I want you to film me when you’re not recording
I want you to see me when you’re not looking
I want you to fuck me when we’re not touching
I want you to judge me like the second coming
Hello 🖤 I'm back, and the next chapter of LCM is here at last (I'd be loathe to return empty-handed...).
There's a lot I want to say, but mostly I just want to thank everyone that's still hanging in there and reading this wild ride a whole 54(!) chapters in. And an even bigger thank you to those of you who checked in while I was away. I aim to respond to you all, and I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I truly hope (and very much think) this chapter makes up for it. Shoutout to my incredible beta reader @grilledcheeseandguavajelly for always being an absolute SAINT, and to @agathaspett for her beautiful edits and for helping me find the perfect images for what's to come...
Please read the author's note, make use of the jump link if you wish to. Most importantly, HYDRATE for this one. You'll need it.
See you all on the other side.
✨ 🎥 🪄
There’s something so laughably insulting about the proverb, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Because when you open the front door of your now-empty apartment thanks to your roommate and her Emmys-watching entourage apparently deciding to take the remainder of their Monday night elsewhere, the sight of Agatha on your doorstep puts that saying to shame.
Because there’s nothing “fond” about the way she stands there, looking at you like you’re the only place she was ever meant to end up.
It’s barely been 5 minutes since you left her waiting in her car while you checked the coast was clear, before texting her with a racing heart and shaking thumbs:
It’s just you and me x
You’d held your breath after sending it, doing your best to shoo away the intrusive thoughts that insisted she could still run.
That she might decide this was too much, too close to “normal”.
That instead of waiting, parked down the street where you’d left her, she’d already be halfway down the 10, speeding back to her lonely mansion while you, blissfully unaware, checked whether it was safe, or whether you were going to have to sneak her in through your bedroom window like teenagers breaking curfew.
But no.
Any doubt disappears the moment you hear 3 knocks at your apartment door.
And when you open it, there stands the woman who holds everything.
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar
Word count: 8k+
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, implied toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, degradation and a lil sweetness as always, jealousy, talking about previous sexual encounters, minor blood ( lip bite), gambling, crime, sex, cigar smoking, gum sharing, cliffhanger ( sorry ), corruption
"Don't think of it as cheating, think it's just like giving everything to me on purpose."
It's dangerous, and it's stupid. But she's smiling and you're smiling and maybe you're unsure of who you are now. Maybe changed for the worst. Maybe you were always supposed to be like this.
"I always know what's best for you, don't I?" She adds as she laughs, watching your body relax against her.
Knowing she has you right where she wants you.
Agatha's hand is firm on your wrist as she pulls you into the club. A place you'd never even noticed not too far from the penthouse. The penthouse. Like it’s some kind of shared commodity. Though with the amount of time you’re spending there, it’s starting to feel like it is.
The smell of the place hits you first. Smoke and liquor and something like a fog machine. It's dark outside, the street lit only by the purple neon sign hanging above the door.
It doesn't seem like somewhere she'd suggest. Expecting somewhere quiet and cozy. The warmth of the conversations inside is in your nostrils as she pushes past the line, the security moving out the way to let you in without so much as a second glance.
Air thick as she continues on her course. Lights and laughter. Dancing and flirting. Her grip firm as she guides you between the tables. The room parts instantly as you move past the wandering eyes of the guests. Her body and eyes forward, never looking back like you’re swept away in a movie scene.
You suspect you have a lot more to learn about her.
The place is a playground for the socialites you can't tell if you recognize properly. Classy and trashy and the rules out the window.
Men playing poker around a tiny table, a fully stocked bar, maybe for wine? And skimpy waitresses who must be making a killing on tips. The bass booming in a song you'd never heard before. A mix of seductive and dangerous. The lighting dim, the walls plush.
Is this really someplace she comes? The woman who won't stay outside for too long? The woman who sanitizes her hands after petting a dog? It doesn't seem right.
She hadn't said much before you left, just excused herself to the bathroom and called you into the elevator before you'd finished putting your socks on.
The plush suit is still soft against her skin as she moves under the orange glow, you try to pry your eyes away from it, knowing she's covered in champagne and covered in you.
The diamonds around your neck remain despite being back in your clothes, and maybe you'd be wildly uncomfortable being here if she wasn't here with you.
Suddenly her hand is off your wrist, finally turning to see you when you're pulled into the private booth.
VIP ONLY written on a half-wall, a soft black couch and a small table lit only by a candle. Agatha plops down onto the couch, shrouded in the shadows but not nearly as private as you'd like. Minimalist and unassuming.
Her eyes are bright and wild as you stand in front of her, waiting for some kind of explanation to her sudden desire to come here. It seems out of character. And does she always drink this much?
Closer to the version of her Rio was talking about on the island. Wild and spontaneous and free. You thought those days were long gone. The days of reckless abandon favored by paperwork and espresso.
Your lip between your teeth as she gets settled, a smile creeping across her face as she watches you decide where to sit. Opposite her. Next to her.
You don't have to think for long.
She taps her thigh twice, you look around instinctively, are you allowed to do that here?
"Babygirl I don't have all night."
