September 1999

“Hey, can you guys turn that down? I’m trying to study!” I shouted from the doorway of the master bedroom.

I’d been holed up in there for hours, burning off calories I hadn’t even consumed on the Oppenheimers’ top-of-the-line treadmill while simultaneously poring over grainy images of biblical paintings in my European Renaissance Art History textbook.

“What’s that?” Trip yelled back from the living room. “You want me to turn it up?” The volume on whatever first-person-shooter video game they were playing got louder, filling all five thousand square feet with the sounds of grunting and gunshots. It was better than the sound of grunting and cum shots, which usually filled the air whenever Trip was over and had control of the TV.

I was about to stomp out there and smack the remote out of his hand when I heard Hans do it for me.

“Hey!” Trip exclaimed as the volume finally decreased.

“Thank you, baby!” My voice echoed through the cavernous house.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he rumbled back.

“Blow me, baby!” Trip chimed in, followed by what sounded like a whack to the back of the head. “Ow! That’s not how you do it, fucker. Here, let me show you.”

I could hear Baker and Kevin laughing as Hans cursed and knocked over something heavy, trying to fight off Trip’s advances. Smiling to myself, I closed the door and turned back around.

The opulence of the room hit me like a solar flare, stopping me dead in my tracks. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it. The space. The splendor. The perfect triangular vacuum tracks left on the plush champagne-colored carpet by the housekeeper. I’d been living in that palace for over a month, and I still had to stop and physically pinch myself sometimes.

Standing in the Oppenheimers’ master bedroom with its twelve-foot-tall vaulted ceiling, exposed wooden beams, and billowy custom drapes pulled open to reveal a view of the sunset over Lake Lanier, I was definitely having one of those please don’t let this be a dream moments.

My feelings of awe and unworthiness only grew when I heard the door open behind me. Turning, I found the handsome prince who’d whisked me away to that castle filling the doorway. He casually reached up and grabbed the top of the doorframe with one hand, causing his black Motörhead T-shirt to ride up a few inches. A sliver of tan skin and rippled muscles peeked out from between the hem of his shirt and the studded belt holding up his low-slung black jeans, just enough to make my breath falter.

Hans and I didn’t speak at first. We just stood there, salivating over one another until our pupils finished dilating.

Eventually, Hans held up his cell phone with a smirk and said, “My mom wants to talk to you.”

Your mom? I mouthed, my heart rate kicking up a notch. Am I in trouble?

“No,” Hans whispered, cupping his free hand over the speaker. “But I think I am.”

Hans held out the phone again. That time, I took it. Hesitantly.

Holding the little black device up to my ear, I cringed and said, “Hi, Mrs. Oppenheimer,” in my cheeriest voice.

“Hi, BB. How are you, my dear?” Her voice was soft and warm, her accent definitely German. I liked her instantly.

“I’m great, thanks. How’s your trip so far?”

“Eet’s been vonderful. My husband is going a little—how do you say?—stir-crazy. But ve are having a very nice time. Ze Grand Canyon vas my favorite.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” I replied, shrugging at Hans.

“BB, I need your help vid somezing. It seems as zough my son forgot to pay ze mortgage and utilities at ze end of ze month. Do you sink you could help him vid zat?”

I stifled a laugh and looked at Hans, who was smiling guiltily. “Sure, Mrs. Oppenheimer. What do I need to do?”

“Oh, please. Call me Helga.”

Helga walked me through where to find her checkbook, how to pay the mortgage, electricity, water, gas, cable, and phone bills, informed me about the food allowance, and even put me in charge of watering her plants. She did not tell me I could drive her brand-new BMW Z3 convertible, but she also didn’t tell me I couldn’t.

By the time I got off the phone, I was an honorary estate manager. But, more importantly, I was Helga Oppenheimer’s personal hero.

“Dude, your mom fucking loves me,” I bragged, pressing the End button and handing the phone back to Hans.

“I fucking love you,” he said, shoving the device into his pocket. “You done in here yet? I miss you.” Hans’s bottom lip poked out a little bit in a genuine pout.

