Pairing: ItaSaku
Rating: M, as in MATURE
Warning: AU, poor attempt at a Western environment, sex scene and PoV changes. Also, English isn't my first language, so yeah...
Status: Now a chaptered story. Unfinished.
Notes: "Madame" was a title for a woman who ran a brothel, considered to have "fulfilled her duties" as she too had been a brothel girl.
Cancan costumes can vary, so excuse my poor try at describing it. I have a link to a good you tube clip of cancan dancers that helped me a bit when I wrote some of this fic. just remove the spaces; www(dot)you tube(dot)com(slash)watch?v=G3li4hzYpUQ&feature=related
A/N: Yes, I have now decided to make this into a chaptered story. I will warn you now; the updates will not be regular and it might take a while. This will be a pain-in-the-ass story to write XD Anyway, nothing new in this first chapter. Still un-betaed, so no need to re-read unless you need to refresh your memory before moving on to the next chapter.
Also, I had done no research when I wrote this "prologue", so there will be a few historical misjudgements. I'm using cancan in this, and that didn't arrive in the USA until around 1920. But the plot I have for the rest of the story is set around the year of 1850, and since I'm using a few specific historical facts as a base for some part of this fanfiction, I can't have it played out in the time period of 1920. So, would you dear readers allow me this modification of history? I want to keep the prologue as it is, you see.
Well, now you're aware that I'm aware of this error. But since it's fiction, I'm gonna be bending the rules. I'll warn you about it though, so make sure to read the Notes in the beginning of each chapter if stuff like this interests you. Also, feel free to point out errors; I suck at doing research, and history is not my strong point. Also, I'm mostly using wikipedia and we all now how truthworthy THAT can be. lol.
Anyway, on with the story! Thank you all for the support so far! :D
o-oOo-o
Wild, Wild Love
o-oOo-o
Prologue
The thin, net-like nylon slipped easily over her creamy skin as she pulled it up carefully; wary of her sharp nails. It fit snugly against her long legs, ending somewhere right above her knee. The garters were next, before she secured it with the lace-straps attached to her tight corset. She straightened up after closing the last clasp with a sigh; eyes travelling along her legs before darting up to study the mirror hanging slightly crooked on the wall. She only had her shoes and dress left, followed by a final touch-up on hair and make-up.
Walking over to her folding screen, she reached up and took a hold of the neatly folded dress that hung over the edge. She knew it was pointless, but she stepped behind the screen anyway. Out of habit, or just because it had no other function apart from being decorative, she didn't know. But it was, indeed, beautiful. It had an Asian design, with exotic flowers and a unique style that appealed to her more than any of her possession. Yet it wasn't even hers, really. She had been told it was given to her from a rich traveler, who seemed to appreciate her performance more than anyone else's. Of course, they had added, it would stay in her dressing room. She had been flattered, but had never laid eyes on this mysterious man.
Stretching, she pushed him out of her mind before he could do more harm. She had lost count on how many times she had thought of him, trying to figure out who he was. No one had ever given her presents before, at least not without a price. Shaking her dress a bit too roughly, she let it fall out of its folded state and spent a second staring blankly at the lacy fabric of red, white and black. Another sigh and she quickly slipped into it with practiced ease. She struggled ungracefully for a while to get the zipper closed properly, letting a few mumbled curses display her annoyance. Within a few seconds she was done, stepping out behind the screen and making her way over to her vanity with long strides, hips swaying with every step as she'd been taught the very day she was dumped in this place. Make the tail of your skirt fly, they said. Make the layers of lace and flounces flow with your hips. So she did, after four years, out of habit.
Not bothering to sit down, she leaned over the table, picking up her mascara to thicken the layer of black already adoring her long lashes. She found that framing her eyes made them stand out even more, and she'd rather have the eyes of men transfixed on her rare, pure emerald eyes (not to mention her odd hair), rather than any other place of her body. Putting the mascara away, she reached for the dark-pink rouge and applied enough to make her face seem less round and cutely heart-shaped. There was no lure, no seductiveness, in the innocent look she presented without her make-up; her war paint, as she liked to think of it. Closing the worn box with a snap, she put the rouge down and eyed her reflection critically. She needed a darker shade of lipstick, a dash of dark, glittery eye shadow to create a smokier look for her eyes; they were way too sharp now. With nimble hands she went to work, steady and precise. She had never been artistic, but a quick learner and skilled with the detailed, tricky work of handling a thin brush for straight lines. A few minutes later, she was done. She paused in her movements and seemed to remember something, moving quickly to open a little box by the mirror. She took out a pair of pearl earrings, wasting little time to put them on before taking out a choker of velvet to adore her slim throat. Clasping it close, she straightened up before stretching and reaching down to open a drawer; pulling out a pair of silky, black gloves. They hugged her hands and thin fingers nicely, ending just above her elbow. Nodding to herself after checking the mirror once again, she turned and made her way to the sparsely decorated wooden door. By it stood a pair of black, high heeled shoes which she sipped into with ease.
