#follower apprecation

Maybe that’s why the first time she sees him get well and truly hammered, it’s because he’d already come to her on his knees. Maybe he figures there’s nothing left to lose. The fact that he’d gotten on a plane at all revealed a hand she wasn’t prepared to decipher. Let alone the pleading, wounded look on his face, asking her to forgive him—to “let him in.” For James, she knows it doesn’t get much more vulnerable than that. What more could he possibly do or say that would further convey the depths of the humility he’s shown in the last few weeks?

Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that they’re in his house. This gorgeous, minimalist structure that he’d chosen and to some extent designed. It had awoken in her an unexpectedly pleasant feeling. To discover a new, undeniably charming aspect of his character. Something decidedly non-violent, not laced with yet another piece of dark, impermeable personal history that leaves her spiraling, aching for more. No, all it really does is endear her to the fact that James craves safety—that he loves windows; that he wants to feel free and safe all at once. It feels familiar.

They’re in his house, alone (aside from the armed guards wandering around somewhere, sight unseen), drinking some favorite, dark liquor of his, sitting out by the pool as the sun sets behind them, and at some point she begins to notice the softness of his gaze—how his posture has suddenly slackened; how his words feel a little less deliberate. How he keeps staring at her hands wrapped around her glass. Is this it? she thinks, trying to keep from grinning, Is this the James with nothing to hide?

A drunk James allows his laughter to escape in a way that sober James does not. She’s heard James laugh before, but it’s almost always laced with bitterness or disbelief—the chuckle she hears now, quiet and quick, is devoid of nothing but good humor. It is laughter for the sake of laughter. Drunk James throws his hood over his head and burrows into his sweatshirt like a teenager. She has to actively ignore the sudden, all-consuming fantasy that occurs in her own head—how it would probably fall to just above her knees. How it would be warm with his heat, or how it might smell like his aftershave. He’d give it to her if she asked, she knows, but she’s worried about breaking the spell they seem to have fallen under.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” is what she says instead, taking another fortifying sip of her own drink.

He laughs, “You mean without the stick up my ass?”

“No,” nudging his shoulder playfully, “happy.”

“I’m… happy,” he insists with a somewhat comical frown, his nose twitching in painfully familiar way. What he says next, it’s quiet and mumbled, so, she wonders if she’s heard it at all, but she could swear it was something like, “I like being around you.”

But there’s this same fear that she’d felt earlier—that exposing him to the truth of what he’s revealed will only send him back towards whatever place he had retreated in the past. Before he drank himself into a compromising position that could’ve put his life at risk. She can’t really blame him. A sharp, bitter anger towards Camila Vargas rises in her throat as if it were bile and she finishes off the rest of her drink in an attempt to ignore the sound of the woman’s voice in her head.

“You alright?”

While the look of him in his hood had been cute and all, transforming him into some petulant, drunken teenager, the look of him with it suddenly removed—the way his hair sticks in all directions, how his face has morphed into a look of concern she’s seen quite a few times before—this is worse. Harder to resist.

“Your hair is a mess,” she says, quiet, reaching out to try and tame the wayward strands. It’s the first time she’s actually touched his hair. She’s already begun to memorize the feel of it, as if she’ll never get another chance to do so again.

He grunts, sniffs—his eyes are halfway closed, and she’s begun to think he’s fallen asleep when he speaks again, only somewhat less coherent than before, “I like your hair,” she freezes. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” she answers, slowly, yet again unsure if she’s actually heard him correctly. Forcing herself to keep her wayward hands away from his head for the time being, lest she do something really stupid like kiss him. Which she suddenly realizes, to her growing horror, is something she almost desperately wants to do in this moment.

After a few minutes of largely comfortable silence, wherein they listen to chirping crickets and the pool water lapping against the concrete, she makes the, what she believes to be, wise decision to remove herself from the dangerous situation she seems to have gotten herself in. “I should head to bed,” she starts, standing and stretching her back, “will you be alright out here?”

What had only moments ago felt like a wise move becomes almost immediately laced with regret at the sight of his somber expression. “Yeah,” he replies, grabbing her hand where it hangs near to his face, which would’ve been bad enough, but it’s when he tugs her a bit closer, just enough to rest his forehead against the back of it, that her heart stops. “Thank you.”

It’s the safest form of gratitude he could offer. Easily confused for her immediate concern, the question of whether or not he’d be okay out here on his own, but it’s the earnestness, the way his voice sounds rougher than usual, that she feels the enormity of his words. She’s overwhelmed with the sudden urge to cry, but manages to release a breath instead, realizing that she’s been holding it for longer than she thought.