You swallow, clouded in the darkness of the corner and the half-wall that can't be doing all that much. Surely somebody could look over and see. Is this relationship, or whatever, supposed to be a secret?
Sure you signed an NDA but you'd never had the conversation, not properly. Perhaps it's an unspoken rule of this place.
Perhaps that's why she comes here.
She doesn't back down, raising an eyebrow in confusion and frustration.
She must mean it, she always means it. So you hold back your questions and climb onto her lap.
Her hands are warm and firm when they grasp your waist, settling you so your legs are draped across hers, fingers possessive against your thigh as you settle.
Perhaps she's not as afraid of this as you thought.
Or you're pulling it out of her.
But this is heaven and you could very easily get used to this, fingers tangling in the thick of her hair as the music envelops you. As people walk nearby, but don't quite look over. Public and affectionate and comforting. Claimed and cherished and wined and dined. Waking up in her bed after she begged for you back, sharing a cooked meal and sitting on her lap as the bass booms through the speakers.
This might not be a real relationship, but it sure is starting to feel like one.
Agatha clears her throat, beginning to form a word when she's thrown off by the sound of footsteps approaching, a waitress stopping a few feet away.
So much for privacy.
You play it casual.
Maybe if you don't look at her, she won't see you.
A little embarrassed to be draped across her like this all of a sudden, almost forgetting her reputation for a moment. This woman doesn't know you. She doesn't know Agatha holds your hand. She doesn't know you actually mean something to her.
Don't you?
"The usual, Ms Harkness?" She calls, and the sudden irritation is hard to ignore.
An unwelcome woman.
Causing unwelcome jealousy.
And if you're jealous around every woman who looks at Agatha like that, being in public with her is going to be extremely difficult.
Suddenly you want this woman to see you. To notice you and realize you're important. Pressing further into Agatha's lap as her hand stays firm on your thigh, holding you in place.
She’s tall and blonde, a short skirt and a polite smile.
You shouldn’t hate her.
She’s a woman doing her job.
But maybe the CEO’s possessiveness is rubbing off on you.
"Thank you."
Agatha responds in a calm and professional manner, it's then you notice the waitress placing down one single neat whiskey on a literal silver platter.
You are on her lap, after all. There's no need to be jealous.
She smiles, but it’s clearly not at you. No attention paid to you whatsoever.
No offer of a drink.
No anything.
“One for me too, would you?” You call out to her before she heads out. Your pulse beating a little too hard even though there's no reason to be nervous.
Agatha's chest vibrates with low laughter at your response.
You don’t want the whiskey. You won’t drink the whiskey. This isn’t about that.
The waitress nods at your words, still refusing your gaze until she’s out of earshot.
"At the rate of sounding wildly cheesy–" your fingers toy with the creases on Agatha's now crumpled shirt collar "–you come here often?"
The creases. How you grabbed at her collar less than an hour ago. How she whimpered into your ear when she was inside of you.
Her eyes roll as she tilts her head back to get a better look at you and you almost forget you said something stupid.
"Not in a while."
"Why?"
Her grip is firmer against your thigh. Leaning a little closer to you, the champagne still on her breath. The heat of her skin warming you through the clothes separating you.
"You always ask so many questions, do you ever just enjoy things?"
There's a hint of annoyance in her voice, though it's mostly playful. Still, she's right. She's come here for fun. She doesn't want to be pressed further right now.
Not here. Not in the VIP section of this random club.
Maybe it isn’t that important. Maybe she just didn’t like dancing anymore.
Which reminds you.
"I thought you wanted to dance?"
Agatha's teeth are perfect when she smiles.
"I want you to dance for me." She gestures to the floor before her, covered with minimal privacy and candlelight.
You scoff without another thought.
"You want me to give you a private dance right here? Who do you think I am?"
But the tension between you is gone, not the sexual tension. The kind of tension that came first. Terrifying and uncomfortable and unpredictable.
“What’s wrong with here?” Her tone is accusatory.
“Maybe I just don’t want to.”
She doesn't scare you anymore. Not when she's smiling like this with her body pressed against yours. Not when you're wearing the diamonds she bought you and you brewed her coffee while her hair was still a mess from sleep. It's different now. In a good way.
She can frighten you when she needs to.
But you like that too.
Maybe it's silly, maybe it's dangerous. But she gives your hip a playful squeeze. Her tone dead serious as she talks and all you can think about is how fun it would be to push her buttons.
"I think you do whatever I want you to do. Don't you?"
That look is back in her eyes, hunger and winning.
So you tease her. Leaving her embrace as gracefully as you can.
You miss her lap as soon as you step away from her. Instantly colder despite the heat of the room. The music seems louder even just a few inches away from the cozy corner.
Agatha's arms settle back either side of her head. Relaxing into her personal show.
A perfect day for her.
Deals, money and sex.
Expensive wine and an even more expensive dinner, sealed only by lap dance from her perfect assistant in a dark and somewhat sleazy club you can't quite get the vibe of.
But that's too bad.
You're grabbing at that suit like it's not worth thousands of dollars and this isn't your boss. Your brain too high on the night for the fear of consequence, focused on the fun, on the wealth, on being untouchable and hers.
