Brooklyn’s Industry City was a hub for creative types. Offices, studios, shops, and restaurants, all nestled into one big waterfront complex of buildings. It was really something. Jess had started renting the studio space four years ago, when her career as a photographer had finally taken off and she’d actually been able to make a living in New York City. It was nothing glamorous and she still struggled to make ends meet some months, but it was her dream. 

The studio itself was small, but it had everything she needed: a space to shoot with a simple rug and some carefully-thrifted furniture, a desk with her computer for editing, another table for mounting and framing prints. Half a dozen other photographers, all with their own specialties and styles, leased studios just like hers on the same floor. Down the hall, there was a shared printing lab, equipped with large format printers and scanners, cutters and every possible paper type you could ever need. The real reason Jess had chosen to set up shop at Industry City, though, was the darkroom. Sure, she could pay half as much to rent an empty room somewhere else in Brooklyn and make it work, or black out the windows of her apartment’s bathroom and develop film in her bathtub if she really had to, but it wasn’t ideal. Besides, hardly anyone shot film anymore, so she almost always had the darkroom to herself. 

Jess was just finishing up some prints, setting them on the wire rack to dry and putting her box of Ilford glossy eight-and-a-half-by-elevens away in the safety of the locker where her light-sensitive supplies lived, when her watch beeped. 

It was her ten-minute warning for the eleven-o’clock appointment she had scheduled with a new client. A simple job, he was looking for some new professional headshots. Easy. Shouldn’t take much time at all.

Jess pushed through the revolving door of the darkroom and stepped into the brightly lit print lab, squinting against the glare reflecting off of the white tiled floor. It was like walking into a different world, vibrant and full of colors, not just red and black. 

Leaving the lab, she glanced down the hall and she could see, just outside of her studio door, a man in dark blue jeans and a tan woven blazer. Even with his back to her, Jess thought he looked very well put together. He was tall and broad shouldered.  

When he turned at the sound of her approach, Jess could see that he was handsome and he stood straight-backed with a confidence that said he knew it. Thick, dark hair brushed back in waves that looked both styled and effortless all at once. A neatly trimmed mustache and just the right amount of beard gave him an air of maturity. He noticed Jess’s assessment and gave her one of his own, his brown eyes scanning her from head to toe. An approving smile slowly spread over his lips. 

“Hello,” he said, holding her gaze as he extended a hand.

“Hi. I’m Jess. You’re Mr. Castillo?” Jess asked, shaking his hand.

“Please, call me Harry.”

“Alright, Harry, right this way,” she gestured for him to follow and led him through the studio door. “So, you’re in need of some headshots?”

“Yes. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t keep using the same picture I had taken eight years ago. My assistant called it ‘false advertising.’”

Jess laughed. “Well, I can certainly help you there. Have a seat on that stool and make yourself comfortable.” 

Harry perched on the stool while Jess flicked on the spotlights. She went to the camera she had set up on a tripod for the shoot and peered through the viewfinder, then shifted the angle of one of the lights and checked again.

As she made her adjustments, she casually asked, “So, what kind of work do you do, Harry?” She found small talk was always a good way to help someone who wasn’t used to being photographed feel relaxed. And to be honest, she needed it, too. She could feel the weight of his gaze following her as she worked, and it made her unusually anxious.

“The boring kind,” Harry shrugged and then smiled, watching Jess squint at her camera. “Not like what you do.”

Jess chuckled softly and replied, “I suppose there are boring bits to every job. They say ‘do what you love, and you’ll never work a day’ and yet there’s so much more paperwork than when it was just a hobby.” Jess suddenly looked up, her tone shifting as she directed, “Sit up straighter for me. Shoulders back, there we go. Three, two, one.” The sound of the shutter filled the small studio. 

Harry stayed put, spine straight, sitting tall on the stool. He said, “I envy that you get to make your living being creative.” A few more clicks of the camera. 

“Well, to tell the truth, creativity isn’t how I make my living,” she said, absently, sinking into the task before her. “It’s the boring stuff like this that pays the bills and lets me be creative.”

Jess hit the shutter button just as Harry lifted an eyebrow. “I’m boring you?” he asked.

Realizing her poor choice of words, Jess felt her face heat. “No! That’s not what I meant.” Harry smiled at her flustered excuse. Jess ducked behind the camera and took the photo. She sighed and explained, “Just, portraits, headshots, they’re pretty much all the same. Hard to get creative with them.”

Harry tilted his head, fixing Jess with a look of amused fascination. “Feel free to get creative with me.”

Jess glanced up from the DSLR’s preview screen. His word choice caught her off-guard, but his voice had sounded casual, and his face looked perfectly chaste. Surely, she only imagined a tinge of flirtation behind the innocent suggestion? She looked at him for a long moment, considering him and his offer.

She lifted the camera from the tripod, slung the strap around her neck and approached Harry. Her hand was reaching out before she knew it, and she paused just shy of making contact with the side of his face. “May I?”

He nodded, and Jess brushed her fingers through the soft brown strands at his temple and pushed the curls back from his forehead, twisting the ends to one side. Her fingertips trailed down the side of his face, along his jaw to his chin. She applied a gentle pressure, guiding his face slightly higher and toward the light. 

The purpose of her touch was professional but still carried with it a hint of intimacy between the artist and her muse. 

“There, don’t move.” She whispered, as if the sound of her voice might bowl him over and ruin the shot.

Harry swallowed but otherwise obeyed. 

Leaning back and raising the camera to her face, Jess took the shot, then stepped back, turned the focus ring and took a few more. 

Jess lowered the camera and frowned, deep in thought. “Stand up,” she said. 

Harry stood. 

“Jacket off.” 

He hesitated, eyebrows rising in silent question, but a corner of his mouth pulled up. He removed the outer layer slowly under her artful gaze, allowing her time to change her mind, to stop him if the light caught just right, to direct his movements. She said nothing, only watched him remove the jacket and carefully place it onto the stool. When he turned back, Jess was there, taking his wrist in her hand. She unbuttoned the cuff and started to fold the sleeve over his forearm; first the right, then the left. She did her best to keep her touch from lingering too long as she adjusted the fabric. When she moved to the buttons at his neck next, unhooking the top two and widening the gap to reveal his tanned skin and clavicle, she heard his breath catch and watched the movement in his throat as he swallowed hard. 

Her eyes lifted to meet his, warmth igniting beneath her skin. She didn’t know if it was from the bright lights or from Harry's heated gaze boring into her. Jess was suddenly aware just how close she was leaning into him. She took a step back to admire her work from a distance and get her pulse under control. 

Harry planted his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor. He let out a breath, trying to suppress a shy smile, when he heard the camera’s sharp click.

Caught.

He glanced up and his brows lifted in curious surprise when he saw Jess was kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Jess looked up at him with a guilty grin. “You have an amazing smile. I had to capture it.” Jess bounced back onto her feet and thumbed a few buttons on the back of the camera as she walked toward him. She leaned in, showing the screen to Harry. “What do you think?” She asked, toggling through a few of the shots. 

Harry stepped closer and peered over her shoulder at the screen. Jess could feel his body heat behind her. She paused on one of the last ones, where she had ‘gotten creative.’ 

“Oh,” Jess clucked her tongue, and then said, with mock disappointment, “I don’t know, Harry. This one might be a little too sultry for a business card.”

His eyes were no longer on the preview screen, fixed instead on Jess’ profile. “Keep it. If you think it’s good.”

“I think they’re all good, but I might be a little biased,” Jess shrugged, and turned her face to the side. Her eyes lingered on Harry’s lips, inches from hers. “You’re a great model.” 

She could feel his breath on her face as he huffed out a breathy laugh. “Maybe I should change careers.” Harry teased.

“Maybe you should,” Jess smirked, and turned away. She moved toward the desk and removed the camera from around her neck. “Thank you for indulging me. I’ll get these edited and have them sent over to you soon.”

“You’re done with me?” Harry asked. 

Jess nodded. “I think we got enough to work with, so you are free to go,” she said as she glanced back over her shoulder. 

