Shameless Hoe HQ

So before Steve could open his mouth and say something you were not yet ready to hear, you beat him to it, tossing a piece of opened mail on the counter. 

Steve blinked down at it, frowning once more as he glanced between you and the paper before him. “...my driver’s license renewal card?”

You huffed, leaning closer and stabbing your finger at the date of birth printed on the card stock. “Your birthday is in a few weeks! And you haven’t mentioned it at all!”

“Oh.” Steve’s big, broad shoulders lifted as he gave you a sheepish look, a rosy flush staining his cheeks and working its way to the tips of his ears. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“Well what if I want to?” you glared at him. “You were just going to rob me of the full birthday experience?” You made something close to jazz hands that had Steve choking down a laugh because you did seem genuinely irritated by this. “That’s so selfish of you, Hercules,” you finished with a huff, crossing your arms for good measure.

Even though he was able to suppress his laughter, Steve wasn’t able to do the same with his smile. He grinned big, blue eyes twinkling with a very fond sort of mirth as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms. 

“You’re right, omega, I’m the worst.”

“Truly!” you nodded in agreement, your own lips twitching as Steve interlocked his hands at the small of your back and kissed your cheek. 

“Next year, I’ll be sure to set monthly reminders for you about my birthday so it’s always top of mind,” Steve murmured, kissing your other cheek. “It won’t be obnoxious at all.”

You nearly giggled, but were able to maintain your stink eye as you gave him an unimpressed look. “You better,” you hmphed, realizing your mistake a second after you spoke. 

That you didn’t object to the fact that you would still be here–with Steve–a year from now.

You hadn’t really thought much about the future since you were a young omega, still brimming with hope and not yet beat down by the state of the world. 

But now… after months of being in Steve’s orbit, of… whatever this was between you–because you still weren’t ready to admit that you were together–the thought of this whole thing not being temporary, of it being your future, of Steve being your future… 

Well, it was an idea that you didn’t hate.

You could tell by the warmth and softness in Steve’s gaze that he was thinking along the same lines as you, but again, you just couldn’t with what ifs, and big feelings, and more. 

Not yet.  

“So,” you cleared your throat, pretending to fiddle with the collar of Steve’s t-shirt so you could escape his intese gaze for a moment. “What would the perfect birthday look like to you?”

Steve was quiet for a moment, for more than a moment, and you felt a swirl of anxiety in your stomach, worried that you had upset him by side-stepping the almost emotional landmine. 

But when you peeked up at him, Steve’s gaze was just as warm and soft as a moment ago, and he was giving you a small, boyish smile as he replied, “I think I have an idea that we’ll both enjoy.”

A few weeks later, on Steve’s birthday, his idea came to fruition, and for the first time in a very long time–maybe ever–you really were getting the full birthday experience, even if it wasn’t your birthday.

But that didn’t make it any less perfect.

Because Steve had driven you upstate to a small lake house in the middle of the woods. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been out of the city, and it truly felt like a slice of heaven to be surrounded by nature and quiet and have Steve all to yourself on his special day.  

His special day was just part of the week-long vacation he had surprised you with, and he really had planned it all so perfectly. The fridge and pantry were stocked with your favorite prepped foods and takeout, so neither of you would need to cook. And he had gotten a cute little birthday cake, along with lots of other treats, from his favorite bakery. 

And now, you were both enjoying the gorgeous tranquility around you, as you and Steve sat on the dock out back of the house, watching the sun set over the lake. 

You gave a quiet sigh of contentment as you sank back in the circle of Steve’s arms, allowing your head to fall to the side as his nose skimmed up the side of your throat as he took his time scenting you. 

It was actually the first time you two had ever done this–scenting outside of sex–and you didn’t hate it. You were kind of obsessed with it to be honest.

In fact, you had never been so squirmy in your life, your mind pleasantly hazy and quiet for once as you gave a soft chirp when Steve pressed a kiss to your unmarked mating gland. 

“You smell so good, omega,” he murmured against your skin, inhaling deeply and purring with satisfaction as he basked in your scent. “You always do.”

Your inner omega chirped up a storm, loving Steve’s attention and admiration as you turned your face so you could nuzzle his nose with yours. 

Steve kissed you gently, his eyes so soft and happy as he told you, “This really is the perfect birthday.” His lips touched yours again, lingering this time before he pulled away and breathed, “Thank you, omega. I mean it.”

As he often was, Steve was so earnest in his words and feelings, but something about the sheer affection for you that was coloring his alpha scent had you feeling shy, and a little cranky to be honest. 

Because you were still getting used to how much Steve made you feel and want, even after knowing him for months. But you shoved down the minor flare of irritation that you knew was a defense mechanism, because you would not be bitchy with Steve on his birthday. 

So instead, you playfully rolled your eyes, murmuring, “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Steve grinned. 

Your scent spiked with your own joy–and something wanting–and he huffed a laugh.

He leaned in and kissed your mating gland, laughing again as you squealed and tried to squirm away, overwhelmed by how sensitive that part of you was, especially under Steve’s attention. 

“How do you like it?” he rumbled, eyes twinkling as you huffed and twisted in his hold to glare at him. 

For a moment, you just gave him the best stink eye you could muster, and then, you pounced.

Of course you knew that Steve was letting you “attack” him as he fell back against the dock and took you with him. But that didn’t make it any less silly or fun as you wrestled with him until you straddled his hips and had his hands pinned above his head, preening your victory. 

“Well now that you’ve got me, what are you gonna do with me?” Steve husked, his eyes noticeably darker as you hovered over him. 

For probably the millionth time, you were nearly struck dumb by how gorgeous Steve was. His skin smooth and flawless, his golden hair gleaming in the setting sun and now perfectly mussed. And his eyes–those pretty blue eyes–so expressive as he watched you, as he waited for whatever you deemed came next. 

For a long, quiet moment, you just stared at each other, and then your eyes flickered down to another feature of his that you sure did love–those plump pink lips. 

Those plump, pink, kissable lips. 

“I have a few ideas,” you finally replied before swooping close and capturing his lips with yours. 

Steve groaned into your mouth as you traded pinning his wrists for framing his face between your hands. You made your own sound of delight when you felt his touch at your hips, his fingers pressing into you, holding you tight and urging your body against his even more.  

Your lips teased and tasted until both you and Steve were breathless, and when you finally pulled back enough to raggedly inhale a gulp of air, you paused for a beat, your eyes dancing as you said, “I want smores.”

“I want more too,” Steve immediately returned. His big hand cradled your cheek and tried to reel you back in for another kiss, but you pulled away. 

Giggling as you sat up over him, you shook your head, lips curled into a playful smirk as you tutted, “Keep it in your pants, Hercules. I want smores. You promised we’d make them using that little fire pit on the back deck.”

For a long moment, Steve just stared up at you, uncomprehending, gaping. And it was nearly enough to make you cackle, but then he blinked owlishly, his brain rebooting, and he didn’t look disappointed at all as he said, “Oh. Right.” Instead, he gave your hips a squeeze, his grin boyish as he continued, “I’ll go set it up now.”

You couldn’t help the dreamy sigh that bubbled past your lips as Steve helped you to your feet. Because he really was so good, so perfect.

And he was all yours. 

Preening for a different reason now, you looped your arm through Steve’s, pressing close to his side as you two began to slowly walk back up the dock. 

You felt mischievous as you glanced over and drank in the still flushed state of Steve’s cheeks, the way his lips were still kiss swollen, too.

“After smores, then I’ll give you more,” you teased, shooting Steve a wicked grin. “You can spend the rest of my night fucking me full of your cum and keeping me on your knot, birthday boy.”

Steve tripped over his own feet, making you burst into laughter as you grabbed onto him to help steady his steps, enjoying the way his flush deepened for an entirely different reason now as he shot you a stink eye. 

“You’re such a menace," he muttered, but he was already grinning again as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you flush against him. “But you’re my menace.”

“Well happy birthday to you,” you chimed, laughing into Steve’s side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

He held you just a little bit tighter as he murmured against your hair, “You’re the best birthday present ever,” rumbling his content as you caught his hand with yours, twined your fingers together, and stayed tucked close as you cleared the dock and made your way back to the lake house. 

—

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There are eighty-six people in attendance at the rooftop restaurant, and you are only sure you know the names of maybe a third. The rest are here because of Andy—to witness or test alliances, play in the ongoing power games, weigh old debts or new risks. It’s the rehearsal dinner for one of Boston Mafia’s elite, so the guest list was meticulously refined for Andy’s part. Yours as well, but not with the same intent or stakes to be considered.

Andy doesn’t own Contessa—the restaurant atop The Newbury Hotel—but he does own the hotel, so it was seamless for your team to arrange this part of the wedding nuptials there. While you and Andy aren’t having a full society affair wedding with all the bells and whistles and three or four days of events and traditions, you do have few significant event pieces woven into the wedding weekend, this being one of them. No one had asked you what to include, but you were part of the overall conversations, and if there had been anything you truly wanted to refuse, you think you might have been able to say so. But your team knows you well enough to create elements you appreciate.

And, annoyingly, so does Andy.

The room is a riot of velvet and silk and black wool, the exact social armor you expect at a pre-wedding gathering of this sort. And yet you can tell this doesn’t scream mafia to the people who don’t know the predators they’re intermingling with. It’s all too reminiscent of how you dismissed the barely-hushed rumors of Andy Barber’s potential connections before he revealed he was one of the kings of organized crime in the city. And for the sake of your parents, your friends, your family, you’re relieved and hope they remain ignorant.

Tonight will be a monumental tell for the future and whether or not you can pass, or rather, who you have to be while passing. You scan the clusters of guests and realize you should have always been able to spot true mafia at ten paces, even when they’re disguised as board members and development officers and venture capitalists. There’s a particular gravity, neither ostentatious nor shy. Men in Brioni suits who know how to vanish into the background, women with hair so immaculate it could have been sculpted from silk.

Andy’s hand has been heavy at the small of your back most of the evening, and it’s somehow almost comforting, an anchor. Occasionally you feel his thumb graze the bare inch of spine between velvet and skin, a touch so subtle it’s only for you.

You look across the room and spot your parents lingering near a tray of passed champagne, your mother straightening the lapels of your father’s jacket with the hopeless affection of people who have been married long enough to know that preening is just another form of devotion. Your mother’s dress is a shade of navy so dark it reads black, and your father looks as if he was born inside a suit, so naturally does this one fit him.

Suddenly Thea is in front of you, plucking a glass of champagne off a passing tray and handing it over, flanked by your other two other bridesmaids. Thea gives you a once-over, and says, “You look like a goddess, a terrifyingly pretty one.” You mutter a thank you, and Thea rolls her eyes. “Please pretend you believe it, just a little bit. You’re a gorgeous bride-to-be whether you want to be or not.”

She’s the only one who knows about your hesitations, and even then you’ve only indulged a fraction.

She winks at Andy, linking her arm through yours. “I’m stealing your fiancé.”

He smirks. “At least you're conceding she’s mine.”

“You wish,” Thea replies, and with a toss of her hair of her shoulder, she leads you away.

The entire evening is a kind of lucid dream. Greetings, handshakes, hugs, careful double-cheek kisses dispensed by those in attendance as you circulate the room. In reality there was no rehearsal for tomorrow’s ceremony, tonight it is merely a small gathering staged for … well, from what you gather, for the sake of it. For those closest to you, it’s to keep up the illusion that this is a wedding you want. For Andy’s world, it seems to be a necessary ritual to confirm the ranks of his order—his trusted soldiers and a handful of his choice allies.

You don’t register that your uncle Rob isn’t there until suddenly he is, and by then, the room has already begun the low-pressure phase transition from cocktails to dinner. The movement is organic—someone dims the lights, the waiters begin the subtle herding, and you are being gently, almost imperceptibly, shepherded toward the long, low banquet table at the far end of the room.

You are halfway to your seat, with Thea close behind and Andy once again at your side, when the double glass doors at the restaurant’s entrance hiss open and Rob strides in, in a full three-piece suit and with the off-kilter swagger of someone who seems to have truly rushed directly from the airport. He gives you a nod and a warm smile, though even at this distance you note it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You wave him over, ignoring the subtle tightening of Andy’s hand on your hip. Rob moves quickly across the room to you, and immediately drops a palm on your shoulder, squeezing—warmth, family, genuine affection. “Am I horrifically late or just fashionably disruptive?” he asks, and before you answer, he’s already deflecting. “You look tired but good. He treating you right?”

Your uncle’s gaze bores into yours for a half-second, searching for something reassuring. You nod and give him a smile. He softens, but only infinitesimally.

“Uncle Rob, this is—”

“Andy Barber,” he supplies, and his gaze flicks to your fiancé, settling there a half-beat too long, cataloging him. You don’t know what’s transpired between them, but you sense something clearly has as there’s a palpable undercurrent, like two strong magnets meeting, neither yielding.

Uncle Rob gives Andy a stiff nod, but Andy merely meets the moment with an open hand. You sense the silent exchange—neutral ground, white flag for tonight, or maybe just a kind of mutual agreement not to detonate inside a room full of witnesses.

It feels strange, but it’s only another line on the list of things that aren’t normal for this entire affair. The exchange goes unnoticed by nearly everyone else since all in attendance are finding their seats, and Uncle Rob falls in among them and takes his assigned seat by your parents.

The food is dazzling, course after course in small, perfect compositions. You try to taste things, to remember flavors, but you are more conscious of the shifting dynamics around you. You are aware of Andy’s hand ever present—on your knee, tracing patterns on your arm, once just lightly gripping your wrist as if keeping you tethered to the table, to himself. You wonder if it’s meant to keep you under control, but the gesture genuinely feels more like reassurance than possession tonight.

Flanked by Andy on your left and Thea on your right, both seem engaged in a subtle contest to out-maneuver each other in their attempts to manage you. Sometimes it’s by steering the conversation, sometimes by way of silently passing you the better part of a shared dish, with Thea by gambling how much she can make you laugh given the current company and whether the moment is suitable for choking on your wine. You’re not sure if you resent this orchestration or if it’s a balm. Maybe both.

At intervals, you glance over at Uncle Rob. The smile he flashes the room is the same as ever, but his eyes seem to rove the room, always taking stock, never fully at rest. He watches Andy most of all, the way a hunter watches a rival predator—admiring and calculating, never blinking outright. At one point, your eyes meet and Rob lifts his glass in a toast, not quite a salute, but you feel the force of the message: he’s here, for you, and he’s not leaving until he’s sure you’re safe. He’s always been more protective of you than anyone else in the family, but this seems more intense, even for him.

Halfway through the meal, Andy excuses himself to confer with two men in dark suits who materialize at the edge of the room, and you find yourself, for the first time all evening, feeling alone at the lack of him. Thea leans in. “You doing okay?” she whispers, but with a smile on her face so it reads as idle gossip.

“It feels like someone else’s wedding,” you mutter back. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

She gives you a look that is both knowing and impossibly gentle. “If you want to run, just say the word. I have five hundred dollars in cash and a getaway Prius, and that’s enough to get us at least to New Hampshire before anyone notices.”

You snort-laugh, a little louder than you meant to, and feel lightheaded for an instant. There is some relief in naming it, even as a joke, even though you don’t question she’s serious about the Prius and the cash.