The look on her face is fury, but her body is loose and she lets you pull her up without too much hesitation, trying to hide her smile.
Maybe this is why she likes you, actually likes you. In a way that makes her drink your espresso when nobody is looking so you aren't embarrassed.
Maybe it's something else entirely.
"Can you not dance?" you tease as she's a little too stiff. Her body flush against yours as you wrap your arms around her neck. Still feeling daring despite everything you already told yourself.
How she doesn't really scare you. But the thrill of someone so powerful wrapping her arms around your waist, like a vampire hunting its prey, and you’re unlocking the fucking door.
"I'm not usually the one dancing." She sinks her teeth into your neck as she leans into you, like she can hear your thoughts. You want to yelp. You gasp instead. "I was asking for a lap dance."
Her mouth hot against your ear as you sway to the music, trying to warm her up.
"I know what you were asking for." You bite your lip. "You said you wanted to take me dancing. So now you're saying you can't dance?"
She rolls her eyes because of course you're already bothering her. Her face is tinted with the purple neon that spreads across the club, lost in the hue of her skin. "Of course I can dance. I'm exceptional. At everything."
The hands on your waist move lower, certain and firm as she pushes away any air between you. It's fiery and intentional when she moves your hips for you, encouraging you to keep moving to the music. It's warm and she's making you sweat just from her body being so close, the cool of her expensive watch contrasting against your body.
"If you wanted a lap dance, I could have done it in your penthouse." You offer, not that you could truly complain about being here. As strange as this feels.
Perhaps it's the sense of normality. Dancing with a woman on a sticky floor.
"You want to be cooped up in my lair all day?" She chuckles, pulling you a little closer.
"Your lair? What are you, the Joker?"
"Don't ever say that to me again." Her voice is firm like she's dead serious. "And maybe…maybe I wanted people to see you with me."
It's hard not to gasp at her words. Or cry. Or fall apart entirely.
"You like the risk of getting caught?" You ask quietly, studying her face under the neon. She swallows. That must be what she means. Surely not showing you off, not going public.
"You looked so pretty between my thighs when I was on the phone earlier." Her words spread warmth straight through your body. "Maybe I just wanted to keep it going."
Luckily you're able to maintain your composure on the outside, despite the intense beating of your heart inside of your chest.
"Just doing my job."
"My pretty assistant. I should keep you under the desk at the office. Maybe I should try it while we're in a meeting next."
"Oh you'd like that." You tease.
"Maybe I should make it a new rule for you, keep you stuffed with mommy's cock while she talks to all her clients."
She raises her eyebrow when you react by slapping her collarbone playfully.
"Ms Harkness, that is extremely unprofessional."
You fail at holding back the laugh inside of you.
"You're being bad." She purrs, Voice low, some of the bass of it getting lost in the music.
"You like it."
"Like you like my money."
And she will not let you forget that, the admittance of your love for the security she brings you, and the unpredictable lifestyle that might come with it.
But you know all the right things to get under her skin.
"Like I love your money."
Her hands are on your face before you can register them, keeping you steady, her grip probably a little too firm for what should be a gently flirtatious interaction.
"How'd you like more?" When you can finally settle your eyes on hers, it's a look you've never seen before.
Similar to the look she gives you when she's looking down upon you, similar to when she's closing an exceptional business deal.
But not quite the same.
Those hands push back your hair. Her head tilting to see your response.
Her voice is low and dangerous, holding you like she wants your full attention.
"You want to help me with something?"
You stop moving entirely, you don't know what she means, but you know it can't be good.
The one time she's suggested a normal date activity and you know already she's plotting something chaotic and almost certainly problematic.
Unless she just means working, which is even worse, so you have to get out with it.
"Help you with what?"
Please be something sexy. Please be something sexy.
Her voice is slow and sly, lips in a smile as she holds you firmly in her arms that are uncharacteristically strong for someone surviving off of whiskey, sugary coffee and pasta. Your heart beats against hers, knowing you couldn't get away even if you wanted to, especially with that tracker on your phone and her name on your rent payments.
It should be terrifying.
When you arrived at her office, you were independent and strong-headed.
Now you’re trapping yourself in the arms of a woman who could do anything she wanted with you.
Why does it feel good?
And why do you laugh when she suggests her plan?
"You help me win that poker game out there."
"Help you win? I don't know how to play poker." You blurt. Why would a woman with everything want to win something as trivial as poker?
Her tongue pokes her cheek as her hands return to your waist, refusing to set you free.
"You don't have to play, you just have to read the cards. Stand at the back over there behind the big bald guy, and–" her voice lowers, eyes looking around just a little bit, certain that nobody can hear. Or doesn't care. "–then you tell me what they are. You see?"
You try to wriggle back instinctively at her suggestion but the look on her face is a mix of desire and pure amusement.
You settle instantly.
"You want me to help you ch–" her hand covers your mouth before you get the chance to say the word.
"Don't you like a little fun?" Her eyebrows raise as she asks releasing you. Her voice dripping with seduction and oh.
