Valox

You don’t know what drove you to do it. Or rather, you do know. All too well.

You snuck out at night, like a thief, leaving your husband in bed.

How ironic. Until recently, you were responsible, a devoted wife, someone who tried her best to make the relationship work.

Of course, that was before you found out your husband was systematically cheating on you. Every sudden meeting, every urgent deadline, every project he had to work on late into the night—it was actually his boss secretary riding his cock in a seedy motel.

So what was the point of struggling to hold together the shards of something that was shattering right before your eyes?

What was the point of settling for your vibrator, masturbating silently in the bathroom, biting your lips and stifling your desperate need for someone to make you come the way your husband hadn’t even dreamed of doing for so long—far too long—while he had no qualms about shoving his cock into another woman’s pussy?

One day you stopped by the construction site where you thought you’d find your husband to bring him his favorite sandwich.

You didn’t find him. But you found Joel, his boss.

He was nice. He told you your husband was out to lunch. “Actually, he’s running late—he was supposed to be back half an hour ago.”

You looked at him. You looked at the desk next to his, and then back at him.

“Where’s Joanne?”

“At lunch,” he told you.

“They always disappear at the same time, right?”

You saw the exact moment when something clicked in his brain, when he connected the dots and his eyebrows furrowed, his lower lip trembling.

“Shit,” he whispered, his hands on his hips.

He didn’t dare look at you anymore, his eyes fixed on Joanne’s empty chair.

You didn’t want to cry, but you felt your cheeks streaked and wet.

Joel looked embarrassed, sorry, still confused as to how something like that had slipped his mind.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” he tried to explain.

“It’s not your fault, you know. A wife notices that kind of thing…” you said, quickly wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

Joel hugged you.

Driving home, you spent the whole time thinking about why you’d chosen a man like your husband instead of someone like Joel.

Why did you always fall in love with jerks? Why did you always let them treat you that way?

Your husband was late again. By now, you’d given up hope that he’d change. You pretended to be asleep, waited for him to get into bed and hear him snoring, and then you slipped out from under the covers.

Fuck it. Fuck him and the way he never knew how to satisfy you. Or take you into consideration. He’d been taking you for granted for at least a year.

At that point, you’d had enough of having dinner ready for him, the house clean, and his clothes washed and perfectly ironed.

Fuck it.

You threw on a dress in a hurry, fixed your hair, grabbed your bike, and started pedaling into the night. You weren’t even thinking about where you were going as the wind whipped against your face and your bike’s light cut through the darkness.

You arrived in front of Joel’s house. You left your bike in his driveway and knocked on the door.

The light was on in his bedroom. You heard his footsteps approaching as you waited under his porch in total silence.

The neighborhood was asleep.

“What are you doing here? Did something happen?” Joel asked you. He seemed surprised but stepped aside to let you in.

“Sorry for showing up here at this hour,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling the weight of what you were doing. “Joel, he…”

“Did he do it again?” he interrupted, looking at you with concern.

You instinctively buried your face in his chest. Joel didn’t touch you, but he let you do it.

“I’m so tired, so tired,” you cried, soaking his shirt.

You looked at him through your tears, asking the one question you were truly afraid to ask.

“I have to file for divorce, don’t I?”

“I mean…not my business but he’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you,” Joel nodded.

You knew that.

Joel had become your confidant by chance, but he’d been a good friend.

You’d been talking for a few weeks, ever since the first time he’d comforted you.

It was nice. He was nice. 

You didn't have the courage, and you'd never been the vengeful type, but a few times you were on the verge of asking him to fire your husband.

Joel’s hands rested on your shoulders, then on your back, holding you close. “Cry,” he said simply, in a gentle voice, “let it all out.”

Joel was warm. He was gentle, reassuring, affectionate. And you needed that.

Your tear-filled eyes met his again, his knuckles brushed your cheek in a barely perceptible caress.

You took his hand. Clasping it tightly in yours, you pressed your lips to the back of his hand, whispering, “Thank you, Joel.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, smiling at you “You can stay here for a while if you want. I'll go to my room, but call me if you need anything.”

“No, please, don’t leave me alone…” you begged him, unable to let go of his hand.

You hadn’t held a man’s hand in a long time, and Joel’s fingers intertwined with yours felt wonderful.

A feeling you’d been missing.

“What can I do for you?” he asked you. No one had asked you anything like that in years.

No one had paid you any attention in months. 

Your husband fucked you lazily a couple of times recently, just quick thrusts, without any care or feeling, just out of marital duty. It was as if he were having sex with an inflatable doll. 

It made you feel stupid and inadequate, without any charm or allure.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I…” You were afraid. Afraid to express what you were feeling, to say what you were going through, to put a name to what Joel was making you feel.

You realized you were trembling in his arms. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t fear—it was desire.

And when your brain registered it, sending the message to the lower part of your body, you felt a warmth rising from your stomach. A sensation similar to when you let yourself go in the privacy of your bathroom, slipping the vibrator into your panties.

So screw it.

“I just want to feel alive again, I want passion… I want…”

“Sex?” He interrupted you. Straight to the point.

“I…yeah” you lowered your gaze, looking at the tips of your shoes.

“With me?” He asked, gently taking your chin with two fingers and bringing your gaze back to his.

“P-Please…” you muttered.

You couldn't have thought of anyone else. No one who made you feel as safe as Joel.

“Take my hand where you want it,” he invited you. He was calm, reading your eyes, sensing your need.

“Take my hand where you want it”

Holding him by the wrist, you lifted your dress with your other hand, placing Joel’s hand on your hip, just above the waistband of your panties. Joel’s hand was relaxed; he let you guide it.

That was all it took.

You were standing in his living room, and the way Joel’s eyes were looking at you made you think you deserved more. You deserved someone who would look at you as intensely as he was. You deserved him.

Joel held you gently, respectfully; his fingers lingered at the hem of your panties, waiting for your consent. He didn’t go any further, letting you enjoy the weight of his hand on you, his warmth, and his long, calloused fingers resting on your bare skin.

You basked in that sensation, feeling your body come back to life, ignite, and burn.

Joel had never allowed himself to cross the line; he’d always acted like a friend up until that moment—never an inappropriate joke, never a mean remark, never trying to dominate you or force you to do anything you weren’t ready for.

But now, this unexpected closeness was telling you everything you needed to know. His gaze spoke for him, as did his hands and his hips, which moved involuntarily against yours, like a reflex he couldn’t control. He lowered his gaze, you even thought you saw him blush.

You were ready to allow yourself to think about yourself—and only yourself—as you hadn't done in far too long.

You let his hand slide down onto your panties.

His fingers moved cautiously, sliding down at the side, as if he were afraid to get too close to your center.

“Joel…”

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want you” you hesitated for a second before adding, “I want you to remind me what it feels like… touch me, Joel.” Your voice was shaky as you looked into his eyes. But you were certain, more certain than you’d ever been about anything.

“Guide me, then. Use your words, sweetheart, tell me exactly how you want me to touch you.”

And you did. 

His hand slid down over your mound, while his mouth was on your neck, kissing and sucking on you tender skin. 

His index and middle fingers found your wetness, plunging into it, gathering it up, and guiding it toward your clit.

You moaned, and when he began to trace tight concentric circles on your nerve bundle, you praised him, “Like that… just like that, don’t stop.”

Joel tried to take it slow and steady; whenever he applied too much pressure, you gently corrected him, and he caught on immediately, learning to read your body’s reactions.

His other hand clasped your breast again, and you found enough strength to whisper, “Play with my nipples.”

Two of his fingers closed around it, twisting it, pulling gently, making it harden. A shiver ran down your spine, and a guttural sound escaped your throat: “God… yes.”

He was completely focused on you; his clothed erection was pressing against your thigh, but he didn't seem bothered by it. 

Your dress slipped over your head shortly after, he pulled down your bra, and his fingers were around your button again.

He leaned down, his fingers still tracing circles over your clit as your nipple slipped between his lips. He began to suck slowly, his tongue darting over the tip, his hand cupping the underside of your breast, testing your softness.

“Bite it…” you moaned, your hand tugging his hair at the base of his neck. 

He did it, softly, holding his bite ever so gently but squeezing enough to make your knees buckle.

He smiled on your skin, watching you slowly fall apart for him. 

“You like that, huh? Want more?” 

“Yes” you replied under your breath, clutching your other hand on his bicep. 

“This pussy’s been neglected for too long, babe, you want me to take care of her?” He whispered.

“Please…that’s all I want” you whined.

“Table, couch, bed… choose” he growled. 

“Table” You didn't know how long it had been since your husband had slammed you onto your kitchen table to fuck you. He'd done it when you were newlyweds. Now it was a faint memory.

God, you missed that type of passion so badly. 

Joel took you in his arms, your legs around his waist. He pushed you on the table, took off your shoes and slid your panties down. 

“Taking this a little souvenir, okay?” He said, pushed them down the pocket of his jeans. 

You giggled “yeah, why not” 

He looked at you, all spread and open for him. 

“You look amazing like that” 

You felt your cheeks heat up as you begged him, “Fuck me, Joel, please.”

“How do you want it?” he asked. He was calm and composed, waiting for your instructions, despite the bulge growing in his pants. 

“Rough,” you replied, “and raw.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Joel.” You smiled at him. You had a IUD and you trusted him more than any man you knew.

Joel wasn’t a womanizer. He raised his daughter on his own, built a company from scratch, he didn't have time to screw around. 

But boy, he fucked you like crazy that night. 

He leaned down over you, kissed a trail down your neck, along your collarbone, and down your arm until he took your fingers into his mouth. 

He coated them with his saliva, his tongue gliding skillfully over them. He released them, smirking. 

“Do me a favor, okay? Use them on your clit while I fuck you. I'd really love to see it”

You nodded, feeling your whole body aching for him..

He took off his shirt, revealing his freckled, tanned chest. Your mouth watered at the sight. He was so handsome. Muscular, but not too much. Your eyes took in his broad shoulders, his biceps, and drifted down to the happy trail that disappeared into his jeans. He pulled them down, kicking them off.  When his boxers joined his jeans on the floor, you were left breathless. 

He was huge. He wrapped one hand around it, moving closer. 

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s okay, it’ll fit.”

You were soaking wet. With every centimeter he entered you, you felt his veins sliding against your walls, his girth stretching you, as you eagerly sucked his cocked in. 

Joel was praising you, whispering in your ear, “Good girl. All nice and wet for me. You’re taking it so well.”

Every word that slipped into your ears sounded like honey—or perhaps like a poison that was hypnotizing you. You liked it. You wanted more. Moans rose from your throat uncontrollably. 

“All the w-way in,” you managed to stammer, “give it to m-me. . . all of it, Joel.”

When he reached the bottom, you felt his balls press against your butt. 

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” You were filled to the brim. Craig, your husband, couldn't even come close to competing. He had a nice cock, sure, but Joel...

He grabbed your legs, holding them slightly raised with his arms, and started moving.

You were bouncing on the table as if you weighed nothing, while he thrust into you. 

One of his hands reached for your breast, the other held you by the hips.

“That's what you needed, right? For me to stuff you like this? To stretch out this pretty little pussy, huh?” He grunted. 

“Yes. Yes Joel”

He lifted you up to sit on the table, sliding you along the edge—still inside you—while holding one of your legs. 

The change in position allowed him to reach that special spot inside you. 

You slid your hand down between the two of you, reaching your clit.

“Yeah, baby, touch yourself.”

It was intoxicating. As soon as you started drawing circles on your bundle of nerves, you started moaning his name, over and over. So loud that you thought the whole neighborhood would hear you. 

Your breasts were pressed against his sweat-beaded chest, your nipples rubbing against it with every thrust.

Your other hand slid through his hair, tugging at his curls. 

“That’s it, gorgeous, Don’t stop stroking that pretty clit for me”

That idiot Craig never let you do it, every time you tried, he complained that he wasn't enough for you.

Joel was urging you on, “Come on, baby, I know you’re close, I can feel the way you’re clenching around me” speeding up the pace.

You did, your cunt was literally spasming around the huge thickness of his cock, crying all over, juices dripping on your inner thighs. 

You came, quivering in his arms, your whole body shaking, overstimulated and exhausted. 

He came right after you with a convulsive thrust of his hips, unloading his cum inside you in long, thick spurts. 

“Everything okay?” he asked you, as soon as he caught his breath. 

He gently kissed your lips, cupping your cheek. 

You smiled. You hadn't smiled like that in so long you couldn't even remember when.

“It was amazing. Everything I could have wanted, and more.” You returned his kiss, lingering on the taste of him. 

Craig was no longer even in the back of your mind. He and his lover could have a happy life—you didn't care.

It had been a horrible date.

You should’ve known the second the guy, Mark, only talked about crypto and how his parents had inherited money from some fucking oil empire. It became painfully obvious within the first ten minutes that he'd never had to worry about paying rent for his absurdly overpriced downtown apartment with its skyline view.

Unlike you.

Some months you stretched every single penny until it practically begged for mercy, just to make sure you made it to the next paycheck without surviving on instant noodles. There was no trust fund waiting in the wings. No wealthy parents. No safety net.

So it was safe to say your realities couldn't have been more different.

You tried to be polite, carrying the conversation where you could, but when he started talking about tennis lessons and the private coach he'd hired to improve his serve, your mind quietly checked out.

Instead, it wandered somewhere infinitely more familiar.

To Frankie.

You could picture him so vividly it almost hurt. His strong arm draped over the back of your chair, rolling those warm brown eyes so dramatically they'd practically disappear into his skull while muttering something about rich dudes being all talk and no action.

"Bet I could beat him at arm wrestling."

You'd ugly-snort into laughter, hiding your face against the broad shoulder straining beneath his well-worn denim shirt.

Frankie would grin. That crooked, impossibly boyish grin you loved so much. The one that somehow made you forget the man pushing forty. The one that softened the hard edges years of war, grief, and bad decisions had carved into him.

With terrifying clarity, it hit you just how much you missed him. He'd been away for weeks on another flying contract, and his absence had lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable between your ribs.

While Mark rambled on about God knew what, you reached for your phone beneath the table. Your last message still sat there.

You: Text me when you're back on homeland. Take care. ❤️

—

At least Mark paid.

Outside the restaurant, you exchanged an awkward hug before climbing into your ancient Honda Civic.

