23. Michelle
MICHELLE
The last week blurred together. Showings, contracts, inspections. An endless loop of keys jangling, signatures scribbled, hands shaken. Somehow, I’m ahead of Vinnie with three days left. Deal after deal fell into place like the universe decided to help.
This morning, I’m standing outside the office, my back pressed to the sun-warmed brick, coffee cupped between my palms. The light has that early golden tint that makes everything look slightly better than it is.
For the first time in a long while, I feel light.
Like maybe I can breathe without having to earn it.
Then my phone rings.
Max.
“Michelle,” he says when I answer. “Eco-home just closed. Full asking. All cash.”
The numbers line up in my head instantly.
“Max,” I say, calmer than I feel, “that puts me well ahead.”
“Cool,” he replies, like I just told him about a good parking spot.
He doesn’t get it. I’m properly ahead. Me. With just days left.
“Who’s the buyer?” I ask, already assuming someone I’ve never heard of.
“Some international guy. Switzerland, I think. Sight unseen.”
That’s unusual for seven million. Most buyers want to see the place in person. But they’re probably investors, the kind who don’t care about creaky floors or how the afternoon light lands in the living room. They’re buying numbers and projections, maybe a future teardown.
“I’m almost at the office,” Max says. There’s a pause, like he’s about to say something else, but the line goes dead.
I let out a quiet laugh as I slide my phone into my pocket. I’m winning. Everything’s coming together at the last minute.
And then it hits me. Max sold the eco-home. He’s the reason I’m going to win. Of course he is. With that stupid charm of his.
His car pulls up to the curb and he hops out. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m moving. I cross the sidewalk and throw my arms around him.
“Max, I could kiss you right now,” I say, not hiding the relief in my voice.
He freezes. Arms stiff at his sides, body tense like he thinks it’s a threat. And then I remember that we don’t touch. We don’t hug.
I step back fast, heat rising to my face.
“Sorry,” I say, smoothing my blazer. “Too much caffeine.”
The look on his face is confusion mixed with panic. He takes an actual step back, hands slightly raised like I might try again. “Right. Okay. I’ve, uh...I need to...files,” he says, but he doesn’t finish. He turns and practically jogs into the building.
I stay where I am, smiling despite myself. The embarrassment is there, but it’s already fading under something stronger. This sale shifts everything. I’m no longer chasing the lead. I have it.
Later that night, I still can’t stop smiling. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I’m doing laps around the kitchen, too wound up to sit still. My whole body feels charged, like I’m carrying more energy than I know what to do with.
Dean showed up around seven in that slate-gray suit that never wrinkles. He hasn’t said much since he walked in, mostly because I haven’t stopped talking. He’s leaning against the counter now, sipping water, watching me with that quiet focus that makes me feel both studied and understood.
“You should’ve seen Vinnie’s face,” I say, turning mid-step. “He looked stunned. Like he had to double-check the numbers just to believe it.”
I finally stop and plant my hands on the counter, facing Dean. The smile won’t leave my face.
“I’m going to win this,” I say, my voice stronger and more certain than it’s been in weeks. “I can feel it. I’m right there.”
Dean pushes off the counter and walks over. His hands slide around my waist, and the wild energy buzzing through me starts to settle.
“Course you will,” he says.
I close my eyes and lean into him, breathing in that clean, familiar scent. Fresh laundry and something warmer I’ve never been able to name. For the first time in forever, the future doesn’t feel like a fight. It feels good.
“I like you like this,” he says.
“Like what?” I ask, still grinning as I tip my head up.
“Lit up. Talking a mile a minute. You’ve told me that Vinnie checked the numbers three times.”
Before I can groan, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my temple.
“Tell me again.”
“No—“ I start, already blushing.
“No, really. I’d listen all night if it means I get to see you like this.”
I shake my head, laughing as I hook my arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to feel his breath. “I could do that,” I say, my voice dropping. “Or we could do something else instead.”
His smile goes crooked.
“Is that right?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. I barely have time to breathe before he lifts me, carrying me down the hall. He tosses me onto the bed and my back hits the duvet with a soft thud.
His hands are on me instantly. He grabs my ankle, lifting it to his mouth. The first kiss is slow and hot against the bone, then he trails up, mouth dragging along the inside of my calf, his breath warm and heavy as he moves higher.