It was show time.
o-oOo-o
He sat in what had become his usual corner of the saloon, comfortably shielded from sight in the shadows. In his hands he held a big glass of beer, and the still smoking ashtray had been pushed as far away from him as possible. He was alone here, which was normal. He'd forbidden his little brother to come this late in the evening, especially to a shady place like this. He shouldn't be here either; they were both sons of a rich nobleman from the exotic lands of Japan, and an equally rich noble lady of an American family. But he was past the age of a man, already reaching 21, and due to his high standing within the company his father ran, no one asked questions. It helped that he had a wicked right hand; quick to draw and quick to pull the trigger. Not to mention the element of surprise, when he revealed that the biggest part of him was, indeed, Japanese. He had the reputation of being a devil, a wizard, a possessed demon, and various other things he, at the moment, could not remember. When the bullets of his gun were out, he was just as deadly. His father had taught him well.
Taking a careful sip of his beer, clearly recalling the many looks he'd gotten the moment he entered the saloon, he tasted for any poison. When nothing suspicious presented itself, he came to the conclusion that no one with enough money to produce a tasteless, strong poison was around to kill him here. Everything was broken and worn; he was surrounded by things, and people, he knew couldn't have been replaced in years.
Just as he contemplated this, the clinking of the piano in the background picked up in volume and speed as it changed tune to a familiar, state-wide melody that hushed or stirred some; leaving the crowd of drunks in a state of anticipation. When the band, which had been somewhat idle for a while now, joined in he found that despite himself, he couldn't help but lean forward in order to get a better view of the old stage opposite of him. His eyes narrowed as he clasped his hands before him, covering his mouth and the tip of his nose. A slim leg became visible before a woman slipped out from the heavy, tattered curtains concealing the entrance to the scene.
The first girl is out, the next following close behind.
He waited.
o-oOo-o
It was a routine. Jump into the spotlight, smile; follow the line of girls. Pick up the skirt, move your legs, sway your hips; dance. Use the music to fall into sync with the others – jump, spin, stretch, bend; move fast and never falter. Skirt flying in the air, heels marking the floor as they go up and down; she would've blushed had she not done this so many times before. The tune of the music was happy, the energy that flowed between the dancers high and she could already feel her blood pump through her body in an excitement she had at first resented. She could feel the eyes staring at her, at them, and she could hear the encouraging cheers and wolf-whistles from the crowd. The laughter when someone fell, when her foot slipped and she had to go down into a split too early, drowned out the cheers for a moment. But no one really cared, she knew. They were here for a show, and if they made any fuss, it would be over; haltering the well-practiced routine.
The show, as they say, must go on.
o-oOo-o
There was nothing special about the girl, he admitted. Her eyes may be stunning, her pink hair unheard of, but the cheap make-up which covered her face, her tattered and worn clothing were the same as everything else in this town. Dull, old, poor. He honestly did not know what had made him stay longer than necessary in a place like this, what made him return to this old saloon each night. Maybe it was because she was, indeed, one of the better looking ones. And unlike most women around here, she was merely a showgirl; she did not willingly offer any other services unless a man with a stunning, for these parts, amount of money set his eyes upon her. He had checked, because he knew that kind of man.
Himself.
Grinning, he watched as she bent over; rising her skirt along with the others to show off a very firm-looking backside he had admired time and again. Tonight was the night before he left this town, tonight was the night he would make this saloon rich enough to at least buy a tuned-piano and a set of new glasses. She wouldn't be dancing more for the crowd after this act, when the curtain fell, as she usually did. He would make her perform something other than brazen, happy-go-lucky dances designed to please a crowd of drunken slobs.