The second the driver's door shut, you sent him a polite text thanking him for the evening, telling him you didn't think you were compatible and blocked his number.

With a tired sigh, you pulled onto the road. Taylor Swift filled the car as The Prophecy echoed through the speakers. You really didn't know how you kept picking the wrong men. None of them ever sparked the kindling you kept hoping for. Most of them only managed to light every warning sign imaginable.

Your thoughts drifted aimlessly until your car answered with a horrible metallic groan.

"...No."

A plume of white smoke burst from beneath the hood.

"No, no, no—"

The engine sputtered violently as you barely managed to wrestle the Civic onto the gravel shoulder before it gave one final, pitiful cough and died.

"Shit!"

Your palm slammed against the steering wheel before the horn blared into the empty night and your head fell back against the seat.

Perfect.

It was pitch black. Nothing but distant city lights behind you. No road signs. No passing traffic. No anything.

Your eyes drifted toward the dashboard.

11:57 p.m.

Great.

Tow services weren't exactly eager to rescue people in the middle of nowhere after midnight. Even if they were you couldn't afford one. Your mind raced through every person you could possibly call when your phone suddenly lit up.

Francisco 💙 calling...

A laugh escaped you before you even answered.

"Heyyy, preciosa."

God, you'd missed that voice.

"How are you doing?"

Despite everything, you smiled. The real smile. The one that only ever seemed to belong to him.

"Hi, how was your flight back?"

He exhaled dramatically. "Had some turbulence. Sucked. But I landed in one piece, so..."

"Thank God."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then—

"You home?"

You shook your head before remembering he couldn't see it. "No, sir."

A sheepish pause. "Actually... I was on a date."

"...A date?" His voice flattened immediately. "With who?"

"His name's Mark. Rich crypto guy."

A sharp inhale crackled through the speaker. "Damn."

You couldn't help laughing.

"One of those again?"

"Don't get me started. It was horrible. You would've hated him. He even smelled expensive."

Frankie let out a low whistle. "One of those, huh? I really gotta start questioning your taste in men, preciosa."

You snorted. "Fair."

Silence lingered another moment.

"I..." You sighed. "Actually, my car broke down on the way home. I'm stranded."

Another beat.

"...You are what?"

"My Honda died somewhere off Highway 65."

"I managed to get onto the shoulder, but it just…quit."

"You in the car?"

"Yeah. But it won't start. And there's no point in calling a tow truck now."

"Why the hell would you call a tow truck?"

His answer came so quickly it almost overlapped yours.

"You call me."

"You literally just got home, Frankie."

"So what ?"

You heard keys jangling. A door opening. His footsteps already moving.

"Send me your location."

"Frankie...it's almost midnight."

"Exactly. And you're sitting alone on the side of a highway. I'll come get you and tomorrow morning Will and I'll come back for your Honda."

"No, it's okay. I don't want to cause any—"

"—unpleasantness?" Frankie actually scoffed. "The only unpleasant thing right now is you sitting alone in the dark."

His voice changed, dropped lower. Got firmer. It was his military tone. The one that left absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Send.Me.Your.Location."

You sank farther into your seat. "...Okay."

Your phone had, naturally, chosen tonight to hover at one percent. You hurriedly shared your location. The screen blinked once and then the call died.

"...Fuck."

The silence that followed somehow felt louder than before.

—

Without the distraction of your phone, the minutes crawled by. You tried not to think about every horror movie you'd ever seen that started with a broken-down car. Nervously, you nibbled at your thumb until finally a pair of familiar headlights cut through the darkness.

The engine had barely fallen silent before Frankie climbed out of his old truck—Betsy, as he lovingly called her.

With far more flourish than necessary, your car door swung open, letting in the cold night air. He leaned one arm against the frame, pointing at you.

"You okay?"

You nodded, only for your eyes to unexpectedly fill with tears of relief that blurred your vision.

"Did somebody stop?"

You shook your head. Only then did he visibly exhale.

"Dios mío... you scared me."

You let out a watery laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He immediately shook his head. "None of that."

His voice softened. "C'mon. Let's get you warm, hm?"

He helped you out of your car, walked around to grab your bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder with zero fucks given before tossing it onto the backseat of his truck.

Without really thinking, you folded into him while he held the passenger door open for you.

He was warm. Smelling faintly of sweat, gasoline, and the aftershave he always wore. His arms came around you without hesitation, secure and intimate, before he pressed a kiss into your hair. Your heart squeezed painfully inside your chest at that.

"Thank you," you could only murmur against his broad chest, the words muffled by his Henley.

"For what exactly?"

"For rescuing me. For..." You smiled to yourself. "Being you. For everything, I guess."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

You only shook your head against him, letting his warmth seep into every part of you.

It was the first time all day, honestly, the first time since he'd left that you felt completely at ease.

"Missed you," you admitted. 

You felt him smile against your hair. "That so?"

"Mhm."

A beat passed.

"Missed you too."

His arms tightened just a little, and you could've sworn his heartbeat picked up beneath your cheek.

—

Once you were settled in Betsy and the heater had begun chasing the chill from your bones, Frankie handed you a charging cable.

"So your phone doesn't die on me again."

Then a bottle of water, of course. Frankie the caretaker.

"I brought you something from the trip," he said after a few miles, eyes never leaving the road. "It's in the glove compartment."

You blinked at him. "You... brought me something?"

He shrugged.

"My birthday isn't until summer."

"Oh, I know."

Another shrug. "But I saw it and thought of you."

You smiled despite yourself before opening the compartment. A small bracelet slipped into your palm, decorated with tiny shells and beautiful blue stones that caught the dashboard lights. It was gorgeous.

"Frankie..."

You immediately fastened it around your wrist.

"I love it."

"Really?"

He finally glanced over for half a second.

"I wasn't sure. But the lady in the shop said it'd make a nice gift for someone special."

You looked up. "Someone special?"

He groaned. "Oh, please. Don't start."

A grin tugged at your lips. "Sorry, sorry. I'll behave."

He snorted, shaking his head as he looked back at the road. 

You absentmindedly turned the bracelet around your wrist with your thumb, watching the little blue stones catch the passing streetlights.

He'd seen it. Thought of you. Bought it without needing a reason or an occasion.

Your date hadn't even remembered that you didn’t like coffee. Frankie had crossed half the county in the middle of the night and somehow still found the time to bring you home a piece of the ocean.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

Tom snorted, hauling a cooler from the trunk. “The man once sprained an ankle in adult kickball. Don’t let him fool you.”

“Shut the hell up,” Benny said, grinning too wide to actually be offended.

Ben had sworn up and down that Frankie would thank him later. Something about this being a “unique way to unwind” instead of their usual method, which involved one too many beers and Frankie pretending he wasn’t silently calculating everyone’s Uber limit. Tom, Will, Santi, Benny, and Frankie—five grown men with military pasts, combat scars, and an average age high enough to qualify for early-bird specials—stood in the middle of Camp Backtrack with duffel bags and cooler beer sweat already soaking through their shirts.

Will adjusted his sunglasses and surveyed the scene like he was on recon. “Looks harmless enough.”

“That’s what they said about paintball that one time,” Frankie grumbled.

“You’re still bitter,” Tom said.

“Because you shot me in the ass,” Frankie replied.

“Accidentally!”

Santi finally spoke up, dry as dust: “Sure. Just like you ‘accidentally’ invited us to a camp where people are currently forming trust circles and chanting.”

They all turned. Sure enough, across the lawn a group of thirty-somethings were linking arms, laughing way too loud for a Friday at four p.m. Frankie groaned.

“This is gonna be a nightmare,” he said.

Benny clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him into the cooler. “Relax, Fish. Give it a day. By tomorrow you’ll be thanking me. Hell, maybe you’ll even make a friendship bracelet.”

Frankie gave him a look that said over my dead body.

By Saturday morning, Frankie had already lost two games of cornhole to Benny and was one lukewarm pancake away from calling it quits. The camp director—some guy in cargo shorts with the boundless energy of a golden retriever—announced the day’s big event: a group canoe-and-kayak outing on the lake.

“Finally,” Will muttered, dragging a kayak toward the water. “Something that doesn’t involve human pyramids.”

Frankie sighed, but followed. At least paddling was straightforward. No nametags, no icebreakers, just water and quiet. Or it would have been, if he hadn’t noticed you.

You were standing near the racks of canoes, trying—and failing—to wrestle one down. The thing tilted dangerously, like it might flatten you. Your friends were already in the water, calling encouragement, but you just rolled your eyes and kept wrestling with it.

“Need a hand?” Frankie asked, stepping forward before his brain could veto.

You glanced up, squinting against the sun. Younger than him, tank top clinging to your shoulders, cutoff shorts already streaked with dust. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, but when you smiled—easy, mischievous—it hit him harder than he expected.

“Well, if it isn’t my assigned camp counselor,” you teased, releasing your grip and letting him steady the canoe. “You’ve clearly done this before.”

Frankie cleared his throat, adjusting his cap. “Something like that.”

You arched a brow. “Good. I’d hate to end up swimming before I even leave shore.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, guiding the canoe down with practiced ease. “I’ll make sure you don’t drown.”

“Wow,” you said with a grin, picking up one end, “promises already? We just met.”

The spark was instant—there, in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on yours, the way his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure he should.

From behind, Benny hollered: “Fish! Quit flirting and help me with this cooler!”

Frankie shot him a glare over his shoulder, which only earned him a wolf whistle. When he turned back, you were laughing again, shaking your head.

“Guess I’ll see you out on the lake, counselor,” you said, and for the first time since arriving, Frankie didn’t mind being stuck there.

Later that night, the bonfire crackled high, sparks shooting into the dark sky while someone’s Bluetooth speaker battled against a half-drunken chorus of camp songs. You nursed a plastic cup of something suspiciously strong, heat from the fire kissing your face while the night air cooled your bare legs.

The guys Frankie came with were loud—Benny especially, who’d somehow convinced half the circle to play drinking games no one remembered the rules to. Frankie sat a little apart, beer bottle in hand, cap pulled low, like he was here under duress. Which, if you had to guess, he was.

You slid down onto the log beside him, close enough to catch the warm edge of his shoulder. “You look like you’re here under protest,” you said, nudging him lightly.

He turned, and in the glow of the firelight his eyes caught yours—tired, maybe, but softer than you expected. “Wasn’t sure about coming,” he admitted, voice low, like he hadn’t planned on confessing it. He took a sip of his beer, gaze flicking back to the fire. “Figured it’d just be a bunch of—” He gestured vaguely toward the group breaking into off-key singing, “—this.”

You smiled, waiting him out.

Frankie shifted, his knee brushing yours. “But… I guess it’s not so bad.” His mouth twitched, like he knew he wasn’t being convincing. Then, quieter, “You’re making it better.”

That landed heavier than he meant it to, judging by the way his hand tightened around the neck of his bottle.

You tilted your cup toward him. “Not bad, counselor. Almost smooth.”

His laugh came rough and self-conscious, like he hadn’t been trying to flirt and accidentally did anyway. “Almost, huh?”

The rowdiness around you swelled—Benny yelling about a talent show, Santiago strumming a borrowed guitar badly, Will egging him on. Laughter bounced off the trees, drowning out the quiet hum of your pulse.

You leaned in, your hair brushing Frankie’s arm, your voice meant only for him. “Want to get out of here?”

His head turned just enough for you to see the way his jaw tightened, the way his gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back again. For a second, he didn’t answer—like he was weighing every reason he shouldn’t. Then he stood, offering you his hand, beer bottle dangling from the other.

“Yeah,” he said, low enough to be swallowed by the crackle of the fire. “Let’s go.”

The boathouse smelled like damp wood and lake water, moonlight slicing through the slats and striping the canoes stacked in neat rows. It was quiet enough that you could hear your own pulse, the creak of the floorboards under Frankie’s boots as he followed you inside.

You leaned back against one of the canoes, folding your arms. “This feels very… horror movie first act. Should I be worried?”

Frankie huffed out a laugh, low and warm, his head dipping before his eyes found yours again from under the brim of his cap. “Depends,” he said, voice rough but threaded with humor. “You scared of me?”

You arched a brow, grinning. “Should I be?”

Something flickered across his face—hesitation, want, a little disbelief that you were even here with him. He shifted closer, the boards groaning under his weight. “Probably not,” he said, almost too soft. Then his mouth curved, the barest suggestion of a smile. “Unless you plan on running.”

The air between you crackled, the joke landing heavier than either of you expected.

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he. Frankie just looked at you, really looked, like he was trying to memorize your face before he made the mistake of touching it. His eyes caught the thin slices of moonlight, dark and soft at the same time, unreadable but locked on yours. You could see the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, the rough patchiness of his beard where it met his mustache, the twitch of his jaw when he clenched it like he was holding something back.

Your breath hitched, and his followed, shallow and quick. He leaned in just a little, then stopped, his forehead almost brushing yours. The smell of him—beer, smoke from the fire, sweat clinging to cotton—settled around you like a second skin.

“Frankie…” you whispered, and that was it. The dam broke.

You kissed him first, playful, testing—but the second his mouth met yours, hunger snapped loose. Frankie groaned deep in his chest, like he’d been starving for this and didn’t know until now. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours. When he pulled back half an inch, his eyes searched yours again, silent, asking.

You answered by tugging him back in, lips parting under his, teeth catching his bottom lip until he gasped. That sound lit something desperate in your belly.

His hands slid from your face down to your hips, gripping firm, dragging you against him. The rough bristle of his beard scraped your chin, making the kiss messier, hotter. Then he was lifting you, pressing you back against the curve of the canoe. The wood groaned under the weight, his mouth moving down your throat, sucking at the hollow of your collarbone.

You could feel him—hard and heavy even through denim—pressed right where you needed him. Instinct took over; you rolled your hips in a greedy grind. Frankie groaned against your skin, muffled but guttural, like he’d been holding it back all night.

He kept kissing you, but his hands stayed cautious, gripping your thighs like he was forcing himself not to go further.

So you made the choice for him.

Your hand slipped between your bodies, bold in the dim moonlight, cupping him through his jeans. Thick, hot, heavy against your palm—so real it made your stomach clench. His whole body went rigid, breath stuttering against your throat.

“Fuck…” he rasped, forehead falling against your shoulder. His voice was low, wrecked. “You sure about this?”

You answered by squeezing him, dragging your hand along the hard line of him.

