Disclaimer:
Well unfortunately, I do not own any part of this story that you recognise. However, If you don't it is completely and utterly mine.
Possibly.
Six words were exchanged between them at the start and end of each of their 'meetings'. She would always speak first, disgusted with the fact, she always returns to him even after she moved on, married someone else. His words, always, confirm what she already knows, but is desperately trying to convince herself otherwise. Both voices are now louder than a whisper. Hers, hissing the words. His, mocking hers.
He always sat in the wing-backed chair, a glass of fire whiskey in his hand. A smug little smile on his face, which only grew when she dumped her things on the table and removed her coat revealing an outfit which exposed more than was social acceptable for a woman who wasn't selling herself.
Her tone was cutting and harsh, but even as she said the words she stepped closer to him. "I hate you."
He gave a little smirk and merely shook his head, placing down the crystal glass down and stalked towards her.
Once he reached her, he simply tipped her chin upward and spoke three words before capturing her rosy lips with his own.
"You. Love. Me"
She never questions him.
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