But for now, he made sure to enjoy her last cancan in his presence.
o-oOo-o
It was with her breath stuck in her throat that she exited the stage, lips straining in a wide smile. Tonight had been a good night, she gathered. No broken heels, no men jumping onto the stage. A huge applause when they fells down on the floor for the last time, shaking their skirts, followed by a string of disappointed groans and shouts as they slipped out of sight once more. But in an hour or so, she would be up there again; this time with only three more girls to sing and dance.
Making her way back to her room reserved for her and four more girls, she began to unfasten the feather-like hat she had gotten thrust into her hands the moment she had arrived at the queue of girls waiting to get up on stage. Apparently, it was another addition to their costume.
Entering the room, she greeted the girls already occupying the room with a smile and a mumbled "hi" before slipping over to a free corner where she could change her dress into a less flamboyant costume. Just as she managed to get out of her dress though, the door swung open to reveal Madame Porter, a slightly plump woman in her forties who had once run a popular brothel not far from this run-down saloon. The Madame's brown, narrow eyes quickly searched the room before landing on her; dressed in her corset and panty-house. She felt her mouth go dry at the look-over the Madame gave her; she had seen that look only a few times before.
"Pinky," Madame Porter said, briskly walking over to her with a bundle of clothes folded neatly in her arms. "You've been bought for the night. Put this on and lessen the make-up; this is an important fellow. Don't mess up, girlie."
With a wink and a crooked smile, the Madame dumped what she assumed was one of the fancier dresses she owned on her stunned self. She watched the older woman approach the door, and stiffened when she turned. "He'll be waiting outside for you. Good luck sweetie."
And with that, Madame Porter was gone, leaving her with a displeased frown and slightly red cheeks. The other girls immediately started tittering, casting her knowing glances as they continued to undress. Taking a deep breath, she tried to contain her anger. She danced, but not like that. She preformed, but not in such a way. She was a showgirl, for sure, her life was bound to her employer's, but she did not offer services like those. She had thought, she had hoped, that it would be enough. But she had been quite the fool to believe she would go through this unscratched, and now, it had already happened ten times during her three years here. Though even she knew that it was very little, but it didn't lessen the shame. Wasn't it enough that she danced in these outfits, that she displayed herself to such filthy men? That she actually enjoyed the dancing? She supposed that to a poor, young woman with no family, it wasn't.
Letting her fingers glide across the undamaged, silky fabric of the purple and black dress the Madame had given her for the night, she resigned herself to what had to be done. At least, she mused while putting down the dress to look for new lingerie to match it, tonight will result in a higher pay. She needed the money to get out of this town, after all.
Away from the West.
o-oOo-o
It was with an impatient sigh that he turned around to greet the soft voice he recognized from the many songs he'd heard her sing. He had waited for her a long time, and the alcohol in his system made it more difficult to control himself, which made itself crystal clear when he laid eyes on her up-close.
Gone were the fancy hair-style or curls and feathers, replaced by a simple knot with a few black clips and loose strands of wavy hair falling down her back. Her face looked several years younger without the heavy make-up; she only had a light shade of pink on lips and cheeks. Even her eyes were not as mature; the black around them significantly less, and the bright, glittery colors of her eye-shadow replaced by a darker purple. Oh, and her clothing… The dress impressed him; elegant to have come from a place like hers. He suspected there worked a former Madame in the saloon, who took care of the showgirls and kept a few things in stock for events such as these. Nevertheless, the dress fit the girl perfectly. She was short, he had noticed before when she stood by the other women, but he now realized just how short she was compared to him. Even her, no doubt, high heels only made her tall enough to reach his shoulders. But she was well proportioned for her size, and her neck was slender and simply decorated with the same velvety choker he had seen on her every night. His gaze followed the line of her throat to take in her softly curved shoulders, further down to her round bust that was emphasized greatly with the help of a, no doubt, tightly laced up corset. Next was her waist, which no doubt was less narrow than it appeared. At least, that was what he hoped. She looked so fragilely thin, he feared she would snap when he finally took her. But he couldn't deny what an appealing effect her slim waist had to her greatly flaring hips, made much wider by her dress' many layers of fabric. He also noted that for once, her legs were not displayed like a delicacy on a silver plate for everyone to see. Covered underneath a wealthy amount of skirts, he knew they were carefully decorated with thin, see through fabric and, he hoped, delicate lace with rich patterns of flowers and leaves.
