The Red Ribbon
Chapter Two
Plot Summary : By day you’re Billy Russo’s clumsy PA, but by night you’re a host at New York City’s most exclusive gentlemen's club. At The Red Ribbon everyone is anonymous and masks conceal the identities of patrons and hosts alike. But your two lives are about to collide and Billy Russo is about to see a whole new side of you without even realising it..
Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader
Story Rating : R
Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with smutty themes and include mentions/suggestions of sex work/work at a gentlemen's club (don't like, don't read). Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.
Word Count : 6.1k
A/N : I was feeling well enough to finally get this chapter finished!
CHAPTER ONE
Master List
Chapter Two
The morning after, it felt like it had all been part of some weird, misremembered dream. The kind of dream that you’d wake from with a sense of longing, wishing that a man like that could be real. But it hadn’t been real. That was the point of The Red Ribbon; nothing that happened there was real.
Still, you found yourself thinking about those dark eyes, about your little game and the things he’d let slip about himself.
Not to mention the way he’d promised to find you again.
You laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how things might be if your life was just a little bit different, if you’d met him somewhere else.
But that was stupid. If you’d met him outside of The Red Ribbon, it would have been you and not Bunny that he’d met, and you were certain that he wouldn’t like who you were behind the mask.
Reluctantly, you pulled yourself from your warm bed and got ready for your day. As you stepped into the foyer of Anvil, you hoped that Mr Russo wouldn’t be there and that he’d been lying about turning up at 5am. All you wanted was a nice, quiet morning where you could get things done without him making you feel like crap.
But you weren’t that lucky.
As you reached your desk, you could hear him on the phone - you only caught snatched words, but it sounded like he was trying to describe someone - but you thought nothing of it as you sat down and opened your laptop.
You were gifted ten wonderful minutes before his office door opened.
“I need everything we have on the Harris deal and I want my lunch at one,” he instructed.
“Yes, Mr Russo,” you said automatically, reaching for a pen. “What would you like for lunch?”
“Fettuccine Alfredo,” he said, “But get it from that place on 53rd, not the place on 38th.”
“Okay. And do you want your morning coffee yet?”
“Yes. In fact, get it as soon as you’ve pulled those files for me,” he continued before pausing a beat, “and don’t make a mess of them.”
“Okay.”
Then he was gone, leaving you to diligently set about your tasks for the day.
Getting his coffee went without a hitch, and so did his lunch order, but the files he requested weren’t so easy.
You managed to get almost all of them ready for him, but there was one - an important financial document, that was giving you problems.
You stared at the screen, trying every way you knew to open the files, only to be met by the same Corrupted File message. You called down to IT, desperately begging someone to come and have a look.
You’d met Ryan on your first day with Anvil, he’d help set up your laptop and give you access to everything you’d need to do the job and, since then, you’d struck up something of a work-friendship with him.
He leaned over you, looking at your laptop, clicking the file and going through - whatever tech magic it was that he thought might salvage the file. Eventually, he managed to find the file and you quickly sent it to print.
“There you go, nothing to it,” he said, smiling down at you, still leaning ever-so close to you.
“You’re a lifesaver, Ryan. Honestly, you have no idea how much shit I’d be in if -”
Ryan pulled back at the sound of a door opening and you both turned to find Billy Russo standing there.
“I was about to ask why my lunch was late, but I guess I don’t have to,” he said in that cold tone he seemed to reserve just for you.
Your eyes widened as you looked at the clock - fuck-fuck-fuck, you were supposed to have picked up his lunch twenty minutes ago.
Ryan muttered something of an apology and hastily made his way towards the door, seeing himself out.
Quickly, you got to your feet, knocking your desk and causing your water bottle to topple, soaking the desk as it rolled off and onto the carpet. You cringed, watching as water dripped off the desk and started to create a puddle on the floor.
“Jesus Christ, can’t you do anything without fucking up?” Russo sighed.
