Amelia Melvin picks me up and drives me to one of the most expensive buildings in Manhattan. I knew that Crawford must live somewhere impressive, but I had no idea the level of wealth he has until I see his apartment. Melvin doesn’t just drop me off and leave me, either. He escorts me through the beautiful lobby to the elevators, simply telling me to select “the top floor” as he leaves me to go up alone. I follow his instructions, only realizing halfway up that I don’t know the number of Crawford’s apartment. I shouldn’t have worried, however. As the elevator dings and the doors open, I see Crawford himself standing opposite me in a white button-down shirt tucked into jeans. The elevator has taken me directly to the entrance hall of his apartment. I wasn’t expecting to see him so quickly, thinking that I’d have some time to compose myself and I st ep out feeling incredibly self- conscious. I’ve worn one of the wrap dresses that Eleanor picked for me. It’s summery in style and not really suitable for the weather, but I know my tits look perky in it, so I decided it would be the best option for tonight. Crawford walks toward me, with a soft smile on his face. “Hello,” he says as I st ep out of the elevator. I immediately jump back a foot as I hear a high-pitched cawing sound, like a baby crying, but several octaves lower. “Gerald, be quiet,” Crawford snaps, and I looks to my left at the beautiful white peacock that struts into view from a side door. “My apologies. He gets upset with new visitors.” I can’t hold back a laugh. “You have a peacock?” “I do. And a cat. Alexis. She’s somewhere being a menace, I have no doubt.” His voice is calm, and it’s a good look on him. He’s far more relaxed here, in his space, away from the office. He’s barefoot, as usual, but I ke ep my shoes on, knowing the heels make my legs look good. The apartment is breathtaking. I’m only in the entrance hall, and it’s bigger than my entire house. It has a similar style to Crawford’s office. A lot of white and cream, with marble gleaming beneath my feet. The marble stretches away into a living room beyond, where I can just see the edge of a sunken couch. I’m about to move toward it when Crawford puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stop, looking up at him. “If you go in there and change your mind, you tell me, and Melvin takes you home. The same rules apply as always. You don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” I nod. “Words, Amelia.” “I understand.” “Good. You look stunning by the way; I like what you’ve done with your hair.” He frowns, as if he didn’t mean to say that, and I smile.
“I need a haircut,” I say casually. “I might chop it all off.” I suck in a breath as he puts a hand into it, taking a commanding hold as I look up at him, frozen in place. “Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, plastering himself against me, his lips half an inch from my own. Then, just as fast, he lets me go and walks away into the main room. I enter with a feeling of intense uneasiness. I’ve seen Ambrose Georgiou for thirty seconds, if that. He’s very good-looking but also seems like a player to me. If Crawford wants to share me, I don’t know how I feel about that, and I’m hoping ‘watching’ means only watching. As I walk into the room, I stop, staring. We are dozens of stories up above the city. Central Park is stretched out beneath us, the lights all around it like tiny fireflies in the night. The living room features an open-plan kitchen at the far end, which is enormous, complete with a huge island in the center. The kitchen occupies a significant portion of the far wall, featuring beautiful bronze barstools beside the island. Then, as you move through, there’s the sunken couch and a spiral staircase that rises to the floors above. I only realize I’ve been standing for too long with my mouth open when Crawford chuckles behind me. “You approve?” he asks, and for a second, it sounds as if my opinion really matters to him. “It’s stunning,” I say. “Then it suits you perfectly,” comes a low drawl from the couch, and I turn to see Ambrose lounging there with a glass of wine. He doesn’t approach me, which I appreciate; he just runs his eyes over me. On anyone else, the look might be lecherous, but he seems more intrigued than anything, glancing between me and Crawford with interest. Ambrose rises, st epping up onto the same level as us, but doesn’t come any closer. “It’s lovely to see you again, Amelia.” “Likewise,” I say automatically. But I’m unsure what to make of him. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt with a white collar and a huge gold watch. His style is very different from Crawford's. Ambrose seems more flamboyant, but in an understated way. “Would you like a glass of wine?” Crawford asks. “Uh, maybe a small one.” “Red?” “Thank you.” I hover, unsure where he expects me to go until Ambrose indicates I should sit in the little circle of the couch. It strikes me as an old-fashioned feature, more like a love seat from the 1970 s, but it suits the space and draws the eye. This place must have cost millions. I take a seat. Ambrose is very still nearby, watching until I’m settled, and then he sits on the opposite side to me. Something about that reassures me. They’re both being very careful to make me feel settled, which I wasn’t expecting. Crawford comes to sit between us after handing me my glass of wine.