Harry had started unrolling his sleeves, and she watched, ignoring the sudden urge to stop him as he slipped his jacket back on. He left the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, and Jess couldn’t help the way her eyes kept traveling back to that dip at his collarbone. She found herself regretting the brevity of the appointment and, without thinking, offered, “Unless there’s something else I can do for you?”

“Actually, there is.” Harry ducked his head, slipping his hands into his pockets. When he looked up, there was a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Come get lunch with me?”

“Oh,” Jess blinked. “Right now?”

“If you’re free, yeah, right now.”

“Like, a date?”

Harry smiled, undeterred by her skepticism. “If you want it to be a date. Or it can just be a work lunch with a client who is interested in your creative process.”

Jess laughed, the tension easing between them. “Okay, yes, I’d love to. I have another client in an hour, so it will have to be somewhere close. There are some decent restaurants downstairs, if you’re interested.”

“I am interested,” Harry gestured to the door. “Lead the way.” 

Jess beamed. She grabbed her jacket and a camera from the table near the door - this one smaller and older looking than what she had used for Harry’s shoot. The strap was made from soft, well-worn leather, and she slipped it over her head. “Let’s go.”

Jess led Harry down to the ground floor past the shops and restaurants connected by courtyards between the tall buildings. She chose her favorite spot, a family-owned taqueria, and ordered for them both. Harry insisted on paying, and Jess graciously allowed him to. 

They sat at a window, eating and looking out at the people walking by as they chatted.

“Private equity, huh? That sounds…” Jess trailed off, and then laughed. “To be honest, I don’t even know what that means.”

“I won’t bore you by trying to explain it.” Harry waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “So if portraits aren’t your thing, what do you like to shoot?” Harry asked, wiping his hands on a paper napkin. 

“I like candids. I prefer to find the moment, to capture something real, instead of staging it.” 

A car honked outside and they both turned their attention to the window. A pair of men were struggling to load a large box into the back of a truck on the side of the narrow street. Jess snatched her camera from where it hung at her side. She fiddled with the focus and aperture rings, and then pressed the shutter release. 

Harry chuckled. “Did you capture something there?”

Jess shrugged, settling the camera against her chest. “I won’t know until I develop it. That’s kind of the fun of shooting film instead of digital. There’s always a little bit of mystery involved.”

 “Fascinating.” Harry propped one elbow up on the table, resting his chin on his closed fist.

Jess’ nose scrunched as she laughed. “I don’t know, it sounds pretentious when I say it outloud.”

“Not at all,” he reassured, tilting his head and gazing at her with intense curiosity. The look on his face was warm, and the sunlight through the window gave his brown eyes a golden-honey glow that made her chest feel tight. There was something between them, Jess could feel it and she was sure Harry could feel it, too. Whatever it was, she hoped it could be captured on film. 

“Hold still,” Jess whispered and lifted her camera. The shutter clicked, and she drew back the film advance lever then laughed shyly as she lowered the camera. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smirk, “I don’t mind.” 

Jess glanced at her watch and stood, frowning at the time. “I should probably start getting back to work.”

“So soon?” The disappointment in Harry’s voice matched Jess’ own. She wondered briefly if it was too late to cancel her appointments for the rest of the day, but her own stubborn responsibility simply would not let her.

Jess took a breath and ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “I suppose I still have a little time. Walk me back?”

They walked together through one of the buildings containing an Italian grocery store, a chocolatier’s shop, and a record store. Jess fell back as they crossed a courtyard and discreetly snapped a photograph of a woman tying her shoe. When she jogged back to his side, Harry smirked. 

"Always working, huh?" 

"I like having a camera with me. It reminds me to look for the magic in ordinary  moments. I walk this way almost every day, but there's always something new to see. Different shadows, new people..."

Jess’s voice trailed away, and as he turned to see where he had lost her, his jacket flung over one shoulder, the breeze tousling his curls, she took the photo. She couldn’t help it. It was as if she had found her muse.

“You’re very photogenic, you know.” Jess explained, bounding back to his side. 

“Is that simply a professional observation, or are you hitting on me?” Harry asked, a playful smirk lifting one corner of his mustache.

Jess laughed, and nudged her shoulder into his. “Both.”

They cut through the building that contained Japan Village, a collection of food vendors selling ramen and sushi, art in traditional Japanese styles, and collectibles. Jess led them to a cafe counter, decorated with cherry blossoms and paper lanterns, where they each ordered a matcha latte. 

While they waited for their drinks to be prepared, Harry sighed. “I have to come clean.”

“Oh?” Jess felt her heart sink a little, a tiny voice in her head telling her that, of course, a man like Harry Castillo was too good to be true.

“This photoshoot wasn’t actually for my company’s website.”

“Huh,” Jess ventured, trying to guess what he was getting at. “Okay, so, why the portraits?”

“Don’t laugh,” Harry warned. Jess would have expected a joke to follow, if Harry wasn’t looking at her with real vulnerability in his eyes. He swiped nervously over his lip, smoothing his mustache, his voice lowering conspiratorially, as he admitted, “I hired a matchmaking service and they need a recent photo to show potential matches.”

Jess didn’t laugh; she just smiled, sweetly. “And you were embarrassed to admit that?”

“A bit, yeah. Feels silly, that I’m nearly fifty and needed to hire a matchmaker to help me meet someone.”

“It’s not silly. Although, I do find it hard to believe you would need help finding a date. Didn’t take much to lure me out for one.” 

Harry looked smug. “So this is a date, then?”

“Definitely.” Jess said, smiling.

Harry bit back a smile of his own, then shrugged. “You’re not wrong, though. Finding a date hasn’t really been a problem for me. But finding the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with? That’s where I need help.” Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What about you?”

The atmosphere between them felt very serious all of the sudden. “Always the bridal photographer, never the bride.” Jess joked, trying to dissolve the tension of such an open and loaded question. What exactly did he want to know? “I hadn’t ever pictured myself settling down, getting married, having kids, but, I don’t know. I suppose, with the right person…”

Harry nodded. “That’s what I’m looking for. The right person.” 

The barista set two to-go cups on the counter at the pickup window beside them. 

“Well, then,” Jess picked hers up and raised it like she was giving a toast. “Here’s hoping these portraits help you find her.”

Harry grinned and lifted his own paper cup, tapping the plastic lids together. “I think they just might.”

Harry accompanied Jess back to the lobby of her studio’s building. Jess pressed the elevator call button and while they waited for the carriage to descend, Harry glanced at his watch. He said, “I hope your next client isn’t upset that you’re a few minutes late.”

“Oh, shoot! Am I? I completely lost track.”

“Just tell them your last appointment was too photogenic.” 

Jess laughed. She turned to him and said, “Thank you for inviting me out. I usually work straight through lunch. This was great, Harry.” 

“My pleasure,” Harry assured her, as the elevator arrived at the lobby and the door slid open. 

Jess stepped in and pressed the button for her floor. “I’ll have those headshots sent over to you next week.”

Harry spoke into the phone and reached for his keyboard. A single brown curl fell out of place and flopped against his forehead as he tilted his head to hold the receiver in place with his shoulder. His fingers tapped at the keys, and a second later, your own computer chimed. A new chat window appeared.

HarryCastillo: not your fault HarryCastillo: what are you still doing here? You: I’m your assistant. I’m assisting.

You were unable to help the smirk that the little inside joke always brought to your face. It was a common phrase that had developed between you and Harry. You’d say it whenever you brought him a coffee or a bagel from the place he liked on mornings before a big meeting because you knew he had a habit of skipping breakfast. Or when you swung by the dry cleaner’s to pick up his suits. He’d say it to you when he’d call you into his office and ask for advice about what color tie to wear to a charity gala or what sort of flowers Lucy might like. When you’d roll your eyes and complain that his love life was not in your job description, he’d fix you with those big brown eyes of his and say, “You’re my assistant, aren’t you? Assist.”

You glanced up at his profile and saw the corner of his mouth lift as he read your message. Before he could respond you wrote again,

You: Everything okay? HarryCastillo: Yes. You know how Leonard gets. I’ll talk him down. Harry Castillo: Everything okay with you?

