Chapter 11

Wes

“Do you even own a colored shirt?” my best friend ponders from his leaning position against the walk-in closet island. “Green? Yellow? Pink?”

“Black is a color.”

“It is scientifically not a color.”

“And yet in art design as well as every day use it is considered one.”

“That’s very true, Mr. Wayne, and explains why your costume is all black.”

“It’s not always just black. In fact, in the early days, some of the blacks were highlighted with blues, giving a sense of liberty to artists to go with the black and gray color scheme or the blue and gray.”

“I wanna advise you against saying that type of nerdy shit to Bryn, but she’s actually exactly the type of woman you should say it to.”

His casual declaration has me turning around to face him.

“She’s into nerds.”

“ I’m not a nerd. ”

“You have an entire library full of Batman comic books including a secured vault for the ones in mint condition.”

“Some are worth more than my father’s classic cars.”

“And that type of brag is what makes you a nerd.”

The narrowing of my gaze receives obnoxious laughs that have me spinning back towards the mirror.

I don’t need this shit.

Not today.

Especially not now.

Deciding what to wear is hard enough without being prodded about what to say.

What not to say.

How to not say it.

I somehow need all the advice he has to offer and none of it simultaneously.

“What about blue?” He interrogates, warranting my stare to meet his in the mirror. “Got a blue one? Even a midnight shade?”

I solemnly shake my head.

So many things died alongside my family that dreadful night.

My colorful wardrobe.

My social skills.

And for the longest time, my basic will to live.

“It’s a good thing you look great in black then, huh?” J.T. impishly states in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Otherwise, we’d be royally fucked.”

Grinning over the comment is a struggle.

A lot like convincing myself this is a good idea.

He slides his hands into his light blue suit pants pocket in tandem with proclaiming, “You’re nervous.”

“I’m… uncertain. ”

“The rest of us typically call being ‘uncertain’ before a first date nervous.”

I wordlessly fidget with the collar to my black button down instead of arguing.

“Would it help if I was there?”

“ No. ”

My lack of hesitation has him laughing at my expense again. “You really like this woman.”

“I…” a small vacillation of my head occurs. “Yes.” We lock our eyes for a second time in the mirror. “ I really like her, J.T. ”

“Good because she really likes you .”

“She likes getting under my skin.”

“Oh no, she loves that.” The wiggling of his eyebrows returns my glaring. “Almost as much as she loves Star Trek .”

That says quite a lot considering how many references I think she makes in a day.

“Alright, since I’ve done this whole dating thing just slightly more recently than you-”

“You call taking that Doctenn actress out to a wine bar the weekend before last only slightly more recently?”

“That was like half date, half work,” he poorly argues. “We did more networking than flirting.”

“I suppose now is not the time to point out why that’s worrisome.”

“Precisely,” my best friend brushes off with a crooked grin. “Now is the time for me to give you a few basic pointers.”

Adjusting my cuffs is attached to my response, “I’m listening.”

“Remember that this isn’t a business meeting or a conference call. Conversations shouldn’t be interrogations. Bryn’s interested in learning about you not what you can do for her; therefore, you should treat her accordingly rather than like someone who has mistaken you for the mark that you are desperate to prove you aren’t.”

A grunt of comprehension is given.

“Also, tell her the truth about what you're hiding at the beginning of the meal versus later. That’s not the elephant you want in the room when you’re shoving back rice or risotto.”

This time it’s more difficult to face his reflection.

“You have survivors’ guilt, Wes. You know this. You’ve talked about this. You’ve been diagnosed with this.”

Shame threatens to send my stare elsewhere.

“Let her decide whether or not you’re as guilty as you have deemed yourself to be over the past ten years. Let her decide whether or not you’re worthy of her forgiveness, just like you did her mother.”

Disgust over my own actions that caused the loss of Bryn’s father along with my scars begins to swell deep in my throat.

“ Trust me. If I’ve come to know anything about that bombshell over the past almost week, it’s that Star Trek: Voyager is her least favorite series of the franchise and that she prefers to do all her own thinking.” The slight eye twitch he’s delivered is mindlessly executed. “You’re pissed I called her a bombshell, aren’t you?”

More than he realizes.

“One more suggestion.”

My brow lifts in curiosity.

“Don’t sleep with her on the first date.”

The accusation not only stitches annoyance into my expression, it has me sharply turning to confront him. “ What? ”

“Bryn’s not exactly the type of chick opposed to doing that on the first date-”

“You’re implying that she sleeps around?” Folding my arms firmly cross my chest precedes a displeased huff. “That maybe this is just about sex for her?”