That’s when his restraint snapped.

One hand slid higher, under the hem of your shorts, fingers brushing the soft inside of your thigh before easing beneath your waistband. His fingertips skimmed you where you were already aching, already wet.

“Goddamn,” he muttered into your neck, kissing hungrily there. “Such a dirty girl… begging me like this.”

Your hand moved quicker, fumbling at his jeans until you were inside, wrapping around him. He gasped into your skin, biting down lightly as his hips jerked. He was thick, pulsing in your grip, and you stroked him slow, savoring the way he stuttered against you.

“Feel that?” you whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s what your thick fingers do to me.”

He groaned, forehead pressed to yours now, working you in slow circles until you were grinding down against his hand. “You feel so good,” he rasped. “So fucking good.”

Your voice broke as you stroked him harder. “I need that cock in me, Frankie. Please.”

That was it.

His jeans shoved down just far enough, your shorts tugged aside, clumsy and frantic. Then he was pressing into you, the thick head sliding through your slick heat before sinking deeper.

The stretch knocked the breath out of you. He groaned into your shoulder, voice ragged. “Fuck… you’re so tight. So warm.”

You clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist. He braced you harder against the canoe, using the leverage to move—short, deep thrusts that made the wood creak with every snap of his hips.

The sounds were obscene—wet and messy in the quiet. You muffled your cries against his neck while Frankie groaned low in your ear, forehead pressed to yours.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, breath stuttering. “You feel so good… so fucking good.”

Every thrust drove you higher, body bouncing in his grip, his mouth dragging along your jaw, sucking at your throat, catching your lips between groans—like he couldn’t get close enough even while buried deep inside you.

And then it hit. Sharp, sudden, your body tightened around him. “Frankie—” you gasped, biting into his shoulder as the climax ripped through you, hot and overwhelming, thighs trembling around his waist.

That broke him. His hips stuttered, rhythm shattering. “Jesus Christ—fuck,” he groaned, driving deep, grinding through it. “So—tight—shit—”

You whispered into his ear, shaky but sure: “Come for me, Frankie.”

He groaned a wrecked sound, burying himself to the hilt as he came, spilling hot and thick inside you. His arms locked you tighter against him, like he needed to hold you steady while he broke apart.

For a long moment, only your breathing filled the boathouse—his harsh and uneven against your neck, yours still shaky in his ear. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before finally easing back to look at you.

“You okay?” he murmured, eyes dark but searching.

You laughed softly, brushing damp curls from his temple. “Better than okay.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into something not quite a smile, not quite disbelief. He set you down gently, steadying you when your knees threatened to give. The canoe creaked, the only witness.

“Guess adult summer camp isn’t so bad after all,” Frankie teased, still catching his breath as he tugged his jeans back up.

You grinned, smoothing your shorts. “Careful, counselor. Can’t let Benny hear you say that. You’ll never live it down.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Christ. He’ll put it on a T-shirt.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping past him toward the door. Moonlight cut across the dock outside, and you glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“My cabin’s on the other side of the mess hall,” you said lightly, tugging your lip between your teeth. “If you’re up for some… more getting-to-know-each-other time.”

For a second, the careful hesitation returned—but then it slipped into something hungrier, softer. Frankie bent to grab his cap from the floor, settling it back on his head like armor. His mouth curved into the smallest, wrecked smile.

“Javi? You know what I can’t stop thinking about?” I lean closer to his ear while we slow dance, everyone around us watching our first dance as husband and wife.

“Hm?” he mumbles.

“About tonight… about you pushing your fingers inside me again. About you making me come with the same hand that’s only been wearing that ring for a few hours,” I whisper, lightly running my finger over the wedding band sitting on his finger. “The ring that says you’re my husband now.”

I feel him go stiff instantly. His heart starts pounding even harder against me. “Cariño…” he says through gritted teeth. “That is really not something I need to hear while your dad is standing five feet away trying to enjoy our first dance.”

But I know exactly what he’s thinking. About dragging me back inside. Throwing me onto his bed. Peeling this wedding dress off me piece by piece. I know him too well.

And the way his body reacts only proves it. He pulls me closer until my breath catches in my throat. And there it is. The hard bulge pressing against his slacks and fuck, the feeling alone sends heat straight through my stomach. God, I want him so bad.

But we still have the rest of the night ahead of us and I let out a quiet little groan against his ear. “Javi… I seriously don’t think I can wait that long…”

He laughs. Bastard.

I immediately make a face at him so he knows he’s annoying the shit out of me on purpose.

Javi just keeps smiling in that smug teasing way I love so much and honestly? I think the fact that he’s my husband now is turning me on almost more than anything else.

»»—— ⍟ ——«« 

I barely even remember how the rest of the night goes. Some guests already left, some are still staying. Perfect time to disappear. The backyard’s lit up with what feels like a hundred little lights, salsa still playing somewhere nearby. Not as loud as before, but the guests that are left are still drinking, dancing, laughing.

My eyes instantly find Javi.

He’s leaning against the bar talking to John, his best man. His shirt sleeves are rolled up now, bow tie slightly crooked. His hair’s a little messy and he’s got that look on his face that’s half tired, half happy. A look that’s honestly pretty rare for him.

And like I’m fucking hypnotized, my eyes stop on the wedding ring sitting on his left hand again. My breath catches. Heat immediately spreads low in my stomach. God, that ring looks so good on him. Fits him perfectly. On the hand that can be rough and gentle at the same time. The hand that carries a gun and flashes a DEA badge. The hand that knows exactly how to make me fall apart once the apartment door closes behind us.

And immediately my brain flashes back to the last time we had sex. A week ago. I genuinely don’t know how we survived an entire week without jumping each other, but… pre wedding stress. Which only makes me want him even more now. Need him even more. I press my thighs together like that’s somehow gonna help.

And right then, I feel his eyes on me. And I know he knows. I just know it. That stupid smug smirk appears on his face and he slowly runs the fingers of his other hand over his wedding ring on purpose. And yes. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose. He remembered what I whispered in his ear during our first dance. About wanting him to use the hand wearing proof of our vows to make me see fucking stars.

I stop processing anything around me after that. Thighs still pressed together, breathing getting heavier.

And just when I’m about to interrupt his conversation with John and announce that I’m stealing my husband for a while, Javi excuses himself first, pats John on the shoulder, and starts walking toward me. Finally. He steps right up to me, leans down for a kiss, softly brushing his hand along my arm. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” he whispers against my lips.

I pull back just enough to breathe out, “Javi… take me upstairs… please.” That’s it.

His pupils darken instantly, his whole expression changing, that dangerous little smile pulling at his mouth. And then suddenly he picks me up into his arms hard enough to make me laugh.

I swear, I love how playful he gets. But at this point I can barely wait for him to tear this dress off me.

Still laughing quietly, he carries me through the remaining wedding guests toward the house. 

Everyone thinks it’s cute. Sweet. Nobody has any idea what’s actually about to happen once the bedroom door closes. And honestly? That only turns me on even more.

»»—— ⍟ ——«« 

The door to Javi’s old bedroom at the ranch barely even shuts behind us before he’s got me pressed against it, both hands on my face, kissing me hard. Deep, messy, hungry kisses. Like he’s been thinking about this all damn day and honestly? I think we both have. His hands are already all over me. He reaches for the back of my dress, fumbling with the zipper for a second before finally getting it down. Then he pushes the straps off my shoulders and the dress slips all the way down to my feet.

Thank fucking god I didn’t go for some giant princess wedding dress because that probably would’ve killed the entire mood right there.

Javi pulls back just enough to look at me.

I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my panties. And the way he’s staring at me immediately sends goosebumps over my skin.

“Oh fuck…” he mutters lowly. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Then he’s right back against me again. His mouth drags along my neck while his fingers toy with one of my nipples, slow and lazy at first.

“Javi…” I breathe out against his ear.

“What do you want, cariño?” he whispers. His free hand slides down my stomach to my panties, thumb brushing slowly along the waistband before he taps lightly over my pussy through the fabric. “This what you want, hm?”

I push my hips against his hand without even thinking and the tiny bit of friction makes my whole body tense. Fuck. I’m already getting wetter.

“Mmm… so wet already,” Javi murmurs, sounding way too pleased with himself. “So perfect… so fucking mine…” His words go straight to my head.

I start unbuttoning his pants, where there’s already a very obvious bulge straining underneath. “Javi…” I gasp when he suddenly pinches my nipple a little harder. “That ring…” I mumble breathlessly while trying to get my hand inside his pants. “You’re not taking it off, right?”

He looks straight at me for a second like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Wasn’t planning to, mi amor.” Then he finally stops teasing me and backs me toward the edge of the bed. He pushes me down gently and I move farther onto the mattress on my elbows, still wearing my panties.

But since he keeps staring at me like that, I slowly start pulling them down myself. Slow. On purpose. I lift my hips and once they’re hanging around my ankles, I kick them off onto the floor beside the bed.

Javi watches every second of it without looking away once.

So I spread my knees for him. And fuck, I actually see him swallow.

He finally finishes unzipping his pants, the zipper I didn’t manage to fully undo before, then shoves both his pants and boxers down around his ankles. Now he’s standing there in nothing but that white shirt, a few buttons at the top still undone. Classic Javier Peña. His cock is hard as hell, standing thick and heavy against his stomach like he really fucking likes what he sees.

I slide my hand down between my thighs and start rubbing circles over my clit with my fingertip. Slowly dragging it between my folds while my other hand squeezes my breast. I’m turned on so bad at this point I can feel it everywhere in my body.

And it gets even worse when Javi grabs his cock and starts stroking himself slow, eyes completely locked on me the whole time.

I keep touching myself, already so fucking wet. The second I push two fingers inside my pussy, a soft wet sound fills the room and I let out a shaky moan. Fuck. It feels good. But I want his fingers more.

Javi’s breathing gets heavier watching me. Watching the way I finger myself for him. “Hermosa… fuck…” he mutters quietly, still jerking himself off. “You’re driving me fucking crazy like this… I love that sound you make."

My fingers speed up. In and out. In and out. And I can’t stop staring at the hand he’s using. The one with the wedding ring. The symbol of our forever. And god, I’m so wet now the slick sounds coming from between my legs just keep getting louder.

That’s what finally snaps something in him. Javi lets go of his cock and moves closer to the bed, climbing over me on his knees. The mattress shifts slightly under his weight.

I still have my fingers inside myself. Never stopped.

He keeps staring straight into my eyes the entire time. Even when he gently grabs my wrist and slowly pulls my fingers out of my pussy. Then he lifts my hand between us and looks at my wet fingers for a second. “Hm… this for me, cariño?” he says softly. And without breaking eye contact, he slides my fingers into his mouth. His tongue moves around them slowly, licking me off like he wants every last drop. Like he’s obsessed with the fact I’m this wet because of him. Always because of him.

After a few seconds, he pulls my fingers from his mouth and puts my hand back down beside me. “My turn,” he murmurs.

Fuck. Just hearing his voice like that sends heat through my whole body.

The empty feeling between my legs after he pulled my fingers out disappears immediately when he pushes his own fingers inside me instead.

I moan right away, one hand grabbing the pillow behind me while the other keeps rubbing my nipple.

Javi pushes that hand away too, pinning it above my head with the other one. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know exactly what he means. Keep them there.

Then he starts moving his fingers inside me again. Slow at first. So fucking slow. He pushes them deeper and I feel the cold metal of his wedding ring brush against the inside of my thigh and somehow that turns me on even more.

Because holy fuck. This is the first time he’s fingering me as my husband. And god, I fucking love it. Javier Peña fingering his wife after their wedding with the same hand wearing his wedding ring is genuinely a deadly combination.

His fingers know exactly what they’re doing. Precise. Confident. He knows my body perfectly by now. Knows exactly where to touch me, exactly where I’m weakest. His fingers curl right against my G-spot and I can’t hold the sounds back anymore.

“Javi… please… mhm… don’t stop…” I moan helplessly. I catch the little smile on his face right before my eyes fall shut and my head sinks deeper into the mattress.

“Wasn’t planning to, baby,” Javi whispers. And right when he presses harder against my G-spot, he leans down and starts kissing and biting at my neck.

Fuck, I love this. I’m twisting underneath him at this point, hips lifting on their own.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against my skin, pushing my hips back down into the mattress.

I listen. Or at least I try to. But I honestly don’t know how much longer I can take this.

Javi starts moving his fingers faster now, harder, more intense, like he’s trying to completely ruin me. Like he wants me to feel him everywhere tomorrow. Every time I sit down. “Mm, love it when you squirm for me, baby… tells me how good I’m making you feel…” he whispers into my ear and fuck, I’m completely gone at this point.

Then his thumb presses against my clit while his fingers keep driving into that spot inside me over and over again. Slow circles. Hard thrusts. He wants to make me come. And the way he keeps switching between slow movements and rougher ones is driving me absolutely insane.

“Javi…!” I cry out when he pulls his fingers out for a second only to shove them back inside me again. One deep hard thrust of his fingers and pressure against my clit at the same time and suddenly I’m clenching violently around him as the orgasm hits me all at once.

I cry out loud and Javi doesn’t even try to quiet me down. I can feel my pussy squeezing hard around his fingers and the bastard actually spreads them apart inside me on purpose just to drag it out longer.

“Javi… I can’t… I…” I whine and gasp, practically crying at this point for him to stop while not actually wanting him to stop at all because the orgasms just keep rolling through me one after another and I swear to god I never want it to end.

But then suddenly Javi pulls his fingers out of me completely and moves away.

I let out this pathetic broken sound and my eyes fly open instantly, glaring at him. My knees are shaking so hard I can barely handle it. “Javi… please…” I don’t even care how desperate I sound.

He’s towering over me, cock still hard as hell, and I already know what’s coming next. And yeah.

Javi doesn’t make me wait anymore. He grabs my thighs, spreads them even wider, and drags me closer to him. And then he pushes his cock inside me. One hard thrust. "Oh baby, you're so perfectly wet... and tight... I love it so fucking much," he moans.

I sob out loud instantly, hands gripping the sheets beneath me. “Javi, oh my god–” I’m basically crying out nonsense at this point. I can feel my pussy tightening around him and I honestly can’t even tell if it’s still the aftermath of the first orgasm or if he already dragged another one out of me. My brain’s completely gone.

Javi starts moving inside me. Deep. Slow at first. Filling me completely.

