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belowablue · 1 day ago

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Remus' Friend First - James Potter x Reader

Experimenting with longer fics, 3.2k. Also this was my plan: Study partners for ages - never paid much attention, drops off notes, smitten, tries to gain attention, doesn’t for Remus’s sake, he says fine, shag, love <3. Didn't quite follow it but that's okay.

MDNI

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“I’m off to the library.” Said Remus. If Sirius and James took a shot for every time they heard him say that line, they would have been forcibly signed up to Alcoholics Anonymous by Madam Pomfrey years ago.

James whined from the sofa in the common room, “But it’s such a nice day, don’t you want to come and watch Sirius and me practice?”

At the mention of his name Sirius flicked his hair dramatically as he turned to his boyfriend as if to say ‘don’t you want to come and watch this?’ Remus snorted, “I think I’ve seen enough of your practice for a whole month, if I have to watch a fainting feign once more time-“

James cut him off, “But we’ve gotten so good!” He protested, “Thanks to all our practicing.” Remus smiled wryly, “Then I’m sure I won’t miss much, besides, this is a group thing, I can’t let her down.”

At the mention of a ‘her’ James and Sirius locked eyes. “I wasn’t aware you were tutoring anyone at the moment Professor Lupin.” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes, “If you two actually kept your brains engaged after the word ‘library’ you’d know I’m on about my study partner. She’s good at all the subjects I’m not and vice versa, so we help each other all the time.”

Remus had gathered his bag and belongings during this time and was ready to make a move towards the portrait hole. “Hang on,” Said Sirius, “How long have you been having one-on-one meetings with a girl?” Remus had to refrain from dragging a hand through his hair. “A long time Sirius, once again, if you actually listened, I don’t talk for fun y’know.”

With that, he turned away and exited the sunny common room, leaving Sirius and James to wrack their brains as to who Remus was referring to. “It’s gotta be someone from our year.” James decided. Sirius nodded. “That girl with the biscuits perhaps?” James shook his head. “Nah, those were a thank you for tutoring and Remus said that’s not what this is.” Eventually they gave up, deciding Quidditch was more important. Their friend seemed happy and that was enough for them.

Somewhere high up in the castle, tucked away in a nook in the deepest recess of the library, you and Remus were elbow deep in Transfiguration. This was one of your weaker subjects so Remus was helping you get your head around McGonagall’s latest theorem and then later, you’d help Remus decipher some of the trickier Ancient Runes. You both enjoyed each other’s company immensely; you because you didn’t talk to many people anyway and Remus found it refreshing to talk about something intellectual for once. Sure James and Sirius were both stupidly smart in their own right, but they channeled their intelligence into pranks, which was wearing on Remus.

Remus spoke gently to you which you liked, he didn’t treat you like some sort of pet just because you preferred silence to loud chatter. His patience was also something you decided had been sent from the heavens; it took far longer than either of you expected to properly understand the theorem. It was late in the afternoon by the time you got your head around it, and even then you hadn’t started putting it into practice.

“I’m sorry Remus.” You said after a loud sigh, “I’ve taken up all our time on this one stupid thing.” You threw your quill down in frustration.

Remus smiled gently and you were reminded, once again, why you liked him so much. “Don’t worry about it love. If that’s what it took, then that’s what it took.” He glanced down at his watch. “Look I’ve got to go, I said I’d meet Sirius. Same time on Wednesday?”

You nodded vigorously. You said your goodbyes and watched him walk away. Determinedly, you turned back to your notes, eager memorise them so this wouldn’t take so long the next time you revisited this topic. You were there for a couple more hours, enjoying the solitude and silence. Wearily you rubbed your eyes, noticing the sky had darkened significantly outside. Gathering up your things you wondered if it was time for dinner.

As you stuffed parchment back into your bag, you noticed a page with neat writing on it that certainly wasn’t yours. Your brow furrowed before clearing quickly, these were Remus’ notes. He must have missed them when he was tidying his own things away. No problem, you’d easily be able to give them back to him at dinner. You swung your bag onto your shoulder and headed down to the Great Hall.

At dinner, Shepard’s pie, you strained your neck looking over at the Gryffindor table, trying to see the brown-haired boy, or at least one of his friends. Alas, luck was not on your side as you didn’t see anyone you could give the precious notes to. They must’ve been to the kitchens or something. Now you had the choice of either: hanging onto the notes until you saw him next, or you could trek up to the Gryffindor common room, which was in the complete opposite direction to yours, and hand-deliver them. You were sorely tempted to choose the first option, but on the other hand, you knew if it was Remus with your notes, he would deliver them in a heartbeat.

Sighing, you swallowed your last mouthful of pudding and got up, readying yourself for the amount of stairs you were going to climb.

Twenty minutes later and panting, you arrived in front of the portrait you were pretty sure was the entrance. The Fat Lady eyed you suspiciously. It was only then that you realised you had no clue what the password was. Great. Now you had to loiter awkwardly for Merlin knew how long until someone came by to let you in.

Defeatedly, you were just deciding which bit of stone floor looked the comfiest when two second-years came by, announcing the password shyly to the portrait. She swung open and you saw your golden opportunity. Launching forwards, you tailed the two girls in and scanned the room for the boy you were looking for. Your heart sank as he didn’t appear. Now what? Oh no, what if he was in his dorm? You did not want to go poking around up there. But you had come all this way. Maybe you could pin them to the notice board with a polite note?

People were starting to stare too at the rogue Ravenclaw in their den, which only made you more nervous. Merlin, this was why you didn’t get out much. Just as you were fumbling for a scrap to write on, a head popped up from behind the sofa.

You let out a breath of relief. He was down here after all. Starting forward, you called out, “Hey, Remus!” Visibly startled, he turned and relaxed once he saw it was you. “Hey!” He said your name joyfully, “What are you doing in here?” By now, three other heads had appeared. His friends. Gulping slightly, you moved forwards cautiously. Sure you’d heard his stories and everyone else’s too, but you’d never actually met them.

“I- um, err” You began, thrown off by the three boys staring at you like you were an exhibit in a zoo. “You forgot your notes.” You finished in a lame whisper, scuttling up to him to drop them in his lap. “Hey,” he caught your wrist gently as you turned to leave, “Thanks love.” He sounded so sincere and his smile was so genuinely kind, that you relaxed a little in his grasp, smiling quietly back. “That’s alright.”

He let you go and you were ready run out of there, but another voice stopped you.

“So, you’re the one he’s been squirrelled away with.”

It was a statement. You couldn’t detect any malice in it, but you could never be too sure. Maybe his friends were annoyed at the amount of time he spent with you, perhaps you were cutting into theirs with him?

Tensing, you were scrambling to think of a reply when Remus saved you. “Shut it Prongs. Leave her alone, she’s great.”

Your shoulders sagged. Merlin, why was Remus Lupin so damn nice all the time? He didn’t make it very easy to get over the small crush you’d been nursing before you found out he had a boyfriend.

“I’m not trying to be mean Moony, I was just shocked you hadn’t introduced me sooner.”

Okay, that defiantly didn’t sound malicious, but you couldn’t rule out mocking. People were so hard to predict these days.

Turning shyly, you came face to face face with James Potter of all people. He must’ve vaulted over the back of the sofa to get to you. Now, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, golden boy of the whole school was… smiling at you?

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” He asked, still grinning.

You shrivelled again.

“James,” Remus scolded, “She’s literally been at Hogwarts for as long as we have.”