The question caught you off guard, and your eyes flicked back up to the man behind the glass. He was already watching you, and when he saw you peer over your computer, he raised one eyebrow, questioning.

Harry was kind, and you got along great. On the few occasions you had spent time around him outside of these glass walls - office holiday parties, mostly - you found him to be funny, charming, and even a little flirtatious once the alcohol was flowing. Dangerously so, considering he also happened to be rather handsome.

You’d been working with him for over two years now, and you probably knew more about the man than he even realized given your unique view into his life.

You knew that on Tuesday nights, he usually drove out of the city to have dinner with his sister and her family at her home. You knew that he had occasional back pain, and you knew whenever it was bothering him because appointments with a chiropractor would appear in your shared schedule. You knew that he had met a woman named Lucy at his brother’s wedding last fall and that he had started to take her out to expensive restaurants. You also knew that the fancy dinners had stopped about a month ago.

You knew so much about the man’s life outside of work, and yet the idea of him knowing even one detail about yours made you cringe. Your life was very different from his. You typed out your response and hit enter on the keyboard.

You: Of course!

The exclamation point was too much. It looked forced to you, too much enthusiasm for a simple question, and you glared at the blatant lie on the screen before remembering that Harry could see you. You lowered your head, hiding your expression behind the privacy of the monitor. There was another ping from the computer speakers.

HarryCastillo: You should head home. It’s getting late.

You frowned but couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse a direct order from your boss.

You: If you insist.

You shut down your computer and gathered your belongings. Phone, purse, lunchbox, laptop bag. You bent to open the bottom drawer of your desk, pulling out yet another small bag, discreetly hidden beneath some extra yellow legal pads, and tucked it under your arm.

You stood and immediately felt Harry’s gaze on you. You paused momentarily, feeling awkwardly cumbersome with your arms loaded with so many bags. Unable to wave goodbye, you wiggled a finger in his direction. A warm smile spread across Harry’s face at that, making little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You could see his silent chuckle. He curled his finger back at you, mimicking your goodbye gesture.

You turned toward the elevator before your blushing cheeks could give you away, because fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest thing. You bumped the elevator call button with your hip and willed the butterflies in your stomach to calm down.

Okay, so you had a little crush on your boss. It was harmless. At first. But then you started having feelings. Feelings that intensified whenever he praised you for keeping his life together for him, throwing out a “I’d be lost without you” as you held up the documents he nearly forgot as he headed out the door. Feelings that made your mouth go dry and your heartbeat skip when he sent a secret wink your way through the glass wall between your desks during a meeting because you had surreptitiously passed him a slip of paper with the name of the client’s wife or favorite baseball team, earning him points for always being so personable. Feelings that were entirely unprofessional when you caught him staring at your ass as you stretched in your yoga pants during the company’s charity fun run event. And then they had turned to nasty, jealous, hurt feelings when Lucy had come along. You caught yourself copping an attitude with Harry on more than one occasion for no reason other than the imagined slight.

That was when you knew it wasn’t just a fun game anymore. You had to quit the office romance fantasies before it cost you your job. So you squashed those feelings and stopped pining after your boss. You got over it. Or, at least, you told yourself you did.

You could feel his eyes on you as you entered the elevator, and you refused to turn back in his direction until the door had slid shut behind you. Only once you were hidden from his sight, did you turn and press the button for floor sixteen.

The sixteenth floor was a common space for the building. It opened to a spacious lounge, with modern chairs and sofas for groups to sit and chat, and there were vending machines and a self-serve coffee station on one wall. Down the hall were several conference rooms, a gym, and even a rec room with foosball and a ping pong table. You had been told all about the perks of the sixteenth floor on your first day in the building, but you didn’t know a single person who actually used the facilities here.

The gym was your destination. The room had to be unlocked using an authorized ID badge, and as you approached the door, you shifted the items in your hands, trying to wrestle the keycard from where it hung on the lanyard around your neck. It was not a graceful act, and you were grateful that the entire floor seemed to be empty. Especially when, one after the other, your belongings tumbled to the ground. You grumbled and finally untangled the lanyard and pulled it over your head. You swiped the card in the reader beside the door, The LEDs flashed green, and the door unlocked with an audible click. You pulled it open, then scooped your bags up into your arms. A quick sweep of the room revealed that the gym was not occupied. You relaxed slightly. Equipped with a couple of treadmills, a stationary bike, a weight machine, some yoga balls in one corner and an assortment of free weights lined up along a mirrored wall, it was a pretty nice perk. You felt a little guilty for not using it to its full intended purpose. It always felt like a gamble whether someone else would be using the gym so soon after the work day ended, and you normally preferred to wait until later in the evening, when there was less chance of running into someone, so you wouldn’t have to explain your little secret to anyone.

You slipped into one of the two changing rooms and locked the door. It was, essentially, just a regular bathroom, except for one crucial feature that no other restrooms in the building had: a shower. You dropped your things on the counter and turned on the water, letting it get nice and warm, while you stripped out of your work clothes. Stepping into the water, you closed your eyes and tried to let yourself fully relax. This had become your secret ritual over the past two weeks. It had been borne from necessity, the first time you stayed late and ventured into the building’s gym to shower. You thought about maybe taking up exercise as a hobby. It would definitely make it less weird to be using the shower at work almost every single night.

You reached for your travel-size shampoo on the shower’s built-in shelf, but your fingers only touched the empty ledge. Realizing you hadn’t grabbed your toiletries from your bag before getting into the shower, you popped your head around the curtain. It wasn’t in the pile on the counter either. You mentally retraced your steps. You definitely remembered taking it out of your desk, tucking it under your arm, and then… oh, no. You must have missed picking it up after your fumble with the gym door. You groaned and stepped out of the shower, pulling out the clean towel you had stashed inside your laptop bag and wrapping it around your torso. It was small, barely hanging down past your ass cheeks, but the important bits were covered. You’d just have to be quick.

You opened the door to the changing room and bounded out, the balls of your feet hitting the hard rubber gym floor. You opened the door to the gym and peered into the hallway. The coast was clear, and there, just outside the door, sat your little blue toiletry bag. You bent down and grabbed it.

There was the distinct sound of a throat clearing from behind you.

You let out a frightened squeak and straightened, spinning as the door slammed shut behind your back. You clutched the bag to your chest, wide eyes locking straight onto your boss’s equally shocked expression.

“Uh, hey,” Harry said. He was seated, straddling the weight bench, dressed in gym clothes with a towel flung over one shoulder. You felt mortified as you realized that, from his vantage point, he must have seen everything.

“Oh my god! Harry, I- I’m so sorry!” You stammered, words tumbling from your mouth. “I didn’t know you worked out. I mean, no, obviously - yeah, of course, you work out. Clearly. But not, here, at work. I mean,” you forced yourself to slow down and take a breath. “I just didn’t know you’d be here. It’s not on your schedule.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a half smile, and he chuckled. “Yeah, well, I don’t put everything on my schedule. A man’s gotta have some secrets.” He stood. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you asked, your mind frantically grasping for a way out.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Well, um…” you mentally grasped at some excuse, but found it impossible to think with Harry staring at you while you stood, exposed and dripping, in front of him. You shrugged, and settled on the truth, “I’m just here for the shower. My landlord still hasn’t fixed the one in my apartment.”

“Oh. I see,” Harry said, nodding. He chewed at his upper lip and narrowed his eyes, as if some puzzle piece was slotting itself into place in his mind. “So, is this why you’ve been all stressed out and staying so late for the last two weeks?”

“You noticed that, huh?”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I noticed. You had me worried about you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I guess I was just embarrassed. I don’t exactly live in the nicest place, or have the money to move out of this crappy apartment.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?”

“I could have helped. I do care about you, you know. You’re important, and you deserve to be taken care of.”

Your eyes prickled, threatening tears at the sincerity in Harry’s voice. He was being so nice, and you suddenly felt foolish for not thinking he’d understand. He stepped forward, eyes searching your face.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your eyes scanned Harry as if taking him in for the first time. His T-shirt was tightly stretched over his broad chest, and his arms were exposed, revealing biceps you had never seen beneath his usual long-sleeve button-up shirts. You thought about how well he could take care of you with those strong arms. You tried to avert your gaze to the floor but found yourself staring instead at Harry’s incredibly well-toned calves, and you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to quell the sudden desire to see what other delicious sights he’d been hiding under those tailored suits of his.