I moan loudly and he leans over me, kissing me again while he fucks me, in and out, in and out, his rhythm getting rougher by the second.

Then his left hand finds mine.

My fingers immediately brush against the wedding ring on his finger. “I love you… fuck, I love you so much, Javi…” I gasp against his mouth.

Javi doesn’t answer. But I feel him smile.

And then his thrusts speed up and the sounds he starts making tell me he’s getting close. A few more deep thrusts and suddenly he pulls out of me with a rough groan, jerks himself a couple times, and then all I hear are his broken moans matching the waves of his orgasm. Hot cum lands across my stomach and pussy while Javi groans through it, emptying everything onto me.

And somehow that’s so fucking hot it makes my body clench all over again even with him outside me now. I moan and grip the sheets harder while another orgasm crashes through me.

I don’t even know how long it lasts. But eventually both our breathing starts calming down.

When I finally open my eyes, Javi’s hovering over me, hair sticking up everywhere, skin slightly sweaty, looking exactly like a man who just got off insanely well.

My pussy’s still stretched open around the entrance because yeah… Javi is definitely not a small man. Then he slowly drags the tip of his cock through my folds, spreading some of his cum there carefully. Not pushing back inside. Just teasing.

We’ve talked about kids before. Someday in the future. Not now. Although honestly… we’re clearly not being very careful either. The thought makes me laugh quietly to myself.

Javi grins and finally collapses down onto the bed beside me, pulling me onto his chest. Shirt still on, because obviously he never even bothered taking it off. “Next time…” he mumbles into my hair while I lay there breathing him in, “I’m bringing condoms with me because I’m not spending our entire honeymoon cumming outside you.”

Then he kisses the top of my head and I smile. I reach for the hand with his wedding ring and lace our fingers together.

Honestly? If this is what the honeymoon’s gonna be like, I’m suddenly even more excited for it.

Thank you so much for reading ♡ Likes, comments and reblogs always make me happy and help the fic find more people ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @theeverodriguez @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72

And here you are. The first night you're staying at Javi's place. Which is ridiculous, honestly. You've been together for three months and you've never slept over. Never fallen asleep next to him. Never woken up next to him. Hell, nothing between you has ever even happened in a bed. Or on a couch. Or anywhere people usually end up having sex. Which is probably weird. At least a little.

But you just... haven't been ready.

And Javi's never made that a problem. He's never pushed. Never made some passive aggressive comment about waiting. Never acted disappointed. He's just... Javi. Patient. Careful. So fucking considerate it almost hurts. Honestly, you couldn't have picked a safer person to fall in love with. Because that's not the problem. The problem isn't him.

It's you. You trust him. Completely. You just don't trust yourself enough to stand naked in front of a man like Javier Peña. Which is stupid. You know it's stupid. But your brain has somehow convinced itself that Javi probably likes bigger boobs. Or at least normal ones. And yours? Well… not exactly.

The worst part is that you don't even know where the idea came from.

Javi has never said anything. Never hinted at it. Never looked at another woman and made some comment. But he's also never seen you.

And push-up bras deserve an award, honestly. Because they do a hell of a lot of work. Enough that your shirts don't look completely flat.

Enough that maybe he thinks there's more there than there actually is. And what if that's what he expects? What if he sees you without one and realizes you basically lied? Jesus.

And now you're standing in his shower. Which means your options are becoming very limited. You can't exactly walk out there and say: "Thanks for the shower, I'm heading home now."

The man would think you've completely lost it.

And honestly? You don't want to leave. You want to know what it's like to sleep next to him. What it's feels like when he pulls you closer in the middle of the night. You want to wake up beside him. And maybe… maybe you're finally ready for sex too.

Not because Javi wants it. God, no. He's never pressured you. Not once. Never complained. Never acted frustrated. But three months is still three months.

And you're not exactly a nun. At this point you're getting pretty tired of lying in your own bed at night with your hand between your thighs pretending it's him touching you.

He's your boyfriend. You want him. Jesus, you need him. More than you've ever wanted anyone.

People at work have started making jokes. About how neither of you ever leaves together. About how you act like two teenagers. And honestly? They're not completely wrong.

Mostly because you've spent the last three months making sure Javi never has a reason to see you without a bra.

Because if he sees. If he realizes. If he…

You don't know. You never really planned that far ahead. You just kept putting it off. One day at a time.

You've known him for almost a year now. Ever since the transfer from Cartagena. At first it was just beers after work. Tacos. Murphy and Trujillo tagging along. Then somehow it became just the two of you. Then dates. Then him.

And now you're here. You're in love with him. He's in love with you. And you've spent months avoiding anything that feels too close. No sleepovers. No mornings together. No waking up in each other's beds. But tonight was supposed to be different.

Because Javi has waited. He's been patient. Though every now and then you've caught something in his face. Some tiny moment where he almost looks worried. Like maybe he's afraid you don't want him. Like maybe he thinks he isn't enough.

God. If he only knew.

Because it's exactly the opposite. You're terrified that you won't be enough for him. Those thoughts won't leave you alone while you stand under the hot water.

You know he's sitting out there in the living room waiting for his turn to shower. He didn't make a single joke about joining you. Didn't ask to wash your back. Didn't say anything remotely dirty when you told him outside the office earlier that you wanted to go home with him tonight. His eyes just lit up. Like you'd given him the best news he'd heard all week.

And honestly? For a little while, that made you forget all of this.

Almost. Because even now. Even after three months. Even with Javi being the most patient man on the planet. You're still scared. You look down at your chest. At the part of your body that God apparently forgot about. Your eyes sting. You could honestly cry.

And just as you reach for the shampoo, the bathroom door opens. The shower glass is so fogged up there's no way Javi can actually see anything. Still, you notice one thing immediately.

He's standing there with his back to you. "Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to just walk in." He clears his throat. "I realized I never gave you a towel. And you don't know where I keep them. Didn't really wanna leave you wandering around my apartment naked trying to find one." You can practically hear him rubbing the back of his neck. "They're in the dresser in my room, so... anyway. I brought one."

And that's it. No jokes. No trying to peek. No, hey, mind if I join you? Just Javi being Javi. You can already tell he's about to leave.

And suddenly you really don't want him to. Because you've been thinking about this all day. Since the moment you told him after work that you wanted to go home with him. That no matter what happened tonight, you wanted to be here. With him. Even if everything went wrong. Even if this somehow became the last night you ever spent together. You need this. God. You need him.

"Javi." Your voice barely comes out.

He stops.

"Wait." You can feel your heartbeat everywhere. Your chest. Your throat. Your stomach. You can't keep doing this. You can't keep waiting. Not anymore. "Could you..." Your throat feels dry. "Could you wash my back?" Jesus Christ. That sounds so stupid.

But Javi goes completely quiet. You can feel it, even through the glass. "You mean that?" His voice is soft. Careful. Like he's giving you an out. Like he needs to know this is really what you want.

"I do." Your voice sounds stronger this time. More certain. And apparently that's enough.

Through the steam you watch him undo his shirt. One button. Then another. The shirt hits the floor. His belt. His zipper. The sound of the buckle hitting the tile. And then the rest.

Heat curls low in your stomach. Fuck. You're about to see him naked. Actually naked. And for a few seconds that's enough to make you forget that he's about to see you too. Your entire body feels warm. Your stomach flips. Your thighs press together. The thought alone is enough.

The water keeps running. You can hear it hitting the tile. But mostly you hear your own heart. Honestly, you're pretty sure Javi can hear it too.

A second later the shower door slides open.

Your arms cross over your chest before you even think about it. Automatic. You know he's going to see eventually. You know that. But maybe it doesn't have to be the first thing.

Maybe if he looks somewhere else first. Maybe if…

Your thoughts disappear the second he steps inside. He's completely naked.

And Jesus. It suddenly takes every bit of self-control you have not to look down.

Because he's looking at you. Your face. Your eyes. Only your eyes. Not your chest. Not your body. Just you.

And honestly, if there's anybody losing their mind in this shower right now, it's definitely you.

If Javi is just as affected, he's hiding it way better.

The shower isn't exactly tiny, but it definitely wasn't made for two people either.

When he reaches behind himself to pull the door shut, he has to step closer. His skin brushes yours. Barely. But it's enough.

Your entire body practically shorts out. "Uh... right. My back." Jesus. You can barely get the words out. Before your brain has a chance to change its mind, you turn around. Too fast. Like you're running. Maybe from him. Maybe from yourself. Maybe from the fact that all he's done so far is stand next to you and you're already halfway to climbing him.

Because this is torture. You want to look at him. Really look at him. Unfortunately, your peripheral vision can only do so much. And your insecurities win again.

Javi doesn't seem bothered by it, though. You hear him squeeze the shampoo bottle behind you. It makes the dumbest little fart noise as the last bit of shampoo comes out.

The silence lasts about two seconds. And then you laugh. Actually laugh.

"Jesus," Javi mutters behind you. "Like a five-year-old." You can hear the smile in his voice.

And honestly? Thank God. The stupid bottle. His teasing. The fact that he still sounds completely normal. It pulls you out of your own head for the first time all night.

For a few seconds you're not thinking about your chest. You're thinking about him. And then you're not really thinking at all.

His hands settle on your shoulders. Big hands. Warm hands. He works the shampoo into your skin slowly, like he's got all the time in the world. His thumbs move across your shoulders, down your neck, over your back. There's nothing rushed about him. Nothing impatient. Every touch feels deliberate.

When he reaches your hips, you stop breathing. "Can I?"

You know exactly what he means. You nod. "Mhm."

His hands slide lower. Over your ass. Slowly spreading the soap over your skin.

Your eyes close. And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, you lean back into his hands.

Javi takes that as his answer. One of his hands squeezes your ass gently.

The sound that leaves you is embarrassingly obvious. At this point? You don't care anymore. You're tired of pretending. Tired of acting patient. Tired of going home every night and lying awake thinking about him. Tired of squeezing your thighs together and wishing it was his hands instead of your own. You need him. You've needed him for weeks.

You still can't make yourself turn around, though. Instead you lean against him. Your back against his chest. Your weight against his body.

And then you feel him. Hard against your ass.

And oh. Oh…!

Well. Apparently you're not the only person in this shower who's been trying very hard to behave.

His hands slide back up your hips. Across your stomach.

You tense immediately. Too close. Way too close.

"Hey." His voice is right next to your ear. "Relax."

You feel his breath against your skin. Then his lips. Little kisses. Your neck. Your shoulder. The side of your throat. One after another.

His hands stay exactly where they are. Resting against your stomach. Not moving higher. Doesn't even try. Almost like he's giving you time. Like he wants you to get used to him first.

Your head eventually falls back against his chest. He's warm. Solid. And the hard length pressed against your ass is making it almost impossible to think straight.

For a little while, you stop thinking about everything. Your body. Your chest. Your fears. Everything. Until you suddenly realize you don't know what to do with your hands. And before you can stop yourself, your arms cross over your chest again. Subtle. At least you think it's subtle.

You feel Javi go still behind you. "Hey. What's wrong?"

You hesitate. Shit. "Uh... nothing. Nothing's wrong." You let out a nervous laugh, but even to you it sounds fake.

"Hey..." Javi says quietly. "If you're nervous, we don't have to do anything. We can just shower and go to bed. I... I don't want you to think I'm pushing you into this, and if I did, then–"

"No." You cut him off. "You didn't. You're not pushing me. You never have."

"Okay." His voice stays soft. "But something's bothering you, huh?"

"Maybe..." Your arms tighten around your chest, like if you hold yourself hard enough you might somehow disappear. God. Everything was going so well. And now you're ruining it. At least that's what your brain keeps telling you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Javi asks quietly. He doesn't move. Doesn't touch you. It's almost like he's afraid that if he does, you'll bolt.

"I... I don't know, Javi." Your throat burns. This is so embarrassing. You're a grown woman. Not some teenage girl having a crisis in a locker room.

"Okay." His answer comes immediately. "You don't have to." You feel him shift slightly behind you. "I can finish washing your back and we can just go to bed. We can talk. Watch TV. Sleep. Whatever you want." God. He's so fucking gentle.

And suddenly you realize you can't do this anymore. You can't keep carrying this around. It's now or never. "Javi, it's not that I don't want..." You swallow. "You. Or... any of this." You close your eyes. "It's the opposite." Your voice comes out shaky. "I want this. I want you. God, I want you so much that I honestly can't imagine another day of pretending I don't."

Javi doesn't interrupt. He just listens. Waits.

"It's just..." You take a breath. "I'm scared."

"Of what, baby?"

You almost can't say it. "That you won't like me."

He doesn't answer right away.

"That..." You laugh nervously. "That I'm not really like the women you've been with before."

A small pause. "Well, that's good." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Because I don't want those women. I want you."

"No, you don't get it." Your eyes sting. "I..." God. Why is this so hard? "I have small boobs. Like… really small." The words come out so quietly you almost don't hear them yourself.

For a few seconds there's nothing except the sound of the water.

Then Javi's hands gently squeeze your sides. "Baby..." His voice sounds genuinely confused. "You really thought I wouldn't want you because of your boobs?"

"No, I..."

Javi is quiet for a second. "Could you do something for me? But only if you want to."

You wait.

"Turn around."

Your stomach drops.

"You can keep your arms where they are. I don't care." His voice stays soft. "I just... I wanna see your face." And somehow that makes it easier. Because he doesn't sound disappointed. He doesn't sound upset. He definitely doesn't sound like a man who's about to walk out of this shower and never look at you again.

So you turn around. Slowly. Your arms stay crossed over your chest. You still can't do that part.

Javi doesn't even look down. Not once. His eyes stay on yours. "Hey." His voice is quiet. "I need you to listen to me for a second."

You nod.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

Your throat tightens. "Javi–"

"No. Let me finish." He takes a breath. "I don't care about any of that."

"But maybe you think–"

"What?"

"My bras." You immediately want to die. "They make them look bigger and I just..." Your voice cracks. "I thought maybe that's what you expected and–"

Javi reaches up and cups your face. And then he kisses you. No speech. No grand declaration. Just his mouth on yours. Slow. Warm. Patient. Like he's trying to shut up every horrible thought you've had about yourself for the past three months.

You lose track of time. His hand slips into your hair. Your bodies press together. And at some point, without even realizing it, your arms fall away from your chest. You don't notice.