“I’m sorry, Mr Russo - there was an issue with one of the files so -”
“So you had to call someone from IT to come and flirt with you?” He said harshly. “Look, I don’t care about excuses, I just want you to do your fucking job, okay? It’s not fucking hard.”
“Yes, Mr Russo.”
“Now, clean up this fucking mess, and go get me my lunch. If you don’t have it on my desk before my meeting at two, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
You managed to hold back tears until his office door was shut, but you didn’t have time to wallow and cry, no matter how much you felt like you needed to. You threw yourself onto hands and knees and quickly mopped up the spillage before racing out of the building to hail a taxi.
He barely even bothered to look at you when you returned with his lunch with only fifteen minutes to spare, and you were almost certain that he’d wanted you to fail. He wanted a reason to fire you.
Dread followed you for the rest of the day, filling your chest like a weight that dragged you down the depths of despair. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you lost your job at Anvil, especially since you were certain that Mr Russo wouldn’t exactly offer you a glowing reference.
On your way home, you checked your bank account and realised that, once again, you were reaching the end of your overdraft. If you lost your job you were going to run out of money and then...
You didn’t want to think about then...
The next day followed the same pattern; the barista at Starbucks managed to fuck up Mr Russo’s coffee order, so he took it out on you, sending you back to get him fresh cup, despite the freezing cold rain.
By the time you were at home preparing for your next shift at The Red Ribbon, you knew what you were going to have to do.
You got there early, before the club even opened and, instead of getting changed straight away, you headed to the manager’s office. Fortunately, unlike your boss at Anvil, Val who ran The Red Ribbon was a lot more... approachable.
You went in with a whole speech prepared, about how you wanted to change your limits, but it wasn’t really needed.
Negotiated touching, meaning that physical touch wasn’t entirely off the table but patrons shouldn’t expect it. They would need to ask or, if the situation called for it, you would need to ask. And, still, you got to set your own limits, you got to say no and have Rocky deal with anyone who pushed your boundaries.
“Are you sure?” Val asked, looking for any sign of doubt. You gave a nod, not trusting your voice to not betray you. “And just what brought on this change of heart?”
You couldn’t tell her about Anvil, about the day job you were certain you were going to lose; it was too high profile, too dangerous, she’d see it as a conflict of interest, and the last thing you needed was for her to fire you.
You managed a shrug. “I just figured it was time. My rent is going up next month and I’m sick of scraping to get by.”
By rights you shouldn’t have been scraping by at all, even with just the money that you made from working at The Red Ribbon. Val shot you a questioning look, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t ask how you managed to burn through so much money so quickly. Everyone at The Red Ribbon had their own stories, you supposed, and you were no different and, while Val always did what she could to make sure everyone was safe and content, ultimately, she was there to make money too.
“Okay, as long as you’re sure you’re happy doing this.”
“I am. Really. I’ll be fine.”
And, that was that.
As you stepped out onto the club floor that night, wearing the fox mask, you were greeted by Rocky. It quickly became clear he knew that you’d changed your limits and, as he fitted your security bracelet for the evening, he was very clear about what you should do if you felt uncomfortable even for a second. Then, he followed you to the fox room and told you he’d be right outside all night.
Everything was fine.
It was shocking just how fine everything was. While touching was allowed, all you got was the occasional pat on the shoulder, a gesture that you returned in kind, but even with just that, you saw an increase in your tips by the end of the night.
Over the next few days, you found yourself almost forgetting about Tall, Dark and Handsome, as you lost yourself in trying to keep your head above water at Anvil, and making more money at The Red Ribbon.
It was a week to the day that you stood in front of the board, checking your room assignment for the night when you noticed that you were in the cat room, one of the smaller rooms in The Red Ribbon, usually only used when there were one or two patrons that wanted private service. There was a note beside your name in brackets; by request.
Some of the hosts had repeat customers, people who were so impressed by their skills that they requested the same host every time, but it was the first time that it had ever happened to you.
It was him.
It had to be him.