This isn't about the money at all.
This is a power play.
"And what, you give me the money?"
The laugh that leaves Agatha's mouth is sharp and hearty. "God no. But I can take you shopping with it, if you're good."
"I'm always good."
She doesn't give you the satisfaction of a response, only pressuring the situation further. Fingertips snaking up your arm.
"Don't think of it as cheating, think it's just like giving everything to me on purpose."
It's dangerous, and it's stupid. But she's smiling and you're smiling and maybe you're unsure of who you are now.
Maybe changed for the worst.
Maybe you were always supposed to be like this.
"I always know what's best for you, don't I?" She adds as she laughs, watching your body relax against her. Knowing she has you right where she wants you.
And whether it's the high you're on from being this intertwined with her life, or the afterglow of the champagne sex has truly caused derealization, you seem to be doing her dirty work for her anyway.
---
You hold the silver tray the waitress dropped off, cool on the palm of your hand as the single scotch still sits centre. Standing close to the much too small table behind the man she had pointed out.
You never did get that drink from the pretty blonde waitress. Not seeing her again in a way that feels too intentional.
Hopefully you scared her off.
You want to scold yourself, but you don't have time for that. Watching the bald man check his hand.
He's clumsy with his cards, and you pretend to blend in with the other waitresses, despite feeling more out of place than you ever have.
Agatha is sat legs apart in the tiny chair, pompous and obnoxious as she pretends to take the game very seriously.
It's hard to pry your eyes away from her. The pale of her skin in the colored lighting. The way she reaches into her suit packet for some gum and placing it on her tongue. Not drinking. Clear head.
She doesn't look at you, you know she can't blow her cover.
But you can look at her, hair messier than it was this morning from your hands in it.
You had expected to feel guilty, stressed. You'd never have done something like this before her. Not wanting to get in trouble, and never needing to get into such a ridiculous situation.
But Agatha loves a ridiculous situation, it seems, and the rush you get from knowing she can get away with anything is buzzing inside of you. The way she pays and talks her way out of problems, sitting on the too-tiny table with confidence oozing out of her.
Ruminating thoughts in your head. What if you get spotted? What if they kick you out?
But they settle as you watch her.
You know Agatha would be there for you. Of course she would. And with every passing day you feel closer and closer to truly believing it.
The first section of the game went by too slowly, with her winning small subtle amounts to not attract too much attention. It's hard for her to act natural when she's spitting jabs at her opponents to throw them off guard.
It would have been painfully boring if she wasn't so magnificent to look at. If she hadn't taken her jacket off midway through, rolling up her sleeves when it got warmer. The suspenders over her shirt that's still crumpled and unbuttoned at the top from where you clawed at her earlier and in this moment she feels like yours.
The same way your skin is eternally covered in her bruises, you've left your mark. Even subtly. In a way she could have quickly fixed, but actively decided against.
With certainty, you know you'll be back in her bed tonight. Maybe if you're lucky, every night.
Your eyes blink hard as you try to focus on this game and definitely not on the too-early feelings you're trying to push down.
So far, nobody has noticed you standing nearby. Or if they have, they haven't said anything. Lurking and pretending to deliver the same drink to several people in the area without actually talking to anyone.
Agatha's words were simple.
“Touch your pretty necklace if they flash an ace. Touch your pretty lips if it's a pair.”
A few others you're trying not to forget as the game gets longer and the situation gets more heated. Drinks are sloshed around. The cards aren't in the best shape. The poker players are oblivious, but what's even easier is that this isn't a casino and these men are drunk.
And of course, Agatha despite her incessant cockiness is also extremely clever, losing a couple so she doesn't draw suspicion. Not that it's helping her case. The large man in front of you slurring and getting angrier with every passing minute. Her entire demeanor only irritating him more as his ego grows and shrinks in time with her wins.
"Fuckin' Christ. Much better before you came over here. You got an earpiece in or somethin?" He snarls as he points at her. You swear you see steam coming from the bald of his head.
Her touched-up lipstick is still a little smudged at the corner, another claim you haven't mentioned, just in case she hadn't noticed. Lips in a polite smile as he rages. Throwing her arms back at such a bold accusation.
"What a ludicrous remark darling! Don't be a sore loser." She chirps and tuts like she isn't actively cheating literally right now.
He slams his fist down in response.
"Just because you don't know how to play doesn't make me a cheat." She pouts.
That does it.
She's making him angrier on purpose.
He moves his hands erratically, giving you a good look at his cards again. This table is too small for secrets and every time Agatha gets him fired up he forgets he's supposed to be playing it cool.
He peeks carelessly at his whiskey soaked cards again.
Which means you get a nice, long look.
Her eyes don't pass over to you, somehow extremely obvious and intentionally careful at the same time.
You touch your neck to signal to her, as casually as you can. The outrageous diamonds against your skin as you balance this drink that grows dustier every passing second. It smells like her. Like it would burn you.
The man bets big.
Of course he does.
She's jeering at him to go all in before she does the same. Doing what she does best. Asserting her dominance by being difficult.