Javi doesn't say anything. Doesn't look down. Doesn't react. He just keeps kissing you.

And honestly? That might be what finally breaks your heart.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. "Do you believe me now?"

Your voice sounds rough. "I always believed you."

"Then what's going on?"

You look down. "I just thought..." God. This sounds stupid. "I thought maybe I wouldn't be enough."

Javi stares at you. And then: "You really thought I was gonna see your boobs and leave?"

You almost laugh. Almost cry. Maybe both. "I don't know."

"Jesus, baby. You've been worrying about this the whole time?"

You nod.

He looks genuinely sad. Not disappointed. Not awkward. Just sad that you've spent months hurting yourself over something that means absolutely nothing to him. "Look at me."

You do.

"You're beautiful."

You open your mouth.

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm serious." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I don't give a shit if they're big."

Your eyes fill immediately.

"I want you. That's it."

The tears finally come. Not because you're hurt. Because you're tired. Because you've spent months carrying this around by yourself.

Javi kisses your forehead. "Wish you could see what I see."

After a minute you step back. You let him look. Really look. And for the first time in your life, you don't feel exposed. You don't feel judged. You don't feel small.

Javi's eyes move over you slowly. No surprise. No disappointment. Nothing. Then he looks back up. "See?" You laugh quietly.

And finally you let yourself look too. His chest. His stomach. And then… his dick. Well. At least one thing in this shower definitely isn't small. The laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Javi catches it immediately. His eyebrow lifts. "What?"

Your face burns. "Nothing."

His eyes narrow. "That's a lie."

You glance down again.

He follows your eyes. And suddenly he laughs too. "Well." He shrugs. "I guess that's proof."

"Proof of what?"

A little smile appears. "That I like you."

You lick your lips. Then you take his hand.

Javi immediately looks at you, almost questioning.

You know him. You know exactly what he'd do after everything you've just told him. He'd give you space. He'd ask if you're sure. Probably ten times. He'd spend the next half hour worrying about crossing a line.

So you do it for him. You place his hand against your breast.

His fingers barely move at first. Like he's waiting for you to pull away.

You don't.

His hand closes around your breast gently. And Jesus. The look on his face. "Mhm. You're gonna be the death of me." His thumb brushes over your nipple, giving it a small squeeze.

The sound that leaves you is embarrassingly loud. Heat rolls through your body all over again. And honestly? You feel good. Really good.

Because he's standing here hard as hell. Because he's touching the thing you've spent months hating. Because he looks at you like he can't believe you ever thought he wouldn't want this.

Maybe the insecurity isn't gone. Maybe tomorrow it'll still be there. But right now? Right now all you can think about is him.

The man standing naked in front of you. The man whose hand is on your breast. The man who's looking at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. And God. He means it.

A few minutes later your legs are wrapped around his waist. His hands are under your thighs, holding you up against the cold tile while he kisses you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.

And suddenly none of it feels scary anymore. Not the shower. Not the sex. Not being naked. Nothing. Because it's him. It's always been him.

He pushes into you and both of you gasp. Jesus. He’s really big.

"Fuck," Javi breathes against your neck. His forehead falls against yours. He gives you a second. Another. His fingers dig into your thighs. "You okay?"

You nod. To be honest, his dick fills you up so perfectly that you're more than okay.

He kisses you. Then he starts moving. Slow at first. Almost careful. Like he's still trying to convince himself this is actually happening. His mouth finds your neck. Your shoulder. Your chest. And when his lips touch your breasts, the same breasts you've spent months hiding from him, something inside you almost breaks.

Because he kisses them like he loves them. Like they're something precious. Like he genuinely cannot understand how you ever thought he wouldn't want them.

He groans against your skin. His hips lose their rhythm for a second. And every little sound he makes heals something you didn't even realize was broken.

By the time your orgasm hits, you're shaking against him. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Your whole body goes weak.

Javi comes a moment later with a low groan against your throat, his arms tightening around you as he buries himself as deep as he can.

And afterward, with the water still running around you and his forehead resting against yours, you realize something.

This wasn't the thing you were afraid of. You were never afraid of him. You were only afraid that he wouldn't want you.

And being here now, with him still holding you like he never plans to let go, that fear suddenly feels very, very far away.

Thank you so much for reading ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @pascalispunktexas @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2 @goonersquad101 @loveoverpride @fckyeahsaltandpeppercurls

Dbf!Joel who is thanked by your dad profusely when you start to come around and Joel calls himself sick when he finds his cock hardening at the reminder that your body in his arms felt like a home he hadn’t had. He drinks a couple beers like normal with your dad, finding solace that your dad doesn’t know about Joel’s perverse thoughts.

Dbf!Joel who hears a commotion from Sarah’s room when you two are having a sleepover at Sarah’s. He hears Sarah’s tone getting higher and higher and your voice soothing her in vain. When Joel raps his knuckles gently, you emerge slowly. “Hi,” you greet. “Hey, sweetheart. Where’s Sarah? You guys okay?” You swallow thickly. “So… that’s… can I come talk to you in a few minutes?” Joel is riddled with worry as he heads to his room, hearing shuffling around the bathroom and Sarah’s room. Eventually, things quiet down and the usual nighttime quiet falls over the house.

Dbf!Joel who opens his door when you tap quietly. “So Sarah got her first period and she said I could tell you because she’s going to talk to you tomorrow when I go back home. I gave her some stuff so she’s okay for awhile, but I can always go and pick some stuff up from the store when I go next if you want?” Comes your low tone, being mindful of Sarah sleeping a few doors down.

The bounty hunter is rude, impatient, and seems to take a concerning amount of enjoyment from getting under your skin. Whenever there’s a chane to make a sarcastic comment at your expense, he takes it. Usually without hesitation.

Unfortunately, he was also the reason you and Lucy are still alive.

You’ve lost count of how many times the Ghoul has pulled the two of you out of trouble. Usually acting as though it is a massive inconvenience. Just a few days ago he had roughly yanked you back just inches from stepping on a poorly concealed bear trap. When you had sputtered and grumbled at him, the Ghoul only grinned. 

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” had been his witty remark, the hand at your back lingering a moment longer than necessary. 

“Don't call me that.” Your cheeks had flushed as you avoided looking at him. 

“Whatever you say, sweet heart.”

The bastard spent the rest of the evening looking entirely too pleased with himself. You hated it. You hated even more that somehow you couldn't bring yourself to hate him for it. 

Currently, you trail a few paces behind Lucy with the Mojave sun beating down on you mercilessly as you pass through another ruined town. Several feet ahead, the Ghoul leads without a sideways glance. Most of the buildings resemble a pile of rubble more than any sort of structure, and what still stands looks picked clean. 

But your gaze continues to bounce across the abandoned storefronts. Eventually something catches your eye, slowing your step.

“What is it?” Lucy asks, noticing the shift in your attention immediately. 

You ignore her, stepping closer. The building appears to have once been a movie theater. Along the walls hang several posters, most of them half torn and long since faded beyond recognition. Except for one.

“No way...” Your eyes go wide, fingers reaching out to brush lightly against the century old paper. 

Lucy hurries over, but stops the second she sees it, eyes lightly up. “This is amazing.”

Despite years of damage, Cooper Howard’s face is still recognizable, name still legible in bold black text. 

“My dad used to love his movies,” Lucy says as she comes to rest at your side. 

“So did we.” A nostalgic smile pulls at both of your lips. For a moment, the wasteland disappears and you’re back in Vault 33, squeezed onto a couch beside Lucy while old westerns play across a screen.

“Yeah.” Lucy glances sideways toward you. For a few seconds she watches you in silence before her smile widens. “Oh.”

“Don’t.” Immediately you point a warning finger at her, already knowing where this is about to lead.

She turns fully to face you now. “You had the biggest crush on him.”

“I did not!”

A laugh comes from Lucy, arms folding across her chest as she looks between you and the poster. “You absolutely did. We watched all three A Man and His Dog films so many times I could recite the dialogue by heart. Every time you would say Cooper Howard’s handsome face was offensively unfair.”

“Lucy!” Your cheeks flush a furious shade as you shoot her a half hearted glare.

This only makes her laugh harder.

With a huff, you throw your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine. Maybe I thought he was attractive.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine,” another huff leaves you. “Exceptionally attractive.” You regret admitting it immediately as Lucy’s smile only grows wider.

Unfortunately, someone else chooses that exact moment to join the conversation.

“Well now,” the drawl instantly sends a jolt through you.

Turning slowly, you find the Ghoul standing in the theater entrance, leaning casually against the doorway with both hands resting near his belt. Sometime during your banter with Lucy he had doubled back without either of you noticing. 

Judging by the grin tugging at his scarred features, he had heard at least part of the conversation. Possibly all of it. The realization makes your stomach drop. 

“What’s got you two so distracted?”

Lucy, the traitor she is, brightens.

“Nothing!” Your reply comes too quick, voice tight.

The Ghoul’s gaze drifts from you, to the poster on the wall, and then to Lucy. “That smile says otherwise.”

“I was just remembering how often we used to watch Cooper Howard films back in our vault,” Lucy is quick to supply, ignoring your immediate groan. “Some of us were bigger fans than others.”

It’s a struggle, but you resist the urge to throw yourself into the nearest collapsed wall. You drag both hands across your face as if that somehow could push the sudden embarrassment away.

“Is that right?” The Ghoul’s gaze flicks back toward the poster, his grin growing wider by the second. “Cooper Howard, huh?”

“Oh yeah, we used to watch his movies all the time,” Lucy nods with a warm smile, clearly unphased by your growing humiliation. “With a particular fondness for the westerns.”

“Hm.” Then the Ghoul’s eyes drag back to you. Something in the look immediately puts you on edge.

“Don’t,” you point another warning finger, this time at the Ghoul. But it lacks your earlier conviction.

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you are about to say!” The way his eyes light up tells you he is definitely about to say something.

Unfortunately, Lucy notices this too. Her gaze flickers quickly between the two of you before her smile shifts into something different. Before she can say another word, your finger turns back on her. 

“No.”

But she is already taking a step backwards. “I think I should get back to looking for supplies.” 

“Lucy!” Your arm reaches out to try and grab ahold of her. “You weren’t even looking for supplies!” She is already halfway back into the street before you even have the chance to stop her.

The space around you falls suddenly quieter, which is a problem. Mostly because the Ghoul is still watching you with that same look in his eyes. Still grinning.

“She’s enjoyin’ this a little too much,” he remarks as he pushes off the wall.

You give him a sideways glare. “Yeah, she’s starting to pick up some of your bad habits.”

“Now that’s just hurtful, sweetheart.” He takes a step closer, almost to the point you can feel his breath on your neck.

You roll your eyes, but the heat doesn’t leave your cheeks. The Ghoul takes another glance back at the poster, then at you. A knowing look settles over his face. As if this day couldn’t get anymore humiliating.

“Still think he’s exceptionally attractive?” 

Groaning, you attempt to turn away, but the Ghoul is swift to follow your motion, ensuring you can’t avoid him entirely. Of course he had to hear that part. For a second, you seriously consider finding that bear trap from a few days ago and stepping on it voluntarily.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” the Ghoul’s voice is sickeningly sweet, as he chuckles. “No need to be embarrassed.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Is it?”

You shoot him a look, arms folding across your chest. The grin never leaves his face. For a few seconds, neither of you speak, just staring each other down.

“When I was in the vault,” you begin, glancing back at the poster once more. “But tastes change.” 

Something flickers across the Ghoul’s expression and you regret opening your mouth. Unfortunately it’s too late for you to retreat. The Ghoul waits patiently, smugly, as if he already knows where this is headed. You hate that he is right.

“Actually,” you mutter, glancing anywhere but directly at the Ghoul. “I think my taste has gotten worse.”

Another second passes in silence. Then a laugh rumbles out of the Ghoul, loud and warm enough to make your stomach flip.

“Worse?”

You gesture vaguely in his direction. The moment you complete the motion, you realize what you have just done. The Ghoul realizes it too. His grin becomes absolutely insufferable.

“Is that right?”

Heat floods you face hotter than before and you suddenly find yourself wishing to be anywhere but here.

“I didn’t say anything!” Quickly, you turn away from him.

“Sweetheart, I think you said plenty,” you can feel his breath at the back of your neck as he steps closer.

Groaning, you begin walking back towards the street in hopes of escaping this embarrassment. Behind you, the Ghoul laughs again, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. By the time you reach the street, Lucy is already waiting several yards away, pretending she hadn’t abandoned you on purpose.

You start towards her. A second later, the Ghoul falls into step beside you. There is more than enough room in the room. Yet somehow his shoulder brushes your as he passes. Entirely on purpose. The bastard doesn’t even look back, but you can still see the bright smile plastered on his face.

New York isn’t a great place to be when you’re caught in the middle of a storm. Even less so when it involves things as delicate as money laundering and a few other matters your father never dared to explain. And you didn’t ask. You already knew. Played the good daughter who keeps out of it, because it was enough to unlock your phone and read the first headline you found.

Senator Enzo Vandspell Discloses Alleged International Corruption Network, Prompting Federal Scrutiny

WASHINGTON — Senator Enzo Vandspell, a prominent advocate for anti-corruption measures in Congress, disclosed on Wednesday a series of documents he says point to the existence of a far-reaching network engaged in money laundering and narcotics trafficking, with alleged connections spanning Latin America, Europe, and the United States.

Speaking at a press conference on Capitol Hill, Vandspell stated that the findings stem from an investigation conducted by his office over the course of more than a year. According to the senator, the materials suggest the involvement of business executives, public officials, and financial intermediaries in schemes utilizing shell companies and offshore accounts to obscure substantial sums of illicit funds.

“This is not an isolated matter,” Vandspell said. “What we are seeing reflects a broader pattern of coordinated activity that has persisted for years, enabled in part by systemic gaps in oversight.”

The documents, portions of which were made available to federal authorities, outline mechanisms including the transfer of funds through jurisdictions with limited financial transparency and the use of inflated contracts tied to public infrastructure projects. Vandspell declined to identify specific individuals or entities during the briefing, citing the sensitivity of the information and the potential for ongoing legal proceedings.

A spokesperson for the Department of Justice confirmed receipt of the materials but declined to comment further, noting that it does not discuss potential or ongoing investigations.