Your heart stuttered as you made your way to the cat room, saying a quick hello to Rocky as you got your bracelet fitted. He must have sensed your nervousness because he asked you if you were alright, if you needed him outside the door just in case. You shrugged him off, told him it was fine.
You’d never hosted in the cat room before, so you took a few minutes to familiarise yourself with it and to make sure everything was clean and comfortable.
Then the door opened and your heart threatened to stop completely.
“Bunny.”
His voice sent a shiver down your spine and brought a smile to your lips.
You tapped the cat mask on your face. “Not tonight.”
“You can put on any mask you want but you’ll still be my Bunny,” he said without a second of hesitation.
(His Bunny?)
Your breath caught as he stepped towards you, your head tilting back slightly the closer he got so that you could see his dark eyes.
“I told you I’d find you again,” he said.
“You did,” you said, trying desperately to calm your racing heart. “Though, I’m not sure if it counts as cheating to pay to find me.”
You smirked at him and watched as he considered the comment.
“I play to my strengths,” he said, shrugging.
“Money is a strength?”
“It is if you have it,” he answered.
He took another step, until there was no space left between you.
“Can I -” he started to ask but then seemed uncertain of something, “- am I allowed to touch you?”
His hand flexed as his side, his fingers seemed to itch and strain, wanting nothing more than to reach for you.
“Yes,” you answered softly, breathlessly.
Slowly, cautiously even, he reached for you, placing his hand on your cheek, just below the mask. Your eyes closed and you leaned into the warmth of his hand.
“What changed?” He asked, still sounding uncertain.
It took you a couple of seconds to figure out what he meant; when you’d last seen him a week ago, you’d been strictly hands off but, now, you were letting him touch you. You shrugged and shook your head a little.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Your hand rose to hold his, keeping it pressed against your cheek for a few more seconds before pulling it away and using it to lead him towards the sofa.
With a playful smile, you pushed him down onto the sofa and reached down to frame his face with your hands. As he looked up at you, it struck you just how tired he looked, and it brought about a strange want inside of you; the desire to take care of him.
“Let me get you a drink,” you said softly, lingering for a few more seconds before pulling away from him.
The bar was a lot smaller in this private room than the one you’d met him in, mostly meant for solo patrons and mostly those that wanted to do a lot more than just touch. Still, the bar was well stocked, and it took you no time at all to fill a glass with some ice and pour him a healthy measure of scotch.
When you returned to him, he took the glass from your hand and looked at you with some confusion as you sat beside him, your leg pulled up onto the sofa so you could face him better.
“Seriously, what changed?” He asked again.
“Maybe I was just optimistic that you’d find me again,” you answered with a shrug.
“So you’re... you’re okay?”
Of course, you knew where the thought had to have come from; he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you were willing to let masked strangers touch you for money, and that there had to be some terrible reason behind it.
“I’m fine,” you told him, reaching to cup his cheek, “so stop worrying about me and drink your drink.”
As if taking your words as a challenge, he lifted his glass and knocked it back in one go. Then, he seemed to settle a little, sitting back and fixing his dark eyes on you. You relieved him of the empty glass and placed it on the table, quickly returning your full attention to him.
“You look tired,” you said, the hand on his cheek moving, slipping your fingers into his hair.
“It’s been a long week.”
His eyes flickered shut and you heard him let out a soft sigh.
“Want to talk about it?”
His head shook, eyes still closed. “Just work stuff I’d rather not think about.”
“Then what do you want to think about?” You asked playfully, hoping to lighten his mood.
“You.”
“What about me?” You prompted, still running your fingers through his hair.
“You kissed me.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to,” you said, letting your fingers still for a moment.
Your breath caught as his eyes opened and he looked at you again. There was something so unreadable in his dark eyes and you couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a promise. He didn’t say anything so you continued.
“And, I think you wanted me to kiss you,” you said before pausing for a beat. “Didn’t you?”
That got a smile from him, that same little smirk that had been stuck in your mind since the last time you’d seen him.
“Wanted to do more than kiss you, Bunny.”
