Chapter 6
The last two weeks vanished in a blur of work and being Leo’s freeuse slut. Thanksgiving with him was... educational. Now December’s here, and I’ve finally carved out time for Willow.
Snow crunches under my boots as Willow and I push through the doors of the lingerie store. Winter showed up early this year, and judging by Willow’s grumbling, she’s not happy about it.
My mind keeps drifting back to Leo this morning and how his eyes tracked my every movement like he was already planning what he’d do when I got back.
Willow’s voice washes over me, something about her new guy, and I make the right noises at the right times.
But part of me watches from somewhere far away.
A month ago, this would have been enough—girl talk, shopping, complaining about work. Now it’s like wearing clothes that don’t fit anymore.
Not because Willow’s changed. Because I have.
And I can’t tell her why.
A salesperson approaches. “Welcome! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.”
Willow beams back. “Thanks, we will.”
I head straight for the good stuff, running my fingers over silk and lace while Willow makes a beeline for the whites. When she holds up a pristine lace babydoll, I giggle.
“Is that really the look you’re going for? You don’t want to scare him and make him think you’re walking down the aisle.”
She mumbles something and shoves it back on the rack.
Deep red. Midnight blue. My arms fill fast, and I smile as I imagine Leo peeling each piece away.
Willow’s watching me when I glance up. “What?”
She shakes her head, eyeing my overflowing arms. “How long are you planning on being in the dressing room? I thought this was quick.”
My lips curve. “We’re not trying any of this on. Pick out as much as you want. My treat.”
Her eyes go wide. “Seriously? Did you win the lottery or something?”
For a split second, the urge hits to tell her everything about Leo and the freeuse arrangement. Willow would probably squeal and demand details and be thrilled for me.
But she’d also have opinions and concerns. I’m not ready to defend something I don’t fully understand yet.
“I’ve got myself a sugar daddy.” My voice stays light. “He gave me his credit card.”
The words feel weird in my mouth. Sugar daddy. He’s probably close to twice my age, all that silver hair and experience, and he’s choosing to spoil me. Technically accurate, I guess. But it doesn’t come close to whatever the hell is happening between us.
At the register, Willow spots my name embossed on the black card. “Hey! You said this was the old geezer’s money.”
I giggle, nerves and giddiness tangling together. “It is. He got a card made for me.”
Her jaw drops. I wiggle my eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I plan to pay him back. With interest.”
Willow snorts, but curiosity replaces her shock as we head out with our bags. “So you’ve been holding out on me. You never said how Thanksgiving went with Mr. Moneybags. Here I thought you weren’t that interested.”
Just thinking about Leo makes me squirm. I think about Thanksgiving and heat crawls up my neck. I’d spent most of it naked. The meal had been an afterthought.
“It’s going well,” I say carefully. “I don’t want to talk about it yet and jinx it.”
The lie sits strangely on my tongue. Not because it’s untrue. It’s going well, but “going well” doesn’t capture any of it. Going well is a first date.
What’s happening with Leo is something else entirely. Something that scares me because I want it so much.
Willow bumps her shoulder against mine. “Fine. Keep your secrets for now. But you’ll spill eventually.”
“Deal.” I hold out my fist, and she bumps it.
Guilt twists in my stomach. Willow told me everything when her ex cheated—every ugly detail, every crying jag at 2 a.m. She trusted me with her worst moments. And here I am, hiding my best ones.
But how do I explain that I’ve handed control of my body to a man I met at a Halloween party? That I like it? That the word “fucktoy” makes me wet instead of offended?
How do you explain this stuff? I just hope she forgives me when I finally figure out the words.
When we get to the car, Willow hugs me goodbye with promises to text about her next date.
Willow, work, the apartment I’m moving into after New Year’s—that’s my real life. The boring one waiting for me when this ends.
I haven’t even slept a single night in my new apartment yet, and I’m not looking forward to it.
What happens when this thing with Leo is over?
What happens when I have to go back to being the person I was before—the one who didn’t know what she wanted, who was too scared to ask for it even if she did?
I don’t want to be her again.
I’m not sure I even can be.
Later, I’m curled up on the couch with Leo.
The Christmas tree casts soft colored light across the room.
The fire crackles low. We’ve fallen into a rhythm over the past few days.
Cooking together, relaxing in the living room, and watching the tree.
It’s less like an arrangement now and more like a life.
That thought should probably scare me more than it does.
What actually scares me is how easily I lied to Willow. How natural it’s becoming to keep this whole world separate.
My head rests against Leo’s chest where I can hear his heartbeat, steady and sure, like everything about him.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The silence between us has become comfortable.
My fingers trace idle patterns on his chest as I watch the tree lights blink through their slow rotation.
Red, then gold, then green, then white. The star on top creates tiny prisms across the ceiling.