“If this was just about sex, she would’ve just offered that when you asked her out.”

Relief makes a move to rest on my shoulders.

“All I meant was Bryn likes to do shit Bryn’s way, which means it may not be off the table; however, for your sake – the man who hasn’t been out on a date in over ten years and slept with someone in even longer – it’s not a bad idea to wait. ” A small shrug is wedged between statements. “I’m just sayin’ you don’t have to squeeze first date, first kiss, and first fuck all into one night.”

“I agree with Mr. Reese, sir,” Clark unexpectedly interjects, pulling both of gazes over to where he’s standing in the closet doorway.

“Why so proper, Alfred?” J.T. skeptically interrogates. “What sort of trouble were you just into?”

“No trouble.” His hands fold professionally in front of him. “I’ve simply spent most of the day in that mode, so to speak. Lauren’s duties require the more formal language when being tended to, and the interview I was summoned for with Hawthorne and Park required the same as opposed to the more laidback conversations I’ve come to enjoy with them over tea and lemon shortbread cookies.” Mirth dances freely around his expression. “And don’t ever offer Hawthorne the last cookie unless you indeed truly do not want it.”

My best friend chuckles while my expression remains stoic. “What were they questioning you about?”

“They’re questioning all of the staff per procedure.”

A low disapproving grumble rattles in my chest.

“They want to know about the timeline of Lauren’s illness from our perspectives. Our whereabouts during the days leading up to her quarantine. And the conspiracy tale that’s currently circulating the media in which you are testing nonregulated pharmaceutical drugs on your employees as part of a trial program for a company you are interested in purchasing.”

It’s impossible to swallow my seething. “ That’s ridiculous. ”

“No,” J.T. lightly laughs again, “what’s ridiculous is the report speculating that you’re harvesting your staff for their organs so you can sell them to your black-market ties.”

“People don’t actually believe that do they?” Agitation leads to me defensively stomping my black dress shoes covered feet in his direction. “Has Pham released an official statement denying those claims on the company’s behalf? Has Evie released one on behalf of me ?”

“Those things are unnecessary at this time, Wes. It’s just trash mag shit no one has thought twice about,” my second in command calmly reassures, “however, if you are concerned about these headlines having a detrimental effect, I’ll reach out to Pham and Evie during your date to get that settled. You,” he points a sharp finger at me, “just focus on your date.”

“Wait,” my eyebrows lift in question, “I thought you had a prior engagement this evening and that’s why you encouraged tonight being the best opportunity to ask Bryn to dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, no, I lied.” He juvenilely grins. “You needed not to be able to hide behind me, and she simply needed the opening.” The waggling of his eyebrows receives another glare. “ You’re both welcome. ”

“Well done, J.T.,” Clark warmly praises. “Very well done.”

“Don’t…encourage…him,” I fuss with a crooked smirk.

“Then I shall encourage you not to be late for your date.” The head tilt is scolding. Fatherly. “Two minutes and then I send Bryn here to retrieve you herself.” An all-knowing smile slides into place as he begins backing away. “And trust me, if she is anything like her mother that’s the last thing you want.”

His exiting inspires J.T.’s, who makes sure to deliver a reassuring pat on the back before doing so.

Completely alone for the first time all evening, I take a single moment to admire my reflection, the same reflection I’ve spent so many years avoiding, in the full-length mirror.

I hate mirrors, in general, but I especially hate these.

The ones that give you the entire view of my hideous figure.

If it weren’t for a fact this were a prized family heirloom – from my mom’s side – I would’ve destroyed it like I did the others when I was finally able to walk on my own again.

I don’t need to see me.

I don’t have a valid reason to want to.

Having a fit form courtesy of long runs and weightlifting sessions completed only to counter alcohol cravings is not a good reason.

Tracking the scars to see which have faded and which never will, is also not a good reason.

Once upon a time, caring about my reflection had true purpose.

I was a package to present.

A legacy to display.

An extension of one of the most prestigious names in some of the highest circles.

Now?

Now, that’s just another haunting memory.

Down in the formal dining room – that’s clearly been cleaned based on the lemon fresh scents still floating through the air – I anxiously circle the table, needlessly adjusting knives.

Forks.

Wine glasses.

Truthfully, everything is exactly where it should be except me.

I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong doing this.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I can’t do this.

