“I don’t see you.”

You’re about to start naming off various points of visual interest when you see a tall man wander into the middle of the sidewalk a few yards away, his back to you, a phone pressed to his ear as he cranes his neck, looking down the long line of people gathered outside the door of the club. You quicken your step.

“I’m behind you,” you say and he turns then, a smile pulling at his lips as he drops his phone from his ear, ending the call and then pocketing the device.

 “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply back breathlessly, concentrating very hard on not tripping in your heels as you close the gap between you.

“You find it okay?” he questions, his fingertips brushing your bare arm lightly and you smile, nodding shyly.

The beginning of any relationship is complicated. Getting to know someone is hard especially when you’re both trying to put your best face forward all while looking for deal-breaking flaws in the other. Throw in the fact that the new guy you’re seeing is known the world over as a musician, actor, producer, and fashion mogul and you haven’t dated in about a year and a half and you have a recipe for disaster that has had you contemplating feigning a migraine all afternoon.

“You look lovely,” he says softly and your eyes meet his, finding sincerity there and a hint of nervousness that reminds you why you came out in the first place.

You really kind of like him. A lot.

“Thanks,” you say smiling at him, shifting from foot to foot and feeling your dress swish around your knees. “So do you.”

You inwardly cringe but he chuckles, reaching up to scratch at his ear in the way you’ve come to understand means that you’ve embarrassed him with a compliment. His eyes meet yours again and you feel a strong tug in your stomach, a reminder that not only is this the first time you’ve been able to see him in a few weeks but also the first time you’ve seen him since the first time. Your mind runs quickly back over that night when your usual chaste kiss at the front door grew into fumbling hands and a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom. His tongue snakes out to wet his bottom lip and you wonder if the thought isn’t lost on him as well.

“Well… let’s get in shall we?” he asks, a smooth confidence seeming to wash over him as he offers you his hand, bowing slightly to you and you do your best to suppress your giggle.

You take his hand, his calloused fingertips rough against your skin and he turns from you, keeping a firm grip as he leads you towards the entrance. A quick exchange has you past the doorman and the long line of waiting club goers, weaving your way down a dim hallway, the walls vibrating with the music from inside.

The Box is the LA club du-jour and while clubbing isn’t usually your thing you had to admit you were curious as to how this evening would go.  You are still baffled and awed by the perks of dating someone of his social stature, free bottles of vintage wine with dinner, courtside seats at Lakers games, private viewings of a museum’s signature collection and now jumping in front of a hundred people outside the hottest club in town and walking right inside.

“Mr. Timberlake! So glad you and your friend could join us this evening!” a smiling man yells over the music as he worms his way closer to the two of you. His face is eager looking up at Justin who towers over him but has the decency to slouch a little as he shakes the older man’s hand. “We have your box ready.”

Your brow furrows in confusion but you soon come to understand as you’re guided farther into the club. The room is dotted with thirty or so glass cubicles of various sizes, some with groups of people inside sitting on high stools around tall tables watching everyone around them with voyeuristic curiosity, others doing little to hide couples in booths who seem to have forgotten they’re in plain sight. You feel your cheeks burn, turning your eyes forward again, concentrating on the hair curling at the nape of Justin’s neck. 

You’re led to the back of the club, climbing the stairs high into VIP where you’re led to a box of your own, banquettes lined in velvet surrounding a small low table with a single lily in a vase. You’re reminded of the waiting room at your masseuse’s office, that same minimalist comfortable design just squeezed into a six by six cube. Justin shakes the manager’s hand giving him a dazzling smile before the older man leaves, the two of you standing there outside the door just looking at each other. Justin holds out his arm, the movement sparking you to turn and step inside, looking up at the shimmering, low-lit chandelier as you take your seat, the music muffling as Justin closes the door and settles in beside you.

“Cool place huh?” he questions, pushing his chest out as he wiggles out of his leather jacket, setting it on the other side of him before craning his neck and looking around.

“Yeah,” you say, hoping to convey enthusiasm as you peer at the glass boxes around you, finding it all a little odd for your taste.

His eyes fall on you then, giving you an inquisitive look that shows he’s not sure he believes you. You blush looking the other way, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you look into the box next to yours.

