#followingfic

He leans down and kisses her through the open window. It’s gentler than the kiss they’d just shared, but no less intimate. No less loving. Max gets a hand on his collar, tugging him closer, as if to pull him through the window. He laughs into the kiss and pulls away.

“Let’s save that for when we’re alone, yeah?”

Max pouts and looks around the deserted garage. “We are alone, Mike.”

“Max Hardy!” Mike mock gasps, hand flying to his heart. “Are you suggesting we have sex in your car right now?”

She leans up to kiss him again, nipping at his lip. “I’m saying I want you. Soon. So hurry up and get to my place soon, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

“Sounds good,” she says, starting the car. “See you soon.” Mike bends to give her another quick kiss, drawing a laugh from her. “Go, Mike! I won’t wait all night!”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!”

Max laughs again, shaking her head. Mike stays, watching her pull out until she’s gone, giving her a wave before she turns the corner. He’s silent, staring out into the dark street for a long few moments. It finally hits him. He could have died today. If it weren’t for Ryan kidnapping Penny, Daisy and Mark’s fall out, the events at the theater… he wouldn’t be standing here. He wouldn’t have been open and honest with Max. And he wouldn’t have her back.

He smiles. He has Max back. But he should hurry if he expects to keep her. He had already suffered through a med check, getting poked and prodded until he was cleared. Next was the debriefing. He explains everything twice and answers multiple repetitive questions. Yes, he was forced. No, he didn’t kill anyone. Yes, even when he tried to escape. No, he doesn’t know where Mark is. No, seriously. He doesn’t know. They finally release him, and he got the same from Ryan. But Ryan believed him about Mark. He hadn’t been at the hostage exchange after all.

He hoofs it to his car, parked a bit further down the street. The whole drive to her apartment, he marvels at their reconciliation. Or… more like her forgiving him for all he’s done. It’s more than he deserves. He’s had plenty of time to think over his mistakes when death was hanging right over his head. She’d never even gotten a proper apology from him. But she’s forgiven him. She still wants him. After everything he’s done. He parks a block away and hurries over into her building.

Mike takes the stairs two at time, eager to be inside and at ease. But he hesitates at the door. It doesn’t feel entirely real. Not after everything they’ve been through. He keeps waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him, to wake up and discover it was only a dream. But he’s still at her door. And she’s waiting for him. He knocks, not too loud, but not very gentle either. Her apartment isn’t too big. She’d hear him. She answers the door before his hand even leaves it. Max pouts at him just as immediately.

“You’re not the pizza guy.”

Mike blinks and looks down the hall. “Oh. Well, if I knew you were waiting for someone else, I would have—”

Max kisses him, cutting off whatever witty line he has planned. He smiles into it, unable to do otherwise. She pulls him inside. He kicks the door shut behind him. His hands rove over her body as he closes his eyes. She’s wearing shorts—odd for the weather—and what feels like one of his forgotten shirts. One of those pajama sets she’s wear when she didn’t expect to wear it for long. They’re on the same wavelength.

They stumble to the bed, Max shoving his coat off as he tries to keep his hands on her. He’s been dying for this. He knows the last time was a fluke. If it had been Tom who had come to her door after the fire department instead of him, the same thing would have happened. Save with a happier morning after. That’s nothing against Max. She’d been upset, in an extremely vulnerable state. She’d needed comfort. He can’t fault her for that. And he’d been an ass the next morning. Hindsight.

Next she’s getting his shirt off. He’d argue about her state of dress if they weren’t attached at the mouth. And if her fingers weren’t lightly tracing over his chest and stomach. He shivers. No one’s ever made him feel as good as Max does. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he almost tumbles backwards. She moves to push him, and he pulls back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pants, catching her wrists. She’s staring at him, a mix of annoyance and confusion playing out on her face. He holds the pause as long as he can stand. “Did you really order pizza? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

Max blinks. Then, she laughs and pushes him down onto the mattress. Mike bounces on the soft bed, smiling up at her.

“What? I’m serious! Almost dying really kick starts an appetite.”

“Oh my God, Mike,” Max gets out, straddling his hips and leaning over him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He cranes his neck to do just that. His hands sneak under her shirt to brush over her warm skin. She hums into the kiss as they move higher. To Mike’s delight, he finds she’s not wearing a bra. She really is going for ease of removal. She pulls away to take her shirt off, tossing it somewhere. Mike stops her before she can lean back down. She lifts her arms as if to shield herself from his gaze, but Mike catches her wrists.

“No,” he whispers, taking her in. “I want to get a good look. Just in case I’m dreaming. Or this doesn’t happen again.”

Max tries not to smile. She fails. She takes his hands and pulls him up to sit. Pulls him close to her. “Mike… you’re not dreaming,” she reassures him, kissing him lightly. “And this will happen again.”

He smiles wide, kissing her again as she reaches up to card a hand through his hair. Her other hand moves between them to undo his pants, and he’s happy to assist. Soon he’s on his back again, raising his hips to Max can get his jeans off. She moves to straddle him again, but a knock interrupts her. Mike drops his head back on the bed.

“Seriously?”

Max climbs off of him, snatching his shirt off the floor and quick buttoning it up. “You said you wanted pizza, Mike.”

“That was before you took your shirt off,” he sighs, staring at the ceiling. He listens to her chat with the delivery guy, hears them both laugh and ignores the tiniest twinge of jealousy. Hears her give him a tip. Hears the door close and the boxes hit the table. What he doesn’t hear is Max rejoining him. Which is concerning. He leans up on his elbows to see what the hold up is. Max sits at the table, chin in hand and amused smile on her face. Mike finds himself grinning in return.

“What’s this?”

“Just admiring the view,” she singsongs, her smile growing. Her other hand rests on the pizza boxes.

“Aren’t you going to join me back on this side of the room?”

Max raises her eyebrows. “Oh? I thought you were hungry…” She opens the top box, reaching in for a slice. “I’ll be happy to get us started.

Mike growls lightly, pushing himself to his feet. He crosses the room in three strides. He tugs a snickering Max to her feet and crushes her to his chest. Their noses bump, but neither minds.

“I am hungry,” he agrees, letting his lips brush against hers with every syllable. He nips at her lip to make a point. She shivers. “Just not for the pizza.”

Mike drags Max back to the bed, enjoying her laughter and mock cries for help. His shirt gets torn off her. He doesn’t care if it’s ruined. He probably has another one around here somewhere anyway. Her shorts end up across the room, and he drags her panties down her legs before shouldering between them.

Max cries out when he runs his tongue over her, hands tangling in his hair. God… he loves that sound. He’d missed it so much over these last few months. He loops one arm under her thigh, resting a hand on her hip. His thumb brushes over the soft, delicate skin there. He wants to make her feel good. To replace all the hurt and sadness with something better. He more than owes her that.

“Mike,” she breathes, drawing a shiver from him. He’s missed that too.

Mike slips a finger into her, eyes flicking up to her face for her reaction. Max’s body arches ever so slightly as she pushes her hips against his hand. Her head tips back, and a soft whine escapes her. She’s so beautiful. How did he ever think Mark Gray was more important than her? This gorgeous woman had done nothing but try and help him, help the both of them get through their trials. And he’d up and left her. She deserves better. Yet, here she is! With him again.

He licks at her clit, adding a second finger. She moans, and Mike pauses to gather himself. It’s almost too much just pleasing her. He can only imagine what actually making love with her will feel like now. With everything out in the open. But then he continues with vigor, lisking and sucking interchangeably, crooking his fingers inside her to make her cry out. He’d smile if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied.

He adds a third finger, just because. She arches beautifully with a tiny gasp. Mike can assume he’s doing well, then. Her grip on his hair tightens to an almost painful level. He knows she’s close. He remembers the way she moans weakly with every breath, the way she rolls her hips, the way she squeezes her eyes shut and tips her head back. All of it together points to her impending climax. And Mike plans to give her what she wants. He sucks hard on her clit, fingers crooking once more to rub against her. She comes with his name tumbling from her lips, body frozen in an arch as she lets every sensation run through her.

It’s the most gorgeous sight Mike will ever see.

Mike laps around his fingers, still moving to prolong it for her. After she’s come down from her high, when her body relaxes back into the bed and her grip on his hair slackens, he finally pulls away. He crawls up her body, leaving little kisses in his wake up her sweat-dampened skin. Max hums when he finally reaches her lips, pulling him closer.

“I should do that more often,” he mumbles against her lips.

She grins against his. “Yeah, you really should.”

They kiss again, kiss until they’re both out of breath. Then Max is shoving at his boxers, and Mike has no choice but to oblige her. As soon as they’re gone, Max surprises him and flips them over. He blinks up at her, hint of a grin on his lips. She smiles back.

“I just want a good view.”

He can’t fault her for that. She shifts, and he slips a hand between them to help her line them up. And then she’s sinking onto him, and he forgets how to think. She feels like heaven around him. His eyes flutter shut and he lies as still as he can, letting her adjust, enjoying the feel of her. Fingertips trail along his jawline, and he blinks his eyes open.

Max leans over him, smiling sweetly as she lightly strokes his jaw. “You’re so cute.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Not exactly what I’d want to hear you say right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How about ‘you’re so sexy’?”

Mike nods. “Much better.”

Max rolls her eyes, then rolls her hips. And Mike no longer cares about what she calls him. She starts slow, a hand on his chest to brace herself. Mike struggles to figure out what to do with his hands. They start on her thighs, feeling her muscles tighten as she moves. They slide to her hips, kneading the soft flesh and helping her move as much as he can. They trace up her stomach, enjoying every shiver. And when they finally reach her breasts, he sighs along with her. He toys with her nipples, barely touching them until they harden beneath his thumbs. She arches into his touch with a soft moan. He loves making her feel good.

Mike grinds up into her the best he can. Max shouldn’t have to do all the work. She’s done enough of that. It’s difficult to do much with her hand on his chest, though, pushing him down. So he watches her. Her eyes are closed, screwed tight in pleasure and concentration. Her skin shines in the light. Her jaw is slack, mouth open just enough to let soft moans and whimpers and mewls spill out of it. He’s so glad he can hear her over his panting. She shifts ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make a difference. Mike groans, fighting to keep his own eyes from closing.

It’s too much, if Mike’s being honest. The warmth of her hand on his chest, the sounds of her breathy moans, the feel of her tight around him. Just a few of his favorite things. He gave all of this up. All of it. He was such an idiot. Still is. But… he’ll fix it. He will. He won’t let this go ever again.

Max whines and moves faster, drawing more noise from Mike. He brushes his thumb over her hip, a gentle sign that he knows what she wants. And that he’ll give it to her. He slips his other hand between them, presses his thumb against her clit, circling the small bud. She lets out a cry, nails digging into his chest. Mike grins as he tries to breathe. He’s a far along as she is.

Max’s breath comes out harsher, her movements harder, faster. More erratic. He presses on her clit once more, and she comes, arching back, mouth open in a silent cry. He hears her gasp for breath as she flutters around him. She rocks lazily, prolonging her high, and the angle combined with the feel of her around him brings him to his own climax. Her names tumbles from his lips as he grinds up into her.

They stay like that for some time. The only sounds in the apartment are their harsh breathing. Max rests much of her weight on the hand on Mike’s chest. He doesn’t mind. He can handle it. Max hums softly, her hand brushing down his chest to his stomach before she separates them. Mike groans at the loss of her heat.

“Oh, hush,” Max purrs, lying on her side beside him. Mike snorts and rolls onto his side, meeting her blue eyes with his. They simply stare at eachother, relishing the intimacy and looking each other over. They’re alive. They’re together. Everything will be fine. Max’s gaze lingers on the cut on his cheek. He grins at her.

“I’ll be alright, Max,” he assures her. “I’ve had worse.”

“No, I know…” She stares at him a beat longer. Then holds out her arm. Sometimes, Max likes to hold him. They’ve both been through so much. They both need comfort. Need arms to support them. Max wants to show her care this way. Mike will always oblige her. He settles in closer to her, nudges his head beneath her chin. She kisses his hair as she pulls him closer. It’s quiet for a few beats, her fingers stroking over his hair. She takes a deep breath.

“You’re the love of my life, too, Mike,” she whispers, her breath stirring his hair. “And I could have lost you. What were we doing?”