Doubt has me darting to the open door; however, Bryn’s voluptuous body, cloaked in a red, satin, mini dress – which looks more lingerie than anything meant for a public outing – stops me dead in my tracks.

Commands my jaw to the floor.

Whispers to my shaky knees that they’re next.

“ I knew it, ” she openly declares on a slow shake of the head, attention soaking in every part of me finally revealed. “ I fucking knew it. ”

And so did I.

I knew she’d be disgusted.

Regret this decision.

Me.

“You really do have one brown eye and one blue.”

Bewilderment knits my brow tightly together.

“I fucking knew I wasn’t crazy.” Her head tips to one side, long, flowing locks, dangling temptingly to one side. “And I knew they’d be even harder to fucking resist when I saw them together.”

Further bafflement leaves my mouth agape.

“You clean up quite nice, Mr. Wilcox. This ,” Bryn waves an index finger up and down in reference to my entire frame, “is the man who makes my panties wet.” A tiny bite of her glossed bottom lip is taken. “ You know…when I wear them. ”

What the hell is happening?

Am I…hallucinating?

Is she?

Does walking through that door put us in an alternate dimension where she sees with her ears instead of her eyes?

Or is she just…saying the shit she thinks I need to hear?

Lying to me out of sympathy.

Pity.

“ There’s no need for your benevolence, Bryn. ” Clearing my throat occurs between declarations. “I accept my disfigurement for the disgusting display that it is.”

“The only thing I find disgusting in this room is the tone you’re using towards me about my date .” Her arms fold defensively underneath her tits, drawing extra, unnecessary attention to them. “It’s the same one that misinformed idiots use accusing all shark species to be a danger to humans when in reality it’s only a few.” There’s no pause for a rebuttal. “You are entitled to have your opinion, but you are not entitled to tell me mine.”

Disbelief sends my mouth back to the floor.

Holy shit.

Maybe I should hire her.

Something tells me she’d do amazing things in the PR department.

Once she’s convinced her point has been clearly made, she offers me a mischievous smirk. “You ready for a wild evening, Mr. Wilcox?”

An awkward chortle escapes during my approach. “No.”

“Perfect!” Her palm extends my direction for the taking, and the instant I have she asks, “You remember the agreed upon terms?”

I casually nod at the same time I concur. “Arrangements for our privacy have been made.”

“Oh, they most certainly have…”

The delivery of her agreement is probable cause for questions yet getting to ask anything is denied due to Clark unanticipatedly meeting us in the hallway. Unlike his last surprise appearance, he’s not empty handed. “Dinner,” the older gentlemen announces in tandem with offering me the large basket. After I take it, he dangles a different object in her view. “Keys.”

“Thank you,” she sweetly coo, smile too dangerous for anything good.

“Why do you need keys? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private.”

“I’m not leaving the property, Bryn.”

“You are correct, Wes.” My date for the evening shoots me another impish beam. “You’re not.”

“I as well as Park are privy to your whereabouts for emergencies only,” Clark politely informs as he folds his hands behind his back. “Your phones are locked away in your office, Wes, and your phone, Bryn, has been returned from the silverware drawer back to your room where it is charging.”

“Why was it in the silverware drawer?”

“Must’ve forgot it there when I grabbed a spoon for the mint chocolate chip ice cream I ate while discussing dinner arrangements with Lucky.”

“How do you forget your phone in the most random places?”

“I really just don’t give a fuck about it that hard.” An innocent shrug bounces her beautiful shoulders. “I was taught to be more present than most, I guess. I care about who you are and what you’re doing in person not whatever person you post or want the world to think you are.”

“Your basket, Miss Bryn,” Penny cheerfully announces upon arrival, item pleasantly presented. “Will you be needing anything else for your date with J.T.?”

“ Her date’s with me, ” comes out more vicious than intended.

“Wes,” she airily croaks in obvious shock. “I-I-I didn’t you see you there.”

“That much is apparent,” the woman holding my hand snips as she transfers the object into her possession.

“Why did you assume she was going out with J.T.?” Jealousy, I loathe myself for having slithers along my spine. “Did you mishear a conversation you had no business hearing to begin with?”

“ Wes ,” Clark swiftly scolds.

“I…um…I just…” her fingers fly anxiously to her hair, “thought because…they’re always together? They um…are…wanna be…should be…dating?”

“ Ask questions or make statements, Penny. ” I grip Bryn’s hand tighter. “ Not both at once. ”

“Yes, sir,” she sheepishly whispers. “Is there anything else I can assist you with at this time?”