That didn’t make you feel much better. James had just reminded you of how invisible you were to the rest of the student body. Of course, you had engineered it that way, you liked it this way, most of the time anyway. But there were some days you wondered just how much you had limited yourself by staying under the radar. A lot, was the answer, if James Potter, who famously knew everyone, was only now realising you existed.

You had no reply to give him, so you just shrugged.

James took another step towards you.

“Say, what are you doing next Hogsmeade weekend?”

You wanted to sink into the floor. There was no way James Potter was interested in you. You’d only just met the boy for goodness sake. You couldn’t handle all the stares you’d undoubtedly get if you suddenly turned up at Hogsmeade on James’ arm. Worse than that, you had no idea how long you’d last. It wasn’t like James hadn’t taken other girls to Hogsmeade before. But worse than that still was what Remus would think. You valued your friendship with him much more than any possible relationship with James.

You managed to squeak out a “Busy, sorry,” to him, before fleeing the room. Behind you, you could hear Sirius sniggering, much to your mortification, but also James chewing Remus out for having hidden such a pretty thing for so long. Your cheeks were flaming red by the time you reached your own common room.

You thought that would be the end of the matter. Not even close.

From that day forth, you couldn’t go more than four-ish hours without seeing James Potter. He was everywhere you went. He must’ve somehow gotten his hands on your timetable and memorised it because he would always turn up. Outside your common room, waiting for you at the end of your shared classes, loitering outside of your other classes until you came out. Hell, once he even invited himself over to sit with you at dinner, though after your mortified silence he hadn’t tried that particular move again.

You felt suffocated. This boy was forcing himself into your life without your consent and seemingly with no regard for your own feelings towards him. He was focused on getting what he wanted, not on what you actually wanted. You kept on trying to pretend you weren’t interested in him which was silly, because of course you were. But it was the principle of the thing.

But your biggest fear lay in the idea that Remus would stop being your friend. That he would start seeing you as James’ girl and stop your study sessions because of it. Or worse still, he would look down on you for becoming another loyal fan. You would hate that.

You tried, really you did, to get James to stop. But ignoring him only got you so far, Merlin knew that boy could talk forever about anything, his favourite topic being how he was sure he’d never seen anyone else with eyes like yours. So, after weeks of failing to be rid of him, you realised you’d have to do the unthinkable and actually talk about it.

You found Remus where you knew you would. On a nice day like this where else would he be but the library. At your table no less, that gave you hope.

You cleared your throat quietly as you stood in front of him. He looked up.

“Hi,” You whispered, a tentative smile on your face.

“Hey,” He said.

“So I just um, wanted to talk to you,” You began.

His brow furrowed but he nodded at you to continue, book placed down, so you gathered all your courage and went for it.

“Are you upset with me? Because of James?”

Remus’ eyebrows shot so far up his forehead they were hidden beneath his hair.

“What?”

“I just,” You bit your lip, “I’ve always been your friend first, please, please know that, and I always will be, but now that James seemingly has so much interest in me, I thought that you might be upset at that fact and not want to be my friend anymore,” You had to pause for breathe, but not long enough to let him but in, “Because James has this weird claim over me now, I don’t know, I don’t know how boys work and I’m sorry, I swear I keep trying to get him to leave me alone but he just won’t quit it.”

That last part came out unexpectedly harsh and you clamped your hands over your mouth in horror at what Remus might think if you were badmouthing his best friend. But, secretly, it did feel good to say that out loud.

Remus was silent for a minute, staring at you like a machine that needed to be understood.

“You think I don’t want to see you because James likes you?” He summed everything up rather simply.

You nodded, still shaky.

He said your name gently. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Your heart felt a thousand times lighter at his jovial tone. So he didn’t hate you after all.

“I dunno,” You muttered, feeling a bit stupid now.

He chuckled lightly, and you knew everything would be alright.

“Love, I would rather banish James to the Black Lake than stop our sessions, no one helps me like you do.”

Relief. Glorious relief flooded every cell of your body. This was alright. You weren’t going to lose your friend.

You smiled so widely at him, letting your relief show through your face.

He suddenly became serious again. “But James.” He said firmly. Your smile dropped too. “Seriously love, if you don’t like him just tell him to shove off, or I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, suddenly shy again.

“No, it’s not that I don’t like him per say, I just-“

Remus’ eyebrows had raised again.

“You didn’t let yourself like him because you didn’t want to upset me?”

Merlin, he really could read you like a book. You nodded again, feeling sillier than even.

The chair scraped back and before you knew it, you were engulfed by the smell of tobacco and grass and the warmth of a boy.

Remus held you tight against him, chuckling all the while. You let the vibrations flow through you, relaxing your own muscles. Against your own better judgement, you started giggling too.

“Love,” He said above you, “Don’t ever change alright?”

With the green light from Remus, you allowed James to woo you more and more. The poor lad didn’t know what had hit him.

The first time you laughed at one of his jokes he was so pleased he walked straight through Nearly Headless Nick. The first time you smiled at him when you found him outside your classroom, he’d been so surprised that the foot he had pressed against the wall slipped, causing him to lose his balance and stumble, ruining whatever cool-boy act he had going. You giggled. He looked at you like you made the sun rise each morning.

On the weekend you finally let him take you to Hogsmeade, you passed Remus and Sirius on the way down. Sirius whistled and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of you, for which James kicked him. But you were focused on Remus, who was beaming at you. You let yourself beam back. You were wearing James’ scarf and his warm hand was interlaced with yours. The sun was shining brightly and it was a Saturday and Remus was still your friend. What more could you want from life?

“Fuck James, please don’t stop!”

Oh yeah, this of course.

James had you spread out on his bed, head glued between your legs, eating you like it was his life’s mission.

You’d been really hesitant to get intimate with James at first, always shutting him down, never initiating anything. But James was kind and patient and he understood your hesitations. He knew there was more to a relationship than sex. So he never pushed you too far. He waited for you to come to him, and when you did, he never looked back.

You came loudly on his tongue, James moaning too, enjoying every second. Cleaning you up with broad licks, he made his way up your body to stare into your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded.

“Please Jamie, I want you.”

Who the fuck was he to say no.

Reaching between you two, he lined himself up before gently, steadily pushing in. You moaned, loving the way he filled you up completely. James didn’t stop until your hips met, staying still, letting you adjust. Once your wriggled your hips slightly, he took the okay to start moving.

You’d only done this a couple times, so he was still cautious with you, but you were more than comfortable.

“Faster,” you groaned, “Please.”

Grinning, he lent down on his forearms to capture your lips, picking up his pace. He swallowed your moans as your sensitivity made orgasm build quickly.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned, feeling you tightening around him, “Gonna cum f’me yeah?”

You nodded pathetically.

“Such a good girl,” He praised, reaching down to rub your clit.

It was all over for you with that added stimulation. You legs met behind James’ hips, forcing him in deep as you came loudly, enjoying the euphoria.

James swore at your blissed-out expression and came, somewhat unexpectedly, inside you.

Panting hard, he dropped down again and kissed you, deep and slow. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other wound itself in his hair. Sighing into the kiss, you decided your boyfriend had to be the best in the world.

But you would’t tell him that of course, James’ ego did not need to get any bigger. Instead you tried to show him, pulling back from the kiss, gazing into his eyes, trying to channel all the love you had for him.

He must’ve noticed, because you’d never seen him smile so widely.

AN: do we like longer fics or no?

#james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter smut #marauders #james potter is persistent #remus lupin

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toasttt11 · 3 days ago

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game two

April 23, 2025

Mary was currently playing in game two of the playoffs against Montreal in the second period with the game tied up 1-1.