There is a moment, a half-second, a single synaptic twitch, in which you consider the offer or vanishing into an Uber for Logan Airport. But the urge passes. You already jetted away once and came back.

And that coming back was your choice.

It doesn’t make sense to escape again now.

The rest of dinner passes in a spiral of rich food and laughter that from most people seems to be unforced. Andy returns, all courteous apologies, and places his warm palm on your back again as if plugging back into a vital organ. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, his voice pitched only for you. “I’ll need to disappear for a bit after dessert. Business.” He says it lightly, but the tension is a wire behind each syllable. You nod, and at the same moment he gives your leg a squeeze under the table, as if to say: Don’t worry, I’ll be back. For you. Always that emphasis.

When the meal ends, the room doesn’t thin so much as it condenses. People abandon their seats in favor of looser, more volatile clusterings near the bar or moving out onto the balcony. You sense the shape of the next hours—a kind of shadow afterparty, drinks and ritual toasts and the swerve toward dysfunction that all close social gatherings eventually take. Andy fields a last volley of congratulations, then gives you a look that says thirty seconds, and moves toward a private door near the kitchen, shadowed by his men. You watch him go, feeling again the negative space at your side.

It’s at this point that your uncle finds you again.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, like you’re trading nuclear secrets instead of making polite familial small talk at your rehearsal dinner. “Not too late to call it off.”

You set your jaw, then, because the answer is yes. Or as close to yes as you’ll ever have. If there’s a question curled up in the base of your spine, it’s quieter now—not gone, but quelled by Rob’s questioning.

You find yourself saying, “I’ve made my decision.”

Uncle Rob’s expression is unreadable, then softens just enough to let a sliver of affection through. “Your folks are damn proud. Just so you know. You do know that, right?”

You give half a shrug and a nod.

“And you know that you can always come to me, for anything.”

“Even ashes and body disposal?” you ask, letting a smirk break through the anxiety. He huffs a laugh, but you can see he’s not disarmed by it, not really.

“Especially that,” he says. But then, gentler, yet more serious, he says, “You ever want out, you just say so. Don’t matter what anyone else wants, least of all him. You come to me. You hear?”

You nod, only then realizing, “You know who he is.”

He nods and knocks his glass lightly against yours. “I’m only a phone call away. Fuck the protocols.”

You don’t know exactly what his ties to Andy’s underworld are, or how long he and Andy may have known each other, but some unexplained parts of Uncle Rob’s past make a whole lot more sense if he’s involved with the mafia. You imagine the more you trace back, the more certain absences and behaviors could ultimately be explained.

You don’t allow yourself to ask the next rush questions assembling in your mind. Instead, you clink glasses with Rob again, and when Thea reappears at your side, he makes an excuse and fades back into the crowd. You watch him go, feeling heavier and lighter at once.

“You want air?” Thea asks, as if the answer could ever be no.

Out on the balcony, you stand at the stone parapet for a while, each of your with a glass in hand, the city shining beneath you. Over the railing, half the Back Bay looks like a jewelry case, all neat squares and gold filigree light.

Thea tips her chin out into the dark. “So what’s it like standing up here, knowing you’re about to be a married woman?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a nervous tickle in your chest. “About the same as it is being an unmarried one, only with more witnesses.”

You expect her to laugh, but instead she fixes you with a sly, assessing stare. “He scares me a little, you know,” she says, so matter-of-fact it undercuts any drama. “Not for anything he’s said or done. More in the way those security guys all treat him like he’s royalty. Which, I guess, he basically is, right? Mafia royalty?”

You hesitate, glass at your lips. Did you ever say it to her? You don’t think you did, because you went to Stockholm on the heels of signing the pre-nup which included the NDA elements… You race back through every conversation, every running-on-fumes phone call, and there’s nothing you can recall that would have spelled it out. But your silence lingers half a second too long.

Thea’s face splits in a grin that’s bright and wolfish at the edges. “I KNEW it,” she crows, as if you’ve just confirmed a conspiracy theory about the moon landing. “Oh my god. I knew it. I KNEW IT! Don’t even try to deny it.”

You gawk. “What are—how did—”

You try to look innocent, but Thea is already cackling, delighted with herself, her elbows resting on the parapet like a triumphant detective. “Please,” she says, waving her hand at the party inside, “He’s waaaaaaaaay too rich, I’ve read way too many mafia romance novels, and you had a security detail when you visited me in Stockholm using his private jet. I was 99% sure, and your hesitation there hesitation gave me the last percent.”

You consider protesting, but technically you’ve broken nothing in the contract, and the fact that your best friend knows—that anyone knows—feels like an instant balm.

You clamp a hand on Thea’s wrist. “Promise me you won’t say a word. Seriously. Not to a soul. I mean it. Not a joke, not even a whisper or a meme reference.” There’s an urgency in your voice, and Thea, reading the shift instantly, sobers.

The brightness in her eyes dims by an iota, the seriousness of your tone cutting through the fizz of her delight. She nods, solemnly, and you know that as cavalier as she can sometimes be, she doesn’t question the gravity of your insistence. “I won’t,” she vows, putting her hand over yours.

In the shared silence, you feel her searching your face for something she doesn’t want to say. You let the air prickle between you, each steadying the other just by being present, until Thea finally asks, “Does he make you happy?”

You don’t answer, not at first. You stare into the bright helix of city lights and let the question slide down your spine and settle into your gut. You want to say yes, or even no, anything definitive, but instead you just tell her, “He makes me feel alive,” and hope she hears the ambiguity for what it is.

She nods, lips pressed together. “I’m still not sure why you’re doing this, but I will admit that even though I still have questions, one of those questions is not how much that man cares for you.”

Thea fixes you with a look so curious and gentle it makes you want to squirm out of your skin. “It doesn’t look like any love story I’d picture for you,” she says. “It’s not the type people write poems about or that you see on Pinterest boards. I don’t even know that it’s love, but it’s definitely fierce, and runs deep.”

“Thea,” your voice is a little choked.

“He looks at you like you’re the last thing on earth he thinks is worth burning for.” She shrugs and takes another sip of her champagne. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it’s true.”

You’re grateful, even if you can’t manage the words to say so outright. Thea is one of the few souls you trust without hesitation in this world. You study her face in the city-dark, finding closeness there that reminds you, with a pang, of who you were before all this.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say. You mean it harder than it sounds.

Thea bumps shoulders with you. “I’d literally stand in front of a bullet for you.” She glances toward a distant rooftop bar, probably scouting for snipers. “Metaphorically, but also probably literally.”

You stay there together a little longer, the gentle thrum of summer and the humid glow from the party behind you, breathing easier for the reminder that not all loves are fairy tales, that some are knife-edges, and open secrets, and best friendships.

Shep slides out the glass door with the hush of someone practiced in not disturbing an armed perimeter. He doesn’t interrupt, just drifts into the range of your awareness and waits. When you finally realize on a conscious level that he’s there, turning your head and giving him a small, tight-lipped smile, he says, “Time to make our exit, if you’re ready.”

There’s a quiet emphasis on the word “our,” and you realize how long you must’ve been out here.

“Where’s Andy?” You look over his shoulder, expecting to see him somewhere in the glow and tangle of the party, looming, waiting for you expectantly, but he’s not there. You’re surprised at how keenly you feel his absence. Then you ask Shep, “He’s not coming back tonight, is he?”

Shep shakes his head, a single, precise movement. “He wanted me to see you home. Mark’s already downstairs.” He hesitates, then softens with a half-smile, reading some of your reluctance to leave. “You can have ten more minutes if you want them.”

You take the ten.

It’s enough time for Thea to finish her glass and for you to make the rounds of the party, saying goodnight to your circles of friends and family who were invited to be part of tonight.

Your mother is waiting for you near the coat check, her dark eyes shining, twin tears perilously close to the edge. She pulls you in for a fierce, almost painful hug, her perfume sealing around you like a memory from childhood. “You’re my treasure,” she says into your ear so hard you forget to breathe for a second. She pulls away, fixing your hair with a trembling hand. “Just tell me he’s as good as he looks. That’s all I ask.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and you bob your head, not trusting yourself to say anything more.

Outside, the night air is a slab of heat. Shep guides you to the waiting Range Rover with a balanced mix of deference and I’m still your bodyguard. Mark already has the curbside door open, and you buckle yourself in, feeling the exhaustion of the night releasing through your limbs. You lean your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. As complicated as your feelings are around Andy, his absence gnaws at you in a way you didn’t expect. Especially tonight.

When you walk into the mansion, the silence is as sharp as a slap. You expected it, or something like it, and yet standing in the cavernous hush of the marble entry, clutching your tiny evening bag, you’re overtaken by an urge to slam the door hard enough to wake the dead. You don’t, though. You click it shut, toe off your heels and hook them on your fingers, and walk barefoot through the dark to your rooms upstairs.

Andy’s absence is complete and total—no jacket left half-flung on the banister, no ghost of movement or glass of half-drunk bourbon left somewhere. You resist the urge to immediately check your phone, because you want to feel the ache fully, let it sharpen until it outcompetes the dull, unanswerable questions that have circled every day since you said yes, but especially tonight.

You go to the bathroom and take a long, methodical shower. You take your time as you finish getting ready for bed, drifting through the mechanical rituals of skincare and pajamas and teeth-brushing, but you take no comfort in the delicate, orchid-scented candle you light, or the feel of the silk on your skin.

You check your phone, eventually. There’s a text from him, timestamped an hour ago.

ANDY: I’ll be late, don’t wait up.

You want to scream. You want to hurl the phone at the wall or at least send an angry string of messages to force some reaction from him, but you don’t. You sit at the end of the bed with your phone in your palm, glaring at the glow as if it can blink first. Don’t wait up, as if this is remotely normal. You know he’s got business, but he’s never missed an evening with you, never let you go to sleep without him there, touching you, fucking you, just being with you. And now he’s gone the night before your wedding?

You thumb your phone off, toss it face-down onto the bed, and stand for a moment in the hush. You are lit by moonlight coming by moonlight coming in a narrow spill through the vast window, alone with the hum and pop of baseboard heat, a ghost in your own life. You want to be sated by this, to have the sudden expanse and absence feel like relief, but instead it gathers pressure inside your chest. Under the thin silk of your robe, your skin feels hypersensitive, almost electrical, and the wet ends of your hair drip cold water down your spine.

You don’t want to admit how badly you want him here—how quickly your anger at his text has curdled into a more woeful, sticky missing. It chafes to need him.

You try to zone out streaming something on TV, but nothing cuts through to capture enough of your attention in the absence. You’re so used to the energy of Andy’s presence—the kinetic hum of him near you, whether he’s angry or amused or simply radiating power from the next room—that the void he leaves behind is almost audible.

Eventually you are able to at least focus on reading, legs tucked up under you on the settee.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next sensation is not the passage of time but abrupt displacement.

You’re in mid-dream when you sense the shift, the weightless suck of gravity before the realization: someone is lifting you. You twist, half-awake, to find Andy’s arms locked under your knees and back, carrying you with the unthinking efficiency of someone who has probably hauled bodies at some point. You mutter something into his shirt, a syllable heavy with sleep and protest, and he just keeps moving, your head lolling against his chest, too groggy to fight him off at first.

Then you thrash, not gently. You elbow at his chest, catch his ribs with a knee, and hiss, “Put me down.” You mean it. You’re not just startled—you’re still feeling that lingering anger—and Andy, to his credit, sets you down with more care than you expected. You sway and nearly lose your balance, but he catches your wrist, keeping you upright.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice absurdly gentle, and that somehow pricks worse for all its reasonableness.

You rip your hand away. “Don’t do that. Don’t just—pick me up.”

He studies you, searching your face with an unreadable patience. “You were sleeping,” he says.

You steady yourself and glare up at him, refusing to let your fatigue soften the edge of your voice. “You missed the whole rest of the night, Andy. Where were you?”

Although his expression remains the same, the tension around his eyes tightens. “You know I’m not going to tell you that.”

You scoff. “How do I know that?”

Maybe it’s the sleep, maybe it’s the hunger you’ve been stifling, but it lands with a new kind of sharpness, how Andy answers a question only by hollowing out the possibility you’ll ever ask again. But you refuse to fold into that silence tonight.

“I want you to tell me,” you say.

Andy closes the gap between you with a slow step, his gaze not leaving your face. “Tomorrow’s our wedding,” he says, low and thick in his throat, a softness that isn’t practice so much as exhaustion. His hand goes to your shoulder, thumb pressing the knot between bone and tendon, and you flinch at the intimacy of it, at how easily he can make you want to forgive him. You step back, and he lets you, his arms falling to his sides in a slow, theatrical surrender.

“Don’t do that,” you say again, voice thin this time. You hate the tremor more than you hated his absence.

He tilts his head, studying you in the low light. “You’re angry.”

He smiles, weary but pleased. “You’re angry because you missed me.” He says it not as an accusation, but a simple, delighted observation, like he’s just solved a riddle in your presence. “You care.”

You make a sound, a cross between a snort and a huff, and turn your head before he can get a better look at your face. “I’m angry because you’ve insisted on all of this—me, the wedding, pulling me into your life—and then you desert me the night before we’re supposed to get married? Leave me during the rehearsal dinner? And all I get is a ‘don’t wait up’ text?”

You hate that your voice rises, hate the heat behind your eyes. Andy comes closer, and you want to slap him and also want him to hold you. You flex your jaw, force your gaze to stay away.

He listens. He lets you say it all, and when it’s out of your mouth, tumbling and ugly, he says, “I know. But there are things I can’t and won’t tell you. I can’t ever expose you to certain things. I won’t allow them near you.” His voice is all iron and velvet. “I’m protecting you, even if it doesn’t look or feel like it.”

He lets the pause hang, then takes a slight step closer—close enough that you nearly shiver at the radius of his heat.

There are things I won’t shield you from, either. You told me to never lie, so I won’t pretend I’m made another way. But I will always come back.” He says it softly, neither a threat nor a comfort.

After a lengthy moment of silence, you tell him, “I don’t want another night like this. I don’t want to ever be stranded in the dark.”

He considers it. Not with a smirk or a challenge, but real intent, a resolution hardening. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I’m not good enough,” he says, and it is the flattest, most relentless admission. “But I am what you’re marrying.”

You should laugh. You almost do, at the incredulity, the audacity, the unfairness of his answer, of this entire situation, but then he reaches out, just a single knuckle under your chin, and you’re suddenly taking in a shaky breath.

You hold his eyes for a full count, your body picking up the stutter of your pulse, anger and want running convergent through your system. You want to turn away, to break the connection, but you can’t.

“Then show me. Make it better,” you say, and your voice is a command, not a plea.

You let him guide your face up. His thumb travels a gentle path down your jaw. He leans in, pressing his words, and his mouth, against your skin. “You want more than this? I will never give you less.” The last of it is a murmur, not a vow, but it lives in the hollow between you, nudging the edge of promise.

He kisses you behind the ear, slow and intentional, and your whole body contracts around the point of contact. You hate how even this controlled display of contrition draws you in. Were you less tired, were it not the night before your wedding, you may have pushed him away. But he knows exactly how to pull on the string that unravels you, and you can’t leave it at that, so you cup his face and press your mouth against his, not sweet or apologetic but with a frustrated need to bite, to mark. He lets you, opens willingly, tongue flicking yours, and the pressure he uses to guide you toward the bed is insistent. You pull him with you, backwards, the two of you bumping knees, bumping hips, his hands already finding the tie at your robe and making short work of it.

