Larona guides me towards a salon chair and ushers me to take a seat. She takes her place behind the chair and runs her fingers through it, snagging on the knots embedded in my golden curls. She replaces her fingers with a brush and comb.

"I have strict instructions to 'not make you look ridiculous'," Larona laughs. "The things that man has said about you in the past week is remarkable, I must say. It's like he doesn't trust me, when in reality, I'm magnificent at what I do."

"Thomas said that?"

"Who else?" Larona's fingers harshly tug at a knot. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

"Well..." I stop myself. Should I be honest with her? A stranger? "I hardly know him, and I don't even know what Thomas does. What even is his business?"

Larona pauses. "You mean he hasn't told you?"

I shake my head, which causes Larona to curse at me to keep my head still. "He always dances around the subject," I mutter.

"Well, I'll shed some light for you, but don't you fucking dare tell Thomas that I'm the one you heard it from, got it, sweetheart?"

"Got it. Lips are sealed."

"Perfect," she says as he begins to weave braids into my hair. "I'll just start at the beginning for ya, or is that too far back?"

"I'm not sure where the beginning is."

She huffs. "So I began this shithole salon when I was twenty-two with Thomas' father, Winston Smyth, as the landlord, only on the agreement that my salon would be apart of his greater, er, enterprise." Even she doesn't know what to call it, which unnerves me a little. "Anyways, I always used to give his mama, Scarlett, free haircuts—which then just turned into me styling her hair on the daily. She was such a sweetheart, way too good for Winston."

"What's this have to do with Thomas?"

"Fine. I'll skip a few steps. Two years after I met his parents, Scarlett got pregnant and gave birth to Thomas, and then another two years later had Levi, and then another two years later had Madeline—"

"Thomas has a sister?" I ask.

"Had. Madeline and Scarlett were both killed in a stabbing."

What the hell.

"Thomas was six at the time," Larona continues. "And his father was devastated. Nearly ruined him, and that's when Winston decided it was time to expand his line of work, and not necessarily in the most chivalrous of ways. You see, before Scarlett and Madeline's death, the type of business his family was involved in can be compared to Robin Hood. Steal from the rich; give to the poor. The Smyth's themselves were quite wealthy because of this, but they never flaunted it, and they certainly helped a girl out from time to time when money became low."

"And what is it like now?"

"Winston vowed to get revenge on those who tore apart his family, and that has a lot to do with those who want the land the Smyth family owns. Which is more than you think," Larona finishes the braid. "Since that day, there've been two families on their radar."

"The Leveque's and the Patton's," I breathe.

"The Leveque's control the communications within the city, and the Patton's own a fuck-ton of real estate. Thomas' father, or I guess Thomas now, owns this neighborhood and keeps our businesses alive by keeping the whole Robin Hood charade going, but he still wants to avenge his father, mother, and sister's death—oh! I'm just about finished!"

Like at the snap of fingers, Larona seems to forget that she was ever babbling on about Thomas' past, but it's enough to give me a glimpse into that private life of his. The information she gave me—it's not well known, almost secretive.

The work I'm doing is shady, but it's only a product of bad blood that's been boiling between these families for years.

No wonder Thomas is out for Cato, yet I'm not sure why.

Larona spins the chair around so I can face the mirror. "How do you like it?"

The world stops as I gaze at myself. My fingers caress the golden curls that cascade down my back and shoulders in streams of honey, while a crown of braids wraps around my head. The reflection I face isn't one of a lowly servant.

I'm beautiful.

Larona snatches a palette of powder. "Now, time for cosmetics—"

"No!" I wince as powder puffs up into the air.

Larona backs away, raising her brow questionably.

"I saw Evelyn's makeup for the gala, and she looked terrifying. I don't want to look like that."

She laughs at this. "You won't, sweetheart. Just trust me."

As she powders my face and glosses my lips, my mind drifts back to Thomas' complicated history. Dead father. Dead mother. Dead sister. It's clear Thomas is more powerful than I thought, and maybe my assumption of him being 'king of the streets' isn't far off. Something isn't adding up about their situation. It's not like the Leveque's or the Patton's killed his family, right? And what's so important about the land he owns that makes him a target?

There's a knocking at the door. "Dress delivery!"

A woman wanders in carrying one of the most elegant crimson dresses. It's silk, smooth like velvet, and even I can catch the slit in the skirt as she carries it over to a nearby table. I try to imagine wearing something so elegant, but I shouldn't have to imagine long, because that dress is mine.