She was skating across the front of the goal glancing over seeing Ryan getting the puck and he passed behind her to Dylan, who touched the puck once passing right to Mary. Mary took the puck to her backhand and tossing the puck at the goal.

Mary got her first playoff goal with Ryan’s first playoff assist.

Ryan screamed loudly beaming proudly as he pointed at his girl as he reached her first tackling her into a hug that Dylan quickly joined.

“Let’s go baby!” Ryan cheered pressing a kiss on the top of her helmet making her giggle as she hugged them both.

Mary was sitting on the bench next to Ryan in the third period after Dylan just scored a goal for them and she glanced up at the Jumbotron and froze seeing who was on the screen.

Will. Will who was sitting a few seats away from her friends but sitting with their parents.

Ryan glanced over feeling her tense up and followed her eye sight and his jaw clenched seeing Will on the screen, “What the hell is he doing here.” Ryan muttered to himself scoffing.

Mary was still frozen looking at the screen making Ryan gently grab her knee making her blink and slowly look away from the screen and at Ryan.

“I know.” Ryan softly mumbled to her seeing her open her mouth but not getting any words out. Ryan grabbed her hand not caring who could see and held her hand for the last minute of the game.

Capitals won game two 3-1.

Mary was glued to Ryan’s side even more than usual heading back to the locker room.

Ryan came out the shower seeing Mary already sitting in her stall all ready to leave and she was fiddling with her necklace.

Ryan sat a hand on the back of her neck as he set his things in his stall.

“I don’t know if i want to see him.” Mary quietly confessed to just Ryan. She didn’t even know what to say to him.

Ryan softly nodded and bent down in front of her grabbing both of her hands, “The second you want to leave we leave.” Ryan promised her. He also didn’t want to see Will.

Mary slowly nodded letting out a shaky breath and squeezed his hands.

“We’ve got this.” Ryan gave her a little wink and leaned over kissing her forehead softly making her lips quirk up giving him a little nod as Ryan stood back up and helped her stand up holding her hand still.

Mary took a deep breath making Ryan squeeze her hand as they walked out of the locker room together.

Mary perked up seeing their family and friends.

James hugged Mary immediately as Grace got to hug Ryan first.

Grace immediately pulled Mary into the hug with Ryan once James let go her.

Mary and Ryan hugged their friends, Grace and Mary’s parents who were all at the game for them.

Mary and Ryan both tensed seeing Will standing there looking nervous.

“We will give you some space.” Grace decided and got a nod from Gabe, she made sure everyone left them alone and Gabe stayed to make sure Will didn’t go too far.

James looked at Mary and she gave him a soft nod before he would walk away.

“This way.” Ryan spoke lowly holding onto Mary’s hand as he started walking and opened a door to an empty office and walked in with Mary with Gabe and Will following.

Ryan just gave Will a look as Mary didn’t make eye contact with her brother.

Will swallowed having seen how Mary and Ryan both lost their smiles when they saw him and how Mary immediately grabbed Ryan’s hand and how Mary is now standing step behind Ryan and wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Will started fiddling with his sleeve as he looked at two people who have always been the most important people in his life until he screwed it up.

“For what exactly.” Ryan scoffed angrily, he wouldn’t forget how Will made Mary sob multiple times and made his girl miserable.

“For everything.” Will quickly breathed out, “I’m sorry that i freaked out like that and the things i said to you both were so uncalled for. I know that.”

“And then ignoring us and everyone else for months.” Ryan snarked as his thumb softly rubbed circles on the back of Mary’s hand.

“I’m sorry for that too.” Will quickly rushed out, “And i will apologize to everyone after.”

“I thought you two were together for while and were hiding it from me with everybody else, it doesn’t excuse my actions but it is why i did it.” Will told them honestly.

“We weren’t.” Ryan said simply, “And it doesn’t excuse the way you treated us.”

Ryan wouldn’t have never believed anyone if they told him that Will would just ghost his sister for months and not be there for some of her biggest moments of her life. The Will Ryan knew adored his baby sister with everything he had and would have never done that to her.

“I know.” Will quickly rushed out. He didn’t have a better reason why he did what he did.

Gabe nodded in approval glad to see Will finally figured out he’s been an idiot. Gabe won’t lie he was extremely shocked to see Will show up at the game today, he didn’t think Will was going to fix things anytime soon.

“And i’m sorry that i suggested you were my friend only to be with Mary.” Will looked at Ryan apologizing to him and looked at Mary.

“And God Mars i’m sorry for every single word i said to you and for every single word i didn’t say to you.” Will looked so sincerely at his sister with tears in his eyes realizing just how much of a dick he has been to his favorite person, “I’m so sorry for breaking so many promises.”

Mary just swallowed keeping her eyes on the floor.

“I’m so sorry.” Will breathed out looking between the two.

“I’m sorry you found out the way you did but it doesn’t justify your actions Will.” Mary spoke up for the first time. Will frowned hearing her say just his name not a nickname for the first time in a very long time.

“I don’t forgive you.” Mary told him straightforward making his face drop, “One day i might be able to but i can’t not yet.” Mary looked up making eye contact with Will for the first time and she swallowed uncomfortably seeing the tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry i can’t do this.” Mary got out and quickly rushed out of the room.

“I don’t care about your apologizes anymore, don’t make Mary cry again.” Ryan said sternly as he walked out of the room after Mary.

Will watched them go and let out a shaky breath he knew he deserved the hurt he is feeling because he knows it is nothing compares to what he put Ryan and Mary through.

Ryan quickly got to Mary gently grabbing her wrist spinning her around and saw her shaky jaw and she just lunged at him hiding her face holding onto him so tightly.

“I got you.” Ryan cupped the back of her head promising her as he felt her shaking in his arms, “I’ve always got you.” Ryan softly mumbled as he kissed her head.

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makeyoumine69 · 2 days ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍)

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sometimes, you can't help but go back to an old flame. Even after breaking up with Evelyn, Patrick could never truly forget her. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Evelyn Williams, Patrick Bateman x Jean and Timothy Bryce x Evelyn Williams (side pairings). 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, porn with feelings, angst and romance, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, body worship, nipple play, steamy foreplay, implied cheating, denial of feelings, mirror sex, POV first person (P.B.), marking, possessive behavior, internal monologue, melancholy, post-canon, obsession, shut up kiss, power dynamics, touch-starved Patrick, pet names, dirty talk. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 8k 𝐀/𝐍: Hello, everyone! I'm incredibly grateful to the person who commissioned this—it really helped me dive even deeper into the Patrick and Evelyn dynamic. I hope you enjoy it!💕Many thanks to incredible @moriohpsyker for proofreading and @melis-writes for amazing gifs! 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Chris Isaak — Wicked Game Silent Circle — Stop the Rain in the Night Depeche Mode — Strangelove James Blunt — You're Beautiful

The heavy raindrops hammering the limo roof were seriously pissing me off, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I wasn’t even sure why I was here to begin with. I sat parked outside Evelyn’s place—the overpriced apartment her father had bought for her. I’d never liked it. Everything inside was sickeningly sweet, and it wasn’t just the decor or the endless flowers she scattered in every corner. It was the whole atmosphere—the color palette, the furniture that looked like it had been stolen from some Victorian museum. I hated all of it. And yet, I could still remember the scent of those flowers.

Evelyn loved that sort of thing. She called it "aesthetic."

Classic—maybe even a little royal, in her mind.

