I didn't plan to post THIS chapter on premiere day... worked out rather nicely, though.

A compound thought to relatively unreactive merely requires the correct catalyst. In this case, dessert. Or, the one where we (hopefully) earn the rating. .


Solvent


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Wednesday

Jefferson stayed far too late and Gold struggled to haul himself from the divot in his bed the following morning. Even so, as tired as he was, this was the answer. It had to be. Anytime you could kill two birds with one stone, you do it and you don't look back.

Belle would have to be pleased; she'd have her business in the location she'd chosen, and he would be one step closer to getting that building back. It was perfect; the deal was made and paid in the same sweep of his pen, and no one really had to be the wiser, provided they didn't look too carefully at the fine print.

Jefferson would have the papers submitted by noon, the payments would be arranged by three, and the machinery of commerce would be engaged by the end of the work day. By Thursday, all parties would be aware, and come Friday the deal would be complete. He could plan for his son's birthday visit to take custody of his holdings knowing that he had secured his full inheritance. Instead of trying to cobble together a comparable value in other holdings over the few months he had left, he could do his best to be a man that Bae might actually want to see again afterwards.

The coffee tasted especially good that morning, and he was getting the hang of drinking from a cup with a chip in it. He even had time to finish his second cup, though he did pause when he realized his lips were all over the edge of the cup where she'd held it. Where the hands that had touched his neck and cheek had rested so tenderly.

He would see her tonight. The prospect had him fidgeting with his tie and checking his shoes for scuffs. As much as he was looking forward to seeing her without the need for an excuse, prop, or appointment, he couldn't shake the feeling that he might be over stepping. Maybe it was wrong to seek her out when the argument could be made that he'd just paid for her.

Absolutely not. Business was one thing, personal feelings were another. They were two different things for him, and that fact that her ex was incapable of that meant he was a boy, not a man.

A sharp thump to the floor set his feet in motion. He still had his shop and interests to see to for the day.

Graham was in the lobby, watching the quiet street. "Construction's come to a screeching halt, and I don't think a water main had anything to do with it."

Gold smirked. "Don't worry. I have a feeling that things are about to pick up again. Any news?"

"My friends tell me that the joint account has been accessed. No purchases have been made yet, though." Graham was quiet. "It's been more than a year since it's been touched. Do you think something is going to happen?"

The stern look on Gold's face ended the conversation. "Of course, sir. I'll tell them to just keep an eye on it. Have a good day."

On his way to the shop, the clacking of heels from behind him grew louder and he sighed. "Regina, if you want to talk, just say so." He slowed and the clacking came to his side.

"I'm sorry Mr. Gold. I just wanted to tell you that I've got news on my little problem." Regina held up her phone and peered at the screen. "It seems the tenant has come through with the money after all."

"Has she?" He inclined his head in an invitation for more.

"Yes, it must have happened quickly because it's a third party interest. I'm presuming that it must be family or a friend because there are no restrictions on the money, just a payment structured into the rental agreement. That's all I have so far, but Sidney has the rest of it and I've got to meet with him to hear the rest."

"I'm sorry to hear that your mother won't get to claw the tenant's eyes out. She was so looking forward to it."

Regina scoffed. "Don't listen to her. She just wanted to be sure we had something in the space for as long as possible. I just set it up to make it happen. Just like you taught."

The handle of Gold's cane cut into his hand. He felt a knuckle pop and eased off. "I didn't teach you this."

Regina's face fell, and then hardened. "Bullshit. The only restriction you ever had was to avoid breaking a strictly explicit law, and even then just don't get caught." A flicker in her eyes sparked with a predatory sheen. "You never even minded playing rough when things didn't go your way, or is Mr. Killian Jones's crooked hand genetic?"

"That's enough. You don't even know what you're talking about." He raised his cane and nudged her aside with the handle. "If you're done spouting your ignorance, dearie, I'd like to get to my shop." He smiled with all his teeth. "Please."

Regina backed off, suddenly smaller and looking more like the girl he'd first met years ago. She liked wearing her mother's clothes then to make herself look important. A young woman, who was once so promising, was now just a waste of talent in a power suit.

When parents went wrong, it was the children who suffered.

