Work Text:
“That’ll be $10. Do you want to start a tab?”
A very tired-looking bartender set a poorly made Old Fashioned on the bar in front of you.
You handed her your credit card and picked up the glass.
“Yeah, leave it open.”
You lifted the glass to your lips, your nose wrinkling as the smell of cheap whiskey reached you. The bar was tacky beneath your elbows. You watched the bartender swipe your card at the register, taking in her graying hair pulled into a bun, her slightly wrinkled face framed by wispy bangs.
You could empathize with her.
You watched her walk with a pained gait down the bar to serve one of the few other patrons scattered around you. She was stuck in a role that was slowly breaking her down physically, serving people she probably didn’t want to deal with for tips that could never make the nights behind the bar worth it.
You were stuck too.
Sure, you tried to break into other industries. You got the education, the certifications, the entry-level jobs. But nothing could have prepared you for the toxicity you found in every industry you entered. Low pay. Work that stole your dignity. Coworkers who somehow managed to make every shift miserable.
It had become a recurring theme.
And that was how you found yourself working in the back of a kitchen again.
This week had been brutal.
After months of sitting behind an office desk, your body was completely unprepared for this kind of labor. Muscles that had once been familiar with this shape of hard work screamed at the end of every shift. The ache lingered long after you clocked out, settling deep into your bones and following you into bed.
As if your body needed one more reminder.
It was bad enough carrying the bitter shame of failing again, only to land back in the cage you'd spent years trying to escape. Now even your body seemed determined to punish you for it.
The pain stole your sleep.
And in those long, miserable hours between exhaustion and unconsciousness, your mind took itself down winding paths of brutal self-pity.
Because every agonizing hour you spent staring at the ceiling gave you another opportunity to think about just how empty your life had become.
Ten years.
Ten years of trying to build something better.
Ten years of working, learning, starting over, and convincing yourself that the next door would finally be the one that opened.
And somehow, you had ended up right back where you started.
Working yourself past the point of exhaustion should be enough to guarantee that you could sleep. But you’ve stared at the ceiling fan in agony for the last three nights, replaying every mistake you’ve made over the past several years.
You needed a distraction. And at midnight, that distraction was probably going to come with alcohol vapors and shame.
Going to the bar was a bad idea.
But… you did it anyway.
There you sat, drinking poorly masked well whiskey, observing your options at the bar.
How depressing.
This local haunt was relatively empty. Not surprising for a Tuesday night. The patrons looked sadder than you, sipping on your cheap swill in the clothes you were planning to sleep in.
There was an old, sad looking trucker in the corner booth. Men decades older than you drank quietly scattered through the bar, clearly not looking to entertain anyone. It did not escape you that the tired looking bartender was the only other woman in the building.
Was it a good idea to stay?
Probably not. And resigned to finish your drink that tasted more like gasoline and less like an old fashioned and then walk home, you sighed.
Tonight was a mistake.
Then again, so was everything else in your life.
“I think I’ll close my tab,” you said, waving to get attention.
“Leaving so soon?” A warm voice said behind you before taking a seat at a stool a couple spaces away. Reclaiming the space, you observed, the drink he left sitting at the bar still sitting there, condensation sweating down the sides.
You sighed once more. The drink you regrettably just finished was already more than you could afford.
“Yeah. I shouldn’t have spent money on a drink in the first place,” You mumbled as you signed your receipt.
That’s when you turned around and finally looked at him. Tall, nerdy and devastatingly handsome. He wore thick framed glasses and a sweater that didn't hide his muscular frame.
And sitting here, unable to afford your next drink, with no make up on and basically in your pjs, it was hard for it to feel like he wasn’t absolutely out of your league.
So why was he talking to you?
“You can spend mine.” He signaled for the bartender, holding up his nearly empty beer mug. “Another. And whatever they want.” He gestured in your direction.
Oh.
“Uhh… I dunno. A dirty martini?” You mumbled, unsure.
The man in front of you quirked an eyebrow. “Brave enough to trust a cocktail here?”
“Brave and stupid, I guess,” you mumble tiredly, still a little weary and suspicious.
The man extended his hand, a crooked grin showing you a brilliant flash of—
Teefies?
“I’m Valko,” he said and his cute, sharp, almost canine like teeth flashed as you stumbled through your own introduction.
The drink arrived soon after, tasting like mistakes and too much vermouth.
You took another sip anyway.
Valko didn't seem particularly bothered by the silence. He sat beside you with one elbow resting against the bar, nursing his beer while you stared into your martini as if there might be some hidden answer floating among the olives. You were beginning to wonder if you'd made a mistake coming here at all.
You took another drink. You didn't even like martinis.
“So, what do you do?”
Valko's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
“I work in a kitchen.”
“Do you like it?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
He smiled. “At least you're honest.”
You shrugged, taking another sip.
There wasn't much point in pretending otherwise. You didn't know him, and you weren't going to see him again. Men came and went. Jobs came and went. Everything did eventually. That was one of the few things life had managed to teach you with any consistency.
“So… are you a chef?” You almost laughed.
There it was. The question was predictable. Next would be, ‘What is your favorite type of dish?’
Boring questions. All designed to remind you of the things you want and simply can’t have.
You wanted a career. A home. A relationship that didn't require you to constantly measure your words. You wanted to wake up beside someone and feel safe instead of wondering which version of him you'd get that morning. You wanted enough money that an unexpected bill didn't make your stomach drop. You wanted to be proud of yourself.
Somewhere along the way, wanting things had become embarrassing.
“Not really,” you said.
“What do you do in the kitchen, then?”
“Something else.”
Valko laughed quietly.
“What?”
“You're very evasive,” he said directly, taking another long gulp from his beer.
You gave him a tired smile. “I'm very tired.”
That seemed to satisfy him… Or maybe he simply didn't know when to quit.
He kept asking questions. You refused to give him very much to work with.
You noticed, however, that he seemed genuinely interested in every answer.
That bothered you more than it should have. There were rules to this.
A man bought you a drink because he wanted something. A man asked questions because he was trying to figure out what kind of woman you were and whether getting what he wanted would be difficult. A man who looked like Valko had no reason to spend his Tuesday night talking to you unless there was something in it for him.
You had learned that lesson the hard way more than once.
Men had always been very good at making interest look like affection.
They could make you feel special right up until you realized the only thing special about you was how conveniently you'd ignored the warning signs.
So, you gave him as little as you could possibly answer. You asked for nothing back.