Indeed, she was a sight to behold.
o-oOo-o
When she had exited the, by now, quite rowdy saloon (several waitresses and more well-behaved men had had to restrain some of the drunker guests as she passed through), she hadn't known what to expect. The back of a tall man had greeted her, and she'd stood absolutely still for a moment. It was dark outside, and the houses provided just enough light to let her see him. He had long, black hair in a low ponytail; tied with what looked like a red ribbon of silk. She marveled at the elegance he seemed to posses; boots clean, dark-blue suit simple but of high quality. He must've stood out, she mused. No one looked like that around here.
And then, he'd turned, as soon as she'd called for his attention. He'd seemed almost impatient.
As his front came into view, she'd barely contained a gasp as she'd taken him in. He had a face of a nobleman; nose straight, skin pale and mouth thin. His jaw and chin weren't as strong as most men's, which made him look quite young and slightly feminine. His exotic eyes only added to it, with long, thick eyelashes and a slight tint upwards. Its dark color seemed to her like they were driving her in closer and she stiffened as she for a moment thought that she was, indeed, moving closer. But after the few seconds it had taken for her to examine him, and meet his gaze, she found his eyes flickering across her face, and downwards. With a blush that rarely made itself visible unless she was in some way agitated, she shyly looked away in hopes of blocking out his scrutiny. It didn't help, much.
Taking a deep breath, no doubt drawing attention to her exposed bosom, she settled for the seductively coy approach she knew men like him fancied. Nothing like a slut playing innocent to make the highborn feel like a real cowboy, she'd been told.
"Do you like what you see, Mister…?"
o-oOo-o
"…Itachi," he replied. "Itachi Uchiha."
She blinked at him, obviously surprised. He allowed himself a small smirk. Clearing her throat, she raised her skirt ever so slightly to greet him properly with a curtsey. "Mister…Uchiha."
She seemed to know as well as he how wrong she had pronounced his foreign name, but he didn't mind. Titling his head, he raised a brow. "And what name do you go by, Miss?"
It seemed as if she was entering familiar ground now, he noted. The misty look and seductive tone of voice was back as she sauntered closer to him. "You may call me whatever you like, sir."
He had waited for that famous line, and allowed his smirk change into a wider grin. He had the perfect name for her, and he did not wish to know her real one.
"As you wish, Miss Sakura."
o-oOo-o
She spared the room a quick glance before following close behind…Itachi. She had never heard a name like his, but then again, she had never seen such exotic looks either. She knew he couldn't be from around here, not even America as a whole, because his accent was one of a foreigner. She had come to the conclusion he was here on business, and if so, he must be quite the businessman. The hotel he stayed at was the most expensive in town, and she'd gotten a lot of stares from men she supposed had at least once visited the saloon she worked at.
Once they'd reached hi room, she'd closed the door and locked it, as his instructions had been, before she'd followed him to the bed. It was a simple, yet expensive-looking room, from what she'd gathered with a few glances here and there. It had only two rooms, with hardly anything but decorative wallpaper and color on the walls. One room was closed, its wooden door elegantly craved. She guessed it was the bathroom. The main room, which she was entering further now, only consisted of a huge, silky-clad bed with an impressive wooden structure and a set of chairs with a table in the corner. That and a wardrobe was all she could take notice of before her attention was brought to the man before her. She found herself even more curious about him now that she had confirmed her suspicion about his wealth. She wanted to know where he was from, why he was here. To travel to a place like this, he was either running from something, or passing through. She'd like to think it was the latter.
Resisting the urge to shake her head, she moved in closer to the man before her. Silly me, she thought, ain't ever no good taking such interest.
o-oOo-o
He was amazed by how easy it was to read her emotions. Her face, her eyes and body was like an open book; no specific language spoken. Right now, he noted, she had come to a conclusion. He waited for her to reach him, and it didn't take long. Her mouth was already opening as he bent down to steal a kiss from her the first time. Ah, it tasted like lipstick; a tell-tale flavor of a woman like her. He pushed forward; slipping his tongue passed her painted lips to feel her real taste. It turned out to be as neutral, but with a tint of wild berry sweetness that intrigued him. One hand ran up to cup the back of her head, deepening the kiss, and the other snuck down to rest at the small of her back, pressing her close. Her muffled moan spiked his arousal, and had he been completely sober he wouldn't have bit her lip in response to the sweet sound. But he did, and the gasp it provoked made him grunt in approval.