When he reached the shop he had to calm down, and spent the first half hour putting the shop into order for the day. Then, not expecting much business, he sat down with the collection of enamel pieces he'd been waiting to work on and began making plans.

Only two customers that morning, and they both were in and out in a matter of a few minutes, having come only days before. The drag on his time was minimal and by the time his lunch break came around, he had plans for nearly all the pieces and would start them the following week. They would be perfect to practice on before he tackled the egg.

Business wrapped quickly at lunch, and mostly consisted of making sure Jefferson had everything ready, and the payments were prepared to move. The money necessary to cover Belle's deposits was hardly more than pocket change but, as he was aware, it wasn't the amount of money that mattered, it was the position and impact.

Hard won lessons were always the best remembered.

When he was sure all was right, he stopped to visit Marco.

"Mr. Gold! Come into my office, my friend."

Gold sat at the spare table that Marco used to unroll building plans and schematics. The tall drafting chair was easy to get in and out of. "I'm pleased that you have done so well with the updates in the last few apartments. I want you to select one of the current vacant units and propose a complete remodel. Take a free hand and tell me what you come up with."

Marco breathed out softly. "And, crews?"

"Whatever men you would need. Just have a rough estimate. My buildings have always done well, and I have every intention of keeping it that way. We haven't remodeled on a major scale in over fifteen years. It's time." Gold stood and tapped his fingertips on the desk. "And, if your son wishes to join you, he is most welcome… conditionally."

"Of course. Thank you." Marco knew the rules, and had abided by them since being hired. His drinking had to stop. There could be no question as to the quality of work or the soundness of his judgment when it came to Mr. Gold's property. Marco stood to see Gold out of the office. "And, have you heard anything from your son?"

Gold smiled. "He checked the balance on our joint account. If he had any doubts about the lucrative birthday he's about to have, they're gone now." He gazed down at his shoes, buffed to a soft sheen in the drafting lights. "Now I have to see if he'll buy a plane ticket."

Marco seized his hand and half shook, half clasped it. "He must. He must come. He will."

At five o clock, Gold had put up his last work pieces for the night and was beginning to clear away the heavy blend of volatile epoxy he used to repair delicate pieces of ceramic. It took several components; each had to be mixed in order, applied, and set in a warm oven for a few days to properly cure the repair. The bottles each had to be cleaned with more pungent solvent to prevent the caps from sticking and sealing shut from an errant dribble.

There was a rustle from the shop and the chimes banged against the door. "Nick? It's Belle. I have food, and I hope you're hungry!"

Gold stood and tried to stop her before she barged into the workshop, but as she did, the basket and bag she carried smacked the work table. Before either of them could do anything about it, the solvent bottle had been knocked off the table. It smashed on the floor, filling the air with eye-watering fumes and covering the floor with shards of toxic glass.

"Out, quickly, my dear." He put a hand on her back and grabbed his keys on the way out.

They were both coughing by the time he shut and locked the door behind them. "What… what was that?" Belle managed to say between deep breaths of fresh air.

"That was a fifty-fifty mix of xylene and toluene. A very effective solvent, but quite nasty if you go smashing a half liter bottle of it in an enclosed space."

Belle dropped the basket and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh no. I've destroyed your whole shop, haven't I?"

Gold bent and grabbed the basket handle. "Not likely. I have an excellent air exchange system so all the paintings are fine. However, the wax on the floor will likely have a rather fascinating splash pattern to it in the morning. Which is the soonest I plan on venturing back in there."

Belle adjusted the bag on her shoulder and straightened her sweater coat. "Well, I guess we could picnic. Or eat at my apartment."

"Or," Gold started towards home, looking back at Belle. "We could eat at my place. I'm only a block away." Belle hesitated. "I have actual chairs and tables. I might even be persuaded to brew coffee or tea, as well."

When she laughed, he knew she was coming and warmth spread through his chest and down to his toes. When they got to his building, Graham opened the doors for them. "Graham, I have a dinner guest." It went without saying that there were to be no disruptions.

"Yes, sir."

They ended up passing the dining room table in favor of the living room couch. They chatted as Gold uncorked a bottle of wine and handed Belle a set of plates. She served their dinner and sat on the floor, stretching her legs out and leaning on the couch with her plate on the coffee table. From the kitchen, he watched as her eyes roamed his spaces, lingering over the glass doors of the display cabinets, the mix of artwork on the walls, and his few pieces of fine china scattered on stands.