He pulls it from your shoulders, lets it float to the carpet with exaggerated gentleness that’s belied by the urgency of his mouth and hands. You take brief satisfaction in yanking at his shirt buttons, two of them tumbling somewhere onto the bedding, but Andy just shrugs out of the rest and lets it fall to the floor.

He is, as you’ve come to expect, taller and heavier than you in the moments that matter. He pins you beneath him, stretching your arms above your head, taking his time as if you both aren’t aching with a violent need. He kisses you with a patience that does not match the tension in his body, hands working down your ribs, touching and teasing the places he’s learned draw your responses.

You let him press you down, let him grind against you, clothed below the waist but with a bare chest and a punishing grip as he presses one of your thighs up and open for him. Your silk nightgown is tangled above your hips, ruined for decency, and the sheets under you bunch as you wrap your leg around him.

You are not even sure when you stop resisting—the anger, the loneliness—maybe when he murmurs, “I’m here,” into the shell of your ear, or maybe it’s before that, at the familiar drag of his teeth across your shoulder. You want to snarl at him, but you can only gasp and tear one of your hands away so you can grab for his waistband, the zipper, too impatient for finesse.

The button resists for half a second before you hear the pop. Andy’s hips cant, the gesture half involuntary. He is, unlike you, a master at not showing his hunger—unless he wants you to see it, and tonight he must, because the restraint rubs your skin raw in a way that’s almost a dare. You dig your heel into the mattress, lift your pelvis to grind into the urgency that’s thickening between your bodies. He lets you, but barely; his hand catches your thigh, squeezes, and you wonder if there will be marks tomorrow. You hope so.

He pulls back, and you make a desperate, wordless noise—appalled at the empty space, the abrupt loss of him. Andy grins, a glint of teeth in the dark, and then he’s dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed, eyes black and bottomless. “Patience,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “I want you naked for me. Completely.”

You’re tempted to resist him, to force him to earn the reveal, but you want the heat and the gaze and—more than anything—the feeling of him unraveling for you. So you tug the nightgown up and off, shimmying as best you can.

Andy reaches out to assist, dragging your panties off in a single, practiced movement, leaving you splayed open and vulnerable in the spill of moonlight, the air cold and sharp against your skin.

He stands, shucking his pants and boxers with ease. His cock is already hard, and he takes himself in hand, stroking slow, almost lazy, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his forearm tightens, every line of his body at the edge of restraint. He stands there for a moment, head tipped, just watching you with that focus, just this side of feral. It should alarm you. It should, maybe, make you recoil, the ferocity in him, so unlike the men you’ve known before. It’s a look that should have scared you from the beginning—but no one has wanted you the way he wants you, and you’ve grown addicted to how Andy’s hunger works.

You want to wipe that look of composure from his face, and you know exactly how to do it. You arch your back, knees falling apart, and bring your fingers to your cunt—slow, deliberate. Andy’s mouth parts the barest inch, but he doesn’t move to stop you. You circle your clit with two fingers, the slide easy and slick, and moan just loud enough that you know he’ll hear it for days. He watches, lips parted, and the tension in his neck sings.

“Is this what you want?” you ask.

You don’t wait for an answer. You drag a slick, purposeful circle with your fingertip, then roll your hips up again, forcing his attention onto the precise spot you want it. Your other hand moves to your breast, pinching a nipple until the ache flashes through your belly. You moan again, longer, keeping your eyes pinned to his as though you can draw out his release through sheer insistence.

Andy comes closer, his hand sliding up your calf, kneading the inside of your knee with enough pressure to make you gasp and lose the rhythm of your own touch. He takes your wrist in his, slows your movements, and brings your fingers to his mouth. He licks them, savoring your taste, then sucks the tips into the heat of him, eyes trained on yours the whole time. “You want to make me lose control?” he murmurs. “You’re close, sweetheart.”

You shudder, half from his voice and half from the pleasure needling up your legs. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Flip over,” he says, and you obey. Not because you care to perform for him, but because this is the only language you speak fluently with each other.

You turn, face pillowed in moonlight, the curve of your ass arched and on display. The sheets are cool under your cheek. Andy’s hands find your hips, not rough but absolute, his palms broad and braced. He kneads you for a long moment, a brief, silent exhibition of ownership, before running his thumb down the seam of you, spreading you open with the same clinical certainty he uses to carve out secrets.

He fucks you in one smooth, relentless motion, every inch filling you until your body feels engineered for the shape of him. You groan from the fullness, and he groans being sheathed inside your cunt. He leans forward, curling over you, and presses a kiss into your neck.

He holds you there, pressed hard against the mattress, your knees bracing apart as his cock drives into you with a steadiness that’s almost brutal but never crosses over into pain. You have only ever known men in this position to get greedy, to lose their pacing almost immediately, but Andy’s rhythm is a ruthless metronome, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder, calibrated to keep you right at the edge.

His weight is a gravity you loathe and crave; you let him press you into the bed and hold you there. You’re still angry, still trembling, but everything is blurred with your arousal, your hunger, the lines so tangled you can barely see the difference.

You try to deny him your pleasure out of spite, but it’s a losing proposition—Andy finds the angle he wants, rocks into you so that you choke on a half-sob, and holds there until you scratch at the sheets, half-crazed. The sound you make is ugly and desperate, and the only thing worse is how much you want him to hear it, to be stoked by it, to see what he does to you. He seems to sense this, his voice a gravel scrape against your shoulder blade. “Take it, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you want it.”

His thumb finds your clit, presses in tight, and for a few strokes you somehow resist, but then your hips buck and your vision splotches out, and you do let him hear how much you want him. It’s exquisite. He continues to fuck into you, working your clit, every nerve burning, every muscle tightening in a white, brutal wave. He fucks you through it, groaning, not letting up until a second, sharper quake rips through your body. Then and only then does Andy let himself go—slamming into you, his hand a vise around your hip as he spends himself, jaw pressed to your spine. The shudder of him fully inside you is shocking, almost convulsive, and he bucks in you until the last aftershocks fade and the only sound in the room is two desperate people fighting for air.

He doesn’t pull out right away. He just stays there, draped over your body, letting you catch your breath, his weight an absolute. When he does finally move, he’s slow and careful, laying beside you and rolling you into his arms, not a word spoken. You’re still too fogged by want and exhaustion to move, content to let him hold you close, the press of his cheek against your hair. Neither of you speak for a very long time.

But there are thoughts you still need him to hear.

You find your voice in the hush, not loud or demanding but plain, with the rough edge of sleep and aftershock. “I don’t want more nights like this,” you say, and you can feel the way Andy’s chest stills under your hand. “I didn’t want to be coerced into your bed, I didn’t want to be forced into an engagement, I didn’t want to get married like this. You exploited the attraction, you’ve made me weak for you, but please,” your voice breaks, “please don’t make me the wife who has to wait up alone for you.”

Andy doesn’t speak, not at first, and the silence unsettles you, but you make yourself hold it—make yourself show that it matters. You refuse to shrink or swallow the need. If he’s going to be the kind of man who pulls you into his orbit, he’s damn well going to know he can’t just leave you in the dark. Not without a fight. He’s made slow but small shifts in some areas you’ve pressed with him. Maybe you can have resonance here, too.

He smooths a hand from your shoulder, down your back, each pass gentler than the last. He’s thinking, you know. Not just brushing off what you said, but actually holding it up to the light, inspecting the seams. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and soft, but firm.

“I meant it when I said I’d do my best,” he says. “I don’t want you to be her—the wife who waits at the window. But I also can’t give up what I am.” His hand lingers at your waist, a heavy presence.

You sigh, too thoroughly boneless to summon the right words, so you simply roll over, and it’s too natural how your body melds against him as he curls his arm around you and pulls your back flush against his chest. All you can do now is hope your sentiments will start to seep into him through osmosis.

You let the silence ride a little longer, curled together as if this is some and listen to the slowing cadence of his breath, to the metallic taste of words you didn’t say, and you wonder if this is what love might be—the willingness to be furious and still stay.

And you wonder if this is love—not because it’s gentle or clean or what you imagined, but because it has weight, because it has teeth, because it sits in your chest like a stone you keep reaching for. Because you are angry and ruined and held, and somehow all three of those things are the same thing. Because no one has seen you the way he does. Because no one has made you feel so wanted, even if it’s infused with possession. But even through the moments you know there are things he isn’t telling you, you know he’s never lied to you. Even when he says things you don’t want to hear, he speaks to you openly. Even when his actions are incendiary and disagreeable, they’re still somehow for you now.

He says your name. It’s a quiet thing, a soft push through the dark, but it lands with a rattle in your chest.

“I want to tell you something,” Andy says. “Not because you asked, but because if you’re going to be my wife, you will need to know.”

You swallow, knowing instinctively that to interrupt is to lose the tiny, trembling momentum inside him. He never initiates these confessions. He’s all action, never exposition. You hold your body still, afraid any breath will snap the thread.

“They brought me in tonight to consult on a sit-down. Not a war, but something close. One of the families in Jersey—Lupo’s people—made a move on Levinson’s properties—of one of our allies—along the North River. Not a huge play, but enough to draw blood. No one got shot. But next time, someone will.” Andy’s hand flexes at your hip, tightening like a vise. “If that happens, everything changes. This life, the way we can have it, ends. The only thing that keeps us—keeps you—safe, is the order.” He breathes out, a single tight exhale. “If the peace goes, I can’t guarantee anything. Not for you, not for me. And that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, sheets cooling under your legs, and you realize what he’s giving you is not reassurance, but the truth of his world, knife-sharp and blood-warm. It should terrify you. It does, to a degree, but you’ve had a security detail, you know there are six loaded guns hidden here in the master suite. There is nothing normal about any of this, but the fact of Andy’s world is that it remains obsessively ordered only so long as no one has reason to start a war.

“When I have to go, I have to go, and I’ll never apologize for that,” he adds when you don’t say anything more.

Thea joked about reading mafia romance novels, but this is not a genre, this is your life now. When you let the reality land, it isn’t just gravity, but something like inheritance: no matter what you wanted or didn’t, you’re marrying into all of this.

And yet, as you lie there, taken apart and held tightly yet again, you find a calm in yourself you didn’t realize you could access. Maybe it’s the spill of adrenaline draining away, or the simple fact that Andy—your future husband, in a matter of hours—has finally handed you the truest thing he’s ever said. Everything is always at risk.

But if the world really is this dangerous, you’ve no doubt you’re held by the most powerful man you’ve ever met, and since he stopped at nothing to secure you, he will stop at nothing to keep you secure.

Uncle Rob! Thea! Andy! A Levinson name drop?!

There are so many things here that I've been plotting for ages, and so I think it's half the reason it took me so long to finish this chapter. Back in May I had written what I thought was about 3k to make up the first half of the chapter, but something about it just wasn't working, so I pulled it apart, kept a few of the scraps, and went back to the drawin board. I'm pleased where it finally ended up, and even though I know parts of this story are frustrating (coughSOMEOFANDY'SBEHAVIORcough), I do hope you all like the chapter.

And I know this is at the verrrrrry tail end of Monday for the first of what I'm hoping will be I'm Your Man Monday, but we made it! So we'll see if I can make this happen and get you another update next week!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I’m so intrigued by Uncle Rob 👀 I’d love to know more about his history with Andy, and if you have a face claim for him 🤓

I am once again declaring my undying love for Thea 🧎🏻‍♀️

 “It doesn’t look like any love story I’d picture for you,” she says. “It’s not the type people write poems about or that you see on Pinterest boards. I don’t even know that it’s love, but it’s definitely fierce, and runs deep.”

“Thea,” your voice is a little choked.

“He looks at you like you’re the last thing on earth he thinks is worth burning for.” She shrugs and takes another sip of her champagne. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it’s true.”

Oh my godddd 😭😭😭 Okay, first of all!! All of this was incredibly beautiful, you talented hoe. And also now I’m very much in my feels and they aren’t even stabby 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

You don’t want to admit how badly you want him here—how quickly your anger at his text has curdled into a more woeful, sticky missing. It chafes to need him.

Andy better have a damn good excuse for not being there for us after such a tedious, vulnerable night that was more for HIS benefit 😡

He smiles, weary but pleased. “You’re angry because you missed me.” He says it not as an accusation, but a simple, delighted observation, like he’s just solved a riddle in your presence. “You care.”

I insist you borrow my knife 🔪

…but no one has wanted you the way he wants you, and you’ve grown addicted to how Andy’s hunger works.

Love this 🤌🏻 And can totally see why it would be addictive. 

As smug as Andy would be about it, I do think this story contains some of your best smut 😮‍💨

Because no one has seen you the way he does. Because no one has made you feel so wanted, even if it’s infused with possession. But even through the moments you know there are things he isn’t telling you, you know he’s never lied to you. Even when he says things you don’t want to hear, he speaks to you openly. Even when his actions are incendiary and disagreeable, they’re still somehow for you now.

YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN ✋🏻

Me at that Levinson name drop:

I would like ro volunteer to be his love 🙋🏻‍♀️

“Andy?” you echoed, your voice raspy and colored with confusion. 

She glanced from your father’s sickly, unmoving form, to the ventilator that was keeping him alive.

Despite the desperate prayers you had chanted over and over again all night, he hadn’t woken up.

They said he wouldn’t, that the stroke had been too severe, and they were right.

“Yeah,” she moved closer, again hesitating before her hand touched your shoulder, giving a squeeze of comfort. “I know you have a difficult decision to make, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

It was instant, the swell of tears that blurred your vision, because she was so wrong. 

You did everything alone, even this.

You stuffed that thought down deep, taking a shaky breath as you shook your head and sniffed back your tears. “No, thank you. I've already texted Mike.” You glanced over at your phone that was resting on the small side table, tapping the screen to reveal no notifications awaiting you. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you mustered a brittle smile as you glanced up at her, “I…I'm sure he'll let everyone know."

"Okay,” she murmured, sounding unsure. She gave your shoulder another squeeze before stepping back. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm working a double, so I'll be running around but I'll be sure to come back and check on you whenever I can."

"Thank you, you're so nice."

She gave you a sad smile, her eyes flickering to your father once more before returning to you. You could tell how genuine she was being as she told you, “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded at her, resuming your gentle hold on your father’s hand. Avoiding her gaze as you blinked back another wave of tears, you instead leaned into that familiar numbness–your constant and only companion as of late–and just a moment later, you were once again alone with the unresponsive shell of your father.

The hours stretched on, blurring together, the small hospital room becoming more and more suffocating the longer you were there.

But you refused to leave. 

Even when Andy’s girlfriend promised she would sit with your dad while you went home to shower and get some rest, you just shook your head, holding your father’s hand tighter as you avoided her gaze.

You weren’t even sure how long you’d been there at this point. Two days at least? All you knew for sure was that you had signed off on the end of life paperwork a little bit ago, and the decision had been made.

They’d take your father off of life support soon, and then…

Then it would be over.

He’d be gone.

You tugged the scratchy blanket Andy’s girlfriend had brought you higher, resting your head on the edge of your father’s bed. You were so tired, your body was heavy with it, weighed down by your exhaustion, by your grief.

Still, you couldn’t fall asleep.

You wouldn’t.