Her hands travelled up his arms, stopping by his shoulders to rest for a few seconds before going further; thin, delicate fingers burying themselves in his thick hair. Goosebumps covered his arms when her long nails scraped his scalp, and he decided that a week of watching her with lust-filled eyes, a week of going to bed unsatisfied, had been more than enough waiting. He only had one night with her, and he was going to make it memorable.
o-oOo-o
She was reacting quite differently from how she usually did when a man's lips crushed her own, tongue caressing hers as his hands ran up and down her back. He was skilled, she had to admit, and very alluring. She could not help but let out a noise of disappointment when he broke away and roughly turned her around. She let out a startled yelp when he pushed her forward, until they reached the wall where he pressed her close. She could barely breathe after being kissed so thoroughly with a restraining corset that she never really got used to, and now he pressed out whatever she had left in her lungs by pushing her hard against the cold wall. She whimpered, but gasped for air as his grip loosened and his hands started to work on her dress. It was fairly easy to un-lace her dress, it was probably made for this, but she suspected he would have a little more difficulty with the corset. It was an attractive one, very pleasing to the eyes and first of all sexy, but just as hard to get on as off.
He surprised her with his talented finger work though, when she found herself free of both dress and corset within minutes. But she barely noticed time with his mouth on her neck, shoulder or mouth; she was already panting and feeling the tightening of her lower stomach as he repeatedly thrust against her. Now, in a search for more contact, she arched her back in time to his thrust and earned herself a low, rumbling growl of approval. It shouldn't make her stomach flutter, or her head to soar, yet she could not help but flash him a teasing grin as she repeated the action. His hands flew to her hips and gripped them hard, making her breath hitch in pain, and he held her still as her grinded against her a few more times before stopping to lean against her; mouth by her ear, breath hot and wet against her skin. Once more she was fully pressed against the wall, he arms not strong enough to hold them both up. It made her shiver and gasp, for her naked breasts were snugly pushed against the chilly wall, while her back almost burned from his heat. Moans and whimpers snuck through her parted lips as he began to move against her again, slowly this time. The wall was cold and hard against her front, and his shirt was rough against her back. It was uncomfortable, her skin was too sensitive but she found no time to complain as his hands moved down her hips to sneak between the wall and her stomach, his weight lessening to free her enough for his reach. She almost choked on her moan when his fingers slipped past her damp folds, finding her throbbing bundle of nerves with ease before caressing it with sure, rhythmic strokes that made her hips buckle helplessly against him. His own thrusts had not yet subsided and they synced his strokes deliciously, making her legs too weak to bear her weight. But before she could fall, his free arm hooked around her waist and pulled her up straight with ease.
Clenching her fists, she took this brief moment to try and compose herself, but with little success. She was hot; heavily aroused and prepared to be reduced into a wanton bundle of begging trash if he would just soothe the ache that ad started to spread from her stomach to her sex, all the way down to her toes. Her muscles almost seemed to cramp when his fingers snuck inside her heat, thumb still pressing against her most sensitive spot. Her thighs trembled, and she found herself vocalizing her needs with a desperate tone she had rarely heard herself utter.
"Please," she begged, "sir, mister, take me."
o-oOo-o
She was perfect. She played like a finely tuned harp in his hands, so sensitive; reacting to his every ministration. He had yet to drink her in with his eyes, but right now he was busy making her sing, making her melt in his grasp. When she could no longer stand on her own, he decided it was time. The pace of his fingers slowed, and he noted how she shuddered in protest before slowly, slowly breaking down. She needed more, and he found that he could not deny her when she begged him for it.
Tearing himself off the wall, and dragging her boneless body with him, he made his way towards the bed. He threw her down on her back, remaining where he stood to properly view what he had before him. He could not help but smirk.