It made him feel exposed, but she only smiled when he emerged from the kitchen.

When he sat, he poured the wine and handed her a glass. She handed back a plate loaded with tender meat and roasted vegetables. Gold felt odd with her on the floor and him on the couch, but maybe she wasn't comfortable sitting too close to him. "So what brought you to town?"

"Oh, the usual." She said between bites. "I wanted adventure, a new career, and the chance to not inherit my dad's flower shop." Belle rolled her eyes. "Not sure how well the plan is going at the moment."

"Why do you say that?"

"Gary, my ex, refuses to let go of the past. I honestly thought we were old enough act as partners, but that's what happens when your dad gets involved with your relationships, I guess." Belle looked up. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear that."

"No, no. Family is very important." He took a bit of pork and let it melt in his mouth. "So what did your father have to do with it?"

Belle set down her fork and took a long swallow of wine. "My father wants what Gary's family brings to the table. Specifically, money and some connections to more of it." She accepted a refill. "He wants to expand his business and thought I was his ticket. For years, I did, too."

"What changed?"

Without hesitation, Belle replied. "Me." Another drink. "I grew up. I realized that Gary wanted to swoop in and save me, save my family. He didn't actually want me, just the idea of me." She looked ashamed for a moment. "For a long time I thought I wanted that, too, but it turns out I actually want to earn my success on my own. I got my permits, started my own stand, got a few great employees, made a loyal customer base, and scrounged up half the money to make the café. He agreed to front the other half, but I always thought it was separate." She drained her glass. "Stupid me."

"I'm sorry."

She looked up from her plate to nail him with her gaze, disrupting whatever thought he'd had a hold of. "I thought you said you weren't sorry."

Gold sat forward. Bright eyes watched him expectantly and he knew, to his bones, that his words mattered to her. For the first time in a long time, it mattered to him, too.

"I'm not sorry it ended, but I'm very sorry it hurt you." Her skin looked like the finest porcelain, and in the low light her lips had a delicate luster. Before he realized it, he'd stroked her bottom lip with his thumb before snatching his hand back. Her eyes softened and she stood up. For a moment he wondered if he'd overstepped a boundary, but she laid a hand on his shoulder on the way to the kitchen. "I'm going to grab dessert."

She brought just one dish and one spoon and sat in front of him. "It's not much to look at, but trust me, this is good." She dipped the spoon into a mess of white and brown, topped with raspberries, and held it up. He sat forward again, but couldn't reach, so she got up on her knees and scooted forward.

Prickles of want started to nudge at his insides. As if it was as natural to her as breathing, she knelt between his legs and braced herself with a hand on his thigh. It was almost casual, almost like she'd known it was accepted. She still held the spoon, her nerves apparent only by the tremor at the tip.

Deep chocolate was smoothed by cream and brightened by the tang of the berries. His eyes may have rolled to the back of his head for a moment.

"Good?"

He took the spoon and dish and served her a bite. "You tell me." He greedily watched her mouth open and wrap around the spoon. There really was no defense against the way her eyes drifted closed as she worked the flavors around her mouth.

Belle moaned. "God, that's fantastic. Good with the wine, too." She wobbled slightly and took a sip from his glass, her hand slipping from his thigh to the cushion behind him. Her body brushed his as she slid forward, all pretense of a shared sweet falling away as she pressed against his chest.

"I think," Gold took the glass and set it on the coffee table, "You may have had enough to drink, Belle."

"I've had three glasses, and you pour with a light hand, Nick."

"I'm not interested in getting you drunk."

"I'm not interested in being drunk." Belle raised a hand and lightly traced his hairline to his ear. "I don't think I'd need to be."

Gold leaned his head back, getting out of range of her lips which were circling his. "What do you want, Belle? Why are you here?"

She paused. "I'm here because I like you. I'm here because I decided for myself that I was interested in you. And I'm here because I'm doing the brave thing." She leaned forward and put her lips near his ear. "I'm telling you."