“Yeah, you did,” you said, barely holding back a smirk.
He laughed, daring to reach for you again, his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips.
“What is it about you?” He asked softly. “How is it that I feel so at ease when I'm with you?”
Your heart stuttered in your chest and you felt heat creep across your cheeks. It took every ounce of common sense at your disposal to remind yourself that the moment wasn't real and that, if he was face to face with the real you, he probably wouldn't be interested.
“The mask,” you offered, “or the fact that there's no expectations beyond this moment. We can be whoever we want to be right now and no one can say that we can't.”
“And who do you want to be right now, Bunny?”
“I want to be your Bunny.”
He seemed almost taken aback by your answer, shifting in his seat, leaning closer to you.
“You want to be mine?”
“For the night.”
“Just for the night?”
Your expression softened and turned into something a little sadder, knowing that you couldn't indulge him even though some part of you desperately wanted to.
“Let's not ruin it by thinking about later,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips. “Let's just enjoy now. Do you want another drink?”
“No, I want another kiss,” he said with all the confidence of a man who usually got exactly what he wanted.
“Oh, you do, do you?” You asked playfully.
Your fingers stilled and, instead, lightly gripped his hair as you lost yourself in his gaze. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game and, while you might have wanted to tell yourself that it was just the job and that all of this was just because he had paid for your time, there was more to it than that. It was silly but, some part of you wanted it to be real.
After the week you’d had, you wanted a moment where you didn’t feel useless, a moment where you felt wanted, even if the whole thing was just some ridiculous fantasy.
And, maybe, that was exactly what he wanted too, some escape from reality for an evening.
“I do,” he said, but made no attempt to close the distance between you.
He was giving you the choice. He wasn’t demanding or forcing it just because he was paying for your time.
With a smile on your lips, you leaned towards him and kissed him. It was nothing special, just a light peck on the lips, but it felt like so much more. It felt like a promise, an offer of something wonderful, but only for the next few hours.
His hand slipped to your neck, fingers resting above your racing pulse, and you could tell from the slight narrowing of his eyes he could tell that your heart was beating for him in that moment.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Don’t thank me. I wanted to kiss you.”
Reluctantly, you let your fingers slip from his hair and you sat back beside him, creating a little bit of space between you. As much as you wanted to keep kissing him, you didn’t want to rush or put yourself in a situation that you’d regret.
“So, should I ask how much money you had to spend to make this happen?” You asked, smiling playfully.
“Oh, an obscene amount,” he said, grinning straight back at you.
“Obscene?”
“A truly disgusting amount.”
“You rich guys, you think you can throw your money around and get whatever you want, don’t you?” You asked with mock indignation.
“I told you, Bunny; I always get what I want.”
You burst out laughing, amused by how serious he managed to sound. Though, in all honesty, you were trying not to actually think about how much he must have paid to make this happen. It was both unsettling and exhilarating to think that anyone might want to spend that sort of money just to be around you.
“You might always get what you want, but I’m starting to think you rarely get what you need,” you told him before getting to your feet.
You grabbed his glass from the table and headed back to the bar, this time bringing the scotch bottle back alone with a fresh glass of ice.
“You think this is what I need?” He asked as you refiled the glass and set the bottle down.
“No, I think what you need is a good night’s sleep,” you told him softly, sinking back onto the sofa beside me. “When was the last time you slept more than a couple of hours?”
A subtle shift in things followed, a clumsy sort of tension, as if you’d shattered the illusion that you’d both been trying to hide in. For a moment he looked at you and you almost braced yourself to be told it was none of your fucking business. After all, who were you to say such things to him?
“It’s been a rough couple of months,” he said, giving an uncomfortable shrug and you noticed an awkward sort of tension in his shoulder.
Without thinking, you reached for him again and began to softly massage where his shoulder and neck met. He let out what could only be described as a relieved sigh and, for a few seconds, he let his eyes close.
“Are you always so tense, or is this just the effect that I have on you?” You teased.