I rolled my eyes and let out a scoff, then rubbed them tiredly and glanced at the blurred view beyond the window. The glass looked like some melancholy painting. I leaned my cheek against it, letting the cold seep into my skin.

Jean, what are you doing right now?

I wondered, as my brain suddenly shifted back to my humble secretary. Whatever was going on between us was hard to define. Were we dating, or just pretending we were a perfect fit? Why did she treat me like I was a good guy?

While I was busy with my dramatic pondering, it started pouring even harder outside. Passersby ran along the streets, seeking cover. The numerous umbrellas blended into one bright, colorful rainbow. My eyes hurt from watching them move, spin, and twitch in the strong wind.

I’ve had enough.

I’ve seen all types of dramatic scenarios before—too many times—in every kind of weather: rainy, sunny, cloudy, snowy. Out of everything else in my life, the weather was probably the only thing that actually changed. Still, having random dates with random women remained a deeply ingrained part of my lifestyle, even though I was already seeing Jean. I have to admit, those dates were the only thing keeping me from a complete breakdown. But I’d never let Jean know about them. She already had a huge effect on me. Admitting it might ruin our current dynamic, and I didn’t want that.

Why do I keep coming back to this place almost every Friday? Can you tell me, Evelyn?

I imagined her smiling at my question. Her voice was still clear in my head, and I could see her shiny blue eyes staring back at me with undisguised judgment, as if I’d asked her something illegal or filthy. She always reacted like that when I dared to bring up our engagement—or what we actually meant to each other. I also remembered how I broke up with her in that stuffy restaurant—a place I’d never visit again—and told her she wasn’t important to me.

Did I lie?

I closed my eyes, leaned back in the leather seat, and rested my head against the headrest. Gripping the door handle, I realized I didn’t want to believe that I had lied for the greater good—that my intentions were noble, that I was trying to save Evelyn from myself.

But maybe I did it intentionally. Deliberately. Simply because she mattered to me, and I didn’t want to hurt her. She could have left me for Bryce a long time ago. Instead, she clung to me—and to the semblance of normalcy we shared in the Hamptons last summer. I tried to make it work. But now, I’ve had enough.

She loves roses. The smell of them. Their shape. The thorns.

I cringed and ran my tongue along the backs of my teeth. I wished I could sniff some coke to decompress, but it was too late to go to the Tunnel or anywhere else—I’d already told Bryce and McDermott I wouldn't be joining them tonight.

After briefly checking the time on my Rolex, I adjusted the sleeve of my Prada trench coat, ignoring the way my Walkman headphones tilted toward my right shoulder. I wasn’t just annoyed—I was furious. I couldn’t comprehend why I was in such a state of mind, why it was so easy for me to spiral out of control.

"We’re done here," I suddenly blurted out. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror before pulling away, and I could finally breathe freely. Being near Evelyn’s place felt like there was an invisible rope wrapped around my throat, tightening. "Take me back to 55 West 81st Street."

Despite the bad weather, the ride was short and smooth.

My apartment greeted me with its usual coldness and stillness. I shook my black umbrella before placing it by the front door. My hair was slightly messy from the humidity, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. My thoughts were already far away, taking me to places I’d probably never see again. I scoffed and took off my coat, which somehow felt heavier than it had this morning. My hand instinctively moved to adjust the gold cufflink, as if I were in public and had to look perfect.

No matter what.

Outside, the storm raged on, wind slamming against the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. I ignored it and headed into the kitchen, where I vaguely remembered dropping the small pack of coke I wanted to do before going to work. The longer I searched, the more pissed off I got—it was obvious the gram wasn’t there, and only God knew where it was. Anger washed over me like the hot air in a tanning salon. I literally wanted to tear the place apart. A small vase with some pretty orchids caught my attention, but I couldn’t remember who they were for or why I bought them.

"Jesus Christ! Give me a break!" I yelled at no one in particular, kicking the kitchen counter, which groaned in response.

My foot hurt, and I muttered a string of curse words under my breath. My hair was a mess, and I was so angry the veins in my face stood out. I yanked my tie loose without grace. The smooth red fabric slid over my damp fingertips. I leaned against the counter, closed my eyes, and ran a hand along my cheek and down my neck. My artery was pounding, as if I were already high.

But I wasn’t—and it sucked.

Just as I was about to grip the fucking vase and hurl it off the balcony, the phone suddenly rang. The answering machine clicked on, and after a brief beep, I heard Jean’s voice. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Hi, Patrick! I know you haven’t been in the mood today, but I just wanted to check in on you," she murmured softly. I could picture her pressing her lips together and nervously playing with the phone cord, just like she always did at the office. "I hope you’re okay." A pause. A long one. My fingers slipped away from the vase. I wasn’t really angry anymore, which was strange. "I hope to see you soon."

See you soon.

There was too much hidden behind those three words. They stirred something in me so deeply that I rushed to the nearest phone. I almost bumped into the couch before I had the receiver in my hand.

"Jean!" I nearly cried into the phone, pressing it harder against my ear. My hands were shaking, and my knees felt weak, so I collapsed into the nearest leather armchair. The rain was still pouring outside. "I—I just got back from—" I stammered, frowning. My head started to spin, and my temples throbbed with tension. "I had dinner with Chadwick Langston."

Jean chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected chill down my spine. "Yeah, I remember. I made those reservations for you."

"Right," I replied, turning to watch the raindrops streaking down the windows. I had no idea what I was supposed to say next. Awkwardness swarmed over me like angry bees. "Listen, Jean. What about lunch tomorrow?" I lowered my voice, trying to sound cheerful and composed—definitely not flirty. "Then we can go see Les Misérables on Broadway, like you wanted."

"Oh, you still remember that?"

I do. I really fucking do.

I still remembered the little details she shared—her interests, her hobbies. Most vividly, her love for working with children, a topic I could never stand to discuss.

"Just say yes, and I’ll take care of everything."

She fell silent, and for a moment, sheer horror washed over me. Panic rose in my throat.

How could she possibly reject my offer?

"Well, actually, I thought we could just have coffee and walk in Central Park. What do you think?"

"Central Park?" I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice. What kind of soap opera bullshit was this? I didn’t hate that kind of activity, but after suggesting Les Misérables on Broadway, this was her counteroffer? "If that’s what Jean wants, I’m all for it."

The lie was so sweet it almost made me gag, but I gnawed at my knuckle to stay quiet, waiting for her reply. When it came, I nearly passed out from relief.

"Thanks, Patrick," she crooned, and I finally relaxed, my body softening like Jell-O. "I’m sure you’ll love it."

"Don’t worry about it."

Jean’s soft giggle buzzed in my ear. My jaw ticked beneath the fake smile stretched across my face. I was glad there were no mirrors in the living room—I didn’t want to see myself right now.

"Can you pick me up at seven?" she asked, then added, "Or I can just meet you there."

"No, I mean—yeah, sure. I’ll be at your place at seven sharp," I murmured, gripping the phone tighter. "See you tomorrow, Jean. Have a good night."

"You too, Patrick. Please take care of yourself."

Then came the long beep, and I didn’t pull the receiver away from my ear. I let the mechanical tone pierce straight through my skull.

Great job, Patrick. You fucking did it again.

Why couldn’t I just tell her to stay away from me—while it wasn’t too late, while she still had a chance to save herself? She could live a peaceful, long life somewhere else. Maybe not even in New York—this city was too harsh for someone as naive and kind as Jean.