Gold's head spun from the feel of her breath on his cheek, her hair floating by his face. Any normal man would have wrapped their arms around her, thankful for the attention, and kissed her senseless, but Gold was not a normal man. He gently pushed her back.

"I'm not interested in your pity. Or your rebound."

"A year is an awfully long time to wait to rebound. And I don't have any pity to give. You don't need it."

"I don't need anything."

"Liar." She kissed him lightly. "Everybody needs something."

Refusing to acknowledge the need that was starting to strain his seams, he let his lips barely touch hers, not exactly a kiss, but not really moving away. "I'm not 'everybody.' I'm barely human according to most."

She dragged her lips up, catching on his and brushing the tip of his nose. She'd scooting forward fully and propped one knee on the couch between his legs with a foot on the floor for balance. There was no place to put his hands but on her waist. The potential was staggering.

"You're a man. A good man." She settled and her breasts were only a few inches under his chin. The fragrance of her skin wafted up to him.

"I'm really not."

A hand at his jaw tilted his face up. She was frowning. "Don't say that." Her eyes danced over him, unfairly keeping him under their gaze. "No one should feel that way. Not when," She raised a hand and pointed to his cabinet, "not when you still save your son's pictures next to crystal. Only a good man would do that."

The words hurt, picking at buried sores only he was allowed to scratch at. He wanted to believe it, believe that he hadn't scraped bottom in order to be what he was now. That he hadn't needed to.

She was a breath away, waiting for him to catch up to her again. He let his hands slide along her sides to her back and pressed her closer. It was a good start when he hadn't quite worked out the next words to say, having lost them when her hands ran down the front of his shirt.

"Tell me, Nick, why did you ask me to come here tonight?" She raised her foot off the floor and straddled his left leg. Her hair tumbled down. It filtered the light from across the room, leaving their faces in intimate shadow.

He spoke without thinking, and the words came out strangled. "I was hungry."

Belle had been holding herself above him, hovering, but she gently lowered herself against him, brushing his cock. "I'm still hungry."

Nicholas Gold felt something break within him as her lips dropped to his. He didn't just receive her kiss this time, but parted his lips when the tip of her tongue brushed him. This was either a dream or a very costly mistake in the making, and he was swiftly reaching the point that he did not care which it was, so long as she kept pressing herself against his lap.

She suckled his lower lip and moaned when he nipped back. "For god's sakes, Nick, touch me." She took his right hand from her lower back and cupped her breast with it. The warmth of her body in his hand took away the chill left in his fingertips from the wine glass. His arms and lap were full of a warm, beautiful woman who wanted him.

He stuttered to a halt, frozen.

"Nick?"

Women didn't want him, they only wanted what he could or thought he could provide. Not him. Given what he'd done, how did that make her any different? Was it any different if she didn't know? How did that change it?

"Nick?"

If she found out, would she offer to just suck him off in recompense? That way she could repay him without all the touching. Without the waste of her time.

"Nick? Are you okay?" He focused his eyes to the worried face in front of him. She looked down at his leg. "Did I hurt you?"

His hand was still on her breast. "No, no. I'm fine."

She scooted back. "Oh my god. You don't want this." The look on her face scrunched into pure horror. "I've completely fucked this up."

He tightened his hold slightly. Not enough to pull or even be called a grip, but enough to keep her from sliding off of him. "Belle wait. Please." She paused, her lips drawn into a tight line, but ready to bolt away. "Belle, it's been… I've not really had the time for… this in a long while." His hand fell away from her body and he scratched at his hair. "I told you, most people don't even view me as human anymore, and…" He struggled to explain himself.

Belle's eyes softened and she took his hand, soothing his frantic motions. "Are you telling me that you're not used to nice things again?" He could only sigh in response. "I don't want to hear how long because it doesn't matter." She lowered herself again and, more gently and sweetly, gave him a soft kiss. She opened her mouth against him and lightly traced his lower lip. "Be with me, Nick." She said against his lips.

It was not so large an apartment that Belle didn't know where the bedroom was, and she excused herself on the way there to visit the restroom. He waited, not sure if he was supposed to take off his clothes or lay on the bed to wait, so he stood in the middle of the room where she'd left him, trying to appear patient even as his knuckles went white on the handle of his cane. He tried to pass judgment on his room as a woman might, and came up empty-handed when her arms wrapped him from behind.

