𝒯𝑜𝓃𝒾

A/N I only proofread this as one skim so if there are issues let me know please!

The early morning light filters through the curtains on the yacht, half closed. Neither of you bothered to seal out the sunrise after last night.

The bed soft beneath you as you take a second to try and figure out where you are, how you got here. Groggy and sleepy. It must be early, maybe too early to be awake just yet.

You don't have anywhere to be after all.

Just here, just with Agatha.

Your eyes snap over to her side of the bed. Just the thought of having 'her side of the bed' makes you fire up inside.

She's almost exactly where you left her last night. The first time you'd seen her sleep like this. In the morning light. Soft. Untamed. The blankets curled around her hands as she grabbed them close to her in the nighttime. The waves of her long hair dancing across the white pillow. Eyes shut. Snoring softly.

You could watch her forever. Hear her forever. The sound of her breathing in the peaceful silence of the morning.

And you're allowed to be here, with her. With no distractions. No work. No excuses. Just the two of you and the water.

And the rooms of the yacht that is certainly less modest than she described...and several crew members.

But maybe for now, it could be close enough to normality since you were at her penthouse. If you could call that normality.

Checking your phone, its almost eight thirty. Not as early as you'd expected and you're surprised Agatha hasn't woken up yet. She'd probably hate to find out you saw her all soft and sleepy like this.

Still, this gives you a perfect excuse to make her a cup of coffee and take a look around the boat.

Gently creaking as you make your way out of the room, the robe tied tightly around your waist, you step out into the rest of the boat. It rocks gently, there doesn't seem to be much around. A couple of islands in the distance, not too far away. You wonder if the driver plans to take you anywhere or just cruise.

Whatever makes Agatha happy.

Whatever stops her from being caught up in all this drama, all this stress. Problems you're trying not to wonder too much about.

If you think too hard, perhaps everything will come apart. Everything will break. Crumble into reality. The harsh reality of feeling these feelings for someone like her.

Some of the boat is carpeted, some of it wood. A cool and warm contrast as you pry into different rooms and areas before coming into view of the kitchen area. It's minimalist, but with some flair thrown around. A couple pieces of small artwork. A couple of Persian style rugs. Some staff members talking amongst themselves quiet down and stand up straight when you head towards them at the kitchen island.

They nod, but say nothing.

"Morning!" You cheerfully offer them. They seem confused. Perhaps Agatha doesn't usually greet them like this.

Who are you kidding? Agatha probably doesn't greet them at all.

"How'd you sleep?" You ask, coming closer to them. They stand in place. "Good, thank you ma’am." A happy young man replies. He can't be older than twenty. You wonder how long he's been doing this.

The rest of the crew nod and head out, leaving just the two of you. You hope you didn't scare them off.

"Would you like me to ask the chef to prepare breakfast ma’am?" He asks, his eyes following you as you look around the kitchen. Large, modern and best of all, clean.

"Oh no thank you, she's not—" you run your hand across the marble counter as you try to find an appliance of any kind "—ready yet." Not wanting to let the staff know she's still sleeping.

"I'd actually like to make coffee for her, if that's alright?" Your eyes wander back to him, still stood with his hands behind his back at the counter.

"Of course! Would you like me to do it for you?"

"No I'd like to do it myself, is there a machine?"

You'd really like this to be personal. Always so difficult to do small acts of affection for Agatha with all her staff and clients wandering around.

He smiles before leading you to a sneaky side room you'd yet to notice. A bar area stocked with expensive whiskey, wine, and a coffee machine. A complex looking coffee machine. One similar to that in a coffee shop.

That's okay, you can handle it. It's just a coffee. If the girl from Agatha's coffee store with the fun cups can manage it, so can you.

Pressing the on button, the machine springs to life. Luckily it has a touch screen so you don't actually have to figure much out. Despite your jealousy and wanting to prove yourself, you're a little relieved at not having to figure something like this out first thing. The man gestures to the cupboard above, where you find lots of mugs stacked on top of each other. Neat and plain. All white like a cafe. He watches you as it brews, making sure there are no issues.

"What's your name?" You ask him, watching the coffee drip into the cup.

"Adrian, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you Adrian, you don't have to call me that." You laugh as you switch out one cup for the other.

"The rules of Ms Harkness." He shrugs. "I won't break them."

Of course she makes all the staff call her that. You're making her morning coffee after sex and sleeping next to each other and still don't get to call her by her name.

The smell of the coffee makes your mouth water as you realize how tired you still are from the whirlwind of yesterday. Your body a little sore from how she relieved her stress with you.

Maybe you could get in that hot tub.

For a second you almost lose your cool in front of Adrian as excitement courses through you, realizing you're basically on vacation with your boss.

It's hard not to wonder what he thinks of you, what he thinks of her.

"What do you think of her? Ms Harkness?" You ask. He hands you a carton of oat milk as he ponders.

"I don't know. I've only been working for her for two years, it's my first job after college. She's quiet, I suppose." He doesn't seem to have a straight answer.

"Does she come aboard often?" The milk frothing is the push of a button and you're thankful you don't have to figure that out either, just hold it steady and watch the temperature increase.

"A few times a year. It used to be more on the last boat, but she switched to this one a year ago. She watches the sea. Reads. Writes sometimes."

He shrugs. You switch out the mugs for milk again. Imagining Agatha alone with a book. Peaceful.

"She's never brought a guest on this boat since she bought it. I thought it would be for solo cruising or island transport."

You try to ignore the butterflies at his confirmation of Agatha's words.

"Have you been to her island?"

"Yes. She instructs us to remain on the boat."