You had to spend every second that you could with your father before he was gone. Even if he didn’t know you were there, your time with him was limited now–so very precious–because once it was all said and done, you wouldn’t get any more.

Sniffling, you reached for your phone, noting the battery only had about 13% left. You double checked that you had a signal, and you did, a strong one, and you couldn’t help the devastation that rose up within you when you clicked into your text thread with Mike. He had seen the text you had sent hours and hours ago–yesterday–about your father, about being at the hospital and probably missing work, and he hadn’t responded.

He hadn’t called, he hadn’t texted you back, he hadn’t stopped by, and neither had anyone else.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true - Amelia had called you to check in, but she had already done so much for you and your dad, you couldn’t accept her offer to come sit with you for a while. You knew her agency would be assigning her a new client to fill your father’s place soon. That’s just how this stuff worked. You weren’t her priority anymore, and you shouldn’t be.

But it really hurt that Mike couldn’t even spare a minute to check in on you. To simply text you back. And after what had happened between the two of you at the office? Your stomach flipped at the memory, and you shuddered, trying your best to shake it off.

There was no denying the truth now, the hard reality that you had spent your whole life trying to ignore, trying to overcome. 

You were nothing to Mike, to the Devil’s Advocates. 

You had always done everything for Mike, anything he had ever requested, at the drop of a dime, no questions asked, and the one time you needed him, really needed him, needed anyone, he couldn’t even be bothered.

Your entire life, you had struggled with loneliness, with always being on the outside looking in, always being the tagalong, the afterthought, forgotten entirely. 

In that moment, muddling through an unthinkable tragedy and impending loss all by yourself–truly alone–it was a kind of desolation you had never felt before. It was like your insides had been carved out until hollow, and all you had to fill the emptiness was the agony of your solitary, unloved existence.

You took a shaky breath to try to quell all the feelings roiling within you, and just as you went to take another, the door to your father’s hospital room opened, and Ari stepped inside. 

Dread shoved its way to the forefront of your emotional turmoil, and you jolted up in your seat, alarmed as you watched Ari’s concerned gaze land on your father. 

“Please, not here, not now. I told you, I’m not one of them–” you started but he shook his head. 

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then…what are you doing here?” you asked warily, your fingers twisting in the blanket as he moved closer. 

“I came as soon as I heard,” Ari murmured, edging around the foot of your father’s bed as he hesitantly closed the distance between you.

You blinked, more affected by his confession than you cared to admit as he crouched before your chair. His blue eyes were warm and so sad as they met yours. Sad for your father, sad for you. 

As much as you had tried to tell yourself–over and over again–that he didn’t care about you, that he was a liar, that he had been using you…

He was here.

Ari was here, and you weren’t alone anymore. 

Something about that realization–along with the gravity of the situation–hit you like a ton of bricks, and it was like everything inside of you crumpled in on itself. The weak, shoddy defenses you had built up to try to get through this, the tiny scraps of strength you had mustered so you wouldn’t fall apart entirely, it all crumbled away in an instant.

The sound that spilled from your lips wasn’t a sob, it didn’t even sound human, the pained wail of despair that escaped you. It was quickly followed by another, and then another, until you were crying uncontrollably, so hard that it hurt, that you couldn’t breathe, as you finally let yourself fall apart, and right into Ari’s arms.

He welcomed you without hesitation, pulling you as close as possible as he held you tight. He smoothed a big hand over your crown, cradling the back of your head as you wept against his shoulder, his words like a soothing balm to your soul as he murmured over and over again, “Shhh, I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

It didn’t feel real when you stepped inside your childhood home–your father’s home–knowing that he would never dwell within these walls again.

The living room TV would never blair with his favorite shows again.

His old, trusty recliner would never again squeak with his weight.

The rickety dining table in the kitchen would never again host your quiet, two-person meals.

Your father had been the heartbeat of this home–even when his mind and memories began to falter–and now that he was gone, it was as lifeless as his body had been the last time you saw him.

You hadn’t realized you’d been frozen in the entryway, tearful gaze fixed on your father’s recliner in the living room, until Ari’s hand landed on your shoulder.

He closed the front door behind you both, setting your purse and car keys on the nearby side table. 

“Why don’t you go shower and change into fresh clothes?” he suggested. 

You nodded, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you hadn’t been home or showered or changed in nearly three days. You felt so grimy, so gross, your skin crawling with it.

You were on autopilot as you made your way to your room, then through to the connected ensuite. You didn’t even see yourself in the mirror as you brushed your teeth. You didn’t feel the soapy loofah against your skin as you washed yourself. 

You didn’t have any recollection of drying off and picking out the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants you now wore as you once again found yourself standing in the entryway of your father’s home, staring at his empty recliner.

Ari appeared in the kitchen doorway, his brow furrowed in worry as he watched you. “I can cook you something to eat, or order out, whatever you want.”

You shook your head quickly, your stomach churning at the mere mention of food. “Not hungry.”

You didn’t think you’d ever be hungry again. You couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything other than the heavy weight of grief sitting in the pit of your stomach, the sharp knot of dread that blocked your throat and made it hard to swallow or breathe, and the jarring hollowness that rang through the rest of you. 

Ari moved closer, until he loomed before you. His big hands gently cupped your upper arms, his head ducking so his gaze could meet yours as he asked, “What do you need?”

You blinked at him, your foggy brain turning over his words. 

What did you need right now?

To not feel like this, the answer came quickly and without hesitation or much thought at all. 

You didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

The loss, the grief, the devastation, the uncertainty. Just a few of the layers to the blanket of emotions and pain that consumed you. 

Suffocated you.

You just wanted to feel good, even if it was short-lived. Anything to escape the current waking nightmare you found yourself trapped in.

For some reason, Mike popped into your mind. You thought of him that day in the motel room, how he’d been vibrating with excitement, high out of his mind but he had felt good in that moment. 

He had been the embodiment of euphoria, and that’s what you needed right now. 

“Pills or..or that white powder, if that’s all you have, I don’t care! Just a little of what you gave Mike,” you babbled, your lashes fluttering as you focused your gaze on Ari.

His eyebrows shot up, his head already shaking his descent, but he didn’t even get a chance to respond before you were grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Please,” you trembled, squeezing your eyes shut so no more tears could escape. Your fingers curled into the front of Ari’s button up as you pressed close to him, resting your forehead against his chest as you begged, “I won’t tell, I promise. Just…I just want to feel good, please. I just want to forget. I just want to forget about,” your voice broke and you swallowed. “I just want to forget about my dad, and about Mike, and how none of them care, they didn’t even care that he was dying, that I was all alone, please.”

“Honey, that’s not what you need right now,” Ari said gently, his hand rubbing your back as you whined at his resistance to your one request.

Maybe that’s why your brain so stubbornly fixated on this idea, this one request, because you never asked anyone for anything, ever. And this one time–just this once–you needed to be taken care of!

Why wouldn’t he help you? 

How come no one ever helped you? 

“Just this once, please!” you were crying again as you tipped your face back so Ari could see the look of pleading in your eyes. 

When he started to shake his head again, looking dead set on his answer, your brain grew desperate, going into barter mode.

“I’ll tell you about the DAs, the only real thing I know!”

Intrigue flashed in Ari’s gaze, but he still shook his head, his jaw set as he said, “I’m not giving you anything like that, that’s not what you need.”

“It is! Come on! This is why you’re here, this is the whole reason why you’re here!” Your voice was high-pitched now, tinged with a hysterical kind of frustration as you snatched Ari’s phone from his shirt pocket and held it out to him. “Unlock it, record me, I want to tell you! I’ll tell you this and then you can just give me a couple of pills, and it will be good. Everything will be good! I’ll be good!” 

When Ari didn’t move, just stared down at you sadly, you huffed, tapping on his phone screen and aiming it at his face until it unlocked. You scrolled through his apps until you found the voice recording one and tapped into it, starting a new recording as you quickly began to babble. 

“All I know is a few days before they found the bodies of those two gangsters you keep asking me about, Mike got a call at the end of the work day. It was from Andy, and he was talking so loud that I could hear the entire conversation. He told Mike to meet him somewhere just outside of city limits, and to come packing, and that he needed to come now! And then a few days later the remains were discovered, and and Andy’s girl, it had something to do with her, they tried to hurt her, I think, and she didn’t come around for a while, but she seems okay now. She was at the hospital when my father…” your voice faltered, tears streaking down your cheeks as you began to lose steam. “And she’s so nice, so…so she needed their help, okay? And, and that’s all I know.”

Your finger trembled as you clicked off the audio recording and shoved Ari’s phone back into his pocket. 

“So, please, now it’s your turn! Just a little, and I promise I won’t tell, I won’t get you in trouble, I wouldn’t–”

“I’m not giving you any of that poison!” Ari snapped. “You’re too good for that.”

“Please!” you quavered, shaking him, or at least trying to, but he was so much bigger than you that he didn’t move an inch. “I…I hurt. I just need to not feel like this, please! I don’t have anything left. I don’t have anyone. I don’t have anyone.”

“You have me,” Ari whispered, gently cradling your face between his hands.

“You don’t want me,” you wailed, trying to recoil from his soft touch. “No one wants me. No one ever wants me, and the only person who ever truly loved me is gone! “

“I want you,” Ari said vehemently. He tugged you closer, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes burning into your own as he said, “I’ve wanted you since that first night at Jo’s. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, because of who I am and why I’m here and how we met. Because of everything I’ve done to you, the way I’ve treated you, the way I’ve hurt you. I don’t deserve you, but fuck, sweetheart, I want you. I want you.”

Your breath caught in your chest at Ari’s words, at the way he was watching you, with such an intent desire and yearning that it had something warm and welcomed blooming to life in your chest.

A spark of what could be your own euphoria. 

“Show me,” you whispered, leaning into him, clutching him tighter. “Please, Ari. Please, make it go away. I don’t want to feel this way. I just want to feel good. Please make me feel good?”

You saw the internal battle wage in Ari’s eyes. They really were the windows to his soul, and they always had been. When you tipped your face up and just barely touched your lips to his, begging him with another soft, trembling, “Please, Ari, I need you,” you saw the surrender flash in his gaze just a beat before he was kissing you.

You gasped as he kissed you with the kind of frenzied passion that had your body coming to life one nerve ending at a time. A second later, Ari had you backed into the nearest wall, his tongue sweeping past your lips to touch your own, as you pawed at him just as desperately, his addictive flavor bursting all along your tastebuds.

When your hands fell to fumble with the front of his jeans, Ari tore his mouth from yours, his forehead resting against your own as he panted, “Wait.”

You whined at the thought of him changing his mind, at being left unsatisfied and feeling unwanted–yet again–but then Ari gently caressed your warm cheek and pressed a much more innocent kiss against your pouting lips. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” he husked. “I really wanna take my time with you, sweetheart, make you feel as good as you deserve.”

Your vision blurred with relieved tears as you leaned into him, your hands holding onto Ari’s back for dear life. You just took a moment to breathe him in and drown in his presence, his proximity, his care. 

Then you murmured an answer to his question, and soon you were tucked away in your bedroom together. 

You were delightfully dizzy as Ari pressed you back against your closed bedroom door, his big hands so careful as he cradled your face and kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world.

There was a franticness to his passion for you, which belied the gentleness of his touch, and you wanted to get lost in this feeling forever, being so swept up by someone else’s desire, for you.

Ari finally dragged his mouth from yours, humming in carnal satisfaction when you turned your face away to catch your breath. His lips touched the curve of your jaw, traversing a slow, careful path down your skin. When his mouth reached the side of your throat, he lingered, his lips pressing soft kisses wherever he could reach, his tongue sneaking out to taste the flavor of you, and his beard prickling your skin in a way that had your cunt throbbing and your thighs pressing together. 

When he sucked a bruise against your throat, you moaned, your fingers curling into the worn denim of his button up as you yanked him closer. Tipping your head back to give him more room to work, your eyes fluttered shut on the airy sigh of his name, and you could feel Ari’s groan against your neck in response.

“Can I take this off?” he husked, tugging on the hem of your oversized t-shirt.

You nodded so quickly your vision swam, and Ari grinned at you, his look so boyish and pleased–so playful and wanting–that it had your stomach swooping and tears burning at the back of your eyes. 

Because this was what you had always craved when it came to intimacy and sex.

No ulterior motives, no emotional blocks, no feeling used then discarded.

Just another person captivated by you, lost to you, wanting you just as badly as you wanted them.

A new wave of desperate desire washed over you as Ari lifted your t-shirt. You raised your arms to help him draw it from your body, your insides clenching at the way his eyes were so dark with lust, so hungry, as he eyed your bare breasts. You didn’t even have a chance to feel shy or vulnerable or get into your own head before he descended on you.

You gasped as Ari’s mouth zeroed in on your breasts, his lips tugging one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth to lave with his tongue as his big hand gently palmed the other side of your chest. You whined soft and sweet for him, your hand flying to his head, fingers gripping his hair as your back arched as you offered more of yourself for him to worship, begged for it wordlessly as you writhed against him, never wanting this feeling to end.

Ari took a moment to pay some attention to your other breast before he sank to his knees before you so his mouth could continue its descent down your trembling body. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pressed gentle kisses along your belly, his fingers curling into the waistband of your sweats.

His smoldering gaze lifted then, realigning with yours, and he didn’t even need to speak before you were answering the question shining in his smokey gaze with an eager nod of your head. 

A beat later, both your pants and panties were tossed aside, and you were completely naked now as Ari guided your leg over his shoulder, spreading you open with a throaty groan of admiration as he gazed at the warm, wanting place between your thighs.

“Sweetheart,” he was as breathless as you felt as his hands smoothed up your inner thighs. “You’re so pretty, so soft…” Ari’s hands mirrored the reverence in his voice as he framed your cunt before tugging your folds apart with his thumbs and leaning in. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

Moaning, your hips tilted, your face burning like the sun as you dropped your head back against your bedroom door and waited with bated breath for that first touch of Ari’s mouth to your pussy.

He didn’t make you wait long, the humid warmth of his breath fanning over your core a split second before his tongue dragged up the cut of you and tore a wordless keen of delight from the back of your throat. 

You could feel him groan against your cunt as his tongue did another lap, his voice all grit and gravel as he told you,  “You taste so good, honey, I’ve been dying to have your flavor on my tongue again.”

It felt like something inside of you was soaring to new heights of bliss as Ari dove in, worshiping your pussy with his mouth, taking his time to tease you with slow, heavy drags of his tongue before he was circling your throbbing clit with his lips and sucking until you were rutting against his face, egging him on.

You didn’t even realize that you were chanting his name until your words were interrupted by a throaty moan when Ari’s tongue focused on your drippy, clenching hole. Your breath caught in your chest as he worked his tongue inside of you, teasing–sin incarnate–as his chest rumbled with his own delight as a litany of breathy, high pitched keens fell from your lips without relent. 

“Let go for me,” Ari husked once he pulled away. 

He kissed your cunt just as tenderly as he would kiss your mouth before he sank two thick fingers into your pussy, curled them, and started to work that spongy spot inside of you that had sparks of ecstasy crackling all along your body as your thighs began to shake.

“That’s it, honey, lose yourself to it, let it feel good,” Ari encouraged, his tongue lapping at your clit for a beat, kitten licks that had you crying out, mindless and just on the edge. “You deserve it sweetheart, you deserve to feel good.”