“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t inspire a certain sort of tension... well, it’s more of a stiffness really...”
Your fingers squeezed a little tighter on his shoulder. “Oh, really? Sounds uncomfortable.”
“I’ll survive.”
You managed to hold your composure for all of two seconds before bursting into laughter. He joined you and you couldn’t help but wonder how often he got to laugh like that. Not often, if you had to hazard a guess.
“I guess I should be flattered,” you said once you managed to stop laughing.
“Is that your way of telling me that you haven’t given me a second thought since the other night?” He asked, almost pouting.
You bit your lip, torn between brutal honesty and the safer option.
“I might have briefly considered you, once or twice,” you confessed.
It was a dangerous game, and a silly one considering you knew nothing about him. In fact, the whole thing was a little ridiculous; both of you were acting like your first meeting had been more than a couple of hours of silly comments made across a bar. Both of you were acting like it had meant something.
But it was hard to deny that there had been some spark of connection and, as childish as you felt for indulging it, you wanted more.
You watched as he took another drink and, again, drained his glass.
“Tell me, when you were considering me, were you considering anything in particular?” He asked.
“Hmm,” you hummed, appearing lost in thought for a moment, “I can’t really remember.”
Before he could answer, you leaned forward, reaching for the bottle on the table when, suddenly, you felt his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. Fingers cold from gripping his glass found your chin and he angled your face towards his so he could kiss you.
This time it wasn’t just some chaste peck on the lips. His tongue pressed against the seam of your mouth and your lips parted for him, letting him deepen the kiss while your fingers fisted the fabric of his jacket. His lips tasted of scotch and desire, and it was easy to lose yourself in the moment.
When the kiss finally broke, you let out a contented hum, your eyes remaining shut for a few long seconds.
“That’s what I was considering,” you said, lips pulling into a smirk again.
“Then maybe I should do it again.”
Before you could even think, his lips were on yours again. You fingers ended up back in his hair, gripping the dark strands and pulling him closer, keeping him against your lips as you kissed.
No one had ever kissed you the way he did; hungrily, needily, like he thought he might die if he didn’t have just one more taste of your lips.
And that was how the evening went from there; teasing playful comments interspersed with kisses that seemed to demand more and more.
You felt like your grip on your sanity was slowly loosening and it wouldn’t be long until it was gone entirely. Here was a man you didn’t know, a man whose face you’d never seen, but you were more than willing to spend the whole night on his lap making out with him as if he was your true love.
Every time you caught yourself thinking about it, you tried to rationalise it; he was a customer and this was what he wanted.
You were both adults who understood the situation.
(Right?)
Eventually you moved from his lap to refill his glass, wanting to at least make a show of being a good host, even though he pouted and complained that you weren’t allowed to drink with him. And, when you moved back towards him, you were quickly pulled back onto his lap, this time straddling him - so he could see you better, he explained with a smirk that tied your insides in knots.
You ran your fingers through his hair again, smiling at him as he sipped his scotch and stared right back.
“Tell me something real, something about you that no one else knows,” he said, still staring into your eyes.
“I like to go to the Rockefeller Center to watch the ice skaters in the winter,” you confessed as if it was some great and terrible thing.
“You just go to watch? You don’t skate?”
You shook your head and bit back a laugh. “No. I’m not... uh, I’m not very good at ice skating. I'm kinda clumsy, I'd spend all my time falling over...”
“I don't believe that, I've seen you balancing trays or drinks and walking around just fine.”
It was strange that you'd never stopped to think about it like that; you couldn't remember ever dropping anything while you were working at The Red Ribbon, while you were hiding behind the mask, but you could barely get through a day at Anvil without tripping over your own feet or making a mess of something. Maybe that was another benefit of spending your nights as someone else.
“Can you ice skate?” You ask, deciding to redirect the conversation.
“A little, but it's been years since I last tried.”
“You should go some time, have some fun,” you suggested. “You look like you need more fun in your life.”
