Andy blinked awake late Saturday morning, sun streaming lazily across the foot of the bed. For a moment, he lay still, savouring the silence — and then remembered. He reached for his phone to find a message from Summer.

  summer ? Morning. No plans this weekend. If you want ?

  A smile curled across his face before he could stop it. The way she phrased it — casual, tentative, hopeful — it hit him low in the chest. If you want. As if he didn't already crave her in every corner of his life.

  Andy sat up, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a moment before he typed.

  andy ? I want. I'll be there in an hour. Did you eat yet? ?

  He hit send and tossed the blankets back. No hesitation now. He moved through his apartment quickly, pulling on soft black jeans and a threadbare band tee, catching sight of himself in the mirror — hair wild, eyeliner smudged from the night before — and pausing. She'd seen him like this. Worse. Better. Real. Andy wiped the last of the liner from beneath his eyes, left the rest.

  On the drive over, his heart beat steadily louder the closer he got, until it almost drowned out the purr of the engine. By the time he was knocking lightly on her door, he was grinning like an idiot.

  The door opened — and there she was. Hair loose and tumbling around her face. Leggings. One of those oversized T-shirts she liked. A shy smile just for him.

  Andy leaned in the doorway and asked, low, "Still free?"

  Summer flushed deep pink, her fingers tightening on the edge of the door. "How do you do that?" she demanded, half hiding behind her hair. "That voice — you say one thing and suddenly I forget how to breathe."

  Andy stepped closer, deliberately slow, until he could rest a hand on the doorframe just above her head. His grin was warm and teasing, but his eyes were dark and fond. "I'm a courtesan," he said softly, like it was a secret and a promise. "It's kind of my whole deal."

  She made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh, then ducked under his arm to retreat into the apartment. "Yeah, well, it's unfair when you use your powers on civilians."

  Andy followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "Would it help if I promised I only use them on you when you're already blushing like that?"

  "That makes it worse," she called from the kitchen, but there was laughter in her voice. She peeked around the corner and raised an eyebrow. "You still want food, or are you planning to flirt me into starvation?"

  He leaned around the wall dramatically. "Flirting and food. I'm multi-talented."

  Summer rolled her eyes and turned back to the fridge, clearly trying to hide her smile.

  Andy wandered into the kitchen behind her, slower this time. "You know," he murmured, "if this is what a weekend with you looks like, I might never leave."

  "Dangerous words," she said lightly, but her fingers brushed his where they met on the fridge handle.

  He kissed her knuckles before she could pull away. "I like danger."

  She didn't answer — just reached for the cheese with a hand that trembled, just a little.

  "Shall I cook," he said softly, "or distract you again?"

  Summer's breath caught. "I — I already ate," she stammered. "A, um, a cheese danish. Earlier."

  Andy hummed, low and wicked, as he stepped in closer. "That sounds like breakfast," he said, eyes gleaming. "Which means I'm officially cleared for distraction."

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  "Wait — " she started, but she was already backing up, and Andy followed like a tide, slow and inexorable.

  "I think you want to be distracted," he murmured. His fingers caught hers, gently pulling her hand to his chest, pressing her palm flat against his heartbeat. "Don't you?"

  Summer opened her mouth. No sound came out.

  Andy bent to kiss her jaw — soft, reverent. "It's the weekend," he whispered, trailing his lips to the edge of her ear. "You said you're free. If I want."

  "I did," she breathed.

  "And I do," he said, smiling against her skin.

  He kissed her again, deeper now, and when she made a helpless noise in the back of her throat, he lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing at all. She clutched at him instinctively, legs around his waist, lips brushing his cheek as she tried to catch her breath.

  "Andy — what are you doing?" she whispered.

  "Distracting you properly," he said, already carrying her back toward the bedroom. "And I'm very, very good at this part."

  Summer shivered in his arms, but she didn't protest.

  He laid her down with care, a kiss to her temple as he murmured, "Stay there. Watch me."

  Summer propped herself up on her elbows, puzzled for a second — until Andy reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn't rush. He peeled the fabric slowly, deliberately, up over his toned stomach, up past the tattoos scrawled across his skin, the curve of his chest, the lines of his arms. His eyes never left hers. The way her gaze tracked the motion, the way her breathing hitched slightly — he drank it in.

  "I've done this more times than I can count," he said, so softly. "But never like this. Never with someone whose gaze makes me feel seen. Desired."

  He popped the button on his jeans, letting the zipper drag down with a whisper of sound. Summer swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing, but she didn't look away. Her lips parted slightly when he slid the denim down his hips, and she made a soft, involuntary sound.

  God, he loved that.

  He stepped out of the denim, each motion unhurried, deliberate, sensual. It wasn't a performance for a stranger, or a practised tease for a patron. It was real. It was for her.

  And it was so much better for that.

  Summer swallowed hard, visibly. "You're unfair," she muttered, barely audible.

  Andy grinned. "You started it."

  "I didn't — !"

  "You said you were free." He crawled onto the bed with slow grace, bare skin sliding against the sheets as he stalked toward her on hands and knees. "You asked me to stay. I'm just making good on your very generous offer."

  Summer gave a breathless laugh. "You're ridiculous."

  "Mm," Andy murmured, lowering himself over her, bracing his weight on his arms. His voice dipped lower. "And you're beautiful. You should see yourself when you look at me like that." He kissed her with sudden intensity, emotion and hunger all tangled up. Nothing about this felt like work. Nothing performative. Just him, and her, and this shining, precious thing blooming between them.

  She pushed at his shoulders, and he let himself be guided, his body pliant beneath hers, his expression open and full of adoration. Her hair tumbled forward as she leaned over him, fingers curious on his chest, his stomach, his ribs. She touched him like he might vanish, like she needed to memorize everything.

  Her fingers traced down his chest, a soft marvelling at the way he felt beneath them. Her breath hitched as she leaned down and kissed him just below his collarbone, and he shivered with pleasure, letting her set the pace, letting her take. He sighed beneath her hands, eyes half-lidded, utterly content. "Take your time," he murmured. "I'm all yours."

  Summer flushed at that — visibly, beautifully. Her mouth opened like she meant to make a joke of it, something too humble or too hesitant, some deflection to shrink herself.

  Andy didn't let her.

  He reached up, threaded his fingers into her hair, and drew her down into a kiss that swallowed the words before they could take shape. It was slow and steady, warm as honey, a kiss to quiet that voice in her head. When he pulled back, he whispered against her lips, "You don't have to earn this, Summer. You don't have to be anyone else."

  He let the words settle between them before leaning up to kiss her again, slower this time. "You're you. And I want you."

  Summer barely got the words out — "How can you want me" — before Andy surged up and kissed her again, firmer this time, like he could press the question out of existence.

  "Stop," he said, low and firm. "Stop comparing yourself. Don't do that to yourself. Don't do that to us. I'm not with you instead of anyone," he went on. "I'm with you because you make me feel real. Because when you look at me like that, I forget the performance. I forget the masks."

  His hands skimmed down her back, settling at her waist. "I want you, Summer. Not because you're better or worse than anyone else. Because you're you. Because you make me laugh. Because you talk about code like it's magic. Because you get all shy and then take control anyway. Because you look at me like I'm more than a job. I don't want you for the same reasons I show up at work with a smile and a perfect costume and the right kind of charm."

  He kissed the corner of her mouth. Her cheek. Her eyelid. "Please don't try to make yourself smaller. I like who you are. My Summer. If you want to be."

  She blinked down at him, stunned quiet.