“What is it?” Harry asked, taking another step.

Your cheeks burned as you tried to come up with a lie. “I’ve just… never seen you in gym shorts before.”

He laughed and quirked an eyebrow. He moved closer, and you saw his tongue move along his teeth behind his lower lip as he contemplated something. His eyes trailed over the top of your barely concealed breasts and when they flicked back up to meet yours, they had gone dark. “Well, I’ve never seen you in just a towel before.” He was only inches away now, and he reached out, fingers trailing lightly up your arm and along your shoulder. His voice came out just above a whisper when he said, “What if I told you to drop it?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. For a heartbeat, you stood frozen, staring into Harry’s dark brown eyes. His fingers skated along your skin to the curve of your neck, and a shiver tingled down your spine. It unlocked something inside you, and your arms dropped to your sides, the toiletry bag tumbled, forgotten, to the floor. You let the towel fall.

Harry leaned back slightly, fully taking in the sight of your naked body. His mouth hung open, and his breathing quickened. “Christ, you’re radiant.” He leaned in and kissed you. His lips were soft but insistent, and you immediately opened yours to let him taste you as you eagerly kissed him back before the reality of what was happening sparked a warning in your mind.

You pulled away, breathing hard. “Harry, wait,” you whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?” Harry asked. His lips ghosted down the slope of your neck, mustache lightly scratching your skin, making goosebumps rise on your arms.

“No,” you answered, honestly. “But, I-” He kissed your neck and you gasped. “We can’t,” you whined, even as you angled your head to give him better access.

“Hmm? Why not?”

“Because I’m your assistant.”

He laughed again and ran his nose along your jawline. “That’s right,” he murmured as he took your earlobe between his teeth, nipping lightly. “You are my assistant.” His hands gripped your ass and pulled you flush against him. You could feel the unmistakable shape of his erection through his shorts, and your core flooded with an answering arousal. “So, assist.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, realizing then that you were well past the point of fighting this for the sake of professionalism. You wanted him. “Yes, sir.”

You surged up to capture his mouth with yours, neither of you holding back any longer. Harry groaned as your fingers weaved into his hair and you tugged, deepening the kiss so that your tongues and teeth clashed. His hands splayed over your bare back, and he began walking backwards, pulling you along without breaking the kiss until he had you in front of the weight bench. He stepped aside, turning and maneuvering himself to stand behind you. You watched his reflection in the mirrored wall ahead of you.

His arms encircled you from behind, hands skimming over your stomach. He cupped your breasts, one in each palm, and squeezed. You arched your back against his chest, and he pushed your tits together as he watched your reaction in the mirror. You bit your bottom lip and your eyebrows drew together as you admired the sight of how perfectly you filled those big hands.

The corner of Harry’s mouth turned up in a smirk as he peered at you from over your shoulder. “You know, you make that same face when you’re working at your desk. I hope you’re not thinking about emails right now.”

Your eyes flicked over to your own expression. Your furrowed brow softened as your mouth curved into a smile. “No, that’s just what I look like when I’m trying to concentrate on something real hard.” You pushed your ass back into him, grinding on his covered dick for emphasis.

Harry groaned, and one hand slid down to your hip, keeping your ass locked tight against his crotch. “Fuck, sweetheart, it drives me crazy.” He pinched your nipple and rolled the hardened nub between two fingers, making a whimper fall from your lips. “But you’re off the clock now, so relax. Let me do the work for you.”

His right hand drifted from your hip and found its way between your legs. His fingers glided through your slick folds, slipping easily over your clit. “Already so wet for me,” Harry said, as he started to rub small circles over you, making you shudder. “Is this what you’re like when I catch you staring at me through the glass? Do you imagine me bending you over my desk and fucking you in front of the whole office?” You watched as he pressed his nose into your damp hair. His eyes met yours in the mirror and his eyebrows rose, expectantly. He was waiting for you to answer.

“Y-yes,” you confessed, stammering as his fingers worked you faster. “Always. Fuck!” You reached up and behind you, grabbing a fistful of his hair again as your orgasm built.

He hummed a low sound that rumbled from his chest and through to yours. His lips moved to the shell of your ear, and he whispered, “So do I.”

That sinful admission from him was enough to push you over the edge. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you came. He pressed a gentle kiss to the spot behind your ear, then his hold on you disappeared, and you were left standing on your own shaky legs.

He gave your ass a smack and your eyes flew open as he said, “Bend over for me again, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty little cunt properly.”

You blinked, shocked at hearing such filthy demands coming out of the mouth of Harry Castillo, as easily as if he were asking you to get him this month’s expense report. When you didn’t move, Harry placed his hands on his waist and fixed you with a stern look. It was the same move he used during difficult negotiations. You nodded and leaned forward, bracing your hands on the padded bench in front of you.

“Good girl,” Harry praised.

In the mirror, you saw Harry lower the waistband of his gym shorts. He pulled out his solid cock, wrapping his right hand around it, and gave himself a couple of strokes, spreading your wetness along the shaft. You met each other’s eyes in the mirror as he lined himself up behind you. You gasped at the feeling of his heavy cock against your ass. The toe of Harry’s Nike gym shoe tapped the inside of your ankle, silently asking for you to spread your legs wider. You obliged, and looked up toward Harry’s reflection to see it had earned you a pleased smile.

You watched him in the mirror, his eyes cast down, as he pushed the head of his cock against your entrance. He hissed through his teeth as it slipped inside you, and you grunted at the way he stretched you. You hadn’t had a chance to really see much of him, but he felt impossibly big as he slowly pushed further into you. Your fingernails dug crescents into the seat padding as you breathed through the initial discomfort, until his cock was fully sheathed in your pussy. His hands smoothed over your back, running up along your sides and then down your spine.

You flexed your inner walls, giving his dick a squeeze to urge some movement from him. He cursed under his breath but met your gaze with something like a challenge in the look. You responded by rocking forward and back, enjoying the feeling of control over his pleasure and yours. You lost yourself in the smooth strokes, in and out, and then, just as you had established a rhythm with your movements, Harry’s hands were on your hips, stopping you. Just the tip of him was still inside you, but before you could open your mouth to protest the interruption, he thrust into you, hard. The ferocity of it punched a sound from your throat that might as well have been a scream in the silence of the empty building.

Harry’s firm grip held you tight as he pulled back and thrust forward again, then again and again. The face you had seen almost every day for the past two years was drawn into an expression you’d never seen him wear before. His skin was flushed and sweaty, his upper lip curled to show his gleaming, gritted teeth, and his eyes glinted with a dark intensity. The man in the mirror was wholly unrecognizable to you like this. This was not the sweet, gentle man you’d quietly crushed on. This was a different animal entirely, and he fucked you like it, too. Hard, fast, and rough. It was even better than anything you could have imagined. His growls and your moans grew louder as your combined pleasure crested and another orgasm crashed through you. Harry swore and pulled out, and you felt the hot spurts across your asscheeks as he came, too.

You collapsed onto the weight bench, arms dangling over the sides, too weak to even care how disheveled you must look. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of your heart thumping. Gentle fingers brushed the curtain of your hair out of your face. When you opened your eyes, Harry was squatting beside you, holding both of your towels and your toiletry bag in one arm.

I had gone into journalism wanting to make a difference. Investigate real stories and report on what matters. Deliver the truth to the people. As soon as I was out of school, I took off, without a map, or a plan, or a clue. I made my way to Los Angeles, and before long I was so beat down and desperate enough to take up writing for a heartless second-rate gossip magazine whose idea of ‘delivering the truth’ was printing the latest pap pics of celebrities’ wardrobe malfunctions.

“I got a story for you,” said Walter, the magazine’s editor in chief.

“Me?” I asked.

“Yeah, you. It requires some travel and you’re the only one here right now with a car.”

“You want me to go right now? You couldn’t schedule something for next week? It’s the day before a holiday weekend, what if I had plans tonight?”