I could’ve told her more clearly, warned her to keep her distance for her own good. But I never did. I couldn’t. Out of pure egoism, I held on. I didn’t want to let her go.

Maybe now was the time.

After several long minutes, I finally returned the phone to its station on the small table beside me. I just sat there, staring at my trembling hands. My Rolex and gold cufflinks caught the light as I twisted my wrists. The gray haze filtering through the wide windows cast an oppressive atmosphere over everything, as if something bad was about to happen.

Something inevitable.

Something I couldn’t stop.

And this time, it wasn’t violence. For once, it wasn’t about blood or rage.

It was much worse.

And not even brutality could fix it.

The next morning, I planned to visit Xclusive and burn some calories pumping iron, especially after devouring a whole package of biscuits the night before. However, that wasn’t meant to be.

Out of nowhere, Bryce called me. He sounded feverish—I could barely understand him—and insisted on meeting somewhere in Upper Manhattan. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued, especially since I couldn’t remember Tim ever acting like this after he came back from rehab. In the end, we agreed to meet at Espace, probably the only place we could still get a reservation at that hour.

When I arrived, Tim was already inside, swirling his drink—probably straight vodka on the rocks. I wasn’t surprised when he insulted a waiter who was probably smiling too brightly. That kind of thing could irritate Bryce, who had been getting agitated pretty easily lately.

"Hey, Bryce," I said, looking dorky with my hands in my pockets, like I’d just walked by and happened to notice him. "What’s up?"

Tim made an incoherent noise, somewhere between a mumble and a grumble, as if he were in his eighties instead of his late twenties.

"What’s this about? I haven’t seen you in such a good mood in a long time." He clenched his jaw and took another sip of vodka. "Are you getting married or something?"

My face dropped before I realized it. "Very funny, Bryce. I see rehab did you good—it refreshed your sense of humor." I cringed and sat down at the table. "Do you really think marriage would make me happy?"

Squinting his glassy gray eyes, he picked up a pack of cigarettes and threw it on the table. "That’s not funny. I get it," Tim hissed through clenched teeth. I could sense the tension, but I still had no idea what it was about. "I get it because I’m getting married too, and it’s not fucking funny at all."

I almost choked on air. "You? Getting married?" I laughed and pointed at him—he didn’t like that, but I didn’t care. "And you expect me to believe this?"

"Vivian is pregnant," he said suddenly, delivering the news so bluntly that I stopped smirking and started listening. "Her parents want me to marry her." Bryce lit a cigarette and took a drag. "I don’t know if I really need this."

"What about Evelyn?" The question slipped out faster than I could think. "Actually, I thought that was the point."

Bryce tittered and blew some smoke in my direction. "Evelyn? Dude, I don’t even remember the last time I saw her. Oh, wait—I remember she got engaged to that scumbag from the law firm," he muttered, snapping his fingers as he tried and failed to recall the guy’s name. "Oh, for fuck’s sake! His name’s so stupid I’ve already forgotten it."

The longer Tim stayed silent, the angrier I became—angry at myself for being so affected by Bryce’s last comment about Evelyn.

She got engaged to someone else? That fast?

"Uh, anyway," Tim remarked, waving his hand dismissively. "How’s your lovely secretary?"

I didn’t answer. My mind was racing, desperately trying to calculate the possible scenarios—was Evelyn really going to get married before I did?

"What was his name again?"

Frowning, Timothy Bryce pinched a cigarette tightly between his fingers. "I didn’t say that," he grumbled.

I decided not to push him. In the end, after several more drinks, Bryce finally remembered the name of the man who had dared to take Evelyn away from me.

Spencer Caldwell.

Bastard.

I brought Jean to Central Park as planned later that day.

The cloudy weather only added to the melancholic atmosphere. Now, I couldn’t imagine walking around this city with Jean, holding balloons. It all seemed like something from another life—one that didn’t belong to me.

I felt detached from the world in every possible way. Jean knew it, yet she still tried her best to prove me wrong, and for that, I was grateful. I probably was. I probably wanted her to be happy.

Really happy.

Not in a fake way, though, because she deserved so much better—a man who could love her back as genuinely as she loved. I could even admit that I was sad I didn’t end up being that man. Despite everything Jean had done for me, I felt the best way to repay her was to let her go.

"What are you thinking about?" Jean asked softly as we walked down the main pathway in Central Park, passersby droning around us like white noise. "You look sad."

Her brief analysis made me smile. I brought a paper cup of hot coffee back to my mouth, but stopped when I saw a cheerful couple walking toward us. They were holding hands, the man kissing the woman. It irked me in a way I couldn’t explain.

"Not really," I finally replied. The coffee stirred up strange memories of a girl I once thought was homeless. I’d thrown a coin into her cup—only to realize it wasn’t empty. "Listen, Jean."

I stopped abruptly, and she did the same. I noticed how she squeezed her paper cup before raising her eyes to mine. Her lips trembled slightly, but not from the cold.

"You don’t need to tell me anything," she cut in, giving me a thin-lipped smile. "I already... I—I understand that—"

Before she could continue, I stepped closer and pressed my palm gently against her cold cheek. "Jean, let me talk." I slowly dragged my hand across her face. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me—and more."

Perplexed, she averted her eyes for a moment, and I began to panic, fearing that I had actually hurt her. This panic felt foreign. When had I become scared to hurt other people's feelings? But Jean was not just anyone. She was so much more, even if she didn't realize it yet. I wanted her to understand one day how special she was and that she would make someone very happy.

She would, I was sure of it.

"We've always been different," Jean whispered as I pulled my hand away from her face, stroking the top of her head and brushing off her stray hair. "I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and I should have known it much earlier," she sighed, sipping her coffee and ignoring the chilling wind storming around us. "I guess, in the end, I didn't know you at all. I don't know anything about you, Patrick."

Speechless, I nodded. It was insane that she had voiced all my inner thoughts, and somehow I was so damn happy that I didn't have to explain everything. Jean might have been naive and too kind, but she was smart, and I wasn't worried about her. She would handle things the right way if she followed her own wishes instead of trying to make people like her.

"Just a small piece of advice, if you don't mind," I said, taking a small step back. "Don't listen to anyone else. Don't try to please people. Don't believe those who only show their perfect facade."

Before long, we parted ways. I was already in a cab, listening to a Robert Palmer tape. His voice buzzed in my Walkman headphones as I squeezed a small, smooth figurine that Jean had given me before saying goodbye. She had told me she was moving to another city. I opened my palm and glanced down at the shining little star made of fake gems. It looked absurd and childish. But Jean reassured me it could bring me luck.

I couldn't help but chuckle.

Maybe it was true—Jean had no idea how lucky she was that I was no longer part of her life.

How many days had passed since the last time I saw Evelyn?

I couldn’t tell, but what was obvious was that it was pouring again—just like the day I’d asked my driver to take me to her place.

And here I was again.

But this time, I took a cab and left my umbrella at the office. The moment I stepped out, my coat, my hair—everything—was drenched in the blink of an eye. Thunder rumbled so loud my eardrums felt like they might burst, but I kept walking, weaving through the few passersby who strolled with no urgency, as if enjoying the rain, unconcerned about catching a cold or worse.

The scene reminded me of Evelyn scolding me about getting sick last time we were in the Hamptons. After swimming in the ocean, I refused to dry off when we returned to the summer house. She was furious—literally chasing me around the house with a towel.

Did she do it because she genuinely cared?

Shaking off the intrusive memory, I finally pushed open the heavy main door leading into the lobby. The concierge—an old man who clearly remembered me—smiled and asked politely, "Looking for someone in particular?"