By the time he reaches the back of my knee, I’m shaking. Every touch is measured, every pause intentional. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
He keeps going, mouth sliding higher up my inner thigh, until my hips shift on their own. When he finally reaches me, the first touch sends a sharp wave through me. I cry out, clutching at the sheets without meaning to.
Dean’s hand grips my hip to keep me still while his fingers slip inside me, filling me in perfect rhythm with his mouth.
My climax builds fast and sharp, coiling tight. I’m so close, and then he stops.
I gasp, eyes flying open. He’s staring up at me, lips slick, chest rising and falling. He looks like a man barely holding himself together.
He lays down beside me and undoes his belt. His zipper slides down, trousers pushed over his hips, eyes never leaving mine. He rolls on a condom, then settles back into the pillows.
“Your turn,” he says.
I hold his stare as I undo my blouse and let it fall. My skirt follows. I climb onto his lap and sink down onto him in one slow motion. The stretch is deep and delicious. He moans as I start to move, setting a steady pace.
It doesn’t take long. One subtle shift of my hips, the right pressure, and the orgasm crashes through me. I ride it out, trembling against him.
I feel him tense, right on the edge. Just before he tips over, I rise up.
His hand snaps out, gripping my thigh.
“Were you not done?” I ask, all mock innocence.
He shakes his head, barely holding it together. But I stay poised over him, not touching, just letting him feel how close we are.
“Maybe I’ll keep going if you beg,” I say.
“I don’t beg.”
“Then you must not want it that much.”
I start to pull away.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my hips. “Come on, Michelle.”
His voice still has that edge of composure, like he’s trying to pretend this doesn’t matter. But I can feel the difference. His grip is tighter, fingers digging into my skin. The calm is fake. He’s unraveling.
I lower myself onto him again, taking him in as far as I can, then stop. I don’t give him anything.
His jaw locks. His hands twitch on my waist. He’s fighting it, trying to keep control, but I feel the tension building under me.
“I’ll move when you say please,” I say.
He swallows hard. “Michelle...”
I give him nothing.
“Please,” he says finally.
The word lights me up. I roll my hips. He groans, head falling back. I do it again and stop.
His head snaps up.
“What do you say?” I ask.
He leans back, closes his eyes.
“Please,” he says. Better. I start again, and he’s learned his lesson because he keeps going. “Please, Michelle. Don’t stop…please.”
I keep going as he begs, until a low, broken whimper tears from his throat and I feel it everywhere.
I don’t let up. I ride him until his body tenses and jerks hard beneath me as he comes, all control gone.
The sound of him falling apart, desperate and mine, hits harder than anything else.
Reducing a man like him to this? It’s a high I never want to come down from.
Later, as I start to drift off with my head on his chest, Dean’s fingers trace slow circles along my back.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask.
“I’ve got more important things to do,” he says.
“Rubbing my back?”
“Exactly.”
“You can go,” I say.
“I’m right where I need to be.”
We lie like that for a while, then I press my palm to his chest and give him a small nudge.
“Go to work,” I say. “I don’t need you getting lazy on me.”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh, dragging it out like he’s making a point, but he sits up anyway.
He takes his time buttoning his shirt, like he’s giving me every chance to tell him to stay.
I watch, part amused, part touched. He really doesn’t want to leave.
But eventually, he does. Or at least I think he does.
He walks out of the bedroom, but the front door never makes a sound.
Curious, I slide out of bed and step into the hallway. My footsteps are quiet as I make my way down until I see him. Dean’s in the guest bedroom. He’s sitting on the floor with Monty in front of him. He isn’t hissing or scratching. That alone is strange enough to make me pause.
Dean rubs Monty’s back, moving in slow circles. “Maybe I'll get you down at one of the clubs,” he says. “Let you handle all the riffraff.”
Monty shifts slightly.
“But I guess one of us has to stay here,” he adds. “Someone’s got to look after your mom.”
He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. A second later, Monty climbs into Dean’s lap, turns once, and settles there.
I slip back into bed without a sound. The sheets are still warm. I stare at the ceiling and wonder how long he’s been visiting Monty when I wasn’t looking, trying to win him over.
There’s a warmth in my chest I wasn’t expecting.
I think about everything he’s done without asking for anything in return.
The dinners, the conversations, the way he keeps showing up even when I made it hard.
Even when I made it impossible. The way he waited out a cat that clearly wanted him dead.
It gets to me more than I want to admit.
A few minutes later, I hear the front door click shut. And even before I drift off, one thing settles in my mind.
Dean really loves me.