Separately, Vandspell’s office reported an increase in security concerns following the disclosure. In a brief statement, staff confirmed that additional protective measures have been implemented in coordination with federal authorities, both in Washington and at the senator’s private residences. Officials have not released further details regarding the nature of the reported threats.

You should be home right now. No, out of New York entirely. But Celine had spent months working toward her gallery opening, and you couldn’t miss it. Not that anyone here particularly cared who you were. No, they cared who your father was. And anyway, you’d heard Leonardo DiCaprio was around somewhere, so the focus wasn’t exactly on you. Or not entirely.

“Miss Vandspell.”

You turned, already knowing the voice. Louis, one of your bodyguards. “Yes?”

“Your car will be here in ten minutes.”

You nodded, offering him a polite smile before shifting your gaze to the man beside him. The other one. Javier. He didn’t react. Not a single muscle in his face moved.

They worked as a team. Synergy, to keep you safe. You didn’t know where Louis had come from, he had simply appeared one day, ten years ago, when your father introduced him and explained that he would be with you from then on. He was serious, rigid, somewhere in his fifties. He’d escorted you to school, stood watch at every dance, always there, even at a distance. And you knew he was your father’s line straight to you. Everything you did, your father knew, courtesy of Louis. Years of living under quiet surveillance, all in the name of your safety.

Javier was different. He showed up a year and a half ago, right when your father’s investigation kicked off. You didn’t know much about him, and you didn’t ask too much, just the basics. You’d seen him working for your father a handful of times, and then one morning he was in your apartment next to Louis, just like that.

Early forties, maybe. Quiet and serious. He gave nothing away about who he really was. Though you had caught it; small signs of impatience, brief looks of weariness more than once when he had to accompany you in public.

His eyes were onyx black, gleaming within a face that gave away absolutely nothing, again. Pure, unadulterated vacancy. And you know what they say about blank spaces; they’re just waiting for you to fill in the blanks with whatever idea suits you best.

A mysterious man whose name you’d pried out of mutual contacts. You had the highlight reel: retired agent, occasional magnet for controversy, and a reliable asset to your father. Strong hands.

The ambiguity fed you in bursts. You told yourself it was only natural, this is what happens when someone is around for more than twelve hours a day, nearly every day. And at the end of it all, you were just a curious woman.

He gave the distinct impression of a man living under heavy restraint. His shoulders were permanently knotted, his brow perpetually furrowed, and there was always something clenched in his jaw. And on rare occasions, you would catch the sound of a weary exhale; sometimes while he stood just outside your hotel room door. In the profound hush of a still night, it carried as clearly as if he were standing right beside you: a heavy, drawn out breath. Even through the wood of the door, his physical tension was palpable.

You knew he had no wife, no children. That was the very first thing you noticed the day you met; your eyes had instinctively found his hand and noted the absence of a ring. Somehow, it fit. Men who did what he did didn’t exactly build lives that stayed still. Not when their job was tailing someone for hours on end, following them from city to city like a shadow with a gun.

Some days your curiosity barely registered. Other days, it itched at you badly enough to make you want to ask questions; about him, his life, who he’d been before all this. But you always caught yourself before you crossed the line. There wasn’t much point asking a man like him anything personal. He wasn’t the type to answer, anyway.

Now, he stepped forward and opened the gallery door for you.

Another thing that had always been part of your life. You grew up with doors opening before you could reach them, cars waiting with engines running, routes mapped out for you; detours decided without your knowledge. Men in suits surrounding you, steadying you, taking you where you wanted to go and where you didn’t.

Your car door was already open when you stepped outside.

“I need to stop by my apartment—”

“Give my regards to your daddy.”

You stopped short. The scream never made it past your throat. One second you were standing there and the next, your whole body was soaked. Your eyes snapped shut, burning instantly. It hit all at once; your mouth, your nose, the back of your throat.

Gasoline.

“Louis—” you choked, hands flying to your face, smearing it away as panic surged. You grabbed the man beside you, fingers digging into his shoulders as he forced you forward.

“Get in the car. Inside. Head down,” he barked. It wasn’t Louis. Javier.

He shoved you toward the car, already moving faster than your mind could catch up. Louis’s voice rang somewhere in the distance: “Go, go!”

Javier pushed you into the backseat, one hand shielding your head as he forced you down. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you in as he shoved you sideways.

“Vandspell. Now,” he ordered the driver.

You almost argued; told him no, that you had to, that you wanted to go to your apartment, but the words never quite made it out.

Your eyes burned. Your throat, too. It didn’t matter how many times you swallowed or how hard you scrubbed at your face with gasoline-soaked hands, it only made it worse.

“Stay still.”

His hand closed around your jaw, firm enough to keep you in place. You obeyed and a second later, Javier was carefully wiping your face with a towel.

“Who was it?” you asked as he moved the cloth over your eyes, more gently this time. “What did he look like?”

“Louis has him. Don’t worry about that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice came out sharp. You didn’t feel particularly inclined to be polite. Not now. Not like this.

“A man,” Javier said. “Wearing a balaclava.”

“Where’s Louis?”

It was the second time you’d asked, and the second time Javier ignored you. The first had been in the car, while he drove in absolute silence down the highway, refusing to tell you where the hell you were going, too. The second was now, as he pulled your suitcase from the trunk and started toward the cabin.

“Javier, you have to tell me if he’s okay.”

He stopped just before the short steps leading up to the porch and turned to face you.

“He’s fine. Louis is fine.”

“Is he coming with us?”

“I don’t know.” He turned back around and kept walking. Up the stairs, through the front door; though he didn’t actually step inside. He stayed planted in the doorway and jerked his chin once. “Get in.”

You tightened your grip on your bag strap and hurried after him. Your hair was still messy from the rushed shower you’d taken back at your father’s house, barely towel dried, and your throat still burned faintly from the gasoline you’d swallowed earlier.

Five hours away from Manhattan, your father kept a cabin hidden among the dense timber of the Adirondack Mountains. It was a lush, cold, and hostile wilderness during the winter months, and through all three hundred and sixty five nights of the year. The jagged peaks were hidden from view, masked by the thick treeline surrounding you, and while the mist was thin for now, you knew it would only thicken as the night went on.

You’d been here once before, when you were around ten. Your father had tucked you and your mother away here for a week. You remembered board games, hot chocolate, and men stationed outside with weapons slung over their shoulders. Men who spoke into bulky cellphones or radios that had looked ancient to you back then. Now you understood why; the signal out here was complete shit. Practically nonexistent.

"Drop it, don't touch that," Javier’s voice materialized behind you a split second before he snatched the phone from your hand.

“What are you doing?” You turned to face him.

The two of you stood in the living room, where the windows stretched floor to ceiling, though the gray light outside still left the cabin dim. Javier crossed the room and switched on one of the lamps beside the couch before slipping your phone into his pocket.

Then he stepped toward you.

“You’re not to contact anyone while we’re here. You understand me?”

“How exactly would I do that?” You crossed your arms. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no signal.”

Javier turned away and headed toward the small open kitchen a few feet off the living room.

“Why don’t you go take a proper shower instead? There’s more stuff for you in the red suitcase. Erica packed it.”

Erica. Your father’s housekeeper.

“You’re still not going to tell me what’s happening?” You followed after him, catching his shoulder with your hand and forcing him to look at you. “You seriously expect to drag me all the way out here, say ten words total and think that’s enough?”

“What else do you need to know?” he asked evenly. “A lunatic doused you in gasoline with a lighter in his hand. He was trying to hurt you.”

“What about my family? Are they safe back there? I told him he should’ve gotten out of New York—”

“They’re not after him.” He moved closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’re after you. They want to stop him from exposing whatever he found, and right now, you’re the only leverage they’ve got. You understand?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not stupid.” Your voice sharpened. “They wanted to use me as a threat. Fine. But if that’s the case, why try to kill me on the first shot? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send a warning first?”

Javier’s jaw tightened as he took a step back. Your eyes swept over his face in a flash.

“So now you’re critiquing their methods?” he asked.

“I’m just saying. If they wanted to hurt me, going for it on the first try without even making a threat first feels pretty sloppy,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Why’d they do that?”

He gave a faint shake of his head, lips pressing into a thin line. Then he tipped his chin up just slightly.

“Listen, why don’t you go get settled in? I’ll check the property and finish unloading the car.”

“You’re letting me go to my room alone?”

Javier’s eyes flicked toward yours. “For a minute. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can survive without me for a couple of minutes.”

You hummed softly and took a step back, uncrossing your arms.

“Alright. If I need you, I’ll call,” you said, turning around. “Unless, of course, they gag me first.”

Behind you, you heard him scoff.

From your bedroom window, you could watch night settling in for good. The view from where you stood was limited, but beautiful all the same; a long stretch of trees, and beyond them, just the faintest glimpse of water catching what little light remained. The mountains in the distance were barely visible now, their peaks rising behind the dark canopy of green.

The window was cracked open just enough for cool air to slip inside, fresh against your skin and enough to leave goosebumps trailing down your arms. Your body still held onto the heat from the shower.

You could still smell gasoline, though at this point you figured the scent had burned itself into your nose. You’d scrubbed yourself down with soap over and over again, brushed your teeth at least three times after getting out, then sprayed perfume through your hair before blow-drying it. Thank God Erica had packed one in the red suitcase.

Javier had knocked on the bathroom door ten minutes ago and walked away after you told him everything was fine. No intruder hiding in the shower with you, thankfully.

Now, as you adjusted your clean clothes against your skin and your stomach growled in protest, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. Eight thirty at night.

You found Javier crouched in front of the fireplace when you came downstairs.

“I’m starving. Is there anything in the fridge?”

You knew he’d stopped at a gas station in the middle of some tiny town on the drive out here. You hadn’t seen what he bought or how much of it, only that he’d walked out carrying a massive box, shoved it into the trunk without explanation, then gone back inside for more.

“Yeah. Check the counter too,” he said.

You turned on your heel and headed where he’d pointed. The cardboard box sat open on the counter: ground coffee, black tea, three different kinds of cookies, protein bars, several packs of pasta, salt, sugar, rye bread, every canned thing imaginable including beans, chickpeas, soups, giant jars of sauce, bags upon bags of beef jerky and mixed nuts, plus fruit like apples and oranges and a decent amount of vegetables. Off to the side sat two massive gallons of mineral water.

“How long are we staying here?” you asked as you moved toward the fridge.

When you opened it, you found trays of meat and four sandwiches wrapped tightly in plastic.

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded closer now; he was walking into the kitchen.

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Better too much than not enough, right?”

Without answering, you reached in and grabbed one of the sandwiches. It was huge. A sticker across the top listed the ingredients.

“Says it was made today. Think that’s actually true?”

You glanced over at him. Javier stepped closer and tilted his head slightly.

“If it’s not rotten, give it a shot.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You weren’t in the mood to argue about food, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to cook for yourself.

“Want to eat with me?” you asked, leaning toward the fridge again. “Louis always eats with me.”

“I know. I stand by the door while he does, remember?” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “Nobody’s doing that for me now.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said, pulling out another sandwich. “I think you can survive sitting down to eat with me.”

A minute after you dropped into one of the dining chairs, rain began tapping softly against the cabin roof. Outside, the fog had swallowed almost everything whole, turning the world beyond the windows into a blur of silver and black. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction except for the moonlight; full tonight, huge and bright enough that its pale glow burst through the mist like scattered frost.

Javier (much against his better judgment, you suspected) sat across from you at the other end of the table, holding his brisket and vegetable sandwich with a faint frown as he took a bite.

Carefully, you peeled the lettuce from yours and set it on the wrapper. It smelled incredible; your mouth watered instantly. You took a bite and closed your eyes for a second at the taste.

“Oh my God, this is so good.”

Javier let out a quiet huff of laughter. It was brief and soft. “No lettuce?”

You waited until you swallowed. “Lettuce is the first thing that goes bad. Tomatoes too, but lettuce dies first.”

“It looked fresh enough.”

“I’m not risking it.”

He tilted his head slightly and took another bite.

Between you sat two glasses of water and an open bag of chips. Your gaze drifted through the glass in front of him, catching the warped image of his hand beneath the waterline; fingers distorted as they curled tightly, for some reason, around the handle of the butter knife resting beside his wrapper.

Your eyes traveled upward, past his watch, past the smooth skin of his forearm dusted with fine dark hair.

“Do you have a girl?”

The question came out so bluntly, stripped clean of the usual social cushioning, that he stopped chewing.

Honestly, it surprised you too.

The hand holding your sandwich lowered to the table little by little.

Javier looked at you with an unreadable expression, though you caught the slightest tightening near the corners of his eyes.

“That’s… none of your business.”

“So that’s a no?” Heat crawled into your cheeks. “A man like you—hard to believe you spend all your time alone when you’re not standing behind me.”

His jaw flexed as he chewed. One, two, three, four… five times before swallowing.

“Are you bored?”

You smiled faintly. “I’m asking a question. It’s been a long day, and we’re running out of things to talk about.”

Javier exhaled quietly and glanced toward the kitchen counter behind you.

“I move around too much for that. This kind of job doesn’t exactly leave room for domestic bliss.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Now finish your sandwich and get some sleep.”

“You’re redirecting,” you pointed out with a small, knowing smile. “Is she in New York? Or back wherever you came from?”

That finally pulled his full attention back to you.

“You’re too curious for your own good, you know that?” he said. “Dangerous habit, sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

“Maybe I am bored,” you teased, lifting one shoulder lightly. Your gaze wandered over the breadth of his shoulders before returning to his face. “Besides, you’ve spent an entire year following me around and learning every detail of my routine. I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Unless the truth’s just painfully boring.”

A crooked, amused smile tugged at his mouth.

“I don’t think you’re entitled to anything.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“And boring isn’t the word I’d use anyway,” he added.

“Then what is the word?” You tilted your head, hair spilling over your shoulder. “Complicated? Or are you just rusty? I saw the way you looked at that girl at the gala last month — the one who tried to give you her number. Were you about to frisk her?”

Javier leaned forward, eyes narrowing, though there was a flicker of reluctant amusement buried beneath the irritation.

“Maybe she was a security risk.”

You smiled. “She was five two in four inch heels. The only thing she threatened was your peace of mind.” A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Admit it. You’re out of practice.”

A dry sound escaped him, and halfway to a laugh he swallowed it down behind a frown.

“Why don’t we try eating in silence instead, huh? Maybe you’re just hungry. And tired.”

