16. Selene
Selene
The VIP suite is massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one wall, offering a view of the city glowing beneath us.
The skyline sparkles against the early night sky.
I drag my attention off the view and towards Darby, sitting on the sleek gray sofa holding a box I didn’t see him with earlier.
He takes a laptop and a smaller tablet out of the box.
They both have glossy surfaces that gleam under the soft light. He pushes them towards me.
I pick up the laptop.
It’s sleek but lightweight and feels very expensive, like holding a treasure I’m not supposed to touch.
“Darby,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t need these.”
He leans back, stretching his arms along the top of the sofa. His hair falls slightly over his forehead as he cocks his brows with a smile. “You’re not keeping them,” he says calmly. “They’re company equipment. The moment this project is done, you’ll give them back.”
I hesitate, running my fingers over the laptop’s smooth surface. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing me a favor. I can provide my own laptop”.
“This isn’t a favor,” he says, sitting forward. “It’s about doing the job right. I want you to have the best tools to give the project everything you’ve got.”
My chest tightens. He says it so simply, but it carries more weight than he realizes. He believes in me. He always did, even when I didn’t believe in myself.
I clear my throat and nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
He leans back again, watching me carefully. “Tomorrow, we get to work.”
***
The next morning, sunlight pours into the suite, warming the floor beneath my bare feet as I shuffle toward the cozy kitchen area. The air smells like freshly brewed coffee. Darby’s already up, leaning against the marble counter in a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.
He hands me a mug without a word, and I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, savoring the first sip. The aroma and taste jolt me awake as I lean against the counter beside him.
“What’s the plan for today?” I ask.
“A Community center visit,” he says, sipping his coffee. “Then brainstorming back here.”
I nod, letting the warmth of the coffee spread through me. It feels oddly domestic, standing here with him like this. Like no time has passed. We’re still those two college students who stayed up all night planning futures together that would never happen.
The rest of the day goes by fast. We visit the community center, and volunteers in bright T-shirts guide the kids through activities. Darby talks to the director, and I take notes on my new tablet. The place is lively, and he asks all the necessary questions.
This very successful center has provided scholarships for lower-income kids for many years. We leave with lots of ideas.
Then, we head home to talk about all we learned. We sit on the plush rug in the living room, papers around us. I tuck my legs beneath me, scribbling notes while Darby types on his laptop. The air smells like the takeout pizza we ordered earlier, the box sitting half-empty between us.
After our encounters on the plane and in the boutique, I thought we would be too distracted to get any work done, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We’re both focused on the task at hand because we know this is important.
“What if we combine the scholarship idea with a mentorship program?” I suggest tapping my pen against my notebook. “Pair students with mentors who’ve gone through similar struggles. It could create a cycle of support.”
Darby’s eyes light up, and he nods. “I like that. So we’re not just providing funding, but guidance too.”
We dive deeper, bouncing ideas off each other like we used to in college.
He challenges me, pushing me to think bigger, while I help ground his concepts with practicality.
The energy between us feels familiar and electric.
We’re creating something that matters like a piece of the past that has found its way into the present.
We worked diligently together for three more days.
By the fourth day, it feels less like work and more like a collaboration between two people who understand each other in ways that words can’t capture.
We have attended seminars, learned about resources, visited two more community centers, and talked to so many leaders with extraordinary experiences to share.
Darby and I just finished arguing about the correct version of a story the director of the last community center told us. The clock reads past eight and the glow of the city lights spills through the windows.
Darby, who lost the argument, sits next to me on the plush carpet, scrolling through something on his laptop while I review articles on mine.
I lean back against the couch, stretching my legs out. “Darby, can I ask you something about the campaign strategy?”
He grins and gets up from the floor. “Hold that thought. I’m coming back.”
Before I can say anything else, he disappears into the kitchen.
I hear cabinets opening, the clink of glass, and then the satisfying pop of a cork.
When he returns, he’s carrying two glasses, a bottle of wine, and another bottle tucked under his arm.
His wavy hair looks even messier now, and his eyes have that playful glint.
He hands me a glass. “We’ve worked hard enough these past four days. Tonight, we’re taking a break.”
I sigh, but a small smile pulls at my lips. “Fine. I won’t argue.”
I take the glass from him. He pours my wine and settles down beside me on the floor, his arm brushing against mine. He opens the second bottle and pours a shot into his glass, drinking it with a satisfied sigh. The smell of whiskey mixes with the fruity aroma of my wine.
“Much better,” he says, leaning back with a sigh of relief.
I sip my wine slowly, the cool liquid sliding down my throat. The warmth spreads through me, relaxing my muscles. For the first time in days, I breathe without thinking about deadlines and articles.
He turns to me, and I know he’s about to ask a question even before he asks. “So, why writing? That’s not what you were doing your master’s in.”
I stare at the deep red swirl of wine in my glass.
His question is innocent, but it pulls at something deep inside me.
