-Here it is, another chapter for you awesome readers! I can't believe how many people have reviewed and read this little story, and I'm extremely grateful. There are quite a few chapters left, so hang in there! Minho and Newt still gotta try to keep that secret... ;)

Let me know what you think!-

The dinner was fabulous.

Newt hadn't known that Minho Park, who seemed to have everyone do something for him, could cook so wonderfully. They ate in the comfort of his kitchen, the marble island cool under Newt's touch and the food lovely. They began on either side of the island, laughing and sharing conversation. But as the evening went on, they found themselves scooting their stools close together; their ankles linked together under the island and their arms brushed as they talked. Afternoon was fading fast, into the deep indigo quiet of early nighttime. Outside that great wall of windows, Newt could see the brilliant orange of the sunset reflecting in the city's steel expanse.

He knew that he should head home because it was late, but Minho kept drawing him back in. Each time he was about to excuse himself and leave, Minho said something flirtatious that would make him change his mind. Newt understood perfectly now why everyone at work was so enthralled with Minho. The charming billionaire didn't even know how he made Newt's knees weak with his rakish smiles and careless hair. He was taking Newt's breath away and he wasn't even trying.

Once the dinner was over and their conversation had all but faded away, the two made their way back to Minho's wide couch. The daylight was gone, and the room was lit only by the dancing gold of candlelight. Shadows chased each other across the towering ceiling as Newt watched drowsily. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't a dream, that he really was in a luxurious home, cuddling with Minho on a couch.

"I don't think I deserve you," he murmured. He didn't want to say it aloud, but he felt safe; Minho's arm was around his waist, his head nestled in the crook of Minho's shoulder, and for now, he wasn't as nervous.

Minho shifted a little in surprise. "Why?" he asked, voice low and breath tickling Newt's ear.

Newt shrugged with a shoulder. "Because you're good to me," he answered. "You don't do anything wrong to me, you spoil me with cars, and you remembered my birthday. Even though I should just be an...errand boy to you." He tested the words out carefully.

Minho stilled. "Where did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Errand boy." Minho's voice sounded sharper. "Who calls you that?"

"Some woman I work with sometimes," Newt replied uncaringly. Then he decided to take a chance. He lifted his gaze to Minho's seriously. "Do you call your assistants that?"

Minho looked back at him for a long moment. His eyes were unreadable. "Yes," he confessed.

Newt's heart ached. "Have you ever called me that?"

"No," Minho answered at once.

Newt dropped his head to Minho's shoulder again, groaning in frustrated disbelief. "Please don't lie to me, Minho," he mumbled, snagging a handful of Minho's shirt over his chest and burying his face in Minho's neck.

Minho's body stiffened under Newt's. When he spoke, there was a trace of anger in his words. "I'm not lying. I'm not." He paused. "Newt, look at me."

Reluctantly, Newt lifted his head to meet Minho's gaze again. He didn't know what he was going to find there next and it scared him. This wasn't an argument, but it was close to it. And Minho wasn't just another boyfriend to Newt. "What?" he asked, a breath between them.

"I've never lied to you once," Minho told him. He searched Newt's expression almost pleadingly. "Not once. I meant everything I've ever said to you, Newt. As for the 'errand boy' thing, I wouldn't do that to you, even behind your back."

Newt studied Minho's face skeptically, but there was nothing there but open affection and a need for him to understand. He felt a weight vanish from his heart. "Okay."

Minho suddenly raised a hand to touch Newt's cheek. "And don't say you don't deserve me," he said softly. "It's the other way around, Newt; I don't deserve you."

Newt huffed a humorless laugh. "But you're Minho Park."

"And you're Isaac Newton." Minho's mouth curved up playfully.

"You're gorgeous."

"You're breathtaking."

"You're rich."

"You're stealing from me."

Newt's eyebrows shot up. "W—what?" he stammered in shock. "I've never stolen any money, or anything from—" He was halted by Minho's mischievous chuckle, as Minho's obsidian eyes softened.

Minho leaned forward and touched a brief kiss to Newt's lips. When he drew back, there was some, unknown emotion on his face. "I'm talking about my heart," he whispered.

Newt felt a shiver run its way down the length of his spine. They'd skirted around this topic, this talk of hearts and feelings. But now they were temptingly close and he needed to know. "What does that mean, exactly?" he asked, pulling at Minho's shirt to get closer.

"What do you think it means?" Minho asked, his voice shuddering when Newt trailed his nose along Minho's jaw.