“You can go,” the older male declares. “Finish tending to your cleaning duties and double check that the greenhouse as well as the cleaning warehouse are properly secured. Park is requesting stricter access in the off hours. If Wes or Bryn have any further needs, I will tend to them.”

Penny nods her understanding to him, nods in a kind nature to me but a curt fashion to my date and rushes away to complete her tasks.

“She really doesn’t like me,” grunts the high heel wearing beauty at my side.

“No,” I poorly argue, “she really just likes me. ”

“She’ll find her way,” Clark reassures in a familiar, caring tone. “For now, you two find your way to your secluded adventure.”

Bryn’s instantly shot a quirked eyebrow. “Seclusion, huh?”

“That’s the only way you’re gonna let me see you naked.”

“ Wh- ”

The full word never finishes leaving my mouth thanks to the abrupt tugging away of my date. Wordlessly, she leads us through the manor, out to the front door where a golf cart is waiting. I skip the part where I insist on driving and simply help secure the accessories in the back before repeating the effort with her.

In the process of making sure she’s comfortably settled, I mindlessly comment, “You look great.” Her gaze finds mine. “I meant to say it earlier but…I…and um….” Nodding through the rest of the sentence is the only thing I seem capable of doing. “You really do.” One throat clearing allows for a smoother proclamation. “ You always do, Bryn. You always look beautiful. ”

She cranes her face to be a breath away from mine to tease, “ I’m so much better up close, right? ”

“ God yes. ”

Girlish giggles are followed by a gentle, flirtatious push away. “Get in, Spock. I’m the Captain Kirk on this journey into the unknown."

“Spock?” Sliding into the passenger seat is swift. “Is that the elf one?”

“There are no elf ones!”

Laughter over her response should be rattled by the quick jerking motion of the vehicle moving but it isn’t.

And neither is the amused grin she’s showcasing.

Okay.

Maybe I can do this.

Maybe it won’t be so hard.

Maybe…it’ll even be… enjoyable like I hoped.

“Okay, so over there,” Bryn points off to the left, “is how you get to the hospital thing, the servants houses – where the heads have one home and the underlings another – and Puppet Boy’s house.”

The idea of being given a tour of my own property pulls the corner of my lips upward. “Yes.”

“And then over there,” she grips the wheel with her left in order to point with her right, “are where the other guesthouses are, including the one you originally wanted to stick me in.” Our paved path is lit up with just enough light for our stares to lock in the dark. “It’s cute, but a little too cottage in France for me.”

“My mom took to styling and decorating the estate along with the intown office. It was… her business so to speak.” I fold my hands uncomfortably together in my lap. “The downtown building has undergone several renovations over the years; however, I haven’t changed much around here since she died.”

“I figured.” She veers us along a path to the left. “You don’t exactly strike me as the HGTV type.”

“You saying I don’t have an eye for design.”

“I’m saying you are so not the one I would call in the house for decorating tips.”

More laughter leaves us both as our drive along the lush path continues.

“If we keep heading this direction, we’ll eventually pass the entertainment house-”

“Which connects you directly to the large, golf course behind it.”

“Which I’m going on a limb and guessing was your father’s other favorite hobby that you also didn’t inherit.”

“Hey, I like cars.”

“Mmm,” the sarcastic hum is accompanied by an equally sardonic glare. “You tolerate cars. You like comic books.”

“How do you know that?”

“Hot nerd recognizes hot nerd, Mr. Wayne. No one makes that many Batman references that isn’t a huge fan.”

Not grinning wide is once more impossible. “Collecting comic books is simply an expensive, eclectic choice.”

“Nerd.”

“ Refined. ”

“Rich nerd.”

“I’m not-”

“You know you’d be an even hotter nerd if you were a Trekkie.”

Jealousy rears its ugly head again before I can stop it. “You think J.T. is more attractive than me.”

“I think Puppet Boy has better taste in nerd franchises than you, but you’re definitely hotter, Mr. Wilcox.”

Redness doesn’t hesitate to paint itself in my complexion, yet I do my best to ignore it. “How did I not know my best friend was a closet Trekkie?”

“That sentence could totally be misconstrued if it was misheard,” she good naturedly teases prior to pointing again. “ There. That path takes you to the entertainment house and the one coming up ahead to our left will take you to the back gate that leads to a private road that connects directly to Hamiton’s house on the other side of the lake.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I – typically – have an amazing memory when it comes to landmarks and directions.” Her expression glows brightly even in the darkness. “I got it from my dad. Being a pilot, he had an incredible sense of direction that he did his best to pass onto me.”