You sobbed as your orgasm finally broke over you, the utter carnal delight of it igniting deep in your core before rushing through the rest of you like a raging wildfire far beyond your control. 

Everything else around you melted away, your mind going blissfully silent and hazy as your body trembled and tensed with each new wave of pleasure that washed over you. As the last dregs of your ecstasy faded away, your knees buckled, your body loose and pliant as Ari caught you against him easily and arranged you in his lap as he sat back on your floor and held you against him.

Still trying to catch your breath, you laid your cheek on his shoulder, loosely hugging him as his big hands gently stroked your back, his nose snuffling along the side of your throat and earning a giggle for his silliness. 

You could feel the curl of Ari’s lips against your neck as he pressed a kiss there, before you straightened so you could see his handsome face. 

He just watched you for a long, quiet moment, his eyes so warm that your belly was fluttering all over again. Your innate shyness finally creeped up on you as you remembered you were naked as you sat in his lap, and he was still fully dressed, much to your chagrin. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Ari said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So sweet.” Another kiss on the tip of your nose. His lips found your warm cheek next, kissing there, too, his voice pitched low as his next words washed over you, “You drive me so crazy, the way you’ve taken me over.”

You were pleasantly overwhelmed by his words, his praise and compliments, your hopeful mind latching on to one thing in particular. “You think I’m beautiful?”

He smiled at you, smoothing a hand over your head. “I think you’re gorgeous, sweetheart, inside and out.”

Shy gaze falling away, you leaned in close, hands finding purchase on Ari’s broad shoulders as you whispered, “I think you’re beautiful too. I thought so since the first time I saw you.”

“Ditto.” He tipped your face up with a lone finger beneath your chin, his lips finding yours for another sweet kiss. 

Something about the way he kept his eyes open for this kiss had you doing the same, and it just struck you again in that moment, for what had to be the millionth time since you met Ari, that he was so painfully handsome.

And now you got to bask in it up close. 

You touched your hands to his face, carefully framing his beardy cheeks as you allowed your gaze to flicker all over his perfect features. His warm eyes, his perfectly straight nose, the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks that you only now noticed, so close to him for the very first time. Your thumbs caressed along the edges of his beard, and you felt your pussy flutter at the rough scrape of it against your skin, at the memory of how it had felt against your cunt.

“I remember now, that first night at Jo’s,” you said suddenly as the recollection came to you. “As soon as you walked into the bar, you looked right at me, caught me staring at you, and winked. You saw me before anyone else.”

A lump of emotion swelled in your throat, and you stubbornly blinked back your tears, wanting to continue to get lost in this moment, in Ari. 

So you did.

This time, you initiated a kiss, leaning in as your hands maintained their station on his bearded cheeks, tilting your face and touching your lips to his. It was the hitch of his breath in response that had your tongue boldly pushing past the seam of his mouth to touch his own.

You were rewarded by a deep purr rumbling in Ari’s chest, and your cunt throbbed in response. Squirming closer to him, you twined your arms around Ari’s neck, kissing him more desperately now as you felt his hard cock bulging at the front of his jeans and nudging at your center.

By the time you were more gasping against each other’s lips than kissing, Ari was rutting up against you, moaning as his hands fell to grip your hips and guide the rock of your body over his.

When your hand dropped to cup his erection through his jeans, Ari grunted, his nostrils flaring as he met your dazed gaze and rocked up into your touch. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I need to be inside you so bad.”

As he worked on undoing his jeans and digging his cock free, you made quick work of his shirt, unbuttoning it and then pushing it off of his shoulders and flinging it aside as your hands returned to his warm, smooth skin.

“God,” you breathed, your eyes eagerly drinking in the expanse of his bronze skin, the flex of his muscles, the dark, coarse hair littering his chest and stomach.

When your gazes next met, you saw your own frantic need mirrored in Ari’s dark eyes, so the two of you worked together seamlessly–wordlessly–lips parted and panting against each other’s as you gripped his cock and guided it to your entrance as his hands held your hips and tilted your body just right. 

The sound you made as you slowly sank down on Ari’s hard cock was the love child of a moan and a keen. Your forehead touched his and your lashes fluttered as your body greedily gripped every rock hard inch of him that it could. Ari gave a rut that had you both gasping as he bottomed out, and he moaned as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him hard in welcome.

“You feel so good, honey, so fucking perfect,” Ari breathed. 

He kissed you hard, with enthusiasm, a thorough tasting of you that had his tongue tanging with your mewl of pleasure as his hands slid up your back, cupped your shoulders, and held you in place as he started to drive up into you slow and deep.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, clinging to him as you grinded in his lap, circling your hips and whining your delight each and every time your clit got even just a lick of friction. “Ari!”

“I’m right here, honey,” he groaned, thrusting up into you faster now. “Just for you. All for you.”

One of his hands fell between your bodies, and when his thumb found your clit and began to rub, you keened. Your head fell back, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure ricocheted all throughout your body. That coil inside of you twined tighter and tighter with every drive of Ari’s cock, every swipe of his thumb against your swollen clit.

When his lips found the pulse point in your neck and sucked, you were gone. You came with a cry of pure bliss, your hips rocking hard and fast as you rode Ari through your orgasm, your clit throbbing every time he grunted against the crook of your neck.

Your pussy fluttered with another small orgasm when Ari reached his own peak, your brain going floaty as he groaned your name against your neck and pumped you full of his hot, sticky cum.

You clung to each other for a long moment, both of you panting and shuddering with the aftermath of your ecstasy. 

You were already well on your way to total exhaustion, your body so thoroughly wrung out in the most amazing way, that you couldn’t help but be impressed when Ari managed to stand with you still clinging to him, full of him, and moved you both toward your bed.

He set you down gently, stealing another kiss before he stepped away to finish undressing. Once he was as naked as you, Ari grinned at the way your eyes widened to find his cock still hard and standing tall and proud against his stomach. 

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” he winked, joining you in bed and stretching out over your boneless body.

He rained more kisses down on you, the embodiment of patient passion as he took his time to drink from your mouth until you were gasping for breath and squirming all over again. 

“My insatiable little sweetheart,” he teased, eyes sparkling at you. He huffed a laugh when you whined and buried your face against his chest to hide. 

Pressing a kiss to your crown, he eased away from you. You didn’t resist as his big hands guided you over onto your belly, shooting him another wide-eyed look over your shoulder that had him aiming another boyish grin and wink your way. 

Tension from the unknown slowly melted away as Ari took a moment to kiss a path down your spine. Starting to learn what you liked now, what made you desperate, Ari’s mouth found its way back up to your shoulder, his lips teasing the soft curve for a moment before he was kissing and sucking along the side of your neck, making you gasp and mewl as you writhed against the blankets.

When Ari’s big, heavy body blanketed your own, his front pressing flush to your back–his full weight settled against you–it was like a switch flipped in your brain, and you just went absolutely pliant for him. 

“Yeah, there you go, sweetheart, just relax for me. Let me take care of you,” Ari cooed against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

Your fingers curled into the blankets at either side of you as Ari rutted against your ass. When you spread your thighs for him, he hummed, kissing your temple as he breathed, “Good girl,” against your skin.

You shuddered, your pussy fluttering at his praise, and a second later, the mushroom tip of his cock was catching on your entrance, and then he was slowly sliding into you. 

Moaning as he split you open, your lips parted, your mouth hanging open at the exquisite stretch and burn, especially in this position. Ari’s cock felt even bigger than before, and you swore it hit every sensitive spot inside of you before he was finally settled to the hilt.

“Christ,” Ari hissed. His forehead dipped to the back of your head, his weight rested on his forearms at either side of you. “You’re so fucking tight, I don’t think I’m gonna last long this way, honey.”

“I don’t care,” you wisped, whining as you fisted the blankets beneath you and squirmed. “Please, just make me cum again.”

Ari wasted no time in doing just that. He kept his nose tucked against your neck as he fucked you with hard, deep strokes. Your bed creaked with each one of his thrusts, adding to the symphony or ruin that filled your room, the slap of flesh against flesh, Ari’s guttural groans and grunts, your own throaty keens and gasps.

When he dug one of his hands beneath you, pressing against your low belly, the tips of his fingers just teasing your clit, you made such a sweet, startled sound of visceral delight that you could feel Ari’s cock twitch and throb inside of you in response.

“God, honey, you keep making all those sweet, sexy sounds, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Please don’t stop,” you begged, rocking beneath him, desperate for more friction and on the edge of another orgasm. “Feels so good.”

Groaning at the way you slurred your words, how blissed out you sounded, Ari doubled down, his fingers swirling against your clit as he rutted into you over and over again.

Before you knew it, you were keening another glorious orgasm, your muscles tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing as bliss danced all along your body, fully invaded your mind.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ari panted, his voice tinged with desperation now as he drove into you with enthusiasm, his hips pounding against your ass over and over again until you were crying out for him one final time as your body shook with one last wave of delightful pleasure.

Shouting his own release, Ari drove into you hard and lingered. Distantly, you felt his cock swell and twitch inside of you, felt the hot flood of his spend–of his pleasure, from you–as he groaned in ecstasy and pumped into you a final few times.

You were so beyond floaty as his big body sagged against you, your lashes fluttering as your eyes closed and stayed that way. You didn’t think you could move even if you tried, feeling like an actual puddle of post orgasmic bliss as you sank heavily against the mattress and felt the call of sleep more than you ever had before.

So out of it, you weren’t fully aware of the way Ari rained soft kisses along your shoulders before finally moving away from you. The way he lingered at your side for a moment, petting your head and watching you with the softest gaze imaginable. How he so gently cleaned you up and disappeared only long enough to get you a glass of water before returning. 

You were half asleep when he sat you up and made you drink a few mouthfuls, smiling at how you couldn’t even keep your eyes open as you snuggled into his side after.

“Please, don’t leave me,” you mumbled as your fingers curled in his chest hair and you went lax against him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ari promised, smoothing a hand over your head. 

By the time he leaned over to return the glass of water to your nightstand, then turned back to you, you were completely passed out against his chest, your breathing slow and deep.

Carefully, Ari settled back in bed, arranging you against his chest before tugging the blankets up around you both. 

He stared down at you for a good, long while, his eyes drinking in your features. Zeroing in on the furrow between your brow, Ari couldn’t help it as he drew his knuckles up your cheek before his thumb was smoothing the furrow away, and you looked truly peaceful for the first time since he had met you.

Even in sleep, you radiated sweetness, a type of kindness and goodness that was so rare, especially in his world. 

It both snuck up on him and didn’t, the moment of clarity. The firm knowing that he couldn’t do it, what he had set out to do. He couldn’t use you to solve this case, he wouldn’t.

You didn’t deserve it, any of it - what Ari had already done to you and what he had planned to do up until now.  

You were an innocent. You were the kind of person that Ari should actually be protecting, not sacrificing in a bid for vengeance for violent offenders like Neal Logiudice and Robert Pronge and to take down the Devil’s Advocates to boot.

Ari’s stomach churned violently when he thought of what he had done to you, what he had put you through. 

It was that burn of self-loathing deep in his gut that sparked his fierce determination to protect you at all costs moving forward.

He would never be able to undo what had already been done, but maybe, just maybe he could make it just a little bit right. He could be there for you now, no strings attached, when you needed him most. 

Ari would find another way to help his cousin, to support her in her time of grief, but it wouldn’t come at the expense of you, your well-being, or your safety.

Mind made up, Ari carefully reached for his phone that he had set on the bedside table earlier after cleaning you up. Keeping one hand pressed to your back, feeling your warmth and softness beneath his touch, he used the other to scroll through his phone apps until he found the voice recorder.

Clicking into it, he didn’t hesitate to swipe at the recording you had made just a few hours ago, his one real piece of evidence that could take down the DAs. Tapping on the red “delete” option that popped up, Ari watched as the recording of your confession disappeared for good.

He felt a sense of peace wash over him as some of the tightness in his chest that had been residing there for months finally started to ease up. Setting his phone down, Ari tucked his nose to your crown, breathing in your soft, soothing scent as he closed his eyes and finally welcomed sleep.

The living room was dark and still–quiet–save for your muffled sobs. 

You were curled up in your father’s recliner, wearing his leather Devil’s Advocates jacket over your nightgown, drowning in his faded scent and lost to your grief as the first peeks of the sun’s rays began to slowly fill the room.

It was a new day, and your father would never see it. 

The simple thought had you crying even harder.

That’s how Ari found you when he emerged from your bedroom, his chest bare and his jeans hastily pulled on once he realized you weren’t beside him in bed.

He paused in the doorway, frowning as he watched you, and it wasn’t until he was crouched just before the recliner and touching a hand to your shoulder as he murmured your name that you realized he was there at all.

“I’m a terrible person, an a-awful daughter,” you hiccuped as Ari gently smoothed a hand over your head.

“Sweetheart, I can assure you, you’re anything but.”

“No!” you recoiled from Ari’s gentle touch, feeling undeserving of it as you curled in on yourself. “You don’t understand - I wasn’t with him when it happened! I didn’t get to say goodbye! I was being horrible and stupid and pathetic with Mike, because he said he wanted me, and I…I was so stupid. I ignored Amelia’s calls, and…” your voice quavered, sounding incredibly small as you finished, “I didn’t get to tell him how much I love him.”

Your own devastation was mirrored in Ari’s eyes as he watched you. His hand touched your knee, giving it a squeeze as he said, “I promise you - he knew. Anyone who spends five minutes with you can tell how much you love your father. He knew and he loved you so much in return, I know he did. You’re the kind of person who’s made to be loved.”

Your face crumpled at Ari’s words and you cried into your hands, feeling both hollow inside and somehow still overflowing with hurt as he reached for you.

This time you didn’t resist Ari’s touch, inching closer and resting your tear-stained cheek on the recliner arm, mourning your father and everything you’d never get to tell him as Ari gently rubbed your back and dutifully stayed with you until this wave of tears ran dry. 

Ari was literally buzzing with fury as he stepped into Jo’s bar.

He couldn’t get the image of you curled up on the recliner, weeping for your loss and the guilt that went along with it, out of his head. 

He couldn’t shake how small and fragile you had looked as you got ready to go to the funeral home to make arrangements—all by yourself—insisting it was what you wanted despite Ari’s offer to go with you.

Ari had done you wrong, he knew that, but these people, the Devil’s Advocates, who touted family and taking care of one another but didn’t show a lick of care for you or what you were going through, they made him fucking sick. 

Which is why as soon as Ari’s angry gaze landed on Mike, Curtis, and Andy at the back of the bar, playing a game of pool and laughing and joking like they didn’t have a care in the world, he stalked over without a second thought.

Mike was the first to see him, eyes lighting up and grin tugging up the corner of his lips as he greeted, “Hey, man–” but he didn’t get much further than that before Ari was cocking his fist back and punching Mike square in the face.

As Mike fell to the floor, Andy and Curtis converged on him as one, and Ari just went on instinct, kicking Curtis away with a harsh boot to the stomach before he turned and threw a punch so hard to Andy’s face, it had the DA leader on his hands and knees on the floor, spitting out a wad of blood a moment later.

“You should be protecting the most vulnerable in your circle,” Ari snarled at him, itching to yank him up by his collar and hit him all over again. “Not fucking leaving them to fend for themselves. Some fucking leader you are.”

