Her hotel room is a short walk from the restaurant, and it's only when she's left the restaurant, exposed to the slight chill of the early spring evening that Regina realizes that she's tipsy. She had a cocktail, she had wine with dinner, and nearly half a bottle of champagne for dessert. There are some in her occupation who can barely meet clients sober, but she's never been that type. She prefers to keep her guard up, her mind to be free of any potential disability, just in case. That's why they are walking to her hotel room- the cost built into her price. She's going to be in control of the room, isn't going to walk into another person's room unaware of who may come in, or what may be hidden in it. She's careful. Usually.
But she had let her guard down with this man, the man who defended the child who reminded her so much of Henry at that age, against a father that reminded her so much of her mother.
He got her to break the rules – rules that she had imposed upon herself for her own protection. She shared herself with him – one date, and he not only knew she had a son, but what that son looked like. He knew her real name (just her first name, she reminds herself, it's not that bad). She found herself liking him, caring about him. She finds herself hoping and thinking that he cares and actually likes her. None of it was good business. Not for this area of business anyway.
But her gut says she can trust him, and her gut is almost always right. So she concentrates on maneuvering down the broken pavement of the sidewalk in her heels without stumbling or slipping, and pushes the guilt and that knowing voice telling her she's getting herself into something that is bound to hurt her out of her mind.
All in all, the walk to the hotel isn't particularly awkward, as it sometimes is in this process, when the inevitability of sex is on the mind. Normally her mind would be racing at this point. How would it start? Would she be expected to make the first move? What would it be like? She was a professional, this was far, far from her first time, yet she still normally gets nervous at this point in the evening.
But there were none of those types of nerves tonight for her, though she thinks she can feel the nerves on him in the way he tenses up a bit, withdraws ever so slightly, and she wants to make him feel more comfortable. She wraps an arm around his waist (it helps to steady herself as she walks), pushes her body against his side as they walk, soaking up his warmth in the cool evening. He leans down and smiles her, wrapping his own arm around her, hands touching her gently, his hand moving up and down her far arm, as if to warm her up.
There aren't many people on the street, and they are on the far side of the sidewalk, tucked right against the buildings they pass. And she looks up at him, staring into his eyes, and closes the distance between their lips.
It's a pretty nice kiss – especially considering it's been at least two years since he's kissed someone like that. He's firm, confident, but his lips are soft, and his arms wrap around her, and he walks her back, moving her subtly against the side of the building as he slowly moves his lips to kiss her top lip, then to gently kiss her bottom lip, finishing the rather innocent kisses when he moves to rest his forehead against hers.
They don't say anything for a beat or two, she lets herself just breathe heavy against his skin (and his breath is haggard and startled next to hers) and then his hand is on her cheek, he's whispering God… and she's kissing him again. She deepens it, this time, opens her mouth to taste him, to let their tongues meet, and the movements are slow and unhurried at first. Two tongues, just meeting each other, lightly, softly.
She moans into the kiss. She doesn't know if the moan was real or not. She can't deny that it felt nice.
And her moaning must have spurred something on, because he's kissing her harder now, and she hooks her ankle behind his calf and pushes him closer to her, against the wall of the office building behind her. He tightens the grip around her waist, the hand around her neck moves to slide through her hair to send shivers down her spine. And she finds herself fisting his jacket with one of her hands, pulling him impossibly closer.
He pulls back only far enough to kiss her cheek, and then to press kisses down her neck, and it's tingly and warm and good.
"God you feel amazing," he says into the crook of her neck, she hums and responds S o do you in a throaty voice she barely recognizes.
He pushes against her a little more, and he's aroused, definitely turned on by this little makeout session, and that actually pleases her – that he's aroused so quickly, of course (not that he's aroused at all, he's a client, she shouldn't want this – if he's aroused quickly it just means her job is easier). But then again, she's not completely unaffected either, and, truly, that's not much like her when she's with clients.
"Robin?" she asks, as he turns his attentions to the skin just under the clavicle. It's nice, but they are at the risk of causing a scene, and given her occupation, she can't draw this type of attention. And she can tell he's excited, a bit wrapped up in the moment, and if she isn't careful, he's going to get a hand up her dress soon right in the middle of this street. If she isn't careful, she's going to let him.
"Mm?" he answers between kisses.
"Take me to bed." She breathes into his ear, nipping it lightly. It's…maybe a bit intimate, and unnecessary of a request given their situation, but he requested a girlfriend experience, after all.
She is well aware of what he wants, through their email exchange. He wants her to act like she is enjoying herself, he wants to please her, or try to please her. He wants to simulate an actual relationship. Many of her clients want that, her price point usually begs a more intimate time than your average escort experience. So saying this, responding this way, it's all just part of the act.