The couple inside is going at it pretty hot and heavy, the man’s hands snaking all over the woman’s back exposed by the low cut of her dress. You see her shoulder blades moving beneath her skin, her hands between her and her lover and the memory of your hands coming between you and Justin in middle of your bed makes your mouth go dry, remembering his skin and the way his head had fallen back when you’d gripped him in both hands.

You’re so caught in the memory that when the walls of their cube go from transparent to frosted over you let out an audible “oh!” startled by the sudden change and you hear Justin chuckle next to you. You turn your head to find his eyes holding on the box next to yours for a beat before his attention turns to you and he grins sheepishly, both of you shifting awkwardly at having been caught watching what wasn’t meant for your eyes.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat and you reach up to tuck a strand of hair nervously behind your ear forcing yourself to shake the memory of his hands on your body. “It’s been a little while huh?” he says and you smile ducking your head to look at your hands buried in the ruffles of tulle and mesh that make up the skirt of your dress .

“Yeah,” you say, searching for more words. “You’re a pretty busy guy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he says casually but the sincerity is evident in his voice. “Please know that I usually don’t… that when I’m with a girl I…”

For all his skill he’s not too good at dancing around this topic and you can’t help but grin at his fumbling. You place a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine,” you say, holding his gaze and you see his eyes go from tense to relieved, amazed at how his emotions can play so plainly across his face. “It’s not like you didn’t call,” you tease and he looks down, his cheeks tingeing pink.

“I only called a few times,” he defends and you smirk.

“A few times…” you concede, nodding before adding “a day.”

“I did not call you multiple times a day,” he says, jutting his chin out defiantly, his blue eyes dancing and you have to bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well, except for Thursday because we got cut off. And Tuesday because….” he trails off when you start to giggle. “Okay hush.”

“No, really,” you say, your elbow nudging against his arm and you hadn’t realized you’d scooted closer. “It was sweet.”

“I just… You know I’m not like that,” he reassures, his eyes pleading with yours and you smile again. “I don’t just…”

“I know,” you say, your hand falling on his knee, his eyes flicking there before meeting your gaze again and you can feel your breathing catch in your throat.

You feel a thrill run through you the longer his eyes hold on yours, feeling the heat of his body through the dark denim of his jeans, remembering bone and muscle and how they moved under his skin as he moved inside you. You feel his fingers touch your jaw lightly before they skitter across your cheek, palming the side of your face and allowing his fingertips to press against the delicate flesh behind your ear. He leans closer to you, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back again before his lashes fan across his cheekbones and your lips touch, your own eyes closing as electricity washes over your skin.

His lips move easily over yours, kissing you softly almost carefully as if you would stop him. You feel like he should know by now that some of the best times you’ve had with him have been spent kissing him. Your hands curl in the soft cashmere of his sweater, feeling his chest vibrate as he hums, feeling his heart thump against your palms.

A light flashes behind your lids and you feel him jerk back, your eyes fluttering open to find him searching the crowd outside. You follow his gaze past the glass of your cube to the set of girls standing just outside it, looking terrified at having been caught snapping your picture, one of them shoving her camera back in her bag before grabbing her friend and scurrying away. You feel Justin’s sigh more than you hear it, his shoulders bunching then sagging in annoyance.

“Sorry,” he says and you shake your head, giving him a tightlipped smile. “Occupational hazard.”

“Not your fault,” you say shaking your head and he sighs, still looking slightly perturbed. “This place is kind of strange you know” you say glancing around. “I mean the idea of putting people on display in boxes? I guess we’re all kind of voyeuristic by nature but for someone like you who lives in a glass box I wouldn’t think it’d be your scene.”

Your words cut off abruptly, realizing you’ve broken the cardinal rule of dating a celebrity; acknowledging that they’re a celebrity. You cringe looking over at him but don’t find him to be angry or even annoyed. In fact he looks a little bewildered.

“You…” he trails and then chuckles, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “You make a very good point.”

He looks around with a furrowed brow, clearly wondering why he’d come here in the first place much less brought you and you giggle under your breath, following his gaze, a little shocked to find so many people looking right back at you. Justin shifts next to you, turning more fully toward you and now he just looks plain uncomfortable.

“You’re really creeped out now aren’t you?” you ask and he laughs nodding.

“Let’s get outta this thing.”