“I miss you, too.” I wanted to grab his ears and kiss a smile back onto his pitiful face, but I had to stay strong. “I just have so much fucking homework tonight. I’m sorry, baby. I have to know the artist, year, and original location for, like, fifty paintings by tomorrow. And”—I walked over to the Oppenheimers’ solid cherry California-king sleigh bed and picked up the VHS tape that had tumbled out of my backpack—“I still have to watch this movie for my film class and somehow squeeze in a shower.”

I tossed the movie back onto the bed in exasperation as Hans crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.

“Can I help?” he asked, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“Really?” I spoke into his chest as he ran a firm hand down my back. Hans didn’t do it lightly anymore. Now, he knew I was ticklish. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“What if we do all of it at the same time?”

“What? How?” I grimaced up at his handsome, hopeful face.

Hans tipped his head toward the ostentatious mahogany entertainment console facing the foot of the bed. “What if I hook the TV up in the bathroom? Then we can study, in the tub, while we watch the movie.”

I beamed at his brilliance. “And I thought boys weren’t supposed to be able to multitask.”

Hans laughed. “I’m so ADD, all I do is multitask.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just called getting distracted in the middle of what you were—”

“Shh.” Hans placed a callused fingertip over my lips and whispered, “Multitasking.”

Goddamn, he was adorable.

While Hans set up the TV, I went outside to smoke a much-needed study-break cigarette. When I got back, after having my retinas scarred by whatever sick Japanese porno Trip, Baker, and Kevin were watching in the living room, the scene in the bathroom rendered me speechless. This wasn’t a please don’t let this be a dream moment. This was an I’ve officially died and gone to heaven moment. I didn’t want to be dead, but if being dead meant I could climb into that candlelit garden tub with that tattooed, hard-bodied bass player, I would have tap-danced to the executioner’s block.

Hans pressed play on Everyone Says I Love You and turned toward me, his proud smile falling away as soon as he saw my face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head, trying to tell him that nothing was wrong, but the tears threatening to spill from my eyes said otherwise.

“Come here, baby.” Hans’s voice sounded like leather, smooth and warm and strong, as he took a step toward me with his arms spread.

I folded into him on contact, trying to press my very cells into his pores. Much like his house, I wondered if I would ever get used to the beauty that was Hans himself. His thoughtful acts of kindness continually caught me off guard, reopening the poorly healed wounds of my past at every turn.

I hadn’t realized that no one had ever bought me flowers until I came home from work and almost tripped over a dozen red roses waiting for me in the foyer. It hadn’t occurred to me that no one had ever bothered to take me on a real date until I saw Hans standing outside of a Georgia Dome restroom, holding a stuffed monster truck. And there, staring at a whirlpool tub illuminated by candles and a cozy Woody Allen movie, I realized that I’d never experienced romance at all.

I’d given myself away to assholes, and now Hans was left holding nothing but the wrapper.

“You okay?” he asked, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my messy, bleach-blonde head.

I nodded into his chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head and sniffled.

Hans ran his hand—firm, not gentle—down my back. “You wanna get in the tub and tell me which one of the Ninja Turtles painted the Sistine Chapel?”

I snorted a little laugh and said, “Michelangelo.”

“He’s the one who’s always eating pizza, right?”

I nodded again.

“He’s my favorite.”

I squeezed Hans tighter. “Mine too.” I sniffled into his T-shirt. “Sorry I’m such a little bitch. I just…I fucking love you so much, it makes me cry, and I’m not even a crier.” I laughed in embarrassment, releasing him with one hand to wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm.

“I feel the exact same way.” Hans’s voice was choked with emotion. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down against the side of my head, and he took a steadying breath. “Last night, after we finished rehearsing in the basement, I came upstairs and found you asleep on my side of the bed. I don’t know why, but I…I just sat down and cried.”