This is the kind of moment I used to dream about during those panicked weeks of apartment hunting—not luxury, not even sex, but this. Being held by someone who makes the world go quiet.
Burrowing deeper into Leo’s side, I breathe in oranges and spice. Whatever this is, wherever it’s going, right now I’m exactly where I want to be.
We stay like that for a long time. The fire pops while the snow outside the window falls gently.
My eye catches on an ornament I haven’t noticed before. It’s a delicate glass angel, older and more worn than the others. It looks handmade.
“The angel ornament is beautiful.” My voice comes out soft as I nod toward it.
Leo follows my gaze. Something in his face shifts, and the easy contentment fades, replaced by something quieter. More distant. The lines around his mouth deepen.
I lift my head to look at him properly. “Leo? What is it?”
He’s silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the angel. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough at the edges. “My mum made that. The year before she died.”
My breath catches. I’m curious about his life. There’s so much I don’t know about him. I wait, giving him space, my hand pressing flat against his chest over his heart.
“She loved Christmas.” The words come slowly. “She’d start decorating the day after Thanksgiving. It drove my father mad.” A soft huff of laughter, but something hollow underneath it. “The whole house smelled of cinnamon and pine from November through January.”
I press closer, letting him know I’m listening. His hand tightens briefly on my shoulder.
“She died when I was fourteen. Cancer. It was quick, at least. Six months from diagnosis to—six months.”
‘I’m sorry’ seems too small. So I just snuggle closer.
He covers my hand with his, pressing it harder against his sternum. “My father didn’t handle it well. He was never what you’d call warm, but after she died, he just shut down. Buried himself in work. I’d go days without seeing him, even though we lived in the same house.”
Fourteen years old. This commanding, confident man as a grieving teenager, rattling around an empty house while his father disappeared into work. My throat tightens at the image.
“I learned early that if I wanted something to be okay, I had to make it okay myself. Control what I could control. Because everything else…” He pauses, swallows. “Everything else could disappear without warning.”
I think of how he plans every scene to enhance my pleasure. The boy and the man suddenly seem the same.
“You don’t have to control everything with me.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “I mean, you can. I like when you do. But you don’t have to.”
He looks down at me then. His expression steals the air from my lungs. It’s softer than I’ve ever seen him. Unguarded.
“I know, lass.” His thumb strokes across my knuckles. “That’s what makes you different.”
I don’t have words for what that does to me. So I press my face into his chest instead, breathing in his familiar scent.
He’s trusted me with something real. Something that cost him. And I’m still keeping this hidden from my best friend.
I push away the guilt before it takes hold. One thing at a time. Right now, I’m here. That’s enough.
We cuddle in comfortable silence, and sleep is tugging at the edges of my consciousness when he speaks again.
“My friend Dane is coming for Christmas. He visits every year. We were at university together.” His voice has shifted, lighter now, though something thoughtful lingers underneath. “I’d like you to meet him properly.”
“I’d like to meet him,” I say, and my chest tightens at the thought of Christmas here, with Leo and his friend. I decide to tell him about losing my parents, knowing he’ll understand.
“My parents died when I was ten,” I say quietly. “Car accident. My aunt took me in after that. My mom’s sister. She was amazing, but she passed a few years ago.”
Leo’s arm tightens around me, and I burrow closer into his warmth.
“I haven’t had real family Christmases in a long time,” I continue. “It’s usually just me and Willow doing something low-key. But this year...” I trail off, looking up at him. “I’m glad I won’t be alone. That I get to be here with you.”
“You’re not alone anymore, lass.” He kisses the top of my head my heart warms.
Later, while Leo reads next to me on the couch, my phone buzzes. Willow’s name flashes on the screen.
Willow: How’s it going with Mr. Moneybags? You’ve been quiet ??
Guilt presses hard against my ribs. She deserves better than my deflection.
My thumbs move before I can talk myself out of it.
Alice: Honestly? It’s complicated. He’s older than I expected to be into. And I’m feeling things I wasn’t prepared for. But I’m happy. Really happy. I’m just not ready to explain all of it yet.
The response comes fast.
Willow: I was worried about you. I’m here when you’re ready. No judgment. You know that, right?
My eyes sting. I do know that. God, I wish that made it easier to tell her everything.
Alice: I know. Thank you. Love you.
Willow: Love you too, mystery woman. ??
I set the phone down next to me. It’s not the whole truth—not even close—but it’s something. A crack in the wall I’ve been building between my two lives.
Maybe that’s enough for now.
I peek at Leo and ask, “Will you read to me?”
Leo smiles. “Of course, my sweet pet.”
He starts from the beginning, adjusting his reading glasses. His voice is low, the accent thicker when he reads. I lose track of the words pretty quickly, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not here for the plot. Just the sound of him. The fact that he’s here.
His fingers thread through mine.
I hold on and let everything else fade.