Chapter 2: A Question of Balance
The bookshop had been a good idea. For over an hour, they had been the only customers in the cramped, dusty store, its air thick with the scent of old paper and the owner’s burnt espresso. Josh had stood patiently as the elderly man, Harold, showed him the Gatsby first edition with trembling, reverent hands. Tru had watched, her arms crossed, a small, private smile playing on her lips as Josh asked sincere questions about the preservation of the spine.
They walked out into the pre-dawn chill, the city finally quiet. A couple of paparazzi had been lurking, but a quick diversion down a service alley—Josh pulling Tru by the hand, both of them laughing breathlessly—had lost them.Now they stood in the lobby of his hotel, a different kind of quiet between them. The doorman nodded, discreetly looking away.
“Your suite or mine?” Josh asked, his voice low.It was a joke, but it hung in the air, charged.
“Yours is probably bigger,” Tru said. “And has less of my laundry on the floor.”
The elevator ride up was silent, but it was a different silence from the one at the party. This was thick, anticipatory. He could smell her perfume cutting through the hotel’s generic lavender scent—something dark and oceanic.She leaned against the wall, watching him, her blue eyes unreadable.
When the doors opened directly into his suite, she let out a low whistle. It was expansive, all soft grey and cream, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sleeping city.
“A bit different from Brutus the sourdough’s kitchen,” she said, toeing off her heels.
“He sounds like a demanding roommate.”
“You have no idea.” She wandered to the window, her silhouette sharp against the gloom. Josh watched her, the confident set of her shoulders, the way her bare feet seemed grounded on the plush carpet. He felt wired, alive in a way the trophy hadn’t quite achieved.“I need a shower,” he said, the words breaking the spell. “I still smell like champagne and grass.”
She turned, her expression amused. “That’s the aroma of victory.”
“It’s starting to sour.” He gestured toward a hallway. “Bathroom’s this way. Make yourself at home.”
He didn’t explicitly invite her to follow, but he didn’t close the door either. He peeled off his t-shirt, the fabric stiff with dried sweat, and dropped it on the vanity. The bathroom was a monument to marble and chrome, a shower big enough for a small team. He turned the water on, steam beginning to billow from the glass enclosure.He heard the soft pad of her feet on the tile. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, just watching as he pushed his shorts and boxers down, stepping out of them. He was half-hard already, just from her presence, from the audacity of her gaze.He stepped under the spray, the water hot and punishing on his tired muscles. He turned, letting it sluice over his shoulders and back. Through the fogged glass, he could see her blurred shape, still watching.
“Eyes up here, love,” he called, his voice echoing slightly off the marble.He saw her head tilt. “Not fair you get to watch while I’m still dressed.”
“I’m not watching. I’m rinsing.”
A beat of silence.Then, the whisper of fabric. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked.She was pulling the silver dress up and over her head, a swift, economical motion. She stood there for a moment, naked in the diffuse golden light of the bathroom chandeliers, a statue of taut muscle and smooth skin.She wasn’t posing; she was just existing. It was the most powerfully erotic thing he’d ever seen.
Then she opened the shower door and stepped in.
The heat enveloped her instantly, water plastering her platinum hair to her skull, streaming down her neck, over the tight curves of her breasts, her flat stomach. She moved into him, the space suddenly intimate, crowded with want.He didn’t hesitate. He backed her against the cool marble wall, a shock of temperature against the steam. His mouth found the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, not kissing, but tasting, biting down just enough to make her gasp. His hands slid down her slick sides, over the flare of her hips, gripping hard.
“Now we’re even,” he growled against her skin, the words vibrating into her.
She let out a shaky laugh that morphed into a moan as his hand slid between her legs. She was already wet, slick heat against his probing fingers.He parted her, finding her clit swollen and eager. He rubbed slow, firm circles, his eyes locked on her face as her head fell back against the marble with a soft thud.“Fuck, Josh,” she breathed, her eyes closing.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice raw.Her blue eyes flew open, glazed with pleasure. He kept his gaze on hers as he pushed two fingers inside her, deep, crooking them to find the spot that made her legs quiver. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, her hands coming up to claw at his shoulders.
