for a world of trouble you had been desperately trying to stay away from.

Jake was the type of person you could fall in love with, and despite your hatred for dating and all things that came along with it, you were in long past in love just by the first touch. You were addicted to him, and dependancy was infinitely worse than love according to your standards. The power he possessed in his hands was otherworldly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine what else he had in store for you. Your agreement for a single night would be the worst decision you had ever made, but like all bad decisions, you would not realize the extent of the issue until it was long past repairable.

You were brought back to reality by Jake removing his hand from you. The loss of contact was nearly excruciating, and you were desperate for him to keep going until the both of you collapsed in a heap of exhaustion. Even then, you were sure you could still find enough energy to wrap yourself around him once more. “How was that, angel?” He hummed, pulling back from you only slightly. You looked up at him, your eyes heavy-lidded and your body still trembling with the ghost of the orgasm.

“It was so good,” you sighed, already reminiscing on the memory. He gave you a smirk, so small that it was barely noticeable, but you picked up on it. You were certain that you would study ever minuscule detail and movement until it drove you to insanity. He was so captivating that he was the only thing you wanted to know about. He raised his fingers to his lips, sliding his middle finger in his mouth while holding a steady eye contact with you. When his finger landed on his tongue, his eyes fluttered closed in bliss, savouring the taste of your orgasm for as long as he could. After a few seconds, he pulled the digit from his lips, leaving a slight echo of a pop ringing through the air.

“Taste even better than I imagined.” He muttered. Your entire body prickled with an unfamiliar feeling, and you thought you might come undone again just at the sight. Your skin was ablaze with arousal, and your chest was burning with need for him. You had little care about what he was going to do next, and you were just happy to be on the receiving end of it. “See, it wasn’t so hard to be good for me, was it?”

“No, sir.” You breathed, watching him in awe. He took in a long breath, letting the word settle deep in his bones with pride.

“Can you keep being a good girl for me?” He asked, his voice barely breaking through the air.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, making sure he knew you were being truthful. He smiled at the sound, crouching down slightly and hooking his legs under your thighs. Gently, he brought you to the edge of the countertop, wasting no time before bringing his mouth to your cunt. It was a fantastic apology for the withdrawal of his hands, and it send you straight back into a cloud of euphoria. Your hands snaked to his hair, pulling at the roots in attempt to get him closer than he already was.

His tongue found your clit with little hesitation, and he was working at you like a man starved. His fingers were branding your thighs with marks bound to last long past the excitement, and you didn’t care a bit about it. The evil laced within the movements of his tongue was incomprehensible, much greater than anything he had bestowed upon you with his fingers. You wanted to believe that the man nestled between your thighs was purely human that had just been blessed with otherworldly charm, but you were beginning to have your doubts about the matter. You feared that he was an entity you had not yet encountered, one with strength and power you could not comprehend.

By the first touch, you were in too deep to pull yourself out, and now, you had done nothing but cement the foundation of the entanglement so strongly that not even an earthquake could shake it. He was so powerful that he made it seem natural, and it was almost terrifying. He could leech your life supply directly from the source without you even noticing, and once he began, it felt too good to stop him. He made it appear that you were the one controlling the situation, yet the control had never even been close enough for your fingertips to graze. He was inhuman, and that much you were sure of. The evil was so abundant inside of him that not even a priest could expel it enough to free him.

You knew this to be true, because as your eyes drifted downwards towards him, you could have sworn you saw the shadow of devil horns on the wall when the city lights broke through the darkness just right.

You did not have the luxury to focus on your revelations, because he had brought his hand back to you and continued at his earlier pace. A guttural moan tore from your chest, the feeling overwhelming and making it unable to focus on anything other than him. You finally understood why he was not interested in dating; he was so good at sex that it would be a waste of talent to only share it with one person. It made you curious as to why he was interested in a casual relationship with you, and why he thought that you were the golden ticket to fulfilling all of his needs. You were not anything fantastic, nor were you offering him anything substantial. You could not understand the potential he saw in you, but if he was willing to give you the promise of his hands and his tongue, you would be a fool to refuse it.

You were certain you could not only live, but thrive off the pleasure he was giving you for the rest of your life. If he was interested in a casual commitment to each other, low effort but with a glorious reward, you were more than happy to participate in the agreement. You were certain enough in yourself to cut him off if it got too intense, and you were committed enough to your own security to know when it was time to end things. In the meantime, harmless fun sounded fantastic, and he could provide just that. Besides, he looked too ethereal with his head between your thighs to worry about any consequences. Despite it only being the first time, he was so effortless with his work that it appeared as if he always belonged there.