You bet that's true.

"What was the last boat like?" And you're surprised he hasn't told you to stop asking twenty questions yet. Maybe he's trained to respond this way to Agatha. To non-existent guests.

"Much larger. Many more rooms. A pool."

You turn off the machine.

"And she had guests on that boat?"

He swallows, looking a little awkward.

"Yes. Parties. Associates and their assistants."

He refuses to make eye contact with you, you look at him confused, grabbing both mugs. What a weird way to end this interaction.

"Well, Adrian. Have a good rest of your day, okay?"

The sound of your feet on the deck as he replies "you too, ma'am." And you make your way back to the bedroom.

--

Agatha is still face down on the pillow when you arrive, but with her mouth open a little. A little less graceful than this morning. And you love her imperfections. Her evidence at being a human. A real person.

You place the cup softly on her nightstand, before placing your cup on the cabinet next to you, and slowly climb back into bed, careful not to wake her.

You'll get a damn morning cuddle even if you have to ease her into it.

Scooting closer to her, you wrap your arms around her softly, nuzzling your face into her neck and softly kissing her face.

She snores in response. It's hard to hold your laughter.

Another kiss. Then another. Then another until she begins to stir. Her sleepy voice breaking the soft silence of the room.

"What fresh hell is this?"

She shoves you off of her gently as she looks around.

"Your bed, on your yacht....it's almost nine."

She wipes her face with the palm of her hand, studying you for a second. "Jesus, I must have been tired."

Before you're able to stop her she's sitting directly upright and trying to leave.

This woman.

"No. SIt. Please. I made you coffee!"

"You made me coffee already?" Her eyes shoot to the nightstand.

"Yeah I was thinking we could have it in the bed?"

If bed dinner won't work, perhaps you could introduce bed coffee.

"In bed?"

It's like she realizes in real time that she doesn't have an excuse, so she shuffles back and grabs the mug. You grab your own. It's warm and you hope you didn't mess it up.

She takes a boiling sip, her body too stiff. Too uncomfortable for such a sweet setting. Like she doesn't know how to relax.

"You made this for me?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you get them to do it?"

Has Agatha ever existed without staff?

"I'm your assistant." You try and take a sip, regretting it instantly. Way too hot as always. "And I like you. I wanted to make it."

Her face studies you like she can't register you're actually here with her.

"You're a good girl."

The praise shoots through you and you'd make her a million coffees just to hear it again.

"Thank you."

You shuffle a little closer to her, expecting her to move. She stays put, but doesn't initiate any kind of touch. Any kind of affection.

You run your hand across hers hesitantly. Waiting for the flinch. The reaction. There is none. Her knuckles are cold from the fresh air and she lets you drag your fingers across them. Her breathing shallow like she's trying to blend in with the furniture.

Is she nervous?

Your hands join as she lets you slip your fingers between hers. Drinking coffee in the bed like a married couple and you try not to spook her with your excitement.

Her hand sits in yours. Soft and delicate. But her face is white as a sheet. Serious. Like she doesn't know what to say next.

So you lead.

"Can we go in the hot tub today?"

"I don't see why not. I'll make sure it's ready for you." Her words are slightly above a whisper. Like she doesn't want to hear herself be like this with you this early in the day. Not under the secret of the night.

"No. You have to come too!" You exclaim. "You can't just sit on the edge and watch like a creep."

That starts it.

"I am not a creep!" She laughs like she's finally ready to crack a little for you. "I just like to look at what I own, and that includes you."

You smile at her, god it feels good to watch her be herself. Whoever that really is.

"This is nice." You admit, finally able to take a sip of the coffee.

A second goes by without her reply, just the blues of her eyes wandering over your face. Your cheekbones, your lips and back up to your eyes.

"I feel like i'm pretending to be someone else."

And you know exactly what she means.

"Me too. Sometimes."

She raises her eyebrow at you as she softens into your touch. Your thumb hesitantly running over hers as she looks at you like you might disappear.

"Sometimes when I'm with you, it's like you're from another world I don't belong in. Like I don't fit into your life." And you regret saying it as soon as you do, it sounds like you don't want to be here with her which isn't true, it's just that—

"You could." She somehow finishes her coffee. "If you wanted to."

Before you can ask what she means she's quickly out of the bed. Hands free. Coffee cup down on the bedside table. Trying to shed herself of her vulnerability.

"I'll go check on the hot tub, and you should really eat something." She tells you as she's on her way into the closet, tying her robe tighter.

"You should too." You repeat.

"Don't tell me what to do." She calls from the other room, but you're already going to grab some breakfast.

It's what she told you to do.

--

Back at the kitchen the staff have arranged a small supply of fruits and pastries. Will your life be like this for much longer? Not having to remember breakfast is delightful.

You grab a banana and try not to make eye contact with anyone as you eat it, before dropping the peel in the trash and heading back to get changed. Agatha sifted through all of your belongings yesterday but didn't actually help you unpack your suitcase. She might have actually made it worse somehow, it's still all crammed in there.

Aside from the jeans, rest in peace.

Agatha is nowhere to be seen when you get back into the room, but a beautiful white swimsuit is resting on the bed for you.

More gifts, but it’s yet to get less exciting.

It's stunning. A low neckline. Exactly what she wants to see you in. Dior sunglasses placed on top of them in a neat little box, and a spray on sunscreen next to that.

You look around before changing, she's not here. Probably already in the hot tub. Would she have brought something to ignore you with? Probably. Almost certainly. You rummage through the top part of your luggage quickly to find your sketchpad, ball point pen still clamped around one of the pages.