Her whole upper body was bare, leaving her creamy, round breasts and pink, pert nipples clear in sight. A blush of arousal and probably embarrassment dusted her soft skin from her chest, up to her throat and all the way to her soft, rounded cheeks. With emerald eyes darkened, half-shut and glazed over with lust, she looked plain wanton. Not to mention her swollen lips, smeared lips stick and various bite marks already adoring her pale, otherwise flawless skin. With a hum of approval, he left his eyes roam the rest of her. She still had her lacy, black panties on, allowing him only to see a little of what she hid underneath. Then, there were her legs, covered up mid-tight with black stockings; the right leg's lacy edge covered with a stylish purple garter, with both black and white ribbons. Jumping from side to side, he let his eyes travel down her legs to end at her feet, which were still in a pair of neat shoes; their heels long and deadly sharp. His gaze darted back up to her face as an impatient growl left her lips, surprising him slightly. When he met with glaring, green eyes he almost grinned. Twice now had he glimpsed something other than the submissive showgirl, but right now, he did not want to inspect it further.
Descending upon her, he trapped her against the bed with his body, and silenced her protests with a deep kiss, letting the taste, feel and sound of her tickle his senses. Moving downwards, he placed soft kisses, light nibbles and quick laps of his tongue along the way, pausing only to play briefly with her hardened nipples. She gasped and squirmed underneath him, burying her hand in his long hair, twisting it almost painfully. He ignored this and moved further down, teasing her stomach with light touches of his lips and tongue, nuzzling the soft flesh with his nose while breathing in her scent. The further down he got, the spicier, muskier and mouth-watering it got. Then he reached the patch of curly hair, where he stopped to take a long, deep breath. He wanted a taste, but returned back up instead, kissing the lips of her mouth. When she twisted her mouth away, he growled, about to reclaim it when she hastily put a hand between them, pressing a finger against his lips.
"It's been over a year since a man touched me there, Mr…Uchiha. I assure you, I am quite clean," she mumbled, the pink on her cheeks darkening. For almost forgetting his name, or for what she said, he did not know. Raising a brow, he found himself smirking in amusement as she looked away, mumbling an excuse.
"Then perhaps, Sakura," he drawled, making her look at him uncertainly; unused to the strange name, he assumed. "I shall take a taste?"
o-oOo-o
She had never allowed a man to pleasure her with his mouth after the first time is happened. It had been an awkward, uncomfortable experience and something she had not wished repeated. Yet this time around, she could not deny or explain the devastating disappointment she felt when he did not continue. Perhaps that was why she blurted out something so utterly stupid and embarrassing, she wasn't sure and had little time to think it over. When he said her, 'name', she had been quite surprised. He hadn't used it since he had given it to her; they had exchanged little words since the met. But before the rest of his words could register, he was already moving downwards yet again. She gasped, letting out a yelp as his hot, wet tongue came in contact with her sweet, sweet spot. She arched herself off the bed, head thrown back and eyes wide open in pleasure as he didn't stop. Licking, nibbling, pulling, thrusting; she could not keep up as she trashed her head from side to side, mumbling nonsense and giving way to the building fire inside. It did not take long before she let out a choked scream, placing both her hands over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. A slap to her inner thigh had her screaming again, this time in pain, but she couldn't explain the shiver running up her spin as anything but pleasure. Still high on her orgasm, she trembled.
"Don't cover your mouth again, Sakura," he said, barely loud enough for her to hear unless she concentrated, which was difficult at the moment. But she tried, and she heard the last part clearly.
"I want to hear you scream."
o-oOo-o
If he could describe the taste of her passion's essence he would, but he found himself at a loss. Neither of the languages he spoke had a name for her taste, or even her smell. But at the moment, it mattered little. The only thing he needed to contemplate at the moment was what to do with her next, and he already had a list of interesting ideas in mind. But she took advantage of his momentarily spaced-out state, and flipped them over. He allowed her, but barely managed to fight down the urge to act on self-defense. By the look in her eyes though, he gathered this would be interesting.
Still clad in his suit, he lay patiently regarding the woman straddling him. She seemed to take little notice, her eyes on fire, as she quickly set to work. Unbuttoning his shirt and jacket, she ran small hands along his naked chest, causing him to shiver. Her hands went down to his belt as she bent over to kiss his throat, unfastening it and throwing his holster with gun and bullets on the floor along with it. He managed to kick his boots and socks off as she attacked his skin with hot, searing kisses and harsh, exciting bites. He felt himself throb almost painfully once she finally reached his pants, where he watched in wonder how she unzipped him with her teeth. She wasted little time in ridding him of his pants, and he helped her as well as he could with her still on him. Soon even his boxers were gone, and he regarded her with amusement as she took in his arousal. Other than a blush, she betrayed little other than determination and hot, glaring passion. He did not mind, and as she moved down his body he found himself relaxing. It was with a soft, pleased moan that he let her lips close around his shaft; burying him in a hot, wet carven of tender bliss that soothed the ache of unfulfilled desires. Moving up and down, she brought him higher and higher. Lips gliding wetly against him, tongue caressing and teeth scraping ever so lightly; he could barely stand it.