She sets it down on the counter and kisses Larona on the cheek. Larona blushes. "Maureen, I want you to meet Rina, my wife."

Rina studies my newly painted face, just as I study hers. Her deep black hair is tied back in a sleek ponytail, accentuating her tight facial features. "I see now why Thomas is so uptight about her."

Larona grunts. "Tell me about it."

"She's a fucking bombshell."

I blush, but not because of the compliments these women give me, but because of Thomas. They keep mentioning him, his past and his desire to make sure my every need is accounted for. My mind travels to all those times he opened up my passenger door, to his need to block me from the sight of others, to the way his voice deepens when he calls me daffodil...

Larona smiles at me as she lowers the mascara. "Now all that's left is the dress."

I strip out of my maid's dress, while both Larona and Rina help slip me into the new one. The fabric smooths against my skin, cold at contact, but soft at the touch. It hugs my chest and curves and cascades to the floor in silk waterfalls. A slit in the skirt cuts from the floor to my upper thigh, exposing my delicate skin. It's elegant, yet seductive; a perfect recipe to seduce Cato.

Larona crosses her arms, a smug look of satisfaction on her face. "She's just proof we don't need some famous designer to make a girl look good, right?"

"Even the designers are a little out to lunch sometimes," Rina mumbles.

"The last time I bothered to check the runways, someone was walking down in a dress made of old tires," Larona shakes her head. "This is how a woman should look."

I feel breathless at my new appearance. How can this be me? This version of me that faces back in the mirror is the face of a seductress, not the servant that I am. The only evidence of my past life is the rough skin on my knuckles. They've been healing since I quit the hospital, and they no longer require bandages.

Rina nudges my arm. "Don't worry. We have gloves for you to wear to hide your fingers. Nobody will know."

Nobody will see the scars, the chapped skin, the scabbed knuckles.

Nobody will see the truth.

But I will.

A knock on the door echoes through the room. Thomas enters in without anyone giving him permission. My head swings over to a nearby clock, catching the time as only six o'clock.

He stops in his tracks.

Those blue eyes spark, widening into two breathtaking oceans as he gazes upon my transformation. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I'm sure my blush matches the deepness of my dress. Or Thomas' tie. It's now I realize that we were organized to match.

"Larona, Rina..." Thomas keeps his eyes on me. "Get the fuck out of the room."

"We're not done with her—"

"Get out. Now."

The order sends a chill through me, but the heat sparking in Thomas' blue eyes only combusts the longer his gaze waivers. The door latches shut behind him, a sound so stark compared to my desperate breathing. My heart beats heavier, harder, almost as if it needs another heart against it to function properly.

With every slow step he takes towards me, he removes an article of clothing. First the crooked tie around his neck, then the jacket of his suit. The closer he comes, I note his intricacies. The blank ink of his tattoos can almost be seen the fabric of his white collared shirt, a shirt that fits his muscles so well.

There's a magnetic pull drawing me towards him—like a moth to a flame.

This man will burn me.

"Thomas—" but I never get to say more than his name. Even the utter became a barrier in his way, an obstacle that attempts to keep his lips away from mine.

But here we are. Mouths connected in a kiss so rash.

At once, we become reckless.

Calloused hands grasp my waist as he lifts me up onto the table, fingers sifting through the silk fabric, but he refuses to keep them still. With every kiss, he covets an affection deeper than the moment before. I part my lips, my hands knotting in his dirty blonde hair, and his tongue invades my mouth. A soft moan rumbles from the back of his throat as his touch drifts down from my hair, down to my chest.

"Thomas—"

Thomas breaks the kiss, his fiery blue eyes observing his hand against my breast. He gently kneads it through my red dress, although his other hand begins to remove the thin straps until I'm top bare. The cold air of the room brushes against my skin.

The cold air gets replaced by the hot needy breaths escaping Thomas as he tastes a pulse point in my neck. He leaves his mark—evidence of nips and bites that should send a message out to any man that glances my way tonight that I am claimed.

It's like Thomas never wants me to fulfill my job as a seductress.

Pleasure and pain wave through me as his lips drop lower from my neck to my breasts. He sets his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. His lips ravish over my chest.

"Thomas," his name escapes me in a flurry of pants.