Newt growled, which was very unlike him. "It means I wanna know how you feel," he breathed. He shifted to graze his lips down Minho's neck.

Minho gasped, his fingers tightening in the back of Newt's shirt. "How I feel?"

"You're avoiding the question." Newt thought that maybe he should draw back, but he was quickly drunk on the taste of Minho's skin and high on Minho's scent. He nosed into Minho's neck, inhaling until he was dizzy with it. He was too far gone. "What do you mean when you say I have your heart?" he asked, hushed and searching.

"Don't make me say it," Minho moaned out, as Newt's mouth seared his throat, back to his ear. He dropped his head back, baring his neck, and it was the most beautiful invitation Newt had ever seen. He let the subject drop so he could focus on every inch of skin he could find. He trailed butterfly kisses down the middle of Minho's throat, nipping softly. Feeling bold, his blood burning inside of him, he gave a tentative lick to the side of Minho's neck. "Ohh..." Minho practically purred at Newt's touches, his eyes drifting shut. "Newt...what're we doing?"

"I don't care," Newt mumbled into Minho's jaw. "I don't wanna stop."

"Maybe we should," Minho slurred weakly, as Newt mouthed up his neck and caught his earlobe in his teeth. Newt felt lightheaded at the taste and hesitantly sucked on Minho's earlobe. He whimpered aloud at the sensation and did it again. Minho made a broken sound, logic and desire tangled up in his voice. "Shuck it," he muttered, turning his head and catching Newt's lips with his own.

Minho kissed like he meant it, like he was claiming Newt as his own. Newt was shocked by the heat of it, a glimpse of what Minho was like when he lost control. The kisses were long, and dirty, and deep, and God, Newt never wanted to stop. Minho was a different person, licking over Newt's lips, and then past them; he kissed with demanding, slow sweeps of his tongue that made Newt's body feel weak and shivery. He felt Minho shift on the couch, turning his body. And then he was straddling Newt's hips and burying his fingers in pale gold hair to reel Newt even closer. Newt could feel the heat of Minho through his jeans and he scrabbled for a hold in Minho's shirt, daringly pressing their hips together. Minho's gasp huffed against Newt's mouth. He broke away and touched Newt's hands where they fisted in his shirt. "Let go."

Newt obeyed. Then his mouth went dry as Minho grabbed for his shirt and tugged it off. It was the first time Newt had ever seen Minho shirtless. He was darkly, wickedly sexy. Steely muscle flexed in his arms as he pinned Newt between them and rippled in his hard stomach. And Newt was crazy about those broad shoulders. He dropped his eyes to Minho's collarbone, a shy habit, then blinked in surprise. Minho had a tattoo. It appeared to be a lily, the black stem winding up from his ribcage and over the center of his chest; the flower rested over his heart, petals drooping gracefully. Newt wondered what it meant, but before he could ask, Minho was kissing him again.

They were a gasping, perfect mess within minutes. Newt couldn't think, not between Minho's mouth on his and his own fingertips running over bare skin. He shaped his palms to the powerful curves of Minho's shoulders, then slid them down to his chest. Minho's skin was so smooth and there was nothing but more muscle, more of his body, more more more. Newt wanted to explore all of it with his hands. He could hear Minho groan when Newt slipped his fingers over his delicious abs. But he longed to hear the dirtier sounds Minho would make if Newt's touch could find other places. Minho was what he wanted, plain and simple. Just Minho, every day, every single second.

Newt allowed Minho to grasp his own T-shirt, raised his arms and let the fabric lift over his head. He allowed Minho to run his hands over Newt's body, his arms, his chest, his sides. He allowed Minho to kiss his jaw and murmur quiet praises in his ear. He was alive, and awake, but he was also drowning, and lost. "Minho, I'm so screwed," he breathed into Minho's lips.

"Why?" Minho rasped huskily.

"Because," Newt whispered, soft in the candlelight, "I've fallen in love with you."

Minho exhaled shudderingly and trailed his nose down Newt's. "Newt," he murmured. "My Newt...I—"

Suddenly, he was interrupted by a loud, shrill sound grating into the night air. It was his cell phone, in his back pocket. Minho paused, disappointment flashing in his eyes. But Newt shook his head stubbornly and caught the back of Minho's neck. "Ignore it," he panted, pulling Minho's mouth back into his, their bodies close once more.

"It could be important—" Minho tried, then whimpered when Newt bit his bottom lip and sucked. He was quickly drawn back in again, holding Newt's waist as their kisses grew white-hot. His hands fell down, grasping the front of Newt's jeans. Newt's breath hitched when he felt them come undone.