“Oh my God, baby.” I looked up at Hans’s hard face, unable to hide all the softness inside. “You should have woken me up.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up slightly as he shook his head. “No. You looked so beautiful, so tiny in that huge bed. I couldn’t wake you up. I couldn’t even process it. You know? That something so perfect had been waiting up for me. I felt like the biggest piece of shit and the luckiest bastard on earth, all at the same time.”

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Lucky.

Every word he spoke fluttered into my ears, lit up the darkened, self-critical corners of my mind, and attached itself to my heart like a bandage, healing me from the outside in. I pushed up onto my tiptoes to kiss the source of those words but was met with an unexpected obstacle.

When I looked down at the bulge between us, then up into guilty gray-blue eyes, a smile split my face. “Hans!” I giggled, smacking him on the chest.

“What?” He shrugged, both dimples on full display.

“You get emotional boners. Do you know how fucking cute that is?”

If his cheeks hadn’t been covered in three days’ worth of stubble, I’m sure they would have been bright pink. “Kinda ruins the mood.” He chuckled as I unbuckled his belt. Even on my tiptoes, Hans had to bend down to meet my expectant kiss.

Unfastening his pants, I took him in my hands and whispered, “I love you,” against his parted lips.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered back, his cock swelling in agreement against my palms.

“I love you, too,” I cooed at it, bending over to kiss its smiling head.

Hans let out a tiny moan, and I suddenly knew exactly what I could do for him. What I could give him in return for all that he’d done for me.

I didn’t stand back up to resume our make-out session. I sank to my knees instead. The tile felt cool under my bare shins—all I was wearing was a thin tank top and a pair of Hans’s boxer shorts—but the soft candlelight, the flirty banter between Drew Barrymore and Edward Norton, and the flesh beneath my tongue were velvety and warm. I took my time, knowing with absolute certainty—and for possibly the first time in my life—that I had nowhere better to go and nothing better to do.

I had arrived.

Long, rough fingers wove themselves into my choppy hair as I slowly worshipped Hans’s manhood with my tongue. My lips. My hands.

“Fuck,” he hissed, gripping my head. Hans’s hips began to thrust slightly, and his entire body tensed.

He was holding back; I could tell. He wanted to fuck my mouth, but he was too big, and I was too inexperienced.

Or so he thought.

I gripped his hips with both hands and looked up at him from under my lashes. Hans was watching me. Night had fallen, and the room was now shrouded in darkness, but his eyes burned like blue flames. I’d forgotten how villainous he looked when he wasn’t smiling. How intense. There was another side to Hans that I hadn’t seen yet; I could feel it.

Goose bumps raced down my arms as I took him all the way to my throat, letting him know that he didn’t need to hold back.

He couldn’t break me.

He wouldn’t.

Hans held my tear-streaked stare as he tested my resolve, taking control, guiding my movements. I dug my nails into his hips as he pumped into my mouth, each thrust a little deeper, each withdrawal a little less restrained. I gagged and wrapped my right hand around the base of his dick, holding on for dear life yet encouraging him to continue. Just as I felt his cock stiffen in my fist, Hans pulled away.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, running a hand through his tousled black hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I smiled with swollen lips at my flustered boyfriend, his angry cock jutting out of his open jeans. We stared at each other, eyes wide, chests heaving, then, at the exact same time, we both looked over at the bathtub.

Tearing our clothes off, Hans and I scrambled into the now room-temperature water. With the touch of a button, eight powerful jets roared to life, turning the serene basin into a hurricane of stimulation. Hans sat with his back against the far side of the oval to allow room for his long, muscular legs. I went to straddle him but was stopped by two strong hands around my hips.

“No, baby. Turn around.”

My heart crashed in my chest almost as hard as the rapids breaking on the surface of the water as I did what I’d been told, standing back up and turning away from him, slowly. Two massive hands palmed my bare ass, kneading the only ample part of my body. I held my breath as Hans parted my flesh and gasped in surprise when I felt his tongue slide along the seam. It started at the front.

And ended at the back.