You let the sandwich fall onto its wrapper.

“Don’t do that.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’m not.” You lifted your chin slightly. “I’m used to Louis acting like that because he’s been doing it for a decade, but you’re not Louis.” Your voice stayed even. “And I’m not tired.”

“How?” he asked, and you noticed the defensive edge had left his voice, settling into something quieter. “It’s been a long day. Longer than most. You should be exhausted.”

“I don’t sleep much, and you know that.” You reached for your glass of water. “Besides, it’s too quiet out here.”

You took another bite of your sandwich and ignored the way he kept watching you. His fingers tapped once against the wooden table.

“Well, you’re strangely calm considering what happened today. How are you feeling? Really.”

You swallowed your food. In the privacy of your own head, you thought about the smell of gasoline; the slick, half-thick texture of it soaked into your skin and clothes.

“I’m okay. I mean, my throat still burns a little, and I’ll probably smell gasoline in my sleep for the next week, but I’m okay.”

Javier’s jaw tightened. He looked down at his hands.

“Most people would be scared.”

“Maybe I’ve spent too much time around men like you and my father,” you said with a faint smile. “Eventually you learn how to compartmentalize. Or maybe I just haven’t processed how close it actually was because you were there.” You tilted your head slightly. “Give it a few days. Maybe the shock will catch up to me then.”

“Huh.” His eyes lifted back to yours. “You’re tougher than you look.”

Your ego swelled at that despite yourself.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I figured that out a while ago.” One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “That, combined with your invasive questions, makes it pretty hard to see you as some porcelain doll.”

Your fingers curled tighter around your glass, though you didn’t lift it. You kept your eyes fixed on him.

“Is that really what you think I am? A porcelain doll?”

Javier pressed his lips together and stayed perfectly still. His gaze didn’t leave yours.

He didn’t answer.

“You’re wrong,” you continued, leaning a little farther over the table. “Porcelain’s fragile. It cracks the second things get bad. I’ve spent my whole life in houses where the walls have ears and every move is planned before it happens. What other choice did I have?”

“I don’t think you’re made of porcelain,” he said quietly. “Not even close. That’s what I meant. But I've heard people talk about you when I first started working for your dad. That's all.”

You blinked once. “Then what do you think I am?”

You caught the way his eyes almost smiled, completely at odds with the rest of his expression. He was thinking something.

But what?

He lifted his chin slightly and tilted his head.

"You're more like… like the glass they use in those high-rise buildings in the city," he said, holding your eyes. "You know, looks delicate from the street, like you could put a fist through it if you tried. But it's reinforced. It's built to take the pressure of the wind and the heat without cracking." A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not fragile. You’re just used to being handled with gloves.”

The honesty in his voice made you go still. So did the smugness.

Javier looked calm, but the feeling was there in the smallest details; in the flicker of his expression, the confidence sitting quietly beneath every word.

“And what happens if you take the gloves off? Can you do that for me?”

He froze. His dark eyes locked onto your face and moved over it with maddening slowness, never losing intensity. The surprise wasn’t invisible this time. He started studying you with a heaviness that felt almost physical, like being touched.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His gaze dropped briefly to your hand resting on the table before returning to your eyes. His pupils had blown wide.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.

Every trace of professionalism had vanished from his voice.

“Don’t I?”

“Of course not.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” you asked with a smile. “I wasn’t being very subtle, was I?”

Javier tilted his head, studying you a little more carefully now.

“Vandspell,” he said slowly, “what exactly are you trying to say?”

Oh, he could not ask you that while looking at you like that.

You’d spent a year and a half with him at your back, following you everywhere. Of course you’d noticed the way he looked at you sometimes; rare, but obvious when it happened. And maybe it was the aftershock finally kicking in, or maybe today had knocked something loose inside your head, because suddenly you felt very, very capable of saying exactly what you wanted.

What was he going to do? Run?

And honestly, Javier didn’t strike you as the type of man who’d go tattling to your father about your behavior. No; he seemed much more like the type who’d join in.

So, fuck it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said. “I’m curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“You.”

His brows lifted. “Me?”

You nodded.

“What useful thing could you possibly want to know about me?”

“Oh, a few things.”

You leaned farther onto the table. He swallowed.

“You know, I looked into you a little when my father first hired you.” You tilted your head. “Almost everything I found was about your professional life. That was disappointing.”

“My professional life disappointed you?”

“No. Not being able to find out anything about your personal life disappointed me.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “What could you possibly want to know about me? Let me ask again.”

“Do you have a girl?”

Javier hid the beginning of a smirk behind his hand. “No. I already told you that.”

“So nobody’s waiting for you back in the city?” you pressed, keeping your voice casual even as your heartbeat picked up against your ribs. “No one complaining about your hours or how impossible you are to deal with when you're tired after work?”

“No.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “No one’s waiting.”

“Good.” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” You refused to look away. “I’m glad there’s nobody else. Is that so wrong?”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh and shook his head, looking down at his sandwich.

“What?” you asked lightly. “I’m just curious.”

He leaned forward just slightly. Like standing one step from the edge of something steep.

“No. You aren’t.” His tone flattened again. “You’re bored. We’re trapped in a cabin with no TV, no signal, and you’ve spent your whole life being the center of attention. Now it’s just me, so you’re fishing for a reaction.” His eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re poking at me to see if the hired help has a pulse.” A pause. “Why don’t you save these games for your boyfriend?”

That made you smile.

“You can’t stand Wes.”

Javier lifted his brows and tipped his head to the side.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” you continued. “The eye rolls every time he opens his mouth. Those exhausted sighs you let out whenever you’re stuck standing next to us.” Your smile widened slightly. “You’re really not that good at pretending.”

“Oh yeah?” he said dryly. “Do tell.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” you said. “If you get to spend almost two years watching me, then I get to spend almost two years watching you too.” You tilted your head slightly. “What’s it like? Spending hours every day just… waiting for me to finish dinner or for some meeting to finally end?”

“It’s part of the paycheck. You get used to it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Since you’re so curious, let’s flip it around. What exactly do you think you’re doing right now?” His eyes stayed pinned to yours. “Because I know for a fact you’re not this talkative in the city. Half the time you barely say two words to me in the car.”

You swallowed once.

“Maybe it’s the lack of an audience.”

“I don’t buy it.”

You shrugged and picked your sandwich back up, taking a small bite. Across from you, he kept watching.

“You’re not wrong, by the way,” he said after a moment. “About Wes.”

He shifted slightly, resting an arm along the back of the chair beside him. His eyes drifted toward the window to your left, the shadow of a grimace crossing his face.

“I find him incredibly childish,” he admitted, shaking his head. “The way he talks, the way he carries himself… I honestly thought you would’ve realized that by now. I figured someone as observant as you would’ve gotten tired of the performance months ago.”

You smiled, feeling a strange little victory in his honesty “He can be immature, but he’s not a bad guy.”

“It’s exhausting to watch, especially when I’m the one making sure his complete lack of situational awareness doesn’t get you both killed.” His jaw tightened. “Like at that party last week. The way he practically tried to drag you into that car? He was wasted.”

Your eyes flickered at the memory.

Yeah. Wes had been an idiot. He’d tried to get behind the wheel of his Lambo while drunk out of his mind and high on molly, then nearly thrown a tantrum when you told him you were going home alone. Javier had pulled you away by the arm before you even had the chance to argue.

“You’re a lot of things,” Javier continued, “but you’re not stupid. So yeah, it’s frustrating watching you settle for someone who doesn’t even know which direction the wind’s blowing.”

“A lot of things?” you repeated with a smile, brows pulling together slightly. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head once. “Nothing. You’re persistent. Extremely persistent.” He nodded toward your sandwich. “Come on, eat. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s finish dinner so I can get back to doing my job.”

“Your job is watching me, Javier,” you reminded him softly. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. So watch me all you want.”

Surrounded by darkness, pure cold air, and a room you didn’t fully recognize, your hand flew to your chest as your eyes snapped open wide with panic. A bolt of lightning had struck somewhere nearby, violent enough to rattle the windowpanes, but even then, you couldn’t tell whether it was the thunder that had dragged you awake, or the nightmare still clawing at the inside of your head.

Outside, the rain fell in a heavy torrent, its frantic galloping against the roof mimicking the rhythm in your chest. You grabbed your phone to check the time: 3:00 AM. No, 3:31. And for a fleeting second, your mind drifted back to the legends whispered by schoolmates years and years ago. They said that at 3:33 AM, the veil thins, and creatures lurking in the cracks of the day emerge; it was the hour when the impossible and unusual became reality.

The room felt cavernous, its high corners swallowing the light and casting long jagged shadows. And the door stood half open, revealing nothing but pitch black hallway beyond it.

You pushed the blankets aside and lowered your feet onto the floor. Freezing.

Phone clutched tightly in your hand, you stepped into the hallway and pushed the flashlight over it, casting a pale beam over every step as you followed it toward the staircase.

“Javier?”

BOOM.

Another crack of thunder jolted through the house, making you jump in place. Your head whipped around instantly… Had the floor creaked behind you?

Your heart raced at a frantic pace as you rushed down the stairs, ignoring the thudding in your chest and the biting chill crawling up your legs.

Below, the living room flickered to life every few seconds, caught in the pale erratic flashes of lightning. The fireplace offered a pulsing warm glow that bled across the rug and the couch across from it, and on the coffee table sat a pack of cigarettes and a handgun. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.

You scanned the room, searching for a flashlight or anything useful, but found nothing. You spun on your heel and—

"Shit!"

Just as another bolt of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the room in a ghostly white glare, Javier appeared right in front of you.

Drenched to the bone, with wet hair plastered to his forehead, he stood there holding a heavy flashlight and a set of keys.

"You... you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled, recoiling a step. You knit your brows together. "What happened?"

"The power’s out," he rasped.

"I know that."

"The storm must've taken out a line down the road. Go to the fireplace; I’ve got the fire going. It’s the only place that’ll stay warm."

He brushed past you and stopped by the couch. He reached down, took the weapon, and tucked it out of sight.

"Sit," he commanded.

Without a word, you obeyed; the cold was becoming unbearable and exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids. You walked over and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt that left your thighs exposed to the air; instinctively, you pulled the hem of the fabric down with one hand to cover yourself.

He vanished from your sight then, and you flicked off your phone’s flashlight, tossing the device onto the coffee table like the useless piece of hardware it had become. Before you, the fire roared, flames dancing restlessly from side to side. The warmth helped, but barely.

“Here.”

At the sound of his voice, you turned your head toward him. Javier stood behind the couch.

Without a word, he draped a thick heavy blanket over your shoulders. His fingers were still wet and freezing, and they lingered briefly against the back of your neck; the touch made you shiver. A second later, he pulled away and moved around the couch, sinking onto the opposite end with enough distance between you to feel intentional. He barely moved after that.

Water continued dripping from his clothes, leaving dark stains across the upholstery as the storm raged outside.

“You’re soaked,” you said quietly, your eyes trailing over him. “Why were you even outside?”

“Checking the power lines.”

His gaze never left the fire.

You frowned, watching the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin like a second layer of cold.

“Why don’t you change?”

“Don’t have anything here.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Louis is bringing the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Clothes included.”

“I’m sorry.”

In the ensuing silence, the reality of the situation felt heavier than the wool on your shoulders. The entire trip had been so rushed that neither of you had stopped to consider that a storm of this magnitude could leave you trapped and empty handed.

What if Louis couldn't reach you tomorrow?

As was his custom, your father would surely send more than one man. Javier, Louis, maybe Renzo, and likely Nora, who usually accompanied you on matters like this. But if the downpour persisted and the roads became impassable, there was no telling if they’d make it.

"So you're just going to stay like that? Drenched?"

“Yes.”

“You could dry off, you know,” you insisted, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “It’s not a big deal if you take the clothes off. But if you stay wet, you’re definitely gonna get sick.” You nodded toward the hallway. “There are towels in the closet.”

Javier seemed to process your words with a pause. For a moment, the only sound was the wind lashing against the windowpanes and the rumble of the sky.

His fingers brushed the edge of his sodden cuff, hesitating.

"Your hair is dripping," you added, as the final blow to his resistance.

A quiet sigh slipped out of him and he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the flashlight from the coffee table, he disappeared down the hallway without another word, as his silhouette was swallowed by darkness and the sound of his footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards.

You took advantage of his absence to burrow deeper into the heavy blanket. Tucking your legs onto the couch, you leaned back, sinking into the cushions until only your eyes peered over the edge of the wool. The fire’s heat was finally taking hold, numbing your limbs and stilling the tremors in your body.

A moment later, Javier returned.

The jacket, shirt and jeans were gone. He walked with his torso completely bare, revealing a landscape of muscle and warm-toned skin. He wore only a towel wrapped low, clinging precariously to the line of his hips.

You fell silent, a sudden knot tightening in your throat. Your eyes betrayed you, tracing the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, where traces of dampness still glistened. Your gaze drifted downward involuntarily, following the thin line of hair below his navel that disappeared beneath the waist of the towel.

A heat flared within you that had nothing to do with the hearth. You quickly averted your eyes toward the fire, hoping the dancing shadows on your cheeks would mask the unmistakable creep of a blush.

"Better," he said.

Javier sat back down, and the contrast was nearly unbearable. You remained motionless, your gaze fixed on the fire, though your eyes weren't truly seeing the flames. Internally, your mind was a chaotic mess of self-reproach; you thought this had to be some cruel joke, immediate karma for trying to toy with him during dinner. You had enjoyed every charged look and every double entendre, wanting to see if you could crack that stone mask he always wore. You wanted to provoke him, yes—but now that he was right there, half naked, the situation had spiraled out of your control.

A persistent tingle stirred in your lower abdomen, a pang of anticipation that you tried to ignore by pressing your legs together under the blanket. Your heart, ever the traitor, thrashed against your ribs with an erratic rhythm; you weren't worried about him hearing it, though, the thunder provided the perfect cover.

Javier let out a long exhale and leaned back against the cushions, stretching one arm across the top of the couch. His fingers came to rest mere inches from your back.

“You’re still shaking,” he observed. “You still cold?”

You turned your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn't looking at you; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his jaw was set tight.

"Yeah," you admitted in a whisper, clutching the edges of the blanket tighter against your chest. "I'm still a little cold."