“Fuck, Jake.” You hissed, finding it hard to keep holding yourself upright. Your arm was shaking underneath the weight of your body, and you cared so little about falling that you didn’t even bother to stop him so you could reposition. The pressure in your belly was intense, letting you know that you were close to the end anyway, and you didn’t need to take any precaution. If he continued at the same pace, you wouldn’t be able to contain your second orgasm of the night.

He hummed against you, showing his enthusiasm about your enjoyment. He made sure to curl his fingers again, remembering that you had enjoyed it the first time he had done it. A rush of pleasure ran through you and your legs involuntarily tightened against his head. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, completely disconnected from your brain and doing whatever it could to keep him there. The movement did not deter him, but only encouraged him further. With one last flick of his tongue in just the right place, you were driven over the edge and crying out his name. Your whole body was rigid, the intensity unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. If his intent truly was to give you the best sex of your life, he had went above and beyond to accomplish it, and you weren’t even to the best part, yet.

He slowly pulled back as he noticed you relax against him, instead peppering kisses on the insides of your thighs. As you both attempted to catch your breath, the tension in the air was at an all time high. You were eager for more, and he was eager to get started. When your mind cleared and you were able to form a coherent thought, you looked down at him with adoration sparkling in your eyes. “Blue.” You whispered, your voice raspy and your throat coarse from the noises he had pried from you. He looked up at the sound, unable to hide the smile on his face. His eyes told you that you had just given him the greatest compliment he’d ever received.

“Really?” He said as if he were pondering the truth of the statement. “I’m just getting started.”

“Really.” You sighed, nodding your head. It was a sad sigh, mostly because you hated admitting that he had been right all along. But, you had always been one to believe that you should give credit where credit is due, and this was definitely a perfect example of the philosophy. “I’ll even clean your counters for you, since I was the one who made the mess.” You chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat with a blush.

“Don’t worry about that,” he brushed you off, rising to his feet. “That was the best meal this kitchen has ever seen.” You rolled your eyes at the comment, but couldn’t help the smile that was blossoming on your lips. Even in his boyish humour, there was still an unexplainable charm laced into it. Everything about him was irresistible, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of him. You held on to his arm for support as you got down off the counter, refusing to let go until you were steady on your feet. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and bringing him into another kiss. The suddenness distracted him from his comment, and he was immediately immersed in you once again. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, a gentle tease and a thank you for his service. You could feel him start to smile as you pulled away.

Without any further conversation, you slowly sunk to your knees in front of him. It took him a second to process your change in direction, but he certainly could not find a complaint about it. He was painfully hard, his erection strained against his pants as he waited for you to proceed. You made the process as slow as possible, needing to resume your commitment to your teasing. You knew it was driving him crazy, and if you had to admit, you loved it. You brought your hand to his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from the loops. You discarded it on the floor, moving next to the button and zipper. You unzipped it painfully slow, making sure to hold eye contact with him while you did so. With his help, his pants were also discarded in the floor, leaving him only in his boxers.

Your mouth was watering at the thought of what was beneath the thin material, eager to please him after such a phenomenal performance from him. With a little courage, you took the final step in freeing him from his boxers. You felt another rush of arousal straight to your core at the sight. He was desperate for relief, but he was allowing you to make the first move; as excited as he was, he cared greatly about your comfortability and wanted you to know you had the option to change your mind if needed. You moved forward, parting your lips slightly as you took him into your mouth. He let out a hiss of pleasure at the feeling, the stimulation small but still fantastic. The sound gave you a boost of confidence, knowing that he would enjoy whatever you were offering him.

You relaxed your jaw, focusing on his head just for a moment. You let your tongue flick over the sensitive area a few times, revelling in the sounds of enjoyment coming from him. You thought they were the most beautiful sounds you had ever heard, and you would go to the ends of the earth to continue pleasing him just to hear them again. After a moment, you drew in a long breath before taking him in further. You took him far enough for the tip of his cock to hit the back of your throat, then you began to bob your head. His head fell backwards in bliss as his hand reached to gather your hair from your face. You let out a moan against him, the vibration intensifying the feeling for him.

