Se connecterJake’s POV
I did not remember how I got home.
I remember unlocking the front door quietly so I wouldn’t wake my sister who came to spend a few days with me.
I remember standing in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror like I was looking at someone else.
There were marks on my skin that weren't from accidents.
I turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the water run hot enough to sting. I scrub harder than necessary.
Soap. Rinse. Again. My reflection in the fogged mirror looked tired. Older than twenty-three.
When I stepped out, I did not bother drying properly. I sat on the edge of the tub instead and pressed the towel to my face.
And then it hit me, not the shame, not the regret, but the memory.
The way he looked at me like I wasn’t something disposable. The way his voice shifted when he wanted compliance. The way I answered him without thinking, and worst of all, when I enjoyed everything that happened.
I dragged the towel down and inhaled sharply.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I should feel disgusted. I should feel violated by my own choices. Instead, beneath the confusion, there’s something else.
I shook my head hard like I could dislodge the thought.
It was a job.
That’s all.
I checked my phone for any new messages or important notifications.
I realized I had a class in two hours.
There was no way I was going to sit through a lecture pretending I was normal. Not with a sore butt.
I stepped into my room, dropped onto my bed, and stared at the ceiling for a moment before reaching for my laptop.
Might as well see if the universe plans on embarrassing me further today. I open the email application.
My inbox loads slowly.
Spam.
Department notice.
A bank alert for the money I just deposited.
And then…. something that made my heart flutter.
Subject: Internship Placement Confirmation.
I froze, no way.
I stared at the screen like it might disappear if I blinked, I would have pinched myself to confirm that this was real life, but the pain I felt in my ass and laps made me know it was all real.
My cursor hovered over the email for a full ten seconds. My mind runs through worst-case scenarios.
Maybe it was a rejection disguised in politeness. Maybe it’s a waitlist. Maybe…
I clicked it.
Congratulations.
The word sits at the top like it’s glowing.
Congratulations, Mr. Jake Humphrey. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the internship program at Hayes Publishing Group. Your resumption date is tomorrow at 8:30 a.m.
And that was that, that was the message I had been expecting for over a month.
But I'm resuming tomorrow.
Tomorrow!!
I laughed shakily. Disbelieving.
I read it again. And again. Just to make sure I’m not hallucinating from lack of sleep.
I got it.
I actually got it.
I dropped the laptop onto the bed and stood up fast, completely ignoring any pain that wanted to hold me back.
The room tilted slightly but I did not care. I searched for my phone.
I called my mom.
She picks up on the third ring. “Jake?”
“Mama,” I say, and I couldn't stop smiling. “I got it.”
“Got what?”
“The internship, the one at the publishing firm I told you about. I’m starting tomorrow mom.”
There was a pause. Then I heard the shift in her breathing.
“Thank God.” she whispered. “I told you. I told you God would not shame you.”
I sat back down slowly. “Yeah.”
“You see why you must not give up. All your hard work.”
If she knew the kind of work I had been doing though.
“I won’t,” I said quietly.
“You’ll go far,” she continued. “You’ll leave all this struggle behind.”
I closed my eyes.
I will, I have to.
After we hung up, I sat there in silence. The shame from last night pressed against the hope of this email and they did not know how to coexist.
This was it. This was my way out.
No more Dwayne. No more fake names. No more rooms I don’t belong in.
I opened my messages and stared at Dwayne’s contact for a long second.
Not yet.
I’ll tell him tomorrow.
I stood and started pulling clothes from my wardrobe, in search of my best corporate shirt. The one that still holds its shape. Black trousers. I ironed them carefully, taking my time. Every crease mattered.
I deserved this.
I rolled up a blunt, hands steadier now, and light it near the window. The smoke curled up lazily as I exhaled.
To new beginnings, I murmur.
***The next day.
The building was taller than it was when I saw it on the outside.
It was made of glass and steel, clean and intimidating.
I checked my reflection at the door before stepping inside. Crisp shirt. Trousers pressed. Shoes polished as much as they can be.
The receptionist looked up as I approached. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I’m here for the internship program. Jake Humphrey.”
She smiled professionally. “Yes. We’ve been expecting you. Please have a seat. Ms. Clara will show you around.”
I sat, hands resting on my knees, taking in everything. The quiet hum of printers. Phones ringing softly. People walking past with purpose. No one looked rushed, just efficient.
This is where serious people worked.
A woman in her early thirties approached me with a tablet in hand. “Mr. Humphrey?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Clara. Welcome to Hayes Publishing.”
“Thank you.”
She gestured for me to follow her. “We run multiple departments here. Editorial, marketing, acquisitions. As an intern, you’ll rotate through a few before being assigned to one permanently.”
Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as we walked, and boy does she walk fast.
She spoke confidently, like she’s said this a hundred times.
“Have you interned before?” she asks.
“No.” I responded.
“Good. Then you won’t bring bad habits.”
I smiled slightly.
We stop outside a large office at the end of the corridor. Frosted glass. CEO engraved in understated lettering.
Clara turned to me. “You’ll be reporting directly under Mr. Hayes initially.”
The name barely registers.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
She knocks once and opens the door.
“Sir, the new intern is here.”
I stepped inside.
And the world shifts.
He’s standing by the window, in a fine black suit. Different setting, different clothes, same posture.
Same controlled presence.
The CEO was none other than Nathan.
I recognized him instantly.
He looked at me.
For half a second, something flickered across his face, it was surprise.
Then it was gone.
“Mr. Humphrey," he says evenly. “Welcome.”
Mr. Humphrey
Like he didn’t know how I sound when I say sir or daddy.
Clara gestured toward me. “This is Jake. He’ll be starting today.”
Nathan stepped around his desk calmly
“We value punctuality here,” he says. “You’re early. That’s good.”