“Did Melvin behave himself?” he asks me. “He has taken a shine to you, I think, and the man can talk your ear off if you let him.” “Oh, I didn’t mind. He was telling me about a mafia boss he drove around New York for a few years. It was very entertaining.” Ambrose snorts into his wine, and Crawford grins. “Don’t believe a word that man says. He’s full of shit.” “I’ll tell him you said that,” I joke. “Please do, I tell him all the time.” I sip my wine, looking between the two of them curiously. I can’t work out their relationship, but Crawford seems extremely relaxed. “How long did it take you to get here?” Ambrose asks me. “Sorry to drag you out so late.” I shrug. “Not too long. The traffic wasn’t bad at all.” Well played, Amelia. Let’s talk about the weather next. “Lucas says you live in Brooklyn?” “I do.” “Do you live there alone?” I hesitate for a second and then shake my head. “I live with my sister.” Crawford is watching me now. He hasn’t drunk any of his wine, resting it on his knee, his gaze laser-focused on me. “Is she close to you in age?” Ambrose asks. “She’s nineteen. She’s much cleverer and more sensible than me, though, so she ke eps me in line,” I say lightly, and both men smile. There’s a pitiful little mew from behind me as a fluffy white cat leaps onto the couch. Crawford stiffens as the cat approaches me, sniffing my hair, and then climbing down over my shoulder and curling up in my lap. I stroke her idly. I love cats and always feel very privileged if one decides to be my friend. “Jesus Christ.” I look up, and Ambrose is staring at me. “What the hell? That heathen hates everyone!” “Don’t call her a heathen,” Crawford says, scowling at him. “She’s just picky.” I scratch her behind her ears, and she starts purring. “You’re a cat whisperer,” Crawford says, with a fond little smile as he looks at Alexis. “Maybe she just likes women,” I hedge, and Ambrose laughs. “Not if Megan is anything to go by.” I glance up at Crawford, who is glaring daggers at Ambrose, but the other man looks entirely unapologetic. “She clearly has good taste,” he says, tipping his glass to me. I chuckle, and Alexis r epositions herself, rubbing against my hand. “She’s gorgeous, and she’s white, which means she would go very well in your office,” I murmur, and Crawford grins. “Can you imagine her at work? I’d never get anything done.” “You might confuse her for a cushion if she sat for too long on your couch.” “Hah! Yes, I’m not sure she’d appreciate that.” Ambrose is watching us, a little frown on his face as he looks at Crawford. Then he turns back to me.
“So, when you’re not at work, what do you like to do with your free time?” he asks, stretching out his long legs toward the central table. “Uh, I like to paint.” Crawford leans back too, an arm over the couch. “Really? What do you paint?” “Well, lots of things really. But I do paint my sister a lot. She hates it. I have quite an abstract style sometimes, and last time she said I made her look like a Picasso.” They both laugh. “What do you like to paint?” Ambrose presses. “I do enjoy portraits, but they’re difficult. Eyes particularly evade me. I never feel like I’ve captured the soul of a person, you know?” He nods, and I get the same feeling from him as I do from Crawford —he’s really listening, not just waiting for his turn to speak. “But I like lands capes too. I would love to paint this view. It’s breathtaking.” “I’m sure Lucas would welcome you any time,” Ambrose says, and I’m surprised to see Crawford’s cheeks turn a little pink. What was that about? I glance at the clock. It’s after midnight now. I don’t feel particularly tired, but I wonder what Crawford wants to do. Part of me wondered if I’d show up and he’d just drag me into the bedroom. The gentle introduction has been good, but now my nerves are returning. What do they want from me? Crawford seems to sense the change in me and places his glass down on the table. “Would you like a tour?” he asks, and I finish my wine. I’m glad I don’t feel at all tipsy. I want a clear head for whatever is coming. “I’d love one.” We st ep out of the little sunken area and make our way to the staircase. My anticipation builds as we ascend, and my knees feel a little weak as I look down at the view. “Jesus, that’s high,” I mutter. “Luca has an obsession with being taller than everyone else,” Ambrose mutters, and I laugh. Crawford turns, giving his friend a glare. Alexis trots up the stairs behind us, meowing insistently before Crawford picks her up. She settles in his arms contentedly, and they make a surprisingly sweet picture. He shows me the five bedrooms on the top floor and the palatial owner’s suite bathroom, which I long to have a bath in. All of the fixtures and fittings are bronze, and Ambrose delights in telling me how much they all cost as Crawford ke eps telling him to shut up. It’s a really lovely space, but in every bedroom, I tense up, and I can tell Crawford notices. I’m embarrassed by my reactions, but when I don’t know what is expected of me, I can’t relax. I’m surprised when the tour takes us back downstairs and we end up in the dining room, where Crawford spins in place with a flourish. “This is my favorite room, I think,” Crawford says. “If you can deal with the view, come look down at the park. It’s stunning at this time of night. I’m sorry you missed the sunset.” I go over, standing beside him. Ambrose hangs back, and as I look down at the park, I feel Crawford gently put a hand on my waist. “You can see Columbus Circle, and our office is just visible behind the Time Warner Center, see?”