You had never been so willing to submit to a man, let alone a stranger on a one night stand, but you were willing to do it all for him. He was intoxicating, and you wanted to live in the filthy, drunken hookup for the rest of your life. It was exhilarating, and you had never experienced sex that was so enjoyable. Usually, the men talked themselves up so much that they inevitably underperformed. With some, it was easy to overlook the disappointment because they left you with an orgasm or two, but most didn’t even meet that quota. Never in your life had you found someone who was so concerned with your pleasure, and never one who was so willing to give before receiving anything himself. It was practically unheard of in modern dating and hookup culture, and you weren’t willing to let him slip through your fingers.

If he wanted casual with no strings attached, you would oblige to the request without any further hesitation. He had proved himself beyond anything you could have imagined, and your only hope was that you could do the same.

He let out a sigh, holding your hair tightly in his fist. He couldn’t stop himself from guiding your head down on him, the need for more too much to resist. “You look even prettier with my cock in your mouth.” He muttered, looking down at you while you tried to keep up with his guidance. Your eyes flickered upwards, catching his stare through your lashes. He was feral looking, his jaw hard set with a flame dancing in his pupils. He was crazy for you, and he felt no need to hide it. You let out a hum of agreement, the vibration adding a little more energy to the sensation he was already experiencing. “Fuck, angel.” He groaned, adding a little more force to his hand. “Just tap my leg if you need me to stop.”

With that, he began moving your head for you, completely taking the control. He tried his best to keep it tolerable for you, but he was succumbing to the pleasure more with each second that passed. You tried your best to focus on your breathing rather than the feeling of him down your throat, but it was growing difficult with each thrust of his hips. Tears were forming in your eyes, smudging mascara down your cheeks, and you were fighting a gag with every movement. You were too stubborn to give up, but you had to admit that his size was a bit hard to handle. His grip on your hair was tight, and he seemed too enthralled in the moment to notice your struggle.

He pushed your head down on him, his cock sliding down your throat as his head fell back in bliss. Your eyes squeezed shut as your throat constricted around him, the gag no longer able to be prevented. He let out a long slur of curses laced with a moan, enjoying every second of your suffering. You had to admit that you were enjoying it too, and you knew that you would do it a million times over again just to please him. You felt him twitch in your mouth, a sure sign that he was close, but he wasn’t willing to risk ending the fun. He withdrew, finally allowing you a full breath of air. You coughed a few times, clearing your throat and bringing yourself back to reality. He kneeled down to your level, eyes carefully inspecting your face.

He did enjoy the sight of you so disheveled, but he worried that he went a little too far. He brought his thumb to your cheek, wiping away the tear stains as you wiped your chin clean from any spit still lingering. “You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“Yes, please.” You muttered, nodding your head eagerly. He helped you to your feet, leaning down and capturing you in a kiss that lasted only a few seconds.

“Let’s get this off of you.” He mumbled against your lips, his hands snaking under the bunched up material of your dress. You pulled back from him, lifting your arms and allowing him to slip it over your head. He tossed it to the floor, but his eyes were only focused on your now fully exposed body. He took in a long breath, trying his best to contain the filthy thoughts he was having, but it was showing clearly in his expression alone. You watched him, silent and unmoving while you awaited his next move. Slowly, he brought his hands back to you, gentle in his touch as if he thought you were fragile. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen some so beautiful before and he wanted to take his time to fully admire you.

His hands dropped to your hips as he guided you towards him and your hands reached out for him, already yearning to feel him on your skin again. He kissed you again, more intense than the one before and this time, he didn’t seem keen on breaking it. In a swift motion, he picked you up once more. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Instead of placing you on the counter again, he turned around and broke the kiss just for a moment to see what his next move would be. His eyes landed on the kitchen table, his train of thought apparent without him even speaking a word. He took two steps forward, holding you tightly with one hand to make sure he wouldn’t drop you. He inspected the surface that was littered with papers and journals full of half-written songs.

With little care, he took his free hand and swiped away all of the items with a single movement. You turned your head, looking to watch all of papers float to the floor with little grace. You couldn’t deny that his actions only turned you on more; the desperation laced within his solution was hot, much like everything else he had done that night. He bent down, placing you on the table with caution. He let his hands fall back to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the table so he could have easy access to you. His hand drifted to your lower back as he brought his lips to your neck, finding the most sensitive spots straight away. You barely knew him, and you barely knew anything about him, but he seemed to know your body better than anyone ever had before. It was like he had a greater understanding of you than even yourself.

