JamieThe smell hits me first.Not the usual city cocktail of exhaust and too many people in one place, but butter and sugar, warm and sticky-rich, like the whole street’s been dipped in a patisserie. I actually stop mid-step, nose twitching like some Disney woodland creature who just caught a scent trail.I don’t even mean to push open the door. The little bell jingles above my head and I’m in. Surrounded by glass cases, flour dust, and racks of cooling sponge cakes lined up like soldiers who’ve just marched out of the oven.And him.Bent over one of the trays, forearms dusted with flour, hair a mess from heat and effort. Not conventionally neat, not even trying to be. Which makes him, unfortunately, stupidly magnetic.“Sorry, we’re closed,” he says without looking up. His voice is like honey poured over gravel, low and rough but warmed through.The tattoos snaking up his forearms are the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.“Wow. That’s devastating,” I answer automatically. “I was going
MarcusI find Elena in her office at Platinum, her desk half-buried under folders and gleaming screens, light from outside throwing fractured shadows across the glass wall behind her. She doesn’t look up immediately when I step inside, which is her way of making people remember she’s busy and you’re the interruption.“Elena,” I say.Finally, her eyes flick to mine, cool and sharp as cut metal. “Marcus. You’re not usually the one knocking on my door without warning.”I shut the door behind me. Keep my voice level. “We need to talk.”That gets a smile. “About business?”“No. About Sophia.”The silence between us shifts, like a hinge creaking. Elena sets down her pen with deliberate care, her fingers splaying lightly on the desk as if to ground herself. “What about Sophia?”“I’m with her,” I say. No hedging, no softened edges. “It’s not temporary. I’m not hedging my bets with a client. She’s…it. My soulmate. The love of my life, whatever you want to call it.”For a second, the mask holds
PrestonThe café is crowded enough that nobody’s going to overhear, but quiet enough that every scrape of a chair sounds like punctuation. I’ve been here since six-forty-five, because that’s what I do. I’m early. I’m dependable. I order a black coffee and try not to scroll through my phone like a man waiting for bad news.When Sophia walks in, the world seems to rearrange itself, as it always does. She’s in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a way that makes her look like a teenager. Her face is pale and her eyes look haunted. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from work.She spots me, and the corners of her mouth lift just slightly. A mercy smile. My chest tightens.“Hey,” I say when she sits down. “Rough day?”Her laugh is quiet, broken at the edges. “Something like that.”I want to reach across the table, take her hand, be there for her the way I can see she needs. But something in her posture tells me to hold back. She’s braced, like she’s about to jump off a cliff.And sud
SophiaThe world outside Marcus’s apartment looks almost normal, which feels like a cosmic joke. Cars threading through traffic. A woman jogging past with neon sneakers and a golden retriever. A kid dragging his backpack like it weighs a hundred pounds.None of them know that last night I was trapped behind steel shutters, convinced the man I…. What? Lust after? Trust against my better judgment? Maybe feel the L word for? was the threat. None of them know that somewhere in this city, Marrin is still a shadow with teeth.And none of them know I’ve been living in a triangle sharp enough to cut me open.Marcus leans in the doorway behind me, dressed in that impossible mix of casual and put-together. Jeans, gray T-shirt that stretches across those wide shoulders that deserve a Renaissance painting. His voice is low and careful. “We don’t have to rush this. We can move slow.”Slow. My laugh is short and brittle. “Marcus, do you see our lives? Slow isn’t on the menu. We slept together just
SophiaThe first thing I notice is the quiet. The kind of quiet you only get when someone else is breathing in rhythm beside you.Marcus’s chest rises against my back, steady and warm. His arm is draped around my waist like he’s forgotten gravity and decided I’m the only anchor worth keeping. The room smells like sweat, sex and furniture polish. My body aches everywhere, in the best, most unruly way, but my brain is strangely, ridiculously calm.I don’t remember the last time I felt this calm.It won’t last. It never does. Calm is not my natural state and the world will intrude any second now. The second I shift to roll over and face him, the realities I tried to ignore during the hours we spent destroying each other in the most delicious ways, come creeping back. Marrin’s still out there somewhere. Bainbridge is still playing chess with lives. Elena’s smile is still in my head, and I still don’t know if I’ve been stupid to trust it. And Preston’s soft, kind eyes are haunting me fr
MarcusI should be satisfied. I should be calm, drifting in the afterglow of tenderness. But I’m not.Sophia’s sprawled across me, damp hair sticking to my chest, her thigh slung heavy over my hip. She smells like sweat and salt and something sweeter, and it lights me up instead of calming me down. Because the truth is, the tenderness cracked me open, and now every wall I’ve ever built is rubble. What’s left is hunger.When she shifts against me, the soft brush of her thigh skimming my still-hard cock, the last thread of restraint snaps.I roll her beneath me, caging her body with mine before she can breathe a question, and kiss her like a starving man. It’s rough, teeth and tongue, and she gasps against my mouth, but then she’s clawing at me, yanking me closer, answering me with that same wild need.“Marcus,” she pants, nails dragging down my back. “What-”“Can’t stop.” My voice is ragged, low. “I’ve waited so long.” I fist a hand in her hair, tilt her head back, and take her throat