“Hold on,” Curtis’ words had a wheeze to them as he grabbed Andy, who had scrambled to his feet and tried to launch himself at Ari. His concerned yet wary gaze met Ari’s as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

Ari snapped your name, sneering at Andy who was shooting him a death glare as he wiped blood from his split lip. 

Curtis shook his head, confused. “What about her? Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not fucking okay,” Ari snapped. “Her father had a stroke and then died yesterday, and none of you assholes could be bothered to even check on her.”

Curtis and Andy whirled on Mike as one, since he was the one who spent the most time with you, and Mike visibly cringed, his face paling and his shoulders hiking up to his ears as he shook his head, "I didn't know it was that serious! She just texted to say he was in the hospital, and we, yanno, fucked a few days ago, and I didn't want to deal with her being weird or clingy or whatever and–"

Ari actually growled as he took a step toward Mike, but Andy beat him to the other man, fists curling in the front of Mike’s shirt as he gave him a rough shake then a hard shove away. "You fucking prick! This isn't how we roll, Mike. And ghosting her, when she needed us? That's fucking cold."

"I-I'm sorry,” Mike stuttered. “I didn’t realize how serious it was.”

“You should have told us,” Curtis spat at him, shaking his head in disgust. “Even if you didn’t want to be around her, I would have checked on her. Jesus, Mike.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered again. He sniffed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides before he shoved them in his pants pockets. “I can go check on her now–”

“Don’t you fucking go near her!” Ari pointed a finger in his face. “You’ve done enough damage.”

Glaring, Mike swatted Ari’s hand away. “Like you’re one to talk?” he scoffed. “You may wanna get off of your high horse, man, because from where I’m standing, you haven’t treated her much better than me.”

Jaw clenching, Ari stared at Mike for a long moment, hating the truth to his words and how they made his stomach churn. Hands curled into fists at his sides, he took a deep breath before shaking his head, because Mike wasn’t worth it.

He wasn’t worth more drama. 

He wasn’t worth blowing Ari’s cover. 

And he certainly wasn’t worth your sweet admiration. 

Mike Weiss wasn’t worth shit. 

Ari turned on his heel and took a step forward before pausing and glancing back. His eyes found Andy then Curtis as he spoke, "All she ever wanted was to be a part of your little clique, but the truth is, you don't deserve her, not a single fucking one of you…”

Turning away from them, Ari murmured to himself, “And neither do I,” as he stalked across the bar, shoved through the exit, and stepped out of sight.

When Mike arrived at the office a few days later, it was to find you standing at your desk, packing up your personal belongings. 

You didn’t perk up at his arrival, or greet him with a smile of welcome. You didn’t even look at him as he set down his bag and coffee in the small waiting area. You just continued to methodically place your things into the box atop your desk as he hesitantly moved closer. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, sounding so unsure that your gaze finally lifted to meet his.

The first thing you noticed was Mike’s black eye, and if you had to guess who gave it to him, the list was fairly short, just one person really. 

The thought of Ari laying into Mike on your behalf made your tummy flutter, not because you condoned violence, or because Mike deserved it–which he did–but because you weren’t used to having others stick up for you.

And it felt good.

There was something else that felt good, too - the decision you had made.

Perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction to your father’s death, to everything that had happened over the past few weeks, but the thought wouldn’t leave your mind as you had laid awake in bed each of the past few nights, unable to sleep.

And honestly? You had never felt so confident and sure of anything as you did in that moment, when you plucked up your resignation letter from the corner of your desk and held it out to Mike.

Brows furrowing, he gently took it from your grip, his eyes widening and his lips turning down into a frown as he read through your letter to the end. 

For your part, you had it memorized, not because it was an exceptionally well written piece, or because it was short and sweet with zero fluff–because Mike didn’t deserve any kind words or copious amounts of gratitude–but because of what it symbolized. 

You were finally done with being the Devil’s Advocates’ tagalong.

The loss of your father hadn’t just turned your world upside down, it had infused you with a sense of unshakeable clarity. It made you realize that life was so short, so very precious, and you had to stop wasting it on people and places that didn’t even acknowledge your existence.

“I know two weeks' notice is usually the standard,” you told Mike as you placed another item in your box. “But I was hoping you could be flexible with me since I have so much on my plate with arranging my dad’s funeral and everything.”

"Yeah, of course!” Mike murmured, swallowing hard as he placed your letter on the edge of the desk. “Don’t even worry about it.” He shifted his weight, the air between you heavy with awkward tension as the silence drew on for a long beat, and then he spoke again, “Look, pip, I'm sorry about…everything," he started.

"Just, don't, Mike,” you cut him off with a shake of your head, placing the last of your things in the box before looking at him. 

He looked stunned that you were being so short with him, so used to your sweet, eager-to-please nature by now, the way you had always hung off of his every word.

Just another thing about you that he had always taken for granted.

That reminder had your spine straightening as you said, “It just, it is what it is. I don't fit in here, and I never have.” Your voice quavered then, emotion rising up, but you stubbornly swallowed it down. Instead, you mustered a brittle smile as you shrugged, "So now I need to find where I do fit in, and I don't think it's here in Newton."

"You're leaving?" Mike asked, his mouth gaping as he stared at you, stunned yet again.

"Yeah,” you nodded. “I just need a fresh start after everything. I'm going to put my dad’s house on the market, and he had a really good life insurance policy that I didn’t even know about until now. So, he’s still taking care of me in a way and…yeah. I’ll be heading out soon after his funeral.”

Mike rounded your desk, his face as serious as you had ever seen it as he said, "You don't need to go, pip."

"Yes I do,” you replied firmly. “For me.” 

This was the first decision you had ever made that was truly for yourself, for your best interests. 

It wasn’t based on who you thought you should be, for others, but who you wanted to be, for yourself. 

And the person that Newton made you–that Mike and the Devil’s Advocates made you–that wasn’t the person you wanted to be. 

You met Mike’s gaze for a long moment, surprised by the upset straining his features, but strangely satisfied by it too. 

“Thank you,” you murmured earnestly. “For the job and…everything, I guess, even the painful, messy stuff."

“Pip,” Mike trailed off, unsure of what to say, but he moved closer, reaching for you. 

You recoiled instantly, shaking your head as you held out a hand to ward him off. “Don’t touch me, please.”

Mike pulled up short, his cheeks going pink as he shoved his hands down at his sides and whispered, “Sorry.”

Consumed by a feeling you had never felt before, but you had an inkling that it was pride, you turned away from him and picked up your things, rounding the other side of your desk as you strode toward the door. 

When you got to it, you paused, glancing back to find Mike staring at you, his face forlorn. 

“You know, the one good thing that came out of all of this?” you asked. “You helped me realize that I deserve better, to be seen, to be happy.”

Your lips curled at the corners, more of that unfamiliar pride welling up throughout you as you spoke that truth aloud, and then you were turning away, pulling the door open, and leaving the office for the very last time.

Completely unaware of the way Mike stared after you, looking confused and strangely gutted as he spoke a reply that you would never hear, “You do.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WELLLL, WHAT ARE WE THINKING, FEELING, AND HOE SPIRALING ABOUT? DROP YER GIRL A REBLOG/COMMENT/ASK TO SCREECH PUH-LEASE!!!! 🥺🙏🏻

NEXT PART

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“Yeah,” she moved closer, again hesitating before her hand touched your shoulder, giving a squeeze of comfort. “I know you have a difficult decision to make, but you don’t have to do it alone.” It was instant, the swell of tears that blurred your vision, because she was so wrong. You did everything alone, even this.

But you don’t, though.

I feel this is a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy for Pip, likely influenced by her relationship with Mike. If she had let Andy’s girl make the call, I believe at least Curtis and Peaches would be there in a heartbeat, probably Andy too.

“No, thank you. I've already texted Mike.” You glanced over at your phone that was resting on the small side table, tapping the screen to reveal no notifications awaiting you. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you mustered a brittle smile as you glanced up at her, “I…I'm sure he'll let everyone know."

Babe, that’s your first mistake, entrusting Mike with this information. He isn’t going to tell anyone because he doesn’t care and doesn't want to disrupt his good time. Plus, he was probably also high when he read the text.

you couldn’t help the devastation that rose up within you when you clicked into your text thread with Mike. He had seen the text you had sent hours and hours ago–yesterday–about your father, about being at the hospital and probably missing work, and he hadn’t responded. He hadn’t called, he hadn’t texted you back, he hadn’t stopped by, and neither had anyone else.

Mike is selfish and unreliable, of course he isn’t going to show up for you, and because you’re relying on him to get the message out to the others, they’re not going to show up for you either.

Amelia had called you to check in, but she had already done so much for you and your dad, you couldn’t accept her offer to come sit with you for a while. You knew her agency would be assigning her a new client to fill your father’s place soon. That’s just how this stuff worked. You weren’t her priority anymore, and you shouldn’t be.

So? Her being reassigned soon doesn’t mean she doesn’t still care about you and the patient she’s cared for for so long. She might want to say good-bye to him too, as well as comfort you. Self-fulfilling prophecy strikes again.

While I am annoyed that Ari did the one thing I didn’t want him to – showing up at her most vulnerable moment – I’m glad he did, because she desperately needed someone to hold her hand through this. She wasn’t going to call anyone other than Mike and refused other offers of help. She just needed someone to show up. Ari waltzing in and providing that comfort helped her through her very last moments with her father, and I’m not sure she would have been able to leave the hospital without him.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Ari murmured, edging around the foot of your father’s bed as he hesitantly closed the distance between you.

So how did he hear about it if she only texted Mike? Did Mike tell Ari but none of the other DA members? Maybe they were “hanging out” when the text came in? Or is this his way of covering for the fact he tracked her phone to the hospital?

The description of her grief is so vivid and tangible. My own chest tightened with sadness reading her depressive spirals and desperation to feel anything other than the pain of losing the only person who truly loved her. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I’m happy Ari was there to hold her through it and provide the relief she needed.

“You don’t want me,” you wailed, trying to recoil from his soft touch. “No one wants me. No one ever wants me, and the only person who ever truly loved me is gone! “ “I want you,” Ari said vehemently. He tugged you closer, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes burning into your own as he said, “I’ve wanted you since that first night at Jo’s. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, because of who I am and why I’m here and how we met. Because of everything I’ve done to you, the way I’ve treated you, the way I’ve hurt you. I don’t deserve you, but fuck, sweetheart, I want you. I want you.”

I don’t want to forgive Ari, but, damn, if this confession isn’t a good start. His internal monologue and deleting the recorded confession are working in his favor too. Jerk.

“I promise you – he knew. Anyone who spends five minutes with you can tell how much you love your father. He knew and he loved you so much in return, I know he did. You’re the kind of person who’s made to be loved.”

Damn, this sweet talking bastard knowing just the right things to say. Of course, she needed to hear this. I’m just mad he’s warming my heart to him again.

Then he goes and decks Mike and Andy, both deserved (Andy didn’t really do anything to Pip, I’m just still angry at him, lol) – though kicking Curtis was uncalled for. We love DA!Curtis in this house and will not tolerate any harm coming his way.

“You should be protecting the most vulnerable in your circle,” Ari snarled at him, itching to yank him up by his collar and hit him all over again. “Not fucking leaving them to fend for themselves. Some fucking leader you are.”

While this is true, I do think the other DA members relied on Mike to relay important information on Pip since she didn’t come around much. That’s their biggest mistake, but it’s likely they assume Mike and Pip are much closer than they actually are due to the childhood friendship. Basically, one of the biggest mistakes anyone makes in this story is trusting fucking Mike Weiss.

I’m so glad Andy and Curtis turned on Mike and chewed him out for being a prick.

"All she ever wanted was to be a part of your little clique, but the truth is, you don't deserve her, not a single fucking one of you…” Turning away from them, Ari murmured to himself, “And neither do I,”

I do think everyone in the DAs needed to be read the riot act about how Pip was treated because they all could have done more, but I don’t think they were intentionally neglectful of her – except Mike, Mike definitely was.

I’m also glad that Ari doesn’t think he deserves Pip either, because he doesn’t. Not yet. He still has a long way to go to possibly make up for what he did to her – and even then, she has every right not to want to be with him. I know I’d struggle to trust him. Sure, we the audience know that his feelings for her are real and his remorse is genuine, but how can she? He was so believably infatuated with her before the initial betrayal and definitely played on her insecurities to manipulate her. If we hadn’t seen things through his perspective, I’d be thinking he’s using her weakest moments to his advantage.

You were finally done with being the Devil’s Advocates’ tagalong. The loss of your father hadn’t just turned your world upside down, it had infused you with a sense of unshakeable clarity. It made you realize that life was so short, so very precious, and you had to stop wasting it on people and places that didn’t even acknowledge your existence.

Yes, girl! You are so much better than this! You deserve so much better than this!

He looked stunned that you were being so short with him, so used to your sweet, eager-to-please nature by now, the way you had always hung off of his every word. Just another thing about you that he had always taken for granted.

“The friendship ended out of nowhere!”

It’s amazing how shocked users are when the person they leach off from finally has enough and sets some boundaries. She was his little ego boost and eager assistant, always there to meet his needs and act like he was the center of her world. Now that tap has been shut off and he’s unsure how to handle it.

"You don't need to go, pip." "Yes I do,” you replied firmly. “For me.”  This was the first decision you had ever made that was truly for yourself, for your best interests.  It wasn’t based on who you thought you should be, for others, but who you wanted to be, for yourself.  And the person that Newton made you–that Mike and the Devil’s Advocates made you–that wasn’t the person you wanted to be. 

This is all I want for her, to get a fresh start, find herself, find her people, and just be happy.

I do think there is a small part of Mike that cares about her, probably that little boy that was friends with her so long ago. That’s the part of him that’s sad she’s leaving, and hopefully will let him know that he’s the reason she left. He seems to realize this after she walks out.

“You know, the one good thing that came out of all of this?” you asked. “You helped me realize that I deserve better, to be seen, to be happy.” Your lips curled at the corners, more of that unfamiliar pride welling up throughout you as you spoke that truth aloud, and then you were turning away, pulling the door open, and leaving the office for the very last time. Completely unaware of the way Mike stared after you, looking confused and strangely gutted as he spoke a reply that you would never hear, “You do.”

Damn right, she does, Mike! Glad you’re realizing it now that she’s done with you. Bravo!

Also, Siri, how did you have me feeling a little empathy for Mike in this last scene?! He’s been an absolute ass this entire series, but the minute he feels the least bit hurt, I feel a tiny bit bad for him? He brought this on himself and he’ll have to face the consequences of his actions, but I think he didn’t even realize how he felt about her until it was too late.

It was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, and not just because you spent so much time here with Andy. The decor was traditional–and expensive–a myriad of dark woods and butter-smooth leather. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, stacked with books and dotted with expensive pieces of decor, and even some antiques that probably cost more money than your brain could comprehend. 

But your favorite personal touch were the two pieces of framed artwork hanging behind Andy’s desk. They were abstract and colorful, and each time you got swept away staring at them, you swore your eyes gleaned a completely new shape or scene or meaning behind them. 

Andy once told you the story of how he had won them in a bidding war at an antique auction after months of tracking down any artwork he could find by his late mother’s favorite artist. 

It seemed like such a small thing about himself that he had shared with you–but it showed the kind of man that Andy Barber was. 

Devoted. Determined. Strategic. Patient when it counted most.

