Mrs. Castillo is oddly enough absent from her usual dwelling place in the lobby when Aidan and I finally enter the premises a quarter to nine. Both of us too worn out from the excitements of the day, we agreed on take-out, more specifically greasy Chinese food, which we picked up and brought here to eat in the comfortable confines of my apartment.

Despite meeting my mother, and enduring every bit of energy she drained herself of, directing it toward him, Aidan is in high spirits, mostly listening to me rattle on about the time I was arrested for trespassing, to which my mother let me spend an entire night in jail as punishment. He voices how odd it is that I was arrested for that, rather than my secret adventure inside the White House.

"You really go all in then?" he says behind me as we climb the stairs. A jazzy Jingle Bells is playing over the speakers of the building, despite it being nearly two weeks after Christmas.

"Yes. I told you I did." I smirk, shrugging. "You didn't believe me?"

"To be honest, I didn't anticipate the lengths you'd go to."

I turn to him, curiously. "I drove three hours to meet you without making any contact."

"You must have been very confident that I'd even want to meet you."

"Well, seeing you in the diner, I hadn't guessed that. That was a trick of fate, so to speak. I winged it, as you so easily realized because you had been tipped off. You know, it's not usually my job to convince someone to tell their tales to me. They're usually open to it."

"Mmm," he hums, nodding to himself, grasping onto the railing. "As alluring as you were, you showed a little late."

"I'm sorry about those other people."

"What people?"

"The ones who made those signs that are still outside your gates."

The signs pegging him a murderer, a criminal, a sick man. To know him now and remember the clusters of trash he's never even bothered picking up, left by a viscous mob of reporters and journalists, it all seems a waste.

If only he'd spoken out, if only he'd explained the circumstances, they would have seen what I see. A man incapable of harm.

"I have accepted their suspicions and accusations, Josephine. I could care less what anyone says or thinks of me."

"Then you're a rare man indeed," I say, not expecting a response. He doesn't offer one. He's unabashedly truthful, almost forceful in his beliefs, and yet, he's hiding a monster of secrets within him. As my mother probed him with questions, he worked around them with finesse, ensuring he could redeem himself in her eyes, in a way he cannot in mine.

I know too much. I know more than most.

His lies, or rather his segways, make him somewhat ordinary in her eyes. Just a sweet, possibly naïve man in my life. I think he likes it that way. By the end of the night, her memory of the day was more scattered due to exhaustion, and we left her when she had fallen asleep. I'd planned for us to leave sooner, but she was so consumed with Aidan that I couldn't bear to disappoint her.

Simply put, she may be unresponsive tomorrow and I must try to cherish the moments I still have her. Unfortunately, that subjected Aidan to hours of being on top of his game, hours of smiling, which is rare to see on him.

We step from the elevator together, and it becomes increasingly difficult not to notice how we both begin to fidget. He watches as my hand sinks into my bag, searching for my set of keys to unlock the door. A chuckle leaves my lips, weak and breathy when I hold them up, showing him I've managed to locate them.

I jam them into the door, and push it open, trying to think whether I left this place decent or not. Upon a quick inspection when I flick on the light, I'm pleased that my apartment is mostly presentable. Apart from a lacy red bra rested over the back of my couch, which I rush over to grab with a laugh, not much else is out of place.

"So, um, this is my apartment."

I'm waving the bra around. God, Jo. Stop.

I bring my hands down and close the door behind him. Aidan sets down his leather overnight bag, which seems like an antique left to him by his father, and it suits him. He whistles, gesturing over to the windows.

"Some view you've got."

"I bought this place because of that view."

"You own this apartment?"

I remove my coat and my shoes at the same time, depositing them on the coat rack by the door, along with the bra. I'll move it later.

"Um, yes. I do."

"I hadn't expected journalists made much in cash flow."

"Good ones do," I say, far smugger than is normally attractive. However, he laughs, looking mildly impressed. He's been left a fortune by his family—my income is nothing compared to his, nothing to be really impressed about. "I promised myself I would do that for myself. I promised myself I'd rely no one and nothing but my own merits to sustain myself, and I've managed pretty well so far."

He smiles, softly, removing his jacket. His gaze reads me like a book.

I'm informing him now that I need no one, that I pride myself in my independence.

But the smile tells me that he hardly believes I want to stay this way.

Everyone needs someone.

"Thank you," I whisper, "for being so sweet to my mother. It's really not frequent when she's so excited about something."

"Thank you for introducing me to her. She's lovely."