He told you things about himself anyway.
Nothing particularly intimate, but enough that you started collecting pieces of him without meaning to. He had a dry sense of humor. He liked music with heavy base. He thought bird watching was cool. He was easy to talk to.
You couldn’t trust easy.
You weren’t looking to get close to anyone tonight. You only wanted a distraction that wouldn’t follow you like an obligation tomorrow.
“If I’m bothering you, I can leave.” He said when he noticed you tuned out.
You were thinking too loud to hear him speak. He was good at this— the slow erosion of the defenses you'd promised yourself you would never lower again.
But you wouldn’t let him win. You'd been hurt too many times to be stupid about men anymore.
And yet... you were here for exactly this. You needed to admit it to yourself.
You looked at Valko again.
He was handsome. Painfully so.
Tall, broad enough to make you wonder what it would feel like to have all that weight pressed over you, and somehow still carrying himself with an almost awkward softness. He didn't look like the kind of man who needed to prove he was dangerous.
That was probably what made him dangerous.
You hated that thought.
You hated that some traitorous part of you was already wondering what he'd look like with his shirt off. What his hands would feel like. Whether those sharp little teeth would hurt on your skin.
You hated that you wanted to find out.
You hated yourself a little more for knowing exactly what kind of distraction you had come here hoping to find.
It didn't have to mean anything. That was the point.
You weren't looking for love. You weren't looking for another relationship. You certainly weren't looking for another man to disappoint you.
You just wanted to stop thinking.
And if that meant spending a few hours underneath someone devastatingly attractive, letting him occupy every inch of your attention until there was no room left for your thoughts, then maybe that wasn't the worst idea you'd ever had.
Valko tilted his head.
“What?”
You realized you'd been staring. “Nothing.”
“You keep saying that,” he said, shaking his head with an amused grin.
“Maybe you should stop asking questions.”
He smiled again. “You could ask me some.”
You snorted. “Why?”
“Because that's generally how conversations work.”
“I don't need a conversation,” you practically barked derisively.
Something in his expression changed. You immediately regretted saying it.
But instead of getting offended, he took another drink.
“Fair enough.”
That somehow made you more uncomfortable.
You were tired. You were broke.
You were sitting in a nearly empty bar on a Tuesday night, dressed in clothes you had planned to sleep in, drinking something you didn't even like because you'd decided it might make you look interesting.
And somehow, the most attractive man you'd seen in months was sitting beside you.
“So what's your deal?”
Valko raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean?”
You shrugged. “People don’t just buy strangers drinks to be kind. What’s your motive?”
“Motive?” He looked at you quizzically. “I’m bored. Conversation seemed like a good way to pass the time.”
“With me specifically?” you questioned, accusation tucked between each word.
Valko gestured around at the sad lot surrounding you. “Well, I offered Greg in the corner a drink and he told me he didn’t swing that way.”
“Too bad,” you chided. “I think you’d have a better chance getting lucky with him.”
Then you cringed. Sometimes, you didn’t understand why you said the things you did.
Valko motioned for the bartender to close his tab. Great.
You pushed tonight’s entertainment away.
“Look. I’m just looking for an honest way to pass the time. My hotel room was boring and I’m not from around here.”
He signed his receipt, writing a generous tip in the line below his total.
“Sometimes a conversation is just a conversation. And you are beautiful, and broken, sitting in a bar for no good reason at midnight on a Tuesday looking for a connection, whether you want to admit it or not.”
He grabbed his jacket, but what was crazy to you was the kind smile he wore on his face, even though you knew you blew it.
“Beautiful broken people like you tend to have amazing stories to tell… when they are willing to talk.”
You couldn’t answer. You could only stare into your nearly empty glass.
“Have a good night.” He said, leaving and not looking back.
The walk home was miserable, because why was someone you had decided might be worth a cheap hookup making you feel so stupid?
When did you assume you had every man’s number?
Why did he have to be so big, so genuinely interested in getting to know you, so stupidly handsome that his loss hurt?
You'd known him for barely an hour.
You hated that you had given him the power to turn your life upside down in that hour. You hated that sleep eluded you as you thought about that crooked smile and the gorgeous set of wolf-like yellow eyes hidden behind his glasses.
The next few days were just as miserable.
Work was menial. Your body stayed busy, but your brain wandered, lingering on him.
Was he really as genuine as he seemed? Could this have gone anywhere if you weren't an asshole?
You had written him off like a cheap hookup, assuming that's what he was there for. But what if he was just there looking for a friend?
Lonely people were the ones who ended up at bars on Tuesdays at midnight.
How was a man that handsome so lonely?
And maybe obsessing over that fleeting moment wasn't healthy, but it was the reason you found yourself in bed tossing and turning two nights later instead of getting the desperate amount of sleep you needed.
Twelve-hour workdays, blood, sweat, and tears demanded rest.
But your soul craved a connection that you kept telling yourself only the weak needed.
So, walking back to that shitty bar, you tried to suppress the hope rising in your chest that he'd be waiting for you.
But when you arrived, you deflated when you didn't see him at the bar.
"Back again?" a familiar voice asked.
You jumped slightly, not expecting to hear him coming from the corner booth.
He looked at you with mirth, that same crooked, charming smile luring you in, those goddamn teethies flashing as he spoke once more.
"Hello, mystery woman."
His expression was patient despite the way your conversation had ended the last time you spoke. He looked pretty settled in, working on a laptop with an empty plate beside him and glasses sitting on the table, allowing you to see the warmth in his eyes.
"You trust the food here?" you asked teasingly.
He shrugged.
"You trust the cocktails here?"
"Touché," you answered, feeling a little less nervous.
His smile was disarming.
"Maybe I should think about food, too."
Valko leaned back in his seat. “Well… you’re in luck. Last call before the kitchen closed was... 12 minutes ago. I ordered an appetizer sampler and I’m in the mood to share. One condition though.”
“Shoot,” you respond with a sheepish smile.
“You have a real conversation with me.”
You shake your head and huff playfully. “Bold of you to assume I’m capable… but I’ll try.”
He smiled, closed his laptop and gestured at the seat across from him.
“Alright. Let’s start over.”
Where do we start, exactly?
You didn’t do this kind of thing. At least, you hadn’t in a long time.
“I… what brings you to town?” you asked, remembering with a small twinge of embarrassment that you had spent nearly the entire conversation the last time you saw him talking about yourself without once bothering to ask him anything in return.
