wolfsbaneward:
@fcxglcves
The room is rented. It’s more of a convenience for both. It’s an expensive room, private - clean, fresh, crisp sheets, a trolley to one side with a good vintage wine and half filled glasses. He wouldn’t necessarily go to so much trouble - but the worth of the evening stretched a little further than the norm. And, as far as she’s concerned… She is worth it.
She bats those long lashes and plays the game as well as he does. Better. This is her area of expertise… Her talent… For him it’s a hobby. An amusement. A craving. An itch that she sates with immaculate skill. A master craftswoman. The perfect chameleon. A fantasy in the flesh.
He’s under no illusions that she is - an illusion. The ghost of whatever he wants, or needs her to be. He’s equally sure that she’s well aware that their arrangement is simply that. It’s business… A transaction. He’s not here to buy either her attention or her affection ( and isn’t that the mistake that so many make? - Those things, when given, are given freely… They can’t be bought. They can make up part of the overall pretence… But they’re never real when they’re paid for ).
Those clean sheets are now damp with sweat. He can feel them clinging to his back as he shifts. Every button pressed. Every muscle lax and at ease - a knot of ebbing pleasure settled low in his gut in the aftermath. Christ, she was good.
“Refil?”
Moving to stand. A few long languid steps, stretching muscles before tipping more wine into the glasses.
“So c’mon - this is the point where you tell me… How many have declared their undying love for you this week? What little… or large - tokens of affection - have found their way into your closet?”
He’s always curious - just to see how far they’re willing to go. How far and how deep she can ensnare them in that web of decadent temptation. A sprinkling of lust, a glisten of flesh and they’re all hers. Somehow, he finds it easy to ask. It’s an honesty that’s perhaps outside the boundaries of their ‘arrangement’.
He doesn’t think she’s ever lied. He almost hopes she never needs to.
there are no illusions in this... arrangement. no expectations on her end for more than just a good night — and oh, how very good they were indeed. beautiful rooms with soft luxurious sheets shining white against the pale of her skin. wine that glided down throats like molten honey. there never needed to be anything more than that. none of that sappy feelings nonsense, no. nothing as fickle as that.
it is oddly satisfying to know this — that they come together ( that he calls eve to set up this standing arrangement that’s been in place for months ) so easily. the fact that they fit like lock and key, a matched set designed to strike the flint of each other’s bodies in just the right way.
she accepts the glass with a graceful smile, relishing in the way the wine soothes her throat ( dry and scratchy from the past hour’s activities ) as it flows down.
his question invites a knowing laugh. somehow they always find their way back here in the aftermath, a gentle probe into the rest of her clients. she’s not sure why he still asks — it’s not like there’s ever anything new, anything for him to compare himself to. their relationship exists outside the realm of her regular clientele.
“undying love?” she rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “you flatter me — just one, the usual.” it doesn’t bother her either way — love is just another path to the wallet, the only prize she has her heart set on. she waves a listless hand in the direction of her dress, her shoes, all scattered across the carpet. “there, ‘s all new, but none of them know my tastes quite like you, my darling.”