And Minho's phone began to ring again, even more insistent this time. Growling in frustration, Minho fished his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen and blew out a heavy breath. "It's work," he explained flatly. It was all too clear he was sad to be disappointing Newt, but in a way, it was endearing too. "I'm sorry. They don't call me on weekends unless it's important..." He raised apologetic, soulful eyes to Newt's face and the blonde's heart melted into a puddle.

"It's fine," Newt reassured. He ghosted his fingertips over Minho's chest, admiring the lines of the lily flower and the silver cross resting there. "I understand."

Minho climbed agilely off of the couch and stood up. Tapping something in his phone, he lifted it to his ear and turned slightly away from Newt. "Hello? Thomas? What happened?" There was a pause. His brow furrowed in thought, deep brown eyes darkening. It was like he'd instantly turned into the Minho Park everyone saw at work: sharp, clean, and focused entirely on the job at hand.

Newt thought of Minho's hands rucking his shirt up his body just seconds ago and had to hold back a grin.

"No," Minho was saying, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke to Thomas. "Thomas, I can't come over there right now...Well, tell him that then...No, not THAT...I just can't get over there tonight..."

Newt glanced out the window then and was startled to see how dark it was now. The sky was deep indigo, spotted with glowing stars, and the slice of a crescent moon. The breathtaking lights of the city buildings lit up the air like still fireworks. Between them, there was the humming traffic of the crowded streets. He should be getting home. Ignoring the way reluctance stayed in his heart, he picked up his shirt from the couch and stood up slowly. Self-conscious and shy, as usual, he blushed as he realized his jeans were still open. He buttoned them again and tugged his shirt back over his head. Smoothing his rumpled hair, he wandered over to Minho, who was facing the windows now.

Not wanting to interrupt too much, Newt looped his arms loosely around Minho's waist from behind. Tenderly kissing Minho's shoulder, he whispered, "I have to go, Min."

Minho, listening to something Thomas was saying, glanced at Newt with fondness in his gaze. "Thomas, listen, I'm busy right now. I can't talk...No, I'm doing something very important." He turned his head and pressed his lips to Newt's in a brief kiss. Newt, aware that Thomas was completely oblivious on the phone, nearly giggled like a girl. Minho was grinning dazzlingly. "Yes...Yes, I'll take care of it tomorrow...Not a problem...Okay...Bye." He hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

"What was that about?" Newt asked conversationally.

"Work," Minho answered. He closed his hands over Newt's on his stomach. "As usual."

"Mmhm." Newt nuzzled into Minho's shoulder, inhaling the smell of skin and cologne. "I should leave."

Minho let out a sound of disappointment. "Why?" he asked softly.

"Because it's late," Newt answered. "And if I don't leave, I don't know if I can say no to you." He brushed his lips over Minho's skin, keeping it as chaste as possible.

Minho watched the blonde kissing his shoulder and shivered. He tilted his head back with a sigh. "You're such a drug, Newt," he mumbled.

Newt forced himself to turn his face away before he kept finding more skin to taste. "I have to go," he repeated, letting go of Minho's waist.

Minho turned to face the blonde and reached up to cup Newt's face with a hand. Sliding his thumb over Newt's cheek, he looked as though he wanted to say something. But then resignation fell over his expression and he remained silent. "Okay."

Newt lowered his gaze to the floor in bashfulness as Minho intertwined their fingers and led him to the door. The distance from the living room seemed incredibly long, but horribly short at the same time. Newt reveled in the feel of Minho holding his hand the entire way. When Minho let go to open the door for Newt, Newt felt a pang of hesitation. He didn't want to leave. Tomorrow, things would go back to the way they were. Work. Secrecy. Pretending that the small glances between them meant nothing. He would rather stay here, where he could be with Minho the way he'd wanted to be with him since Day One. Hiding his misgivings from Minho, Newt crossed the threshold into the hallway and smiled back at Minho. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, with a tinge of sadness.

Minho leaned forward and stole another kiss from Newt. He rested their foreheads together. "Yeah," he murmured fondly. "I'll miss you tonight."

Newt had to look away because he was blushing again.

Minho chuckled at Newt's ruffled appearance and left one last kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Newt," he whispered. Then he was gone, the door closing with a slight click behind him.

Newt turned around, but instead of walking, he leaned back against the door. He remembered that he was only a personal assistant tomorrow. He remembered Minho's touch burning his skin. He closed his eyes.