With a grunt, he pushed her away.
o-oOo-o
She straightened to sit back on her knees, staring down at the man before her. She licked her lips, still tasting him, and touched them lightly with her fingers. She had never enjoyed using her mouth, but it seemed at when he was involved, nothing she had previously experienced could be entirely correct. She was, however, somewhat thankful for the majority of times her visits with men had involved no more than her mouth and hands due to their inebriated state. He was a fool if he believed himself so much better than her, that her screams were the only ones to be heard tonight. If he could bring pleasure like that, she so could she.
"Are we done playing, Itachi?" she asked, impatient but with a slight grin when he stiffened at the use of his name. She doubted she had pronounced it correctly, but that was far from her mind. Despite being brought all the way up to the clouds, she had returned back to earth and the ache inside of her had yet to be fully satisfied. She knew what she wanted, what she needed. She just had to rile him up a bit, she mused.
o-oOo-o
He decided that he liked the odd sound of his name roll off her wicked tongue, and gave her little chance to fully consider her question before he answered it with actions. He pushed her to the side, rolling over quickly to follow and pin her down against the mattress once again. She struggled, but it was to no help. He was strong, and could probably snap her delicate wrists in two. Capturing her lips in a kiss before she could utter a word, he moved swiftly between her legs while one of his hands trailed down her stomach and in between his hard member and her soft folds. Taking a hold of himself, he guided himself to her entrance with ease before thrusting in roughly. She cried out against his mouth, and he quickly broke away to savor the sound of surprised pain, mingled with the pleasure of being filled. He found it hard be keep quiet himself, and almost shook as a growl rumbled low in his chest, escaping through his lips as they parted. She was amazingly tight, fitting snugly around him and he had to keep still for a few moments in order to compose himself. When she moved against him before he could do so, a loud gasp escaped him, "Sakura!" She paid him no mind, and continued to grind against him; her mesmerizing eyes closed. He knew he probably grabbed her hips too hard again, but he was shaking and trembling with the effort of keeping the little control he had left. Her pained and pleading whimpers helped him calm down, and he slowly loosened his grip to start thrusting into her almost unbearable heat.
"Ah, amazing…" he whispered, bent over her body with his forehead resting against her shoulder. She moaned his name, and he found himself slipping away. Harder, faster, deeper, she begged. He happily complied.
o-oOo-o
She was exhausted, spent and thoroughly satisfied in ways she had only heard others whisper about. It was with a quiet sigh of slight despair that she realized she needed to get up, out of bed, into her clothes and away from the room. Itachi, as she had found herself calling him after the many times he…made her do it, lay panting beside her, having just moments before rolled off her. She was amazed by his stamina, but now, she knew it was over because he was already reaching for the tangled, silky covers. Biting her lower lip, she slowly sat up; muscles tired and screaming for rest. She paid them little mind though, as she made her way to get off the way too comfortable bed. A hand around her wrist stopped her though, and before she could progress any reaction at all, she was pulled back and made impact with a warm, hard chest. Frowning, she turned her head to gaze up at a pair of dark, almost black, blue eyes in a face she knew would haunt her for days, if not months…even years she dared to admit.
"Mr Uchiha, I beg your pardon, but this is my queue to leave," she said tiredly, finding no energy to make it sound as snappish as she would've liked. The annoyance that flared in her at his amused grin would've provided her with a proper outburst had he not covered her mouth with a hand and spoken first.
"You are mine for the night, Sakura, and I intend to keep you through the whole night," he explained, making her still in her struggled to free herself. She froze, realizing she had forgotten why she was here, exactly. She was bought, her services desired by a man who helped himself to them by dumping a bag of money in the lap of her employer. She sighed, feeling her exhaustion wash over her again. She wondered if she would ever have a lover, and lost herself briefly in a fantasy were the strange man beside her was not a costumer. It ended abruptly when smooth fingers stroked her stomach, making lazy circles. She looked up to find him gazing at her through half-closed eyes, and he couldn't help but blush at the knowing grin adoring his kiss-swollen lips.