“No, Max. What was I doing? It was my obsession that caused this.”

“And Mark Gray’s.”

“Even so,” he continues, pressing his lips to her collarbone. “I never should have left you. Not the first time, not at the docks, and not at the hospital.” He goes quiet, listening to the traffic below and Max’s heartbeat. “I’m sorry, Max. It will never happen again.”

She’s quiet. Mike doesn’t dare to tip his head up. To try and read her face. He waits. He waits for any judgement she might pass on him. She sighs.

“I know, Mike. I know.” She kisses his hair again one last time.

They lie in silence again, Max petting his hair as he strokes her hip. The intimate affection Mike had missed. He doesn’t know how much time passes by, but he tries his hardest not to sleep. He wants this moment to last as long as possible.

Until his stomach growls.

The couple erupts into laughter. They laugh until their cheeks burn and their abs ache. Mike reluctantly pulls away, finds his boxers, and returns with both boxes of pizza and two beers.

“Well, Agent Hardy, would you like to join me on a date?”

Max beams at him, sitting up and pulling the sheets up to cover herself.

“I’d love to, Agent Weston.”

They eat in bed, swapping stories and joking and laughing and flirting. It’s like the last year never happened, that they were always happy. Always in love. And when the boxes are moved, the lights out, and Max dozing in his arms curled tight against his chest, Mike knows he won’t break his promise to her.

He loves Max. He’s never loved anyone as much as her. He never will.

“Getting shot is no joke.”

He snorts, banishing the memories of his last conversation with Daisy. The irony isn’t lost on him. He tosses the medical supplies, food, and water he’d stolen on the bed. He won’t be moving much for the next few days. He sheds most of his clothes; they’re crusted with salt and still damp. And he has to get to his leg.

Mark’s had plenty of medical training. Lily insisted on it, and Mark had done extensive reading on his own. It’s important knowledge to have. Especially when there’s no one else to help. He ignores the pang that thought sends through his chest. He’s got more important things to worry about. Tending to his own gunshot wound would be very, very difficult.

He scarfs down a protein bar, getting something in his stomach before swallowing a few painkillers. He won’t deal with getting sick. He arranges mirrors to see what he’s doing, and carefully kneels on the bed with a soft hiss. The bloodied, slightly jagged hole stands out against his pale skin. He tears open a pack of sterile tools. He’s already at risk for infection after his quick dip in the East River. But he’d rather get the bullet out before dousing the area with alcohol.

It doesn’t take nearly as long as Mark expects it to, and still longer than he’d like. The painkillers keep him from blacking out but doesn’t fully block the pain cause by digging into his leg for a bullet. He struggles to keep quiet through the whole thing, burying his face in a pillow. It’s a relief to toss the damn thing somewhere near the door. Next comes the hard part.

Mark shifts, holding his shaking leg off the bed. His hand also trembles as he grabs a bottle of alcohol. He pours some of the sharp-smelling liquid over the wound. This time he gets close to passing out. A strangled cry does escape him, and he freezes for as long as he can stand, hoping no one comes to investigate. He gently wipes at the wound to make sure it’s as clean as he can get it and very carefully closes it up with quick stitches. His eyelids droop as he tapes gauze to his thigh, as he wraps a bandage around it. He tosses all the clean items back in his bag and leaves the rest on the table.

Seconds later, he collapses into bed.

Exhaustion conquers Mark’s mind and body. The painkillers do nothing to combat it. A weak moan escapes him as dull pain demands his attention, in his legs first, then his whole body. He whimpers, waiting for sleep to escape everything he’s feeling—the physical pain and the loneliness.

Without his wound holding his full attention, his thoughts sink in. Everyone he had left in this world betrayed him. Used him. Andrew, one of Lily’s boyfriends, one of the only father figures he’d trusted, lied to him and used that trust. Kyle lied and used him as well, though that was less of a surprise. And Daisy? She completely played him. Calling him “sweetie” and being kind to him. Pretending she cared. It was all a ploy and he knows it now. That hurts the most. He thinks he was starting to feel something for her.

“You always like the wrong girls, little bro.”

Mark perks ever so slightly. He’d not heard Luke’s voice since the shipyard. As he encouraged him before it all went to hell.

“Luke,” Mark sobs softly, the effort hurting his chest.

“Shhh,” Luke soothes. “It’s okay. I’m here. Go to sleep.”

He swears he feels a hand card through his hair as he finally succumbs to the exhaustion. He’s asleep before he knows it.

Mark wakes to the smell of hot food and a voice complaining to itself. He fights the desire to fall back to sleep, contentrating on the voice.

“—I mean, who doesn’t have turmeric? A good kitchen isn’t fully stocked without it! Ugh, The chicken will suffer…”

Mark’s eyes snap open. He leans up with a groan, his body screaming in protest. He doesn’t care; he has to see for himself. He’s back in the brownstone, curled up on the couch. It’s sunny and bright. Warm. And puttering over the stove…

Luke doesn’t even look at him. “Don’t you dare get up, little bro. I’m not going to let dinner burn so I can come over and force you back down.”

Mark can’t help but laugh, sending more pain shooting through his chest. He holds back happy tears as he takes his brother in. Luke’s completely at home in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and away to keep them clean. His own dark blond hair is swept back from his face, as always. He’s relaxed, humming even, and Mark feels himself smiling before he realizes he is.

“I don’t… just… how?”

“‘How’ what?”

“How did we get back here? How are you—”

Luke tsks, turning to plate whatever chicken dish he has planned. He raises an eyebrow at Mark, and the younger twin’s heart skips a beat.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re safe. I’m with you. And I’m going to take care of you. Make it better.”

He looks back at his work, plating some vegetables, some rice. Mark can’t tell what from his angle. Luke’s answer triggers something in the back of his mind, but he can’t place what. It doesn’t matter. Luke is here. Everything will be fine now. Luke’s never let him down, or lied to him. He’s here.

“Thank you, Luke.”

Luke grabs the finished plate and saunters out to him, a fork in his other hand. He kneels down beside Mark, a smile growing on his face. It warms Mark’s heart.

“You just thank me by relaxing. Getting better.” He gathers food on the fork—a mix of chicken and vegetables—and holds it out to Mark’s mouth. “Alright, open up.”

The younger twin rolls his eyes. “Luke, I can feed myself.”

“Just humor me, Mark.” Something in his tone pushes Mark to comply. He chews slowly, savoring the taste of Luke’s cooking. He’s missed it. But why? Luke’s always been here. Hasn’t he? He blinks as Luke continues. “I’m going to repay you for last year.

It’s Mark’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He lets his brother feed him another bite. “Last year?”

“Yeah.” Another forkful. Mark doesn’t argue. “When you took care of me. After you and Mom got me back. Remember?”

He waits until Luke feeds him yet again before answering. “Oh, yeah.” Last year. When mother died. When Luke…

Mark freezes. Something’s not right. But what is it? He wobbles, drowsiness rising up inside him. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. Luke doesn’t seem bothered, watching him with an almost pleased look on his face.

Mark blinks at him. “Luke…”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Yeah, I know. Not very polite of me to sedate you. But you won’t rest. And you need it.” He starts to stand.

“Luke,” Mark pleads, his voice weakening. “Please… don’t go.”

“Hey…” Luke kneels back down, his expression growing serious. He rests a hand on Mark’s jaw, blue eyes meeting his. “I told you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you need your rest.”

He stands, turning back to the kitchen. Mark reaches for him, so close to Luke’s elbow, but his hand passes right through him. He chokes back a sob. Red stains grow on Luke’s back. He turns to glance at Mark once more. His forehead is bloody, his reassuring smile almost macabre.

“I’ll get some turmeric. make this dish perfect for when you wake up.” He winks. “ I’ll be here. Promise. I’ve always kept my promises, haven’t I, little bro?”

Mark tries to fight the looming darkness, reaching for his grinning brother with all he has. But his world goes black as reality sets back in.

That’s what felt wrong.

Luke is dead.

And he won’t be here when Mark wakes up.

Mark jolts upright in the motel bed, pain lancing through his body at the movement. He sobs—loud and violent—and buries his faces in his hands to stifle the sounds. He gasps for air, hyperventilating as tears flow down his cheeks. With every choked breath, more pain blooms in his chest. He doesn’t care. It can’t hurt worse than knowing he’ll never see his brother again.

His heart aches when he thinks of Luke’s necklace, as well as the only picture he’d had left of him, in FBI possession. Damn Kyle and Daisy and whatever they had done to lead them to his door. If only he’d had more time… He resolves to find a way to print a new photo. It won’t be as good, pulled from the internet. but it’s something. he can look at it. Pretend Luke could keep his promise. Pretend Luke is here. Or just look at him and remember.

It takes him much longer than he’d like to calm his breathing, to end the flow of tears. His lungs feel raw and ache as much as the rest of his body. He sits in the silence, cool air caressing his tear tracks and soothing some of his pain.

Not the one he wishes would stop.

Finally, he takes more pain meds, drinks more water, and lies back down. He lies awake long enough to feel the meds kick in, staring at the ceiling, picturing Luke on the bumpy white surface.

One day he’ll be with his twin again. But not yet. There’s work to be done. So for now, he’ll listen. He’ll heal.

“Goodnight, Luke,” he whispers, afraid to disturb the silence any more. And as he drifts to sleep, he lets himself hear Luke’s voice once more.

Luke’s about to check his watch again when he sees her headlights coming down the dirt road. He rubs at an eye and climbs into the back seat of his car. Her car can’t be trusted, and it’s too cold to be outside talking. She pulls up beside him, but he doesn’t watch. Luke Gray doesn’t show interest when it can be noticed. A car door slams shut. Seconds later, the door opposite him opens.

And Max Hardy slides in beside him with a huff.

“Really? Waiting in the car? Like a child?”

“It’s cold,” Luke says with a shrug. He tilts his head to look at her. “What took you so long?”

Max turns in her seat to face him, brushing her hair from her eyes and glaring at him. “You try shaking off your paranoid uncle when the city’s on lockdown.” She sighs, but allows a grin to light up her face. “Nice work, by the way.”

Luke gives in and smirks back. Yeah, the recent murders of a few co-eds was all over the news. They were found in compromising positions around an immaculate apartment. But none of them showed evidence of sexual activity. It was a massive mystery, and security all over the city tightened. It’s a point of pride for Luke. “I thought of it. Well, half of it. Mark did the rest.”

“He always does,” Max chuckles.

A silence falls. Luke studies the woman beside him. Tonight she’s dressed in a blazer, button-up blouse, and semi-snug skirt.  She’s a looker. She’s both the kind of woman Luke seeks to pray on and the kind that he avoids. Shorter than he is, but strong and fierce. Clear blue eyes that could cut right through you. A slim body that’s absolutely feminine, but also well-trained and powerful. Soft dark hair and a bright smile that sometimes has an edge. His thoughts linger on her mouth.

It’s not very big, really. Only when she smiles. When she’s not smiling, it just looks like it’s in a constant state of pouting. They look soft and ready to be kissed. Or, have less innocent things done with them. Max clears her throat and Luke snaps out of his thoughts.

“So,” she starts. “What did Lily want you to tell me?”

Honestly? Nothing important. But Luke can’t admit that, obviously. What would she think of him then?

“That you’re doing well. Stay the course you’re on. Clearly Ryan has no idea that you’re not with him, nor who we are. Everything is a success so far. She sends her thanks.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was an important message. I came all the way out here for that?”

“You know we can’t just call you up and talk about these things.”

“No, I do,” she agrees. Ryan Hardy could overhear anything or suspect anything. It’s always better to meet in person, out of the way. Usually Mark gets the pleasure of meeting Max Hardy. That’s why Luke staged this, after all. He wants his turn. Again, he won’t tell her that. Maybe.

“Then you understand why we’re here.”

She turns fully to him, leaning close. He can smell her perfume, feel her breath on his cheek. “I don’t think I do, actually. You told me Lily had an important message for me, and you just basically told me I’m on track for an A. Which I know already.” She leans even closer, and Luke takes a deep breath, both to settle himself and to smell the flowery scent that wafts over him when she moves. “So why don’t you tell me the truth. Why are we out here?”