"She really liked you."

He hands me his coat when I ask for it, and I hang it beside my own.

"I hope so."

I push my hair behind my ears.

He turns his face in either direction of my living room.

We're both searching for something to say.

"This place...it suits you."

"In contrast to a creaky old manor?" I ask, smirking when he looks away, nervous himself.

"Not at all. You looked beautiful amongst my things." He rubs the back of his head, mindlessly. "I meant, this place seems warm and comfortable. I expected it would be worlds away from what I'm used to."

"Do you like it?"

He nods silently, glancing around at the items around him, much like he did in my mother's house. The scattered newspapers overflowing out of a hand-woven basket on the ground, a camera of my own that I use for my stories perched on the table, a Christmas card of Samantha and her family hung up on a festive row of popcorn string, Christmas decorations I still haven't taken down. In the far corner of my living room stands a slender Fraser fir tree, bright with colorful LED lights and meaningful ornaments my mother handed me when I moved out.

Different than his home, mine is more clustered, nothing close to eerily perfect. My coffee table is full of inside jokes gifted to me by friends, flowers given for the holidays that have nearly died from lack of care in my absence. There is no order to my chaos.

"I do. I like it," he finally says, after he's absorbed the surroundings. It's embarrassing how glad that makes me, and how little I try to conceal it.

"Are you tired?" I ask, hesitating on the last word, because so much is beneath it, within it.

I really don't want him to be tired.

His answer pleases me.

"No," he says, smirking softly. Our Chinese food is sitting on the coffee table, but I'm not really hungry. Not for that. However, he must be. I gesture to it, biting onto my lip.

"Um, let's eat. Can I offer some wine, beer?"

"Wine's fine," he says, already reaching for the brown take-out bag. He begins unloading our food, right there in the living room, and I smile, thinking back to a few weeks ago, when we spent days lounging, not bothering for any formalities.

I like he's sticking with that. Bradley hated eating anywhere without a table.

I remove two wine glasses from the cabinet, and choose a white wine from the fridge. It's not what I'd normally have chosen for this date, but hey, I didn't know I'd be hosting Aidan Hughes tonight. It'll do.

I sift through the drawer until I find the corkscrew. I'm twisting it into the cork with force when my hands slip on the glass, stupidly. The bottle hits the corner of the counter with a crash, and I feel the shards of glass and drenching, pungent liquid splatter me instantly.

Naturally, I freeze at the impact, hands up in shock.

"Jo? Jo, are you okay?" He's right behind me. I can hear his shoes on the glass. "Jo, don't move. You don't have shoes on."

The floor is littered with glass. I shake my head, gaping.

"Man, I'm out of it today. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks, with a chuckle. He places a hand on my waist. "Wrap your arm around my neck."

I do as he asks, and with a swing of his arm behind my back, and another under my knees, my feet leave the ground gracefully as he lifts me into the air, cradling me to his chest. My eye line is on his jaw, and I'm transfixed, staring decidedly even when he looks down at me.

His gaze falters at my intensity, picking up all the signals I'm sending.

Fuck the food.

Fuck the wine.

You're here...and I want you.

Take me, Aidan. Take me.

He smirks softly, as if he knows he's driving me crazy—and is enjoying keeping me wanting. He sets me onto my feet so carefully, his rescuing complete. I attempt to recover my embarrassment, my blatant desires on display, and touch my hair, which is dripping with wine.

"I'm going to shower quick, get this out of my hair. Do you mind?"

He frowns, somehow smiling as well, and shrugs. "Not at all."

When he turns, I curse him. Silently. In my mind, but I still curse him.

I close myself into the bathroom, pressing my back into the door. My eyes soar to the ceiling, a sigh heaving through my chest and out of my mouth. To want someone this much shouldn't be possible.

It's cruel, pure cruelty.

I strip and enter a steaming shower, needing an elixir for the tension stiffening all of my muscles. It's been a difficult few weeks. I'm not really sure how I'm still sane.

Ghosts. Near-death experiences. A man who actually inspires a count to recall the amount of orgasms he can give me in one sitting. These are not everyday occurrences.

I press my face into the water, letting the liquid fire course down my hair, my body and hover, soaking in the heat. The glass surrounding me is fogging quickly.

The door opens. I don't have to look to know it. The soft, swift click of the latch as it unhinges is enough. I pull my hair away from my face, and tilt my chin to my shoulder, glancing over it at the open doorway, and the man standing underneath it.

