ten #3
He gave a soft laugh, the kind that barely shaped itself. "I prefer listening too sometimes."
The air between us shifted slightly. I looked down at my hands in my lap, then back at him.
His voice was warm, but something in his expression had gone a little distant. Not cold. Just... pulled inward.
"You had that work event today, right? How did that go?" I asked.
He let out a breath, slow and careful. "It was actually last night, but it was good. We have them pretty often, so it was just routine."
"You probably were full on nepo baby in there."
That made him smile again. A little closer to the one I remembered from the park.
He turned toward me more now, elbow resting on the back of the couch. "What about you? What was your day like?"
I shook my head. "Nothing too much. Just ran some errands."
He nodded, but I could tell he was still watching me.
The silence stretched for a few seconds-not uncomfortable, just full. I reached for the throw pillow beside me, fiddling with the edge of the seam like it might distract me from the way his knee brushed mine when he shifted.
"You ever think about leaving it?" he asked suddenly.
I looked up. "Leaving what?"
"The club. That world."
The question wasn't judgmental. Just curious. Like he wanted to understand.
"Yeah," I said after a moment. "Almost every day."
He didn't say anything right away, but the way his eyes stayed steady on mine made me keep talking.
"I mean, it's not that I hate it. Some nights, it feels like I'm in control. Like I get to choose how people see me. But other times..." I trailed off, unsure how much I wanted to give.
"Other times?" he prompted, voice quiet.
"Other times it feels like I'm just surviving in a world that doesn't care if I make it out."
His expression shifted again-something serious flickering behind his eyes. Like maybe he understood that in his own way.
He nodded once. "That makes sense."
I leaned back into the cushion, letting my head rest against the top of the couch. "What about you? You ever want to leave what you do?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "More than people think."
"But you won't?"
"Not yet," he said. "Not until I figure out who I am without it."
We sat with that for a moment, the city lights painting faint patterns across the hardwood floor.
Then, without warning, his fingers brushed mine. Just the faintest graze, but enough that I stilled.
He didn't move away. Just let the contact sit there, soft and deliberate.
I studied him again. The way his collar dipped slightly when he leaned in, the slope of his neck, the faint crease in his brow that I hadn't noticed before.
He didn't look like someone trying to take advantage of a moment.
He looked like someone trying not to mess it up.
"You make it hard to read you," I said quietly.
He tilted his head. "That's fair. I've been trained for that."
That answer caught me off guard.
"Trained?" I echoed.
He paused-just a beat too long. Then smiled. "Bad habit. Comes with the job."
I wanted to press. To ask more. But something in his tone warned me off for now.
Instead, I glanced at his hand, still close to mine.
My stomach did that stupid thing again, the drop and flutter I always tried to pretend didn't happen.
But I didn't look away.
And when he shifted just a little closer, I didn't move.
"Do you talk like this with everyone?" I asked lightly, but there was something underneath it.
His eyes flicked to mine. "No."
I didn't press. Just nodded like that was enough, even though it wasn't. Not really.
I looked back toward the screen, then felt him shift slightly again. The cushion dipped as his weight leaned a little more my way.
I tensed, barely-just enough to notice it in myself.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Just... not used to this."
"This?"
"This whole... thing," I said, gesturing vaguely between us. "A guy from the club texting me and then suddenly we're talking like real people."
His voice was soft. "We are real people."
That made me pause.
"Feels like I forget that sometimes," I said. "I've never had something like this outside of work especially not with a customer."
He nodded, like he understood. "I'm not in a rush. We don't have to know what this is."
I bit the inside of my cheek, then let myself glance over at him again.
"I just want you to be real with me. I can handle it. If this is just something rich guys do when they're bored."
He didn't answer right away. "This doesn't feel like a distraction. Not with you."
That made my stomach tighten-not in a swoony way, but in that uneasy, watchful way. I didn't know what that meant. I wasn't sure he did either.
I looked down at our hands, still not touching. Just close.
"Alright," I said finally, voice soft. "Guess we'll see."
His eyes didn't leave mine.
And I wasn't sure who leaned in first. Maybe both of us. Maybe it didn't matter.
The space between us vanished in increments-shoulders brushing, knees aligning. His hand slid gently to my knee, fingers curling just slightly like he was waiting for any sign I'd pull away.
I didn't.
When he kissed me, it was slow-warm and full, like he meant to make sure I'd feel it for hours. His mouth moved against mine with a kind of certainty I wasn't used to. Like he wasn't rushing the moment. Like he had all night.
I tilted toward him, hand finding the edge of his jaw, thumb grazing the smooth line of his cheekbone.
His other hand found my waist. Not rough. Just enough to keep me close. His fingers flexed once through the fabric of my top, like he was memorizing the feel of me.
I let him.
The kiss deepened-still gentle, but more sure now. His lips parted just enough for mine to follow, his tongue sweeping lightly across my bottom lip like he wanted to learn it.
A soft sound left me before I could catch it.
And that only made him slow down more.
Pulling me in.
Kissing me like he'd waited for it.
Like he could taste the hesitation I'd carried through the door-and wanted to kiss that away too.
When we finally broke apart, it wasn't with a jolt. Just a breath.
My forehead rested against his for a second, our legs tangled beneath the blanket neither of us remembered pulling over us.
Neither of us spoke.
We didn't have to.
His thumb traced a soft arc against my side, and I stayed close, heart steady but alert.
Because whatever this was... it wasn't nothing.
And I wasn't ready to name it.
But I didn't want to leave it either.
Not tonight.