Walter frowned. “Yes, now. We’re lucky this guy wants to talk to someone at all. And I know you don’t have plans, or you would be gone already, like everyone else. ”

“What’s the angle?” I sighed.

  “Some actor, used to be hot shit before he got canceled. He’s out of rehab and ready to talk about it.”

“Oh, Jesus. This source already sounds like a pain in the ass,” I grumbled.

“Something you both have in common,” Walt remarked, dryly, crossing his arms. “Do you want the interview or should I find someone who doesn’t back talk their surpervisor?”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Good, now get moving. I’ll send you the address and some questions.”

“Cut me some slack, Walt. I’m a journalist, I know what I’m doing.”

—

I slammed my hand on the dash, willing the engine to turn over. On the fourth turn of the key, the car sputtered to life.

Walter had texted me an address, a house in the Hollywood Hills. It would be at least an hour drive. As I fought my way through the LA traffic, made worse by the holiday revelers heading for Independence Day fireworks at the Hollywood Bowl, I prayed my old Honda wouldn’t break down in the July heat.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder on the center console. I glanced at the text as I waited at a red light. Walt’s second message was a list of questions and the name of my interviewee.

Dieter Bravo.

Dieter Bravo opened the door an inch. His brown eyes narrowed and glanced from side to side.  

“Who are you?” he asked, “What do you want?”

I blinked, recovering from the shock of Oscar-winner Dieter Bravo answering his own door. I had imagined someone like him would have had an army of assistants to do his bidding. I didn’t expect that it was just him, alone in this big, empty house on the hill.

“I’m here to interview you?” I said, my uncertain tone making the statement sound like a question. I was a little perplexed by his attitude and, even more so, by his state of undress, revealed to me when Dieter opened the door wider to let me in. He was wearing only a green wool coat over a pair of white boxers.

“Oh right,” Dieter said, seeming to remember suddenly. “Well, come in.” He left the door open and I was still contemplating his choice of outerwear during the height of summer when I stepped into the arctic blast of air conditioning. I closed the door and I followed him inside to the living room where he flopped into an armchair draped in a pink satin sheet. He picked up a glass from the side table, sipping it as he sank low in the seat. His legs spread wide, and I tried not to stare at the small tattoos on his exposed thighs. I hesitantly sat across from him on the sofa and opened my notebook. 

“Um, so I’m told you just got out of rehab?” I asked, skeptically, taking in the assortment of ashtrays, pills, and half-empty liquor bottles on the coffee table. 

“Yep.” Dieter pointedly took another sip from his glass, loudly slurping the liquor. Tequila, by the look of it. The air held a sharp odor of weed smoke and I wondered what other drugs he had coursing through his system.

I took a deep breath, willing my tone to sound gentle and open, despite the frustration I felt toward his unprofessional petulance. I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dieter shrugged. “Is that what you want to write about?”

I mirrored his shrug. “That’s what my boss wants me to write about. Isn’t that why you called for this interview?”

Dieter rested an elbow on the chair arm, ducking his head and rubbing his knuckles against his brow. He muttered, “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” I replied, slowly, and started to slip my notebook back into my purse. “Mr. Bravo, we don’t have to do this today. If now is a bad time, we can resched-”

“No!” Dieter barked sharply. His tone was more fearful than angry and he looked at me with the saddest puppy-dog-eyes I had ever seen. My heart fluttered. I could see an almost desperate cry for companionship in the deep brown irises. He quietly added, “Stay. Please.”

I stayed seated, and nodded to him. Dieter quickly averted his eyes and downed the rest of his drink. Drops of tequila clung to his mustache, and he sucked his top lip into his mouth, then wiped at it with his coat sleeve. The movement caused his elbow to knock into a pile of magazines on the side table, sending the stack cascading onto the floor. They were a mix of tabloids and gossip mags, not dissimilar to the one that employed me. His own face peered up from the covers, sometimes taking up the whole page, but more often, just a tiny, unflattering, paparazzi photo on the sidelines. The captions shouted things like ‘Drunken Dieter headed for Divorce!’ and ‘Bravo Break Up: Number Six’ or ‘Cliff Beasts Star Hits Rock Bottom.’ I couldn’t help but envision the headline of my own article: ‘What Has Become of Dieter Bravo?’

I saw a pained expression cross his face. My voice was gentle as I said, “I know you’ve had a lot of negative attention the past few years. I’m sure it’s hard to trust someone you just met, especially a reporter like me, but I promise, I just want to write about the truth. Your truth, if you feel like sharing.”

That got his attention. Dieter tilted his head to look at me. He leaned forward and set the glass down on the coffee table, then reached for the bottle to refill it. Pausing as he unscrewed the cap, his eyes flicked to me and then cast around. He found another, mostly-clean-looking glass and poured a generous amount into each cup, then held one out to me. I took it, thanking him.

 “To the truth.” Dieter said, raising his glass.

I did the same, and our vessels clinked together in the quiet of the empty house. “To the truth,” I repeated. 

Dieter gulped the contents of his glass in one go, while I sipped mine daintily. The alcohol was smooth and I imagined it was one of the more expensive brands I’d never buy for myself. Abandoning his empty cup on the coffee table, Dieter sat back. He took a breath, and then said, in a rush, “The truth is I lied about rehab.” 

My eyebrows rose, and I hoped he didn’t mistake my curiosity for judgment. “You didn’t go?”

“I went for a day, but it was so fucking boring. I snuck out and just fucked off and got high. I didn’t even tell my manager, but he hasn’t called in weeks. I’m sure he figured it out and dropped me.” Dieter sighed and let his head fall back against the chair. “I don’t blame him. Everyone else was already done with me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been lonely.”

Dieter shook his head. “It’s what I wanted. The sounds, the people, the world… I just wanted it all to stop, you know? I just wanted everyone to leave me alone after Anika left.”

I hummed in understanding as I swallowed another mouthful of tequila. “Breakups are tough enough without the rest of the world weighing in on your personal life,” I said, sympathetically. “Did you love her?”

“Anika? Of course. I still do. I’ve been in love with every woman I’ve ever married. I love love,” Dieter said, “Even if it punches me in the gut every time.” He looked thoughtful, gazing upwards. 

We sat quietly together, him staring solemnly at the ceiling, me sipping my drink, unsure what to say to this lost, lovelorn soul. He was a stranger, and yet familiar. I felt instinctively protective of him. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to offer some reassurance, some comfort. I wanted to cradle his head against my chest and stroke his hair and tell him it would be alright. 

God, this was some good tequila.  

Suddenly, he sat up and looked straight at me. “Hey, do you wanna go for a swim?” 

I was taken aback by the abrupt shift in his mood. “Excuse me?” 

“Come on, come on,” he said excitedly, standing and grabbing me by the wrist. His coat flapped around him and he pulled me along with him. The heat was oppressive as we stepped outside and onto a stone-paved patio surrounding an in-ground pool. He paused and squinted at the view of the city below and the ocean beyond it. The setting sun sat low over the horizon, a fiery orange ball. “Fuck, that’s beautiful. Looks like it’s alive and breathing fire, like the sun is burning down Los Angeles.” Dieter giggled and turned to look at me. His playful smile turned sad as he leaned over the railing. “Truthfully,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t mind if it did. I feel trapped here. In this house, in this town. God. This city’s killing me.”

“I know that feeling.” I said, joining him. I still had the glass in my hand and I downed the rest of my drink.

Dieter looked at me, surprised. “Hmm,” he hummed softly, and then he turned to face me. “You know, I feel like we were meant to meet. Like we could be really good friends.”

I smiled, relieved that the connection I felt between us was reciprocated. “Same.”

He smiled back, then gestured toward the water with a raised eyebrow. “Friends who swim together?” 

I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, and then shrugged. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” I explained.  

“Neither did I.” Dieter said, shucking his coat and letting the designer garment fall in a heap on the hot stones at his bare feet. He grinned, and then turned toward the pool. 

I watched the man cannonball into the deep end and laughed as he resurfaced and pushed the hair from his eyes. He swam to where I was standing at the edge and looked up. “C’mon!” he pleaded.