Aidan's face is completely still, not a single emotion on it. He doesn't say a word. He just leans. He leans into the doorway, and crosses his arms over his chest with a deep inhale, staring at me through the glass.

No politeness. No chivalry.

By the time his gaze has consumed the length of my body, head to toes, his impassive gaze has transformed into a harder, restraining glower. It's nearly predatory, and a look I've never seen him give me.

It steals my breath away, promising a whole lot without a damn word.

He straightens, leaning off his hip and takes a step, reaching back behind him to clasp on the back of his sweater. I push open the door just as he gets it over his head and discards it on the ground, the t-shirt that was underneath scrunched up disorderly, revealing the rippling abdomen, the deeply set indent of a 'V' of his hips, reminding me of how fit he is.

He doesn't wait. His hand slams noisily into the glass to push it out, and he steps into the shower fully clothed and my hand curls and fists the material of his shirt, dragging him to me. Our lips meet and our breath is already gone. His mouth pushes against mine with forceful nudges, coaxing my mouth to open for him. I let my lips slacken apart, moaning at the intrusion of his tongue, licking, dancing, circling my own with expertise.

His hands are sliding over my body, spread out to feel as much as he possibly can. The shower water has the power to choke us, cascading over the back of my head, mixing between our hasty mouths.

Soft, needy sounds of desperation are escaping my lips when he helps me remove his shirt, which has now molded to his body, soaked through. As he pulls the material off, I leave my hands on his chest, admiring the bareness, and I want to devote myself to it.

My lips open against the broad peaks of his pecks, the soft, warm skin that tastes of soap and man, and he gasps audibly, which turns to a moan as my tongue drags over his skin between my hasty kisses. His hand curls into my hair, allowing me to enjoy the awe-inspiring sight of him.

Bathed in warm light. Under a steady flow of water. Surrounded by suffocating steam. Dressed down to his jeans. His shoes are gone. I'm not sure when he took them off. I don't really care when it happened. All I can focus on is the way the water is dripping from his long locks, how they fall over his face, over his dark eyes, those eyes that are living in this moment as much as I am.

It's fucking hot in here.

My fingers are frozen on his body. He's paralyzed me with his gaze.

It sweeps down to my lips, and his teeth release from their gritted position with a sigh, and he shakes his head, dropping down to his knees abruptly. I gasp as his hand grasps my thigh and he buries himself between my legs, urging me closer with firm hands on my backside.

Losing myself in the swiftness of his tongue as he delves into my cleft, drinking in my arousal, I twist my hands into his hair, leaning into the tile wall and drape my leg over his shoulder, my heel ending up on his back. He kneads my ass greedily, moaning deeply from his chest.

"Fuck, I've thought about the taste of you endlessly. Endlessly since you left."

I smile, dizzily, rocking my hips to the motions of his tongue. His lips make love to my sex, sucking and kissing, licking and fucking. Everywhere he touches feels like a climax. My cries are right at the edge of my esophagus, ready to burst from me. He's pushing down his pants, never unlatching from my clit.

"Make me come," I breathe, my body twisting to his will. I blink, gaping and then grimacing to the ceiling. "I'm already close. God." My grip tightens on the back his head, and he grunts at the force, but in no way falters. My body is partly drenched with water and sweat, the steam ridding the view of my bathroom from us.

We're in a clouded haze, trapped in four small walls of glass, and I never want to leave them.

"Aidan," I gasp, shaking, my toes scrunching into a ballerina pose as I quickly lose the will to balance myself, his tongue coaxing me to a rough, desperate place of submission. "Oh, god."

The second it hits, I'm speechless, and it hits like a blow to my stomach, causing me to curl over and take it. It's so good my grip slackens, my body losing all feeling in my muscles, my nerves. He gathers me up while I'm still overcome, relieving of the need to stand, and slams me into the wall.

He surges into me in one, swift move.

We both moan, like addicts consuming a drug.

"Take me," I breathe, staring into his eyes. I nod, swallowing air that isn't there. His hand has curled around my neck, and is now cradling the back of my head. "Fuck me, Aidan."

His mouth shuts, his jaw tightening. I hear his teeth sliding against each other in his own desire. With one hand on the back of my head, and the other cupping my ass, he pulls himself out of me, and shoves himself back in, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he watches every reaction I have to his thrusts, as he fills me, stretching my sex with his impressive cock.