But surely she can't be this confident. She can't be this lucky. He looks around once, you suppose to double check if there's anyone behind him. Fuck. You turn quickly, grabbing and sipping on the burning liquid in your hand to blend in.
She'd laugh at you if she wasn't at least a little bit trying to act casual.
Deciding on his final move, he calls.
The money is hers before you know it and the man is kicking at the table, scrambling to his feet and marching over to his friends who yell and pat his shoulder.
Agatha remains unbothered, collecting her jacket and the thick envelope of cash, unfazed by the scramble of the men just a few inches away from her.
"Well lovely playing with you gentlemen, have a pleasant evening." She signs off, nodding her head towards the corner of the room. You catch the signal easily, dropping the whiskey tray on the table and following after her in way you hope is reading as natural and not 'i just cheated in poker'.
The men don't seem to notice, the big one being consoled by his friends as security eye him. Another drink placed into his hand already.
Agatha makes a dramatically wide smile as she shakes the envelope like she's luring over a dog with treats. You'd roll your eyes if you weren't so filled with adrenaline.
As you approach her, her hands are on you instantly. Pushing you back into the wall, which turns out to be a door. Your body falling back as she catches you, giggling to yourself as you're able to touch her again. Wrist aching a little from the way you were standing with the tray, even though nobody had instructed you to hold it like that.
Assuming you're sneaking into a restricted area, you try to move back towards where you entered, surprised when Agatha grabs your hand and pulls you up a staircase instead.
She isn't communicating at all. Just directing you with arm pulls and the sound of paper on paper. It's sleek and steel back here, with small orange lights and the smell of smoke in the area.
"Agatha." You whisper as she pulls you up behind her. She ignores you, set on whatever destination she's heading to.
"Hey. Agatha. I don't think we should be back here." You try again, but you're already at the top of stairs in a little corridor. A glass wall that overlooks the entire club, the shape of it makes more sense now. A little stage with drums and a whiskey bar, not a wine bar at all. 
People dancing in the fog. Sweaty bodies and friends doing shots.
More doors up here, all black and all reading PRIVATE, but she's pushing one of them open before you can protest.
The music bounces beneath the floor, muffling the sounds from below. The ground in here a soft cream carpet in contrast with the dark sticky floors outside, the smell of cherry and liquor in the air already as her lips are on your neck without hesitation.
You sigh as her body weight pushes against you.
Alone at last.
Your back against the closed door, eyes trying to adjust to the room before she's pinning your hands above you with one arm, her body trapping you against the door as she clutches the envelope with the other hand. Unable to leave even if you wanted to.
As ever, of course you don’t.
"You did so good out there." She whispers against your neck, "so proud of you."
Breathing heavy from the praise, head turning so she can leave her marks the way she likes to. She's aroused from the power and the money and the cheating and fuck, are you too?
When her mouth leaves your neck, she's impossibly close to your face. Her perfect facial features enhanced by the warm lighting as she looks at you with awe and desperation.
You don't wait or ask for permission, you kiss her deep and hungry, feeling her smile against your lips as her tongue meets yours, releasing your wrists as she pulls you closer at the waist, your chest, your ass. Grabbing and gasping. Hands tangling in her hair as she walks you over to a different part of the room you haven't quite noticed.
"I wanna count it." She catches her breath when she parts from you. Eyes blue and eager. Your fingers toy with the crumple of her collar, drifting a little lower.
Agatha freezes as you slowly unbutton another expensive button on that shirt, tracing the crumple of her collar with your fingertips. She's outrageously beautiful and a sea of red flags, but she's yours. Her skin buzzing with electricity as you touch her softly. Not sure why she's not already attacking you. You want to fuck her in this shirt, and you want to clean and iron it for her the morning after.
"Count it." You tell her, watching her smile grow, the fine lines either side of her mouth are delicious, but she's in her element now, pulling away from you and pulling the cash out. A stack thick with crisp and crumpled bills alike. Only an inch more of her chest exposed, but you did that.
"Why don't you come down here while mommy counts her money, hm?" She points to the ground, your eyes finally taking in the things in the room that aren't just her.
A dimpled leather sofa, a mahogany nightstand and another Persian rug? She's settling onto the leather before you can ask a question, legs spread as she points again to the ground between them.
You don't think about the fact this is a public space, or how dirty the floor probably is, you do as you're told. Resting your head against her knee as she slaps the cash down next to her. This is a private room. Has she hired it for the two of you?
Her delay as she opens the nightstand gives you a second to focus yourself, watching her delicate hands pull out a cigar from the drawer. Engraved into the depth of the wood:
A.H
You laugh immediately as she trims the cigar. No fucking way.
"Agatha, is this your club?"
Isn't she old money? Fancy and classy and raised probably on a french horse? Why on Earth does she own a sleazy socialite club she's never spoken about?
"You're observant." She smiles, reaching for a match and slamming the door shut. "I'm banned from the other clubs nearby so I just bought this one."
You close your eyes so you don't keep laughing, she seems serious right now and you don't want to ruin it. Why would she buy this place? Is this how she likes to party?
You think of the island, of the dainty glasses of champagne on arrival and the immaculate fire pit. Conversations about art and taxes.