“I assume he was the one who gave you that necklace.”

She absentmindedly touches the accessory that’s taunted me from the day of her arrival. “He did. It was a birthday gift. The…last birthday he was alive for. He missed it of course – because working was always more important than me or mom – but he tried in his own ways to make up for it.”

Ignoring the perfect segue for my long, overdue confession is beyond tempting.

In fact, it’s suddenly the most tempting thing I’ve ever confronted.

Yet the nagging in the back of my mind from my best friend is louder.

Harsher.

And so are the two faint voices I’d give my own life to hear in person again.

“I met your father,” leaves me at a volume so low it’s almost inaudible.

“How?”

“He was the unnamed pilot in our infamous plane crash.”

Our movement suddenly slows down. “Dad died on a paid training flight.”

“Records were forged to create and maintain that lie.”

“ Why?! ” The aggressive breaking is expected. “ Why lie about how he died?!”

“I didn’t…” evening out my breath is more difficult than predicted, “I didn’t want your family hounded by the media or the press or anyone else looking for information about me, my family, or the accident.”

Bryn’s jaw remains unhinged.

“The… official …statement of the incident is that due to a family emergency we were abruptly summoned home leaving us with no choice but to fly through unideal weather conditions that resulted in their demise and my…” an open palm waves at the leathery patches of flesh, “injuries.”

“And the official truth ?”

“I was selfish.” Pushing down the lump of tears collecting in my throat is laborious. “We were at one of our vacation properties. Just the three of us. J.T. stayed behind because despite how many times we told him he was family – and the fact my parents were his legal guardians for the previous two years – he insisted on us occasionally doing things without him. Claiming better ‘photo ops without the orphan’. I honestly didn’t wanna go myself because my girlfriend at the time, Samantha van der Linde, had a nasty cold and I hadn’t seen her in days.”

Bryn shuts off the engine, leaving us stranded practically in the middle of the property.

“Traditionally, while we’re on vacation, we give our family pilot off the duration as well. He’s free to pick up other jobs or book his during the span, which is what he did. Which is why when I got the call that Samantha was being hospitalized with an upper respiratory infection – she was having trouble breathing and could even barely talk to me without wheezing – I demanded we go home.”

“So, you’ve like, never asked for things?” she sweetly teases as her frame angles in my direction.

“It’s not in the Wilcox nature.” The smile she’s flashed is half-hearted. “ Hence how your dad got roped into flying us against the weather advisements not to. Dad and I went around and around and around until he was out negotiated. Ironically, I…think it was his pride over being outdone by me that had me pull the strings to get us a pilot willing to give the shit a shot.”

“Dad was a risktaker. I also got that from him.”

“And it was my fault he took his last one.”

“It was his fault ,” Bryn unexpectedly bites back. “Dad didn’t take that job because you strongarmed him or he fell for your sob story. He took it because he had – yet again – gambled away a huge hunk of my college fund on shitty teams and horses.” Irritated headshakes are attached to an eyeroll. “I loved the man. He was… my dad …you know? But he wasn’t a good guy. He was addicted to gambling, a notorious cheater, and the whole reason my mom worked so hard to turn me into little miss rely on no one but yourself.” An innocent shrug presents itself. “You weren’t responsible for his death. He was. ”

Longing to believe her, believe that , is what prompts me to question, “You honestly don’t blame me?”

“For what? Being in love?” She lets her face fall sweetly to one side. “Being a pushy eighteen-year-old who wanted to be there for the love of his life while she was suffocating to possible death in the hospital?” Another round of headshakes is given. “That’d be like blaming your parents for trying to be what they thought were good parents. Or blaming the weather reports for being so wrong all the time that we just get used to ignoring them.”

Disbelief deepens further in my glare.

“That’s why you hide, isn’t it? Why you keep your body covered? Why you’ve never had surgeries I know exist to remove or replace the imperfections? Because you blame yourself.”

“ I don’t deserve to see anything other than a selfish monster when I look in the mirror. ”

“You’re nothing more than a whale shark that’s mislabeled himself a bull shark during a snorkeling accident.” More kindness appears threatening to suffocate me. “You’ve more than paid your unnecessary penance, Wes. Between keeping our name out of the press – allowing me to live a non-spotlight life – and hiring my mom – which I’m assuming you did when she refused to take a handout because handouts aren’t who she is – you’ve punished yourself enough.” Her fingers find the keys to turn the vehicle on again. “So, knock that shit off, and finally, start living a little.”