“I stumbled into it, honestly. After I left, I needed a job. Something that paid the bills. I started freelance writing, mostly small gigs at first—advertisements, blogs, and local news articles. But the more I wrote, the more I realized I loved it. It became more than just work.”
Darby listens intently, his green eyes locked on mine. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t fill the silence with meaningless words. He lets me talk, and for that, I’m grateful.
“I like telling stories that matter,” I say softly. “Stories that make people feel something or change their perspectives. My dream is to write for ‘Fast Company,’ the media leader. I want to cover technology, business, design—all things reshaping the world.”
His lips curl into a soft smile, and he sets his glass down. “You’d be perfect for that. You have a way of making complicated things sound simple but meaningful. It’s one of the things I always admired about you.”
My throat tightens, and I quickly look away. Compliments from Darby have always hit me harder than they should. “Thanks.”
He shifts closer, his arm brushing against mine again. “You’ll get there, Selene. I don’t doubt it for a second.”
I take another sip of wine, letting his words settle in my heart like a warm embrace. But then he asks a question that seems to come out of nowhere, but we both know it didn’t. “What about Leo’s dad? What happened there?”
I freeze. My fingers tighten so hard around the glass that I’m afraid it’ll break. My heart pounds in my chest, and I don’t look at him. I can’t.
“He…uh…he passed away,” I lie, forcing the words out before they strangle me.
I feel him stiffen beside me, and I turn to look at his expression and see if he believes me. He does. His eyes soften, and he leans forward, placing a hand gently on mine. His warm touch makes the guilt burn even deeper. I swallow hard, my throat dry despite the wine.
“I’m sorry, Selene,” he says quietly. “That must’ve been very hard.”
I nod, barely able to breathe. His thumb rubs soothing circles over the back of my hand, and the tenderness of the gesture nearly breaks me.
I want to tell him the truth. I want to say that Leo is his son and that I’ve carried this secret for eight years.
But the weight of that truth is too heavy. It’s suffocating.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but my voice cracks.
I stand abruptly, needing space, needing air.
My legs feel unsteady as I step away, and I wobble a little.
Protectively, he stands, too. As I take another step, I trip over the edge of the rug.
My heart skips as I fall, but Darby catches me before I hit the ground, like he could sense my insecurity.
For a moment, I’m suspended in his arms, my breath mingling with his. His hand rests on my lower back, steadying me, and my chest presses against his. The air between us instantly becomes lust and desire. We haven’t been this close since that day at the boutique.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice husky.
I try to pull away, but his arms tighten, keeping me close. His eyes search mine, and whatever he sees makes him pause. His gaze drops to my lips, and I know what will happen. I know, and I don’t want to stop it.
When he kisses me, I surrender instantly. The kiss is slow at first, like we’re relearning each other. But then the tension we’ve been holding back for days—or maybe years—explodes. I press closer, my hands sliding into his hair as his mouth moves against mine.
His fingers trace the curve of my spine, and a soft moan escapes me. The warmth of his body, the way he holds me like he’s afraid to let go—it consumes me. I taste the hint of whiskey on his lips, and it only makes me want more.
When we finally pull away, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and the world feels still for a moment.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “For eight years, Darby. I’ve missed you.”
He exhales, his breath warm against my skin. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my jaw. “I’ve missed you too.” He kisses me. “No holding back?”
I nod. “No holding back.”
We hold eye contact for a few seconds, and then he says, “Can you kindly take off your clothes? I want to see you.”
I don’t know what about the statement makes me smile, but I do. Then I step back and pull my shirt over my head. He pulls his shirt off, too. I pull my sweatpants down, and he pulls his, too. My panties and bra come off, and his brief follows.
Now, we’re both standing naked, ravaging each other’s bodies with our eyes.
“Can I please taste you first?”
I nod, and he lifts me and takes me to the bedroom, gently laying me on the bed. There, he spreads my legs and settles between them. He holds nothing back as he lets me have it, licking and sucking.
My back arches off the bed as he slides three thick fingers deep inside, his tongue flickering at just the right place. I let out a deep moan.
“Oh... God.”
His skin has a sheen of perspiration all over, and with his dark eyes fixed on me, he slides his tongue into my pussy.
My arousal hits a fever pitch.
I’m coming on his face within seconds, and I feel him smile as he licks me through the first round of my orgasm. He kneels between my legs, pulling me to him, and he swipes the tip of his cock over my swollen lips as we stare at each other.
Quickly, he stands, goes to the nightstand, and pulls out a condom. “No need for that. I’m on the pill, and I want to feel all of you, Darby.”
He sighs and smiles like he’s relieved.
“Selene, I know I should go slow, but I want to fuck you so bad that I’m not sure I can be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to be,” I say as he growls and slides his full cock into me.
I close my eyes, savoring the moment. But deep down, the guilt is still there, buried beneath the warmth of his embrace. I don’t know how long I can keep this secret, but I want to hold on to him a little longer.