“Business,” he said simply.
“What kind of business?”
“Real estate.” He leaned back against the booth, one arm resting along the back cushion rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses would normally sit. “Was actually starting to go cross eyed looking at contracts when you walked in.”
You studied him for a moment, trying to reconcile that answer with the man sitting across from you in a sticky dive bar. “You’re buying something?”
“Some land.” His mouth curved faintly, almost apologetically, as though he knew that was about as exciting an answer as telling you he had come to town to replace a tire. “I can’t say very much about it yet.”
“Is it okay if I ask what the land is for?”
He considered the question for a moment. “Honestly? Maybe not yet. But if it goes through, you’ll see it in the news soon.”
That piqued your interest. “Is it that big a deal?”
“I’m hoping it will be.” He smiled a little, looking down at the laptop he had left closed. “It sounds more impressive than it feels when you’re the one buried in the paperwork.”
You laughed softly, and something about the way he said it made you believe him. There was a caution there, like he was guarding a very important mission.
“So you’re important?”
Valko actually looked surprised by the question. His eyebrows lifted behind his glasses, and then he gave a small shake of his head.
“Me? No. I don’t think so.” He rested his forearms on the table, loosely folding his hands together. “I’m just doing my part of it. There are a lot of people I’m trying to take care of here.”
There it was… that disarming, humble answer. The way he spoke was genuine and soothing. There was a quiet passion there. Not the type to boast or brag.
You were getting the impression he wasn’t the type that was all talk. This man’s actions must be louder than his words.
“And what do you do when you aren't buying land?”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then glanced toward the kitchen when someone dropped something metal hard enough to make the bartender wince. “Mostly I work, eat something when I remember to, and try to sleep. I’ve been spending a lot of time here because my hotel room is boring.”
“Yeah… I remember that you said you’re at a hotel.”
“For now.”
The platter finally arrived at the table and you reached for a loaded tater-tot. “So you're basically living out of a suitcase.”
“Pretty much.” Valko tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same patient expression he had worn the last time you spoke. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“What do you do when you're not working?”
You gave him a look that made him smile, but this time you didn't dodge the question. “Apparently, I go to bars on weeknights and make terrible decisions.”
His smile widened, but he didn't laugh at you. “Well… how else was I going to get the chance to meet you?”
“You say that like meeting me is a good thing,” you groan and then cringe internally, chastising yourself. You promised you’d be more real with him this time.
“I was a chef,” you said eventually. “Well, I still am, technically. I went to culinary school, got my degree, and worked my way up. For a long time I thought that was what I was going to do forever.”
Valko listened without interrupting, his attention settled completely on you now.
“I was good at it,” you continued, almost reluctantly, because admitting that felt strange. “I really was. I just got tired of the hours and the pay and the people. They don’t warn you that its 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week while your co-workers play grab-ass with you and you were letting everyone down if you needed a day off. I didn't want my entire life to revolve around whether or not someone remembered to order enough onions.”
He grimaced for you. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve met a single chef that wasn’t burnt out.”
“Yeah…” You hesitated, staring down at your hands. “I tried to get out. I really did. I went back to school, got some certifications, tried different industries...”
Valko stayed quiet, his smile gone and his gaze serious.
“It wasn't that I hated working. I actually liked a lot of the things I tried. That's what made it so frustrating.” You let out a breath through your nose, shaking your head as the memories started coming faster than you could organize them. “I'd find something I was good at, I'd start getting comfortable, I'd think, okay, maybe this is it. Maybe this is the thing I can actually do for the next ten years. And then somebody would make it impossible to stay.”
Your mouth twisted bitterly.
“Sometimes it was the people. Toxic coworkers who decided they didn't like me and made sure I knew it. Sometimes it was management looking the other way because dealing with the problem would have been inconvenient. Sometimes it was sexual harassment that everyone somehow expected me to tolerate because apparently having a paycheck means you should be grateful enough to let somebody make you uncomfortable every day.”
Valko's expression changed at that, his brows drawing together slightly, but he didn't interrupt.
“I kept starting over anyway. I kept telling myself the next place would be different, that I just hadn't found the right fit yet, that if I kept learning and kept applying and kept putting myself out there eventually something would stick.” Your shoulders rose and fell with a tired breath. “But nothing ever really did.”
The admission sat heavily between you.
“So eventually I went back to the kitchen.” You gave a small, defeated shrug.
“Because every kitchen is desperate for help. Every single one is short staffed. And I can do it. I know I can. But the pay isn’t great. I’m working two jobs just to make things meet. And coming to this bar felt like a cry for help… but I can’t even afford a drink.”
You looked toward the kitchen behind the bar, where someone was moving around in the narrow space, and for a moment your expression softened with something dangerously close to grief.
“I keep trying to start over, Valko. I keep trying to make something better for myself, and somehow I always end up right back where I started.”
The words sounded worse once they were spoken aloud.
“You're strong,” he said eventually.
You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Because I have to be.”
“I knew your story was worth listening to.”
You looked up.
Valko's thumb moved slowly across the edge of his glass, his eyes dropping to it for a moment before returning to yours. “You said you tried to build a different life. That's not the same thing as failing.”
He meant well.
He did.
But his words bothered you.
Strong.
You had heard that word so many times that it had started to feel like an insult disguised as a compliment.
People called you strong when they wanted to acknowledge what you'd survived without having to acknowledge that it was unfair to have survived it in the first place.
Strong meant you could take another twelve-hour shift. Strong meant you could swallow your anger when a coworker crossed a line because you needed the paycheck. Strong meant you could walk into another interview after being humiliated at the last one and convince yourself that this time would be different. Strong meant you could keep getting back up even though your were tired.
You looked down at your hands again, picking at a loose piece of skin beside your thumbnail.
“I don't want to be strong anymore.”
Valko's expression softened.
“I keep hearing about people who get a lucky break. Everyone but me.”
Valko just sat there listening. You didn’t know what he was thinking. You swallowed and looked away, suddenly embarrassed by how honest you'd become. Your eyes became painfully misty.
You didn't want to cry.
“I want a life that feels fair. I don’t want to have to be strong anymore.”
You weren't even sure why you'd said all that.
Maybe because you were exhausted. Maybe because the food had finally arrived and your stomach was growling loudly enough to remind you that you hadn't eaten properly since yesterday. Maybe because Valko had spent the entire conversation listening without looking for an opportunity to turn your problems into his own story.
