A/N: This is set in the same universe as Heartbreak Grows in the Garden, which you will find on my other profile, Freyjabee. You do not have to read one to enjoy the other.

It was hard for Erza to tell which he liked more, the sharp arch in her tall heels that accentuated the curve of her behind or the cascade of hair that began when she bent over the stage and swiped her finger at his chin in a playful way. She wasn't meant to touch her guests. No dancer was. Mister Bob was busy dealing with problem servers, though, and the bouncers never had much to say unless it was the men reaching outside of their bounds to snag a feel.

Predictably, Mister Tattoo—that was the only name she had for him despite their history together—opened his wallet and threw more bills her way. He seemed to have an endless supply of them, they went with his many rings and his expensive car and, Erza knew, the beach house he kept locked up except for the times he was in town.

She left the bills until Marilyn Manson stopped singing I Put a Spell on You, and then she gathered them all up. Mister Tattoo had paid her triple what Mister Bob had for the three hours she was working. Erza winked at him and left the stage.

Through the door marked with countless girls' hands was the change room. Erza wasted enough time to grab her coat, putting it over her still naked body and then she hurried out the back door, past a smug looking Orga and a concerned looking Cana and Mister Bob and into the alleyway that was lit with the grey-yellow light of streetlamps. A Lamborghini Veneno waited at its mouth, idling. Erza went to it without hesitation and climbed into the passenger's seat.

He smelled better than she did, Creed Pure White Cologne filling the cabin of the car that looked, to Erza, at least, who had spent the majority of her life driving Hyundai's and Mazda's, like an airplane cockpit. He looked nicer than she did, too, she thought, not as sweaty, not as done up in stage makeup and eyelash extensions that she feared were melting off.

He leaned forward and cupped her cheek, putting his hand in her hair and pulling her forward with force so he could press their mouths together. He tasted like the drink Cana brought him. Erza ate it up, as she did every time they got together like this. She basked in the desperation and the wrongness and her complete inability to have any control. She basked in his inability to say no.

"It's been a long time," she said when he'd let her get no more than a centimeter between them.

"Work's kept me occupied," he responded in a vague and craggy voice.

"How long are you here for?"

He kissed her again. "Only tonight."

She wasn't surprised. The first time he'd brought her back to his beach house had been eight months before and she'd had him for four days that passed in a blur of sensations. His touch. His pills. His laughter. When he released her, Erza suffered a plethora of sensations but mostly withdrawal.

"Let's make the most of it, then."

He drove. The world passed. Erza barely looked at Magnolia's ugly city center disappearing for beachscape, she was concerned with her chauffeur. He liked to drive fast and he liked to look at her while he was doing it. He liked to touch her and she liked to let him. Everything about what they did was wrong and Erza would be damned if she demanded that anything was different.

A hand inched up the hem of her coat and followed her bare thigh to the G-string she'd stripped to. It brushed over her, first on the outside of the panties and then beneath them, touching her sensitive body enough to make her moan. The car turned.

Houses that truly were mansions towered over sandy shores buffeted by the waves of early winter. Soon, the lake would be frozen. For now, it was touched by the errant snowflake and was far too cold for swimming. It would be the first time they hadn't ended up in the lake.

The Lamborghini made a sharp turn into a stone driveway and raced too quickly into a garage that rolled up only enough to let them inside. He got out first and came to Erza's door. She let him because he liked it. He pulled her out and pushed her against the side of the car where she stood, with the golden halo of light shining down upon them and the garage door sliding closed once it had reached its maximus. Erza heard kids laughing in the distance. Perhaps they'd passed by the house and seen her frantically being pawed at. Perhaps she didn't care.

Her coat's tie was torn open and warm and surprisingly calloused hands moved inside. He made short work of the pasties, pulling them away from her breasts so there was only a small triangle of fabric keeping her from him and threw them on the concrete ground. They looked better there, anyway, Erza thought.

She was kissed breathless, pushed against the car with almost violent force. He needed her and she needed to be needed. He bit her and she welcomed the pain. His fingers were mischievous and pushed aside the silk fabric she'd bought with his last cascade of cash and entered her. One leg was lifted up and draped over his arm, the other left on the ground, Erza mostly balancing on a prayer. He made short work of her, as usual. When she was a sobbing mess, his ringed fingers came out, slid over her tongue and muffled her moans.

He took his hand away and she knew reprieve for a moment, for then he was kissing her and groping her in all the places and all the ways she never thought she'd like and welcomed his wantonness. It made her feel like no one had ever dared before.

He pressed against her thigh. Erza wanted between. She pushed him back with force, that was the only language he seemed to understand when he was like this and breathed raggedly. "We should go inside."

He took her hand and led. The door opened with a keypad code and the smell of mint crashed over Erza. His house always smelled like this, he never let it go stale. There were cleaners to ensure it.

Inside was minimally decorated. Beige carpets, milky white walls spotted with abstract art purchased at art shows from emerging artists, at costs that equated Erza's yearly salary. The only pictures he had of anything meaningful was in his office hanging over his chair. Erza had seen it once, the portrait of his family, his two children and the woman that smiled at his side too widely, too falsely, just like he did. He never hid it from Erza, the office door was open upon her arrival and he never removed the wedding ring. It was her that closed the door and blocked out the picture, just like it was her that made him wrap his arms around her back so she couldn't see the band of gold.