“I've got all the fun I need right here, Bunny,” he answered back without hesitation.
“I mean real fun, not…”
It struck you that you didn't even have a word for what this was. A fantasy. A pipe dream. A waste of his time - if you wanted to be brutally honest about it.
“Not what?” He asked, picking up on your moment of hesitation.
“I just mean that when you get bored of this - of me - you should do something fun for yourself, something that makes you smile,” you said with a shrug.
His head shook and you could see the confusion on his face despite the mask.
“Who says I'm going to get bored of this?”
“Come on, handsome, we both know how this goes...” you answered as gently as you could. “You can't just spend the rest of your life coming here to see me.”
“Why? Is someone gonna stop me?”
He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze and, realistically, you knew that you should be at least a little bit concerned. He was a customer, this was your job. It wasn’t like you’d just met each other in some bar or coffee shop, and there was really only one sort of person who wanted to come to a place like The Red Ribbon to see the same host every night. But he didn’t seem like that, it didn’t act like some lonely weirdo who thought it was something more than it was.
“You’ll run out of money,” you joked.
“I can always make more.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossible to refuse,” he countered.
That had you laughing again, resting your hand above his heart, and shaking your head. You leaned forwards, your masked forehead against his, eyes closing tight.
“Carry on like this and I might actually start believing you,” you said softly.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he answered just as quietly.
Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again and his arm was pulling you closer. The kiss seemed more desperate as he tried to prove what he was telling you was true, and the longer it went on, the more you believed him.
Your chest pressed against his and he groaned into the kiss. A moment later you felt him between your thighs, a hard ridge tenting his pants. His hand moved to your hip, pulling you against him as he pressed upwards, grinding himself against you. You let out a soft moan into the kiss that only got louder as he took your bottom lip between his teeth.
Fuck.
You knew that you should stop but you couldn’t, so you did the next best thing and tried to take control of the situation, making sure he was at your mercy and not the other way around.
You pulled back a fraction and let your hands glide down the front of his shirt, all the way down to his waistband. Ignoring the trembling in your fingers, you quickly unbuckled his belt and made a strat on the fastenings of his pants. His breath caught as you tugged down the zipper and you hesitated, offering him a brief split-second to tell you to stop. When he didn’t, you slipped your hand into his pants and beneath his boxers to pull out his cock.
Your eyes widened as they travelled down his body to look at him, hard and growing harder still in your grasp. Thick, long and perfect, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. For you. He was hard for you.
“Fuck,” you muttered before you could think to stop yourself.
And he just laughed.
“See something you like, Bunny?”
Instead of answering you bit your lip and started to stroke him, slowly running your hand up and down his shaft. His mouth went slack and his head dropped back, and you paid attention to every little sound and flicker of pleasure on his face, learning exactly how he liked to be touched. Your grip tightened and your hand twisted ever so slightly, and the groan that left him sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your core.
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your neck, trailing wet kisses along the column of your throat until you almost forgot that you were the one giving him pleasure.
You didn’t snap back to reality until you felt his lips start to suck the skin just above where the red ribbon sat around your neck. Quickly, your free hand gripped his hair and gave a gentle tug.
“You can’t mark me,” you told him quietly but firmly.
The disappointed grunt he gave was almost enough to have you reconsidering, but he was quickly distracted by your hand.
His cock throbbed in your grasp, veins pulsing in time with his racing heart.
“You like that?” You muttered in a soft and sultry tone. “You like me stroking your cock?”
“Yes - fuck, Bunny - yes,” he groaned.
“Are you gonna come for me?”
There was no telling where your new found confidence had come from, you’d never been the sort to engage in dirty talk before but something about the moment made you feel powerful. That you, of all people, could have some powerful, wealthy man trembling beneath your touch was an intoxicating feeling.
“Come for me, handsome. Show me how much you like me.”
You watched as his jaw set and his teeth gritted, like he was trying to hold back, like he wanted the moment to go on and on. It only made your hand move faster, fingers twisting around his shaft.