He grabs your hand tugging you after him as he begins to push open the door to your box, nearly bumping into the waitress walking up, all long legs and mascaraed lashes. She smiles at Justin, her eyes predatory.

“Mr. Timberlake. Can I get you a bottle of champagne?” she questions and Justin  hums looking around.

“Uh actually we were just gonna hit the bar. Feeling a little like a fish in a bowl,” he replies genially and she laughs a little too hard, receiving the tight-lipped smile all guys give other women when they’re on dates.

“Oh well… for future reference,” she leans closer to him, her arm reaching inside and you watch her manicured finger press a button just inside the doorframe and you let out another startled “oh!” as the glass around you frosts completely over, making it impossible to see in or out. She presses it again and the glass is clear once more. “A service of VIP,” the waitress says, her eyes holding Justin’s for a brief moment before flicking to you and back. “Let me know if you need anything,” she adds before sauntering to the next cube.

“That’s kinda neat,” you holler over the music and he looks at the cube dubiously.

“Eh I’m still whigged,” he says and you laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder blade watching him grin at you. “Why don’t we hit the floor?”

You feel your heartbeat ratchet up as he cocks his head towards the dance floor, his hand slipping in yours, fingertips skimming down your palm before his fingers curl around yours and he’s guiding you into the throng.

The bass thumps heavily, the crowd seeming to move as one and when he turns and pulls you close you feel your stomach drop to your toes. His hands hold your hips guiding them against his and you’re perilous to stop your mind from going back to your bedroom and how his fingers splayed across your hips as he pulled you down onto him. But this time instead of setting a rhythm he’s following one and you’re following him, hips rolling into his, arms snaking around his neck.

The crowd around you shifts and moves, nudging the two of you closer until your chest is pressing to his, your mouth mere centimeters away and he grins, his breath fanning your lips, feeling his hands work up your back. Your eyes hold his, grinding harder against him watching his eyelids flutter as he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth the very same way he did when he was under you, breath hitching trying to grasp for control before he flipped you and pulled you swiftly under him. That’s his prerogative now, pulling your hands from around his neck, holding your wrists lightly above your head and guiding you to turn so that your back is to him. You press back against him again, tucking your chin over your shoulder to try and see him from the corner of your eye as you find the rhythm. His hands skim down your body, brushing down your sides and part of you wishes he’d cop a quick feel, his large hands molding your breasts in the way he’d done behind closed doors but he’s too much of a gentleman for that.

“What are you tryin to do huh?” he breathes against your ear, his tone teasing but is at the same seductive timbre he’d used when he’d been inside of you, coaxing you to orgasm not only with his body but with his words. “Hmmm?” he prompts when you don’t respond, his hands moving from where they’d settled on your hips down your thighs searching for your skin beyond the hem of your dress.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, lips pressing to his ear. “I’m not trying to do anything,” you breathe innocently but the mischievousness in your eyes gives you away when his gaze meets yours.

He smirks, pressing his cheek to yours his skin smooth as calloused fingertips inch under the hem of your dress. You gasp, one hand coming down to grab his, a thrill of adrenaline running through you and you hear him chuckle.

“I never thought it was fair that girls could just work the hell out of your dick on the dance floor and guys couldn’t do shit,” he teases, lips brushing your ear and maybe you’d overestimated his chivalry, a thought that should piss you off but only turns you on.

“You wouldn’t,” you say, rolling your hips harder against him, feeling him stirring under his jeans.

He chuckles and before you even have a chance to gasp his fingers are brushing the lacey crotch of your panties. You spin to face him again, smacking his chest and he laughs openly, pulling you close again, hands making a quick run over your ass.

“You better stop,” you warn, the words slightly bitter in your mouth because there’s a small part of you that doesn’t want him to, remembering all too well the pleasure his hands can give.

“What, so you can get me all hot and bothered and I can’t return the favor?” he asks innocently, raising an eyebrow and you swallow hard.

“Not here,” you say, eyes flicking around to the bodies surrounding you but no one is paying attention to the two of you, all caught up in their own lust and gyrations.

He grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb, forcing your eyes to meet his and your knees tremble, finding the exact same look that he’d had that last time you’d been together, intense and wanting, pupils ringed in sapphire. One hand is slipping around your hip, working between your bodies, searching for the hem of your dress and you don’t stop him this time.