Luke squints at her. She’s beautiful with her brow furrowed in frustration. Those kissable lips are mere inches from his. He doesn’t glance down at them. He meets her blue eyes with his, doing his best to show no real interest.

Until he can’t do it anymore.

Luke closes the distance, crushing his lips against hers. Max makes a surprised sound into his mouth. Her hand smacks against his chest once, twice… then rests gently on it before tightening around part of his shirt. He snakes an arm around her, pulling her against him. She hums into the kiss, tilting her head just slightly for an easier angle. Luke buries his hand in her hair, the soft strands like silk between his fingers. They break for air, but stay close, breathing each other in.

Max laughs first. Luke blinks at her, dazed. It surprises him. But she pecks at his lips, brushes her thumb against his cheek, still giggling, and he can’t help but join in. Little pecks between laughs evolve into open mouthed kissing, which evolves back into heavy making out. Soon, Max maneuvers to straddle Luke’s lap, and he’s left straining his neck to keep his mouth on hers. Luke works on tugging her blouse from her skirt as she undoes his belt and pants. It’s a relief to know it’s neutral. Luke craves more of her skin. He works at the buttons, but fumbles. Growling, he tears the damn thing open. More than one button bounces off the windows and him, and Max gasps.

“Luke!”

He merely grins wolfishly. “Bit early to be screaming my name, isn’t it?”

“That was one of my best shirts, you—”

“Asshole, dick, fuck-face, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He leans up to kiss her and the argument ends.

Luke’s hands move from Max’s waist to her ribs, his touch gentle against her smooth skin. She shivers as his thumbs ghost over her stomach. Ticklish, huh? He’ll play with that another time. He glances down at her bra. She’s got some black lacy thing on. It’s more than sexy. He lets one hand skirt over the material, and she arches a bit into his hand. God, she’s incredible. And he needs her now.

Max gets up on her knees so Luke can push his own clothes more out of the way. She takes a hold of him, drawing a hiss from the man. She grins herself. Luke doesn’t want to play. He reaches between them, pushing the pathetic scrap of fabric she labeled “underwear” aside and out of his way. They shift, lining themselves up. Then Max sinks onto him and they both moan.

Neither moves for what feels like forever. Max moves one hand to his shoulder and the other to the back of his head. Luke tilts his head up to touch his forehead to hers. They breathe, adjust. Her cunt feels so good around him and he’d like nothing more than to thrust up hard into her. But he waits. She’s in charge, here. She rocks her hips, and Luke gasps. Max takes the opportunity to kiss him.

She starts slow. It’s agonizing. He keeps his hands loose on her hips, not wanting to move her or rush her. When she rocks away her mouth leaves his and he chases it every time. Max threads her fingers through his hair, sending shivers down his spine. He’s glad he left it loose. He grinds his hips against hers when she comes down on him. The little breathy moans that escape her make it harder for him to breathe.

Max starts to move faster and Luke is grateful for it. He pulls back to watch her move on top of him. Her skin shines lightly with sweat and her chest moves up and down rapidly with her breathing. Did he think about if that bra makes her breasts look incredible? Because it does. He reaches up to touch it again, kneading it and the soft flesh beneath, and she moans. Even her moans are beautiful. It’s ironic how such dark people like them can be so goddamn beautiful. He notices the hollow of her throat, damp with sweat, and leans in to lick it before he can figure out why. He drags his tongue up her neck to the tip of her chin. She shudders and whimpers, grinding her hips down hard. He growls against her jaw.

Her movements become even faster, harder. Luke can barely contain his own sounds, but he does so he can listen to hear. Her moans mix with her pants to make small, mewling sounds. His little sex kitten. He bites at her collarbone, drawing a delighted gasp from her. He feels a coil tightening in his belly. He knew he wouldn’t last too long. His mouth moves to her neck to nip and suck at the delicate skin. She holds him close to her, her moaning broken as she tries to breathe. Her motions are just as erratic, just as uneven. She must be close herself.

Luke squeezes a hand between them. He finds her clit and presses his thumb against it. She cries out, her hips moving faster and harder. He kisses her pulse point.

“C’mon, Max,” he breathes into her skin, nipping gently. “I wanna see you, see how beautiful you look. C’mon.” He brushes his thumb over her clit again, rocking his hips up into her.

Max arches back, almost screaming Luke’s name. Her cunt tightens around him and he follows her soon after, weakly biting her shoulder to stifle his own moaning. Again, neither moves. Max holds Luke’s head to her shoulder, petting and kissing his hair. Luke pants into her neck. He could stay like this forever, buried in her and held tight in her arms. But he knows he can’t. They both have responsibilities. They both have to stay away from each other for the foreseeable future. So he relishes this. Leans into her and breathes her in and kisses the bruises he left just to taste her skin.

Max hums into his temple. “Is that why you made me come out here Luke?” Her voice is weak, but her breath against his skin still causes him to shiver.

“Maybe,” he mumbles, lips brushing against her neck.

She laughs. “There are easier ways to tell me you want to fuck.”

“But not all of them would have worked.” Luke reluctantly leans back against the seat, and Max lets him go. “Important message from Lily Gray would have.”

“And it did.”

Luke takes her in. She’s flushed from her hair down to the waistline of her skirt. Her eyes are lidded in satisfaction, and her body is much more relaxed. This is the most beautiful view of her he’s ever had. He spreads his hand on her stomach, comparing the size of them as well as the tan of his skin against the pale white of hers. She lays her hand on his and pulls it away and up to her mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Luke gives her a lazy grin. “I’m your idiot.”

She laughs loud, throwing her head back. “That’s disgusting, Luke.”

“But true.”

Max fixes her blue eyes on him for a moment, taking him in as he had done to her moments before. She leans down and presses kisses to his temple, his forehead, his eyelids, his nose and cheeks, and finally, his mouth. When she leans back, she’s grinning again.

“Yes. True.”

They separate, both groaning at the loss. Max stretches out on the back seat. Luke raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be heading back?”

The detective shakes her head. “I told Ryan I’d be spending a few hours with my pastry chef boyfriend who apparently likes to ruin my clothes.” She pulls on his arm. “C’mon. I wanna cuddle with you for a bit.”

Luke rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, kissing her before lying against her, his head on her shoulder. They both shift until they’re comfortable. Max brushes her fingers through his damn hair, and he listens to her heart beat. He’d probably never tell her, but he loves this. Loves lying with her after fucking her, making love with her, whatever it is. Loves holding her against him or being held himself. It’s warm and happy and loving. It’s perfect.

Well, except for one thing.

“I wish you had given me a better job than pastry chef.”

Max smacks the back of his head. Then kisses the top of it. Luke smiles into her chest.

She remembers what it’s like to go without, to only dream about parties like this. To dream of wearing the dress she’s wearing: a long dark blue and nude backless gown that shimmers in the Christmas lights. To dream of wearing well-done makeup and expensive jewelry, her hair curled about her shoulders. To dream of eating expensive foods and sipping expensive wine in an opulent and expensive house.  While in reality, her clothes were old and unkempt. She and her hair were often dirty. And her stomach rumbled loudly and painfully in hunger.  

And above all, she remembers what it’s like to be alone on Christmas. She still does. While all these people will surround themselves with friends and family on Christmas, she’ll be alone in her apartment, with no free friends or living family to call upon. Her only friends have family or family through relationships. She’d only been a bit bothered by it before, but now…

Giselle glances at the large wall clock by the tree. He’s late again. He usually is when she’s not there to corral him. But he had a meeting she hadn’t been invited to, and he planned to come straight to the party from there. She’s nowhere near as social as he is, especially around the filthy rich, and she’s been trying as hard as she can. She’s not sure how much more energy she can put into her false smile without her boss next to her.

There’s a commotion by the door—joyous exclamations and laughter—and she turns to see what the fuss is. Thank God. Luke Gray, his hair and beloved pea coat dotted with snow, hugs their host’s beautiful wife. When they separate, he presents her with a bottle of wine for their cellar. She hides a proud grin behind her glass. She’d picked it out. Luke couldn’t be bothered to remember their taste in fine wines, but she takes note of everything. The doorman takes his coat, leaving him to squint into the party, straightening his suit jacket. He meets her eyes. She smiles, and his jaw slackens as his eyes widen.

Giselle shifts uncomfortably and turns to get another glass of wine off the table for him, tucking her clutch under her arm. She’s seen similar looks on his face before. When he first met Ryan Hardy’s niece Max. When he met Heather the dancer at a black tie fundraiser. When he spoke to a prima donna during the after party of a performance of the Paris Opera. But never towards her.

She’s never been one to mind it. She’s been working for him for over five years. As his secretary and assistant she had to balance both her professionalism and… and a bit of affection that she had for him. It has grown, of course. She just balanced it with more professionalism. He showed no sign of feeling the same way towards her, no more than a close friend. Now she wonders.

A hand rests on her lower back and she turns into Luke’s arm, holding out the glass to him with a teasing grin.

“Good of you to finally show up, boss. I thought I would have to make excuses for you all evening…”

Luke grins back, all trace of shock gone from his face. “Yeah, well,” he sighs, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. “You know how those bankers love to talk.”

“How did it go?” She brushes some snow from his hair, and he barely reacts to her touch.

“It went fine. They’ll be happy to make a new account for us, with a few incentives to keep the money there. Thank you for buttering them up for me with your presentation last week.”

Giselle snorts. “Please. I didn't do anything. It was that Luke Gray Charm that got them, I’m sure.”

Luke laughs softly, sipping again from his wine and taking in her face and dress. Giselle clears her throat, and he swallows, squinting out at the other guests.

“You, uh…” Luke pauses. Giselle raises an eyebrow at him. Rarely does he falter or stutter, especially when not involved in an argument. At a party? In his most natural state: well-dressed and surrounded by successful people? He takes a breath and meets her eyes again. “You look lovely, Giselle. Beautiful, really. That dress is… flattering.”

She blinks at him. He’s never directly commented on how she looked before. It was kind of him; in their line of work, men work hard to act over-masculine and comment on her behind her back or to her face all the time. Her ass when she bends over, how tight a blouse might be, where she could sit (on their laps), and much more. But never Luke. His comments were always muted or just polite. Like telling her how nice her blue scarf was with an outfit, or noting how a new haircut looked. Friendly compliments.

This is more than he’s ever said to her about how she looks. It’s… it’s confusing. But also spreads a warmth through her chest. First looking at her like he had, now telling her she looks… beautiful? This isn’t a Luke she’s used to. She smiles at him, hiding all her thoughts.

“Thank you, Luke. That’s sweet of you to say.” She finishes her glass of wine and grabs another. She hooks her free arm through his and pulls him towards one of the smaller groups in the area. “Now come on, it’s time for you to do the rounds.”

She pretends she doesn’t see the change his his expression. For a moment, he looks… crestfallen. But his usual smug grin takes its rightful place as he greets one of the board members and his mistress, like the change never happened.

Giselle breathes in the crisp, fresh air. She had stepped out after over an hour of schmoozing with almost everyone at the party alongside Luke. It also helps her head with all the wine she’d had to keep her thoughts at bay. The house has a large balcony over looking the lake it rests on, and the exposed railings hold a good inch or two of snow. The stars wink in the sky above her through holes in the fading clouds, reflecting in the black water beneath. She rarely gets to leave New York, and rarely has reason to, so beautiful sights like this often elude her.

She needs the time alone. Away from the noise of the party and away from… from Luke. She’s not been able to get his expression when he saw her or his words out of her mind. He thinks she looks beautiful. But is it just a passing comment, one that she’d only hear in similar situations, or something more? She had noticed him watching her at her desk when he thinks she’s not looking. Offering to help her with paper work or carrying things when he didn’t before. Touching her every chance he got: a hand on her elbow or at the small of her back.

Has something changed? Does he feel more than just friendly towards her?

Closing her eyes, she tips her chin up and enjoys the wind on her skin. She wouldn’t mind. Not at all. She’s often thought about him herself. Meeting him for coffee or dinner and not discussing business. Quick kisses between appointments. Secret touches under conference room tables. Things she’d seen other couples do. But her position and his eyes on other women kept her from taking her desires seriously, or acting on them. Now… He’s already the closest she has to a best friend, isn’t that what the best lover should be?

There’s a scuffing sound behind her, and she glances over her shoulder.