And never willing to give up. 

You smiled as you slowly made your way to where he sat hunched over his executive desk, still deep in his own work despite the approach of early evening. 

It was traits like his devotion and patience that had finally won you over completely–despite how gun-shy you had been at the mere idea of anything more with Andy. 

With anyone, really, given your history.

But even you couldn’t deny that the more you got to know Andy, the more time you had spent with him, the more the thought of something more had taken root in your brain and began to flourish.

And now here you were. 

Clocking your proximity, Andy finally pulled his eyes from his computer screen, straightening in his leather-back chair. His gaze softened as it landed on you, his lips tilting up at the corners into your favorite smile. 

“All done for the day?” he asked, pushing his seat back and making room for you, because he knew you well. 

So Andy didn’t bat an eye when you nodded in response to his question before slowly sinking to the floor, until you were sat between his feet and resting your cheek against his knee with a soft sound of contentment.

“I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow to next week, like you asked,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering as Andy reached out and began to gently pet your head. “And I ordered flowers for Ari’s mother for her birthday next week, too.” 

“Thank you, honey,” Andy murmured, his fingers teasing along the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You take such good care of me, of all of us. I bet you even reminded Ari of his mother’s birthday, just to be safe.”

Your cheeks warmed, because Andy was right, and his tone was so fond colored with the kind of tenderness–just for you–that made your insides swoop and flutter. You hid your face against his leg, your insides fluttering some more at the sound of Andy’s quiet, husky laugh. 

But speaking of Ari, something tickled your brain, something that made you frown as you tilted your face up and opened your eyes, your gaze shining with worry. 

“How are things with the art gallery?” you asked. “Is the business owner next door still causing you trouble?”

Andy’s eyes danced at the mention of the woman who owned the tea and bookshop next door to his new business. “She’s nothing to fret over, honey. Ari’s taking care of her.”

At that, you nervously gnawed on your lower lip. As much as you had come to accept the fact that Andy was a mob boss–and sometimes had to do ruthless, unsavory things–he treated you so well, and was so loving, that it wasn’t an issue for you. 

In fact, it provided a sense of security that you had never known until Andy–the fact that you now had such a powerful and competent protector.

But still… you didn’t like the idea of Ari hurting anyone, of the things you were sure he had done and was capable of doing. No matter how respectful and protective he was of you. 

You didn’t wish his dark intentions on anyone, even someone who had proven to be a thorn in Andy’s side from day one. 

But then again, given the rivals and competition he usually dealt with, this woman’s antics were almost… charming. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Andy hummed, gently caressing your cheek. “He’s dealing with her in a way I’m quite certain she enjoys.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh.” Your eyes widened enough to make Andy laugh. “Well… good. I know the gallery is your pet project and the first business that you’re genuinely excited for.”

“And it’s the perfect front for arms dealing, which drives the most revenue, so really it’s a win win.”

You hummed in agreement, once again sinking against Andy as he continued his light touches and caresses. His fingers danced along the tension in your shoulders, moving slower and pressing firmly, until you were making a quiet sound of relief as the knots of tension seemed to melt away into nothing.

“You slept fitfully last night,” Andy said. 

You nodded, leaning into the cradle of Andy’s palm that now rested against your cheek. He tilted your face up so he could get a better look at you, observing the shadows beneath your eyes with a small frown and furrowed brow. 

“More nightmares?” he asked.

This time you hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding again.

You didn’t hesitate because you wanted to hide your struggles from Andy, or because you were embarrassed he had of course noticed the state of you, but more so just because you hated to think about your nightmares, and the things from your past that caused them. 

At your admission, and the way your shoulders hunched and curled just a little, Andy’s touch instantly became more intentional. His hand moved to grip the back of your neck, squeezing in that way he knew melted your brain and made all of your anxiety dissipate. 

Of their own accord, your hands lifted so you could cling to Andy’s thighs, pressing your forehead against his knee and nearly curling around his leg like a koala–greedy for his touch. 

Even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe it, the way Andy’s touch affected you–in a good way. That you loved it and often needed it now. 

Because there had been a time when you thought that you would never enjoy the touch of another again…

18 Months Ago

“Another month in the green,” Andy said, sounding pleased as he scrolled through the financial slides on the tablet he held. 

“Bet you’re fucking tickled that you went all in on the club with me,” Lloyd Hansen preened, sinking back in his desk chair and giving Andy a shit-eating grin. “I told you this would be a money maker. There’s nothing like it for miles and miles.”

Andy hummed, setting the tablet on Lloyd’s desk, his face serious as he eyed the other man. “And I bet you’re fucking tickled that I gave you permission to set up shop in my territory.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me work for it and go in halfsies with you, so.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy smirked. 

Lloyd scoffed, opening his mouth to likely fire back something Andy would make him regret, but before he could speak a word, his office door flung open and you were forcefully shoved inside. 

You squealed as Lloyd’s head of club security–the brute–gave you another shove that had you nearly face planting into the thick, expensive carpet. 

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be interrupted?” Lloyd snarled at said brute. 

“Sorry, boss,” he grunted, giving you a lethal glare, “but she caused a scene out on the floor.”

Lloyd’s eyes snapped to you so quickly that you flinched. 

“Did she?” The chill in his voice had you cowering in dread as the security guy quickly ducked out of the office, pulling the door closed as he went and shutting you away with your prickly boss.

You were too terrified of Lloyd, and too distressed after what had happened out on the night club floor, to notice the stranger sitting across from Lloyd’s desk. 

“This is the thanks I get for hiring your cry baby ass?” Lloyd hissed as he rose from his seat.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you quavered as he rounded his desk and stalked closer. “But… I, I told you, I don’t like to be touched and one of the men out there, he grabbed me and–”

Lloyd didn’t stop his approach until he stood toe-to-toe with you, causing you to visibly tremble as you hugged yourself tightly and kept your head ducked low, your eyes fixed on your feet. 

“You’re in a fucking night club, toots, dressed like that, might I add–“ Lloyd scoffed.

“You made me–“ you countered weakly.

“It’s called a work uniform.”

You thought that was a stretch as you eyed your outfit which wasn’t much more than a pair of metallic booty shorts and a sorry excuse for a shirt that nearly had your breasts spilling out the top. 

And you weren’t even one of the cage dancers, you were just a server. 

“You told me you needed this job, that you were desperate for work,” Lloyd growled.

At that, your head lifted, your gaze frantic as it met Lloyd’s. “I am, I do! Please, I’m sorry–“

Lloyd shook his head. “I can’t have you out there causing a scene anytime the clientele gets a little handsy. That’s part of the job. I mean, what the fuck did you think you were getting into working here?”

“Please, sir, I need this job. I don’t have anything else or anyone or–”

“Oh boo fucking hoo,” Lloyd sneered, dipping his head close and making you recoil. “I gave you a chance. I was more than generous. You get paid well. You get benefits. And this is how you thank me?”

Your chest hitched, a sob working its way up to your throat, because he was right. You had been so obviously out of your depth when you had shown up here for your interview, but you had also been beyond desperate for the gig, for a steady income, to survive. 

And now you had gone and fucked it all up because you couldn’t just do what all the other servers did and acclimate to your environment. 

“Get out,” Lloyd enunciated slowly before straightening. “And don’t come back.”

“No! Please!” Your voice was pitched with hysteria as panic flared within you. 

Because you couldn’t lose this job.  

“I can… I can do something else! Anything else!” you cried, trailing behind Lloyd as he turned his back on you and sauntered toward his desk. “I can tend bar or or do inventory or–”

He whirled on you suddenly, making you squeak as you walked right into him and then sharply drew back as if you’d been burnt. 

There was a mean glint in Lloyd’s eyes as they slowly trailed over you, in a familiar way that had your belly sinking and your skin crawling. 

“The only other use I have for you wouldn’t be ideal since you don’t like being touched, cupcake.” Lloyd made a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue to get his point across, giving a mean laugh as you hugged yourself tightly and stumbled away from him. “That’s what I thought. I have no use for you. You’re useless. So get fucking gone.”

He turned away, clearly dismissing you, his words reverberating in your head loud enough to drown out all of your panicked thoughts. 

Because you were useless.  

Your tears finally fell as your devastation consumed you. You would be out of your shitty apartment within weeks if you couldn’t make rent. You’d be back on the streets, needing to do whatever it took just to get by. 

You shuddered with dread just thinking about it. Especially in this city. 

But you had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to. 

You had nothing. 

You were nothing. 

“GET OUT!” Lloyd’s holler made you snap back to the present moment.

You physically jumped at his raised voice, whimpering before turning on your heel to scurry out of his office, but a quiet, unfamiliar baritone made you freeze in place. 

“Wait.”

Lloyd huffed. “Really, Barber? You’re undermining me in my own club?”

“Our club. And I’m not undermining you. Just because you don’t have a use for her, Hansen, doesn’t mean I don’t.”

The tiniest, weakest flare of hope flickered within you as you turned and looked at the man who spoke, not nearly as bold in your gaze as he was. 

Even though he was seated, you could tell that he was tall, his posture straight and confident, his shoulders broad beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His skin was fair and flawless, his face shadowed with a dark, meticulously kept beard that matched the floofy swoop of his brown hair. 

But it was his dark blue eyes that made your own gaze linger, and widen.

Because you realized that the stranger wasn’t watching you with a lecherous look like most men you’d come into contact with. His gaze was shining with something new and unfamiliar–sympathy, and calculation. 

“Take her out to the car,” he nodded, and another man you didn’t even notice until now materialized from the dark corner of the office. 

He was the biggest, broadest man in the room. His hair dark and long enough to curl around his blue, denim shirt collar. He was so big, in fact, that when he stepped toward you, you whimpered again, cowering at the sheer size of him.  

“He won’t hurt you,” the stranger with the pretty blue eyes promised. “Go on. We’ll speak once I’m done here.”

You swallowed hard–nervously–but you were nodding before you even realized it, your body picking up on the softness in his tone and gaze before your brain did. 

It made zero sense, especially given your history, but you trusted him, instinctively. 

So you turned, grateful when the man you assumed was his bodyguard didn’t touch you as he corralled you out of the office and down the back hallway of the club. 

Once you were tucked away in the dark, luxurious SUV parked out back, your mind started to spiral again, all the frantic noise inside your head blaring on a loop.

What were you doing? 

You didn’t even know this man. 

If he was in business with Lloyd, you couldn’t imagine he was much better. 

But then you remembered the softness in his voice when he spoke to you. In his gaze when he looked at you. 

He saw your fear and desperation and it seemed like maybe he actually wanted to help you.

Lord knew you could use that right about now. 

You were startled from your thoughts as the back door opened and the stranger appeared, climbing in beside you. You noticed how he seemed intentional in keeping some distance between you–in respecting your personal space. 

It was such a far cry from Lloyd and pretty much every other man you had ever met, that you felt a lump swell in your throat, and you had to look away from his intent gaze to blink the tears from your own. 

“What’s your name?” he asked gently. 

You took a breath, peeking over at him as you murmured your name. 

He gave you a small smile, introducing himself in return. “I’m Andy Barber, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

Your lips trembled into an almost hopeful smile.

“You need work?”

You nodded fervently, so much so that you made yourself dizzy as you breathed, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any skills or notable experience?” Andy asked.

And just like that–you wilted. 

Because you didn’t. You barely had an education, and your resume was laughable–just a string of odd jobs that never lasted long, and the kind of years-long gap that would make any eyebrow raise. 

The only thing you had to offer was what Lloyd alluded to back in his office. 

Yourself. Your body. 

But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. Not again. Not even if it was your choice this time. 

You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.

Andy’s quiet voice broke through your internal spiral–your mindless mental chant–as he told you, “You know, I didn’t start out at the top. I came from nothing. But someone with means saw potential in me. They gave me a chance. So I’m willing to do the same for you.”

And there it was again, that tiny flicker of hope sparking to life in the deep recesses of your tarnished soul. 

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’m very good at reading people, and I think you’re someone capable of loyalty, and that I prize most above all. Skills can be taught, knowledge can be gleaned, but loyalty? Trust? Those are innate and of the utmost value, especially in my world.”

You looked at Andy again and couldn't help but shiver. His poise, his confidence, his direct gaze. 

You weren’t quite sure who he was, but you knew that you had somehow stumbled your way into the path of someone important. Someone powerful. 

Someone who maybe, if you earned his trust, if you made him proud, he would keep you safe. 

And that, to you, was of the utmost value.

So you took a deep, shaky breath before whispering, “I can be loyal.” You swallowed before continuing, “And I can work real hard, no matter what you ask of me,” your voice faltered. “Except… I don’t… please, I’m not–“

Despite your fumbling, Andy seemed to understand where your mind had gone. What fear overtook you now. 

You saw him reach for you–perhaps his intention was a comforting touch–but he must have remembered you didn’t like to be touched, because he pulled up short and his hand retreated, resting on his thigh instead. 

“That isn’t what this is,” he said gently. 

“Okay,” you squeaked, sinking beneath the weight of your relief. “Good. T-thank you.”

You peeked over at him again, feeling unsure but also a little mesmerized. Because Andy Barber was beyond handsome. In fact, he was beautiful, but his eyes… your gaze couldn’t stop returning to his and the softness that resided there. 

No one had ever looked at you that way before. 

Without vile or cruel intentions aimed your way. Without malice or greed. Without the promise of pain, or worse. So much worse.

“Well, this seems pretty cut and dry to me, and genuinely the most pleasant interview process I’ve ever experienced,” Andy said. “So, you’re hired.” He winked, looking delighted when that got a quiet giggle out of you. 

But the sound of your amusement cut off abruptly as the car began to move, and you jolted upright, panicked. 

“Relax,” Andy soothed, his fingers twitching against his thigh like he was once again resisting the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. “We’re just driving you home, and then you can come to my place tomorrow and we can discuss how you can best support me,” Andy explained. “Where do you live?” 

You didn’t respond for a moment, not so much because you didn’t trust him–didn’t know him–but because you were embarrassed by the answer. But after a beat, you gave it to him anyway. 

Andy didn’t wrinkle his nose in disgust or make a judgmental remark like Lloyd had when he read your address on your new hire paperwork. He just relayed the address to his bodyguard, who was driving, before sitting back in his seat. 

“Would you be open to relocating?” Andy asked, clearly taking you by surprise. “If I have you assisting me daily, it makes the most sense for you to live on my property.”

“I…” you hesitated, not wanting to spoil this gift so soon after receiving it. 

Especially since you had no other prospects. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said carefully. 

Andy’s eyes sparkled at your diplomatic answer. “You wouldn’t be. Most of my staff have quarters at my manor. Like Ari,” he nodded toward the beefy man in the driver’s seat. “Same with my personal chef and butler.”

“Oh,” you murmured, nervously wringing your hands together in your lap. 

Because it seemed like Andy had a whole staff under his employ. Not to mention a manor.

Again, you couldn’t help but wonder who he was, whose orbit you had been drawn into. 

“Can I think about it, please?” You asked, not wanting to give up all of your minimal autonomy at once. 

Not wanting to make what could be a very life-changing decision before you knew Andy better.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “I can show you around tomorrow to help inform your decision. How does that sound?”

“Very generous.”

Andy shot you a small smile, and your belly swooped at the sight before you quickly looked away, your leg jiggling with nerves as Ari steered the SUV onto your street. 