They landed in the middle of his bed, away from the deep trench he'd spent the better part of the last few years digging and she straddled him, flicking the buttons of his shirt open as he ran his hands over her hips and thighs. Lush, round, and firm curves filled his hands and he squeezed them, pulling her over himself in a mimic of the act.

"God, Belle."

Soft sighs and warm hands, lips still sweet from cream and berries, and fabric that barely slowed him. Her shirt was gone, and her jeans were undone. His trousers hit the floor and were soon joined by denim. Her neck had a soft indention at the base and her breasts made full, U-shaped curves when she sat up on him to grind her body down harder. When she was over him, the indent was a convenient place to get a taste of her skin as her nipples brushed against his chest. He gave one a gentle squeeze when she arched. Her hair tickled his knees when she threw her head back.

The grind against his cock was insistent. Layers of fabric moved against each other and eased the motion. She reached behind her back and cupped him through his underwear, lightly rubbing his balls. He gripped her hips, pushing upwards against cloth was now wet between them. A low groaning oath escaped him.

Smooth, pale skin yielded to pressure from his hands. He reached down with only dim light to guide him, to find her. He slipped a finger beneath a seam and felt melting heat, seeping wetness. Fingertips slid easily over and through the slick folds. She rubbed against him. "Please, Nick. Please." She sat to one side and tugged her panties off. Shadows hid detail, but a trim triangle stood out in contrast to her fair skin. He pulled her closer and lightly nipped at a peach-soft ear as her hand roamed to cup him again, causing tiny spasms in his legs. His cock jumped.

"Jesus!" His body tensed and flexed around her hands. He was pushing through the front of his underwear and she rubbed her thumb over him.

With a motion full of purpose, she lay down on her back next to him, her legs parted and giving him a full view of glistening pink sex. He jerked off his underwear and went to take himself in hand, to thrust in.

"No, wait. Just, come here." Belle held out her arms. He leaned forward on his knees, still ready to get to it, but she folded her arms and legs around him, scooting herself so he merely laid against her, rather than in her. "I want to hold you." His cock pulsed, nuzzled by hot flesh, but she just gently rocked. The motion soothed and smoldered rather than consumed.

Nick could not remember the last time he'd felt so much of a woman against him, or been held in the most priceless patch of real estate a body could offer for so long. Once Milly was over her rebellion, reality made the act one of obligation, not enjoyment. She'd done it so he'd leave her alone.

Belle sighed into his neck and kissed and licked his shoulder. As she tilted against him, his cock slid in the groove of her sex- almost but not at the entry, almost but not quite fucking.

Not like Cora, who could do nothing but and offer nothing else. It was a deal which, he was such a bastard at the time, he rather liked. He provided the cock, she provided cunt, and the transaction was simple from there. Once they took what they needed, they cleaned away the evidence and got on with the day.

On Belle's next rock, she pushed more forcefully and they both gasped. He'd thrust up with her and pushed his head into her clit. Her nails gripped him, pushing sharp half-moons into his skin. He was smeared and slick from belly to balls with her and the tension was making them sweat. Beads of salt broke out on her temples and neck. The curls at her crown fashioned themselves into tight ringlets with it.

He could taste the sex. His nose burned with it. He reached down and slipped a hand into the mess between their bodies and found the base of his cock. Belle's knees fell to the side as his knuckles swiped against her, sinking into her shallowly as she held herself wide for him.

She bit at him, sucking his lip into her mouth and thrusting her tongue. "Oh fuck, Nick!" Nick Gold hushed the voice that warned him against entanglements. Hushed the itch in his hands that feared his years away from the bared body of another, and hushed the worries over fine print, contracts, and birthdays. He rubbed his cock up and down, bumping into her clit to feel her tremble before he thrust forward.

Years of reluctant solitude and cheap yanks on his member made him rush to completion, but her hands were busy between them and within minutes she was clenching him, clamping down on his cock hard enough to hurt and he let out a wrenching 'uh' as he spent himself violently, biting his own shoulder. He collapsed onto her welcoming body and rolled to the side, taking her with him. They were sticky and panting and new and terrifying and she held onto him tightly, still holding him inside her.

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And there you are.