Just in case she decides to look at the sea and act mysterious.

The room is warm. It’s hard to believe she’s only ever spent time in this bedroom alone. It’s grand and dramatic, like her. There’s enough room for others, the space large and expensive. Has she ever wondered what it would be like to bring someone else here’s

Without keeping her waiting any longer, you change into her swimsuit of choice, leaving your old one squished in the bottom of your luggage, and head onto deck.

It's on the same level as the bedroom, which makes it very easy to find. Agatha is already in the tub, sunglasses on her face as she reads in the sun. A bellini in her free hand. Like a mini cruise ship just for her. It's bizarre thinking about how she could have anything she wants. Do anything she wants. Have anyone she wants.

But she's here with you.

You swallow, trying to compose yourself. Your head spinning with the setting, the outfit. Are you really on some kind of fantasy vacation with the woman you've been obsessed with for a year? When will you wake up?

Her nose is buried in the book. The deck is immaculate just as it was yesterday. It’s crazy to believe she owns all of this. Does she ever get bored?

She pulls down her sunglasses as you approach, taking you in. You slide into the water quickly, not letting her get a proper look. You know you're teasing but she is too. This is an entirely different swimsuit than what she wore in LA, and through the bubbling waters it looks like it might even be a two piece.

You're knocked from your trance as Adrian is at your side before you've even properly sat.

"Bellini ma'am?"

This boy works fast. You look to Agatha for permission.

"Sure." She tells you. "But just the one." She tells him. He nods, heading over to collect your drink.

She seems almost relaxed under the sun. You stare at the creases on her face. You'd love to know her whole life story. Sit at her feet while she reads you the diary from every day she's lived. Her hair tied in to an effortless bun that looks like it's taken more time than it has. A few strands of loose hair framing her face.

In her hand is a book on plants. It looks somewhat old and tattered. You wonder if she's read it before. She ignores both you and the staff as you're brought your drink, engrossed in the knowledge of the garden.

"What you reading?" You ask as you take a sip, trying to engage with her. You knew she'd be like this, so it's not overly upsetting. This is her vacation most of all.

She puts her finger in the book so she doesn't lose her place, before looking back to you, talking slowly like she can't quite be bothered.

"About begonias."

You nod, placing the drink on the side of the hot tub, the warmth enveloping you as you try not to sweat too hard under the sun. The weather is thankfully cool, and your body relaxes with the bubbles around you. Agatha's head is back in her book. You try to bite your tongue, to let her exist.

"Anything interesting?"

She puts her finger in her book again, looking at you once more, a little more flustered.

"They have male and female flowers."

You nod. She reads. Her face in the book. Turning the pages.

"What do you like about plants?"

She slams the book shut. Oops.

"Sorry I—"

She silences you with a wave of her hand.

"I don't like plants. I like knowledge. Learning. Everything."

She's so fascinating. Even when she's a little mad.

"You can read it, sorry for interrupting."

“Stop apologizing.”

She hesitantly opens the book again, almost worried you'll ruin it. Flipping the page over. She reads fast, you think.

Well, you did come prepared for this at least. Your hands dry off on a towel on the handrail, wiping on cotton before grabbing your sketchbook. Trying not to soak it in the water.

A sketch of an oval. Then an oval with feet. An oval with feet and a hat. You sketch the helicopter from memory, or try to. It's a little off. A little less perfect than you'd like, but not so bad. Agatha reads in silence next to you, pages turning softly under the noise of the hot tub jets and the pen on paper. You can almost feel her eyes on you as you finalize the drawing. It’s oddly comforting and domestic. Both of you enjoying your hobbies with no real responsibility.

"Can I see that?"

She asks softly, like it's important to her. You beam. Flipping the page around with both hands to show her. She shuts her book instantly as she looks at it. Really studies it. Looking intensely at your line work.

"Quite the little artist aren't you? And that was your first helicopter up close?"

Her hands brush over the ink on the paper.

You nod. Trying not to blush too hard from her compliment, she looks over her sunglasses at you, placing the book she was reading to the side on the edge of the tub and giving you her full attention.

"I have a very good memory for drawing. I can remember how a lot of things look. The proportions of them. It's a weird talent."

"Fascinating."

You almost want to curl up with the way she's looking at you, at your art. Like she did at the gala. At the gallery. With the real artists. If this is how she feels about a ball point pen, imagine what you could show her with a real brush or your ipad.

"I' almost expected you to be drawing me again, after last time." She flirts, smirking a little. It reminds you of how she was when this all began. When she was hot and cold with you. When she was pushing you to see what you'd do.

"I could?" You offer. Not bothering to figure out if she meant it or not. You’ll do it anyway.

She sits back in the hot tub, relaxing in the sun. A wave of her hand as she gestures for you to begin sketching her. You absorb the sound of the water. The warmth of the sky. The presence of her as you begin the outline of her body.

"You can move." You offer. "I'll remember the way you looked." Trying not to brag too much about the skill.

"I was planning on it." She sips her drink. You're almost done before you're both interrupted by Adrian again.

"The fresh fruits you requested, Ms Harkness." He places a small plate on a large silver tray at the edge of the hot tub.

She takes her sunglasses off to inspect them, just as you're shading them on the paper.

"Hmm."

Oh no. This poor boy.

She studies the tray. The young man sweats under her gaze when he’s not instantly dismissed. Agatha’s eyes sharp and cold, but with a voice smooth and unshaken.

"These are satsumas, I requested tangerines." She points at the fruits. "And you haven't cut the cherries in half the way I like."