She ignores the voice in her head for maybe the thousandth time tonight that tells her she is lying to herself, and that there's more to this.
Robin pulls his lips from her skin, grabs her hand and kisses it, before walking her to the hotel. It's a nice hotel, and she's already checked in. She's here every now and then, on her working nights and she can't afford to look suspicious. So when she enters the nice lobby she pulls away from him just a bit, walks toward the elevator and presses the button, smiling at him, relieved he seems to understand that now is not the time to kiss and caress and fondle each other, no matter how much they – no, he, wants to. Now is the time to look like a happy couple just on their way to bed.
As soon as the elevator comes she jumps in and presses the button for the 12th floor. As soon as the doors close, Robin's lips are on her. She didn't quite expect it, but she likes it, it's a more urgent kiss than before, and she sinks into it.
"Fuck," he whimpers into the kiss, and she's nodding in agreement, because yes, this is unexpectedly good. And she's had it with the voice in her head. She's going to enjoy it.
She can have mechanical, miserable sex another time. She can enjoy this for now, it's what he requested her to do anyway. She can enjoy the kisses and touches of a man shes' actually attracted to, of whose company she actually enjoys.
As soon as she opens the door to her hotel room she fists his jacket and pulls him inside, kissing him hard at the same time she's taking the jacket off of him. He seems a little taken back at first, but he responds immediately, hands searching to find the zipper of her dress as her hands now move to undoing his tie.
.::.
She's a fucking dream. Beautiful, smart, a loving mother, and now she feels real and soft and willing in his arms, and he hasn't felt like this since Marian and he sure as hell isn't going to end this now.
They're making out like teenagers while they undress each other hurriedly – or rather she undresses him. He still hasn't the courage to undo the zipper to her dress himself. He wants to savor that moment a bit, watch the dress peel back and reveal more of her beautiful body, but he's too distracted now, because her tiny, soft hands are undoing his belt, lightly grazing over to where he's already rock hard and it's such a tease, so hot, makes his blood boil in anticipation.
She's unbuckled and unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, and her hand slides down to grab his erection. He can't help it, he groans, it's been a long time since he's been touched, and it's almost a therapeutic feeling this time.
Her strokes become firmer, until he has to grab her hand and stop her. He wants this to last as long as possible and at a certain point he won't want to slow down and he'll regret that immediately when it's over. So he grabs her hand, with a smile, stilling her movements and pulls down the zipper in her dress, peeling back the fabric slowly.
She is beautiful. Slender, but curvy in the right places, her breasts are bigger than he had thought, beautiful swells in a navy blue bra and matching lace panties, and he takes a moment to pull back and just look at her, admire her beauty. When his eyes meet hers, she shakes her head slightly, her eyes focusing on the floor below her. He cups her chin, then, drawing her face up so she can meet her gaze.
"You're gorgeous" he says to her in earnest, "do you even know how…" He doesn't finish the sentence. It's clear she doesn't know how gorgeous she is, how perfect her body is, and it's clear that his words aren't going to convince her of it. So he kisses her again, his hand moves to the swells of her breast without him even consciously leading them there.
"Is this ok?" he asks, breaking the kiss just a bit, his hand firmly on her breast. He doesn't have to ask but he wants to, and the way she hisses yesss in response is worth it. He touches her nipples over the bra, fingers strumming over her nipples until they are hard and pointed, and she breaks their kiss to gasp a bit as she reaches to finish undressing him.
.::.
He feels good. He feels very good.
Her bra is off – he had fumbled with the clasp a bit, muttering an it's been awhile and she had waved it off, determined not to let him be embarrassed about it. Now his hands are drawn back to her now-free breasts, and his fingers trace her curves lightly, from her shoulders down her sides, over her breasts, and finally swirling lightly around her nipples. It's a tender moment, too tender given the circumstances, but she doesn't mind at all, the light touches are teasing, making her actually throb with anticipation and need for the first time in she doesn't know how long.
His thumb and index finger is on a nipple and he looks up at her, asking permission again, always checking with her, and she nods as he pinches a nipple and she breaks into another gasp, and she's not touching him but he moans in response to her, ducking down somewhat awkwardly to kiss and suck the nipple that's not in his hand, and the way his tongue moves against her nipple is doing something to her, making her feel a straight jolt of pleasure right down to where she's already wet.
She is probably going to come tonight, she realizes that now.
