Chapter 8 #2
“Well,” he says, voice low, edged in quiet amusement, “I wasn’t expecting to find you in here.”
“And yet,” I say lightly, “here I am.”
He exhales dramatically, crossing the room deliberately. “To what do I owe this…pleasure?”
“I wanted to invite you to something.”
“Now why does that sound vaguely threatening?” he murmurs, stepping closer. Close enough that I notice the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet confidence in his posture.
“Only if you hate glitter and objectively questionable life choices,” I tease. “We throw this anti-Valentine’s party every year. Black hearts, bitter cocktails, possible regrets.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Sounds delightful.”
I roll my eyes, suddenly feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. “Maybe it’s not your usual scene,” I admit, taking a careful breath, “but I’d really love it if you came.”
Hayden leans back against the edge of his desk, hands braced on the polished wood. He studies me with a quiet intensity, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why?”
The answer’s simple: “Because I like talking to you,” I say, quieter now. “And because I want you there. With me.”
For a fraction of a second, his carefully constructed composure falters, revealing something real, something vulnerable. Then he recovers, a faint but unmistakable warmth glinting in his eyes.
The silence is charged, stretching just long enough to make my stomach flip anxiously.
Hayden drums his fingertips softly on the desk, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
And beneath him, just barely, a small ripple of shadow tugs at the floor, curling toward his shoes before settling like nothing happened.
My breath stutters.
Did I actually see that? Or is the lighting in this wretched building really that terrible?
Before I can decide, his gaze softens. “Okay.”
My heart jumps. “Okay?”
His lips twitch. “Yes, Levi. I’ll attend your glitter-covered event.”
I grin. “That’s the exact level of enthusiasm I expected. It’ll be fun.”
Hayden shakes his head slowly. “Careful, Levi. You’re starting to become a habit.”
Warmth rushes through me, spreading from my chest straight into my fingertips. “A good one, I hope,” I manage lightly, backing toward the door. “I’ll text you details, Funeral Guy.”
Behind him, the shadows seem to shift again as I cross the threshold. He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does. Maybe I’m actually losing it. Regardless, the question lodges: What exactly have I invited into my life?
Whatever this is, it’s definitely just beginning.
· · ·
I am, in this moment, face down, ass up, mid-douche, and mentally unraveling.
It’s giving Looking opener. All I’m missing is a moody synth score and an ironic voice-over and I’d be camera ready for an HBO intro sequence.
Daddy Jonathan Groff would be proud.
And yes, I said I have a magical ass. Bragged even. I believe in my magical ass. But Dominic’s warning about riding Daddy Death and the potential consequences regarding my caffeine intake are stuck in my head.
So, here I am lying on the floor with a silicone nozzle up my ass, waiting for the water to come out clear, while my brain starts to misfire about, well…everything.
The spiral started somewhere between Hayden said yes and Maybe I should exfoliate my asshole. Hayden Harlow agreed to come to our glitter-splattered, aggressively anti-romantic anti–Valentine’s Day party. And now I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
I finish rinsing, roll off the towel I’ve designated for post-enema duty (may she rest in peace), and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Still dripping, still flushed. Soft, lean lines instead of sharp angles.
I know how to move, how to fuck, how to get fucked.
But tonight, it all feels…insufficient. Like there’s a checklist I missed somewhere, and Hayden Harlow is the final exam.
Because this is him we’re talking about. The man whose bone structure could cut glass and whose voice makes my spine curl like a fern in sunlight. And with Hayden, everything feels different.
He’s composed. Curated. Probably never wondered if a one-night stand would notice the two moles on his inner thigh or the way his limbs feel freakishly too long in the summertime when shorts are required.
I can suddenly only focus on my body hair. Not bad. Definitely not overgrown. But visible. Auburn red, like the rest of me. It’s never bothered me before, and quite frankly, I’ve always been into it. Especially on other people.
Now I wonder if my body hair is a deal-breaker. Will Hayden like it? Will it turn him on? Will he touch me and think, Yes, this is sexy or Hm, wish he was smoother?
My dick twitches at the thought of Hayden’s voice dropping, his nose skimming my armpit, my happy trail, hand fisting in my hair—
Nope. Not now.
I don’t have time to jerk off, despite really, really wanting to, because I am on a schedule. I reach for my phone on the bathroom counter, firing off a text to Dominic to blame him for all my asshole woes.
Me: I hate you for making me second-guess my bottoming superpower.
I set the phone down without waiting for his (surely snarky) reply, take another hard look in the mirror, and sigh dramatically, reaching for my bottle of Nair.
Honestly, this step in the routine isn’t about Hayden. Or anyone, really. I’ve always liked the way I feel afterward. There’s something about a perfectly smooth hole that just makes me feel…fuckable.
I spread the cream like I’m frosting something sacred. Because it turns me on. Because the idea of someone seeing me like this…laid out and ready…makes my knees weak.
Letting the cream do its job, I grab my trimmers.
Chest, thighs, stomach. I debate shaving completely but settle on a cleanup. Enough to look deliberate. Watching my edges shape feels satisfying, like revealing a different version of myself, one pass at a time.
Ping.
I glance down at my phone. Speak of the devil.
Dominic: That ass is your legacy. Protect it at all costs.
I roll my eyes, smirking as I tap out a reply.
Me: Literally doing that as we speak.
He wastes no time replying.
Dominic: As you should. Bleach it if you love yourself.
I snort and toss the phone back onto the counter. “And he’s deranged,” I mutter, brushing stray trimmings from my stomach and wiping down the counter like the responsible adult I allegedly am.
“Oof. I’ve Nair’d too close to the sun.”
I quickly step into the shower and let the water run warm.
I rinse, praying I haven’t accidentally given myself chemical burns right before being fucked by a man whose voice is a slow drag of smoke.
I seem to have survived the ointment ordeal without incident but I cup water into my palm and rinse again and again, making sure every trace is gone.
Then, I stand under the spray and breathe. The water runs down over the groomed new lines of my body, and sure, I feel a little ridiculous. But also? Kinda hot.
I like the ritual. It makes me feel desired before anyone even lays a hand on me. Like I’m letting someone in. And tonight?
Tonight, there’s a chance it won’t just be a fantasy. It could be real.
Not just getting fucked.
But being explored by new hands. His hands. It’s been a while since the idea of being touched by someone who’s still a mystery has felt this exhilarating.
I rinse one last time, step out of the shower, and pat myself dry, then from my medicine cabinet I grab a small jar that rounds out my anal makeover.
A bottom balm Dominic and Elijah both endorsed from some sponsored ad.
I dip two fingers in and gently massage it into my freshly Nair’d ass like I’m moisturizing an altar.
It tingles, slightly minty, and I can’t decide if it feels luxurious or… humiliating. Maybe both.
And the truth is, under the spiral and the jokes at my hole’s expense, I really want this to go well.
Even if nothing happens. Even if Hayden and I stand near each other drinking bitter cocktails while Dominic and Elijah do their best to get under his skin—which they undoubtedly will—I just want to be around him.
Prepped and exfoliated, I pull on my black low-rise jock. The one that makes me feel invincible. One last mirror check: freckled, flushed, absolutely fuckable.
I grin at my reflection.
Okay. Ready.