Or maybe you were just tired of pretending that surviving was the same thing as living.
You reached for another tater-tot, staring down at it before finally popping it into your mouth.
“Sorry,” you muttered around the bite. “That got depressing.”
Valko's mouth twitched. “It was honest.”
You looked at him.
He shrugged, almost sheepishly, and took a sip of his drink. “I'd rather hear something honest.”
Something in your chest tightened. That was becoming a problem. It had been a long time since anyone made your heart beat faster.
“Maybe you’re venting to the right ear,” Valko said with a tilt of his head.
“What do you mean?” You asked tentatively, afraid to get your hopes up.
Valko looked at his watch and sighed.
“Its really late. I’m not up for talking more business tonight. But for now, I have a lot of connection in the area and would be more than happy to put your résumé in front of the right people.”
“I’m… not really in the position to say no.”
There was that warm, sincere smile again. The type that didn’t belong in this sticky bar.
Your insecurities bubbled in ugly ways as he reached over to grab his phone.
“Why?”
He looked at you quizzically.
“Why help me? I was so rude to you before.”
Valko sat straight up humming in thought. “Were you actually rude?”
“It really is starting to feel like it,” you admitted to yourself as much as you admit to him.
“Guarded and rude aren’t really the same thing, in my opinion.” He smiled, eyes more amused than you’d expect. “I was just some strange man in a bar. You don’t owe me anything in exchange for a $10 drink.”
You pause, still anxious about your first impression. “Still…”
“Still— You came here to try again. You owed me nothing. That tells me a lot about the person that you are.” He lifted his phone. “Number?”
You gave it to him sheepishly as the bartender loudly started putting up chairs to start closing duties around you. He sent you a quick message with his email.
“Send me your résumé tomorrow. Don’t worry about fixing it up. I’ll have someone look at it and tailor it for some of my connections.”
You’ve been burned before. People fail to follow through with promises like these all the time. But there was something about him, something so genuine in the warmth in his eyes that it felt hard to suppress the hope rising in your chest.
The floaty, bubbly feeling had you practically jumping up and out of your seat.
Reality made the world tilt. Fatigue dragged at your muscles and you stumbled.
“Woah, woah!” A solid wall of muscle catches you on the way down. He steadied your body, concern written across his features. “Do you need a ride home?”
You shook off the weariness in your bones.
“Its fine. I didn’t drink. I should be able to walk home.”
“WALK?!” His eyebrows shot straight up. “It’s almost 2 AM!”
You cringed slightly, not expecting for him to raise his voice.
“It’s not a very long walk. About 8 minutes…” You respond hesitantly, worried what he would think about your living situation if he saw.
“8 minutes in a rough neighborhood with broken street lights,” Valko stated simply, rising and smoothing out his jeans, tone final. “Listen. I am not going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t make sure that you get home safe.”
You shifted, hesitant to answer. He noticed.
How could he not?
“What if I paid for your Uber?” he offered earnestly and the offer came with relief. Because an uber to your place was probably about the same cost as a drink at the bar. And even better, he wouldn’t be there to judge the state of your living situation.
Its still felt like he was giving to too much…
… but it was better than damaging your already broken pride.
“Yeah… okay,” you agreed and he smiled with an honest sense of relief.
You pulled out your phone, preparing to find out the total so he could venmo you.
He pulled his credit card out instead.
“Your credit card?” You looked at him quizzically.
He nodded.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Put it on your uber account,” he said as if the answer was obvious.
“You barely know me. I could run up a bunch of charges on your card, getting rides across town.” You warned cautiously.
“Then do it.” The words rolled off his tongue with no hesitation.
“You aren’t worried that I’ll spend all of your money?” Your jaw hung open in shock.
Valko chuckled lightly and gently took your phone out of your hand. He plugged his credit card numbers into the payment methods by memory, hit save and handed it back to you.
“That card has a limit. How badly could you possibly run it up?”
You shook your head like you were trying to wake from a dream. “What is the limit”
“Just a little over twenty.”
What?
“Twenty thousand dollars?!”
Valko paused, amusement evident.
“… You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
Your jaw remained open for a minute. “Should I?”
He hummed lightly and shifted his weight back. “That is… refreshing.”
He gestured out the door. “Come on. Order your Uber. I’ll wait for it with you outside.”
Who was this man?
Secret real estate contracts that could end up in the news? Twenty grand to blow?
What was he doing in your rough neighborhood, in a musty bar, drinking $4 beers?
He leaned against a Toyota Camry that was at least 20 years old.
“I can’t figure you out,” you blurted out, unable to contain yourself.
“I’m really not the enigma you think I am,” he reassured.
“Then why are you driving such an old car when you seem to be a man of means?”
He patted the hood of the car like it meant something.
“Why replace something that has worked well for me for 20 years? When something breaks, I fix it. I don’t throw things worth keeping away.”
You pondered that for a moment before your phone chimed.
“My Uber's here.”
Valko glanced toward the street and straightened.
“Okay. Text me when you’re home safe.”
He walked you to the car without making a production of it, opening the door and waiting until you were settled inside before closing it behind you. You caught his attention through the open window before the driver pulled away.
“Thank you.” Words that were normally near painful to drag out of you. But for him, somehow, it didn’t seem like enough.
You were exhausted.
But when you collapsed into bed, the only thing you could think of was him.
… you really don’t know who I am, do you?
That question was all you could think about. Should you know?
You looked at the billing information on your uber account and search his name on google.
You shot straight up in bed.
You recognized him. More than that, you envied him.
He was all over the news years ago. Back then, he was a bit of a scrawny kid. Nothing similar to the absolute beefcake he was today. He was on front pages everywhere— the wiz kid who data mined so much bitcoin, he later turned around and bought a tech company that was failing.
No one put faith in that scraggly teen.
No one could predict what he could turn that company into.
You spent two nights up close and personal with one of the richest men on the planet and you didn’t know it.
… and he was kind.
The next morning, you sent Valko your résumé before you could talk yourself out of it.
You expected nothing.
That was the safest way to handle things like this. Hope had a way of making disappointment hurt twice as much, and you'd learned not to build your life around promises other people made after one good conversation.
Still, when his response came, you couldn't stop yourself from opening it immediately.
“Got it. Give me a little time.”
No grand promises. No vague assurances that he'd make everything happen.
Just a few words that you tried very hard not to read too much into.