Luke hovers in the doorway, tie askew, hands tucked into his pockets. He has that look plastered on his face again: wonder. Awe. Her face warms. She hopes he can’t see it. They watch each other, the world silent despite the party guests chattering inside. Like there’s no one else but them. It does feels like it. The weight of his gaze becomes too heavy. Giselle looks away first, back into the black lake.

There’s a pause before Luke meanders over to her. The air moves as he takes his place beside her, leaning his arms on the railing after brushing off a small amount of snow. The silence continues. They often share companionable silence. There have been plenty of times when they could sit in each other's company without saying a word. Long flights and car rides, extra hours over paperwork at the office, waiting for meetings in building lobbies.

This particular silence is different. It’s new. It’s uncomfortable.

So Giselle breaks it.

“How’s the party going?”

Luke shrugs a shoulder, eyes still taking in the lake. “It’s a rich man’s party. They’re all the same.”

“You wouldn’t say that if it were your party,” she teases, admiring how his blazer looks stretched tight across his shoulders. “In fact, you’d pull out all the stops and more, begging me to say how it’s the greatest party ever.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” He glances up at her, a grin in place. “I have to have a better party than the last guy, right?”

“Absolutely. That’s how you play the game.”

“And I always play to win, don’t I, Miss Richoux?”

“Always, Mr. Gray,” she agrees, rubbing her hands over her arms.

Luke’s grin fades. He straightens and shrugs his blazer off. Giselle waves him off.

“No, Luke, it’s fine. I’m—”

“Giselle, please.”

She pauses. His tone is sincere, firm. The same tone she uses on him for similar reasons ranging from getting him to get some rest to getting him to read important memos. It always works on him; he gives in to her eventually. She reminds him what’s best for him. And now he’s trying to do the same for her. It’s a strange night indeed. She relents.

Giselle turns, holding out her arms. Luke slips the coat on her with a soft chuckle. It’s still warm from his own body, and smells faintly of his cologne. She catches herself wishing to bury her nose in it. Instead, she pulls it tighter and turns to him with her arms across her middle.

“Thank you.”

He nods, a smile smile growing on his lips again. He turns back to the lake. Giselle does the same, but her eyes stray back to him. He’s a handsome man. She’s never denied that from the start. All she could do was focus on things other than his looks. She focussed on learning how his company worked and learning how their relationship worked and learning about living in America. And then she focussed on being the best assistant she could be, working as hard as she could.

She’s done all that. Successfully, even. For years. So… can she reward herself with a taste of what she wants now? To see if it’s truly what she wants?

The clock in the hall strikes ten, the chimes echoing out to the balcony. Giselle shakes her head. What is she thinking? Of course she can’t. Especially not at a work party. Anyone could see. She grabs her clutch from the balcony railing, turns, and starts to retreat into the house, calling over her shoulder at Luke.

“I need a drink. Can I get you any—”

She’s almost to the door. A hand grabs her wrist and her momentum almost turns her back around. Her clutch clatters to the ground. She’s pulled to the side of the door far enough away that she can’t see inside. Her back presses against the wall, Luke’s coat protecting it from the cold surface. Snow brushes against her ankle. When Giselle looks up, she meets Luke’s clear blue eyes. She’s able to suck in one breath before he leans down and presses his lips to hers.

Giselle freezes for a moment. He’s warm. Even his lips are warm. Why is he doing this? He has to have thought of the same things she has. That this is neither the time nor the place for such an act. And yet… he’s still kissing her. Then again, he has always been a bit impulsive. The idiot. He pulls back—in reaction to her lack of response, she’s sure—his brows drawn together and his soft panting creating clouds of air between them.

They stare at each other. There’s loud laughter from inside the house, but neither even glance at the door. Luke searches her face, and thoughts whip through Giselle’s mind. Pros and cons of various reactions run together but only one thing stands out in the cacophony.

She wants very badly to kiss him back.

Giselle silences everything. Who gives a damn about what those rich assholes think? There’s only one opinion that truly matters to her. So she grabs his shirt and pulls him back in to give him a kiss of her own. She can feel him freeze himself, then his lips quirk up against hers and his hands move to her waist. He pulls her tight against him as Giselle loosens her grip and flattens her hands against his chest.

Somewhat more than chaste kisses evolve into deeper, messier ones. Luke licks at her lip, and she opens her mouth to him with a soft moan. Giselle relishes every second of their embrace. She can really smell his cologne now—strong, but not strong enough to complete cover up the faint scents of smoke and coffee. He warms her up like a furnace despite the chill of the air around them, the snow piled close to her feet. He tastes like wine and a hint of the coffee he must have had at the meeting. Bankers can be quite boring, after all. And his heart beats strong and fast under her hand. She holds back a smile.

They stop for a few moments, breathing heavily to make up for the lack of it. Laughter bubbles from the both of them. It’s a strange mixture of awkward and happy. But neither pull away. Giselle has almost no time to recover before Luke slips his hand into her hair and pulls her in for another long kiss. She hums into it, and he snorts out a laugh. She opens her eyes for only a moment, and sees Luke’s brows drawn together in a look of concentration she knows well. God… why did this take them so long?

There’s a laugh—loud and close to the door—and the two jerk back. Giselle bumps back into the wall and Luke comes close to slipping in the snow. They stand still, listening to the voice to see if the laugher will be stepping out to see them. Giselle stares at the doorway. Shadows move in the light from inside, but no one steps out into the cold. Luke snickers, and Giselle turns back to him.

“Your lipstick is a bit… smeared,” he manages to get out between breaths and laughs.

Giselle raises an eyebrow. It’s a pretty rich statement coming from a man with lipstick smeared across his own lips. She grins and shakes her head, looking for her clutch. Luke spots it first and grabs it, stepping close to hand it to her.

“Thank you, Luke,” she whispers. She waves him closer. “You’re a mess yourself. Let me clean you up.”

Luke obediently holds still while Giselle dampens a handkerchief with snow and wipes at his face. Giselle can’t help but smile, and she can see his eyes twinkling with amusement as well. As soon as he’s respectable again, Giselle digs out her compact and lipstick, handing the compact and her clutch back to him.

“Open that for me?” He does as she instructs, and she uses the mirror to clean her own lips and re-apply her lipstick. When she’s finished, she flashes him a grin. “How does that look?”

Luke gazes at her with a look similar to the one he’d had when he first saw her at the party. “It looks perfect.”

Giselle’s smile widens. She gathers her things from him and tucks them away. Finally she shrugs off his coat and hands it back to him.

“How about we do one more round?”

Luke smiles, pulling his coat back on. “Sounds fair. And I can take you home if you’d like.”

“Square deal, Mr. Gray,” she says, taking his arm as soon as he offers it.

If any of the guests notice anything different about them, they don’t say. The pair weave through the party saying goodbyes and hugging and wishing happy holidays. When they finally finish, Luke helps Giselle into her coat before getting back into his own. The valet pulls up in one of Luke’s cars, and Giselle raises an eyebrow at him.

“You drove yourself? In this weather?”

Luke shrugs, opening the passenger door for her. “I’m full of surprises, Miss Richoux.”

The drive back into the city is mostly silent. It’s not the uncomfortable silence they shared on the balcony. It’s their normal companionable silence. The kind neither seeks to end.  A few times, Giselle watches him drive. She takes in his completely relaxed form, his long fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He’s gorgeous, even in the shadows of the car. With what just happened between them, could he maybe be hers?

“Everything okay, Giselle?”

She starts, not realizing that Luke had glanced over at her. A smirk plays on his lips and his gaze alternates between her and the road. Giselle snorts softly and shifts, looking out at the road herself. She shrugs.

“Of course,” she reassures him. “Just… Happy, I think.”

“Yeah?” He hums. Silence falls again. The lights of New York City wink at them in the distance, as clear as the stars Giselle watched from the balcony. And just as beautiful. Luke sighs, not unhappily. “Me too. I think.”

A smile spreads unbidden across her face. It’s the best news she’s gotten in a while. She relaxes back into the comfortable seat. Maybe she’ll make it through the holiday alright after all, with these new developments in mind. Maybe he could be hers.

They arrive at her building almost too soon. Giselle glances out the window and sees her doorman, Jack, hovering just inside. Tomorrow starts his Christmas vacation. He’s heading to New Jersey, off with his wife and kids to have Christmas with his mother and siblings. Like Luke, who will leave for Stamford in the morning. He’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day there with his adopted mother and siblings, Mark, and Emma Hill, Mark’s girlfriend. Surrounded by family.

Giselle will be alone with just her small tree and paperwork for company.

Luke climbs out first, jogging over to her side to open the door. She takes his hand when he offers it and lets him help her out and onto her feet. He doesn’t release her hand. She doesn’t mind. He sighs and grins at her.

“Well, Miss Richoux. It appears we’ve arrived at your destination.”

“It certainly does, Mr. Gray,” Giselle agrees, waving at Jack. The man waves back and nods at Luke. It’s been a while since Luke has visited, but the older man remembers him. Luke nods back. Giselle sighs, glancing down at their hands. “I should go in. You have an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Luke sighs, his attention shifting back to her. “You know mother. She’ll skin me if I’m late for dinner preparations.”

Giselle doesn’t know Lily Gray personally. Not yet. They never seem to be able to cross paths. But she knows the stories. She grins at him, stepping closer.

“So don’t be late,” she chides. “Go home and get some sleep. Lord knows you’ve not had enough of it lately.”

“Yes, Giselle,” he singsongs. But he doesn’t move. He stays there, watching her. Giselle can’t quite look away either. She’s noticed lingering from the both of them before, but never like this. It’s silly. Childish. And yet… She still can’t move. She shakes her head.

“Oh for God’s sake—” She kisses him before he can ask her what’s wrong. Her heels give her more height to work with, but she still has to push up on her toes to reach. He catches on soon enough. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her against him. It made it a lot easier for her. Giselle lingers before pulling back. Luke does the same, delighting her. There’s reluctance in their separating. But Luke does have an early morning. She smiles at him and leans up to peck him once more on the lips. His gaze is dreamy and distracted. “Have a merry Christmas, Luke. Travel safe. I’ll see you Monday.”

She turns on her heel and walks towards her door. Jack is noticeably absent. Must have hurried off when he saw her and Luke kissing. She hopes he’s at least still at her desk when she gets in. She has to make sure that he got the gifts she left for his family. She’d steps from the door when Luke’s voice breaks the silence.

“What are you going to do?” She turns. For a second, there’s concern on his face. It’s gone before she can dwell on it. He merely shrugs, crossing his arms. “For Christmas. What are your plans?”

Giselle opens her mouth to answer. Nothing comes out. Should she tell him? It’s always implied that she spends the holiday alone. He knows she has no living family and no real desire to return to Paris. But he’s never asked. Just lets her bundle him up and send him on his way. Tonight really has changed things.

She smiles at him. “Just going to relax. Open some gifts, curl up with my book and some cocoa… maybe catch up on paperwork.”

Luke’s expression falters. He blinks and it’s gone. “Alone?”

“Yes,” she replies, laughing just enough to sound genuine. “I can finally have some peace and quiet!” She struggles not to close the distance again and kiss the concern out of him. To make him smile again. She just keeps smiling instead. “Goodnight, Luke. See you in a few days. Give Mark and Emma my love.”

Giselle turns on her heel, jogging to the door. It’s cold, and she’s still in her dress. Luke’s voice makes it to her again.

“I know for a fact that you’re ahead of your paperwork, Miss Richoux!”

She snorts and walks into her building. Jack’s at his desk, thumbing through a recent Rolling Stone issue sent for a resident who had moved out last year. He loves those things. The older man jumps to attention when he hears the click of her heels on the marble floor.

“Ms. Giselle! How was the party?”

“It was fun, Jack,” she answers with a smile. She leans over his desk, glancing at his magazine. “Did you get the gifts I left?”

The man smiles, nodding. “I did, thank you. You didn’t have to do that, though.”

“Please, of course I did.” She crosses her arms, giving him a mock glare. “You and your wife work really hard and your kids sound great. Figured I could thank you for keeping an eye on me since I moved in.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you and that Gray fellow would just get on with it already.” He raises an eyebrow. “But I don’t think we have to worry about that anymore do we?”