She points delicately to the cherries now, they sit deep red and perfectly arranged on the plate. The man starts to panic. "I– uh." He grabs the tray with shaky hands, almost dropping it in fear. You almost wonder if the staff draw straws on who has to deliver her things.

"It's fine!" You offer, trying to get it back from him.

A death glare at you over the sunglasses.

“No it isn’t.”

He stands there for a second, unsure of what to do. Unsure of the hierarchy when there’s a guest.

“At least cut the cherries for gods sake. You're useless.”

You place your hand on the tray, encouraging him to place it back down. “It’s really fine. You can leave it.” You smile warmly at him. He nods, and looks to Agatha to see what to do next. She dismisses him with the back of her hand, not bothering to look at him. Wanting this interaction to be over already.

“Don’t do that. It’s not your place.” She warns as he leaves, probably to cry in the bathroom.

“And what is my place?” You tease, eating the segment of an imperfect satsuma. Not scared of her anymore. Not now she's chosen you.

“On your knees for me, usually.”

You blush.

“I don’t eat cherries like that. You’ve just given yourself a job.” She sips what’s left of her drink, a tiny bit of fizz in the glass. “And to think we were having such a nice vacation.”

Reaching for the cherries, you gently break one open, removing the stone inside yourself and popping the rest in your mouth. The juice dripping down your hand. Dropping the stone back on the tray.

Her eyes are unrecognizable as she pushes her sunglasses back up on her face, watching you eat. Watching the juices trickle down your arm.

You reach for another, gently pulling the sides apart to release the stone. The juice mingling with the rest.

It’s hesitant, careful, dangerous. But you reach for her anyway. Her lips open for you a little, letting you place the fruit between them. She chews slowly, before swallowing the fruit.

“Are you going to do that for all of them?” Her voice between a mock and a husky whisper.

You reply by grabbing another, breaking it apart softly. It crumbles in your hand a little, before reaching forward and placing another between her lips. Cherry juice streaming down your wrists as you bring your tongue to your own hand, running you along the side to catch the liquid.

“My perfect assistant.” She murmurs, her hands gesturing for another. You abide. Fulfilling your role. Your legs finding hers under the water, draping them over her lap as you feed her. She responds by running her strong hand over your thigh, squeezing a little. You relax under her touch. Enjoying the closeness.

“Show me the drawing.” She asks, dropping you from your trance. Your hands are wet with fruits but you grab the book anyway, brain foggy and fuzzy. Her face is stern as she admires the drawing.

“It’s very good.”

“Would you buy it at a gala?”

“If it were a painting, perhaps.”

“I paint too. Or I did.”

“Before?”

“Before you had me come to work at the crack of dawn and leave at dinner time.”

“How else would I get you in the palm of my hand?” You expect she's teasing, but her voice is serious. Her grip on your thigh a little firmer as you put the sketchbook back on the edge. Not caring if it gets ruined anymore. Not when you have the real thing in front of you.

You reach for her instinctively, your hands sticky and coming to touch the top of her arm. Dry in the sun. She says nothing, laying her head back to relax. The water is comforting. Agatha is comforting. You could stay here forever.

“Did you put on sunscreen?” She asks abruptly, her head snapping back up to look at you.

“Yes.” Your voice smaller than you intended. “Why?”

“Don’t want you crisping up on me.”

“You care about me.” You tease, your voice a sing song as you run your hand up her arm.

“Nobody said anything about that.”

“But you do!” Your hand finds her face, your knuckles softly dragging against her jawline. Textured. Perfect. Sharp.

You can almost feel the eye roll behind her designer shades as she pushes you off of her lap and begins climbing out of the hot tub.

“Wait no come back!” You panic, almost splashing, not wanting the moment to end.

“If I stay in there any longer I’ll look like a prune. I’m going to take a shower. And I need to fire Adrian”

Her words matter-of-fact as she steps out of the water. You watch her swimsuit cling to her skin as she does. The curve of her exposed back as she leaves and grabs a towel. Will she really fire him? You hope not.

You’ll give her a second, not wanting to look desperate, before you chase her down.

—

The towel robe sits on top of your swimsuit as you dry off a little in the sun. Maybe you are obsessed with these things like she said.

It’s quiet and peaceful as you make your way back to the bedroom to shower. There are probably other bathrooms on this boat, but that’s not where she is, so why would you go there?

She’s sat on the bed when you return. Her shoulders exposed, her back to you. Facing the wall away from you. A soft white monogrammed towel around her torso. Hair still a little damp from the hairdryer.

So soft and unusually domestic, you creep into the room. The floorboard creaks a little underneath you, betraying you as you try not to startle her.

“What are you doing?”

She says after a long breath. A long moment of silence as you look at her without her looking back at you.

“I’m just coming to take a shower.” You’re a little confused. A little caught off guard. She seems…sad?

“No. I mean with me. What are you doing here with me? I feel like I haven’t even gotten a second to process anything and now I just….I don’t know what I'm doing here.”

Your heart breaks. For a moment you thought this might be a romantic trip.

“I don’t know. I just like you, I want to be near you.”

She exhales a laugh like you can’t be serious.

“Me or the money?”

Surely not.

“You. Obviously. You.” You try to get her to look at you. She doesn’t. Just eyes foreword. Back straight and tense.

The bed is soft beneath your knees as you climb onto it, coming up gently behind her. Your hands on her shoulders quickly, but gently.

Her muscles becoming tighter somehow, turning her head to the side to look at you and you can tell she’s going to try and get away from your touch.

“Just let me help you.” You whisper, digging your thumbs in a little. Her shoulders so tense. She’s so highly strung. You massage gently until she stops resisting. Her confusion and worry becoming a gentle hum as you rub her back, less like an assistant and more like a lover.