Three days later, your phone rang. By the end of it, you had an interview. A week later, you had a job. Not a dead-end career you weren’t excited about. It was something real. Something to be proud of, with a salary that felt like oxygen after drowning and benefits you desperately needed.
And the first person you wanted to talk to was him.
“So... are you going to be at the bar again?” you texted, wracking your brain for a way to thank a man who has everything.
“Going to be out of town for a couple weeks. Did you get the job?”
You suppressed the disappointment that you wouldn’t get the chance to thank him in person. Still, you smiled as you texted back.
“Yeah. Thanks to you…”
Then he sent you a message that made your heart leap into your chest.
“We should go out to dinner when I get back. This is news worth celebrating.”
That meeting felt too far away, but it was definitely one you weren’t going to miss.
And in the next week, it was crazy how things changed.
It wasn’t like things were magically easier. Your new job was difficult, but you felt valued there. Waking up in the morning felt less bleak. Your first paycheck nearly made you weep.
But also… there was Valko.
You talked every day.
And with life not feeling quite so bleak anymore, you were engaging in ways you hadn’t with anyone in a long time.
And there was a big, self-protective part of your consciousness that kept telling you that you weren’t exactly interesting or important enough to catch and keep a billionaire’s attention. But if this was a delusion, why did he seem so keen to talk to you too?
You found out he was funny in truly unintentional ways. He was passionate about many surprising things.
He made you want to tear down your own walls. And the back and forth never seem to stop, texting late into the night where he would ask you questions that were too real and vulnerable. And you would answer… because it finally felt like someone understood you.
Then, one morning, you were scrolling through the news over your coffee when a headline caught your attention.
VALKO, TECH GIANT ACQUIRES 1,400 ACRES FOR NEW PLANT
That caught your attention.
The article was about the land he'd mentioned at the bar.
… one thousand four hundred acres.
You stared at the number.
The project was enormous. A new manufacturing facility, along with plans for the infrastructure needed to support it, including employee housing designed to remain affordable for the people who would work there.
There were photographs of the land, architectural renderings, statements from local officials and projections about the number of jobs the development could bring to the area.
This wasn't some little business venture.
This was the kind of project that changed entire communities.
“So this is what you’ve been up to these past few weeks?” you text, with a link to the article.
“Oh, nooo. You caught me.” You could hear the teasing lilt in your head and couldn’t suppress a snort.
Your phone chimed with another message from him.
“Heading back into town today. Dinner? Somewhere nicer than that bar?”
This was it, wasn’t it?
This would be the night. Every whispered vulnerability past midnight, every bit of yourselves you shared, every attempt to get closer all converged to this point.
And if tonight didn’t go well… you didn’t want to think about it.
“Can I come and pick you up at 7?”
That one innocent question was enough to make you spiral instead.
What were you doing? How could you let him see your place? What were you going to wear?
What on God’s green earth made you think a billionaire could fall in love with you?
You felt sick over it, trying on every half-decent outfit in your closet and rejecting each one for a different reason. Too casual. Too desperate. Too much cleavage. Not enough effort. You changed three times before finally settling on something that made you feel like you had at least tried to look like the woman he'd been expecting to meet.
You kept reminding yourself that he'd asked you out. That had to mean something.
And yet, by the time seven o'clock arrived, you'd psyched yourself out so badly that your stomach had been tied in knots for the better part of an hour.
You didn't let him pick you up.
It took every ounce of bravery you had to meet him at all.
But when his eyes found you at the entrance of the restaurant, your foolish heart skipped a beat.
"It's nice to finally see your face again," he said, wearing the same crooked smile you'd spent the last few weeks imagining.
You smiled back. Or at least… you tried to.
"Yeah. You too."
He put in the effort. He wore a button up shirt that looked tailor made, embroidered with flower along the button line. His black slacks hugged the shape of him nicely. He even accessorized with a simple pair of black stud earrings and a wolf pendant necklace.
He stepped closer, his expression warm as he looked you over. You caught a whiff of his cologne, subtle and alluringly soft and clean.
"You look beautiful." You fingered the cheap blouse hugging you.
There it was. The compliment you'd spent the entire afternoon terrified of receiving.
You tried. Nothing felt good enough.
The lights suddenly seemed too bright. The conversations around you blurred together, voices overlapping until you couldn't separate any of them. Your heart began hammering against your ribs, and you couldn't seem to get enough air into your lungs.
"Do you need to sit down?" He looked at you with concern as your hand clutched your chest.
Your hands were beginning to tremble, and the humiliating realization that you were having some kind of panic attack in front of the most important man you'd ever met only made it worse.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
"For what?"
"This is stupid."
"No, it’s not." He guided you to a bench nearby. "Do you want to go home?"
You nodded. Then immediately shook your head.
"No. I don't want to go home."
"Okay."
You rubbed your palms against your pants, trying to steady yourself.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Valko pulled you off to the side and out of plain view with a look of concern on his face.
“Alright… you don’t want to be here?”
You shoot straight up, worried about what kind of impression you were making. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you… I’m just so nervous I don’t think that I can eat.”
He took your hand, tracing small, soothing circles with his thumb. “Okay… if you don’t want to go home and you don’t want to eat dinner, we can talk at my place. No pressure, I promise. I can make pancakes if your stomach settles.”
The relief that washed over you at his offer was almost embarrassing. You nodded, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
“Okay. Pancakes sound good.”
“It’s not far,” he reassured, hand not abandoning yours, and oddly, the contact grounded you. So when he guided you to the car, after opening the door for you and taking his seat behind the wheel, you dared to reach for his hand again.
You could swear you saw him blushing.
The moment your fingers laced with his, a soft smile spread across his face. His thumb traced those soothing patterns again, and neither of you seemed interested in letting go.
The ride was silent, but you were content to focus on the sensation of his touch. And true to his word, he really wasn’t far.
The car pulled up to a quiet neighborhood less than 10 minutes away with manicured lawns leading up to beautiful houses.
When he turned into the driveway, you noticed the “SOLD” real estate sign in the yard.
“You just bought this house?” you asked as he unlocked the door.
“Closed on it last week,” he said, nodding as he led you inside. “It’s going to take a few years to develop the land here. I want to be close to it all while we are working on it.”
You glanced around the home. You didn’t know what to expect walking in, but it was furnished and cozy. The neighborhood was nice, but the home he purchased was smaller than you would have expected. The bones of the home clearly screamed wealth. But his belongings and décor made sense without being ostentatious.
“So you're sticking around for a while?”