Though he already knew.

Somehow, that lifted my mood in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

"Evelyn Williams," I murmured, leaning on the small wooden desk. My soaked coat left wet trails along the polished surface. "Is she home?"

He studied me with a quick, assessing look—his pale gray eyes flicking to my dripping hair—then flipped through a worn-out journal.

"And you’re… Mr. Bateman, correct?"

"Correct."

He ran his thumb down a yellowed page and looked up again. "According to my records, she hasn’t left today."

A wide smile tugged at my lips. "Excellent. Thank you."

As I turned to leave, his creaky voice called after me, "Shall I let Miss Williams know you’re here?"

I stopped, pressing my lips into a tight line. "No," I said, my voice low and sharp, temples pounding like molten iron struck against an anvil. "I want it to be a surprise."

I turned and gave him a short, cold smile—enough to discourage any further questions. I was in a hurry. I needed to see Evelyn right now, or I’d snap. Strangle the first stranger I saw in the elevator. Smash their head against the metal doors the moment they closed.

But there was no one in the lobby but me.

Lucky people.

So lucky without even knowing it.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. I stepped inside and caught sight of myself in the mirrored walls: damp locks of hair clinging to my forehead, coat soaked enough to wring into a bucket.

I looked like hell. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t give a damn—not even slightly. Because what could Evelyn possibly do?

Send me away? Tell me to get lost? Call me a liar, a bastard?

Nothing I hadn’t heard before. Funny how much venom we managed to spit at each other in such a short-lived relationship.

Time slowed as the elevator rose toward Evelyn’s floor. Fidgeting, I ran a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to look presentable. It didn’t help. I leaned back against the wall and exhaled a deep, exhausted sigh. Then pressed a palm to my face, almost breaking my own nose.

I was so fucking pissed and desperate I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. This woman—God help me—had infected me. Her poison had been simmering inside me for days, maybe months. I was dying slowly, rotting from within, like a man with a terminal illness who hadn’t yet accepted his fate.

What a shitty metaphor, Patrick. Very shitty.

The elevator dinged again, yanking me out of my spiral. I stepped out into a dimly lit hallway—long and quiet. As I walked, I couldn’t help but think of the brownstone Evelyn used to live in. The one where I first met Courtney during one of those idiotic dinner parties. Bryce had been all over Evelyn, like I wasn’t even there.

Maybe I wasn’t.

At least, mentally.

I almost chuckled to myself—until I saw the front door to her apartment. It was so white. Immaculate. Even more polished than the first time I’d been here.

My hand hovered in midair, just inches from the doorbell.

Was I really this scared? Was I seriously incapable of just ringing the fucking doorbell?

I wanted to shake my head, turn on my heel, and run—just leave this place and never come back. Not because the whole idea was stupid or because I looked like a complete loser.

No—it cut much deeper.

I wasn’t sure what it was. Self-deprecation? Or something worse? But my hand was already in motion, my fingers pressing the button—and then I froze in shock, as if my body wasn’t under my control anymore. The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat, thudding wildly in my ears. I was already sweating.

Each second that passed without a response from behind the door made me both more relieved and more terrified.

What if that old dickhead downstairs was wrong and Evelyn wasn’t here? What if she was with some other guy—someone better looking, richer, more successful?

Panic gripped me. I staggered back and nearly crashed into the wall behind me.

And then—I heard the soft click of the lock.

I was already on the verge of throwing up.

A moment later, a pair of bright blue eyes blinked at me in sheer confusion. "Patrick?" Evelyn’s voice poured through me like warm honey, melting my insides. "What…What are you doing here? Are you okay? You…you look a bit off."

"It’s raining," I said flatly. My shoulders sagged under the weight of my soaked coat—I was probably visibly shaking.

"Oh. Yeah, the weather’s been awful lately."

The silence that settled between us was unbearable.

Leaning against the doorway, Evelyn stared at me—not just at my ruined coat or my drenched hair, but past all that. Through me. I felt like she could see everything, and I wanted to hide.

Scream.

Still, my lips stayed sealed by some unknown spell—something she must’ve cast the second I looked into her ocean-wave-colored eyes.

"Come on, get in," she murmured suddenly, stepping aside. "I’ll make you something hot."

Something hot.

Her words echoed through my head, but I didn’t move. Evelyn turned back, noticing. I was frozen—glued to the fucking floor.

"Hey," she waved her small hand in front of me, trying to snap me out of it. "Do you hear me?"

I shook my head, trying to say something honest. But instead, I stifled a shaky sob.

"Yeah," I muttered, stepping forward on weak legs. I felt like I might collapse right there on her floor, crushed by some strange, irrational fatigue. "Something hot would be nice."

Eventually, I let her lead me inside.

Maybe I was just delusional, but I could swear I felt the life-giving warmth of her skin when she touched my hand—and I followed her like a lost man chasing a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Remove your coat," she said suddenly after closing the door—only then did I have a chance to take in how she was dressed. A short Pratesi jacquard robe in white and blue clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination and offering everything to my eyes. I wanted to rip that fabric apart—to hear it tear beneath my fingers while Evelyn squirmed beneath me.

"Patrick?"

"When did you last see Bryce?"

She frowned, pulling her hands away before they could touch me again. "Why are you asking?"

"He’s going to marry Vivian Ellsworth. The model from Vogue."

"I know."

"Oh, so you know," I croaked, gripping the wet collar of my coat. I was already losing it. "Then tell me, darling—what the fuck was that?"

I watched her open and close her mouth, lips trembling. No words came out. And I wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

"You fucked Bryce behind my back," I growled, looming over her. I forced her to press up against the small hall dresser. "And you were still demanding a wedding from me at the same time!"

"Patrick—wait!"

"No," I snapped, placing my hands on either side of her trembling frame, trapping her between me and that gaudy piece of furniture I was moments away from smashing. "I talk. You listen." Evelyn flinched against me, so I leaned in even closer, letting her feel my breath, too hot and too close. "This whole marriage thing—what was it really about? You never wanted me."

"Stop it," she snapped, her voice suddenly robotic. She shoved against my chest with her fists, her knuckles pressing hard into my muscles, leaving little impressions. "I don’t even want to start this!"

"Of course you don’t—because you’re already so fucking deep into it! And—"

Before I could finish, Evelyn slapped me. Hard. My head jerked to the side, and my cheek stung where her hand had struck. A red mark was already rising on my skin.

"Why do you always have to be like this?" she hissed, stepping away—just a few paces, but she already felt miles out of reach. "Always saying the ugliest things. Always destroying everything that anyone tries to build!"

I stood there, listening but not looking at her. My bangs fell into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t move. Something told me Evelyn was about to drop a bomb, the way she spiraled so fast, with so much heat behind her voice.

"You slept with my best friend," she cried, voice cracking like glass under pressure, thrusting a freshly manicured finger at my chest—just short of touching me. "And now you have the audacity to accuse me of cheating?" Her eyes squeezed shut, trembling as if to hold back a dam about to burst. "I knew this city had no saints left," she whispered. "But… I thought you were different."

And then—God—she hugged herself.

It wasn’t fear or sorrow exactly. It was something fragile folding in on itself—like a butterfly drawing in its wings before the storm.

But Evelyn wasn’t a butterfly.

She was the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. And I had really cheated on her, never giving a second thought to whether it would hurt her—because I was so convinced she didn’t care.