He lifts his head and presses his lips to my ear, murmuring a soft 'shhh' against me. My body melts at the sound, obedient at his every command.

"I'm not done with you yet, daffodil," he growls hungrily.

Thomas hikes the red dress up so that no fabric covers my lower half, and pushes my thighs wide open. I only lace my fingers into his shirt and pull him closer. My palm runs over his back, and I feel the gun concealed beneath his clothes.

This should scare me, but the danger of him enthralls me.

He digs his thumbs into my thighs as he steadies his grip. His hands venture upwards, grazing his knuckles against the apex of my thigh.

When his fingertips brush against the spot of arousal growing on my panties, I know I can't hide my need for him much longer.

Sometime about this man drives me crazy—his cocky smirk, his stubborn attitude, his almost dominating nature against everyone in his syndicate.

But when it comes to me, all cards fly off the table and burn in our fire.

He kisses the corner of my parted lips as a soft moan escapes me. His thumbs lace into the band of my panties, tugging them down my legs.

He chuckles, the sound deep enough to make me squirm. "When everyone at the gala sees you, just remember that I was yours first."

He lifts his blue eyes, raising his brows. I nod my head, then turn my attention to my panties in his hand. He stashes them in his pocket.

"You're not getting these back."

"I need them."

"Nobody will know," he whispers as he places soft kisses on my lips. He begins his descent downward, his mouth now parted wide on my neck.

I run my hands down his chest, playing with a few buttons at the top and loosening them, until my touch drifts lower, and lower. My fingertips brush over his erection. He's hard, almost pulsing through the fabric of his tuxedo pants. He smirks against my skin, eliciting a moan he once tried to restrain.

He takes my hands back and dips to his knees, his lips delivering featherlight kisses against my inner thigh. He disappears beneath the crimson silk skirt of my dress.

"May I?" he breathes.

"Yes."

His lips graze over my folds, tantalizing me before a hot exhale of his breath seeps deep into my core. The next I feel is his mouth against me, then tongue inside of me. Gods, he's tasting me. I never knew why a man would want to put his mouth down there but now I know. Tension builds between my thighs, a pressure wound up by each movement of his skilled mouth.

I tangle my fingers into his hair with a quivering moan, jutting my hips softly to meet him. My head kicks back as the pressure within me rises, and all I demand is him to wind me up to a release.

He gives one last flick of his tongue against my clit, before pulling away slightly. He exhales another hot breath. "Fuck," there's a quiver to the curse, before he continues to ravish me.

Pleasure builds, and I try to cling onto any restraint I have, but Thomas longs to see me dip over the edge.

"Thomas—!!!"

I fall into a frantic bliss.

A man has never given me an orgasm before.

"Oh daffodil," his low voice growls tenderly, as his lips place soft kisses on my thigh as my orgasm settles.

He stands up, licking his glistening lips as he savors the taste of me. I sheepishly fix my dress, lowering it so it covers my legs and pantyless bottom. He cages me within his arms as he places them on the table.

My eyes drift downward to his obvious hard-on. He notices my wandering gaze, and then my shy hands that trace along the seams of his pants.

"Let me please you," I whisper, although I'm not sure how. I'm inexperienced, never even touched a man like this in my life. Yet, I have a feeling Thomas would never run.

He takes my wrist and guides my touch away before I can undo his pants. He kisses my lips, and I taste remnants of myself on them.

"You have pleased me enough," he whispers against me, "but when I take you home tonight, you will be in my bed, and I will be at your mercy."

Heat rushes through me, but Thomas keeps me steady, kissing anything but my heavily panting lips. Even I know he likes to hear my desperation for him.

Suddenly, the door swings open. "Thomas, are you done talking with her—what the fuck!?"

Thomas' blue eyes swing over to Larona, who blushes with embarrassment at the sight of Thomas and I. I fix my dress, but Thomas' erection is still quite noticeable through his trousers.

Larona sets her hands on her hips. "And what do you think you're doing there, pretty boy?"

Thomas recollects himself with a boyish grin. He wipes his lips, then gathers his tuxedo jacket, holding it in his arms in such a way that it hides the obvious.

"You might have to touch-up her makeup."

"Thomas!"

He sneaks past her, then shuts the door before she can question him further.

━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━

There you have it, folks! Thomas & Maureen's first kiss (+ many more firsts)!

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Updated August 21, 2022.