When she first entered into this world, not too long ago, Mal had offered her advice, let her know how to run her business in a way that was safe (had begged her to work with an agency where she would be protected, have an actual paycheck, would only entertain the absurdly wealthy, the politically connected – but she wouldn't let someone else control her, let someone else screen the clients, let an agency tell her she couldn't work her day job anymore...and besides she was done pleasing the over-entitled wealthy anyway). Mal told her this happens every now and then, feeling good during a session. And she said to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Don't over-analyze, worry about what type of person it makes you to get off during a session with a client. They usually want you to orgasm anyway, so if the occasion should arise where you might not have to fake it, and what could be better?
But Mal has so many more warnings, and words of advice. So many more rules for interactions with clients and she had broken many of them tonight.
It's not time to think about that now. She reminds herself, pushing every fear out of her mind, favoring her instincts instead, her instincts that say this man is okay. He's not dangerous, he won't hurt her.
He's walking her back to the bed, when her knees hit the back of it, she sits down, pulls down his pants and boxers, and he toes them off right at the foot of the bed, and then she's reaching for him, she grabs his neck and pulls him down on top of her as she lays down on the bed, his elbows bracing himself on either side of her head, his mouth on her.
"Jesus Regina" he moans. Her name. It's been….years since she's heard her name in this context, and she didn't think she'd like to hear it anymore, considering that her ex-husband used her name all the time and that was the opposite of a tender romance, sex with him was forceful and rough and sometimes against her will. Also considering that usually during these sessions she likes to disassociate herself from what she's doing, what she's become.
But the way Robin says her name, it sounds like a plea, it's gentle and sweet and nothing like her past romances, and nothing like the more degrading of her client sessions.
And so it doesn't pull her out of the moment, instead hearing her name excites her, turns her on even more, has her becoming slightly aggressive as she deepens their kiss and rocks her hips against his erection, reveling in the pleasure the friction creates.
He moves one hand down to the waist of her underwear, breaking the kiss to look in her eyes, again searching for her permission.
"Take it off!" she orders it's a frustrated, breathless order but an order nonetheless and he complies willingly with it, getting up for a moment to pull the underwear off her body, slowly, it's sweet, but frustrating, the feeling of the fabric working its way down her legs creates all sorts of sensations and the anticipation is just as sweet. He settles himself between her thighs then, his eyes focused on her body.
He sweeps his fingers across her sex lightly with a groan. "Regina…so so wet." She looks down at him and nods, muttering you made me this way. He continues to touch her gently, light touches up her inner thigh, gentle, open mouth kisses around her sex, nearly where she wants him, and it works her up more, has her practically dripping, until she's panting and crying out.
"Robin, please!" she says, and she's never asked for it, never begged a client to fuck her or finger her or eat her out, but the second she asks for it his fingers move their way inside her, and she's not even touching him but his breathing is already erratic, he's already moaning, and she smiles, because he's one of those, one of those who gets pleasure from giving pleasure. And that's lucky for her, because she's willingly chasing her orgasm now, which would be entirely unprofessional if he didn't seem to enjoy her doing so.
"I need to taste you," he says, like a plea, and she's nodding, yes, that's fine. He sweeps a tongue between her folds, lapping up the wetness that's dripping from her, exploring every inch of her with his tongue, every inch but the place where she really needs him, and he knows it.
Her hips start rocking against his mouth as she tries to direct him to where she wants him (she is being legitimately needy, which is entirely wrong, and she should stop) but all he does is steady her hips with one of his hands, he uses the other to swipe across her clit, causing her hips to buck and him to chuckle, a puff of air hitting her clit again.
"Robin!"
"Mmhm?" His mouth is still on her, he's still teasing her with his tongue, planting gentle little sucking kisses right above and below where she needs him.
"You—you… su— uurree— " he plants a firm lick to her clit before moving from it again and it makes her lose her thought, makes her buck and she feels like she's melting into the moment "sure it's – oh god that's good – it's been two years?"
He's circling her clit with his tongue now, and she regrets even trying to form a coherent sentence, because he had to stop temporarily to look up at her smugly. "It hasn't been two years since I've done this" he says, looking at her in the eyes.
Oh. So okay, by two years he meant intercourse, not random other hookups, that makes more sense…
"It's been four years since I've done this" he says, before returning his attention to her clit again, firmer, strong licks.
She would almost laugh at the absurdity of this man being celibate for so long, but she's too far gone to focus much on the conversation.
She remembers that this is about him, and so while she won't come, not without his fingers back inside her, not without a firmer touch to her clit, it's nice, better than she usually gets, so she soaks in the feeling for a bit, reminding herself this night is not about her own orgasm.
And then he stops, looks up at her and waits for her to meet his eyes.
"Tell me what to do," he almost growls "I want to make you scream, tell me what you need to come."
Well, he's the boss tonight.