This is not that.
Still with so many questions, but she's positioning your head away from her knee and holding you steady in front of her.
Your face in one hand and her cigar in the other as she presses either side of your lips, opening your mouth.
"Open."
You obey in trust as she spits her gum onto your tongue before you can object. "You take everything mommy gives you, don't you? You're welcome, hon." She coos, closing your mouth for you.
With the gum out of the way, she finally takes a draw of the cigar, flicking through the stack with her free fingers. It tastes very faintly of mint, but mostly of her.
"Thank you." You reply instinctively, the taste of her on your tongue as she tastes the smoke. Sat tall above you, exuding power and sex in this suit that smells like the two of you and a four thousand dollar bottle of champagne. The money in a stack in her hand as she takes a long, yearning look at you.
Before throwing the cash all over the room.
Ridiculous, with two hands and the cuban between her lips. Throwing it like you're stripping and not patiently waiting for instruction with a smile that's high on the essence of this life that she hides from everybody.
She's laughing, reaching forward to caress your face and most importantly not yelling, which means all the money must be there.
Or she doesn't care about that at all.
"So good. So damn perfect for me all the time. You did this." She gestures to the piles forming around you as the paper settles on the floor.
"Thank you." You repeat, settling into this headspace as she settles into her own. Tracing your cheekbones with the back of her hand.
Agatha's cherry perfume hits your nose as she leans forward, blowing out the cigar smoke between her lips as she decides what to do with you. How to celebrate her win. Whether this date will ever end or if this is even part of it.
You breathe her in, the perfume and the smoke. You know she's expecting you to cough, or to back away. You don't. You shuffle forward. Wanting more.
Wanting her in whatever form it takes.
It shouldn't be sexy. But it's Agatha, so it is. She's everywhere. Her smoke in your face, between your lips, in your lungs.
Another draw of the cigar.
Another blow onto you.
You breathe.
You don't break eye contact.
She swallows.
Interrupted with a knock on the door that brings you back to reality, almost.
This new reality.
The waitress from earlier, pretty and holding a clipboard is in the room before Agatha even gives her the clear to come in. "Ms Harkness I was just wondering if you'd be needing–"
She stops when her eyes move down to you, not enough time to scramble off the floor, and quite frankly not wanting to. Not when this is her space and you know this woman has signed an NDA. Obviously. Not when you're still a little jealous from earlier. She knows Agatha's drink order and that is your job.
Needing what?
"I can see you're already being taken care of." She smiles, a little forced, actually extremely forced as she shuts the door.
Agatha quickly running a hand over your hair and raising the cigar back to her lips. Slipping right back into it without so much as a second thought.
And you wish you could keep going but seeing that woman has stirred up a new pot of feelings inside of you.
"Taken care of?" You try not to sound so infuriated at the implication. Trying not to seem so curious about the whole thing, she didn't bring a drink here. "Does she think I'm staff?"
"Technically you are staff."
You'd roll your eyes if the slap you received wouldn't derail the conversation. "That's not what I mean."
She laughs in response. Rolling out her neck like she's tense. You can't shake the feeling in your chest from the intrusion.
"What did she mean?"
Her jaw tenses above you just a little as she decides whether or not to tell you.
You spit the gum onto her rug.
"Hey! Do you know how expensive that is?" She clicks in front of your face like she's trying to train you, eyebrow raised still waiting for an answer.
Even with Agatha being easier to read. Even with her emotions and temper being more consistent with you. Even with you being accepting of her mind games. Every day you spend with her it feels like two steps forward and one step back. Too much mess and too many problems.
But she could never be too much for you.
"You can tell me." You encourage, staying in your place. This is resistance, but it's not a fight.
She takes another puff, pondering how to word it. Deciding on blunt but bored.
"She means I don't need another girl in here, because you're in here."
She gestures to you.
Another girl?
"Another girl? Is she—"
She clears her throat like she might be uncomfortable in this situation.
"Well, sometimes. Or...fuck. Sometimes she brings me somebody. You know, when i'm here alone."
You close your eyes to try and process this.
Maybe you should have asked about the women outside of her assistants.
The jealousy feels like lava under your skin.
"Why do you want to hear this?" She adds, stubbing the rest of the smoke out on the nightstand. A delicate silver ash tray waiting for her.
The waitress probably put that there. Fuck. Do not let her into your head again right now.
You aren't sure why you want to hear it. Or even if you do. And you aren't sure how far you want to go, how many questions you want to ask. Whether you should ask any.
But you're special. Aren't you? You're the lipstick smudge she hasn't cleaned up. The crumple on her shirt.
And that feels good.
"How many?"
"What?"
"How many girls do you get up here?"
"Jesus. I don't know. In this room?"
"Yeah."
"I mean...." She takes a second like she might be counting and then grimaces. " I have no idea. It's not like I tally these things."
You swallow. Is not remembering better or worse?
"And that woman?"
"Mhm." She's standing above you before you know it, towering above you as you stay on your knees. "Is that what you want to hear from me? You want to hear about me using pretty girls and forgetting their names? What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you?" You bite back, it's risky, probably the most risky thing you've ever said and you regret it as soon as you do. You didn't mean it like that. You don't get a second to take it back before she's shoving you down and bending you over the couch. Leaning down with her fingers in under your waistband before you can say sorry.
