Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Josh
You would think someone with such an intimate relationship with death would be immune to its pull, but I honestly felt like I might die if I couldn’t touch Shay again.
Although he’d held my hand on the way to the restaurant, and he held it again on the walk back to my building, it wasn’t enough. I needed more, and I was legitimately concerned for my well-being if it didn’t happen soon.
Watching him devour his flank steak while moaning in pleasure didn’t help.
“Thank you for feeding me,” Shay quietly said, killing me in a completely different way while giving my hand a squeeze.
“My pleasure,” I replied, caressing his soft skin with my thumb, and wishing the elevator would get us to the nineteenth floor already.
Home.
I’d figured out years ago exactly how much I enjoyed spoiling someone—not monetarily, per se, but with caretaking.
From foot rubs to making sure they ate full meals and drank water to aftercare following multiple orgasms. If the person I cared about needed something, I wanted to be the one to provide it.
Caring about Shay was not part of the arrangement, Josh.
I couldn’t stop myself, though. It sounded like he’d lost one of the only family members he’d kept in touch with, and had no one else in the city to support him while he grieved.
I’d casually asked him about the other dancers at his competition during dinner, but it didn’t sound like he was friendly enough with any of them to consider them friends.
A lone wolf, just like me.
It was probably thanks to my unusual upbringing, but I didn’t mind solitude—which came in handy with my doomed dating history.
At this point, I’d all but given up on having a serious relationship, and the majority of men in this city weren’t looking for stability anyway, judging by how fast and far they ran the instant I tried to show them what I had to offer.
Too clingy.
Too bossy.
Too much.
I actively avoided dating any of my fellow artists, not only because of how elitist they could be but because of how well-known I—and my money—was.
They look down on what I do yet still want a piece of me.
The Brief Connections section of H2H fulfilled my basic needs, more often for art models than sex. Models were happy for you to dote on and feed them during a full day of posing, and disguising my caretaking as “business” worked out better for everyone.
Other than that, I had my paintings, my walks with my adoptive murder of crows, and breakfast with Lenore. So what if it wasn’t everything I longed for?
Far better to be alone than to be lonely with someone else.
At least, that was my mindset before Shay. Before meeting someone who had no clue who I was until he Googled me, someone who needed the care I was desperate to give.
Someone who had been shamelessly flirting with me all evening.
At least, I think he is…
“Get out! You do not live in the fucking penthouse of Hollywood’s Spook Central.”
I grimaced as the elevator opened to reveal the formal dining and living room—perfectly styled for interviews and client meetings but otherwise rarely used by me.
“Yeah…” I grabbed the bags I’d paid the doorman to bring up for us earlier.
“It was the only unit available when I was looking, and once I saw the natural light, I couldn’t pass it up.
I wasn’t aware a movie was filmed here until after I moved in…
but I have been told Ginger Rogers once lived in the building. ”
A slow grin stretched across Shay’s face. “Are you sure you’re not eighty years old?” When I simply rolled my eyes good-naturedly, he asked, “So how many bedrooms do you have?”
I froze, realizing I hadn’t fully thought through the logistics of this arrangement before inviting Shay to stay.
He’s going to think I’m a creep trying to trick him into my bed.
“Three,” I muttered before abruptly turning left and striding down the hallway. “But I use one as my studio.”
The primary bedroom-turned-studio was our first stop, and I couldn’t help watching Shay’s reaction as we stepped inside my favorite room in the apartment.
He whistled in appreciation, immediately gravitating toward the large windows overlooking the park. “Damn, look at this view! I can see why you fell in love.”
“The view is lovely…” I murmured, tearing my gaze away from him as I set my Opal Creek bags on an empty workspace. “Can I show you to your bedroom?”
My bedroom…
“Fuck, you’re talented,” he murmured as we passed the commission I was currently working on. “I can barely draw a stick figure.”
I chuckled. “And I can barely dance.”
But I’m dying to see you dance.
At the end of the hall, we entered the bedroom I used as the primary, and I thanked my lucky stars that my cleaning service had stopped by today.
Shay immediately flopped onto the freshly made bed as I placed his luggage near the door. “This is way better than the slab of concrete back at the hotel.” He pushed up onto his elbows and looked around with narrowed eyes. “Seems pretty lived in for a guest room, though…”
“Let me show you where the kitchen is,” I redirected, hurriedly backing into the hallway again.
His devilish grin was back in full force, but he obediently followed me down the hallway, past the formal area, and behind the partition separating it from my second favorite part of the apartment.
“Oh, okay…” Shay chuckled softly. “Now I see why it looked like an interior design showroom out there. This is where you actually hang out, huh?”
I nodded, feeling the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto bleed out of me. “Yeah. The… normalcy of this area also sold me on the place.”
Shay hummed in approval as he took in the cozy L-shaped couch facing the park view and wall-mounted TV, the modest table for two pushed against the window, and the galley kitchen beyond.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” I blurted out, needing him to be as comfortable as possible.