I hesitated, wondering if joining Dieter would be crossing a line. I looked down at my empty glass. Too late, I thought. I set the glass down on one of several umbrella-shaded tables nearby, and started to unbutton my blouse. I was aware of Dieter’s eyes on me as I slid it off, and opted to leave my white camisole on as I unclasped my bra and modestly removed it from underneath while still keeping my chest covered. I wiggled out of my shorts, grateful I had chosen to wear comfortable but cute panties in a bikini-cut this morning. 

I removed my shoes and socks and tip-toed across the hot stones, to the shallow side of the pool. I glanced up and saw Dieter’s lopsided smile as I descended the stairs, slowly sinking into the water. The water was welcoming and cool against my skin. I waded deeper, meeting Deiter’s gaze.

He swam toward me, closing the distance in a couple strong, graceful strokes. We met in the middle, where the pool’s bottom started to gently slope. Dieter floated close, and his limbs brushed mine as we circled each other.

“Do you want another truth?” he asked.

“If you want to share it.”

“The truth is, I’m gonna fuck this up,” he lifted a hand from the water and gestured between our bodies. “This friendship.”

My brow furrowed. “What makes you think that?”

“Because I really, really want to kiss you right now.” Dieter’s eyes dropped to my mouth as he spoke.  

“Oh,” I breathed. 

His hand reached up and cupped my cheek, but he didn’t lean in. 

“I have an idea,” I offered, as my arms came up to rest on his shoulders, “Maybe we can be friends who kiss?”

His face lit up, even as his eyes darkened with a lustful glint. He groaned and nodded. “I’d love that.”

Dieter’s other arm circled my waist beneath the water and he pulled me against him. Our lips met and I tasted tequila as I swiped my tongue along his upper lip. He opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him as we floated. I felt weightless and dizzy with need as his hands drifted down my body, cupping my breasts and squeezing my ass. I flexed my thighs and pushed my hips into him, feeling his cock stiffening. Our soaked undergarments did nothing to hide our mutual desire. Dieter rocked against me in answer. I gasped into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Dieter uttered. He trailed his lips along my cheek and nipped at my neck. “I want…I want…,” he whined between kisses.

“What do you want, Dieter?” I coaxed, threading my fingers through his hair. 

“I want everything,” he whispered, and pulled back to look at me fully. “Do you want to have sex with me?” he asked.

“I do,” I said, nodding. My core ached with want, but my brain still managed to send a cautionary message that stilled me, “but there’s a catch.” 

“What?” asked Dieter.

“Only as a friend. I’m not going to marry you, Dieter.”

Dieter huffed a laugh. “Who said anything about marriage?”

I gave him a knowing look, and he smiled sheepishly, shrugging. 

Fireworks burst overhead suddenly, exploding the moment. We both looked up and watched the colors light up the now-dark sky. I let go of Dieter and drifted away from him, floating on my back to watch the show. I felt Dieter close to me, and we floated in comfortable silence until the fireworks ended with a bright, booming finale. 

Dieter swam to the side of the pool and folded his arms over the ledge. I joined him, holding onto the concrete edge to keep close. He rested his chin on his arms, once again looking out over the city. The night sky was too polluted by the city lights for stargazing.

Quietly, and without prompting Dieter spoke. “The truth is, I only asked the magazine to send someone out here, so I had somebody to talk to. So I wasn’t here alone.” He looked down. “I actually learned that at rehab. On day one, they said, when you feel yourself relapsing, call a friend. Something about having someone you care about, who cares about you and your sobriety, with you when you use. It’s supposed to help you use less, or maybe not at all. I think because you won’t want to disappoint them or inconvenience them, I guess. Or so they can call an ambulance if you overdose.” Dieter shrugged. “I didn’t have anyone like that. So I called some reporters I knew, some different magazines. Yours was the only one who actually said they would send someone.” 

“I’m glad you called,” I said.

“I’m glad you came.” He shifted sideways, bumping my shoulder with his. “Have you figured out what you’re going to write about me yet?”

I shook my head. “I’m not writing anything about you.”

He turned his face to me. “Why not?”

 “I’m quitting. I’ve had enough. Enough of this job, and enough of LA.”

 Dieter straightened, and reached for my hand. “Let’s leave, then. Together. We can go anywhere.”

“Dieter,” I shook my head again, but didn’t let go of his hand. “No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you want to share it,” he said, softly, echoing my words from earlier.

“Because the problems you have now aren’t going to go away because of where you live. The paparazzi, the drugs… You can run and hide but your problems are just going to follow.” I could tell that Dieter didn’t like my reason. He looked away, but I laced my fingers between his and squeezed. He met my eyes again. “And because you’re still in love with Anika. You should try to fix things with her.”

Dieter nodded. He brought our intertwined hands up, out of the water. He kissed my knuckles, one by one. “You’re a really good friend.”

You had regretted telling him about it back then, because of the way he had only hummed in response. It wasn’t a laugh, but it might as well have been. It made you feel like you were being judged. He had followed it with a comment about the light pollution from the city obscuring any real hope of stargazing, but you stopped listening. You didn’t want to hear him tell you that you were wrong, even if he wasn’t exactly saying as much. Not about this, not by him.

You regretted telling him about it again, now, because he knew it was the place to find you when you just wanted to be alone.

You sniffed, as the motorcycle pulled up alongside your car, grateful that you could blame your runny nose on the chill night air and pretend you hadn’t just cried your eyes out moments ago. Seated on the hood of your car, you pulled your jacket closer around you and kept your eyes straight ahead.

The engine died and you heard the crunch of Din’s heavy boots on the loose rocks, the jangle of keys and buckles and metallic things as he kicked out the bike’s stand and dismounted. He came around the front of the car and silently joined you, perching on the bumper, long legs stretched out in front of him. His leather jacket creaked when he crossed his arms over his chest. The black-tinted visor of his silver helmet was still down, and you wondered how he could see anything in the dark with that thing on. 

You refused to speak first. You weren’t ready for talking. He at least respected that, and kept quiet for a long while, just sitting and looking out into the vast night sky.

Eventually, though, he reached into a pocket, and you heard the crinkle of plastic. You couldn’t help your own curiosity and glanced over. He slid one cigarette from a pack, tucked the rest back into his pocket. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Din raise the visor of his helmet and he placed the cigarette between his lips. He cupped one hand around the end and flicked a lighter with the other. It fired up on the first try. He sucked in, breathed out, a puff of smoke swirling around him. 

You’d told him to quit, but you’d be lying if you said you hated that he smoked. It was a terrible thing, but the smell of it, the ritual of it, took you back. It reminded you of an earlier time, when you were safe, except, you were never safe. You had only felt like you were back then because you didn’t yet know what was lurking out there. These days, the danger wasn’t so easy to ignore. Not when you were chasing it down. Not when it had a face and a name and a trail of bloody bodies in its wake. 

Din hooked one hand along the chin guard of his helmet, anchoring it down, away from his mouth. He raised his chin as he took the cigarette between two fingers, attempting to keep most of the ashes from falling inside the helmet. You didn’t understand why he insisted on wearing that thing all the time, but you had never asked, either. It seemed disrespectful to question it, somehow, like asking a priest why he wore a collar, or a policeman why he wore a badge. It was just part of him. You wondered if he hid his face from everyone, or just you. The fact that he ever raised the visor around you felt like a privilege. You weren’t sure when that had started or how you had earned that right, but you always tried your best to keep your eyes averted when he did.

Without looking at you, Din asked, “You alright?”

You didn’t answer, because you didn’t know. 

He continued, “You did the right thing back there.”

You rolled your eyes. “I lost you the bounty.”

“You saved that kid, though.”

“I just reacted, I didn’t think,” you said, shrugging.

“You trusted your instincts. Never be ashamed of that,” Din said, taking a drag from the cigarette. “Your instincts will keep you alive.”

“We could have had him this time, though.“

“We’ll get him the next.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Din was quiet. For a while, you both just watched the smoke curl past, listened to him breathe deep, in and out. You saw him tilt his head back, looking for something in the night sky. 

Din took one last puff from the cigarette, then flicked it into the dirt and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He pushed off of the car and you felt the springs release slightly without his weight. He snapped the face shield back over his eyes, and moved toward his bike. 