You dared to turn fully to catch his profile. He remained there, letting the hearth’s warmth lick across his skin. He looked like a statue carved from only shadows and orange light.

"And you?" you asked. "Aren't you cold? You're almost... well, you aren't wearing much."

"A little. Did you get any sleep?"

"Just a bit," you confessed. "You?"

"No."

"Why?"

“Got a lot on my mind,” he muttered. And this time, he didn’t avoid your gaze.

He looked at you directly, with an intensity that made you feel strangely small and hyperaware of every inch of yourself all at once.

That tingle in your stomach flared again.

"A lot? Like what?"

Instead of an answer, a faint, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remained silent, turning back toward the fire and running a finger over his mustache.

Oh, playing the mysterious type, are we?

Two could play that game.

Without a word, you let the blanket slide from your shoulders, allowing the chill of the room to bite at your skin. You rose from the couch and crossed to the fireplace, and felt his gaze searing into your back; you knew exactly how the hem of your shirt rode up with every step. You knew you were showing just the right amount of skin, and that as you leaned over to reach for the poker, your tights and ass were perfectly framed by the glow of the embers.

You gripped the iron tool and shifted the logs, moving with an unnecessary focus and tending to the fire while the heat enveloped you. When you finished, you set the poker back in its stand and turned around with excruciating patience.

You found him exactly as you expected: staring. His gaze was so heavy, so raw, it felt as though it could physically pin you against the wall. You didn't flinch. You held his stare and began to trace your own waist through the thin fabric of the shirt. You moved your fingers with a gentle touch, stroking upward, dragging the hem higher inch by inch, and stopped only when your fingers reached your naked waist, letting the garment hang dangerously high.

You stood still, waiting for him to make a move. But Javier didn't stop you, nor did he look away. Instead, he shifted his hips slightly forward on the couch, and you noted, with a silent surge of triumph, the way his breathing began to quicken.

"Do you want me to keep going... or do you want me to stop?" you asked.

He remained incredibly still. “How the hell am I supposed to look your daddy in the eye when I cash my paycheck?”

You offered a lopsided smile, feeling the power of the moment firmly in your grasp. You began to close the distance between you, step by step. When you were directly in front of him, you leaned down, resting your arms on the back of the couch just behind his head, trapping him within your space.

“Oh, come on,” you whispered, tilting closer. “You really wanna pretend you care?”

Your lips hovered dangerously near his.

“You’ll put on that good-man act,” you murmured. “Smile nice and polite while your eyes give absolutely nothing away.” Your gaze flicked briefly toward his mouth. “Such a good man. Always protecting me.”

Javier let out a low growl, and his hand clamped firmly around your wrist.

With a sudden, violent yank, he pulled you down onto him. You gasped as you collided with the heat of his bare chest, and your hands instinctively grasped his shoulders before sliding down over the hard ridges of his pectorals.

He wasted no time, hauling you up until you were straddling him, your bare thighs gripping his waist. One of his hands surged upward, locking his fingers around your jaw. He squeezed just enough to force your head back, and tilted your face toward his as he hauled you closer. His breath fanned across your lips.

"Does anyone know about this?" he rasped. "That you wanna go behind your daddy’s back and your rich little boyfriend just to get fucked by your bodyguard?"

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you thought it might shatter them. "No."

Javier’s eyes darkened, turning into two pits of black ink. "Tell me, how does that boy like to fuck you? I bet he’s so wasted half the time he can’t even get his dick hard enough to do the job. What a waste."

He dragged his thumb across your lower lip, pressing down and stretching your mouth open.

"He likes it on his back," you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch. "Or doggy style, if he’s feeling adventurous."

You moved your mouth closer to his, so close your lips brushed his; his thumb was still hooked over your bottom lip.

"And what about you?" you challenged, your eyes locked onto his. "How would you fuck me?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the soft skin of your ear. "I’m not really good with words, sweetheart."

In response, your hand traveled slowly up the expanse of his bare chest. "Then show me."

You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze before reaching for the hem of your shirt, and dragged the fabric upward and over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Javier fell into silence; his eyes tracked your movement, dropping to your bare breasts and devouring the sight of you in the amber firelight. Beneath you, you felt him surge; thick and rock hard, straining against the thin towel directly against you.

You reached up, cupping his face with one hand, and your thumb grazed his cheekbone. Slowly, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was deceptively tender. You parted your lips for him, your tongue sliding in to taste him.

As you deepened the kiss, your other hand wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling firmly to tilt his head back. You caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave a playful tug.

He let out a growl, so animalistic and raw that vibrated from his chest straight into you. His hands slammed onto your backside and his fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your glutes. He jerked your hips forward, grinding you ruthlessly against his throbbing erection; the thin barrier of the towel did nothing to hide the fact that he was ready to snap.

And then, he broke the kiss.

"You have no idea what you’ve started," he rasped.

Javier didn’t wait for an answer. He attacked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin and his tongue swirling over the spot where your pulse was jumping. One of his hands slid from your hip, traveling up your ribcage until he captured your breast, squeezing it and flicking your nipple over and over with his thumb, watching as it peaked under his touch.

His other hand didn't stay still; he reached down between your bodies, his fingers hooking under the edge of your panties and shoving them aside. When he found you, he let out a whimper; Javier buried two fingers inside you with a sudden thrust, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it with such a soft and heavy pressure that your back arched as soon as you felt him.

"Yes, fuck" you whimpered, your head falling back as the friction made you shiver.

He just watched you unravel, moving his fingers and letting them get wet. There was a triumphant smirk ghosting his lips.

A moment later, he withdrew his fingers; glistening and wet, he brought them to his mouth, tasting you without breaking eye contact. It was so filthy; no one had ever looked at you this way. Or at least, it had never felt this natural and raw before.

He gripped your waist again, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.

"Not here," he gritted out. "Get on the rug. Lay down in front of the fire."

Obediently, you slid off his lap as Javier stood with you. You turned away, dropping to all fours on the rug and crawling toward the hearth. Every muscle in your back and hips flexed under the orange glow, your skin prickling as the intense heat of the flames washed over you and your body moved with a deliberate sway of your hips, feeling his eyes burning a hole in your spine, before settling onto your backside in the center of the rug.

Standing right over you, he reached for the knot of the towel at his waist and jerked it free, tossing it carelessly onto the couch.

There he was, fully exposed in the flickering light. He was massive; his cock thick, angry and fully erect, pulsing with every thud of his heart. A single glistening bead of pre-cum clung to the tip, reflecting the fire. It watered your mouth. A second later, he wrapped a large hand around the base of his shaft, grazing the dark curls of hair at his groin, and began to slowly pump himself.

The sight of him doing that just for you made your breath hitch. The payoff to every thought you’d had about this hard quiet man over the past year couldn’t be sweeter.

Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your fingers into the lace of your panties and dragged them down your legs, kicking them aside. You lay back on the rug, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open to him.

The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the ache between your thighs. You slid your hand down and your fingers disappeared into your own wetness. You began to stroke yourself, circling your clit with a slick pressure while watching him stroke himself right above you.

"Look at you," Javier rasped. His hand moved faster now. "Open like a gift for me. Soaked and desperate."

You let out a broken moan, arching your back as your fingers worked harder, slicking your folds with your own cream. "Don't make me wait."

He stopped mid-stroke, his chest heaving as he stared down at the way you were touching yourself. His face was full of pure delicious lust.

Javier dropped to his knees between your thighs a second later, the heat from the hearth making his shoulders glisten like oil. But he didn't rush; he started by dragging his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing the edges of your wetness until you were squirming beneath him. Then, he pressed his palm flat against your mound, grinding in a slow circle that forced a jagged breath from your lungs.

He slid two thick fingers into you, pushing deep until he hit hilt, and started a slow soft pump; in and out, stretching you, letting you feel the sheer size of him through his hands. Then, he hooked his fingers upward, findind that one delicious spot that always made your toes curl.

In the privacy of your own company, you’d driven yourself to the edge with this exact motion more times than you could count. Half the time, Javier had been right on the other side of the door, completely unaware; you knew how to stay quiet. But your fingers were nothing like his. Not in the way they moved, not in their size, and definitely not because this time, it was him doing it. It was enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

The sound was so filthy, so wet.

"You hear that?" he muttered. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby, aren't you?"

You threw your head back, your cheeks burning with a feverish flush. Every time he curled his fingers, a hot jolt shot through your spine. When you opened your eyes for a fleeting second, all you could see was the orange roar of the fire, blurring into a haze of pleasure.

Suddenly, he leaned down, burying his face between your legs. When his tongue lashed against your clit, you let out a strangled sob, your fingers instinctively diving into his thick hair, clutching him against you. He was destroying you, his mouth working with punishing hunger that pushed you right to the edge of unraveling.

You began to toss your head, your hips bucking uselessly as you tried to find friction. You were so close.

But then, he pulled away abruptly. His fingers vanished, his mouth left your skin, and the sudden cold made you whimper in protest.

"What do you want?" he gritted out through clenched teeth. His chest was heaving, his face was inches from yours.

You ran a trembling hand through your hair, staring up at him with blown out pupils as your breasts were rising and falling frantically.

Javier reached down, his large hand sliding under your hip to give your ass a stinging slap that made you jump.

"I just asked you a question," he growled. "What do you want?"

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows; your hair was a mess around your shoulders.

"I want you to fuck me," you breathed. "So fucking hard and deep, Javier. Can you do that for me?"

A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face. Slowly, he nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a promise of total ruin.

"Yeah," he rasped, reaching for his cock. "I can do that."

Javier gripped his shaft and guided the head to your entrance, which was already dripping and swollen. He didn't ease in; with a low grunt, he lunged forward, burying his entire length inside you in one deep soul shattering thrust.

The air left your lungs in a wheeze. You were stretched to the absolute limit, your internal muscles spasming around him as he bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, as his forehead rested against yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he choked out.

You smiled, suddenly cock-drunk. And he began to hammer into you with a raw intensity, his hips hitting yours with a slap so loud it echoed over the crackling fire and your heartbeat. He reached down and yanked one of your knees upward, pinning it against your chest so he could drive even deeper.

"Yes, please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the rug. "Please, don't stop... oh god, don't stop."

He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss for a moment before his attention shifted to your neck, his teeth sinking into the delicate cord of your throat. You screamed into him, your own teeth catching his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks as the pleasure became too much to bear. It felt like your nervous system was short-circuiting, every nerve ending screaming under the friction of him filling you.

Javier let out a loud, pained moan and his pace became frantic. He reached up, and his large hand wrapped around your throat; not to choke, but to pin you, to claim you. He forced you to look at him.

"Mirame a los ojos," he rasped. "Mira como estás. You think that rich boy could ever make you cry like this? You think he knows how to break you open?"

He slammed into you again, harder this time, harder and harder, his thumb stroking your jaw while his fingers tightened slightly on your neck. Your breath was completely destroyed, coming in tiny pathetic hitches.

"You’re mine tonight," he growled. "Mine. Just my cock stretching you out until you can't think of anyone else. Say it. Tell me who's fucking you. Say it."

"You," you gasped, your vision blurring as you neared the ledge. "You are... Javier... please…"

He let out another groan, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to lose the last of his control.

The sound was absolute filth and you loved it. You could feel yourself overflowing, your own heat and cream coating his shaft and dripping down the curve of your ass, slicking the insides of your thighs until every thrust felt like sliding through hot velvet.

Javier let out a ragged uneven breath. He reached down, hooking his forearms under your pits and hauling your upper body off the rug until you were arched toward him.

"Look at you," he commanded. "Look how well you're taking me."

You forced your eyes open, glancing down through a haze of sweat and pleasure to see the primal sight of his thick cock disappearing into you and pulling out glistening with your nectar, over and over.

"See how sweet you are for me?" he growled. "How you take every inch like you were made for it?"

Before you could even gasp, he shifted his grip; his hand buried deep into the hair at the nape of your neck and jerking your head back. He crashed his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you as your breasts crushed into his damp chest, and hooked your legs high around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back.

"Please... yes, right there, Javi," you sobbed into his mouth, your internal muscles clenching around him. "I'm so close... I’m right there."

"I know, baby," he gritted out.

He was losing it too; the measured man was gone, replaced by a one driven by pure lust. His skin was scorching, slick with sweat that acted like a lubricant between your bodies, and for the first time all night, you were no longer cold.

His movements became desperate. "Don't you move," he hissed. "Take all of it. Take it, take it, you're such a fucking good girl."

The climax hit you hard and soft at the same time; your entire body spasmed, your back arching off the rug in a messy line as the first wave of the orgasm tore through you. Debilitating, high-pitched whimpers escaped your throat and got lost in the roar of the fire. You were unraveling, every muscle in your cunt clenching around him in a desperate pulse that seemed to have no end.

Javier didn't let up; his movements became erratic and frantic as he felt you shattering beneath him. His fingers dug into your waist with bruising force, his knuckles white as he anchored himself inside of you; you reached for him blindly, your hands roaming over his sweat slicked shoulders, his heaving chest, his jaw.

You pulled him down, kissing him, your teeth catching his lip and drawing a metallic tang of blood. And as you finally broke apart for air, a thin, silver thread of saliva lingered between your mouths.

He let out a broken moan, his face contorting into a pained beautiful expression that looked almost like he was weeping. He pressed his forehead hard against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to stay upright.

"Come inside me," you choked out, your voice a wrecked whisper against his lips. "Come inside me, Javi... please…"

With three more violent thrusts, his entire frame went rigid. A low sob erupted from his lungs as he finally surrendered, and you felt the scorching heat of him flooding you, wave after wave of his release pumping deep into your womb, filling the space he’d spent the last minutes claiming.

He went still then, buried to the hilt, his weight collapsing forward as he trembled against you, savoring the dying echoes of the friction and the absolute chaos of the storm outside.

Slowly, he let his forehead fall against yours, and your hands slid up his broad shoulders until they curled around the back of his neck.

You smiled softly. “Where’s the serious man who wouldn’t even look me in the eye during the drive?” you teased. “You look different now.”

Javier lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. His hand brushed gently along your cheek before he gave a faint shake of his head.

“He’s gone. You buried him the second you took that shirt off. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, but God help me… I’d do it all over again just to hear you fall apart like that one more time.”

His words felt like a victory; they sent a thrill through your stomach.

“Well,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lightly along the back of his neck, “it’s just gonna be you and me until tomorrow.”