My knees almost buckled when he did it again. Releasing my ass with one hand but continuing his sweet torture, Hans slid his palm up my lower back and pressed forward until I bent at the waist for him. I gripped the edge of the bathtub in front of me with both hands and whimpered as he lavished me with his mouth. Nothing was off-limits to Hans. He wanted all of me, and I was more than willing to let him have it.

Sweet, sucking kisses gave way to long, torturous licks.

Kneading hands turned into curious fingers.

Curious fingers filled me, becoming slippery fingers.

Slippery fingers massaged the place no one had ever touched before.

A warm, flicking tongue followed them there.

A trail of desire flowed down the inside of my thigh.

My mouth watered.

Stubble like sandpaper scratched my tender, oversensitive flesh.

An eager tongue filled the place where I was aching.

Hans’s thumb, slick with a combination of my lust and his saliva, teased my puckered flesh as he fucked me with his tongue. I arched my back and pushed against it, begging for more with my posture. I’d had no idea anything could feel that good. There were so many sensations all building at once that, when Hans finally gave me what I wanted, when he pressed against my tight little ring and filled me in a completely new way, my core spasmed on contact.

A strangled cry began to climb its way out of my throat, but before it could escape, Hans withdrew, wrapped both hands around my hips, and pulled me into the roiling, chaotic water with him.

With my back against his front, Hans kissed me sideways as he groped me with his hands and filled me with his impossibly hard shaft, allowing me no time to adjust as he pumped into me from underneath.

He swallowed my cries as I came, my insides clenching and clawing at him, struggling to accommodate his size but wanting more all the same. I gripped the sides of the bathtub and bit his lip as the hurricane we were dancing in passed through me and into Hans. Once the fury inside me began to subside, Hans wrapped both arms around my ribs, lifted his hips, and filled me to the hilt with a curse and a kiss.

Water splashed over the edge of the tub and onto my backpack as we fell back down to earth.

Hans kept his arms around me and tucked his stubbled chin into the crook of my neck. I pressed my cheek against his temple and smiled, completely content, perfectly at peace for possibly the first time in my life. People were singing and dancing on the glowing TV, but I didn’t pay them any attention. I was floating in my love bubble built for two.

Until it popped.

Until the dark thoughts crept in, like spiders, re-spinning their webs of doubt in the dusty corners of my mind.

No one will ever top this. Do you realize that?

You will never be happier than you are right now. And you’re only seventeen.

You’re so fucked.

Hans just ruined the rest of your life. All eighty-three years of it. Shot to hell.

You’ve only been together a month, and you already can’t live without him.

What are you going to do if he leaves you like Knight did? If he cheats on you like Harley?

You’ll fucking die; that’s what.

So you’re looking at a life of suckage or death.

Congratulations.

“Hans?”

“Mmhmm?”

“That was…” Intense. Transcendent. Life-ruining. “I mean, nobody’s ever…” Loved me like this. “I…” Can’t lose you.

“I know, baby,” Hans murmured into the tender flesh behind my ear, reading my wayward thoughts. “I know.”

Hans and I snuggled deeper into the pulsing lukewarm water. Over the din of the jets and the thrumming of my racing heart, I began to make out the unmistakable sound of bad singing. Looking up at the television glowing on the counter, I saw Tim Roth, aggressively serenading a very posh Drew Barrymore while dressed like some kind of vagabond.

“It’s a fucking musical?” I spat.

Hans snorted. “Are you serious? It’s almost over.”

“It’s so bad,” I marveled.

“Yeah. It’s fucking terrible,” Hans agreed.

“We should go put it on in the living room and make Trip watch it as payback for the bukkake porn I walked in on earlier.”

“Oh shit!” He burst out laughing. “Trip busted out the bukkake! Are you gonna be okay?”

“No. I’m fucking traumatized. All I see when I close my eyes is—”

Hans lifted his hand and pressed a wet finger to my lips. “Shh. You’re safe now.”

I giggled and kissed the callused pad, feeling the weight of that statement settle into my bones.

“You’re safe now.”

For a moment, I almost believed him.