It’s not as perfect as you’d like. No candles. No oils. But she lets you. Let’s you lower the towel a little from around her chest, lets you use your fingers and thumbs on her shoulders. Down to the bottom and back. Completely silent.

You try not to hurt her.

Want her for her money? This is what you want her for.

She has a few back moles. An age spot. No split ends as you gently push her hair away from one shoulder to get to the other. She must get it taken care of regularly. She smells clean and expensive. The cherry perfume washed away in the shower. The cherry smell lingers on you instead now, mixed with the chlorine.

In silence she lets you take care of her. She must be desperate. Or unsure how to get you to stop without getting violent. She relaxes under your touch. Moaning softly.

You take a risky kiss to the back of her neck. Then the back of her shoulder. It’s hard to imagine what expression she could be holding.

“Let me see you.” She whispers, and you waste no time in doing what she requests, climbing around the bed and standing on the ground in front of her.

Her. Clean and effortless if a little tired looking. Still powerful even without the heels. Without the suits. Without the throne in her office. Just a towel around her waist now.

She rakes her eyes over your form, you understand what she wants. Dropping the robe to the floor so she can see the swimsuit on you.

She did buy it, after all.

Her lips pursed as she decides whether or not she likes it.

"What do you think?" She asks as if your opinion on what you wear really matters when you both know she's in control.

"I like it. It's cute, comfortable." You jump a little on your heels, her eyes never leaving you. She nods in approval.

"Very well."

You can't tell if she likes it or not. Maybe the color isn't what she expected, or the way it fits is wrong. You turn to leave, to head toward the en-suite.

She raises her hand to stop you, then points to the ground.

You nod.

Your knees hit it softly as you follow her command. How a simple look, a simple hand gesture from her can turn your insides on fire is beyond you.

You look up at her through your eyelashes, a little further away than you'd like to be. Naked aside from the crisp white towel, you try to take her in. To absorb as much of her into your brain as you're allowed. Eyes drinking in her legs, her chest, her neck. Almost censored perfectly by the waves of her hair.

"You're so good." She coos, it melts you instantly. "Always listening to me." The tension in the air is quick and unspeakable.

"Please can I—" you stutter in asking, in all your time spent around her, you've yet to actually see her naked yet. Properly and for real. Always some barrier up. Emotional and physical. "—could I—" but how do you word it?

Her voice is so low, so gravely. "Please what, pet?" But her eyes are dark. She wants it too. But she wants you to say it. Always a game with her. Always a power trip.

You wanted to see her, but now she's before you, now you're down here. Now you've been teased with the fruits, the closeness, the small noises escaping her from the massage, you need her desperately.

"Please can I touch you?" You finally whisper. Her legs part before you softly, you lick your lips in anticipation of the privilege.

"Aw. You want to touch me?" Her words velvety, but with a hint of condescension. You nod your head, whispering "yes" when you remember a simple nod will land you in trouble.

She removes the towel from her slowly, agonizingly as she reveals herself to you. Your brain might crash. Her legs parted. Leaning back on her hands above you. Totally and completely exposed for you.

Or rather, you on the ground for her.

You try to scramble to your feet until she tuts, and you know what she wants. "Still struggling with that one, huh?" Her words are softer than you expect, and knowing her more than she thinks you do, you begin crawling over to her.

Carpet soft on the palms of your hands as you make your way to her, until you're exactly where you're supposed to be. Between her thighs below her. The heat radiating off of her skin. The smell of her. You try to keep your breath steady as her hand tangles in your hair, petting you softly. Uncharacteristically softly.

"You wanna taste mommy, is that it?"

Oh god. Another nod, before you're saying 'yes' again. Or doing both. You're not even really sure what you're doing.

"That's reserved for very special girls, are you a very special girl?"

You're going stir crazy being right here, not being allowed to touch her yet. Having to listen to her words. It feels like the boat rocks a little further this low on the ground.

"Yes I am. I am." She's holding your head back a little, preventing you from being where you need to be.

"You are what?"

"I'm your special girl."

She clears her throat.

"I'm your special girl, mommy."

Her hand tugs your hair back more forcefully, taking a look at your eyes with her own. Pupils blown like she can't quite decide if she agrees with you.

"Then show me." Her words hit your chest hard, and your mouth is on her as fast as you possibly can, tasting her, adoring her. Feeling her on your tongue, your chin. Her moans soft above you as you find her clit.

"Don't rush, that's it...softly...right there...there you go." She guides you as you savor her. Her head thrown back like the goddess she is, and you right where you need to be. At her alter. “Take your time, flatten your tongue, god yes.”

Her thighs begin to tense, her grip on your hair tighter. Your jaw aches, but you ignore it. Of course you do. Her moans ragged above you. Heavy breaths and whimpers that just might kill you.

For a second, it feels like you're in control. You reach your arms to her hips, but she slaps them back down quickly. "No touching." You nod into her as she bucks a little under you.

"Fuck, hon I need you to—" she bites her lip "—I need—"

Her grip tightens in your hair, forcing you in place as she grinds against you, pushing into you harder, faster. Your airflow cut off as she uses your face. You focus. Relax. This is your purpose. Thighs tighten around you, her fingers in your hair become fingernails as they dig into your skull...

And then, she pulls you back, the most perfect sound you've ever heard erupting from her lips as she shakes, stiffens and flops back onto the bed. Releasing you and letting you catch your breath.

You take a second, not even noticing the discomfort between your own thighs. Your focus on her entirely. Shuffling to your feet. She covers her face with her arms. Her stomach bare before you. Her wetness on your face.