The Frenchwoman rolls her eyes. “You too, huh.” She sighs and grins. She wonders how bitter it looks to him. “Well, we’ll see. Goodnight, Jack. You and your family have a merry Christmas.”

“You too, Ms. Giselle,” he replies, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. He goes back to his magazine, and Giselle takes the opportunity to escape to the elevator. With luck, she won’t run into anyone else who knows her and Luke. Jack is close to the only one.

Giselle can’t get into her apartment fast enough. Her shoes are kicked off with a happy sigh and she glides into her bedroom. Her dress is hung back up, her jewelry put away, her make up carefully washed away. Her pajamas are far simpler: a cami and yoga pants. Changing from her work clothes or her formal attire to her pyjamas is her favorite part of the day. She gets to wipe away her mask, strip out of her armor, slip into her bed, and put the day behind her.

She’s about to do just that when there’s a knock at the door. She glances at the clock. There’s no reason for anyone to be at her door this late. She looks down at her bed longingly. It will have to wait. She sighs and pads out of her room. Her shoes still lie by the door. There’s another knock, but she pauses to pick them up. She even hesitates to turn the doorknob. It’s silly. She can do this. She opens it, and sighs.

“Luke? What are you doing here?”

Her boss stands in the hallway, shoulders hunched and hands rubbing together. It must have started snowing again—his coat is dotted with the stuff. Luke grins at her, straightening his posture the second he sees her.

“Hey, Giselle,” he tucks his hands in his pockets, and she hears a soft thunk when he does. “Jack let me up. I was just wondering if I could… come in. Maybe.”

Giselle rolls her eyes. “Luke, it’s late. You have to—”

“Be up early, I know. I just—” He cuts himself off. He squints at her, thinking. She’s always thought it was kind of cute. But not at this hour.

“Luke.”

“I forgot to give you this.” Luke pulls a square, flat, neatly wrapped box from his pocket. Giselle blinks at him. It’s his turn to sigh. “Your present. I forgot your present.”

“Oh… Well… come in.”

Giselle steps aside and lets Luke walk in. She stands back, watching him take in the space. He’s not been by in a while. Not much has changed, but she won’t stop him from looking around. His gaze rests on her tree, on her tiny pile of gifts. She knows who each one is from. Emma. Mark. Jack. She’ll add his to the pile and her heart will feel just a bit lighter. She can only imagine what wealth waits for him under the Gray family tree. With all the people who love him.

“You got my gift, yeah?” She’d left it on his desk when she left to prepare for the party, unsure if she’d get to give it to him herself. He’d been in meetings all day. So she placed the neatly wrapped and ribboned square box on the center of his desk, near a small pile of cards and smaller boxes. He’d know it’s from her. It was something she’d known he needed, and she had been clever about how to tell him it was from her.

Luke glances at her over his shoulder. He reaches into his other coat pocket and pulls out the very same box she’d left for him. Giselle grins before she can even think about it. Luke turns to her, bouncing the box he had brought for her in his hand. He holds it out to her.

“Thought maybe we could open them together. Before I leave.”

Giselle scoffs. “I can’t believe you brought my gift for you to the party. What if you had lost it?”

“Hey,” Luke starts, a grin growing on his face. “I left them in the car. I only brought it up when I came up here.”

Giselle looks down at the box in her hands. It’s wrapped too neatly for Luke to have wrapped it. It’s relatively light. She can guess what it might be, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Why did you come up here, Luke?”

Luke raises an eyebrow of his own. “I told you. I forgot your gift.”

“So?” Giselle catches the flippant tone in her voice as Luke tilts his head. That’s not what she is going for. She takes a deep breath and starts again. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, Luke. It’s just… you’ve given me most of your gifts late. Why is it so important that this one isn’t?”

Luke doesn’t move. He stares at her. It’s unnerving, but Giselle doesn’t look away. There’s something in his gaze that she can’t quite place. Something new. He shakes his head and laughs, looking down at the small box in his own hands.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, Giselle,” he says, locking eyes with her once more. “You shouldn’t have to spend any of it alone.”

Giselle’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. She gropes for something to say. It’s been a night of new territory for them. And now? Now he’s being open and honest, not hiding behind a joke or a smirk. Telling her he wanted to be with her for her. She swallows.

“Luke… I—”

“Just… open your present, okay?”

Giselle smiles and rolls her eyes. Impatient little thing. She carefully tears the wrapping open. She’s curious, but not enough to rush. She can feel Luke’s eyes on her, and she’d rather make him wait. She sees the iconic light blue and snaps her head up to look at him. His expression remains neutral. She pulls of the paper and sees that it’s a blue jewelry box. A Tiffany box.

“You didn’t.”

“Just open it. We don’t have all week.”

Luke hates going to jewelry stores. He complains to her, texting or calling her every time he ends up there with his mother or Mark. Whines about lovesick couples and vain women and hassled looking husbands hovering around. But he went. He went and got her something. She slides the lid off and looks at the item inside.

It’s a tiny, pretty pendant. An eight-pointed star made of diamonds lies in a circle of gold and blue on a thin gold chain. It’s… beautiful. She lets out a shaky breath and touches it very gently. Luke moves closer to her, watching her face. She looks up at him. There’s a tiny bit of worry in his expression, something only she or Mark could catch. The corner of his mouth quirks up.

“So… do you like it?”

Giselle smiles at him. “I do. I love it. Thank you, Luke.”

His tiny grin grows to a full-blown smile at that. “Good. That’s—” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders. “That’s great. Would you like me to…?” He reaches out to her and she nods.

“Yes, please.” Giselle trades boxes with him, taking his gift so he could get the necklace out of the box. She turns and waits. The box clatters onto her counter, and she feels Luke move close behind her. The necklace is cool on her skin and light on her chest. Luke gently pulls her hair out from under the chain. He rests his hands on her shoulders. Giselle relishes the warmth. He takes a breath.

“I saw it, when I was with Mark getting Emma’s gift. And I thought of you.”

Giselle hums, leaning back into him just a bit. “How do you mean?”

He’s silent for a few moments, pondering her question. “Well… You’re like my North Star, aren’t you? Helping me stay the course all these years. And beautiful.” He kisses her temple. “Which is a plus.”

Giselle snorts. She looks down at the floor and remembers her gift for him.

“Oh, here,” she says, turning back to him and holding out the wrapped box. “I opened yours, you open mine.”

Luke blinks and takes the box. He has much less care for the wrapping paper than she did. He tears it off and takes in the non-descript black box. She made sure there were no logos. She didn’t want him to guess. His gaze flicks up to her face, then back to the box. He opens it and blinks.

“Did you really?”

Giselle smiles. “I did.” About two weeks ago, Luke lost his watch in the shuffle between meetings and lunches. He and his brother had matching watches—gifts from their mother—and even if he didn’t say anything, she could tell it bothered him to lose it. So she’d looked at a few Rolexes, and found one that was sleek and elegant. It’s silver with a leather band, which the twins favor. The minutes are marked with numbers every five, and the hours with silver bars. There is even a smaller circle inside it to mark the date. “And if you’re worried about Mark, I got him the same one, since he knows what happened. You’ll match again.”

Luke is speechless. Giselle could laugh at him if it weren’t over something so personal. It’s so hard to get him to shut up. She takes the box from him and pulls the watch out.

“However, I made sure you could tell which is which.” She turns it over and shows him the metal back. He squints to read the inscription.

“‘Don’t lose this one. -G.R.’” He laughs. Giselle smiles and pulls his arm over to put the watch around his wrist. “I can’t make any promises, Giselle.”

Giselle scoffs. “Put some effort into it at least.” She gets the excess strap through the loop and releases his wrist. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Luke holds his wrist closer to his face. He studies the watch. Giselle bounces on her feet just a bit. She hates when he stalls to make her sweat. A grin spreads on his face. “I love it.”

Giselle smiles back at him, but it fades when his eyes widen. “What?”

“Well…”

She glances at the clock on the stove. “God, it’s almost three?” Luke reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Giselle huffs, rubbing at her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how late I can get on the train and still be in time for dinner.”

“Luke, you are not going to be late.”

“I am.” He shoots her a pointed look. “I told you. Christmas Eve.”

“What, you’re going to just spend the night?”

“And make you breakfast, yes.”

Giselle glares at him. He’s backed her into a corner. She can’t possibly tell him to leave. More shocking… she’s not sure she even wants to. It’s more new territory. And she wants to explore it. But she has her limits. She sighs. “I can’t believe I’m… fine. You can stay.” He grins. “But… we are just sleeping. No sex.”

He opens his mouth to speak—Giselle assumes to argue—so she continues.

“Luke, it’s not… This is new to both of us. And I want it just as badly as you, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. I don’t want it to be ruined before we even know it can work. You understand?”

The man closes his mouth. He squints at her. “Can I still kiss you?”

Giselle rolls her eyes. “Luke, I’m sensible. Not crazy.” His expression doesn’t change. She sighs again, unable to hold back a grin. “Of course you can still kiss me, idiot.”

He grins himself and closes the distance between them, bending to kiss her again. She smiles against his lips, pulling him closer to her. She hadn’t been sure, when he’d kissed her at the party, if it was what she wanted. Now she’s sure. She wants it, wants him, and has for some time. Now all that’s left is to see if they can work. She pulls back, but Luke keeps her close, resting his forehead on hers. Giselle bites her lip and looks up at him through her lashes.

“You know, if we do this… we can’t tell anyone. Mark, maybe Emma… but no one else. Not for a while.” Giselle had worked hard to get where she is. She’s heard plenty of whispers from other women and from the men as well about how she’d gotten there. Many of them included imagery of her on her knees or on her back. Obviously, none of it has ever been true. But if she starts now, everything comes into question. She’s a confident woman. But there’s only so much she can take.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to have to explain any of this to Luke. He nods, solemn. “I know. I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”

Giselle pecks his lips in thanks. “All right. It’s late. Take your suit off and meet me in my room.” She turns to walk back, realizes what she said, and turns back to him. “Leave your underwear on at least.”

Luke snickers and Giselle makes her exit before he can start to undress. She starts for her bed, but remembers the necklace. Glancing at the door, Giselle instead makes for her vanity. She takes in her reflection. The necklace looks gorgeous on her. The gold works well with her lightly tanned skin, and it sits right in the center of her chest. His “North Star”, he had said. Now everyone would know it, without truly knowing it. She takes it off with a slight reverence, and lays it out on the dark wood. She’ll put it back on first thing in the morning.

Giselle climbs into bed just as Luke steps into her room. She’s seen him in various states of dress over the years. But never for her benefit. It’s almost like seeing him for the first time. She takes in his broad shoulders, tapering down to a slim waist. The soft definition of muscle and the sharp cut of his collarbones. The scattering of hair at the center of his chest and the clean line that lead down into his black briefs. She’d explore that another time. She waves him over and scoots to the far side of her bed.

Luke doesn’t hesitate in climbing in beside her. Giselle can’t remember the last time she had another man in her bed. Nor the last time she had a man in her bed for something other than sex. She grins at him.

“Well… goodnight, Luke.”

He takes the hint and nods. “Night, Giselle.”

Giselle reluctantly turns, lying down to face away from Luke. She hears him hesitate as well, pausing before doing the same. She lays awake for a long time. Luke breathes behind her. She wonders if he’s asleep, or just staring at the door as she stares at the wall. She wants to touch him. She does. But it isn’t smart. She doesn’t want… She blinks hard.

She doesn’t want this to fail. She doesn’t want to lose someone else.

Giselle sniffs and closes her eyes. It’s late. And Luke promised her breakfast.

She wakes to the sun on her face. She hums softly and blinks her eyes open. And finds herself face-to-face with a still sleeping Luke Gray. Managing not to start, Giselle breathes deep and studies his face. He looks almost boyish, his hair falling into his face. His long lashes fan out against his cheek and his mouth is open just a bit. He looks relaxed, the stress of life far away from him. It’s adorable, just like realizing that the both of them had turned towards each other in sleep.

Giselle slips out of bed and pads to the bathroom. Before closing the door, she glances back. Luke looks good in her bed, shirtless with the blanket pulled up to his waist. It’s a sight she wouldn’t mind more of. She closes the door as softly as she can. She doesn’t want to disturb him.