When he continued to deny you, your fingers in his hair tightened their hold again, pulling his head up and forcing him to look you in the eye.
And that was all it took.
His cock started to twitch and you felt warm cum running over your hand, but all the while you held his gaze, enjoying the desperate little sounds that were escaping him.
“Fuck, Bunny,” he groaned, breathless and boneless as he sank back against the sofa.
You gave him a triumphant smirk, your hand still gripping his cock as it started to soften. When you finally pulled it away, you lifted it to your mouth and made a show of slowly licking his cum from one of your fingers.
After a moment more, you slowly stood, ignoring your shaking legs as you headed towards the bar to grab a towel to clean up with. You quickly rinsed your hand before returning to him, kneeling between his legs and tenderly wiping him clean.
When you were about to pull away again, you were stopped by his hand on your chin, tilting your head up.
“Tell me it’s not just about the money,” he said.
Your heart almost stopped at the request.
As much as you’d been trying to tell yourself that you were playing the part of Bunny, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true, not with him.
“It’s not about the money,” you answered, feeling your cheeks start to heat, “I wouldn’t’ve done that with you for money.”
It felt like the most honest thing you’d said to him so far. If he’d asked, if he’d thrown money at you like so many men had since you started hosting at The Red Ribbon, you would have told him no.
No, you’d done it because you wanted to because, regardless of how strange and fucked up the circumstances were, you enjoyed his company, even if you were both hiding behind your masks.
But, it seemed that he wasn’t willing to hide behind masks anymore.
You recoiled the second you felt his fingers nudging the cat mask upwards, your fingers tugging it back into place.
“Don’t,” you said, begged. “Don’t ruin this.”
“I - I’m sorry. I just - fuck, Bunny - I just want to see you.”
He sat forward and his hand found your shoulder, offering a gentle and reassuring squeeze that really didn’t help matters.
“We can’t. That’s not how this works,” you told him, trying to keep the regret from spilling into your voice.
He nodded and started to tuck himself back into his pants. You took the opportunity to pull back and get to your feet.
Then he was standing, pulling his jacket back on. He reached for you and pulled your body to his, holding you tight as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“I told you, Bunny. I always get what I want. And I want you.”
Despite his playful tone, there was a gravity to his words, something that caused your heart to stutter. When you looked up, he caught your lips in another eager kiss, and you let him. You kissed him back, once again losing yourself in the fantasy that this could be something more than what it was, that this could be real.
Then, he was gone, leaving you with the unspoken promise that this thing between you was far from over.
You didn’t sleep that night, laying in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get the thought of him from your mind. The only thing that helped was your vibrator, though once you’d made yourself come, you were right back at square one, trying to figure out what the fuck you were going to do.
Fortunately, when you turned up at Anvil the next morning, you were happy to find an email from Mr Russo telling you that he’d be out of office all day, meaning that you could work in peace.
On your way home, you found yourself heading towards the Rockefeller Center, stopping on the way to grab a coffee. You snuggled into your thick coat, occasionally glancing up at the sky, idly wondering if it was going to snow over Christmas.
When you reached the rink, you slowly made your way through the crowd, enjoying getting lost in the hustle and bustle until you saw a familiar face across the ice.
Billy Russo.
It didn’t click straight away - all you could think about was why would you boss be there - but when he reached up to brush back his hair and covered the top half of his face for a split second, the familiarity hit you like a brick.
It was him.
Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome was Billy Russo.
A/N : I hate being ill so much... 0/10 do not recommend (though it did give me time to finally start playing Black Ops 6 which I do recommend). Anyway hopefully I managed to get most of the dumb typos in this one. I know this story probably seems a bit faster than most of my fics but since this is only going to be three parts (or four if I get carried away) I didn't want to spend a lot of time on slow burn or b-plots. Plus it's a Christmas story and I want to finish it while it's still seasonal . Any way, I hope you're all having fun with this one because I certainly am.
Thanks for reading, hope you all have a great week (enjoy new years and stay safe!!)
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