He smiled, guiding you to the couch. “A long while, hopefully. I’m hoping to centralize more of my business here. Comfortable?”
You sank into couch cushions that could only be described as heavenly.
“Very.”
He chuckled and rose. “Then I’ll get started on those pancakes.”
He fumbled around his kitchen a bit, still unfamiliar with the layout. And after a couple minutes of him not being able to find a whisk, you rose to help him.
“Sorry,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I had my assistant make sure this place was furnished the way I like it before I got here. But I have no clue where anything is yet and it’s only my second time in the house.”
“Wow, really?” you asked, a bit stunned.
“Yeah, really. I only grabbed some light groceries this morning after my plane landed. I don’t even know where my bedroom is.”
You handed him the whisk he was looking for.
“Oh? Maybe we can explore the house together tonight?”
He whisked the pancakes, biceps flexing and looking unfairly attractive, standing there in the kitchen.
“Sounds like an adventure,” he hummed happily as the batter started sizzling in the pan. The smell of butter permeated the air. Everything felt so domestic, so homey, even as the butterflies persisted in your stomach.
The pancakes were perfect. You blushed as he fed you the first bite, standing there in the kitchen with him. And after a few bites, you finally became brave enough to ask, “Valko, what are we doing?”
Because really, what was a billionaire doing here with a girl like you? Finding out he’d be staying here long term only made you more emotionally invested in the possibility of more. And holding hands, eating pancakes… whispered confessions after midnight?
You didn’t want to get hurt if you were a passing fancy.
He took your hand and squeezed it.
“I wanted to ask you the same.”
What?
“Do you want this? Us?” He asked, gently cupping your face, golden eyes gazing upon you with uncertainty.
“I…” you were never this brave. You built high walls for most people and expected people to fail you before they even got the chance. But staring into his eyes, the world narrowed to the way he looked at you.
Whatever this was wouldn’t stand a chance if you chose to hide.
“I’m freaking out,” were the words that flew out of your mouth, so simple and so real that Valko huffed.
“Then tell me about it, pancake.” His smile was warm, his touch, reassuring.
“I’m scared.” You swallowed, the anxiety still building in the pit of your stomach. “Why are you interested in me? I’m worried I’m not enough. You… you know who you are. I’m worried I’m just a Cinderella project to you. I’m worried you are only here to be a white knight and nothing more.”
His expression grew softer, and yet serious. His hands circled your waist and pulled you close enough for his smell to envelop you. He smelled like wood, smoke, salt and tarte cherries and you closed your eyes as he rested his chin on your head.
“You... are the first person that felt real in a very long time.” He sighed, holding you tighter still, making the world feel small and warm. “Do you know how hard it is to find that in my position? Every friendship, every relationship, I've had to wonder whether someone was there because they liked me or because they liked what I could do for them.”
“People meet me and they already know what I'm worth. They know my company. They know my name. They know what I can give them before they ever know what I like for breakfast.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, though there wasn't much humor in it.
“And then I met you.”
You lifted your head.
“You didn't know anything about me. You thought I was some strange guy drinking cheap beer in a terrible bar.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “I liked it. I liked that you came looking for me again before you knew who I was. I liked that you made me work for your attention instead of throwing yourself at my feet. I liked how real it felt. Getting to know you... talking to you all day and night. I haven’t had that in so long.”
He took a long, shuddering breath before pulling away and looking at you with an expression that almost made you cry.
“Having this kind of power and responsibility... it’s terrifying sometimes. But you...” His thumb brushed gently along your cheek. “You make the world feel safe, because you don’t want to use me. You just want the world to be more fair to you.”
You swallowed hard.
“But I do want to be your white knight,” he admitted, his voice quiet enough that you almost wondered if you'd heard him correctly.
You looked up at him.
He smiled faintly, almost sheepishly.
“Maybe that isn't such a terrible thing.”
“Valko...”
“The world hasn't been very kind to you.” His hand settled against your cheek again, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “I've listened to you talk about the things you've been through. I know how hard you've worked just to get back to the place you started. And I keep thinking... why shouldn't someone make things a little easier for you?”
Your lips parted, but he continued before you could answer.
“Is it so wrong that I want to help? I want to be the one that stands in your corner.”
His expression softened.
“I don't want to fix you.”
His fingers slid gently through your hair.
“I want to fix the things around you that keep hurting you.”
Your eyes stung.
“You keep calling yourself broken because you've had to survive things that should never have happened to you. But I don't look at you and see something broken. I see an incredible woman with obstacles that keep her from being able to shine.”
“Valko…” You inhale sharply, trying to bite back tears.
“I've always had a strange relationship with things other people give up on. Companies everyone else considers worthless. Buildings people think aren't worth restoring. Cars everyone says are too far gone. I fix them. I keep them because I see their worth when no one else will. I see all the good things that you are.”
He took both your hands in his. “Can I—"
Your lips collided with his.
For one suspended second, neither of you moved.
Then something inside you broke open.
It wasn't just the kiss. It was everything he'd said before it, every answer he'd given to the fears you'd been carrying around for years. He didn't think you were broken. He didn't want to fix you. He didn't pity you. He had listened to every ugly, exhausted piece of your life and somehow come away seeing something worth loving.
You kissed him again before you could think better of it, fingers curling into his shirt as the emotion you'd been holding back for weeks finally surged through you. Relief. Want. Fear. Hope. All of it crashed together until you couldn't tell where one feeling ended and another began.
Valko made a low sound against your mouth, and whatever restraint he'd been holding onto seemed to disappear.
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you firmly against him as he kissed you back with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. There was nothing hesitant about him now. His hands moved over your back as though he needed to reassure himself that you were actually there, that you had really chosen to kiss him.
“God...” he breathed against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.”
You barely had time to smile before he kissed you again. He lifted you effortlessly, and you gave a startled laugh that disappeared when he carried you the few steps to the couch and settled you against the cushions, never quite breaking contact. His forehead pressed against yours for a moment, both of you breathing hard, his eyes searching your face as though he still couldn't quite believe this was happening.
“Valko...” you whispered, breathless.
Ten years.
Ten years of numbness. Of surviving. Of convincing yourself that wanting less was safer than wanting something you might never have.
But his kisses felt like fire.
“Can I be the one to make your world feel safe?” he murmured against your ear before his lips traced a trail of lightning-hot kisses down your neck.
Gods...
Your fingers tightened in his shirt.