She takes her time. There’s no meetings, no lunches, no work at all waiting for her. She hums to herself as she basks in the hot water. All month she’d dreaded this morning, waking up to silence and a cold bed and no family to share with. The opposite of most people’s Christmases. Now? She doesn’t think she could be any happier. Well… if she and Luke had woken up snuggled together, maybe. For the first time in years… she feels loved.

Giselle finishes washing her hair and rinses away her favorite apple-scented body wash. She almost doesn’t want to turn off the water, but she has a guest. She dries off and gets back into her pajamas, pulling her hair up into a messy bun. She stops to put on just a bit of makeup: eyeliner, a little bit of color on her lips. Nodding at her reflection, she moves to step out of the bathroom.

Her bed is empty.

Luke had made a half-assed attempt at making it up again. She rolls her eyes. She always has to do everything herself. She fixes the bed, to the point where it almost looks as if no one slept in it at all. Before leaving the room, she puts her necklace back on. She wants to be seen in it, even if only by Luke.

Giselle finds him in the kitchen.

He’s back in his pants and shirt, though the latter is untucked with the sleeves rolled up. Music filters out from his phone, which is propped up in the corner. He sings along with it as he putters around her stove, her counters covered with ingredients. Something smells good. Luke looks up when she steps into the kitchen, shooting her a smile.

“Good morning.”

Giselle smiles back. “Good morning, Luke.” She moves close to him gives him a quick kiss. She leans into him, glancing into the pan. “What’s on the menu this morning?”

“I’m making us some omelets with some of the veggies in your fridge,” he declares, checking on said omelet. “I started coffee, too, and I’ll get some toast and butter.”

Giselle presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll get the toast and butter. Let me help.”

Luke finishes the omelets, plating them and laying them out on her table. Giselle gets out the butter while the bread toasts, and pours two cups of coffee, making them just the way she and Luke like it. They sit next to each other, eating and trading dumb stories from the party. Luke takes every opportunity to touch her—nudges his knee against hers, reaches for things when she does so their hands collide, fixing a hair that came loose from her bun and even resting his hand on her thigh. It makes her grin into her coffee, to have such affection directed towards her.

Soon the food is gone and the plates cleared away. The conversation doesn’t stop. It moves to the sofa, where they sit too close to each other, watching the city out of her huge windows and sipping more coffee. Luke eyes keep landing on her tree. Giselle nudges him with her shoulder.

“So. Tell me about the Gray Family Christmas.”

“Well…” Luke thinks it over, taking another sip of his coffee. “We get together on Christmas Eve. Or earlier, if we can. We work together to make a big dinner. Not as big as Christmas, but… close. We eat together. Then we clean up, have dessert, coffee. After that’s cleaned up we each open one Christmas gift, and then hang out or head to bed, depending on how late it is. Next morning we open all the presents, have a nice lunch with left overs from the night before, then work on a bigger dinner for us and a few of mom’s associates.”

Giselle smiles. “That sounds nice.”

”It is,” Luke agrees, nodding at her with a grin of his own. “Makes up for all the time we spend apart, especially for mom.” He looks around, gaze falling on her tree again. “What about you? Are you… do you do this every year?”

Giselle looks away and sips at her coffee. “Yeah. I do. I don’t have anyone available to celebrate with, so I just… enjoy the day off. Open my gifs, read a book, watch a movie or two. Sometimes I go to the park if there’s no snow and just walk around.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It is. But… kind of nice, too.” She grins at him. “I get a short break from all the bullshit.”

Luke lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re right about that.” He downs the rest of his coffee and glances at his watch. “Oh… I should probably get going. I have to head home to shower and change before my train.”

Giselle stands and takes his cup. She watches as he puts his shoes on, his jacket and his coat. Before he can turn back to her she brushes past him into the kitchen, putting their mugs in the sink. He’s leaving. He’s going to go be with his family. She doesn’t know why she’s upset. She got to wake up to him. He cooked her breakfast and sat with her. It’s more than she expected. And not enough all at once.

Warm arms wrap around her from behind, and she almost cracks her head on Luke’s chin. He presses a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll see you in a couple days, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll be wearing that necklace?”

Giselle laughs. “Of course.”

“And maybe…” He turns her around and pulls her against him, leaning down to kiss her. “I’ll take you out on a real date?”

She kisses him back. “I’d like that Luke.”

“Perfect.” He kisses her one last time and pulls away. “Merry Christmas, Giselle.”

“Merry Christmas, Luke.” She leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have a nice weekend with your family.”

Luke turns away from the door and smiles at her. A genuine smile. “I already did.”

He’s gone before she understands what he meant. A girlish smile takes over her face. She covers it up with her hand, even though no one is around to see it. She stays there for what feels like a long time. No one’s waiting for her, there’s no schedule. She can sit and think about last night, this morning… everything, for as long as she likes. Luke… Luke and her. She and Luke. They could be something more.

She touches the pendant on her chest. In the span of a night, everything she didn’t think she’d ever want to happen, happened. And she’s happy. Her phone buzzes on the side table, and she grabs it. It’s a text from Luke.

“Miss u already :(“

Giselle rolls her eyes and shoots him a quick “shut up”. But she doesn’t stop smiling. She sets her phone to a Pandora station of Christmas music and grabs her book, settling in on the couch to finally finish it.

Luke snorts as he collects their dishes and walks them to the sink. “If you’re going to react to my cooking like that every time…” He leans close, his lips an inch from hers. “I’ll cook for you more often.”

Max smiles and hums. She leans up to kiss him lightly. Satisfied, Luke grins himself and turns to put the dishes in the sink. Max watches him, eyeing his form as he bends and leans to collect soap and sponge. He’s definitely not bad to look at, that Luke Gray. And she has him all to herself for the weekend. For Valentine’s Day.

Usually he tries to visit his twin brother on the weekends. They’re close, and Max knows it’s hard for them to be separated for as much as they are now that they’re living apart. They talk almost everyday, but it’s not the same. This weekend, Mark and his girlfriend are going back to the twins’… mansion(?) in New Jersey to do some maintenance and cleaning. It’s Mark’s turn, and Emma thought it would be a great opportunity for them to get away from the city and be alone for a bit. It’s kind of sweet. And the two of them are cute already, the opposite of Luke and Max most days. Max looks forward to her weekend alone with Luke at the house.

The couple and Luke’s mother and adopted sister have all sworn to Max that Luke is the best cook they all know (after Lily of course). She’s been waiting for a night for the both of them to have time to indulge, instead of them ordering takeout, her simple eats that she can make in a pinch, or just going out to eat. His weekend with her and her weekend off finally did it, and Luke made sure to pick up ingredients for a delicious meal. He’d made her wild salmon with a crust of herbs and spices, as well as red potatoes with oil and rosemary and whole grain rice. It was… divine. Max doesn’t think she’s ever had a meal so delicious in her life, and she wonders if Luke ever considered being a chef.

Probably not… no one will see you in a kitchen. And Luke likes to be seen.

Max sighs, leaning on the table. “You don’t have to do the dishes, you know. You did cook.”

Luke doesn’t even turn around. He shrugs. “I got it. You just keep enjoying yourself. I’m jealous of that food afterglow you got there.”

Max bites her lip and rests her head on her hand. “Is there… more?”

“More what?”

“More food? Like… like dessert, or something?”

He turns, eyebrow raised. “No… I didn’t think to make anything.”

Max groans, flopping back into her chair. “Can you make something?”

“It’s a bit late, isn’t it? Aren’t there other things you’d rather I do?”

There are, in fact, other things she’d like him to do. Like… tasting every inch of her, or just one part of her. Or to bend her over and lay her out on the table like their meal. Or even help her get to her bedroom, the both of them shedding clothes as they cross her apartment. She might even want to… oh. Oh. Maybe… she can get everything she wants. She grins at him.

“I guess you’re right.”

Luke squints at her, almost suspiciously, before turning back to his work. Max gets up slowly, being sure to make no noise at all. She’d kicked off her shoes shortly after walking in, and creeps up behind him in socked feet. He starts—but just barely—when she wraps her arms around his waist, nuzzling between his shoulder blades. She hears him make some sort of soft laugh, and he relaxes back into her slightly.

“What, Max?”

“Pleeeeease make me something for dessert?” She allows her tone to get whiny, demanding.

Luke sighs. His head tips back, and she hears the splash of his hands flopping into the sink in exasperation.

“Max, I’m tired. Besides I already cleaned up! I’ll make you something tomorrow, all right?”

Max pouted into the soft material of his shirt. No, it’s not alright. She was promised a whole meal, not just a course. Is she being petty? Or… or nagging? God, a nag she is not. But… what’s a meal like that, a night like this… without dessert? There has to be something she can do to change his mind. To make the night perfect. It doesn’t take long to come up with an idea. She just needs to give a little. Luckily, she knows what Luke likes to receive.

Suppressing the urge to grin and give herself away, she tugs on him, turning him to face her. Luke resists at first (of course he does), but once he acquiesces, he sighs.

“C’mon, Max,” he whines. “I just–”

Luke shuts up when Max presses a finger to his lips. He squints at her, suspicious. She smiles at him.

“What if… we traded?” He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Max continues. “If I do something for you, will you provide me with dessert?”

“Traded?” He sounds funny, trying to talk around her finger. She stifles a laugh. “Trade what for what, exactly?”

Max decides not to tell him. There are better ways for him to find out. She pulls her hand away from his mouth, sliding it down his chest and over his stomach. His eyes follow it down while she watches his face very carefully as she undoes his belt buckle. His breath catches. Max feels a swell of pride. Any reaction she draws out of Luke is special.

Luke meets her eyes again, his breathing a little quicker than it was before. His lips quirk up ever so slightly. Max can’t resist. She leans up and kisses him, crushes her lips to his. He does like it rough. But she ends it rather soon, drawing a bit of a growl out of him. She grins herself, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Patience, Luke,” she singsongs, sinking slowly to her knees. Her eyes don’t leave his. “You’ll get something better, I promise.”

“I better,” he breathes. Max tries hard not to laugh. Always so eager to be rewarded, her Luke.

The button and zipper of his pants are undone almost too quickly. Luke is breathing heavy above her; he doesn’t even try to sound calm. Pride blooms in her chest. It means she’s doing well. So far. She tugs his pants down and rubs at him through his briefs. He hisses, rocking his hips against her touch. He hardens under her hand.

“You like that, huh?”

“I think that’s fairly obvious.”

Max shoots him a flat look. She doesn’t wait for his response before pulling his briefs down and taking him in her hand. He groans. He’s so weak, really. He likes to think he’s strong, that he’s above whimpering and begging. But the second she gets her hands on him… no wonder he prefers to keep her cuffed sometimes. It’s kind of cute. She pumps him a few times, working to get him as hard as she can before she really gets going. Luke curses and growls above her. Impatient little thing.

She kisses the tip quickly before wrapping her mouth around his cock. Luke chokes out a moan. His hips thrust forward. If she’d had any more of him in her mouth, she could have choked herself. She presses a hand to his hip, keeping him still. This is her show. She sucks hard, her nails scratching lightly at the sensitive skin of his hip.

“Fuck,” Luke gasps. His hand tangles in her hair, and she feels it dampen. Dammit. His hands were still soapy. She should have established a rule about touching. Gross. But she’s too far now to say anything. Even if she could. She pulls back, dragging her teeth against his skin. She delights in feeling him shudder. She hums just to feel it again. He’s always loved when she hums with him in her mouth.

Max bobs her head, alternating between sucking on him and stroking him with her tongue and gently scraping her teeth against him. Luke gradually gets more vocal. God, does she love that. Getting to hear him gasp and moan, growl and groan, curse and sometimes even whimper is a privilege. He hates it. He thinks he’s a rock—strong and near emotionless. Which is beyond false. He’s a vocal creature, letting her know that she’s doing well.

And every sound he utters makes her even wetter.

Luke lets out a broken groan, his hand tightening in her hair. He’s close, then. Max digs her nails into his hip and is rewarded with a hiss. He breathes her name and he takes him even deeper, humming. Her name escapes him even louder. She takes him even deeper and sucks hard. He comes with a cry, hips jerking slightly against her hand. She swallows everything she can. As soon as he’s done, gone soft in her mouth, she pulls away, wiping her hand across her mouth. She lets Luke catch his breath as she pulls his briefs and pants back up. She leaves his belt unbuckled. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.