A breathy moan sounded from you as he sucked light marks into the skin just below your ear. One of his hands came to your chest, happy that your lack of clothing was giving him the opportunity to know all of you. He let his thumb drift over your nipple, sending a surge of electricity straight through you. Everything he was doing felt amazing, but you were done with the foreplay, even if it was fantastic. The tension was so strong that you thought you might break underneath the weight of it.

“Please fuck me, Jake.” You begged, delirious from all of the stimulation that you were feeling. “I need you.” His eyes rolled back in his head at the sound, addicted to the feeling of being needed by you. It was better than any drug and stronger than any other addiction. He would do whatever he could to make sure you always wanted him that way.

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” He threw out the rhetoric, not expecting an answer from you. Instead he hiked your leg up and around him, making sure you took the hint to hold it there. “Didn’t realize you were such a little whore.” The word knocked the air from your lungs, replacing it with a venomous desire. Your chest was burning from how badly you needed him, and you knew that you would do anything just to be insulted by him, because even hurtful words sounded pleasant coming from his mouth. It was a luxury to be a whore for him, and you were an idiot for trying so hard to turn him down.

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, both of you aching for relief, knowing that the sex was bound to be beyond anything you had been imagining all night. “You want me, angel?” He asked, his voice husky and filled with lust. You caught sight of his eyes, which were now completely unfamiliar to you. The warm brown that was so inviting was not black with desire, and a different man was standing before you.

If you had to admit, you liked this one much better.

“Please, sir. Need you inside of me.” You whispered, sweetly and softly to coax him into giving you what you wanted. The gentle tone seemed to drive him over the edge, and without any further consideration, he pushed himself inside you. You both let out a mutual sigh of satisfaction at the feeling, but you were both already wanting more. He could not bother with a slow start, knowing that neither of you wanted to take things easy. His rocked his hips while keeping a firm hold on your hips, making sure nothing could disturb the long awaited pleasures.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, already finding yourself bargaining with an orgasm. If he was an evil entity, his trade was sex, and you knew he could use it for punishment and reward. Something about him was otherworldly, and you started to fear that your agreement with him would ultimately be your demise. He made you feel too good to want to let go of him, but the idea of the relationship getting messy was paralyzingly terrifying. At the same time, rationality was only second to the way he made you feel, and heartbreak was a risk you were willing to take to indulge in his sin.

“Fuck, Jake.” You groaned, tangling your fingers in the roots of his hair.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He did not need to ask the question; he already knew the answer, and the affirmation was solely to further his growing ego.

“Feels so fucking good.” You whimpered, struggling to keep your leg wrapped around him while he continued on his brutal pace. He was hitting the perfect angle, a pleasurable pain shooting through you with every re-entry. He used his arm to guide your upper half down towards the table, and you used a free hand to hold yourself up.

“Being so good for me, angel.” His fingers reached between your legs while his gaze stayed focused on your face, enthralled in the expressions you were making. Your eyes squeezed shut in bliss as he found your clit again, rubbing circles as he continued to fuck you. You thought it almost comical that he called you angel, because you were so convinced that he was the devil. The two did not seem to coincide with each other, yet you remained tangled up in each other in what felt like perfect harmony.

The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming, much more intense than you expected, and it was a feeling you wished to have forever. You would be perfectly content if you lived out your next sixty years in the same position, with his hands on you and his sweet words whispered in your ear. His fingers focused on your already sensitive clit was driving you near insanity. You weren’t sure if he was naturally good at what he did, or if he was trying extra hard to ensure you would come back to him. Either way, you were certain that when the morning came and you sobered up, you would still want him just the same. Days would pass, and you would be knocking on his door begging for a shred of what he gave you the first night you spent together. It was so good that you didn’t even care if he played the same game with every girl he picked up at the bar, because even if it was a reused version of his character, it was working. Every movement, every slight touch and sweet word that came from his mouth seemed special, like it was perfectly crafted just for your taste. You wanted to believe that even if he was a player and you were a recluse that denounced love, the moments shared between you was of importance.

“Do you want to cum for me, baby?” His words came out in a slight slur, telling you that he was having a hard time holding back his own orgasm. The night was so full of excitement that you were both surprised he held on for as long as he did. He was ready to fuck you as soon as he laid his eyes on you in the bar, and everything that came after was pure torture. He was struggling with not succumbing to the temptation, mostly because he was determined to give you even more than he already had. Disappointment was not a factor he was willing to accept.

