just_1_word | 7.8 Return

7.8. Return

[PRIVATE JOURNAL - LOCKED FROM ALL]

It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly three months since I was last in New York. I still wake up every day as James Campbell. It’s James I see when I look in the mirror, not Marcus Fraser, and it takes my waking mind time to consciously switch mindsets. Of course, it helps that I’m waking up in unfamiliar hotel rooms; a different place each night. I can hardly even remember the last time I was kissed or hugged, but I’m told the chilled loneliness does get easier and soon I’ll build a new life around myself.

Returning to New York was surreal. I felt like a foreigner, and in a sense, that’s what I’m supposed to be. Marcus Fraser, billionaire businessman, is a Londoner recently immigrated to New York to oversee the US chapter of his company. Seriously, I wouldn’t know how to fucking run a business if my life depended on it. But I’ll learn. Soon my life won’t be pages and pages of notes and scripts to play a part. I will be Marcus Fraser and I will be running a multi-million dollar business. Fuck, hey? Times certainly change. I knew joining the Secret Service was never going to be a dance in the daisies, but I also never expected my brief to be so deep, operating in circles I knew existed but had never needed to dip my toes into beyond occasionally slapping handcuffs on a dirty businessman. Now I’m one of them and life is never going to be the same again.

( ‘Undercover’ doesn’t even begin to cut it. )

- agentsullivan and isabelowens referenced with permission


Word Count | 593

just_fck_me | 1.3. TEN erotic memories

1.3. TEN erotic memories

1. She was a redhead, busty, gold slinky dress that clung to every curve of her body and complete with black suspenders. Pressed up against the sink in the tiny cubicle of the plane bathroom. Mile High Club encounter that nearly had him arrested. He talked his way out of it though, by feeling up the flight attendant’s breasts and promising she would be his dessert.

2. Blonde, this time. No more than a b-cup, so he couldn’t even claim she was a handful. The professional little flight attendant scarf remained her around her neck the whole time he had her bent over the bar in the First Class Lounge. He didn’t even remember her name, but then… he rarely remembered any of their names.

3. Blonde and a redhead, black silk sheets, candles, vanilla massage oil. The blonde was straddled over him as he explored her heated folds with his tongue and the redhead was sucking his cock so deeply, he doubted she was born with a gag reflex.

( Brunette… he rarely did brunettes, but she was an exception... )

Word Count | 834