When she finally stands on slightly shaky legs, Luke yanks her in and kisses her hard. Max hums and presses against him. She grips at his shirt. His hands are still wet on her clothes, but she couldn’t care less. She can smell him and taste him and feel him against her. What’s a little soap on her slacks? Her shirt?

Luke smiles against her lips and pulls away. There’s pride in his slightly unfocused eyes.

“You. Are. Incredible. You know that?”

Max smiles right back, her head tilting to the side. “Yeah, I do. But…” She brushes her nose against his and pecks at his lips. “Was I incredible enough to get you to make me dessert?”

Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes. He pulls her over to the fridge and gestures for her to open it. She does, and immediately sees bowls of chocolate mousse sitting in a neat row on the middle shelf.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Max,” he sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Of course I made you dessert.”

Max mock gasps and smacks his chest. “I gave you a blow job and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

A wolfish grin spreads across his face. He shuts the door and grabs her, tugging her back to the table. He undoes her own slacks and pushes them and her underwear down.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he coos, sitting her down in her chair and spreading her legs. “I’ll even the score. Then we’ll have dessert.”

Luke laps up the wetness between her legs, and Max forgets why she was annoyed. She sighs and threads her fingers in his hair. She hooks her legs over his shoulders to hold him there. He laughs into her, drawing a shiver from her. Luke dips his tongue into her. Then a finger.

Luke has long, long fingers. They’re perfect for getting her off. Max groans, digging her heels into his back to pull him closer. This is her favorite thing. She loves having Luke on his knees, eating her out. He adds another finger and sucks at her clit. She hums. Rocking her hips against his hand, Max pets at his hair. Luke loves affection. Craves it. He’d never say it, but she can tell by the way he gives tenderness how much he wants it in return. And she’s more than happy to give it to him.

He adds a third finger and nips carefully at her clit. Max cries out, her hips jerking up. God, he’s good. She feels a tightening in her belly. She doesn’t want to be this close this soon. But she was so turned on by her earlier acts that she isn’t surprised with how quickly it’s happening.

“Luke,” she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut and tugging at his hair. “Luke, please.”

He makes a strange, strangled sound. His fingers move faster and harder in and out of her cunt. He licks at her clit and sucks hard again. Max pants, moans mingling in with her breathing, until she could swear she was almost as loud as he had been. It doesn’t take long. She comes with a cry, arching up, the back of her chair digging into her shoulders. Luke keeps his hand moving, but soon removes his fingers to lap up her cum. She practically purrs as she relaxes again, her legs slipping from his shoulders.

Luke chuckles and straightens, leaning up to kiss her. She moans softly at the taste of her on his lips. He brings his hand up, and she takes his fingers in her mouth, sucking the last of her cum off them. Luke hums close to her ear. He nuzzles at her temple and kisses her jaw.

“You’re just so beautiful when you come,” he whispers into her ear, causing her to shiver again. “All those pretty noises you make, the shape of your body when you arch…”

She pulls his hand from her mouth. “Flatterer.” She turns her head and kisses him deeply. Just so he won’t see the light blush on her cheeks.

Luke pulls away first, turning back to the fridge. “I owe you dessert, don’t I?”

Max laughs and reaches for her panties. She doesn’t bother with her pants. “You do. Don’t think I forgot.”

“Relax, relax. I got it.” He glances at her over his shoulder. “Want to go pick the movie? I’ll bring these out and we’ll relax before I take you to bed.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Fine. But be quick.” She pulls her blouse off and tosses it into the living room. I don’t want to get cold.”

A few minutes later, the couple is curled up on the sofa—Luke lounging against the arm with Max stretched out on top of him, a blanket draped over her to compensate for her lack of clothes. The mousse is rich and delicious. Luke never ceases to amaze. They barely pay attention to the movie. They alternate between teasing and feeding each other. When the dessert is finally gone (and miraculously not all over them), Luke wraps his arms around her, holding her tight against his warm body. She lays her head on his shoulder and he kisses her hair.

“So,” he mutters, running a hand through her hair. “How did I do for a first Valentine’s Day?”

Max hums and nuzzles at the hollow of his throat. “I think you aced it, Gray. Top marks.”

He laughs softly. “Good. I was hoping I’d make you happy.”

God, did she know it. Her tough boyfriend, always looking for approval from everyone around him. He’s more than earned hers. He made her dinner and dessert and ate her out and curled up with her for a stupid romantic comedy she knew he’d hate. And all he wanted was for her to be happy. She bites her lip. She won’t cry. She won’t. Max kisses his neck before snuggling back into him.

“You did, Luke. You did.”

There’s a soft, sleepy sigh behind her. The company. Emma carefully rolls over to face the man snoozing on the other side of the bed.

Mark Gray still manages to look like a child when he sleeps. He’s not much younger than her—two, maybe three years—but it could be a decade when he’s dozing, completely relaxed. She’s had the pleasure of seeing him like this many times since she’d joined him and his twin brother Luke in their escape from the FBI. And Joe. Both her and the twins had taken something from him. Them, Mandy. Her… Claire.

Emma watches Mark sleep. He’s been so… nice. It’s unbelievable really. She’d betrayed them. Tricked him into telling her where the original getaway plane was, laughed at him while he mourned his brother. But he flew to her defense when Luke tried to keep him from bringing her along.

“She killed Claire, Luke,” he’d shouted at him. “Joe will be after her too. We can’t leave her to him and the FBI. Please.”

Still not sure about his motivations, Emma stayed very cautious with the twins. She could trust Mark at least enough to know that he wouldn’t kill her in her sleep, but Luke was something else entirely. She’d lie awake until she heard both of them breathing deeply. She rarely turned her back on them. She made her own food even when Mark graciously offered to cook for her. All that and more for almost three months.

When they got to Paris, they rented an actual house and planned to stay until things died down more. While Luke dealt with all the arrangements, Mark dragged an almost unwilling, mostly curious Emma somewhere for a surprise. When she recognized the Louvre before her, she genuinely was. And just a bit touched.

He showed her everything. Every painting, every sculpture, every artist that inspired her. More than once she'd caught herself smiling, and him smiling at her. Finally, he put her in front of her. The most recognized woman in the world. La Gioconda. The Mona Lisa. It was small. She'd heard it was. But it was still just as gorgeous as any large print of it ever could be, if not more because it was the real thing.

She felt Mark step closer to her, his presence warm and honestly nice.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

For a moment, she found herself at a loss for what to say to him. There were no words. He gave her something she'd always wanted, but never dared ask him for. And all she had done all that time was show him distrust. She looked at him, took in his kind smile and his relaxed stance and his bright, joyous eyes.

"Thank you," she blurted out. "Thank you so much, Mark."

He simply smiled wider, nodded and looked away as he blushed.

After that, Emma let herself trust the twins. Even Luke. As long as Mark kept him from doing anything he wanted to do, she’d be fine. Mark had done something for her she could probably never repay. And he’d shown her a kindness she really never expected.

They stayed in Paris, until two weeks ago, when Luke announced he’d be going to Denmark to get a hold of more of Lily’s resources. And neither Mark nor Emma would be joining him. She heard them argue long into the night. It was the first time she’d seen Mark lose to Luke. The elder twin usually gave in to the younger. It was endearing, really, to see him so eager to make his brother happy.

But not this time. Much of the two weeks Mark spent either ignoring Luke, not talking to him, or just being snide every chance he got. Emma wondered what he was upset about: Luke leaving without him, or Mark being left alone with Emma. She was mostly certain it was the former, but she still had her concerns.

Luke had left three days earlier, with promises to keep in touch so that they’d know he was safe and free. He pulled Mark aside, and spoke to him in hushed tones. She tried her best not to listen. Then he surprised her by telling her where he’d hidden Mark’s presents, if he didn’t find them by Christmas.

“He usually does,” he’d explained, grinning his crooked grin. “He’s a little too observant to hide things from. But if he doesn’t… make sure he gets them, okay?”

She’d nodded. “I will.”

“Thanks. There’s something for you in there as well.” She’d raised an eyebrow and he’d simply shrugged. “It’s Christmas. You’re part of the family now. Figured I’d get used to it and act like it. Plus… it made Mark happy.”

That’s what it’s all about isn’t? He’s the kindest of the both of them and the only thing connecting them. They both care about him, and both will be happy as long as he is. Keeping him happy is what brought him into her bed, really. He’d been having trouble sleeping, and asked if she wouldn’t mind too terribly if he shared with her. Of course she didn’t. She still owed him some of her life and her freedom. Helping him sleep was small compared to that.

It’s been working, thankfully. It’s been hard enough to see him so sad and even more quiet than usual, let alone seeing him sad and exhausted. He’s kept to his side of the bed, and she did her best to keep to hers. She doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the art studio months ago.

Mark looks different than he did then. Just a bit older, maybe. And then there’s the hair. She shifted to let her fingers brush the very tips of it. They’d talked him into letting them cut and dye it. He’s blond now. More blond than she’d been when they’d met, and more yellow than white. She’d dyed her own hair brown, to comfort him and to change her own look. She could tell he wasn’t a huge fan of his coloring, but it would fade. And Luke would return. And he’d cheer up again.

He hums softly, and his eyes blink open. It takes them a moment to focus but when they do, he smiles sleepily.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

His brows draw together. “What time is it? It’s still dark.”

“Just after three.” She slowly pulls her hand away from him.

Mark’s face darkens slightly. But he nods into his pillow. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you,” she whispers, smiling at him.

He blinks, staring her down. She wants to shift, show discomfort, but she doesn’t. Mark is used to a certain kind of intimacy. He’s been through so much, lost almost everything. And now he’s spending Christmas without his brother. She’s not going to take something else away from him.

Shit, she wonders how Luke must be feeling. At least Mark has her; his brother has no one, literally and figuratively. Mark had filled her in on things she’d not known. Like Luke’s close friendship with the strange Frenchwoman whose death started the domino pattern that led them here. How it sent him on a downward spiral that got him caught. She wonders if the jealousy she sees on Luke’s face when he sees them together has less to do with Mark and more with her growing friendship with him. She wonders if Luke is more lonely than he shows.

Something clicks. Something she should have noticed before. She sits up, jolting Mark out of the last vestiges of sleep to sit up with her.

“Emma? What is it?”

She slides out of bed and gestures for him to join her. “Just come with me. Just for a few minutes.”

There’s a tree up in their modest living room. It’s not real; they didn’t know if they’d still be here, so it wasn’t worth it to get one. They put lights on it and a cheap pack of ornaments, just enough to make it look decorated. They’d placed a couple presents for each other under it. Emma had added Luke’s gifts when Mark went up to bed, and his face lit up when he saw them. She’d started a small pile for the elder twin as well, starting with a gift from her in return for his.

Emma watches Mark struggle to find something to say. It’s the happiest she’s seen him in days, and a warmth spreads through her chest at the sight of it. He finally turns to her with a wide smile.

“What are all these?”

“They’re from Luke.” Mark’s eyes widen and Emma shrugs. “He told me where they were. Said you usually find them.”

“I do but…” He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up just a bit. “New house, all the changes, I just… I never thought about it. And I was so… frustrated about him leaving…”

“He did it on purpose.” Mark raises an eyebrow. “At least… I think he did. I think he wanted to give us some time.”

Mark tilted his head like a little puppy. “What do you mean?”

“Have you… have you noticed him watching us, at all?”

Mark’s eyes flick to the tree, and his brow furrows as he thinks it over. The shadows on his face cast by the colored tree lights make him look older, slightly menacing. But they also show the strong line of his jaw and accentuate all the things she finds attractive about him. Finally, he nods, his eyes widening again in realization.

“I have, actually, yeah. Always with this weird look on… on his face…” Mark’s voice fades away. “Oh.” He sighs and bows his head, rubbing at his eyes. She hears him breathe Luke’s name. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t touch him in comfort. She just waits until he’s ready to talk. “He wanted to give us time alone, because… because Giselle. Because he wants me to have what he lost. What I didn’t have.” He laughs. It sounds bitter. “That idiot. Why didn’t he just… he’s spending Christmas alone he didn’t have to go alone.” He finally looks at her. “How did you figure it out, it’s not like you shared a womb with him or anything.”