The vehicle eased to a stop at the curb just outside of your dingy apartment building, and you found yourself unable to look at Andy–to risk seeing the pity in his eyes.  

“Here, why don’t we exchange numbers?” Andy suggested, fishing his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. 

You pulled your own dated device from your back pocket, quickly fulfilling his request before clutching your phone between your sweaty palms. 

“I’ll send a driver to pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty, does that work for you?” Andy asked.

“Yes, but you don’t need to,“ you objected. “I can take the bus, or–”

“It’s a safety precaution on my end,” Andy assured you. “I don’t give out my home address to many. Not in my line of work.” 

He winked to make light of something serious, and you once again found yourself wondering what–exactly–was Andy’s line of work? 

What were you getting yourself into?

But you just as quickly shook that thought away, because this opportunity–Andy’s kindness–it was all you had, and it was truly a gift. 

No one had ever done something like this for you before, had given you a chance, a helping hand in a moment when you needed it most. 

And you wouldn’t waste it. 

So you nodded, mustering a smile despite your anxiety as you told Andy, “I’ll be ready tomorrow at eight thirty.”

“Perfect,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He watched as you opened the car door and slipped outside, hesitating before you turned back to him. Because a new feeling was overriding your nerves now.

Gratitude. 

You felt so very thankful for this unexpected opportunity. For Andy’s empathy and belief in you.  

You weren’t used to getting help or lucky breaks. 

You weren’t used to anyone caring about you in any way at all. 

It must have been written all over your face too, all these thoughts swirling inside of you, because Andy’s features softened as he watched you, another one of those small smiles cursing his lips. 

“Go get some rest, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Your belly swooped at the term of endearment, and you lingered for a moment, wishing you were good with words, that you could articulate how grateful you were, how much this meant to you. But you finally settled on a very earnest, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“No need to thank me. And call me ‘Andy.’”

Your insides fluttered at his request, and you nodded. “Goodnight, Andy.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching your retreat.

Despite the way you hurried up the front steps and into the entryway, the SUV seemed in no rush to depart, instead idling at the curb until you were safely inside.

You scurried up the four flights of stairs to your unit in a daze, your brain trying to process everything that happened tonight. You were out of your new job at the club, but it seemed like something better could be awaiting you. 

Thanks to Andy. 

You were terrified to really get your hopes up, because so rarely did things go your way, but this time, weirdly, the excitement–and anticipation to see Andy again–was something you just couldn’t shake… 

“Come here, honey.”

The sound of Andy’s voice brought you back to the present moment, your hazy mind surfacing from one of the few pleasant memories you had. 

Blinking owlishly, you glanced up to find Andy watching you in soft amusement, his big hand held out toward you. 

You slipped your hand into his, allowing Andy to pull you first to your feet, then into his lap. 

His arms circled you in an instant, tugging you close as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. As you went pliant against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, he murmured, “We’re going away for a long weekend.”

Your head snapped up in surprise. “We are?” 

Andy smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Well, as long as you want to, but it’s why I had you clear my calendar tomorrow. I think some peace, quiet, and nature will do you good.”

You couldn’t suppress your giddy smile if you tried. “We’re going to the lake house then?”

Andy’s smile was more of a grin as he nodded, “I know it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, Andy!” you squealed, nearly bouncing in his lap as you hugged him and pressed a kiss to his beardy cheek. 

Andy’s eyes twinkled at your sweet excitement. As you went to pull away, his fingers caught your chin, staying your retreat as his eyes ignited in a way that had a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly.

Slowly, his gaze meeting yours and not shying away, Andy pulled you in for a real kiss. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to catch your breath because you could feel with each and every press of Andy’s lips against yours how much he loved you, cherished you, wanted you. 

You were nearly panting once he pulled away, your eyes dazed enough to make him smile. 

“You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” Andy hummed, touching his lips to your forehead. “For treating you the way you deserve.” His next kiss warmed your cheek, then he placed a final kiss on the other before pulling away at last. “Why don’t you go pack?”

“I will, in a little while, but first, can we just…” You sank against him, loosely clinging to him as you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. “Stay like this for a little while?” 

“We can stay this way for as long as you want,” Andy promised, his big hand touching your back before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm–up and down, up and down–making you go even more pliant against him.

Humming your content, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, truly feeling your exhaustion for the first time all day. 

But you felt something else alongside it, something that–once upon a time, but not so long ago–you never would have thought you would ever feel… 

As Andy’s soft, musky scent filled your nose, as his warm, reassuring touch smoothed up and down your back, as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck and breathed in as deep, you felt truly and unequivocally safe.

🥹 You guysss. I love them SO hard. I would be so beyond grateful and delighted if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog with your thoughts. Pretty please! With a naked Andy and Ari on top?! 😘

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Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

“Shh shh shh,” Ari cooed, his hand on your belly giving a gentle pet before it slowly started to descend. 

You gasped sharply as his touch slid between your thighs, as he cupped your cunt through your jeans and panties as his teeth caught your earlobe and gave a warning nip. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Ari husked. “You won’t fall victim to my usual methods. It would be such a waste, and I have a much better idea for keeping you occupied and out of trouble.”

You could only whimper and squirm as Ari–this man you didn’t even know, who you had only just meant mere moments ago–popped open the button on your jeans and stuffed his big hand down the front of your pants and panties like he had every right to.

His fingers were thick and rough as they teased along your cunt. When his touch glanced off your clit for the first time, you gave a startled cry that had you going rigid in Ari’s lap.

“Oh, I liked that sound, sweetheart, give me another.”

His touch grew more intentional then–more wicked. It seemed like it took him no time at all, and barely any effort, to have you creaming all over his fingers and begging him to make you cum. 

Because it had been so long since you had been touched like this–especially by someone who knew what they were doing, who was so confident and scary in a way that made your body tingle. 

You could feel the rock hard length of Ari press along the small of your back, and you could only imagine the way he ached, but still, he kept all of his focus and intent on you.

“God, look at you, honey, you’re like putty in my hands, so needy and desperate for it, huh?” 

You whined at the deep baritone of Ari’s voice, at his seductive words, at that delightful pull pulsing deep within you, feeling like a live wire as pleasure and the cusp of ecstasy danced all along your body from head to toe. 

You arched your back in desperation, shameless now as you rutted against Ari’s touch, moaning loudly and without reserve as he shoved two thick fingers deep inside your cunt and began to rub along your sensitive walls.

Sounds that could only be described as primal and desperate began to fall from your lips as you curled your fingers into Ari’s thick thighs beneath you, inching closer and closer to the height of your pleasure. 

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” Ari rumbled against the curve of your jaw.

“Yes!”

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked. “You gonna promise to keep that cute little nose where it belongs and out of our business?”

“Uh huh,” you replied without hesitance, not really comprehending Ari’s words but also willing to agree to anything in this moment if it meant getting what you wanted–being able to cum, to completely unravel in the best way. 

His fingers went at you harder, making you keen and bow against him. Just before you fully ascended, only a swipe or two of Ari’s thumb against your clit away from falling apart entirely–from surrendering to the type of toe-curling pleasure you knew you’d remember for days–Ari stopped. 

“Nooo!” you whined as his fingers suddenly retreated from you entirely, leaving your poor body taut and woefully, horrifically unsatisfied. 

“Only good girls get to cum, and you gotta earn that privilege, trouble,” Ari husked against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your warm cheek before he shifted you off of his lap then poured himself to his feet. 

You gaped up at him in utter shock–in visceral betrayal–as Ari adjusted the bulge at the front of his jeans before shooting you a smirk and wink combo. 

And then you could only stare after him as he turned and sauntered out the back door of your business, leaving you dazed, angry, and mourning the loss of what you knew would have been an incredible orgasm.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glowering at the memory. 

And yet–you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong since. 

You weren’t sure if it was from fear and self-preservation, or if maybe you were hiding and didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention your way. 

Maybe you had learned the lesson Ari and his boss had wanted to teach you. 

You crumpled today’s high tea menu in your hand at the very thought–being schooled, by anyone, let alone a couple of criminals. Then you frowned as you quickly tried to straighten out the wrinkles in the beige paper. The color of it, and the font printed on it, were a play on a book, since that was kind of your schtick.

Books & Brews. 

Aka your baby. Your dream business that spawned from a combination of two of your passions–tea and books. 

It was such a niche and novelty sort of business, that you hadn’t been able to secure any investors when you were first starting out. No one had believed in you and your dream except you, which honestly only made it all the sweeter now that it was such a success. 

All it had taken was a couple of online influencers having high tea in your cute little shop, and raving about the food, tea, and book selection, and you had pretty much gone viral overnight. 

And never looked back. 

That was why you were so mad about the utter bullshit that had moved in next door. 

This was a nice neighborhood. Safe. Family friendly. You had repeat customers that you loved. You hosted kids’ birthday parties, bridal showers, all types of milestone events. 

If word got out that the fucking mob had moved in next door, you knew it would pretty much be a death sentence for Books & Brews. 

“Ugh!” You tried to shake that thought–and all the thoughts like it–from your mind. Because then you would get mad. And start to spiral. You would get stupid protective over your business and all of your self-preservation would go out the window. 

And now you knew what happened when that was the case. 

So! Screw organized criminals and their unwanted neighbor status. 

You had a successful dream business to run.

Speaking of… the little bell over the front door cheerfully jingled the arrival of new guests, and you straightened from leaning against the checkout counter, a smile already curling your lips. 

But it instantly fell as you watched two figures step inside your shop. Although one was a total stranger to you, the other was familiar as hell–because it was Ari.

You hated that your first thought upon seeing him was that he was so ridiculously hot. So big and beefy. His worn denim button up shirt bulged with his muscles, his dark, wiry chest hair sticking out the top where quite a few buttons were undone. He was wearing another pair of those criminally tight jeans and–

Stop staring, you internally screamed at yourself when you caught sight of Ari’s arrogant smirk. 

Because he had totally caught you ogling. 

You made a face at him before rounding the counter, puffing up a little as your narrowed gaze shifted from him to the man beside him. 

He wasn’t as tall or thick as Ari, but he was no slouch either in his obviously expensive suit and equally handsome features. He had fair skin, dark floofy hair that was perfectly styled, and a thick beard that was just as neatly trimmed. His eyes were an electric blue, and although they glittered with amusement as they met your fiery gaze, there was something about them that was too hard to be genuine. 

Despite the charming smile spreading across his lips, there was an air of ruthlessness to him that you could see from a mile away. 

And you knew that this man, he was the boss. Of Ari. Of the new “business” next door. Of an entire mob empire you wanted nothing to do with. 

You also knew that he–and Ari–were ones not to be messed with, but they had your hackles rising so quickly, that it was like all logic evaporated from your brain as you marched right up to them, crossed your arms over your chest, and stared Ari’s boss down without care. 

“You’re not welcome here,” you said firmly, giving yourself a mental high five at how confident you sounded. 

The stranger’s eyes only twinkled more, a quiet chuckle spilling from his lips as he ignored your statement entirely and introduced himself. “Andy Barber,” he didn’t try to shake your hand, instead looking away from you as his gaze drifted around your small shop, which was a little quiet at the moment.  

“What a… charming little place you have here,” he observed, and you knew just from his tone and delivery that he didn’t mean it as a compliment. 

He meant for it to be condescending–to insult you and your business and put you in your place–but it had quite the opposite effect. Instead, it had you firing off your sassy response before you could think better of it–or realize just how closely Ari was watching you, awaiting your reaction like a teacher surveying their student’s progress. 

“Certainly more charming than illegal activity and shady business associates,” you smiled beatifically, meeting Andy’s suddenly steely gaze without flinching. “But what’s a little murder and mayhem, as long as you don’t get caught, right?”

“Careful, neighbor,” Andy tutted, but his lips were curled in amusement, his eyes flickering with a hint of respect as he watched you. 

For some reason, you got the sense that Andy wasn’t used to people mouthing off to him, that it was a rare novelty in fact, and he was actually enjoying it as you death stared him and tried to turn him away from your doorstep. 

Him. 

“We’ll stay for lunch,” he decided instead, stepping past you and picking the empty table of his choice without waiting for your response. 

“You need a reservation,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and storming after him. 

And, okay, while you did appreciate reservations, especially for larger parties, you never actually turned anyone away. 

But today, for him—for both of them—it was an exception that you were willing to make. 

“As luck would have it,” Andy hummed, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I have my reservation right here.” He pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and plucking out a few crisp hundred dollar bills before tossing them on the edge of the table in front of you. 

Which only made you seethe more. 

“I don’t want your blood money,” you whisper!hissed, aware of the two small parties across the room, enjoying their high tea service. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Andy smirked at the way your nose wrinkled at the pet name. “I left my blood money wallet at home today. That’s legit and legal revenue.” 

Clenching your hands into fists at your sides, you were just about to tell Andy where he could shove his legal revenue when you suddenly felt a searing heat at your back. 

“Be nice, trouble,” Ari murmured against your ear, his big hands falling to your hips and giving a warning squeeze that had you gasping and your body instantly lighting up at his touch. “Or else.” 

You spun around, smacking his hands away from you before trying to shove him out of your space. “I am at work! Maybe that aspect of your life isn’t important to you, but to me, it means everything, and I don’t need you pawing me in public, asshole.”

Andy’s bark of laughter surprised both you and Ari, and it also gave you a reason to look away from the scary displeased look Ari was aiming your way. 

“And here I thought she’d be cowed and welcoming after your visit the other night,” Andy smirked, plucking one of the fancy linen napkins from the table and arranging it over his lap. “Seems like you have some more work to do, Levinson.”

“Seems like.” Ari gritted, giving you a look so dark it had a chill racing up your spine as he shifted past you and sat in the seat across from Andy. 

For a moment, you were frozen, both from their combined audacity, and that look Ari had given you–a look that conveyed you were in deep shit and had your stomach sinking with regret. 

Which is why you could only stare at them dumbly for a beat–these two big, scary mobsters who were sitting in the middle of your cute, cozy tea shop bookstore, looking so painfully out of place that it was almost funny. 

Almost. 

Thankfully, the thick tension in the air was alleviated as one of your servers who tended to this section bounded over, looking excited to have a table to wait on. You forced a smile to mirror her own, stiffly nodding as she asked if these gentlemen were ready to be served. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” you muttered, ignoring the watchful stares of Andy and Ari as you turned on your heel, intending to stalk away. 

And maybe hide in your office until they were blessedly gone.

But the sound of Ari’s gravelly voice gave you pause, his words making your insides somehow wilt and flutter at the same time as he promised,  “See you soon, trouble.”

Feeling your mouth go dry, you didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him, but you did low key hate yourself as you all but scurried away. 

Desperate to be away from Ari and his boss, you cleared the main floor in record time before ducking down the back hallway. Once you were in your office, with the door shut tight behind you–and locked for good measure–you felt only the tiniest bit of relief. 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you sank back against the door, trying to get your rapid heart rate under control. As you felt anxiety–and something else, something that felt very much like anticipation–buzz along every inch of your body, you purposefully kept your gaze away from the small, worn sofa where all of this had started. 

And you tried like hell to shove down all the sinful, shameful memories of Ari that just the mere thought of it conjured in your frazzled mind.  

Raise your hand if you’re still in enforcer!Ari’s chokehold 🙋🏻‍♀️

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Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