I eat the most amazing dinner of my life. It seems unreal that food so exquisitely explosive on my tastebuds can exist in the world. Then I remember it’s a different world from the one I know.

Whenever I get stuck, with the cutlery or whatever else - such as I have never even seen an artichoke let alone know how to eat one - Hopper helps me. Without words, he purposefully picks up the correct fork or detaches one of the pointed leaves from the vegetal green grenade they set in front of me. Thank fuck for his tuition because eyebrows hit the ceiling as I went to grab a knife and fork to attack the spiny creature. There’s a line up of seven wine glasses in front of me too.

“Jesus, I mean why can’t they just pour the booze into the same glass and save the poor dishwasher so much work,” I lean in to whisper in Hopper’s ear.

He laughs out loud and that attracts a sudden silence at our table and those close to us. As though they’ve never seen the guy laugh before or some shit. I make it my mission then to be as funny for Hopper as possible. Maybe his life really is too serious, all that money-making responsibility. All these uptight people concerned about how everything looks. One thing I know how to do is take a carefree attitude to life and see the humorous side. I don’t think I could have kept going through all the shit I’ve been through without that to slide back on.

After the dinner, there’s a first dance ritual thing for the couple and then we’ll get to go home. Hopper takes my hand and knowing he’s had enough, I figure we’re heading for the safety of our backseat. My heart kind of sinks that I have to separate from him soon, my fantasy day is over. And worse, I’m going to go back to my Russian-infested hole.

But as we pass along the side of the dancefloor, Hopper tugs on my arms so I twirl around and go slamming up against his amazing chest wall. He pulls me into his arms and maneuvers me mostly with his hips, in among the crowd.

Oh god, it feels so good to be held in his arms, my body molding to his hard mounds and ridges. I could stay there forever. I tentatively put my palms up on his shoulders, feeling the eyes on us still all around.

Fuck it. Let’s give them a show.

My hands continue sliding up and around the back of his neck, curling into the hair at the nape. It’s softer than I expected and feels unbelievably intimate – a place no one else would touch. Unless they belonged to him. And he to them.

Hopper must feel the same because he pulls me tighter into him with his biceps. The softer I caress the back of his neck, the harder he encircles me in his hold. We’re skin to skin like lining in coat and my heart starts skittering around in my ribcage. My tits mangle against his abs and I’m stunned my how hard chiseled they are. I can make out every ridge crushing into my flesh and it sends sparkles of white light falling through my core straight to my pussy. His hand wraps around and around the fall of hair down my back and he tugs slowly, just enough until I’m looking up at him. His eyes are full of heated lust.

Again I feel his hunger for me bulging into my hip and this time I don’t pull away like a silly girl. I know Hopper wants me and my body is making it clear I want him too. I’m not a prim miss that has to act untouchable.

Can the criminal justice system dictate and control my body like I’m their handmaid? If I want some pleasure this summer then why not take it? My confidence has expanded enormously from learning so much today. I can only imagine what else Hopper Grady could teach me. I’m starting to yearn to find out.

I lay my cheek against his shoulder and suck at the air, trying to calm my racing heart without much success. We’re a pair of pulsating, throbbing beings, clinging to each other as we sway between other couples in the midst of a swanky party. It’s all so unreal. But a living dream is much preferable to a living nightmare so I let myself go with it. Everyone surrounding us melts away, probably from the heat that rises between Hopper and I.

I’m about to melt and drown in the lust flooding through me. If Hopper’s arms weren’t holding me so firmly, I might end up in a pool around his feet. How is it possible to want so hard? So urgently. I feel like I won’t, can’t, take my next breath if he doesn’t strip me naked and slide between my soaked thighs right now.

When the song ends way too soon, our reverie tapers away instantly and we’re back in the harsh light of a society crowd who I’m sure are staring at us. Eyes flick at us and away then back again, no doubt incredulous at how a girl like me managed to lure a man like gorgeous Hopper Grady.

“Let’s get out of here,” he hisses against my head.

Did he just inhale the scent of my hair? Damn I wish I had something better than that cheap drugstore shampoo at the halfway house. All the sparkle dampens like rain on fireworks when the thought of that place rushes up at me.

Without waiting for my agreement, Hopper takes my hand and leads me across the large ballroom. While I usually hate being led around helplessly, for obvious reasons, with Hopper as my captor I love being so safely guarded.

Henry must have a sixth sense regarding his boss because he pulls up in front of the house just as we run down the steps, laughing at our escape. I cannot wait to climb into the back seat, almost as large as my tiny single room at the place I call home and a thousand times more luxurious, with its own lacquered refrigerator.

“One day I’m going to beg you to let me live right here in your car,” I laugh when Hopper gets in beside me.

He frowns at that and I can’t imagine how that would have upset him. He looks away as he opens a new bottle of champagne. Although I’m not supposed to be drinking, I do. I’m nervous at his sudden chill and it’s a bit late now for remembering my parole rules. I really want this night to last longer. I want to get back to how Hopper were at the reception. Laughing, chatting about life and the stiffies around us, and most of all I want more of the electricity Hopper turns on in my body.

He takes my hand in his but we ride back to the city quietly, sipping our champagne deep in thought. After the charged connection we shared various times through the day, I’d really been expecting him to throw me back on the seat and take me at last. Instead he sits with my hand in his as though he’s got a thousand things on his mind.

It’s not an awkward silence, I could ride around beside him like this and be content always. But my body is thounding with the need to feel his hands all over me. My breasts needing to be pressed into his chest set up an agony of lascivious hunger for his palms crushing them and tweaking the agonized points.

We ride all the way into Manhattan, hand-in-hand and I assume he’s taking me to his place. Or I assume part of the time and then I doubt he’s ever going to want to see me again. His sudden ice-fall makes me more anxious.

When we stop, it’s not outside his brownstone, but a glass tower close to his office skyscraper.

I climb out without a word, too numb from drinking and lust to protest or question him. The doorman greets us and we ride up in the elevator.

Hopper leads me down a plush hallway and unlocks a door labeled 2001.

Inside is a small but absolutely gorgeous loft apartment, kitted out with everything and with a high big bed in an adjoining room. I’m drawn instantly to the wall of windows and look out on the view of the city and Liberty in the distance.

“Is this your secret sex den?” I ask, wondering why he’s still so silent.

“No, it’s yours,” he gruffs out, laying the keys on the curved glass console.

“What do you mean mine? I can’t afford this.”

The rent on this place would suck up my fifty thousand in less than a year.

“Call it a bonus,” he says, not looking at me.

“What is this place?” I inquire.

“Just an investment property. If you don’t like it here, I have others but this is closest to the office. I use it when I can’t be bothered to go up to my house.”

My fantasies of ever seeing that have been eradicated. No way I’m ever going to be taken to Hopper’s house, the secret hideaway. How amazing it must be and would be to slide into what I’m sure is a huge bed with exquisite smooth sheets.

“Is something wrong? Did I mess up your swanky event?” I ask, suddenly feeling alone in the way he’s abandoned our connection.

“No you were perfect,” he mutters. He checks the refrigerator and I note there are supplies for a whole family in there. Then he checks the locks on the doors.

“Is this some kind of safe house,” I ask, desperately wanting to see him laugh again like earlier.

“It will be yours,” he grits out. “I don’t want you living at that dumpy den of thieves.”

Before I can reply he pulls back the door, says good night and “make sure to lock this after me,” and vanishes.