The mattress moves her as you climb onto it. Her breath heavy. It's hard to tell whether she wants you near her or not, so you choose to stay until she throws you out.

Her arms cover her eyes for a long while. Maybe much longer than you expected until her breathing returns to a normal speed. She's so beautiful.

"Ms Harkness are you okay?" You whisper, placing your hand on her stomach softly. Trying to commit her to your memory.

"Yes. Yeah. I'm okay." She removes her arms, turning onto her side to face you. "Just haven't let anyone do that in years."

You blush a little, there are a lot of special things being handed to you recently. This could be real.

This is real. You remind yourself.

It's hard to be logical, rational while she's looking at you like this.

Softly.

Her breath close to your face.

You lean in, hesitantly. Like a first kiss. Like a kiss that doesn't feel connected to anything, and gently brush your lips against her own. Anticipating rejection like always, but hoping for the vulnerable side of her. The genuine side.

Her lips meet your own. Pulling you closer to her. Your hands run through her hair as your bodies touch. Separated only by the thin swimsuit.

It feels electric, but normal. Comfortable.

Like she isn't your boss. And you aren't on her yacht. And there isn't an NDA.

Just for a moment.

When you pull back her eyes are hard to read. Like you're looking right into her soul. They're glassy as she runs the back of her hand against your face. If it were anyone else, you'd wonder whether it was a look of love.

But she is your boss. And this is her yacht. And she's certainly taken you on this trip to avoid some kind of awful responsibility. Maybe if you knew, if you could help her, you could free her from this. Take care of her.

You just need honesty. You need the truth. You wait a few minutes in the afterglow.

"What are you running from?" You whisper, your lips inches away from hers.

"What?" Her voice equally as quiet, as soft.

You might actually have a real conversation. You might actually get somewhere.

"Why are we here?"

She pushes back, and you realize too late that you've fucked up. She's standing almost too quickly, before you properly understand what's happening. The towel back around her and you know now you've ruined the moment.

That's usually her specialty.

"What, this isn't enough for you?" She gestures around the room. "Can't just be fucking grateful I brought you here, you have to ask me prying questions?"

You scramble to your feet.

"No. No that's not what I mean, please—"

"You're accusing me again, is that what you're doing?" She waves her hands around wildly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Face still flushed.

"No, accusing you of what? Ms Harkness please I just—I want—"

"You're a spoiled little brat who asks too many questions, and you need to start behaving."

Your heart sinks, you know she's protecting herself. Acting out to scare you off. It's obvious. You won't let her get to you.

"I just want to help you!" You yell as she tries to get out of the room, trying not to sound angry, just loud.

"If you wanna help me—" she mocks your voice "—then you make me coffee, you make me come, and you don't get involved in my personal shit, understand?"

She's out the door before you can stop her, back on the deck naked under the towel, it's slipping off of her as she grabs it with one hand.

"You can't escape me, we're on a boat!" You yell after her. She doesn't turn around. "And your towel is slipping!"

She keeps walking.

"Everyone's gonna see you naked!" You yell, just trying to get some kind of reaction out of her. "N-D-Fucking-A!" She yells back at you, the towel slips further, and she disappears off into another room.

You wipe your face with the palm of your hand. If you're going to be together, or whatever this is, you're going to have to figure out how to communicate with her.

Maybe you'd be panicking if you hadn't spent so much time with her recently, or if you weren't both stuck here on this yacht.

She's hard work, but at this point she feels like your hard work.

And you can't ignore the feelings in your chest. The look in her eyes. The tone of her voice. You know she cares.

You just have to prove to do too.

---

The shower is warm, with excellent pressure for a boat.

If Agatha breaks up with you, if you could even call it that at this point, will you be able to go back to crappy showers?

Less breaking up with you and more firing you as her personal assistant. As her very close very personal assistant.

Your hair is drying in the towel when you put on some of the loungewear from your bag. Burberry sweatpants she bought for you feel very similar to the ones you used to own, but you don't protest.

You scroll on your phone for a bit trying to pass the time to let her cool off. There's no wifi. No signal. You scroll through every social media you have even though half of it won't load, and clean out your photo gallery from the past month. Why do you screenshot things you never look at again?

Eventually it feels like enough time has passed that she might have calmed down. Might be open to talking. So you explore the boat to find her.

The staff smile and stand still when you see them, like they're trying to blend in. It's almost eerie. Does she make them do this?

You almost want to ask them if they've seen her, but between the sex they've clearly been hearing and the argument they almost certainly also heard it feels a little awkward to even show them you're still here.

Not that you could be anywhere else.

Agatha isn't in the first few rooms you check, and it feels blatantly obvious when you find her that she would have been here all along. The library.

Arms crossed in the corner, on a large maroon leather armchair, she reads an oversized book. A different one than this morning. Her square glasses on her nose.

Wearing a t-shirt.

You almost choke. A t-shirt? Soft. Cozy. Home. If only she'd let you crawl into her lap and pretend you didn't try and get information out of her. If only there wasn't information to get out of her in the first place.

You knock a little on the wooden doorframe, not wanting to scare her, even though she probably heard you a mile off.

"Mhmm."

You step in cautiously. The floor in here is cool. The room dark woods like her office at the penthouse.

"Sorry about—"

She cuts you off.

"Pick a book, you can read whatever you like."

This again. The avoidance. Maybe she isn't as perfect as you sometimes think.

But then her eyes rise from the pages and meet yours. Soft and blue. Her hair dry and fluffy now. And you regret even having that thought.