What did it mean, anyway? Not much, she thought, if he spent his time there, instead of in the utopia he'd built in whatever place he claimed as his own, fucking the stripper of a low-brow club in a city that grew too wide too fast?

Erza pulled him with purpose into the master bedroom. The door was left open, there wasn't anyone there to disturb anyway. He reached for the lapels of her coat, eager, so eager even though he'd seen her nude just a short time ago. Erza understood this was different. Here, he could touch her. But not until she told him to. She batted his hands away and pushed him back on the bed. It bowed beneath his weight without making a sound. With his legs spread, Erza could see everything. He was ready and had been for some time if the look in his eye was anything to go by.

Sometimes, he was abrupt and rough and Erza felt her control slipping away. Other times, like tonight, it was like she had all of the power. She wielded it as a weapon and began by unthreading the loose knot she'd again tied in her coat. He leaned back, the palms of his hands planted behind his hips, and watched. Erza let the coat fall to the floor at her feet and prowled to him. She stopped between his legs and leaned in for another liquor-soaked kiss. His breath was an exalted sigh.

She pulled back from him and turned to continue her dance. He was the only one that ever got the show without paying. When he first asked her to do it, she felt silly and felt silly for feeling silly because she did it so often, but really, she wasn't actually that girl on that stage, not as confident in her sexuality, not as brazen. This stranger made her feel like she could be, though, that and more.

The G-string was gone and hands were on her body, starting on the inside of her calves and moving higher and higher. She closed her eyes and leaned forward for him. His tongue was a welcomed surprise, his fingers, too. Erza let him bring her crashing through another orgasm. She was greedy. She never used to be. She never had someone like him before, though. He released her and she decided that it was time she reciprocated.

His jacket was peeled off and left on the bed, his tie loosened only enough that Erza could undo the buttons on his shirt. She kissed the space between his pectorals and lower, to his abdominal muscles and lower, to his hips. His belt was made of supple leather, hand stitched and emblazoned with the maker's emblem, warm to the touch. Beneath it, the clasp of his pants slid together with black metal fasteners as fine clothing typically was. It was easier to get open than buttons. There was still a zipper beneath.

Erza savoured every tortured second, moving slowly for her benefit and his. He pulsed against her in anticipation. She kissed him through the material and earned herself another frustrated moan. Fingers were tangled in her hair and her head was lifted up with just a touch of that impatience she'd glimpsed before. She'd been nervous for other men. Not him. What was it about him that made her extend an insane and unwarranted trust? Everything about them was wrong and impulsive and felt a little dangerous, she supposed, she craved it when it wasn't within reach. Maybe she didn't trust him. Maybe she just liked having her control torn away once in awhile.

He pulled himself out of his pants and released her entirely. Erza kissed him at the base of his cock, and at the tip, and somewhere between. She followed behind with her tongue and then locked her lips around him completely. He panted; Erza thought he'd grab her again. He plucked at the ends of her hair but otherwise, left her to her own devices. She worked slowly and thoroughly, not satisfied until he thickened on her tongue and she felt his fingers curl both in her hair and in the blanket. It hurt, dully. He released her and the pain was gone again. She pulled back and swallowed only to be grabbed up and thrown on the bed.

The position was a vulnerable one but Erza wasn't without leverage. The tie around his neck she wrapped around her hand twice and pulled him down for a kiss that lost its franticness when he entered her and turned soft, in direct contradiction to his other body language. Hands whose history she couldn't even guess at squeezed her hips and held her firmly at the edge of the bed, his body met hers at a desperate pace. She was pulled up to an angle she enjoyed and was forced into another orgasm. She wasn't sure if a third was coming or not when he, now dripping sweat, spilled inside of her.

Silence was split by gasping breaths that turned dull, the wet sound of flesh coming away from flesh, the flick of a lighter, the exhale of smoke, the rumple of bedsheets as Erza was joined once again on the mattress. He lay on his side, cheek rested on his fist and looked at her while he smoked. Erza couldn't tell what he was thinking. Frivolous things. Wishes. Though she had no idea what was in his mind, Erza knew what she wished for.

"Do I ever get to know your name?"

"Jellal." There was no hesitation. He'd been so taciturn before—was the name even real?

"Do you have a last name, Jellal?"

"Not today."

Ah, maybe he was still in the game of secrets. Erza wheedled a little more. "What do you do, Jellal?"

He brushed his fingers over her cheek, plucking away the hair that had stuck to her wetted lips. "Nothing very interesting."

"Bad things?" Erza teased. She didn't get the response she expected. Jellal only traced his fingers over her skin, down, down to her hip. Erza changed the subject; she suddenly didn't want to know how he got the Lamborghini or the beach house or the rings and designer suit, as she didn't want to know the name of the woman in the painting. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

She might have been scared. She was an addict, too, though. "And when will you be back?"

"I'll come for you," he said.

"If I'm not at Macey's anymore?" Being a stripper wasn't her career goal.

"I'll find you." He sounded so confident, Erza didn't push it. Besides, she thought when he rolled onto her and kissed her with the taste of cigarettes on his tongue, it might be better if he was never successful. What kind of devil couldn't part with his name?

Another A/N: I love kingpin Jellal? And I want to do him better justice than what I did in Speed the Collapse. But. Just. No time.