“Will you call me yours?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, the question carrying none of the certainty his wealth seemed to give him in every other part of his life. “Can I call you mine?”
Your heart nearly broke beneath the weight of it.
“You’re mine,” you whispered, hot tears flowing with the conviction you felt in those simple words.
He made a rough, broken sound and pulled you closer, kissing you with an intensity that left no room for doubt. You could feel how badly he wanted you, hips jumping against yours, how completely his careful restraint was unraveling beneath the certainty that you had chosen him.
“And you’re mine,” he whispered back fiercely before capturing your lips once more.
Fire.
Every desperate kiss burned hotter than the last.
Valko had been patient with you from the moment you met him. Patient when you were guarded. Patient when you were suspicious. Patient when you accused him of wanting something from you.
That patient man was gone tonight.
His hands flew everywhere, cupping your curves through your clothes desperately when kissing was no longer enough. He squeezed you tight, biting your bottom lip and growling as you cupped he swollen bulge through his pants.
“Do that again and I will ruin your pussy for anyone else.”
Holy shit.
He growled it without hesitation, giant hands circling your waist, only to hold you in place as his teeth sank into your pulse point.
Your pussy throbbed, a wet gush soaking your panties at the mere thought.
“Do it.” Your back arched, as you whimpered in response. His eyes glazed with a near feral expression. Your hand squeezed his swollen cock over his pants, daring him to make good on his threat. “Do it. Ruin this pussy like it belongs to you.”
“God, fuck!” he hissed, hips rocking to grind into your hand. “Tell me it belongs to me.”
You squeezed him harder, moaning into his ear.
“It’s yours. Be a good boy and ruin it.”
That was all it took for the world to flip.
“If that’s what you think a good boy does,” he murmured, his voice rough with a smile that was almost feral, “then I’ll be such a fucking good boy.”
RIP
He tore your blouse in his haste.
“I liked that shirt,” you whimpered, but his hands kept moving to rid your body of every obstacle.
“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you 10. Just… fuck… let me—” His words came between hurried kisses down your torso as he worked on your jeans. “Let me touch you.”
“God… yes Valko…” The moment your legs were free, he tossed the jeans somewhere across the room, forgotten almost immediately. You reached for him, fingers finding the zipper of his pants, desperate to close the distance you'd spent weeks imagining.
“Baby, fuck me.”
He caught your wrist.
“Not yet.”
You gasped in shock as he manipulated your body, throwing your legs over his shoulders leaving you no room to think or even breath as his mouth closed over your pearl, sucking on it through the fabric of your panties.
“Valko!” you cried out hips bucking as his strong hands held you in place. “N-no one… fuck no one’s ever—”
“What a fucking crime,” Valko responded immediately, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side to worship you properly. “God, you smell so good.”
You squirmed, cheeks burning bright red with embarrassment. No one had ever shown you the least bit of interest to go down there before. His tongue moved, tracing your sensitive nerves firmly in eager strokes, hands moving up from your waist to cup your breasts underneath your bra, still barely holding on.
You trembled, whimpering as his thumbs rolled over your nipples, his tongue working circles that made lightning hot pulses of pleasure shoot down to your toes.
“V-valko!”
He had your legs pinned up around him, bra now pushed up over your breasts, palming each in his massive hands as his tongue dragged against your in firmer strokes. The sensation had you overstimulated, legs twitching on his shoulders, toes curling against your will.
You grabbed the couch cushions beneath you, holding on for dear life and cried out his name louder.
“So good,” he rumbled darkly between strokes of his tongue, eyes rolled back as your back arched against the cushions beneath you. You tried to speak, but the sensation was too much. The words died on your lips as you nearly bucked out of his grasp.
“You smell like you belong to me.”
He held you down tighter, large palm pressing down below your belly button, applying pressure with the same rhythm as his tongue. He was hitting your g-spot without even penetrating you— something you didn’t even know what possible, and here he was making you scream out with each firm push just above your pubic bone.
"Stay," he growled against you. "Don't you dare move."
You couldn't have if you'd tried.
Nobody had ever been hungry for you like this. Nobody had ever lingered, groaned, enjoyed it like it was something he'd been starving for. Every slow, devouring stroke of his tongue pulled a sound out of you that you didn't recognize, and every time you tried to twist away from the sheer intensity of it, his grip tightened and dragged you right back.
"Too much," you gasped. "Valko, it's too..."
"No." He commanded, his eyes dark. "You can take more."
Your fingers twisted in his hair and you felt the couch rocking before you realized he was rutting against the couch cushions, mirroring the rhythm of his tongue. He sought pleasure rough and shamelessly as he groaned into your pussy, the vibrations igniting shooting pleasure down your spine.
“Oh god, its too much!” You cried louder, lightning hot waves of pleasure shooting down to your toes and suddenly, you were on the edge.
“Oh, fuck!” The couch rocked violently as he humped the cushion beneath him. He moaned your name as you pulled his hair, bracing as your pulse started pounding, pussy walls contracting violently in vicious waves of pleasure you told yourself you couldn’t handle.
“That’s it, pretty baby. Cum for me,” he growled with satisfaction, palm rubbing over your pubic mound and extending your pleasure.
"Valko, please!"
He lifted his head. His mouth was wet, his eyes nearly black, his chest heaving.
"Please what?"
"Please, I need you. I need your cock. Please."
A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.
"Yes," he murmured, smoothing his hand over your trembling thighs. "Beg me, nice and pretty."
"Please, Valko..."
"That's it, beautiful. Louder." His hips rolled once more into the cushions, a shudder rippling through his whole frame. "Tell me how bad you want me. I want to hear every word."
"I want you," you sobbed. "Since I met you… fuck! I need you…”
"Fuck." His voice was ragged, reverent. Then he wiped his chin before climbing your body for a kiss so deep, it could steal your very soul.
You could hardly breathe as he kissed you, but your empty pussy screamed to be filled by him.
“Cock… baby,” you moaned between hungry kisses. “I need your cock so bad.”
He was off the couch in an instant. His shirt didn't get unbuttoned so much as surrendered, buttons skittering across the floor, and then it was gone. His belt followed, pants dropped to the ground and you forgot how to breathe.
You had known he was strong. You had felt it in the arms that lifted you, in the hands that pinned you so easily. But nothing had prepared you for the sight of him. Broad shoulders, a chest carved like something sculpted, a stomach ridged with muscle that flexed with every ragged breath. A man who restored things with his own two hands, and had the body to prove it.
