Chapter 4 : The Manhattan Apartment

The doorman nodded William through without question. "Mr. Wentworth is expecting you, sir."

The elevator was mirrored bronze. William watched his reflection—too pale, too tense. He adjusted his collar. Straightened his jacket. The numbers climbed: 12, 13, 14.

Penthouse.

The doors slid open directly into the apartment. No hallway. Just space.

William stepped out into a room that seemed to float above Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline—a grid of light against the deepening blue of evening. The furniture was minimal: a charcoal sofa, a glass coffee table, a single abstract painting on one wall. Everything clean lines and neutral tones.

James stood by the window, a glass of wine in his hand. He''d changed into dark jeans and a black sweater. He looked younger like this, less like the Wall Street executive and more like... a man.

"You found it," he said.

"It''s hard to miss." William''s voice echoed in the vast space. "Do you actually live here, or is this a showroom?"

James smiled. "I live here. Though sometimes I wonder the same thing."

He crossed the room. Handed William a glass of red wine. Their fingers brushed. A now-familiar current.

"To new beginnings," James said.

William clinked his glass. "To not spilling this one."

They drank. The wine was rich, complex. William had no idea what kind, only that it probably cost more than his camera lens.

"Let me show you around," James said.

The tour was brief. Living room. Kitchen all stainless steel and marble. Study with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Bedroom with a platform bed and more windows. Bathroom with a shower big enough for three people.

"It''s... very you," William said when they returned to the living room.

"Meaning?"

"Controlled. Perfect. A little cold."

James raised an eyebrow. "Honest as always."

"I''m trying to be less honest. It keeps getting me in trouble."

"Don''t." James set down his wine glass. "Don''t try to be less anything."

They stood facing each other in the middle of the vast room. The city glittered behind James like a backdrop. William felt suddenly, acutely aware of the silence. Of the distance between them—three feet that felt like three miles.

"Tell me what you''re thinking," James said quietly.

"I''m thinking this is a bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because you''re James Wentworth. And I''m... me. And this apartment costs more than my father''s house. And I don''t know how to be in a place like this with a person like you."

James closed the distance. Two steps. Now they were a foot apart. "What kind of person am I?"

"The kind who has penthouse apartments and Rolex watches and knows which wine to serve."

"And what kind of person are you?"

"The kind who takes photographs of homeless people and gets suspended from school and doesn''t know which fork to use."

James reached out. Touched William''s cheek. The same gesture as in the park, but here, in private, it felt different. More intimate. More dangerous.

"You''re also the kind of person who sees things others miss," James said. "Who feels things deeply. Who isn''t afraid to want what he wants."

William''s breath hitched. "What if what I want is too much?"

"Try me."

The kiss happened slowly. James leaned in. William met him halfway. Their lips brushed. Tentative. Testing.

Then deeper.

James''s hands came up to frame William''s face. William''s hands found James''s waist. The wool of his sweater was soft under William''s fingers.

They kissed by the window, the city spread out below them. William felt dizzy. From the wine. From the height. From James.

When they broke apart, James rested his forehead against William''s. "Stay tonight."

"I don''t have anything with me."

"You don''t need anything." James''s thumb stroked William''s cheekbone. "Just you."

They moved to the bedroom. The bed was enormous, covered in white linen. James turned on a single lamp—soft, golden light.

He undressed William slowly. Button by button. Zipper by zipper. His hands were sure, steady. William trembled.

When William was naked, James stepped back. Looked at him. Really looked.

"You''re beautiful," James said, voice rough.

William shook his head. "I''m too thin. And—"

"Beautiful," James repeated. He began undressing himself.

William watched. The sweater came off. The jeans. Boxer briefs. James''s body was all lean muscle and clean lines. A scar on his ribs—thin, white. Another on his thigh.

They stood naked before each other. The lamp cast long shadows.

James reached for him. Drew him to the bed.

The first touch of skin on skin made William gasp. James was warm, solid. His hands mapped William''s body—shoulders, spine, hips.

"Tell me what you like," James murmured against his neck.

"Everything. Anything. Just don''t stop."

James didn''t.

He kissed his way down William''s body. Mouth on collarbone. On nipple. On stomach. Lower.

William arched off the bed when James took him in his mouth. Heat. Wetness. Skill that made his toes curl.

"James—"

A hum of acknowledgment. James''s hands held his hips. His mouth worked.

William came with a cry, fingers tangled in the sheets. James swallowed, then moved up to kiss him. William tasted himself on James''s tongue.

They lay tangled together, breathing ragged.

After a while, James got up. Returned with a warm washcloth. Cleaned William gently. The care in the gesture made William''s throat tight.

"Shower?" James asked.

Together in the enormous shower, steam rising around them. James washed William''s hair. His hands were gentle on William''s scalp. William leaned into the touch.

Under the spray, they kissed again. Slower this time. Less urgent.

James pressed William against the tile. Enterered him slowly, carefully. William wrapped his legs around James''s waist. The water beat down on them.

This time it was James who came with a broken sound, forehead pressed to William''s shoulder.

After, wrapped in thick towels, they stood by the window again. The city was fully dark now, a galaxy of artificial stars.

James''s arm was around William''s shoulders. William leaned into him.

"This is going to be complicated," James said quietly.

"I know."

"But I want to try."

William looked up at him. "Me too."

They slept tangled together in the enormous bed. William woke once in the night. James was asleep beside him, face relaxed in a way William had never seen.

He watched him for a long time. Memorized the curve of his mouth. The way his lashes lay against his cheeks.

Then he closed his eyes. Let himself believe, for just this night, that this could work.

==================================================