Chapter One

Ethan Cross stood under the punishing spray of his rainfall shower, palms pressed flat against the cold marble wall, letting the near-scalding water beat down on his shoulders.

It had been barely four hours since the stranger left his penthouse, yet every muscle in Ethan’s body was still remembered. The tight, slick heat. The way the man had moaned and pushed back to meet every brutal thrust. The raw, euphoric release that had torn through him like lightning after years of denial.

He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Water cascaded over his broad chest down the defined lines of his abs. His cock tightened at the vivid memory, already half hard again despite how thoroughly he came from last night. 

Ethan gave in and gripped himself roughly, stroking once, twice before forcing his hand away with a groan. One night of weakness was enough.

He had spent the last twelve years building an impeccable public image— Cross media, the distinguished publishing empire his father had left him was identical with power, fame and fortune. He attended gals with beautiful women, models on his arm. He gave interviews about leadership and legacy.

He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

One night, just one night.

For years, Ethan has kept that part of himself locked down tight. It was for survival. Cross media wasn’t just a company; it was his father’s legacy passed down to him, his own empire, built on an image of unshakable integrity and authenticity. Admitting any kind of personal vulnerability, especially one that could be weaponized against him, felt like handing over the keys to everything he had fought on his own.

Last night  was a dangerous fracture in the armor he had spent the last twelve years perfecting.

He finished showering, dried off and dressed with meticulous care— crisp white shirt, charcoal Tom ford suit, blood red tie knotted exquisitely. By the time he stepped into his private elevator, his mask was firmly back in place; cool, commanding and untouchable.

In the front of Maybach gliding through morning traffic, Lena’s briefings played through the speakers.

“Julian Hayes arrives at 10:A.m sharp,” she said. “The anonymous manuscript you’ve been tracking for months. You insisted on him personally.

“I know, Ethan replied, voice even.

He had found those opening chapters on a private writers forum six months ago. The raw emotional depth, the piercing insight into a powerful man terrified of losing control. It has hit far too close to home. He’d let Lena track the anonymous writer down and extend an exclusive contract. Six months of close supervision. Six months to shape the story while keeping his own secrets safely buried.

He stopped the car outside the gleaming  Fifth avenue tower of Cross media. Ethan rode the private executive elevator straight to the top floor and settled behind his massive mahogany desk.

At 9:45am, he opened Julian Hayes’s file again, there was not much about the man. 

At exactly 10:am, Lena’s voice came through the intercom.

“Mr Cross, Julian Hayes is here,”

“Send him in”.

The door opened.

Time seemed to stop..

The man who stepped into his office, wearing a slightly worn  black button-down and dark jeans—was the same man Ethan had pinned face-down on his bed last night. The same man whose hips he had bruised with his grip while driving into him with years of pent-up hunger. The same man who had made him lose every ounce of control.

Julian Hayes.

Ethan’s stomach clenched hard. His cock twitched traitorously at the sight of those long legs and the faint mark on Julian’s neck peeking above his collar—the mark Ethan had left with his mouth.

Julian froze mid-step. Their eyes locked—hazel crashing into gray.

Recognition slammed into both of them at once.

The air in the office became electric, thick with the ghost of skin slapping against skin, desperate groans, and the filthy wet sounds of Ethan’s thick cock pounding deep.

Ethan recovered first, forcing his expression into icy calm through sheer force of will.

Mr. Hayes,” he said, voice low and controlled. “Please Sit.”

Julian moved stiffly and lowered himself into the chair opposite the desk, never breaking eye contact. His cheeks were flushed, pulse visibly jumping at his throat.

“You…You’re Ethan Cross” Julian said, voice steady but edged. “The man from last night.”

Fuck. Ethan’s heart thumped roughly in his chest.

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, gray eyes cool and unreadable. “I called this meeting to discuss the terms of your six-month exclusive collaboration contract and the development of your manuscript. As you should have reviewed, compensation is structured at $180,000 total, paid monthly, with full benefits during the term. You will work directly under my supervision from the office two doors down.” He said.

Julian’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “Right, business first”.

Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver. “What may or may not have occurred outside these walls is irrelevant to our professional arrangement. Last night was a private matter between two consenting adults. It has no bearing on this contract or the work we will do together.”

Ethan’s expression remained impassive, though a flicker of heat stirred low in his gut at the blunt recollection. He kept his voice level and commanding.

“My Hayes, if you cannot separate your personal life from your professional work, this collaboration would have to end before it begins. We selected you months ago based solely on the strength of your unpublished work. The contract is very very generous because I want focused effort. The confidentiality clause allows all aspects of our working relationship, Any breach will have immediate and severe consequences”. He concluded, voice even and tight.

Julian held his gaze for a long moment, hazel eyes sharp and calculating. He needed this job desperately. The eviction notices, the empty bank account, the string of rejections—they weren’t abstract anymore. This contract was his lifeline, and he was too smart to burn it on the first day, no matter how surreal the situation.“I understand the terms perfectly,” Julian said, voice now calm and professional.

Ethan studied him carefully, noting the quick shift from confrontation to cool composure. This wasn’t a man who crumbled easily. Julian Hayes was observant, intelligent, and clearly capable of matching Ethan’s restraint when it suited him. It made him both an asset and a far more dangerous complication than he had anticipated.

“Very well,” Ethan said, sliding the contract folder across the desk. “We have our first working session at 2 p.m. today. Bring your latest draft and detailed notes on the central character’s motivations. Late nights and weekends will be required as deadlines approach.”

Julian took the folder, flipping through the pages with steady hands. “Understood. I’ll be ready.”

He stood, smoothing his shirt with deliberate care. At the door, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. A faint, knowing glint appeared in his hazel eyes—subtle, professional, yet unmistakably flirty.

“One more thing, Mr. Cross,” he said, tone smooth and polished, with just the right hint of warmth. “I look forward to working very closely with you these next six months. I have a feeling our… collaboration is going to be intense. And deeply satisfying.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Ethan sat frozen for several seconds. Those final words—delivered so professionally yet laced with unmistakable suggestions hit him like a slow burn. His cock, which had been half-hard since Julian first walked in, swelled fully and painfully against the confines of his tailored trousers. The expensive fabric did nothing to hide the thick ridge now pressing insistently against his thigh.

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight, one hand gripping the edge of his desk.

Damn him.

The man was intelligent, composed, and far too perceptive. And now Ethan was sitting in his own office, rock hard, with hours to go before their first official working session.

He had already decided last night was forgotten.

But Julian Hayes clearly had no intention of making that easy.