My hands moved faster than my thoughts. I rushed toward her, pulling her into my arms. She felt so fragile. For a brief, terrifying second, I thought I might break her just by holding her too tightly.

But she didn’t push me away. She didn’t scream. Even though I was still soaked through with rain, Evelyn only whimpered into my shoulder. She hugged me back, ignoring the cold, wet fabric and the way I was crushing her into my chest.

She was so warm and beautiful—and she smelled like home.

How was I supposed to know that was exactly what I’d been longing for all this time?

"That means," I murmured, my lips just above her ear as I lowered my chin to rest on top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfectly blond hair, "you didn’t sleep with Bryce—"

Evelyn let out an exasperated groan and jabbed me in the sides, hard. "Jesus Christ, Patrick!"

"Spencer Caldwell," I stated flatly. "Bryce told me some asshole from Skadden already proposed to you. Is that true?"

She went still in my arms, and I tilted my head to catch a glimpse of her face.

"Evelyn," I breathed, lifting my hands to her shoulders, steadying myself. "What did you tell him? Was it yes... or no?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters," my lips nearly brushed hers, "because I need to know if I should kill this guy already or not."

A loud, nervous gasp broke from her tense chest. "You definitely have the most kooky jokes."

"That’s not a fucking joke!"

I barely stopped myself from latching onto her mouth right then and there. Her lips were pink-tinted and too damn magnetizing, and the fact that she didn’t flinch away wasn’t helping.

"It doesn’t matter, because I don’t want him," she muttered, looking up at me. Her hands clenched the lapels of my coat, and I nearly leaned in. "Never really did."

My thoughts tore through hidden corners of my mind I didn’t even know existed, but my body moved on its own—driven, certain. And if she said she never really wanted that asshole, then nothing else mattered. I wanted her. Desperately. Fiercely. That was the only truth burning through everything else.

I claimed her mouth in one swift motion, pulling her closer. Evelyn froze in shock. Her lips remained stiff against mine, but I didn’t stop. I used my tongue and all my desire to infect her with it, to take control of her. She could have slapped me again. She could have clawed at my skin, left bloody streaks behind. I was ready for anything—any reaction would’ve been worth it.

But instead, she chose to kill me with coldness and indifference.

At least, that’s what I thought—until her hands slid around my neck, fingers teasing the back of it and playing with my wet hair.

Now, I had something I could work with.

Evelyn was hot and bothered, trembling in my hands like an unbridled fire, and I was the only person who could tame it.

Or so I believed.

"I thought about you," I confessed between kisses. My hands roamed her slender figure, coaxing the thin, overpriced robe to slip down one shoulder. I immediately kissed it with such greed that it scared me. "About us."

Evelyn let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan as I cupped her small breast through the fabric. "Liar," she retorted, leaning back against the dresser. I pressed her against it and stepped between her elegant legs. "I like you more when you don’t talk."

"Oh, that’s rude, darling," I teased, nipping at her neck and grinding against her like an animal—which is exactly what I was. "I’m trying to be honest... maybe for the first time in my fucking life," I growled, sucking a patch of skin into my mouth. She writhed in response. "And you’re mocking me for that."

The sly smile that played across her face nearly stole my breath.

"You deserve it, Patrick," she hissed, before our mouths crashed together again. This time, Evelyn was much more demanding. "Get this stupid coat off already!"

"As you wish, baby."

Evelyn didn’t make a sound as she tucked her thumbs beneath the lapels of my dark blue coat, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Huffing, I stepped out of it and hooked my hands under her hips to lift her. She squealed into my mouth as I kissed her, wrapping her slim legs around my waist. I could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, and I groaned when she scratched the back of my neck with her red nails. Her arms clung tightly to my shoulders as I set her down on the dresser behind her. My hands moved automatically, sneaking beneath her robe, peeling it away until they found the soft fabric of her pale pink lace nightgown. I remembered this one.

"I never thought I’d see you wearing this again," I murmured, my voice rough, close to her flushed lips. She licked them suddenly, breath quickening. "You look incredible."

She gave a soft laugh, fingers threading through my messy hair. "Should’ve given me more compliments, Patrick," she teased, her feet sliding up along my ankle. "Maybe we’d both be different people by now."

Different people.

It hit harder than anything she’d ever told me—louder than her yapping, sharper than her rants, deeper than all those silly fantasies. Something twisted inside me, and I hated the feeling. But it was too late to dwell on the past. There was no room for mistakes now. She was here, in my arms, half undressed, her skin bathed in a red glow.

Was she already mine?

With a short, shaky gasp, she dragged me back by my collar. Her lips were as hot as the sun, and she kissed me like we were going to die tomorrow. I groaned into her mouth and slipped off her robe. She was perfect. Her skin glowed. Her nipples were already visible through the thin fabric. Her nightgown was the last obstacle between her body and my lust.

As soon as she pulled away, I palmed one of her tits again, locking my lips around her hardened nipple through the fabric. She instantly yanked me closer, tangling her fingers in my hair and sliding her legs along my lower back, hips, and ass. And I liked that. I liked it so much, my dick ached with the need to be inside her. Deep. Raw. With no mercy and no regret.

While my hands explored her small, almost delicate figure, Evelyn grew more impatient. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, prompting my jacket to slide off and join the abandoned coat on the floor.

I gasped as she nuzzled my neck, her small kisses burning against my skin—probing, testing my patience. I held myself still, unwilling to give in. She was greedy—so fucking greedy with every touch, stripping me slowly, desperately.

"Dirty girl," I hummed, closing my eyes and craning my neck to give her more access. She started kissing me harder, leaving wet marks I’d have to cover up tomorrow. "You’ve missed me. You’ve missed me so bad."

Evelyn froze, her mouth slightly open, a thin string of saliva clinging to the corner. "God, Patrick," she giggled, brushing her lips against mine and tracing her hands over my bare chest. My tie was already loosened, pushed up onto my right shoulder. "I missed your silliness."

I wanted to laugh, but instead, I gripped her hips tighter—almost painfully—and lifted the hem of her nightgown until the outline of her ass came into view.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. No underwear.

A red flash exploded behind my eyes, and I flinched back for a second, staring into her face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. She was so beautiful, and the way her eyes were glinting with that strange light I’d never noticed before—it was affection. Had she always looked at me like that, and I’d just never seen it?

In the throes of passion, I happened to catch a glimpse of a mirror on the far wall. For a split second, I saw our reflection—Evelyn kissing down my torso, lower and lower. Her pink lips brushed against my tense abs, and I instinctively flexed to look more toned.

God, she was driving me crazy. I was so close to losing control—though, truthfully, I never really had it. Control had always been just an illusion. Whenever I was with her, she was the one holding the reins. The power was always hers.

Now, even though she was kneeling in front of me, playing with the clasp of my belt, the control was still in her hands—and I was just going with the flow. Aimlessly. Powerlessly. But completely, wholly.

"Oh, fuck, Evelyn," I hissed, my voice shaky, as she finally touched my bulging groin, tracing the curve of my hard cock. "You know you’re risking flooding the floor? I can smell your arousal in the air."

She didn’t reply. She only grinned up at me—that grin inflamed me even more. It nearly pushed me to yank her blonde hair and shove my dick into her mouth, but I forced myself to stay still. To calm down. To just watch.

I let her take the lead.

Without haste, Evelyn unbuckled my belt, then unzipped my pants. She slid down my Ralph Lauren boxers, and a jolt of electricity shot through my body the second my cock sprang free. I was already hard, already leaking at the tip—ready to ruin my lovely ex-fiancée. Her blue eyes teased me with their coyness. Carefully, she wrapped her hand around my length and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. I almost blacked out from the tension. I was teetering on the edge, ready to explode—again and again.