“Yes, please.” You pleaded, noticing the movements of his fingers become more precise. His free hand rose to your neck, his fingers gently clasping around it to give you a chance to speak up against the action. You were so strung out from the pleasure that you were sure he could do whatever he wanted to you and you would never be able to find a complaint about it. When he was certain you were comfortable with his actions, his fingers tightened ever so slightly, beginning to restrict the blood flow to your head.

You took in a long breath, the burning in the pit of your stomach growing stronger by the second. You let your eyes close to focus on the pleasure, feeling your heartbeat pound in your ears. “Come on, angel.” His gentle encouragement was heavenly paired with the movement of his fingers and his hips. You were barely hanging on, and as his hand tightened around your neck again, all of the nerves in your body ignited with a fire that was impossible to contain.

“Jake,” you warned, but the words were weak and the rasp in your voice made it near impossible to hear. He was listening intently though, and he heard it as clear as day. It was nothing but motivation for him, driving him to keep going. As much as he was enjoying himself, he was most concerned with making you feel good. His pleasure came second to yours, and it was not up for debate.

Your head began to spin and your legs started to shake. The earth felt like it was turned upside down and it was spinning out of control. The orgasm tore through you in a violent fashion, but you couldn’t seem to find the energy to voice it to him. He slowly released his hold on your neck and instead moved his hand to the back of your head to hold you upright. You took in a long breath, unsure if you would ever be able to fill your lungs with the air you so desperately needed. “That’s it,” he muttered, slowing his hips slightly to allow you to recover “that’s my girl.” The words send another rush of pleasure through you, extending the climax even further.

You were exhausted, but he was far from done. As you regained some control over your body and mind, he ceased the movement of his fingers. “That was amazing.” You sighed, clearing your throat from the rasp that was still lingering.

“Yeah?” He crooned, a cocky smile on his lips. Once he was sure you were well and fully recovered, he withdrew and used his arm to slide you off of the table. When your feet hit the floor, he wasted no time turning you around and guiding your upper half down towards the table. “You think you can keep being good for me?” He asked, the tip of his cock already eagerly resting against your cunt. You let out a mutter of agreement, too tired to speak the words to him. “Just a little bit longer, sweet girl.” He promised, reaching up and twisting your hair into his fist.

With that, he pushed himself inside of you, the feeling amplified even further due to the ghost of your last orgasm. You were extremely sensitive, almost so much so that you questioned if you could keep going. Once he started a steady rhythm and you were pulled back into pleasure, you knew you could. You would do anything to give back the feeling that he was giving you. “Oh, god.” You groaned, the angle in which he was moving already driving you crazy. His hand tightened on your hair, pushing your head further down on the table. Your cheek was pressed against it, but he wasn’t holding you too harshly in fear of hurting you. The legs of the table were rocking with his movement, and as he sped, you feared that it might break under the pressure.

“You take it so good, angel.” He muttered, but he was no longer talking to you; he was so lost in the sex that he had no filter for his thoughts. Anything and everything that came to mind was ultimately spoken, mostly because he could not find the will to hold it back. “Such a good little whore.” You let out a shaky breath, the words settling deep in your stomach, blossoming into the beginning of another orgasm. His free hand raised and his palm came down on your ass with a loud smack. It sent a jolt of pain through you, making you jump under the touch. “Can you give me one more?” He asked, his hips stuttering as he tried his best to keep his composure.

“I don’t know,” you were honest with him, knowing that you would love to comply with every one of his wishes, but also knowing that even the thought of another orgasm was exhausting. Your body was tired, and so was your mind. He was pushing you as far as you could go, but you were more than happy to let him do it.

“I know you can, sweetheart. Just one more.” He said, but it was a plea hidden inside a powerful tone. He needed you to come again, just so he could ensure he gave you as much as he possibly could.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your body doing all of the decision making for you. The knot in your stomach was tight, and your legs were locked in position to brace yourself for the intensity of the pleasure. The more he spoke to you, the more certain you felt about being unable to withstand another climax. Then again, you were sure he could convince you of anything if he was using the same sultry tone of voice.

“That’s it, baby.” He reinforced the idea, hoping you would submit to the feeling and stop worrying.