“ Why do I deserve to live when they didn’t deserve to die? ” gushes past my lips in a broken, almost unheard whisper.

“ How does you not living bring them back from the dead? ”

The unexpected counter stuns me silent.

I know logically she’s right.

That no matter how many years I keep to myself and others at arm’s length it won’t bring them back.

It won’t make the time that’s passed without them hurt less.

Sometimes…sometimes I wonder if it simply makes it hurt more.

If my parents would be impressed by the progress of the company but heartbroken at the regression of their son.

Grateful for the legacy I’ve preserved, yet disappointed I haven’t made it my own.

“What happened with Samantha?” Bryn casually inquires while making her next available right. “She die?”

“No.” Post clearing away the emotions stuck in my throat, I add, “She left me.”

“What?!”

“During the extensive treatment process.”

“What?!”

“She couldn’t stand the sight of me and couldn’t stand the simple idea of seeing it in our photos.”

“ Cunt. ”

Laughter returns to us in full force, shaking both of our previously tense frames.

I swear how she gets me to do that…laugh with so much life…laugh like laughter is part of my salvation as opposed to a sin is magic.

Our final arrival at my private lake isn’t much of a surprise. Considering how much of the property we passed, I knew it was the only viable option left.

The second she shuts off the vehicle this time, she bluntly states, “ Get naked. ”

“ What?! ”

Bryn slides out of the seat and begins to wiggle out of her heels. “ Get. Naked. ”

“ Why?! ”

“Those were the terms you agreed to.”

“I-”

“ All of you, Mr. Wilcox ,” my date devilishly reminds while inching up her dress. “You agreed to let me see all of you.”

“I didn’t think that’s what you meant!”

“You should’ve clarified the fine print and terms of conditions before signing then. That’s just basic business shit 101.”

My mouth twitches to argue yet other words breathlessly leave courtesy of her naked figure gracing my view. “ Fuck… ”

“Not on the first date,” she teases as she tosses her attire into the front seat. “I actually like you.”

While the declaration warrants a snarky response or even a flirty one, her bare body dictates otherwise.

I greedily drink in her full tits and dark nipples that are hardening under my stare.

I hungrily groan as my gaze does the grazes my fingers wish they could.

I needily whimper when my sight settles on the waxed space between her toned thighs.

Justice League have fucking mercy… where was the advice or lecture from Dick Grayson about what to do when you’re tempted to tell Catwoman she can have your jewels if she just sits on your face?

“Then again…” Bryn flicks her thick hair off her shoulder prior to flashing me a heated smirk. “I don’t like to take anything completely off the table.”

Well.

Here I am slightly concerned about the relationship she has with Lucky when perhaps I should be highly concerned with the one, she has with J.T.

She quoted him verbatim.

Or he quoted her.

Which means they know each other well.

And that they’ve talked about sex.

Have they discussed their past adventures?

Latest conquests?

The possibility of that between them ?

Shit.

Is Penny right?

Should they be having dinner together instead of us?

Are they a better fit?

The better merger?

Unmatched cupidity spurs me out of the vehicle to begin undressing by shedding my jacket. “I would’ve worn less clothing had I known they would be coming off.”

“I warned you.”

“Was that a real warning?” Chuckles are attached to draping the article appropriately in the seat. “Or a sneak attack like corporate espionage?”

“How dare you accuse me of being a sleeper shark!”

Bafflement bulldozes through my stare during the uncuffing of my sleeves.

“And if that’s what we’re gonna label me, then that clearly makes you an orca.”

Unbuttoning of my shirt occurs next.

“And while the comparison is probably accurate – given that you’re an apex predator in your world – it actually makes me like you less not more.”

“You don’t like whales?”

“I don’t like killer whales – which are actually dolphins not whales – and I really don’t like their increasing ballsiness to try to crunch and munch my fucking spirit animal.”

Distress over revealing my body to someone else for the first time in years does its best to overwhelm me, forcing me to distract myself from the vulnerability.

Distract her from possible disgust.

“Is that the tattoo you’ve got on your lower back?” My grip struggles not to shake during the dropping of my shirt in the passenger seat. “A shark?”

“ The Great Hammerhead. ” Bryn turns around to present me with a perfect shot of the creature stretched along the small of her back. “The largest of its species – the hammerhead – and the apex predator of them.”