His fingertips brush your inner thigh, tracing your panty line at the place where your leg meets your body, dipping his head so that his lips smudge against yours. He kisses you fully, swallowing your moan as his fingers stroke you firmly over your panties, rubbing slow circles that make your head go fuzzy. He continues to kiss you slowly, peeking at you from under his lids as you peek back at him, both questioning the other: are we really doing this?

“You okay?” he breathes against your lips and you nod, curling your arms tighter around his neck, fingers fisting in the curls at the base of his skull.

“More,” you say back and he raises an eyebrow at you causing you to bite your lip but he smirks in response, fingers slipping underneath your panties.

You breathe out quick against his lips, feeling his chest vibrate as he feels your want for him, stroking your flesh skillfully and making your legs tremble. You grip his biceps as he slips a finger inside and then another, his own mouth dropping open to pull in shallow breaths. You can feel him solid inside his jeans, your body pressing against him and when your hips match the stroke of his fingers you rub against him, drawing a low growl from his chest. His thumb smudges your clit over your panties, fingers working in and out of your wet heat setting your body on fire and the fact that he’s touching you this way in the middle of a crowd of people makes your want for him even stronger.

Your nails snag on his sweater, gripping the fabric before trying to hold on to the solid muscle beneath, feeling his bicep flex and move as his fingers stroke you faster and you can feel yourself build. You pull him closer, his other hand flattening against your lower back, moaning against his ear and you feel him twitch inside his jeans, fingers curling inside of you and you can’t take it.

“I want you now,” you growl against his ear and feel him shiver, pulling back to look in your eyes, watching your face as his fingers work you slow. “Justin…” you say your voice a warning. “Please…”

He just grins, fingers curling again, stroking that spot inside you that you didn’t even know you had until he touched it that first night. He’s coaxing your orgasm out of you, drawing it slowly to the surface and you press your face into his neck, knowing the music will drown out your moans but nothing can hide the pleasure on your face.

You shiver and shake through your orgasm, body clutching at his fingers, biting at his neck and you feel his breath panting against your ear as your nose presses against his racing pulse point. You’re nowhere near spent, your orgasm reving you up and working you into somewhat of a frenzy. Your mind can think of nothing else but your want for him, hard and trapped inside his jeans. You want him right now.

“I think it’s time we get home,” he breathes against your ear, hand slipping out of your panties while his other smoothes down over your ass quickly as if he can’t stop himself.

“I need you now,” you say, fingers curling in the fabric of his sweater at his chest, pulling him closer when he tries to back away.

His eyebrows raise, shock showing plainly on his face before his pupils dilate in lust, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Your hands smooth down his chest, one slipping into his, feeling your wetness on his fingers as you draw him to follow you.

You weave your way back through the crowd, heart thundering in your chest, pussy pulsing between your legs and the only thing you can think of is getting him inside you right now. You lead him back to your box reaching for the door handle but he grabs it first, his body brushing yours as he moves around you to open the door for you. You let your breasts brush against his chest as you step inside, turning to find him pulling the door closed behind him and when his finger finds the button by the door frame, your eyes flick around the box as it goes from transparent to opaque, all the privacy you need.

His hand cups the side of your face again, your lips meeting, tongues battling and you want to strip him down and touch and taste him, taking your time but another part of you just wants him inside you, willing to slip him out of the fly of his jeans, push your panties aside and let him work you till you scream. The desperate way his hands are moving over you, grabbing at your skin, slipping under your dress to grab your ass you’re sure it’s going to be the latter option. Which is fine with you. There will be time to take time later.

Your hands reach between the two of you, fumbling with his belt and fly while his hands bunch up the skirt of your dress, thumbs hooking in the lace at your hips and tugging down, letting your panties fall to your ankles where you kick them aside. You shove his pants and boxers down, nudging his chest so that he falls back onto the banquette, his eyes wide like he’s just won the lottery as he watches you swing one leg over both of his, lowering yourself over him.

His hands grip your hips, grabbing handfuls of your dress working it up higher as you kiss him senseless, sucking at his lips greedily. You shiver as you feel him guide himself to your entrance, rubbing teasingly against your slit and he sighs against your lips at the feeling of your want for him. Your head falls back as you lower onto him slowly, groaning deep in your chest as he fills you inch by inch. His hands work their way out from under the fabric of your dress, reaching to hold your face as he pulls your mouth to his again.