His voice carried no trace of the man from two nights ago.
“Yes, sir,” I replied automatically.
His eyes sharpened slightly at that.
“You’ll address me as Mr. Hayes in this office.”
“Yes, Mr. Hayes.”
Clara gave a small nod and exits, closing the door behind her.
We’re alone.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
Nathan walked back behind his desk and sits. He doesn’t offer me a seat.
“You’ll assist with manuscript sorting and preliminary reviews for now,” he said, sliding a stack of files toward the edge. “You’ll summarize each submission in under five hundred words. Clarity matters. I don’t tolerate laziness.”
“I understand.”
“Do you.”
It’s the same tone from when we were at the apartment. Controlled.
“I won’t disappoint you,” I said carefully.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, like he was assessing me.
“You start immediately,” he says. “Clara will show you your station.”
That’s it.
No acknowledgment.
No sign that he remembered cuffing me and making me sore.
I picked up the files, forcing my hands to remain steady.
“Thank you, Mr. Hayes.”
As I turn to leave, his voice stops me.
“One more thing.”
I pause.
“In this building, professionalism is not optional. I expect boundaries to be respected at all times.”
The words are precise.
I swallow.
“Yes, sir… Mr. Hayes.”
He nods once.
Dismissed.
I walked out of the office feeling like the floor beneath me isn’t stable.
The man who had me on my knees two nights ago is now my boss.
And we would have to act like everything is normal.
Jake’s POV“Send the revised draft to acquisitions before noon,” Nathan said to the woman standing in front of his desk. His tone was calm and measured. “And make sure legal reviews clause four. We’re not repeating last quarter’s mistake.”“Yes, sir,” she replies quickly.He nods once, dismissing her.Then his eyes shift to me.“Mr. Humphrey.”The way he said my name felt deliberate. Precise.“Yes, Mr. Hayes.”“The summaries you submitted this morning were adequate,” he says. “Adequate is not the standard here.”My jaw tightened slightly. “What would you prefer?”“I prefer insight, not repetition. If I wanted the manuscript paraphrased, I would ask a machine.”A few heads lifted from nearby desks. Not obviously staring, but listening.“I’ll revise them,” I said.“You’ll need to do more than just revise,” he replied evenly. “You’ll demonstrate that you understand what makes a book profitable, not just readable.”He turns to Clara. “Your report was concise. Thank you.”She smiled faint
Jake’s POVI did not remember how I got home.I remember unlocking the front door quietly so I wouldn’t wake my sister who came to spend a few days with me. I remember standing in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror like I was looking at someone else.There were marks on my skin that weren't from accidents.I turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the water run hot enough to sting. I scrub harder than necessary. Soap. Rinse. Again. My reflection in the fogged mirror looked tired. Older than twenty-three.When I stepped out, I did not bother drying properly. I sat on the edge of the tub instead and pressed the towel to my face.And then it hit me, not the shame, not the regret, but the memory.The way he looked at me like I wasn’t something disposable. The way his voice shifted when he wanted compliance. The way I answered him without thinking, and worst of all, when I enjoyed everything that happened. I dragged the towel down and inhaled sharply.What the hell is wro
Jake's POVMy pulse kicked up immediately he said the word, but I didn’t hesitate. My fingers went to my belt, unbuckling it with a sharp tug. Jeans slid down my thighs, pooling at my ankles. I kicked them off along with my shoes. Shirt next, buttons popped one by one until I shrugged it off my shoulders.Boxers last, though with a bit of hesitation. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and shoved them down, stepping free. Stark naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, my cock already half-hard from the sheer weight of his gaze.He didn’t move, he just watched, calm as a predator sizing up prey. His composure made my stomach twist.“On your knees,” he commanded. I dropped, knees hitting the carpet. The position felt exposed, vulnerable, but a low thrill hummed under my skin. This was supposed to be just another gig, cash to make me stable, nothing more. But the way he loomed over me, fully clothed while I knelt bare, stirred something raw.I wasn’t new to men, but this dynamic?
Jake’s POV“You need the bursar’s stamp first,” the woman at the counter said without looking at me.“I already paid,” I told her, sliding the receipt back across the desk. “That’s the payment confirmation.”She finally glances up, unimpressed. “And I need the bursar’s stamp.”I swallow whatever smart thing wants to leave my mouth and nod. “Where’s that office?”“Second floor. Room 214.”Of course it is. I head upstairs, the envelope from last night already lighter in my pocket. Tuition balance cleared. Departmental levy paid. Printing fees sorted. Every dollar was already assigned before it even touched my hands. That’s how my life works now. Money doesn’t stay for long, it moves. Hospital bills, medication, school fees, textbooks, food, survival.Room 214 has a line.Naturally.I stand there holding my folder, staring at the pale walls and the faded noticeboard covered in outdated memos. A guy in front of me is arguing about late registration penalties. Behind me, someone keeps si
Jake's POVI was already buried deep when she started losing control of herself, it was easy to tell she was down bad for my cock.Her thick thighs clamped tight around my hips, her nails digging into my shoulders as though she needed to hold on to prove this was happening. I didn’t give her anything to hold onto emotionally, I didn't have to, no kisses, no whispered nonsense, no fake tenderness. Just the steady, practiced rhythm I’d perfected over months long, controlled strokes that landed exactly where the extra cash said they should. I stayed professional. She lay on her back now, legs hooked over my forearms so I could fold her open anyway she requested. Every time I drove in, her ass lifted off the mattress, soft and heavy, the cheeks spreading and bouncing back against my pelvis with a fleshy slap that echoed over the drone of the hotel AC. She was a proper PAWG. She could never get wet enough on her own, so the lube bottle stood open on the nightstand, cap lost somewhere,