The delicate strokes of her fingers slither down your ass until she feels you undeniably wet against her.
"Oh. I get it. You get off when I hurt you, it's pathetic." And you feel it, trying to press against her, feeling torn between feeling special and wondering if she said that to everyone she had right here on this certainly filthy couch.
"Does it make you feel important when I touch you? Is that why you like it?" You don't know, so you don't respond. She sits herself firmly back down on the couch, her other hand grabbing you by the scalp when you don't respond to her.
"Tell me."
"I— I don't know."
"I fucked them here, you know that?" She pushes, trying to get a reaction out of you. You feel small at her words.
Just another number.
Fighting back tears to prevent her satisfaction as she releases your hair.
"I did exactly this, bent them over this imported furniture, fucked them until I felt better and didn't think about them again. They'd beg me to let them back in here with me."
You whine as her finger grazes your clit much too gently.
"Begging me to fuck them again, begging me to ruin them."
She withdraws her hand at the sound, pressing your face into the couch.
"It's harder to restrain in here, so i'd hold them down like this so I didn't have to look at them. That what you want to hear?"
You gasp heavy when she finally releases the pressure on you. You look up at her through your eyelashes. Watery and uncertain.
She looks back down at you. Jaw tight. Nostrils flared.
Chest heaving as she tries to process, or perhaps the opposite. To push the feelings down.
You blink in the silence of not knowing where you stand.
Then,
She taps her thigh twice. Your body aches already from the ground as you follow your orders again, straddling her as she digs her fingers into your thighs.
Back where you belong.
"Do you think I feel good about that?" She whispers.
You don't know. You can't tell.
You suspect it's complicated.
Her eyes flick down to the diamonds and back up to your eyes, your lips. Swallowing as she takes you in.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“Cute?”
“Cute.”
Her hands cradle your face, slipping her thumb between your lips. Watching you suck on her. Taste her.
She isn't trying to make you angry.
She's proving a point.
Not one of hers. Not another number. Not a long line of simple stress relief. Dripping with diamonds and desperation and sleeping in her bed.
"You're mine." Her words are firm, hands on your hips as she pulls you closer, as she needs you so physically close to her you can't get away.
"You're mine." You repeat back. You mean it even though it scares you. Even though it isn’t guaranteed.
Not like you being hers. You can’t imagine anything else.
She says nothing in response, grabbing your hand and guiding you to the waistband of her pants. You steady yourself.
Your heart in your throat as she proves your status. Slipping you under her suit and finding the wetness between her thighs without any trouble.
Her breath catches at the first touch.
"Look at what you do to mommy. You think everybody gets that?"
You shake your head as you catch your breath, overcome with too many confusing feelings, collecting her on your fingers before finding her clit. “Come on honey. You know what I want.”
You move slowly, gently. A contrast to the implications of the room, leaning in to kiss her cherry neck, to kiss her perfect lips. To show her your devotion as you slip inside of her. Her mouth drops open, brows furrowed as she gasps.
"Fuck, babygirl. You're doing such a good job."
Trying not to come instantly at the thought, focusing on her, on her pleasure and the way she feels wrapped around your fingers. On the way her hands dig into your skin so hard they might leave marks, and how she can't focus on kissing because the muscles in her face are too tight.
“Slowly. Don’t rush. There’s a good girl.”
You can’t fix her, but her nose crinkles as she tightens around your fingers.
You make me feel alive again, she had said as she pinned you to the desk earlier. You aren’t sure how yet. Whether it’s the stability or the recklessness or the intimacy, but maybe she makes you feel alive too. In a different way. In the opposite way.
Maybe you’re two sides of a radically confusing coin.
"Harder." She instructs, and you obey, holding back your own sounds as her fingernails assault your thighs. Her kiss vicious and overwhelming. “Just like that…so…fuck.”
Body tense as she's silent, before her moans are in your mouth as she comes for you, biting your lip and drawing a little blood to muffle the noise.
You try to breathe properly as she stills your hand.
“I can fire her.” She suggests, catching her breath and gesturing with her head towards the door. “I can fire Heather.”
Heather. The waitress. Or whatever she is.
The way she’d fired everybody near your desk just to have you all to herself.
She’d give you the same privilege? Is that something you’d want? To ruin some girls life over a little jealousy?
You slip out of her waistband, sucking her off of your fingers as she watches you with heavy eyelids. The taste sweet and addictive.
She doesn't need to fire anyone.
Agatha’s hands are easing up your shirt when she licks the blood from your lip, her nails grazing lightly across your back, snaking forward to find your...
She stills at the noise.
An enormous crash from downstairs, followed by yelling. Screaming. Fighting?
You freeze too, her hands gently holding you a little tighter. You doubt she’s even noticed the change in her grip.
What the hell was that?
It’s less than a second later when a security guard opens the door without so much as a knock, bumbling into the room at speed. He’s tall, with wide shoulders and a tie. He doesn’t care what he walks into, his eyes locking onto her as soon as he’s finally able to find her.