“You’re welcome,” is what she manages to say, instead of the tears, instead of placing a gentle, torturous kiss to the top of his head.

He pulls away suddenly, dropping a swift, instinctive kiss to the back of her hand before returning to the drink he’s left alone too long, “Good night.”

“Night,” she answers, somehow, blinking once, twice, trying to find her way back to the reality that existed before she’d heard his laugh, or felt his hair, or his lips against her skin.

Today started off an ordinary workday for MC. She walked into the conference room like normal and claimed a seat at the end of the table in preparation to hear the itinerary for the day. Before the meeting officially commenced, the staff was caught off guard when Eisuke strolled into the conference room and claimed the empty seat next to MC. Although curious about the unusual circumstances, Mr. Kenzaki was more than aware not to question the owner about his intentions. Instead Mr. Kenzaki launched into his discussion, leaving the staff listening intently to the agenda. At least all but one was focused on the manager’s presentation.

Eisuke slipped his hand underneath the table, and teasingly caressed the smooth of her skin hidden beneath her uniform. MC’s body shuddered involuntarily as the heat trickling up the span of her thigh roused a catalyst of sensual compulsions. Her lips puckered and a guttural moan nearly escaped, until the sound of Hikaru clearing his throat from a few seats down snapped MC back to her senses.

All which led to the muttered scolding Eisuke was presently receiving for his unsuitable behavior. Her protests falling mute, Eisuke’s fingers ascended, but were abruptly interrupted by MC clenching her thighs closely together. Pleading him with her eyes, Eisuke smirked as his other hand slid under to coerce MC’s legs back open.

“Good girls always keep their legs wide open,” he murmured, flashing her a sultry glance.

Eisuke’s gaze was daring her to resist, but the feel of his touch was electrifying. Peeking around the room to ensure her colleagues were occupied, MC gulped and bowed her head in consent. Smirking at the invitation, his touch inched higher till he brushed against the nub of her sex through the thin material of the laced panties she was wearing. Already feeling turned on, MC grasped the sides of the chair and silently begged her body not to succumb under the brushing grazes of Eisuke’s thumb fluidly tracing the outline of her clit. MC softly gasped when Eisuke leaned in close under the guise of removing a piece of lint from her uniform and blew into her ear.

“Wet already? We’re only just getting started,” Eisuke murmured, before pulling back to return to his original sitting position.

MC’s heel dug into the floor when Eisuke’s finger slithered underneath her underwear, and teasingly flickered at the gateway of her nirvana. The pace of Eisuke’s rubbing against her swell intensified, and it wasn’t much longer before MC’s nails dug into her partner’s wrist as she secretly rode out her climax. Eisuke finally removed his hand and brushed the aftermath of her high on the side of his pants. His shoulders shrugged in amusement as she frantically tugged at the hem of her skirt to adjust it.

“That’s all I have for today’s meeting,” Mr. Kenzaki’s voice projected from the front of the room.

MC’s face flushed while one-by-one her coworkers filed out of the conference room to start preparing for their daily responsibilities. Hikaru was the last among them and turned to face MC before joining the rest of the team.

“Don’t worry,” Hikaru assured. “I’ll cover for you while you sort yourself out.”

Hikaru’s eyebrows knowingly wiggled as he vanished through the doorway. The room was now empty, and MC was completely alone with Eisuke. Feeling self-conscious, she glanced at the wall to avoid Eisuke’s burning stare. Attempting to leave for work, MC yelped when Eisuke suddenly pinned her wrist down on the table.

“I never gave you permission to leave, baby,” he crooned, as he pressed his forehead up against her own. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Eisuke’s lips crashed down onto hers, causing MC to pant out breathy moans of pleasure.

“B-But, Eisuke,” she whimpered, while trying to regain her composure. “I still have to go to work.”

“Prioritizing work over me? What a naughty employee you are,” Eisuke huffed proactively. “As owner of this hotel and your boyfriend, it’s my responsibility to punish you when you’re a bad girl.”

Eisuke lifted MC up and dropped her onto the table. He pushed her flat back against the table and nibbled at the side of her neck. MC hands roamed across his back, and her fingers crawled to run through the locks of his unkempt hair. Forgetting they were in the conference room at her place of employment, MC yielded to her desires, and wrapped her legs around the side of Eisuke’s waist.