"You're smart, I bet you could cram more in there." She smiles. Like she didn't say hurtful things to you just an hour ago. Like you didn't try break her open.

"There's a lot of books in here." You state the obvious as your eyes scan the room and there are a lot of books in here. "Which ones have you read?"

"All of them."

You nod approvingly.

"I was actually going to ask if we could watch a movie?"

"A movie?"

"Yeah, you have a lounge with some DVDs. I saw when we arrived."

"So you did. I really only have a few. Like I said in LA, not really any time for movies." She's studying you like she's deciding whether you're actually okay or not.

"But you have time for every book on the boat?" You smile. She shrugs.

"Priorities, I guess."

You don't care about the movie, not really.

You were hoping the act of watching and not having to talk right away would relieve any awkwardness between you both quickly. Like a first date between teenagers.

Still, it seems she isn't as upset as you thought she would be. But you will have to process this soon. The longer we wait, the longer we push it back, you think.

There's a long matching couch opposite the chair she's sat on, and it's comfortable cool leather as you curl up onto it. Watching her as she watches you. Her eyes clearly just scanning the page of the book. Like she's pretending to read it. Like she's pretending she doesn't want you to talk.

"What was the last movie you watched?"

"It was french."

She slams the book when she realizes every time she reads a book, you talk.

"That's okay, you can still tell me about it."

She smiles. You're learning her. Knowing she actually does want to talk to you. It's hard to know properly whether she likes that or not.

"It was about a woman who thinks she's going to die. Spends all her day changing her perception of herself. Discovering herself."

You nod along.

"She isn't sick, in the end. Doesn't die. But she's changed. She's grown. It's beautiful."

"Sounds interesting. Is it your favorite?"

"It's one of the few DVDs I have. Maybe you wouldn't like it." She offers.

"Maybe I would."

She smiles, just a little.

"Maybe."

"Did you watch it with your grandma?"

The smile drops a little, then comes back again.

"No. But it does remind me of her, in a way...inquisitive aren't you?"

"That's why you like me." She rolls her eyes. "Will you tell me about her? Your grandma?"

She sighs like she's trying to figure out what to say. Placing the book on a small wooden table next to her. She doesn't mark the page in any way. Maybe she knows what happens at the end of the story, maybe she doesn't care.

"What's her house like?" You offer, breaking the question into something smaller.

She seems more excited at this.

"Oh it's fabulous. Absolutely stunning." She beams. Of course she'd be excited to talk about property. Her hands are sharp and animated as she talks.

"Dates back to 1856, beautiful private little château." You try not to laugh at the words 'château' and 'little' being spoken by old-money Agatha Harkness and focus.

"Remarkable gardens, fountains my grandfather added inspired by Versailles. Tree lined driveway. He even added these adorable little gargoyles and towers that very much weren't there when the place was built. Portraits everywhere my grandmother purchased. Furniture I've kept, furniture i've gotten rid of that my mother added later."

You're interrupted by a member of the crew bringing her a cup of herbal tea. She must have ordered it when you weren't here. She doesn't recognize him in any way, just takes the cup like he isn't there as she continues to talk. He waits for a second to make sure the tea is to her liking, before she waves him away to leave.

"There was this little space down in the wine cellar nobody knew about, nobody except me of course being a child. Tiny little spot. You'd crawl down there and the grown-ups couldn't find you. Couldn't get you to..." she trails off, her eyes a little sad as she takes a scalding sip of tea. "Anyway it's perfect. I try to visit when I can."

You cuddle into yourself a little hearing her talk. "Do your family still live there."

She smiles with tight lips. "I don't have family, dear. Just me."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean—"

She raises her hand to silence you.

"When did she pass, your grandma?"

"When I was eight."

You think she's going to stop, but she doesn't. She continues for the first time without you having to push her.

"We lived in Salem after that, though I was there frequently anyway so i could 'learn the business'" she air quotes, deepening her voice like she's making fun of someone you've never met. "I spent time in France for maybe half of my childhood off and on. It was nice. Fresh. Grandmother cooked good food. I played on the grounds. Hid away in the cellar reading."

"Which is what you're doing right now." You offer, gesturing around.

"I suppose you're right." She smiles, taking another sip of tea.

"And you inherited the house when...when your parents?"

"When my mother died, yes. I had no contact with my father other than when he'd talk to my grandfather for business, they both passed when I was very young as well."

Jesus Christ. This woman is cursed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Really. It was welcome."

You don't say anything. Enjoying the talking. Not wanting to shy her away. Not wanting to ruin it.

"I didn't see them for a good while anyway. Boarding schools. Church school. Difficult and pretentious fucking camps. Etiquette classes. Pray the gay away. Business school. Italian tutor. French tutor." Her hands dig into the cup until her knuckles are white. "Math tutor. More fucking etiquette classes. Don't go into this room. Don't go into that room. Don't eat or you'll get fat. Don't listen to music with lyrics because it's the devil in your ear. Don't bother with art because the value isn't as real as they say it is." She stops abruptly, like she's in a therapy session and hadn't noticed yet.

You hold your breath.

"Sorry I—"

"You need to stop being sorry."

She stares at you. You stare back. She sips the tea in silence until it's gone, and places the mug down gently.

"Grandmother wasn't like that, not when I was a child at least. She would have endured my rebellious phases better."

You tilt your head to the side, smiling to try and lighten the mood. "You had a rebel phase?" She smiles back, all teeth. "I'm still in it"

The warmth of the room radiating over you. It goes silent for a long while as you sit in what you created. The space for conversation. Just the sound of the boat engine as you drive to god knows where. But you trust the driver, because despite everything, you trust Agatha. Maybe more now than ever.