“Ms Harkness you have to come with me right away.”
You don’t move, not right away. Clinging to her.
“Right away we don’t have any time.” He gestures to the door with a look in his eyes like any hesitation might destroy his entire operation.
“What’s this about?”
You don't want to leave.
You don't want her to go.
But she’s already tapping her thigh and fixing her shirt. Acting quickly and leaving her winnings on the floor of the out of place room.
“Come.”
You follow, fixing your own clothes, pulse escalating and senses heightened, the man instantly following you as you leave the room. Another large man with a lanyard a little further down the staircase. The two of them either side of Agatha as you finally enter the club again.
It’s him.
The sweaty poker man.
Restrained by two of her security, a third holding back his friend. The others must have already been removed from the building, bottles smashed and a table upside down in the middle of the room. The lights all the way up and it doesn’t look near as shady as it did when you arrived.
His eyes lock onto Agatha instantly, going from red faced to burgundy as he spits his words.
“You! It’s you! I knew I fuckin’ recognized you!”
He’s being pulled back further, fighting with all his strength as they attempt to calm him.
“You sold me that goddamn penthouse! You told me it was safe! You fuckin’ scammed me! I can’t believe I didn’t clock it!”
She doesn’t look at him, head down as she follows her security out of the building, her hand on the small of your back as she guides you out.
“I don’t even know who you are.” She states calmly as she fixes her jacket. It obviously doesn’t help, his fury growing.
“Andy Vilanti. You’ll know me.” His voice is firmer and more certain this time. It takes a second for it to hit her.
You don't recognize the name.
The security do, looking at each other like they're sharing a thought.
Agatha swallows, she's composing herself. But you know her, and the way her jaw twitches when she’s uncomfortable. It’s radiating off of her skin and the intensity of her hold on you.
Suddenly the entire Zara situation feels like it might be the tip of the iceberg.
How much are you going to take?
You don’t have time to think as the security block the area, forcing you onto the leather seats of the car and into the quiet. One of them stepping inside and sitting next to the driver who seems calm and unbothered about the experience.
Your head is on her initials, body trembling at the sudden shock.
“Shit.” Her hands are in her hair before the car can even start. The ride smooth and what should be calming. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”
“Agatha-“
“I should never have dragged you into my life. I’msofucking...” Her hands are flexed and then they’re fists. Like she can’t control how her body is reacting to her thoughts. You can’t even comprehend the severity of the situation.
Surely this is a miscommunication. A nasty man at a club who’s not understood his situation correctly. Who didn’t know who she was.
"I don't care what you've done. I don't care. Tell me where we're going." You try to talk louder than she did, but it comes out weak in your throat. You think you mean it.
You think you’re past the point.
Totally devoted to her, regardless of the problems in her past and who she might really be.
Agatha ignores you.
“Why would you even let them inside?” She asks the security, a sharp tone in her voice and you can tell she’s trying not to lose it. “I specifically requested we keep them out of anywhere I own, do you not remember me buying a fucking PR company?! Does that mean nothing to you? I was past all this!” Her words turn to yelling and it’s already too late.
The security guard seems disappointed, but he wasn’t the guy at the door.
It isn’t his fault and she knows it. She clicks at him anyway to get his attention.
"Agatha—"
You reach for her hand, she flinches away from you in anger and you try not to let it hurt as bad as it does.
“I’m going to have to take you home...I'm...I’m sorry.” She spits her words in one quick sentence before her eyes are already out the window.
“Home? Like to the penthouse?”
“No. To your house. I can’t be there right now it’s a public address and I don’t–“
She cuts herself off.
“Look it’s just better for you if you go back to your apartment and I call you when this is resolved.”
“But what happened? I don’t understand?” It’s hard to hold back the tears as they start to stream down your cheeks.
Her eyes are soft.
“I know. I’m– you have to go home."
She sees you tremble.
She takes your hand.
"It won’t be forever.”
“But where are you going to go? I want to go with you!”
The driver is already pulling up at your door before you’ve even realized where you are.
“I don’t know yet I just. I can’t think right now I need a minute I need you to be safe can you listen to me right now? Can you be good?”
She’s not angry.
She’s scared.
“Okay. Okay I…I can do that.”
“Good girl. You have my credit card for whatever you need I’ll contact you okay I...I–“
She swallows whatever the rest is like it’s heavy.
Reaching over to you as the driver opens your door.
“I need you to be safe.”
Her face is fragile.
And you step out of the car.
—
Damn that was not supposed to take this long, it has been a TOUGH year, but we move. As always let me know your thoughts! Would also like to reference this Early Riser edit created by @wifehahn because I was literally listening to this song when I was doing full outline for this chapter when this edit was dropped! Crazy stuff.
In the same vein, below is the Early Riser Spotify playlist that was heavily requested, so here's all the songs I listen to that inspired different parts of this AU characters and their relationship. So do with that what you will. <3
Also quickly I knowwww we hate a cliffhanger, but i'm already working on the next part so fear not.
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
pixelskylines
gummygunk
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