It should’ve been embarrassing. But I couldn’t care less.

Not when Evelyn looked up at me with those big doe eyes, her cheek pressed against my cock. She literally nuzzled it, pressing her tongue along the ridge to feel its weight.

"You taste so desperate," she sneered, victorious. "What’s wrong, Mr. Bateman? I think you’ve lost your grip."

Gritting my teeth, I glanced down at her and rested my hand on the back of her head, drawing her closer at a deliberate pace. A silent cue. I wasn’t in the mood for heart-to-hearts. I just wanted her mouth on me. I thrust my hips forward, and she opened her mouth without protest, taking me in until she felt me in her throat. Evelyn didn’t flinch—she only frowned. She drooled around my cock while her hands rested on my hips, not to control me, but simply to brace herself as I picked up the tempo, pounding into her mouth and gathering her soft hair into a ponytail.

Huffing, I glanced at the mirror—the scene was absolutely depraved—and it was a shame I couldn’t film it with my camera. It deserved to be recorded, rewatched, studied. I pushed too deep inside her mouth so many times that she could only whimper around me, and that sound only pushed me further. Still, I couldn’t indulge in this for long—I was already close to filling her mouth with cum. I fixed my gaze on her. She was blushing, from heat, shame or both, and that red hue suited her so fucking much. She probably never realized it. Nor did I.

After a short, guttural groan escaped my lips, I stopped moving and pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop. She didn’t protest when I squeezed her cheeks and pushed a finger between her lips. She sucked on it just as eagerly as she had sucked my cock.

"Wow, look at you," I crooned, tilting her head to the side while my finger remained deep in her mouth. "Never expected you to be such a whore for me."

Evelyn grinned shamelessly, making me feel utterly defeated once again.

"Another woman can't make you feel that good?" she asked. "Is that why you came to me?"

"Oh, come on," I rasped, withdrawing my finger and dragging a wet line along her cheek. "Don't stoop to such cheesy provocations."

I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, I pulled her up from her knees and set her on the dresser once again. Evelyn gasped at my bluntness. The straps of her nightgown were already slipping down her shoulders, and it only took a gentle nudge to slide them off completely. Her small but well-shaped breasts were now on full display. I paused to admire them before squeezing both and licking her hardened peaks.

"Ah," Evelyn breathed, arching her back into me. "Mhm—Patrick..."

I bit one of her nipples, which drew a moan from her. That spurred me to drop my hand lower, between her legs, to rub her pussy lips—already slick with arousal—and to slip a finger inside her. I just wanted to feel her writhing against the dresser.

"Not Caldwell. Not Bryce. Not anyone else can make you feel the way I do," I muttered against her collarbone. Then I lowered my mouth to the inside of her thigh, kissing, nibbling, and sucking. "No one deserves you, darling."

"Even you?" Evelyn murmured in a sly tone.

I grinned and pressed my tongue flat against her wet pussy—she jolted.

"Even me," I smirked, playing along. "I wonder how often you imagined me while fucking someone else."

That was it.

Her weakness was already surfacing as I moved lower, dipping my tongue into her pussy and exploring her folds and red-hot clit. Her entrance clenched around my fingers every time I teased its rim. She was so ready for me—so wet, so exposed, so mine. I took in everything: her aroma, her taste, her high-pitched wails. My mouth never stopped feasting on her. With every flick of my tongue, Evelyn slipped lower on the dresser, her legs spreading wider, nearly draping over my shoulders. I could tell she was about to cum all over my face—her whole body was tense, like a string about to snap.

Slurping at her pussy, I plunged my fingers deeper—two at once—and curled them to find the spot on the front wall of her womb. I knew exactly what I was doing. Evelyn's erratic cries were the clearest sign that I’d hit my target—and that she was about to lose herself.

"Give it to me, baby," I whispered, urging her to let go while pumping my dick to keep it hard. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you cum," I added, continuing to suckle her swollen clit. "Let me see it."

Quivering and panting, Evelyn grabbed a fistful of my hair, nearly smashing my face into her pussy. I let her use me like a toy for her pleasure.

"Oh my God," she moaned, twirling her nipple and bucking her hips against my mouth. She was practically fucking herself on my tongue. "Patrick—fuck—fuck—fuck!"

I had never heard anyone curse so adorably.

When her whole body started trembling so hard I had to hold her still, and her inner walls clamped down on my fingers, I made sure to finger her through the orgasm. I wanted her to gush all over my face—but then she suddenly yanked on my shoulders, almost dragging me away.

She was overstimulated as hell. Sweaty, dizzy, and dripping with sweetness. Barely breathing.

And I was so fucking proud of it.

After licking her juices off my fingers, I stood up and scooped her into my arms again. She was malleable and still shivering. So fragile that I couldn’t help but kiss her temple, her forehead, and the crown of her head. I held her close as I walked to the wide mirror I’d spotted earlier. Evelyn’s nightgown had bunched around her waist, so I helped her remove it completely once I set her on her feet, pressing her back against the mirror. The glass fogged slightly the moment my mouth touched hers again, thanks to the heat radiating off our bodies.

Without further ado, I spun her around so she could see our reflections—and everything I was about to do to her. My cock throbbed as I took it in my hand, stroking it slowly before lining it up with her pussy and sliding it along her slick folds. She moaned, low and needy. I caught her earlobe in my mouth and nibbled gently to keep her on edge.

"Spread your legs wider," I said—not exactly commanding, but firm enough. When she obeyed, I bit her shoulder lightly, cupped her breasts, and pressed her harder against the cold glass to heighten her sensitivity. "Are you on the pill?"

The question made Evelyn stutter. She gasped and turned her head to look at me. "Yes," she replied shakily, biting her bottom lip so hard it nearly drew blood. "I mean… not really."

I froze.

"Where are the condoms?" I asked casually, already half-ready to walk into her bedroom to grab them myself. But she didn’t reply. "Evelyn?"

Panting, she looked at me again—something had shifted in her gaze. "There’s no need for them," she stated, swaying her hips and brushing them against my cock. "I trust you, Patrick."

Nonsense .

"What?" I blurted, genuinely stunned as my cock softened slightly. "You want me to fuck you without a condom? Seriously?"

I couldn’t decide whether the possibility of getting Evelyn pregnant was turning me on or off. But by now, it probably didn’t matter—we’d gone too far, and stepping back would’ve been foolish.

"To hell with this," I croaked, pushing the tip inside her. "I’ll pull out."

Of course, I lied. It was obvious when I buried myself completely in one smooth thrust. Evelyn was light-headed, but she didn’t even squeal—just gasped and scrabbled at the mirror, trying to grab its edge. Her pussy sucked me in deeper, squelching each time I bottomed out. I lost track of time, wanting this moment to last forever—Evelyn, her body, her tight cunt, her pornographic moans.

No. Porn doesn’t even come close to this.

"Kiss me, please," Evelyn pleaded, tilting her head back against my shoulder. "Please, Patrick."

Jesus Christ.

It was so wrong… yet so right. I should’ve laughed and told her to shut up and take my dick, but instead, I leaned in and sealed her mouth with a slow, lingering kiss. Our lips were swollen and burning—just like our bodies. Depravity was driving us past the point of no return, like a train with no brakes.

If I was born to love someone, then this was the kind of love I was capable of.

Dismantling. Overwhelming. Branding.

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