“Come on,” Din said to you.

You watched as he swung a leg over the motorcycle’s seat. “What?”

“Get on,” he ordered. He balanced the bike, kicked the stand out from under it. 

You slid off of the hood of the car and approached the bike. Din reached back, flipping open one of the bags hanging off the side, behind the seat. A black half-helmet was tucked inside. You took it out of the bag and put it on, adjusting the straps like he’d shown you before.

“Where are we going?” You asked, stepping up to straddle the bike seat. You settled in behind Din. Your arms slipped around his waist and you pulled your knees up to place your feet on the pegs. 

Din walked the bike back. “I’m taking you to a place where you can really see the stars.” 

The bike’s engine growled and roared. Gravel sprayed from the back tire as Din kicked off and hit the throttle. You felt him lean into the curve that took you back onto the road and away from the city. The wind whipped and pulled at your thin jacket, and you buried your face against Din’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, smoke and leather.

Joel drew in a deep, steadying breath as he inspected the brown leather sliding over his palm, eyeing it like it was the most dangerous weapon in his arsenal. Like he knew the damage such a simple thing could cause in the wrong hands. In his hands. 

You swallowed as he finally turned toward you, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. The look on his face was hard, guarded. His jaw clenched. 

“You hear me?” Joel asked, voice tight, tense. 

“Huh?” you squeaked out, bringing yourself back from the trance you’d fallen into. 

“I said,” growled Joel, “Turn around.”

You swallowed again, eyes dropping to the belt in his hands.

When you didn’t move, Joel raised his voice and warned, “Don’t make me tell you again. I don’t like repeatin’ myself.”

You turned away from him quickly. Behind you, his boots were heavy thuds on the wooden floor as he approached.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

You did as he instructed. He grabbed your wrists roughly, bending your arms at the elbows, right arm above your left, across your lower back. Joel looped the belt around your forearms, the leather biting into your delicate skin as he cinched the buckle. You wiggled your hands, stretched your shoulders, testing the strength of it. You weren’t breaking free of that without help.

Joel moved around you. He was quiet, contemplative, as his eyes roved over your body. You were still dressed in your sleep shorts and tank top and his gaze lingered on your chest, where your hardened nipples stood out beneath the thin fabric. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against the peak of one of your breasts. The touch was light, barely there, but it made you exhale a shaky breath. You pushed your shoulders back further, arching your chest out toward him.

Joel asked, “You wanna be touched, hm?”

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. You nodded instead. 

“Yeah, bet you do,” Joel muttered derisively, dropping his hand. “Gotta earn it. On your knees.”

  Your body reacted before you could even think twice, and you sank to the floor. The movement was too fast, though, and you stumbled, off-balance without the use of your arms. You fell against the man in front of you, your cheek landing against a denim-clad thigh. 

“Easy, girl,” Joel said. His hand cupped your chin, gently tilting your face up to look at him. His brown eyes softened as his brows came together. He looked down and quietly asked, “Y’alright?”

You bit back a smile at his poorly hidden concern for you and nodded again. Taking advantage of Joel’s moment of weakness, you leaned forward and buried your face in his crotch. 

Joel’s grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he hissed, “Jesus.” When you glanced up, still nuzzling between his legs, you were met with Joel’s steely glare. All of the softness he had shown you a moment before was gone. “Needy little slut, ain’t ya?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. 

Joel’s other hand came to rest against the back of your head, not grabbing, just pressing you firmly against him. “Go on. Get me ready since you want it so bad.”

Permission granted, you dove in. You did your best to rub him through his jeans without your hands. You nudged the growing bulge in his pants with your nose and your cheeks, kissed and licked at the worn denim until it was darkened with your saliva. Even through the thick material, you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, could feel the hard length of him stiffening in his jeans. It felt like a prize, and you were determined to win it. 

Joel’s hands relinquished their grip on you and he took a half step backward, toward the bed. He undid his fly and shoved his jeans and boxers half way down his legs then sat on the edge of the mattress in front of you. His cock stood proud and flushed, curving up toward his belly. His legs spread and he beckoned you over with a gesture of his hand. 

You shuffled forward on your knees, careful not to lose your balance this time. A rug covered the hardwood floor surrounding Joel’s bed, and you were grateful for the plush padding as you settled at Joel’s feet. He gripped his cock and your mouth watered as you watched the slow slide of his hand stroking himself. 

“Like it?” Joel rasped. 

You glanced up at his face, his expression now smug and self-assured. Every thought in your head was replaced with need; the need for him on your tongue, the need for his hands on you, the need for him to soothe the ache between your legs. It was written plainly on your face for Joel to see, and he drank in the sight, eyes flicking over your features like all of your secrets were written there. 

He chuckled darkly when your eyes fell back to his lap. “Yeah, she likes it. Such a dirty girl, watching me touch myself. Should make you sit there and watch til I’m finished.”

Your eyes widened at the threat. “Joel, please,” you whined. 

“You beggin’ now?” Joel asked. “Begging for my cock?”

  “Yes, please, please, let me taste you.”

A low growl came from Joel’s chest and he paused his careful strokes. “C’mere,” Joel said, reaching out to you. One hand cupped the back of your head and the other held his cock as he guided you toward it. You opened your mouth eagerly and moaned when you wrapped your lips around the leaking crown. You felt him twitch at the contact and you felt a twitch of your own low in your belly. You were aching for his touch. Any touch. 

As you took him deeper into your mouth you lowered your body, parting your legs wider, and as you sank down, you grazed against the hard toe of his boot. It sent a jolt through you. You moaned louder and Joel grunted as his hips bucked into your mouth at the sound. You picked up the pace, bobbing your head up and down Joel’s shaft and he kept one hand firmly on the nape of your neck, preventing you from rising off of him too much. He leaned back on the bed, bracing his weight with his other hand.

You rolled your hips again, searching for any friction you could get. The hard rubber edge of his shoe, the bunched denim of his jeans around his ankles. You rutted against Joel’s boot in time with the slide of him in and out of your throat. 

“Goddamn, you’re greedy. Rubbing yourself off on my boot like a fucking dog.” The weight on your neck increased and you found it impossible to pull your mouth off of Joel. He was holding you down, keeping his throbbing cock deep in your mouth, nearly touching the back of your throat. You could feel his precum, salty and thick, mixing with your saliva. You tried to focus on breathing and inhaled the musky, unwashed scent of him at his base. God, it was intoxicating. 

His leg shifted beneath you and his boot rose to meet your core. You groaned around him at the pressure.

“Do it. Get yourself off, since you can’t wait,” Joel ordered. You hesitated, wondering if this was a trick or a test of some kind, but then Joel tightened his grip, twisting a fistful of your hair as he growled, “Be a good girl, and sit.”

You whimpered but obeyed, sinking down onto his booted foot. You rocked against him the best you could, hunched forward, arms still bound behind you with your lips stretched around him. Your tongue massaged him irregularly as your focus shifted to chasing your own pleasure. The soft fabric of your pajama bottoms caught on the cracked leather and laces of his boot as you tried to ride it. The friction only worsened the ache. It wasn’t precise enough, wasn’t what you needed.  

You whined, and looked up desperately at Joel.

“What’s the matter, darlin’? Can’t do it?” He pulled you off of him abruptly, fingers still tangled in your hair. He leaned forward and looked down at your swollen lips, spit-covered chin, and hungry eyes. “Need me to do everything around here, huh?”

“Yes. I need you, Joel.”

His hand let go of your hair and drifted down, his thumb and fingers encircling the front of your neck, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. Joel noticed the shiver run through you and his eyes drifted down your shoulder, to the goosebumps it raised along your arms. He whispered, “Say it. Need me to what?” 

Your voice felt small when you said, “Make me come.”

A smile curved the corners of Joel’s mouth, but the dark shade of his eyes made the expression look sinister rather than gleeful. “Get up here, then.”

He pulled you to your feet and hauled you onto the bed. You crashed into the soft nest of blankets and pillows you had been cocooned in before Joel returned and woke you from dreams of him. Good or bad, your dreams were always of him these days. For a moment you wondered if this was another one, if you had only dreamt of waking, but then Joel was crawling over you, and his heat and his hands on you felt too real for any dream. 