He worked her like that, the only sounds the drumming water and their ragged breathing. He watched her come apart, watched the practiced control she wore like armor shatter under his touch. Her orgasm hit her in waves, her body convulsing around his fingers, a guttural, shameless noise tearing from her throat.
As she shuddered, he withdrew his hand, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth, tasting her. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, followed the movement, dark with a fresh surge of desire.
She pushed off the wall, her strength surprising him.She spun him, reversing their positions, his back now against the cool tile. She dropped to her knees on the shower floor, the water cascading over her back.
“My turn,” she said, looking up at him, and then she took his cock in her hand, guiding it into her mouth.He hissed, his hands flying to her hair. She didn’t tease. She took him deep, her throat working around him, her tongue doing filthy, expert things along his length.It wasn’t gentle or romantic; it was desperate and hungry, a claiming. She fucked him with her mouth, her head bobbing relentlessly, one hand cupping his balls, rolling them with a firm pressure. He could only watch, his jaw clenched, threads of pleasure coiling tight in his gut.
“Tru… I’m gonna…” he managed, trying to pull her back.
She ignored him, sucking harder, taking him deeper until he gagged slightly. That sent her over some edge; a low moan vibrated around him, and the sensation tipped him over.He came hard, his release pulsing into her mouth in thick spurts. She swallowed it all, milking him with her lips and tongue until he was spent, sensitive, trembling against the wall.
She released him with a soft pop, resting her forehead against his thigh for a moment before looking up. Water dripped from her chin, her makeup smudged, her expression one of pure, feral satisfaction.
He hauled her up, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue.It was vulgar and intimate.He was hard again already, a dull, insistent ache.
Without a word, he turned her around, bending her forward slightly, her hands bracing against the marble wall. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her slickness.She was still pulsing from her first climax.
“You ready?” he murmured into her wet hair.“Stop talking and fuck me,” she demanded, pushing her hips back against him.
He drove into her in one smooth, deep stroke. She cried out, a sharp, beautiful sound swallowed by the shower’s noise.She was incredibly tight, still clenching from her orgasm. He set a brutal pace immediately, no gentle warm-up, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust.The marble was cool under his palms where he braced himself beside her hands.
“You feel… so fucking good,” he grunted, the words punched out of him with each drive of his hips.“Harder,” she panted, craning her neck to look back at him. Her face was a mask of abandon.“Come on, superstar. Don’t hold back.”
He snapped his hips harder, deeper, the angle hitting a spot inside her that made her scream. He slid a hand around her hip, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing in rough, quick circles as he pounded into her. She was chanting now, a stream of filth – “yes, right there, fuck, just like that, you fucking beast” – and the crude, honest words pushed him closer to the edge.
Her second climax tore through her, her inner muscles gripping him like a vise, a series of violent, rhythmic spasms that had her bucking against him. The sight, the feel, the raw sound of her was too much. He followed her over, his own release roaring up his spine, blinding him for a second as he emptied himself inside her with a raw, guttural shout, his body collapsing over hers, pinning her to the wall.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths and the endless spray of water. He softened inside her, still nestled deep. He nuzzled her shoulder, his lips against her damp, heated skin.
Slowly, he pulled out, turning her around to hold her as the water began to cool. She rested her head against his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his bicep.
The knock on the bathroom door was soft, but in the quiet aftermath, it was like a gunshot.“Mr.Walker?” A male voice, the hotel manager. “We’ve had a report of… noise. And there are, um, photographers gathering in the lobby.A great many of them.”
Josh looked down at Tru. The guarded look was seeping back into her eyes, the real world intruding with its clumsy, grasping hands. He saw the moment she shifted from Tru back into Tru Kait, the persona snapping into place like a shield.He turned off the water.The sudden silence was deafening.
“Tell them I’m busy,” Josh called back, his voice steady, his eyes never leaving hers. “Tell them I’m looking at a book.”