He couldn't know, right?
o-oOo-o
Observing her was an interesting business, he noted. So many things happening behind those eyes, so many thoughts inside that pink mop of tangled hair. He found himself wanting to know exactly what it was, but he could only guess. The way her eyes seemed to harden when he spoke the truth of the situation, the way they suddenly softened as she drifted away in a dream and the way she looked at him now; scared and wary.
Such an intriguing creature.
o-oOo-o
It was when the sun rose and bathed the room with a warm light that she awoke once more. She doubted she had gotten many hours of sleep, but she found that she didn't care. She had herself to blame, after all. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep; she had happily returned the lazy kisses Itachi had indulged her throughout the night, fighting to stay awake to watch him drift off, only to wake up a few minutes later. Like he said, she was her through the night and she had discovered with little difficulty that she quite enjoyed being his. It was a shame time would not stand still for anyone, and now as the rays of the morning sun reached her eyes she knew it was over. It was a good thing that the man beside her was still asleep, because the tears staining her cheeks were beyond embarrassing. Rolling over to her side, letting her back face him, she buried her face into the pillow and fought down a sob.
Really, she should've learn by now that happy endings does not exists, not in her world
o-oOo-o
He watched her calmly as she dressed, ignoring the stirring in his groin when she bent over to straighten her stockings. Her corset was sloppily tied, as he had not helped her lace it up. He rather liked her naked, and found that any excuse to have her linger just a few more moments was good enough for him. But it didn't take her long to slip into her dress and straighten her hair, and her make-up was easily fixed after a few minutes before the small mirror in his bathroom. Before he knew it, it was time for her to leave.
She stood by the door, gazing at him for a moment. She flashed him a smile, but before she could turn to the door he stood; ignoring the fact that he was start naked and, as it were, slightly aroused. She blushed prettily, and he admired the way her bosom colored before he turned to open his wardrobe. In it lay his luggage, almost untouched in its trunk, and he rummaged about it for a few moments before straightening up and looking over to the pink haired woman looking extremely uncomfortable and confused by the door. He walked over, and handed her the ornament in his hand. It was a beautiful, black Asian comb in lacquer, decorated with the famous cherry blossoms of Japan. It had belonged to his father's mother, and was something to be valued. He had already given her an equally beautiful folding screen that his mother had insisted he brought along on his travels to bring her once he arrived home. He gathered it would be put to better use hiding Sakura's delicate body, than as another expensive decoration for his mother's room. When asked, he would reply what he had been robbed. Which, indeed, he had, in way that he wouldn't allow himself to think of.
o-oOo-o
"Take care of this," he said, dropping the comb in her outstretched hand. She looked at him with wide eyes, her blush still present.
"I, oh, are you sure?" she stuttered, knowing she should refuse the gift but finding herself unable to do so. He raised a brow, as if to question her ability to hear. She swallowed, about to speak when he leaned down to press a soft kiss against her lips. She didn't allow him to pull away, already flinging her arms around his neck to keep his mouth on hers. It was wrong of her, she knew, but he was so delicious; already responding to her desperate kisses. When she allowed him to break away again, she found herself gazing into his eyes.
"How much will that cost me?" he asked, a crooked grin adoring his damp lips. She smiled, the grip of her arms around his neck loosening. "An answer to a question," she replied. He raised his brow again, clearly amused as he spoke, "Ask away."
She bit her lip, unsure. With a deep breath, she came to the conclusion that if it failed, she wouldn't see him ever again.
"When I leave this place, where can I go to find you?"
o-oOo-o
It was with a soft smile that he left town, comfortably seated in a cart together with his little brother. Such madness, he mused. What would his father say if he knew his heir had fallen for a showgirl in the west, in less than a week's time? He found himself fantasizing about what it might be, once she caught up with him. The money he left behind would be more than enough to pay off whatever debt she had to her employer and with her promise still fresh in his mind, he would not have to wait for long before he found out firsthand what his father's reaction would be.
Meanwhile, his foolish little brother seemed quite busy trying to figure out what made him smile so disgustingly genuine.
o-oOo-o
TBC
oOo
A/N: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! :D They mean a lot and helps me update faster :)