“Definitely thirsty…” he purred, stepping closer, making me wonder if he knew what he was doing to me. “But you already stuffed me full. Almost.”
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
The urge to throw this tiny temptation over my shoulder and march back to the bedroom was overwhelming, but I refused to take advantage of someone in such a fragile state.
Especially him.
“A snack, then?” I asked. “Soda and popcorn? We could watch a movie if you would like…”
I do talk like I’m eighty.
His grin wavered. “Sure. That works.” As he wandered toward the couch, I heard him mutter something like “a behemoth vampire snack,” but I was already bustling around the kitchen, gathering supplies.
A little while later, we were nearing the end of the original Ghostbusters, which Shay insisted we watch because of our famous location.
“Maybe I should dress up as Gozer for Halloween,” he absently murmured. “I could pull off that outfit, don’t you think?”
I eyed the skintight outfit in question and internally agreed, but there was one tiny, yet important detail to confirm first.
“Heels and all?” I asked, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.
Please say yes.
He shrugged. “Why not? I wear heels for work anyway…” his words trailed off as I sharply inhaled.
I’d Googled competitive pole while he was in his hotel room, but all I’d found were scantily-clad women in towering heels, which hadn’t really interested me.
Shay in heels, however…
I turned my body to face him, still attempting to keep things light, even as my nerves were on fire. “Can you describe your dance outfits to me?”
“Well…” He set aside the empty popcorn bowl and cleared his throat.
“I prefer drop-crotch pants… You know, like what genies wear? When I’m teaching, I throw on whatever T-shirt I have handy, but for competitions, I have tight crop tops cut just below my pecs to show off my isolations.
And I wear eight-inch heels—because I’m a pro. ”
Deep breaths, Josh.
“And that’s what’s in your luggage?” I whispered, hearing how ragged—how absolutely destroyed—my voice sounded, but was unable to do a single thing about it.
Now I truly was dying. All I could picture was Shay in a tiny crop top and heels, and I knew there would soon be no way to hide the physical effect that vision had on me.
Don’t be a creep, don’t be a creep.
“I’ll, um… I’ll be right back…” Shay mumbled, practically leaping off the couch and speed-walking toward the bedroom, most likely to get as far away from me as possible.
Looks like I fucked up.
I dropped my head into my hands with a defeated groan, and that’s exactly how I remained until the movie credits had stopped rolling and damning silence fell over my darkened apartment.
It didn’t last long.
My built-in Bluetooth alerted me to the pairing of a new device before sultry beats chased away the quiet, along with a sound that had me snapping to full attention.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Fuck.
My hands fell to the cushion on either side of me, holding on for dear life even though I knew my time had come.
At least death will be sweet.
The beat dropped the same moment Shay gracefully slinked around the partition, wearing nothing but his genie pants, those fucking heels, and a cropped sweatshirt that said “Eat Me.”
He was a feast for the eyes, fluidly moving as if the music were an extension of his body—as if it flowed through his veins the same way light and color flowed through mine.
Along with our grief.
If there was one thing I knew, it was that grief created an inescapable thread between people, tattered and frayed as that connection may be.
Only those who’d also experienced such life-altering loss could truly understand the hole it left inside you, the way you could never fill it, no matter how hard you tried.
But it’s still worth trying.
A small part of me was still concerned about Shay’s mental state after the day’s events, but I was finding it difficult to concentrate on chivalry when all the blood in my body had rushed to my dick.
I’ll just beg for forgiveness if need be.
On my knees…
Shay dropped to his knees in front of me, suggestively gyrating to the beat while maintaining eye contact, and I could no longer mistake his intentions.
“Come here,” I growled, needing to memorize the feel of his skin, to breathe in his intoxicating scent until every atom of my being was infiltrated by him.
Just him.
Shay squeaked as I easily hauled him into my lap, but his protest turned into a moan as I claimed his mouth, licking my way inside as if he was an oasis and I hadn’t had a drink in weeks, months, fucking years.
“You interrupted my routine,” he scolded against my lips, although I could feel the shape of his smile. “Rude, but I’ll allow it.”
“Good thing,” I replied, firmly wrapping my hands around his waist, steadying us both. “I was trying to be a gentleman, but dancing for me in heels was a naughty thing to do.”
“Fuck…” He shuddered, dropping his forehead to my shoulder and grinding his perfect ass over my obscenely tented dress pants. “It was naughty, especially when you’ve been so nice to me. Please, Josh… teach me a lesson. And make it hurt.”
What?!
That was not what I’d expected him to say, but it didn’t dampen my enthusiasm or stop my cock from throbbing. After the initial shock lessened, I understood what he needed—instinctively—because I needed it too.
Not pain.
Release.
“Anything you need, Shay,” I repeated, meaning it just as much as the first time I’d said the words. “I’ve got you.”