Keeping my gaze on the creature and not the beautiful round shape taunting me underneath it is difficult.

Damn near impossible.

Much like convincing my cock to stop swelling so I’m not even more uncomfortable in this situation.

“They’re not particularly aggressive to humans…however, they will attack when provoked.”

“ Like you. ”

“ Exactly. Like. Me. ” Her figure swivels back around prior to allowing her stare a slow sweep of my torso. “ My, my, my Mr. Wilcox… ” A small nibble is taken from her bottom lip. “ I could crack a tooth on that chest. ”

Heat and consternation fuse together to coat my entire system.

“You work out?”

“I do.”

“Daily?”

“Often.” Toeing off my shoes and socks is swift. “You?”

“Considering it feels like I’m hiking The USS Intrepid every time I leave my room, I’m gonna go with I do now.”

Undoing my belt and zipper occurs while I maintain eye contact. “ Star Trek and sharks.”

“ That’s me. ”

I awkwardly smile hoping she focuses on that versus the jingling noises.

The dropping.

The uncomfortable wiggling of my legs during the shedding process.

As soon as I’m completely naked – the last thing I ever saw myself being around another person again – she releases an impressed hum that leaves me no choice but to look up.

Find her intrigued glare.

Hold my breath and wait for judgement.

Ridicule.

“ Wouldn’t mind letting you bite me again and again to mate… ” Bryn seductively states yet begins backing away from the vehicle. “ Probably would only have to bite me once. ”

Certain that’s a shark reference is what leads to me wordlessly following.

Stalking.

Willing to do much more than bite when she’s officially in my arms, damn the whole waiting until the second date thing.

I’ve waited long enough.

A lifetime even.

Brynley Winters is mine.

Meant for me.

The only woman I’m willing to take off any and every mask for.

“Hope you can swim,” is spoken split seconds before she disappears beneath the surface.

Unsure of which direction she’s headed, I simply continue walking forward into the surprisingly warm water, thankful spring has had hotter days than colder ones. I manage to make it about neck deep when my date resurfaces quite a distance away, a location that has my brow furrowing.

How the fuck are we supposed to have a conversation like this?

“We’re gonna play a better version of Marco Polo,” Bryn loudly calls out. “I’m gonna ask you either/or questions.”

“Alright.”

“I like your answer we swim towards each other.”

“And when you don’t you swim away?”

“I’ll stay put.” Seeing her face glow in the sunset rays fills me with feelings I’ve never felt before. Not even the first time I fell in love. “I don’t need to burn the extra calories.”

“I wouldn’t mind burning a few extra with you.”

Her teeth momentarily sink into her glossed bottom lip. “You game?”

“What happens when we meet in the middle?”

“You mean if. ”

“I mean what I say.” Another bite of the area is stolen prompting me to proclaim, “ The next time that’s bit, it’s gonna be by me. ”

“ Then there’s what’s gonna happen, Mr. Wilcox. ”

It’s impossible not to cockily smirk. “Any hidden rules or stipulations or terms and conditions I should know about, Miss Winters?”

“Not this time.”

“ Begin. ”

“Lake or pool?”

“Pool.”

Her frown is expected; however, it still sparks a small chuckle.

“I know. You prefer the lake. It’s closer to the ocean.”

“Correct.”

“Can I swim closer for that?”

“No, but I like the negotiation attempt.”

“It’s my nature.”

“Scuba or snorkeling?”

“Snorkeling.”

Another frown is flashed.

“You’re scuba. Bigger risk. Bigger reward. Bigger chance of seeing sharks.”

She adoringly nods over the idea.

“Can I swim closer now?” Shifting my weight around on the uneven ground keeps the content from cutting into my feet. “A prize for being honest even when I know the lie would get me what I truly want?”

To my surprise, Bryn beams brighter.

Caves.

“One stroke.”

Both arms are used to cover the most amount of distance they can in one go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t far.

I’m definitely out of practice.

“Mac and cheese or risotto?”

“Mac.” My finger lifts up in a matter-of-fact nature. “And real mac. Never it’s cauliflower replica.”

“Two strokes for knowing that that’s the ultimate betrayal at my dinner table.”

“Your mom’s told that story to Clark and Lucky many, many times.”

“Sorceress.”

“Hey, she had to get you to get eat your vegetables somehow.”

“Don’t make me swim backwards.”

Laughter leaving us both is followed by two large breast strokes towards the center.

“Beatles or Stones?”

“Def Leopard.”

For the memo?