“I can’t,” you shook your head against his grip, knowing that you were long past your limit, even if your body was trying to convince you otherwise. The feeling of him inside you was so good that it was nearly painful, and your entire body was ablaze with overstimulation. He let his hand come down on your ass again, the sound echoing through the room and making home in the walls, permanently cementing the memory there. Neither of you would ever be able to look at the room the same way after such a filthy display was made in it.

“You can,” he pressed, not liking the disobedient attitude. He continued on with the steady movement of his hips, and before you knew it, you descended into a whole new type of pleasure below him. Your entire body seemed to give out from underneath you. Your legs were vibrating and tears were forming in your eyes as a slur of moans and curses fell from your lips. He slipped his arm underneath your hips, holding you up so there was no fear of you falling. Your walls were clenched around him, and you thought that the intensity alone would kill you. “Fuck, y/n.” He hissed, absolutely smitten by the state of you.

His own orgasm came harshly, sending him into a similar state of euphoria. His movements stuttered, and he was holding you up while trying not to topple over himself. Eventually, once you both seemed to relax, he slowed his hips to a near stop. He looked down at the sight, his jaw clenched as he fucked his release back into you. He was almost disappointed that the fun had come to an end, but he knew that you were much too tired to continue on. Carefully, he withdrew from you while continuing to hold you steady. “You okay, sweetheart?” The concern in his voice was astounding.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your eyes refusing to open. You were so tired that you could have fallen asleep standing there, and your body was aching from the nights excitement.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He spoke softly, so different from the way he was speaking to you only moments before. He removed his hand from your hair and helped you off the table. When you were steady on your feet, he let his hand fall on your lower back in a gentle embrace, full of concern and care. He guided you to the bathroom where you both cleaned yourself and erased any evidence from the sinful experience you had engaged in. When you were finished, you returned to the kitchen and made a move to grab your dress. “What are you doing?” He chuckled, watching you with curiosity.

“Getting my clothes so I can go home.” You answered, but the sleepiness was making it hard to formulate the words.

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head, walking to meet you. He grabbed the dress from your hand and tossed it back on the floor before nudging you in the direction of his bedroom. “There’s no way I’m letting you get in a cab like that. I can take you home tomorrow.”

“I’m okay,” you tried to argue, but you were melting into the warm touch of his hands.

“You’re staying here, end of discussion.” He said, making sure you knew that he would not allow you to leave. “I’m not putting you in a taxi with a stranger while you’re this drunk and tired. Who knows what could happen.” He mumbled, the second part was more to himself than anything else. It almost seemed as if he was ashamed of caring so deeply.

“You’re a stranger, Jake.” You reminded him, but your eyes landed on the bed and you immediately felt a change of heart. It was screaming with coziness, the blankets and pillows more inviting than anything you’d ever seen before.

“Don’t think you can call me a stranger anymore, sweetheart.” He laughed, opening his dresser to grab you a t-shirt to sleep in. He tossed it on the bed so you could grab it, which you did while uttering a small thank you. You slipped it over your head, the smell of his cologne was overwhelming and oddly comforting. You pulled back the comforter and slid into the bed, your eyes immediately closing in bliss. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” He said, the sound causing you to crack an eye open in surprise.

“What?” You asked, baffled at his statement. “No, you can… I mean, if you want to… I don’t think it’s fair if I get the bed and you get the couch.” Your words came out in a jumbled mess, and your thoughts were just the same. “I can stay on the couch, or we can both… yeah.” You felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment. You weren’t sure if it was because you were drunk or if it was because he was hot, but you were flustered and apparently, no good at hiding it.

“You’re sure you’re with me being in bed, too?” He didn’t speak a word about your nervous rambling. He didn’t want to embarrass you further, and in truth, he didn’t really care. He was only concerned about your comfort.

“Yeah.” You assured him. “Like you said, not really strangers anymore.” You laughed.

“That’s true.” He nodded, slipping on a pair of boxers and climbing under the covers, too. Instinctively, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him.

“Pushing it.” You said, but humour was clear in your tone.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” He laughed as you relaxed against him.

And sleep you did, carelessly and peacefully, unknowing and uncaring about the world of trouble you had created in just one small lapse of judgement. The morning would come and your senses would return, but it was far too late to stop the situation from descending into the chaos you were so desperate to avoid. His web was spun, and you were caught, even if neither of you were aware of the mistakes you had made that inevitably landed you there. The first deadly sin was committed, soon to be followed by six more, and not even a confession nor repenting could save you from your own wrongdoings.