You begin to move over him slowly, testing the waters and just letting yourself feel him, pressing your forehead to his as your breath mingles with his. He moans low, head dipping to let his lips brush your collarbone, pressing dry kisses along your neck and shoulders as you roll your hips into his. His hands are wandering up and down your back, feeling you through your clothes and you want him skin on skin so badly. Apparently he does too because his fingers are dragging down the zipper at the back of your dress, hand flattening against the roundest part of your back before pulling it down, exposing your breasts to his mouth.

Your head falls back, feeling his teeth graze one of your nipples pushing your shoulders back, begging him for more. His hand finds the other, molding your flesh slowly, sending sparks down to your toes that have you increasing your pace, bouncing harder against him. He groans, looking up at you blearily, brows furrowed as he watches you, mouth hanging open as if it takes too much effort to keep it closed.

You’re chasing now, bringing your hands behind you, gripping his knees for leverage as you slide harder against him. His eyes roll back, head falling back against the glass with a dull thud before his eyes snap open again, one large hand reaching to grip your waist, guiding you against him as his other flattens against your chest, feeling your heart slam against your sternum.

“Oh god, Justin,” you moan, hips working harder, fingernails scratching at the denim of his jeans as your body coils tighter.

“Come on baby,” he says, his voice low in his chest, hand supporting your back so you can lean a little more, the new angle causing stars to explode behind your closed lids. “Fuck me.”

You shiver hard, leaning forward again and planting your palms against the glass on either side of his head, your clit bumping against his hip bone and that’s all you need to be tossed over the edge, your screams echoing inside the box, his fingernails dragging down your spine.

Your thighs tremble as you continue to rock over him, listening to the deep hitch of his breath, his eyes glued to your chest as he chews his bottom lip brutally. You bring one hand to his face, thumb tugging his lip from between his teeth and crushing your mouth to his. He moans against your lips, fingertips drawing welts across your lower back before both of his hands clamp down on your hips, holding you steady against him as you feel him spill into you. You rock against him gently your hand fisting in his hair as he rides his wave, his arms moving to lock around you, holding you close. He buries his face in your neck as he shivers and quakes, finally heaving a shaky sigh against your collarbone as he starts to come down.

He looks up at you blearily, a goofy grin spreading across his face that makes you giggle, feeling your cheeks color at your forwardness.  You slip off his lap, turning your head politely, looking for your panties as he reaches to pull up his pants and boxers. You find them, slipping them back up your legs as discreetly as possible feeling utterly ridiculous as you readjust your dress. What must he think of you now?

“Well…” Justin says, his own cheeks pink as he pulls the hem of his sweater down over his belt buckle and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling when his eyes meet yours. “I think I need a drink.”

You laugh, running a hand over your face. “Yeah… I think that definitely calls for one.”

He chuckles to himself, stretching his body across the cube to reach for the button and the club comes into full view again. As he moves to settle back into his seat, your eyes widen, your hand moving to cover your mouth as laugher bubbles from your chest. He looks at you quizzically.

“What?” he questions looking down at himself and you can’t stop giggling pointing just over his shoulder.

You open your hands to him, palms facing him. “Um…hands,” is all you can manage behind your blush and he looks over his shoulder to find a handprint right next to his head and when he turns the other way he finds its mate.

He laughs himself, bringing a hand to his forehead as his ears turn red, turning in his seat to buff at the glass with the sleeve of his sweater. He shakes his head, scooting more towards you and you move as well, putting some space between you and the smudged marks on the glass. Sitting side by side you both look at them and then look at each other again, bursting into embarrassed giggles, your head falling to his shoulder, his hand settling on your knee.

“Just.. just so you know,” you say as your laughter subsides. “I don’t usually-”

“Don’t,” he says shaking his head, his palm warm on your kneecap and you look up at him. “Don’t say that.” He grins. “Don’t ruin it for me.”

You smack his shoulder and he beams, laughing a little to himself still, giving your knee a squeeze. He looks at you for a beat grinning before letting his tongue slide out to wet his bottom lip and something like true affection shows in his eyes. You smile back, dipping your head to rub your cheek against his shoulder.

The beginning of any relationship is hard, but you’re beginning to realize that this one is totally worth it.