I wanna do much more than pour sugar on her.

Seeing Bryn move forward again informs me that the answer is acceptable.

Or at least not unacceptable.

“Tits or ass?”

“Both.”

Her sarcastic stare is filled with sass and challenge and an irresistible command to confess.

“Tits.” My eyes grab a glimpse of what they can see of hers. “But it’s a close fucking call.”

She giggles loudly.

Swims.

Closes the gap even more.

“Top or bottom?”

“ Behind. ”

Her whimpering anxiously propels me through the water-filled barrier, desperate for the game to end.

To have my reward on my tongue.

“Blondes…” Bryn starts, breath noticeably choppy, body begging for my touch, “or…redheads?”

“ You. ”

I don’t allow the opportunity to ask any more questions.

Deliver any additional stalling.

I wind one hand roughly around the nape of her neck, yank her to me, clamp down on her bottom lip as promised.

She squeaks in shock or surprise or stupefaction.

Which exactly doesn’t matter.

Just that her lips part.

Widen.

Grant me access to the territory I’ve fantasized about taking more times than comics I have.

Gentle, timid brushes would be the smarter… wiser …choice for a first, yet they would be wrong.

Because Bryn isn’t the type of woman that wants a gentle man.

She wants a gentleman .

Someone who knows when to play games and when to dominate them.

The first press of my tongue against hers is sharp.

And forceful.

And overpowering.

The next mimics the first until she teasingly swipes back, challenging me to control the moment.

Her.

Harsh lashes are meant once more, taunting, pushing; however, this time there’s no time or space or breath to do anything other than surrender.

To succumb to the savage swirls.

Crumble under the overwhelming pressure that builds and builds and builds, commanding she collapse into my hold. Years of compressed composure combusts with celerity and carves a crazed path across every inch of her mouth, consuming hints of mint and lip gloss, leaving nothing behind except my signature, sealing her to me.

Me to her.

Wet strands become tangled around my fingers during their desperate, deep dive through them to latch onto her actual skin.

To actively indulge in another touch.

Just as they clamp down in victory, my mouth loses possession of hers due to the way her palms are cascading across my chest.

Clawing at my abs.

Curling around my hips like I’m now at her mercy.

Groans push past my gritted teeth in tandem with my forehead knocking into hers. “ You touch me, you belong to me. ”

She lets the tip of her tongue steal a swipe of my top lip.

“ It’s non-negotiable, Bryn. ”

“ Everything’s negotiable, Wes. ”

I force my mismatched gaze to relinquish its hooded state in order to bore my stare into hers. “ Not. This. ”

A pleased, amused hum is accompanied by her hand curling firmly around my cock. “ Understood, Mr. Wilcox. ”

Possessed, primal hisses hit the air prior to my teeth piercing her neck. The aggressiveness of my actions is instantly mirrored in hers causing me to mindlessly thrust into her hold, anxious to have more of not just another person, but her in particular. Time – that I believe – most women would waste with feeble feels and uncertain caresses, mine fills with savage strokes, intended to stake her claim and brand it too. Each brazen jerk covers every inch of my shaft, delivering ecstasy during the repeated executions that become even more so when her other hand slides to my balls.

Gives them a deliriously firm squeeze.

The delicious motion prompts me to drill my teeth deeper into her sensitive flesh while barbarically thrusting into her wild pumping.

Frantically fucking her hand.

Letting precum become smeared anywhere and everywhere it can reach.

Bites at the top of her neck transpose into sucks and sucks transition back into bites along their descent to her collarbone. Up and down the cycle continues matching and mimicking the movements of her hand, the rapidness of her heaving chest, the hitches in her breath.

Scrapes of her scalp are met by additional tugs to my nuts that lead me to grabbing her ass.

Grinding our bodies greedily together.

Airy moans and heavy grunts ceaselessly float towards the darkening sky until the combination of the rhapsodic sounds has me pressing my lips to her ear to growl, “ Spill that fucking ink, baby. ” Her fingers noticeably flex in anticipation. “ Sign your goddamn name in it. ”

Bryn needily whimpers before jerking faster and faster and faster, speed only wavering when my body begins to buckle from the blistering bursts that are causing my cock to kick. Cum coats her palm while wet dirt clumps between my toes during their desperate search for stability.

I grumble and groan.

Groan and grunt.

Tremble in sync with her.

My mouth wolfishly works its way from her earlobe to her lips where it momentarily feathers before ravenously declaring, “ My turn to be the apex predator… ”