"Will you read it to me?" You point to the book she was reading.

"What, out loud?"

"Yeah."

She looks uncertain for a moment, picking it up slowly with slender fingers and opening the page back up. Clearing her throat.

"Most of the people who consulted the Oracle at Delphi were wealthy individuals or even heads of state. The long path leading up the mountain to Apollo’s temple, called the Sacred Way, was lined with treasure houses. These treasuries were filled with costly gifts that leaders and cities had given to Apollo..."

Her words get quieter as you slowly drift off, your eyes getting heavier and heavier, until.

You awake suddenly from a dreamless sleep. Surprised to find a soft brown cashmere blanket thrown over you. The lights off. God what time is it? Agatha was opening up to you and you fell asleep?

Today has been exhausting. This week has been exhausting. She won't mind. And you feel confident in that.

Rubbing your eyes as you wander through the boat, the sun hasn't quite set but the smell of something roasting is thick in the air. Heading towards the kitchen you spot her in the dining room playing idly with an elastic band.

She shoves it in her pocket when she notices you coming.

"I was just about to come get you, sleepy head." Her voice is almost too animated like she's playing a vintage television character.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing." She raises her eyebrow. "They're preparing an early dinner because I keep forgetting I have to feed you, and it seems you do too."

"I guess I am nothing without my schedule."

"And I am also nothing without your schedule."

"You're supposed to feed yourself too, you know." You slide into the chair opposite her.

"Shut up." Her hands drum on the table in front of you. It feels like you're playing house with her. The table is wooden but modern. Chairs tall and very slightly uncomfortable. You wonder if she picked all the furniture on here or whether it comes with the boat. It feels like a boring question to ask.

There's something odd behind her eyes you can't quite place, so you reach your hand out to her.

Surprisingly, she takes it instantly. Firmly stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I had them stock orange soda, by the way. So no man will have to squeeze oranges for you unless you want them to."

You laugh. "Aw man, but I liked it when a man has to squeeze the fruits!"

She laughs at your laugh, pointing into the kitchen. "Watch what you say to me because you know i'd make it happen."

"I know."

"I'm very important you know." You both say at the same time, her mouth agape as you openly mock her in front of her face.

She lets go of your hand and dramatically gasps.

"Wow. Well clearly you do not, or you wouldn't have done that."

She squints a little at you, you wonder if she's thinking about punishment.

Whatever verbal foreplay she was about to throw down is cut short when the waiter brings you both a steaming plate of something beige and beautiful. It's not Adrian. Did she fire him? What happens if you fire crew when you're already at sea?

Trying not to worry too much about it, you dig in right away, making sure to eat the main element of the meal. Some kind of meat substitute.

Agatha reminds you to eat your vegetables. You roll your eyes. She gives you a stern glare for even trying it.

It's then you notice her lack of eating, pushing food around her plate a little like something is wrong. This isn't her, you think. If she were really okay, she'd be making some huge mess like she failed all the etiquette classes she was talking about. Maybe she is a rebel after all.

"Are you alright?" You ask, popping a carrot in your mouth.

"I got invited to a party."

You can feel yourself making a face.

"Okay? You get invited to parties all the time. Should I RSVP for you?"

"No. It's an old friend, associate more like. She has an island near mine, nearby here. We've been circling it while I buy us some time." She gestures to the water outside of the window.

"What? You've been avoiding someone all day?" No wonder she was so tense. "Why? We could just go to the party."

"And we will. We have to. I have to keep up appearances."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You have to go as my assistant, of course."

You feel a little disappointed, but overall this is what you signed the NDA for. It's really fine.

"Okay? That's okay."

"Okay." She repeats, taking a hesitant bite. "I told you this would be like a vacation. They're....not the best people."

"And neither are you, you literally keep telling me this."

She seems a little frustrated at the fact you aren't taking this very seriously. Unless she's worried about people snapping photos of the two of you. Of the hickeys on your neck. Of the way she looks at you.

"They'd have their own assistants too. You could always talk to them."

Ah. This one hurts a little.

"I won't be able to talk to you?"

"Look I know you've been to parties with me before, but these people aren't like the people we meet at those events. This is her island. It's free. Real. The only rules are her rules."

Suddenly this sounds a little scary. Are they going to sacrifice you or something? You almost laugh.

"Ms Harkness I'm sure it'll be fine. It's just a party."

"I know. And it is. I just didn't want you feeling uncomfortable not being able to rely on me. You won't know anyone."

This is what she's worried about?

"I can meet your friends, it's not a big deal." Hitting all the relationship milestones, one weird and overly dramatic step at a time. Very Agatha.

"You likely won't and they're not my friends." She clashes her fork with the plate. "But fine."

She stands up, leaving most of her meal on the plate.

"We'll be arriving shortly, i'll pick you an outfit."

She wipes her hands on her trousers before heading away from the table, you're still eating. Tonight? That's not very good notice.

But how do you protest? You already agreed.

An island party with other affluent people. That seems normal. Or at least expected. At some point you knew this would happen, right? Going to an event, both of you hiding this secret. Watching Agatha interact with others like she doesn't know you. Doesn't care for you.

It hurts a little to think about, but no more than you expected it to anyway.

And you get to see her in her element, you think. No gala. No press. No charity. Agatha talking to others in her circle as her full authentic self.

The thought excites you, little do you realize you never could have prepared for it.

--

A/N Cliffhangers suck and I'm sorry! But it's kind of needed for the emotional switch up we're heading into. As always thank you sm for the love on the chapters! I'm obsessed with these two.