We're slipping. My hands, his hands. My legs which have wrapped around his hips keep sliding over the slope of his ass, but I'm too consumed to care. His grip is strong enough to hold me, to plunge into me in this position. His eyes never leave me. Whether they travel from my eyes to my mouth, or from my heaving breasts to the space between my thighs that he's breaching, they are always intensely focused.

He is gloriously here.

As am I.

My hands caress his chest, and it sends shocks to my nerves to feel how fast his heart is beating, how affected he has become under the duress of our infatuation.

He's a dark angel, come for his fix of light. He's massive, and magnificently male, his body virile and flexing. A tower of muscle, of strength, the sight of him working over me is enough to twist my insides, to ignite my hunger, my ascent to unspeakable pleasure.

I can't look at him. I can't. It's too much.

I stick my head into his throat, gaping, allowing him to surround me whole, to use me to his will. My nails hold onto him desperately, sinking into his burning flesh, yet he doesn't flinch. His face tilts into my hidden skull, and urges me back to him.

His lips dance along my skin, dousing my cheek in affection.

"Kiss me," he breathes, his words escaping him in a rough, breathless demand.

Who am I to deny him? It feels as though my heart will burst if I dare look at him, so I keep my eyes closed, grabbing onto his cheeks with both my hands, holding onto him weakly as I graze my mouth over his, crying out softly as he urges himself deeper into my body than he has today.

I feel him everywhere.

"Oh fuck."

"Yes," he says, and I can tell he's nodding. He stops moving altogether, so he stays buried within me, sucking all breath from my chest. His fingers tighten in my soaked hair, enough that I can't pull away. His breath is warm against my lips. "Kiss me, Jo. Kiss me now."

I open my eyes, peering at him hesitantly. He is waiting on me. I lean in, hovering my mouth over his. His lips tremble, moving instinctively toward my teasing caresses but I pull away before he can seal the deal, wanting to torment him. His eyes are a near black color, the gray setting gone with his lust.

"Deeper," I whisper to him, so softly I'm not sure he can hear the demand. But his hand presses to the wall beside us, and with my legs around him, he slides deeper, as deep as possible. I can hardly breathe. I don't tear my eyes from him. "I'm going to come...just...like this."

My hands rake down his chest, which is heaving, exploring the taut, healthy body he possesses. It's so easy to get off to the sight of him. Or maybe it's the sounds he makes. The way he's throbbing inside of me, so close to climax.

I bite down on his throat, testing his patience, and his grunt echoes with the falling water that has gone cold. We don't feel it. I sweeten the bite with a lick, a kiss, humming against the saltiness of his skin.

He's barely restraining himself when my eyes swoop back up to his face. My body is tense, right at the finish line. One move of his cock will make me let go. I'm sure of my body that much, sure of him inside of me that much.

However, I'm proving a point. The point that his body alone doesn't do it for me.

It's those eyes, that feel of his heart, the mere sight of him that can push me to brink.

"Touch me, and I'll come for you," I breathe, shakily, already there. Oh, I'm so there. My muscles are contracting. I'm sure he can feel it.

He makes one move, and slides his hand over my breast, moving his index and middle finger between my nipple, tugging on it softly. And I'm a goner.

Wham.

"Oh...my god," I breathe, dropping my head onto his chest, shivering, quivering in his arms, which aren't wavering, strong as ever. I struggle for breath against his skin, blinded by the sweeping warm feeling coursing through my veins at the erotic daring moment I subjected us to.

He clasps the back of my neck, and forces me to see him. I blink languidly at him, my hands weakened on his chest. He looks over my face, awed, intrigued, desiring.

"This really is it, isn't it?" he asks, gasping. I clasp his face, tightly, smiling.

Hell yes it is.

"Shut up and let me kiss you," I say, crushing my mouth to him, my entire body ridden with exhaustion, overcome by the destroyed nerves within me. He moans as I slip my tongue through his lips, tenderly, slowly.

He moves within me, and still so sensitive, I flinch, gaping at the sweet pain.

"Come for me," I beg him, pulling back to give him my eyes.

I remove all boundaries. I'll bring him there with the truth.

His fingers tighten on the back of my neck as he rocks me onto him, close enough that his body, his muscles are all tensed. I caress his face gently, baring all to him, and it does the damn job.

It brings him to heel. I feel the warm, thick heat of his release against my body, which fades with the raining water. The sounds he makes, the lost look in his eyes when he opens them as if he'd been sent somewhere else by the force of the pleasure stun me.

He takes one look at me, releasing his breath with awe, and wraps his arms around my back which travel up to my shoulders, drawing me close—as close as he can get me.