“Oh yes!” I say excitedly. “Wow, this is so beautiful. I would spend hours painting this if I lived here. I’d never get anything done.” Crawford laughs, and when I turn, I see Ambrose has taken a seat at the other end of the table. Once my back is to Crawford, he puts his arms around me gently, and I feel his hips press against my ass. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and I look back at him with a frown. “You can go home if you’d prefer.” He seems very tentative tonight, which is definitely new. I know I should feel some sense of shame at how much money he’s paying me to be here, but there’s a part of me that wants to see how this plays out. The idea of Ambrose watching us isn’t unpleasant. I find the thought almost intriguing. “I’m okay. I don’t need to go home,” I say, and I feel him pull me closer. I don’t look at Ambrose yet, caught in Crawford’s gaze, and I shiver as he pushes one hand further up over my ribs and caresses my breast. “You’re sure?” “I am,” I say, knowing how he likes me to confirm things out loud. “Alright, well then, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to fuck you now.” His voice is a low growl, and I gasp as his other hand lowers between my legs and touches me through the fabric of my dress. I moan as his fingers rub over me, massaging my body. I can feel myself getting wet already, and as I imagine what we must look like to Ambrose, the pleasure only intensifies. He kicks my legs apart in that move I love so much, and my arm comes up to hold onto him as he starts to push harder against my clit. “How do you feel about me kissing you?” he asks. I open my eyes, and my gaze collides with Ambrose. He’s watching us, his dark gaze intense and focused. “Would you let me kiss you?” Crawford asks. I nod, and in the next second, he’s spun me round and lifted me up so I’m sitting on the table. He pushes my thighs apart, st eps into the space, and lowers his mouth over mine, crushing our lips together. His tongue drives into my mouth, unapologetic and firm, as his hands pull my hips against his hard cock. I groan as he does, and our tongues collide as he kisses me in a way that erases every thought from my brain. “Fuck,” he moves back, untying my dress and tugging it off my body. His hand plunges between my legs again, and I cry out as he pushes a finger hard into my entrance, through the fabric of my panties. “You’re so wet, already. Fuck, I love how turned on you get for me.” He kneels down then, and I rest my hands behind me as he pulls my panties off. I think he’s going to stand back up and just shove his cock in me, but instead, he pushes his face between my thighs and shoves his tongue into my body. I collapse back onto the table, my hips writhing at the sensation as he sucks on my clit.
As I lie horizontal, my eyes meet Ambrose’s. He’s in the same position as he was before, doing nothing but watching Crawford go down on me, but somehow it’s more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. I come so hard I can’t help the scream that explodes out of me. Holy shit. I have a moment of intense panic that I’ve come so fast, but Crawford moans, licking up my release with obvious relish before pulling back and shoving a finger inside me. “Fuck, that was hot. I think you like him watching us, don’t you?” I can barely speak as he flips me over. I’m balanced on my forearms, my eyes locked and held by Ambrose’s gaze. He leans forward as I hear the ripping sound of the condom, and Ambrose licks his lips as Crawford’s fingers run over my thighs. “You ready for me, Amelia?” he asks. My eyes remain fixed on Ambrose as I nod. Then I let out a low groan as the blunt head of Crawford’s cock nudges against my entrance, and then pushes inside with one, hard, exquisite thrust. My fingers scrape at the table as he hammers into me. I can’t take my eyes off Ambrose. He’s visibly turned on now, pupils blown, mouth open, and he lets out a low moan as Crawford fucks me so hard the table shudders beneath our combined weights. I’m not sure how long it lasts, all I know is that having another man watching me squirm and writhe with Crawford’s cock inside me is fucking exhilarating. Crawford lets out a loud shout as he comes inside me and slaps me hard on the ass as I let out a half-moan, half-scream. I watch Ambrose lower a hand to his cock, and adjust himself as he sighs, leaning back in his chair. Crawford collapses over me, his hand covering my own as our fingers entwine for a brief moment. “So fucking hot,” he whispers into my ear, and I close my eyes. I’ve never felt this before. This sense of safety and security with another person. It scares me, even as I crave it.