11. Wesley
WESLEY
There’s always a trail.
People think erasing data is like waving a magic wand. They delete a few files, scrub a hard drive, use a VPN, and call themselves ghosts. But that’s not how it works. Digital footprints are stubborn.
You can delete a file, but the metadata lingers. You can reroute a signal, but the bounce logs still whisper the truth.
And today, I find one of David Oswalt’s secrets hiding in the packet stack of a burner phone payment trail routed through two dummy accounts and one sloppy freelance surveillance specialist who thought “private” meant untraceable.
What it means is that I have everything I need. I sit back in my chair in the ops room, a grin crawling across my face. Gotcha.
The blackmail photos? The ones of Bailey and the three of us? Paid for by a shell account connected to a shell company connected to a real person with a very real deposit from a very familiar corporate credit card.
David’s. The bastard didn’t take the photos himself. But he paid someone who did. And that’s all I need.
I print the proof and start building the report. PDF format. Clear. Sharp. Judge-ready. Sean’s gonna want to drop this at the courthouse the minute the ink dries.
But Bailey comes first. Always.
Her office is tucked in the corner of the second floor—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a vintage writing desk she never actually uses for writing, and big glass windows that overlook the hills.
It’s all soft neutrals and gold accents and the scent of her perfume soaked into the upholstery. Quiet, feminine, guarded. Very her.
She’s at the window when I knock. “Got a minute?”
She turns slowly. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Always.”
I shut the door behind me and hand her the folder. “This is for you. And then a judge.”
“What’s this?”
“Proof. That David paid someone to take the pictures.”
She flips it open and scans the printouts—payment logs, account trails, a copy of the surveillance contract with a fake signature that took me less than ten minutes to trace back to the guy’s real name and an indictable mistake. Her jaw tenses.
“This is more than enough for a restraining order, Bailey. Hell, we could push it toward a harassment case if you want. We’re ready to file today.”
She closes the folder. “No.”
My hands curl at my sides. “Bailey?—”
“No more drama. No more legal motions. No more courtrooms. No more drawn-out ‘he said, she said’ that puts Eli on the stand or Maeve in a crosshairs. I’ve had enough. They’ve had enough. I won’t do this to my kids again.”
She must be joking.
“This is the cleanest shot we’ve had to put pressure on him.”
“And what happens when that pressure makes him push back harder? When he leaks worse photos, or says I’m just a bitter ex trying to tank his reputation?”
“You’re not?—”
“I know I’m not,” she snaps. “But do you think that matters to anyone outside of this house? Do you think the public cares what’s real when they’ve got clickbait and a headline?”
Shit. I forgot. This is Hollywood, not reality.
She softens almost immediately. Runs a hand through her hair, exhales. “I’m tired, Wes. I’m so goddamn tired of being scared of him, of fighting, of pretending I’m not two steps away from falling apart. I?—”
I move closer. Slowly. “You’re not falling apart. You’re a fighter, baby. You always have been.”
Her voice drops. “No. I’m just holding it all in.”
And then her hand is on my chest. Warm. Shaking. I forget every word I meant to say. Her fingers press just slightly into my chest, like she’s testing the depth of something dangerous. “I need to stop thinking,” she whispers. “I need out of my head.”
I know that feeling too well. The spin. The noise. The thousand things you can’t fix circling you like sharks. The connection between us is heady. I can barely breathe when her thumb draws circles over my heart.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“I want…” She swallows. “I want you to make the rest of the world go quiet. Just for a little while.”
This is against the rules. The rules we broke before. The rules we will break again, given half the chance. It’s wrong. I know it is. And I can’t bother to care.
I close my eyes. That ache in my chest? It flares. Because this isn’t just her asking for sex. This is a woman begging for sanctuary in the only language she trusts right now—surrender. She trusts me to guide her through it.
I’ve never earned that trust. All the same, I take her hand and step back, taking her around to the front of the desk. She watches me, wide-eyed, breath shallow.
“You want to hand it over?” I ask. “The stress. The control.”
She nods.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
I flip the lock on the office door. Then I press her hands to the desk. Firm. Flat.
“Don’t move.”
She doesn’t.
I roll up my sleeves, letting her hear the whisper of fabric, the little click of my watch being unfastened. Her breath catches.
“You know what I’m going to do to you?”
She nods.
“You want me to?”
Another nod. Still not good enough.
“Use your words, Bailey.”
“Yes. I want you to take it. All of it.”
God help me. I push her gently until she’s bent over the desk, arms braced, knees pressed together. Then I reach under her skirt and tear her panties clean down her thighs. She gasps, but doesn’t fight it.
“You say when it’s too much,” I murmur. “Color system.”
“Green,” she pants. “God, green. ”
“Good.”
I run a hand over the curve of her magnificent, round ass. “Then let’s see what you really need.”
Bailey’s bent over the desk like she was made for it—palms flat, back arched, skirt hiked up around her waist. Her breath is quick. Waiting. Needing.
“Still green?” I ask, one hand trailing lightly over the curve of her bare ass. So soft.
“Green,” she breathes. “So green.”
“Good girl.”
She shivers. That gets me. There’s power in restraint, sure. But there’s joy in obedience—the kind that comes from choosing surrender. From handing someone your control like a gift. I take it. And I start slow.
A single sharp smack across her ass, my palm ringing against her skin.
She gasps, jolts slightly, but doesn’t move from position.
Another strike. Then another. Alternating sides, firm and even. Not punishing—just a rhythm to pull her out of her head and into her body.
She moans, low and wrecked.
“That what you needed, baby?”
“Yes,” she pants.
I lean down, press my mouth to her ear. “You’ve been so good. So strong. Let me carry it for a while.”
Her legs tremble.
I reach down between her thighs and find her soaked—dripping down her inner thighs, breath hitching with every teasing stroke of my fingers.
“Look at you,” I murmur. “Wrecked just from being seen. Just a few love taps.”
“I need more,” she whispers. “Please.”
The truth is, I need this too.
I undo my belt slowly, letting the sound fill the room.
The way she twitches at that? God. She’s so gone already.
I line myself up and rub the head of my cock up and down her wet slit.
Fucking heaven. Nothing and no one has ever felt this good.
I sink in deep until I’m buried inside her and she’s crying out my name.
“You take me so well,” I growl. “You were made for this.”
I fuck her hard, hips smacking against the backs of her thighs, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder to keep her steady while she comes undone beneath me.
Her cries echo off the windows. She begs. She breaks. She lets go and comes on my cock like an angel. And when she’s shaking and breathless, I wrap both arms around her from behind and hold her there.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Her whisper undoes me. “Come for me, sir.”
Restraint is a distant memory. I unleash myself, thrashing until I shatter too. She turns her head just enough for me to kiss her cheek. Her voice is raw. “Thank you.”
I pull out, fall to my knees, and lick her clean from behind while she writhes and begs. Our sweet, salty combination is addictive. She comes again, giving me a whole new mess to lap up. A delicious vicious cycle, until finally, she’s going limp.
I fix her clothes gently and lift her into my lap as we sink onto the office chair together. She rests her head against my chest.
And I don’t say another word about David. Or the photos. Or the war that’s still waiting outside that office door.
Because right now she’s safe. And in my arms, she always will be.