Chapter Two

Julian Hayes closed the door to his small temporary office and leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, breathing deliberately slow.

His body was still buzzing from the morning confrontation. Ethan Cross — the same man who had pinned him down and fucked him like he was hungry for something— was now pretending that night never existed.

Julian straightened his new dark button-down, ran a hand through his hair, and picked up his laptop and heavily detailed manuscript. He needed this contract.

He needed this contract. The money would finally keep body and soul together. He couldn’t afford to let one unforgettable night ruin this opportunity of a lifetime. But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for Ethan.

At exactly 2:00 p.m., he knocked on the door of the corner office.

“Come in.”

Julian stepped inside. The late afternoon light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Fifth Avenue, casting long shadows across the massive mahogany desk.

Mr. Cross,” Julian said, voice smooth and professional as he crossed the room. “Shall we begin?”

“Sit.” Ethan gestured to the chair opposite him without rising. “We’ll work directly from the manuscript today. I’ve marked several sections that need immediate attention.”

Julian settled into the leather chair, crossing one leg over the other. Their eyes met across the desk, and the air instantly thickened with everything neither of them was acknowledging. He could still feel the phantom ache from how deep Ethan had taken him, could still hear the low, broken groan he had made when he finally came.

Ethan slid a printed copy of the manuscript across the desk. It was covered in precise red ink notes. “We will start with chapter four. The protagonist’s internal conflict. His restraint is well defined, but the emotional climax when he begins to crack feels dull. I need more validity, more realness… more hunger”. His voice rose to an octave.

Julian flipped through the pages, scanning the notes. A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You want me to dig deeper into how it feels when a man who’s spent years maintaining perfect control finally starts to lose it?”

“Precisely,” Ethan replied, voice steady and clinical. “When desire overrides reason. When every calculated move becomes instinct. Make the reader feel the war inside him.”

Julian leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk so their hands were only inches apart.

Eyes never leaving Ethan’s face. He smiled.“So you want the moment he pins someone down, buries himself deep, and fucks like he’s been starving for years. No holding back. . Just a raw need.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened almost unnoticeable. He kept his expression detached, but Julian caught the subtle shift in his breathing.

“Focus Mr. Hayes,” Ethan said evenly. “This is about making the character believable, we owe the readers every raw emotion they wish for from this prose.”

“Of course,” Julian replied, tone perfectly polite even as heat curled low in his stomach. “Professional distance. Understood.”

For the next hour, they dissected the chapter line by line. Julian defended his choices with sharp, well-spoken reasoning, refusing to yield ground easily. Every disagreement sparked with electricity. When he leaned over to point at a specific paragraph, the back of his hand brushed against Ethan’s. Neither of them pulled away immediately. The contact lingered, Julian glanced up and met Ethan’s gray ones. A small smile danced along his face. Ethan quickly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. 

“Why are you pushing too hard in this scene? Julian asked, tapping the page. This man isn’t just scared of being exposed and how people perceive him, he’s terrified that once he lets himself feel everything he’s denied, he will lose control and he’s troubled he won’t get that back. That kind of fear doesn’t translate that immensely onto the page.

Ethan leaned back in his chair studying Julian. “You’re the writer here. Make me feel it. Right now, his only observing his own desire from a distance, I need him to be utterly consumed by it. I hired you to do exactly this.

Julian met his gaze directly. “Consumed”, he repeated, voice dropping slightly. If he becomes irrevocably overwhelmed by his own desires, he won’t stop replaying how perfectly tight  it felt. How his body shook when he finally let go. Is that what you want Mr Cross?”.

The silence that followed was heavy. Julian watched Ethan’s throat work as he swallowed. He could see the tension in Ethan’s broad shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the pen a fraction tighter. Knowing he was affecting the other man sent a thrill through him, but he kept his expression cool. He wasn’t desperate. He knew better. 

“Mr Hayes..”

“I’ll take that as a yes then, let’s continue please.” He said smugly checking his wristwatch.

They continued working. The tension builds slowly and steadily. Every shared glance lingered. Every time Julian read an intimate passage aloud, his voice naturally grew lower, more intimate. Ethan’s cologne kept drifting across the desk —rich, masculine and expensive muddling with Julian’s thoughts and reminding him exactly how that scent had surrounded him while Ethan drove into him with punishing strokes. 

By 5pm, Julian’s body was humming with low arousal. He needed to clear his head. He closed his laptop and stretched his arms overhead letting his shirt pull tight across his chest. He watched as Ethan’s eyes tracked that movement.

“We made solid progress today, he said calmly. Though I must say your notes on the control arc are deliciously detailed, almost like you have experienced that kind of internal war or know someone who does very closely”.

Ethan’s eyes sharpened. “I know what readers respond to, Mr. Hayes. They want to feel the surrender. Make it earned, believable.”

Julian tilted his head, observing him with quiet intensity. “And when this powerful man finally chooses vulnerability? When he stops hiding, how should that moment be read?”

“Relieving,” Ethan answered after a beat. “Intoxicating”. 

Their eyes locked across the desk. The tension was now thick enough to cut — sexual, intellectual, and dangerously addictive. Julian’s cock was half-hard beneath the desk, pressing against his zipper. Hours of this slow, torturous proximity to the man who he could still feel from last night. He stood slowly, gathering his things with deliberate movements. “I’ll revise these sections tonight and bring fresh pages tomorrow”.

Ethan rose as well, buttoning his suit jacket. “Tomorrow. 7 p.m. My office.”

Julian paused at the door, one hand resting on the handle. He glanced back with a subtle, knowing smile — professional on the surface, but laced with just enough heat to be unmistakable.

“I’ll be here, Mr. Cross,” he said smoothly. “Ready to dive as deep into the material as you require.”

He closed the door softly behind him.

The moment he was alone in the hallway, Julian let out a slow breath and pressed a hand against the front of his jeans, willing his stubborn arousal to settle. His lips still tingled with the memory of how Ethan had kissed him in his imagination for the last three hours.

Ethan Cross was a fortress, a control freak, powerful and  terrified of cracks.

But Julian was a writer. He knew how to find the weak points in any armor.

And he had six months to decide whether he wanted to tear it down… or help Ethan build it stronger.

Either way, this was going to be one hell of a collaboration.