He rolled you onto your back, your bound arms pinned between the mattress and your body. Your survival instincts raised an alarm inside, your pulse doubled and you squirmed as a voice somewhere in your brain screamed for you to free yourself, fight back, that this was dangerous. You were vulnerable, at the mercy of a known killer. A man who took what he wanted through violence, even torture, when necessary.

But you savored the ache in your shoulders, the bite of the leather strap, and you smiled at the look of raw hunger on Joel’s face. You had asked for this. 

You had asked him, after he had made love to you one morning. While basking in the afterglow, with your head on his chest, it had just slipped out, a small suggestion for next time. Joel had looked down at you, confusion etched across his features. “You want me to be mean to you?”

“Well,” you murmured, suddenly embarrassed for bringing it up. “I don’t know. I just thought.… You know, you could be a little rougher with me, maybe even… tie me up or something?”

Joel had huffed out something like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Darlin’, I… I don’t know if I can do that,” he had said, rubbing at the scruff on his jaw. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. Not really. I trust you.” You had sat up, pulled the blanket tight around you. He had looked away from you, blatantly uncomfortable, and there was a hint of distress in his voice when he quietly asked, “Is that what you like? Am I not… do I not satisfy you?”

“No, no! You do! It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just something I thought we could try, but if you don’t want to…” you had babbled, trying to reassure him. You reached out to squeeze his hand. “Forget I even brought it up.”

Joel had nodded, but he hadn’t seemed convinced. His hand had slipped from your grasp as he got out of the bed and started to get ready for the day. 

The timing had been terrible, too, as Joel had been tasked with checking the northern patrol route that day. It was the farthest of Jackson’s outposts, which meant Joel would be away for two whole days, and you spent both of those days fretting about what Joel thought of you, wishing you had kept your mouth shut, kept those feelings buried deep down like you always had. 

You tried to reason with yourself that surely Joel’s reluctance was not a judgement on you. Joel had always made you feel safe, safe enough to ask for this, to trust him with the part of you that you had always been too ashamed to share with anyone else. You’d heard the whispered stories about Joel’s past, about what he’d done to survive, to protect the ones he loved. And you didn’t judge him for any of those things. Part of you even admired him for having that strength. He had said he didn’t want to hurt you, and maybe that’s all it was. Maybe he was afraid of opening that door to a part of himself he didn’t like to see, that he didn’t want you to see. But you knew he would never purposely harm you. For all the scowling and roughness he exhibited for the world outside these walls, for all the violence Joel had inflicted on others in his life, he was always gentle with you. He was passionate and he knew how to please a woman, but Joel Miller loved you like you were made of the finest crystal, like he was afraid of breaking you.

You wanted him to break you, though, and he was the only person in the world you trusted to put you back together again. 

Joel slid the little cotton shorts down your legs, tossing them aside before he laid himself down on the mattress, tucking your legs up onto his shoulders. He looked up at you and then, without preamble, dove straight in for your cunt, like a starving animal. You arched your back, gasping at the feeling of his tongue and teeth on your most sensitive flesh.

He sucked your clit hard and before you knew it, your orgasm was imminent. You shook as it built, your legs clamping around Joel’s head so hard that you could feel the scrape of his beard on the inside of your thighs. Then, just as suddenly, Joel pulled away.

You whined and tried to raise your hips to join his mouth again

“Oh, no, babygirl,” Joel shook his head between your legs and pushed you back down. His warm breath felt cool on your overheated skin as he sneered, “You don’t get to rush this.”

His hands rocked you upward as he dropped his head and licked a long stripe from back to front. His tongue prodded your entrance before he attacked your clit again, taking you right back to the edge of climax before abandoning you once more.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “That’s so mean.” 

“Thought that’s what you wanted,” Joel teased, running a finger through your slick folds. “Certainly, looks like you’re enjoyin’ it from this angle.” One finger, then two, slipped inside you and you moaned. “So wet. Haven’t even made you come yet.” He curled his fingers, expertly finding that perfect spot that made your eyes roll.

And then they were gone. Your pussy clenched around nothing and you thought you might cry out of frustration. 

“Nah, not gonna waste that on my fingers. Want to feel you squeeze my cock with that tight little-”

“Just let me come!” you bit out angrily.

Something flared behind Joel’s eyes. You’d never yelled at him before, especially not in this kind of situation. He sat up, and he felt massive as he loomed over you. His hands gripped your legs as they rose with his shoulders and he bent them toward you, folding you in half. His body pressed into yours as he reached down to line himself up.

“Just remember,” he gritted out. “You asked for this.”

The head of his cock pressed into you. Joel was big, and the angle he had you twisted into made him feel even bigger. You felt like he might actually split you in half.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck. Joel! It’s too much.”

“C’mon, you can take it.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, and you will. You’ve done it before.”

You whimpered as he pushed in deeper, until he was completely buried inside you.

“There. See? You take me so well. This pussy was made for me. All mine to fill up over and over. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you panted, dizzy with the sensation of being so full. “All yours.”

Joel started to move, a slow drag at first, and then faster, until it became a driving force that punched the air out of you every time he bottomed out. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, but you weren’t upset. It was euphoric, a delicious sort of pain that made you want it more and more. It was addictive, meditative, electric. You loved it.

Your orgasm hit you hard, causing your whole body to shudder and spasm. Your mind tuned to static, you barely registered Joel’s orgasm following shortly after. You both lie still, panting and when he finally pulled out, you could feel the hot drip of his cum spilling out of you. His hands carefully lowered your legs and guided you onto your side. You felt his fingers undo the belt, gently brushing over the marks left by the leather strap. He helped you bring your arms forward, pins and needles tingling under your skin as circulation returned. You felt the weight of his body leave the bed and you missed it immediately. You curled into yourself, suddenly chilled without the heat of him close to you. 

You heard him moving about the room, some rustling and the sound of running water from the attached bathroom, then the sound of his boots crossing the floor. 

“Joel?” You asked weakly, too tired to even open your eyes.

“Shhh. I’m here,” Joel’s voice soothed from somewhere above you. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweet girl.” 

Joel softly lifted your knee, guiding your legs open again, and he dragged a warm, damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He wiped the sticky mess from between your legs, and your body jerked as the rag rubbed over your clit. Your eyes flew open to meet Joel’s soft, brown gaze.

You smiled, and softly murmured your thanks.

Joel returned your smile, and let you close your legs. He pulled the comforter up over you, tucking you in. 

You watched him as he turned away to toss the washcloth into the hamper. He bent to untie the laces of his boots enough to slip them off. His shirt came off next, then his jeans, socks and briefs. Only then did it register that he hadn’t even fully undressed to fuck you. Two days in the saddle, and the first thing he did when he got home was come to bed and give you what you wanted. You nearly laughed out loud at the irony of how, even when he’s allowed to be selfish, he’s doing his best to serve you. You had asked, and he had answered.

Joel moved to the dresser, magnificent in the silver-blue light of the moon that filtered in through the windows. He dressed in a clean shirt and soft flannel pajama pants. Joel went to his side of the bed and you felt the mattress dip beside you as he climbed in beneath the blankets, settling his body back against the pillows. 

You shifted to peek over at Joel, lying on his back, watching you with a shy, nervous expression.

“I do okay?” He asked, quiet and insecure. The worry creasing his brow sent a pang through you. You rolled toward him, onto your side, and wrapped your arms across his middle. 

“You were perfect. Thank you.”

The tension melted away and Joel’s entire body relaxed into the mattress. His eyes gleamed happily as a proud smirk spread over his lips. He looked up at the ceiling, the sweat on his temple glinting in the dim moonlight. 

“That was…” he exhaled and chuckled. “That was something.”

“Something good?”

“Yeah,” Joel admitted. His teeth scraped over his lower lip, and he wriggled his shoulder, readjusting onto his pillow. “Actually, I was thinking, maybe next time…” he turned to look at you, shy and hopeful, “Next time, you tie me up?”

~~~~~~