Emma laughs. “I just… if he were jealous he wouldn’t have left us alone. And he said something about me being family now. It just seemed too… nice of him.”

Mark snorts himself. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” He rubs his hands together, looking back at the gifts. “That’s my brother… always looking out for me.”

“And now…” Emma steps closer to him, smiling when he looks back at her. “Now you have me looking out for you, too.”

Mark tilts his head. He studies her, his eyes roving over her face and form. He moves closer to her. He’s less than a foot taller than she is, but it feels like more when it’s only them and he’s so close. There’s a barely-there smile on his face; she manages to catch it.

“I do, yeah,” he whispers. Emma starts slightly when his warm hand cups her jaw. She doesn’t move away. She remembers a moment like this one, months ago in a converted stable, the same look of wonder on his boyish face. She knows what to do now, to get what they both want. His thumb brushes over her cheek, and she meets his blue eyes with a small smile of her own. He smiles wider. “And thank you, for that.”

Mark leans in and kisses her very gently. Emma lets her eyes close, keeps her hands to herself. She can’t initiate. She won’t ruin another moment for him. For them. He deepens it, just slightly, and she responds in kind. It’s still the most chaste kiss she’s shared with someone in years. But she doesn’t mind, not at all, considering who it’s coming from.

He lingers just a moment before finally pulling away from her, a small smile on his face again. She lets out a small bubble of laughter, but doesn’t move away from him.

“Well then…”

“Well then,” he agrees. There’s a pause, and they both laugh again.

The silence that follows is comfortable. They’ve said and shown all they have to. At this point in time, anyway. Mark looks back at the tree, and Emma keeps watching him. She’s… honestly, she’s glad she’s back to thinking he’s this kind, adorable guy who is trying to make her happy. It’s hard to think negatively of someone who embraced her after all she’s done to him. But Joe’s downward spiral and his continued desire for a women who did not want him made it easier.

Emma doesn’t need Joe to survive or be happy. She can survive on her own, she’s proven that. And now? Now she has Mark and Luke to keep her company and all the time in the world to find her own happiness. What more could she ask for?

She bends to pick up one of her presents for Mark and turns to him.

“So… wanna open one of these bad boys? You have my permission to do so before nine AM.”

Mark laughs. He reaches out for it, then stops. Emma says nothing as he simply stares at the gift. His smile fades. She waits. She can guess why he’s hesitating. There are only a few reasons why. But she waits, staying silent. Finally, he sighs, pulling his hand back with a shake of the head.

“No, I’m good. Could we maybe…” He meets her eyes, his expression becoming pleading. “Could we wait until Luke comes back? Make it as normal as we can?”

Emma gives him a teasing smile, but puts the present back on the pile. “Of course we can. I’m in no rush.”

He surprises her and kisses her again, a bit sloppy with excitement and gratitude. When he pulls back, he looks aghast.

“Sorry, I mean—Thank you, Emma. I—Oh, shit…”

Emma laughs and shakes her head, walking past him to head back upstairs. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you back into bed. We’ll sleep in for a bit but still get up early enough for you to make us breakfast.”

“Sure thing, Emma.”

They get tucked back into her bed. Emma wonders how long they’d share. Would it just be until Luke comes back? Or would Mark get comfortable enough to just… stay? She wouldn’t mind. She’s gotten used to having him there. To falling asleep to the sound of his light breathing. To waking when he rolls out of bed. To hearing someone tell her “goodnight” and “good morning” and mean it. She could let him stay there as long as he likes.

She curls up on her side, facing him. She watches him lie on his side to face her, and smiles at him as he shifts to get comfortable. He smiles back, shyly, despite the kissing he’d done downstairs and spending the last few nights in this same bed. She stifles a yawn.

“Well, good night, Mark. See you in the morning.”

Emma closes her eyes. A warm hand tentatively envelopes hers, and she opens them again. Mark’s taken her hand. His eyes search her face for any disapproval. Emma gives him none. She grins, moving her hand more between them, and Mark smiles as he laces his fingers with hers.

“Good night, Emma. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mark.”

He closes his eyes first, and she sees him truly relaxed and content for the first time in days. It’s… comforting. It’s not even close to how far she’d usually go with a boy in her bed. But it’s okay. They can work on it. She’s finally doing something right, something good. It certainly feels right and good, as well. She closes her own eyes, settling in for a few more hours sleep.

This is her life now: on the run, hiding out in the Paris with a twin who adores her and one who at least trusts her. She can do this. She can happily do this. She’ll learn how to cook well, how to speak French, how to rely on people who have lived their lives relying on each other. To not need Joe.

And maybe, just maybe, she’ll finally be truly happy. Thanks to this adorable boy, his stupid brother, and the second chance they gave her.

 But then, a week before Christmas, a city councilman’s son was murdered, and it was all hands on deck. Meaning that Max wasn’t going to be able to wrap presents, decorate, or bake until further notice if she also wanted to sleep. She’d apologized about their time together being cut down. Luke hadn’t minded. He could tell she was disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to do all the traditional holiday stuff she lived for.

  So he made a decision. One that would kind of ruin his reputation as a dick.

 He wakes up as he usually does. Max gets up early and wakes him with a kiss. It’s the only reason he finds her waking him acceptable. He listens to her shower and watches her dress. It’s easy not to fall asleep again when she’s around. Before she leaves, she leans down to ruffle his hair and kiss him lazily. It’s about the same every day she works.

 But today, instead of slipping back to sleep for another two hours, once the door shuts, he waits five minutes and rolls out of bed for his own shower. It’s early, just around seven, so he has all day and probably then some to get the work done.

 Luke starts the cookies first, setting a rotation so he can do other tasks between batches. He wears the stupid “kiss the cook” apron she got him as a joke for his birthday. He never tells her how much he loves it. Mostly because she kisses him everytime he wears it. He prepares for all of her favorites: chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, Hershey Kiss cookies, and the Pillsbury ones with the pictures in them. He’s… not a huge fan, but he’ll indulge her.

 While the first batch bakes, Luke drags out the bin of wrapping paper and all the presents they both agreed they could look at. He wrapped each one carefully, sticking gift tags on all of them so she could tell them apart. Her family and friends would know he wrapped them. His handwriting is considerably more readable.

 He switches to another batch of cookies after placing the gifts to the side. He hangs the stockings on the mantle, puts lights in the windows, and places her favorite Santa statues around the apartment. He switches the cookies again and takes out her Christmas mugs. He hangs a wreath on the door, lays blankets on her chairs and sofa, and digs out her box of lights and ornaments.

 Luke eyes the tree with some disdain. Tree decorating was always Mark and Giselle’s thing. He’d watch from a nearby chair and make sarcastic comments before kindly giving in and helping with the last few ornaments. But it’s just him: Mark is with Emma, and Giselle is helping mother abroad. With a deep breath, he cracks the box open, and delicately draws out her favorite baubles.

 There are various types of ornaments in the box. There’s glass balls and Disney characters and first, second, third, and fourth Christmasses. He catches himself smiling as he hangs a wreath picture frame with her tiny baby picture in the center. He’d have to get one of his, to make them even. It takes him close to an hour, but he takes his time, letting himself feel some sort of cheer. He hums a Christmas tune, and turns his phone to a Pandora station to accompany him, plugging it into her speakers. When he’s finished, save for the star, he puts all the presents under the tree for her to see.

 Luke takes out the last batch of cookies and plates them with the others. He glances at the clock. There’s plenty of time for him to make a special dinner to go with the wine he’d bought them. He makes her roast chicken with sweet potatoes and a special mac and cheese she always asks him to make after a long day. He sets up the table with glasses and plates and silverware. She’ll want for nothing when she stumbles through the door.

 She’s still not home when it’s ready. Half of him expected it, but there’s still a slight sinking feeling in his chest that he’s not used to. He leaves the food in the oven and moves to the living room to collapse on the couch. Luke yawns. He’s deserved a nap hasn’t he? He leans a pillow against the arm and rests his head on it. He rolls to face the tree, the gifts, the lights in the windows… and he smiles sleepily.

 He did that. He decorated and showed the Christmas cheer Max Hardy lives to spread. He yawns and closes his eyes.

 ‘I really hope she likes her surprises…‘ he thinks to himself, as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Max drags her feet as she walks down her hall. They were still no closer to catching the murderer as they had been days ago. They may have a new lead, but she left before they dragged her to stay behind any longer. She wants just one full night of sleep, curled up against her warmer-than-a-heater boyfriend. As she reaches to unlock her door, she freezes.

 There’s… the wreath is hanging from the door. It wasn’t when she left that morning. She presses her ear to the door, curiosity eating at her. Did Luke hang it up? Luke… well he doesn’t hate Christmas… but he doesn’t love it either. It would be odd to see him do anything super Christmassy, let alone decorate on his own. But… she hears what sounds like “Silver Bells” filtering through the door. What is he up to? She unlocks and opens the door as quietly as possible, hoping to surprise him in the middle of whatever he’s doing. And she can’t believe what she sees.

 A table set for dinner. A large plate of various cookies. Decorations around the common area. Lights in the windows. A decorated tree. Wrapped presents under it. Stockings hung on the mantle. Speakers softly playing some sort of Christmas playlist. Is this… is she dreaming? She’s certain she’s dreamed this before.

 Max carefully steps into the apartment proper. It’s… beautiful. Perfect. Everything she needed to get done… is finished. And to absolute perfection. She swallows a lump in her throat and covers her mouth with a hand. She catches a dark-haired head resting on the arm of the sofa, and lays her bag by the door, kicking off her shoes before creeping over.

 Luke is fast asleep on the sofa, curled on his side facing his work. He must have tuckered himself out doing in one day what she planned to do over weeks. She watches him for a moment, blinking the itch from her eyes. She loves watching him sleep. The idiot looks about ten years younger when he sleeps, especially when he lets his soft hair fall into his face. Max kneels beside him and brushes the loose hair back, smiling as he stirs with a soft groan. When he blinks his eyes open and focuses on her, she lets out a quiet laugh.

 “I love you, you know that?”

 Luke blinks again, then grins, still sleepy and very smug. “I figured you might.” He pushes himself up to sit with another groan, and Max moves to sit beside him. “So… you like it, Detective?”

 “Luke…” She leans in close to him and kisses him, lingering before pulling back with a smile. “I love it. You did all of this?”

 “Well, yeah,” he laughs, stretching and showing off part of his toned stomach as his shirt rides up. “I figured you could use some help. What with being busy all the time. But… I did leave one thing…” He reaches into the ornament box and draws out a large silver star that once belonged to her father. “Didn’t feel right to put this up without you.”

 She laughs and kisses him again, taking the star from his hands and bounding to the tree. She hears him get up with a more exaggerated groan, but decides not to roll her eyes at him. Just this once. The tree is taller than she is, obviously. She gives Luke an expectant look, and he rolls his eyes and holds his arms out. Max lets him pull her in and laughs and he lifts her up, making sounds of mock difficulty.

 “Maybe I shouldn’t have made all those cookies…”

 “Shut up, Luke.”

 Max puts the star on the top of the tree and leans against Luke when he puts her down. She hums and presses her lips to his again, kissing him deeply. When she finally pulls back, she rests her hands on his chest, toying with his shirt.

 “I love you.”

 “You said that.”

 Max rolls her eyes. “Well I’ll say it again. I love you, idiot.”

 Luke rolls his eyes as well, but leans in to kiss her. “Yeah, well. I love you, too.”

 They linger there in front of the tree, enjoying the music and the warmth of the apartment and each others’ company. She could barely stand Luke when they met. He was pompous and selfish and complained too much and too loudly. But… now he has his moments. When he’s selfless and kind and willing to do anything for a smile. Not many people get to see him like this. But she does. And she’s so lucky.

 Luke sighs and pulls back. “Now… how about some dinner?”

 “Mmm, are you sure I can’t sneak a cookie?”

 “Hey, I slaved in the kitchen to make this dinner. You eat some, maybe you can have one.” He smirks at her, leaning in to nip at her jaw. “And dessert.”

 Max sighs, not unhappily. “Well… anything to thank the best boyfriend on earth.”

 Luke snorts. “Don’t push it. It’ll ruin my reputation as the worst boyfriend on earth.”