"Stop staring," he rasped, a feral edge in his smile, "or I won't be gentle."
"I never said I wanted gentle.”
“God, fuck… you keep saying all the right things,” he said before kissing you again, harder, grunting as your legs wrapped around him, your soaking pussy dragging against his cock.
He tried to pull back, leaning away instinctively to reach for protection. But you had something else in mind and pulled him back to you, hips flush together, rubbing yourself against him in ways that made his head fall back.
He reciprocated instantly, leaning back over you, positioning his cock to glide against your clit in hot strokes, making you both moan. You grasped his hips to urge him against you, hotter and faster.
“Baby, please.” Now he was the one doing the begging. “If you don’t stop, I’ll get you pregnant… I don’t even fucking care.”
You moaned something ungodly, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made, and spread your legs wider, back arching as he pushed in. Just the tip, but he held himself back, trying to show restraint. Your hands urged his forward, your hips tilting to take more of him, and he gasped, thrusting shallowly, just a few inches at a time.
“I have an IUD,” you moaned.
Permission.
"Fuck."
His hand locked around your wrists, pinning them to the cushions as he buried his face against your neck. His teeth clamped firmly around your pulse point, claiming, as he sank deep inside you.
“God, Valko!” the way you cried out his name was almost involuntary.
He was big. You could feel the very fibers of your walls stretch, parting to accommodate him. Every desperate breath you took seemed to make your walls contract around the sheer size of him. He didn’t even need to move for the waves of pleasure to wreck you with each shuddering inhale you gasped.
You heard his answering growl, low and ruined and utterly feral. The couch groaned beneath the sheer force of him, and whatever careful, patient man had spent weeks earning your trust was gone, replaced by someone starving, someone shaking, someone who had waited far too long and would not be waiting a second longer.
His hips cracked against yours relentlessly and all you could do was hold on, hands now clutching his back, feeling the ripple of layers of hard muscle moving under your fingers. He grunted unabashedly in your ear. Every desperate moan and filthy thought escaping him.
“Tell me I’m a good boy, destroying this sweet pussy.”
You tried to answer him. You really did.
But the words never made it past your throat. Every thrust knocked the air out of you, and what came out instead was a broken, shapeless sound that didn't belong to anyone who still had control of herself.
"Valko..." It was all you could manage. "Oh, God... Valko..."
"Tell me," he growled against your ear, not slowing, not even a little. "I need to hear it."
"G-good..." Your nails dragged down his back, scrabbling for something to hold onto. The couch was shaking, the cushions were sliding, and the world had narrowed to the crushing weight of him and the relentless force that left no room to think. "So good... good boy… please... don't..."
You couldn't finish. You couldn't even nod. All you could do was shudder beneath him, your body starting to pulse around him in warning signs, your head spinning from the sheer force of it.
He could feel the way your pulse squeezed him. His massive hands clutched at your waist, pinning you down and holding you in place as your hips instinctively started to jerk.
“Not going anywhere,” he growled. “Need you to cum on my cock.”
“Jesus, FUCK, Valko!” you screamed, legs jerking, pleasure swelling. Your heart screamed in your chest as you felt your pulse swell around his cock. You whimpered, hands trying to find purchase everywhere until your tightly grasped his hair behind his ears, dragging him closer until his forehead was pressed against yours.
“God, coming! I’m— FUCK!”
"You're gonna take my cum," he rasped, the words rough and unsteady and possessive down to the bone. "Every drop. Don't you dare waste any of it."
His hips stuttered, then ground deep and stayed there, and his hand tightened around your wrists until you felt every pulse of him. His breath was scalding against your throat.
"Yes..." The word barely existed. "Need it… every drop.”
"Fuck," he groaned, a low, ruined sound, and he kissed you with a tenderness so at odds with the last few minutes that your eyes stung. "That's my girl."
Valko stayed pressed against you, his breath uneven, his heartbeat slamming against your ribs. Then, slowly, as though he'd only just remembered himself, he lifted his weight from you.
His eyes found your face.
Whatever feral thing had been in them was gone. In its place was something unguarded and a little frightened.
"Hey," he whispered. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, trembling slightly. "Hey. Look at me. Are you okay?"
You tried to speak. What came out was a hoarse, wrecked breath that might have been his name.
"I was too much." He swallowed hard. "I got carried away. I should've slowed down, I should've checked..." His eyes searched yours. "Did I hurt you?"
You shook your head, then found your voice. "No. Valko... no. I just... I can't feel my legs."
A startled breath of laughter left him, and he pressed his forehead to yours, shoulders sagging with relief. "Okay. Okay. Stay right here."
He eased out of your arms, and you shivered at the sudden cold. He noticed. Of course he noticed. He was back within seconds with the blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it around you with a care that made your throat tight.
Then he disappeared. You heard water running, a cabinet closing, and he returned with a glass of water, aspirin and a warm, damp cloth.
"Drink," he murmured, cupping the back of your head and holding the glass to your lips until you'd had enough. "And you’ll need the aspirin. I know I’m a big guy."
The cloth was warm against your skin, his touch careful and unhurried. Nothing like the hands that had pinned you down minutes ago. These hands were reverent. They moved as though you were something precious he'd almost been afraid to touch.
“Anything you need, sweet girl. I’ll take care of you. Just tell me.”
Your eyes stung.
Ten years of taking care of yourself. Ten years of partners disappointing you.
And here was a man on his knees in front you, tending to you like it was the most important thing he'd ever done.
He gathered you into his arms, blanket and all, and settled back against the cushions with you in his lap, your head tucked beneath his chin. One hand traced slow, soothing circles along your back.
"I'm sorry about your blouse," he murmured into your hair.
A weak laugh shook out of you. "You said you'd buy me ten more."
"I will." His arms tightened. "I'll buy you a hundred. I'd buy you the whole damn store."
"I don't want the store."
"Like I said, pancake. Anything you want. It’s yours.”
You thought about it. Really thought about it, in the warm hush of his arms, with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
"This," you whispered. "Just this."
He went still. Then he let out a long, shaky breath, and you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there like he was memorizing the moment.
"Then you have it," he said. "Whatever you need, for as long as you need it."
“Give me… maybe 15 more minutes to catch my breath.” You look up at him playfully. “Then what I will really need is another round.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “Wild woman.”
You giggled.
“You have no idea.”
Valko smiled, amused, running his fingers through his hair.
“I’m inclined to find out.”