Barry Becker's mansion is huge. Even after Aiden tells me to steer clear of the basement and the attic, there're still too many rooms to properly investigate. It's quickly becoming clear, though, that some of them are not very interesting. Well-designed and meticulously clean, they bear no stamp of their owner's personality. Anyone could live here. He probably doesn't even visit most of these rooms daily, if ever.

It's immediately obvious which rooms he uses a lot, and they are the interesting ones. There's one with a huge TV screen, a collection of movies, and a worn-out armchair, in which I sit for a while, convinced that I can smell him, some cologne he must have worn when he was here last. I spend some time going through the movies' titles, but his collection is too extensive to memorize, and I don't want to waste my time on movies.

There's another room with a pool table. It's pretty messy—perhaps the cleaners aren't allowed here, or maybe he's messed it up after they've cleaned it last, which makes it even more interesting. A few of the balls are scattered on the table, as if he left half-way through the game. A discarded sweater is hanging from the back of a chair. I sniff at it—that cologne again, an instantly attractive smell. A few empty bottles are scattered on the floor. Apparently, he likes Heineken. There's a minibar, too, stacked full. I make a short detour to ask for Aiden's permission and then crack a beer bottle open. It's ice-cold, and every swig tastes like heaven.

I find a swimming pool on the bottom floor—a long, glittering, chilly space with blue water, its surface still like a mirror. There're puddles of water drying on the floor—maybe he swam here tonight, before getting ready for the show, and then walked on these tiles, dripping wet. A small piece of cloth lies discarded on the floor. As I come closer to investigate, it turns out to be male swimming trunks. Did he discard them to swim naked, or did he take them off afterwards, and walked naked to the shower? Both are interesting scenarios for me to ponder in the future.

I end my excursion in the master bedroom, where I very nearly have a heart attack as I find Barry Becker himself sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. Then, of course, I realize that it's Aiden. I walk over and stop in front of him, watching his face. He looked very much like Barry when I first met him, but tonight, the similarity is crazy. He's the perfect lookalike, from the light brown eyes to the tips of his long, elegant fingers.

"Sorry," I say. "I've been running around and left you alone."

"I figured you'd enjoy it here. That's why I brought you."

"I've enjoyed it all right!" I laugh. The beer that I drank, being my first alcohol beverage in five years, must have gone straight to my head. I feel warm and relaxed, like I don't have a care in the world. I reach out and run my fingers through his long, dark hair. I've been wondering what it would feel like. I hoped it would be soft. It is.

He just watches me, his eyes getting darker.

"You look so much like him it's crazy," I whisper.

"Want me to put on his cologne?" He nods at the door to the shower, where, presumably, Barry's toiletries reside. "So that you could imagine that I'm him?"

"No." I frown at the idea. "I don't want to think that you're him. I want to remember that you're—you. Whatever the hell you are." I pause. "But if you can look like anything you want, you can keep looking like him. I don't mind."

He laughs, throwing his head back. When he looks at me again, his eyes glimmer with amusement.

"As you wish," he says. "Want to continue exploring?"

"Yes," I say. "But not the house."

I bend down and kiss him, my hands on his shoulders. He kisses me back, slowly at first; then, surprising me, he grabs me and picks me up and throws me on the bed. I land on my back, laughing, and the next moment, he's leaning over me, his weight on his hands, his eyes, completely black now, boring into mine. Black is a soothing color, he said, but there's nothing soothing about the way he's peering at me now, like he's a monster about to devour me.

I mean, isn't that what he is?

I close my eyes to escape both the intensity of his gaze and the bright light from the multiple spots on the ceiling. The bedroom is rather modern-looking, so there are no chandeliers here, but still, I don't know what the designers were thinking, putting in so many light fixtures. I mean, the place is for sleep, not throwing parties or something, although perhaps in Hollywood the rules for bedroom use might differ.

As if sensing my thoughts, Aiden moves back and claps his hands. The light instantly dims to a more comfortable level. I open my eyes to see him lean over me again.

"Oh," I say, "that's better," and then his lips are on mine again, and we're kissing, and it feels like earlier in the classroom, that same pull, that need to get as close as possible, to become one. When we break the kiss, his face seems to change briefly in the dim light, but maybe it's just the tricks of the shadows, combined with my growing excitement. When I focus on him, he still has that handsome Barry's face, and that burning gaze that has nothing to do with Barry whatsoever.

He helps me lose my clothes, then gets rid of his own, and then we're lying on the sheets where Barry must have slept tonight, a fact that I only register in passing, too wrapped up in the moment. Am I really going to lose my virginity here, in this Hollywood mansion that belongs to my idol, in his bed, with his lookalike? Instead of cooling me off, the confusing scenario pushes my excitement through the roof. I moan as Aiden's hands and lips explore my body, finding new and exciting spots to make me gasp and shudder underneath him.

His own body is all lean muscle, and I don't even care if that is the exact replica of what Barry is hiding under his clothes, because, hell, this here just looks great. I run my hands up and down, rubbing his arms as he kisses me again, then let my hand slide lower, finding his erection. He pulls back to look at my face, panting.

"Want to do it?" he says quickly, as if he can't get my answer fast enough.

I nod, even though what my hand is squeezing now is beginning to give me second thoughts. I mean, this is my first time, and he's kind of... big. I'm not sure how this would feel, pushed inside of me. I'm not a sucker for pain, exactly.

He kneels on the bed, his muscles twisting and flexing in the dim light as he reaches for the bedside table and retrieves a small tube of lube.

"Want me to wear a condom?" he says. "We don't get STDs, but if that makes you feel safer, I will." He catches me staring down at his erection and pauses. "What?"

"This," I say, nodding. "Might pose a problem."

"What?"

"The size."

"Oh?" he looks down at himself, then at me. "I see. Is this better?"

With disbelief, I watch his erection shrink in size. It's still a perfectly shaped and hard penis, but now, it looks, like, twenty percent smaller than what's been staring in my face moments earlier. This looks more... manageable. It's so crazy that I actually laugh out loud. Apparently, being with a shifter has its unique perks. As much as I hate to see them display their body-changing abilities, this one seems pretty handy.

"Yeah," I say. "We'll start with this and see how it goes."

He nods and clicks the lube bottle open.

It feels strange when he finally slides inside me, but in a good way. After the initial pain, our bodies start adjusting to each other—or, more likely, his body is adjusting to mine, learning its ways. I can swear that I can feel him change his shape inside of me, but I don't mind, because he's getting it just right, eventually arriving at the point where he hits all the right spots with every thrust. I think I'm crying out loud, I'm not even sure about that. He reads my body so well. I close my eyes and let him handle me however he wants, because he does it perfectly, leading me up until it's too much to bear. I cry out, and explode, and he follows suit.

I'm floating in the afterglow when I gradually become aware of myself again. I'm lying on my back, with him by my side, his finger tracing patterns on my chest. The lights seem even dimmer now, and it feels cozy, lying next to him. I could fall asleep like this, easily. Actually, I could fall asleep like this every night. Maybe this could be my life, some version of this.

"We must leave," I mutter, fighting my sleepiness. "He'll be back soon."

"You sleep," he says, making me wonder, vaguely, if he can read thoughts, after all. "I'll keep track of the time."

I want to protest, but my body is not with me on this. I feel heavy and satisfied, all the events of today swirling in my brain, the alcohol still circulating in my blood. I move closer to him, and close my eyes, basking in the heat of his body as I drift off to sleep. 

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