"I need your fingers…ba-back inside me" she pants, as he continues to lick her and drive her crazy and he slips two fingers into her, they go in so easily and she realizes she is turned on to an almost criminal degree, but at this point she can't bring herself to care.
The pace of his fingers starts slow, and he asks tenderly "faster?" and she's nodding frantically. He adds a third finger and it's unexpected white hot pleasure, has her moaning yes, that's good, so good
He shifts the angle to where it's just right, and she loses her thought, starts babbling incoherent thoughts, yesdontstopkeepgoing god please, harder, lick harder on my clit, mm I need you to, I need you to suck hard on...
And she comes, hard, when his lips suck her swollen, aching clit, tongue sliding firmly against it, and his fingers moving expertly in and out of her as she clenches around his fingers, feels no guilt in riding the orgasm out for as long as she can, panting and crying out as she does, until it's too sensitive and she has to push him away.
She's still recovering a bit, still feeling too weak limbed to jump into the act of pleasing him – the way she usually would in these scenarios, but he doesn't know that, he lays down next to her.
He doesn't have a smug look on his face like she's expected, he looks almost…affectionate. More grateful than proud of himself (and he should be, frankly). He stares into her eyes for a second and then he's pulling her in for a kiss. He's a good kisser. It's almost a shame he's wasting his life not kissing people anymore.
She tastes herself on him, feels the lingering wetness of her orgasm on his lips and tongue mixing with his own taste, and loses herself for a second thinking of how wonderful this is going.
She shifts her hand down between them until she can grasp is cock and she only gives it a stroke or two before he breaks the kiss, gasping and looking far too gone at this point to take the lead.
He full well knows the rules, what he's allowed to do, but he's still judging her comfort zone and considering her needs. So he lets her hands move soft and steady against him, a bit sloppy, before he gently grasps her wrists and moves it, silencing her question with a kiss.
"I want to be inside you," he says soothingly, searching her eyes for the permission he yet again doesn't need. Ordinarily she'd have made a quick trip to the bathroom before this (before their first encounter too), to lubricate herself, ensure she was ready, but sometimes – rare times, but sometimes , she doesn't need it, and this is definitely one of those times. She nods, and before she can remind him or reach to give him a condom he's leaning over to take one out of the wallet he had dropped on the bed and puts it on.
She lays on her back, her legs slightly parted, and he kneels between her legs, condom on, and she readies herself for him to thrust in.
But he doesn't, his hands are stroking up and down her inner thighs, softly, and goosebumps appear on her skin, giving away her enjoyment of the action. He touches her sex with grave care, he's soft, and she arches into his touch.
He dips a finger back into her, hisses a bit, and then bends over her, one hand propping himself over her and the other on his cock, guiding himself into her.
God!
This is good
His whimpered moan meets her ears, it's faint like an echo bubbling beneath the surface of her own thoughts, and she knows he feels it too, but anything is bound to be good for him, he's been a monk for two years.
But she has been very, very active in the past two years, and this is very, very good.
It happens very fast, she's a bit keyed up, and her anxieties and feared dulled behind the pleasant buzz of the alcohol she's had tonight and she feels herself getting close, finds herself moving the way she needs to, responding to his thrusts, her hips raising to meet his, hears herself go from gentle pants to heady moans, desire churning within her, begging to burst inside of her.
And she gives into the feeling, her hands gripping his ass, begging him to take her deeper, as she cries out his eyes squeeze shut, spilling out curses and then a " god, you feel so amazing, so fucking wet, oh god please please come for me, please..."
She bends a knee against his side, and he takes it as a hint, grabbing her leg and hooking it behind his shoulder, her other leg still laid out before, and the gentle change in the angle makes the pleasure within her go from a warm ache to white hot vibrations, and she lets the feeling overtake her, lets herself breathe and moan into the moment. It was good, very good, and very much the first time in god knows how long.
She shut her eyes during that moment when she reached her peak, the feelings a bit too intense on their own without looking into the handsome eyes of the man above her, but as she recovers and her eyes open, she sees him looking down at her, expression a combination of lust and happiness. There's a smile, not smug, not suggestive, just happy.
He brushes her cheek lightly with one hand, dips his head down and breathes between thrusts "can't…believe…I…lasted…through that. You are so fucking beautiful, so perfect." She laughs, embarrassed because he probably doesn't know that wasn't a performance, that was real.
He's still holding back, though, she can tell in the way he bites his lower lip, in the way he's tensing up, wincing, and there's no need, so she urges him on, her hand once again gripping his ass.
"I want you to come inside me," moans, all breathless and throaty, she barely recognizes her voice.
"God I want to, I really want to." He's breathing so hard now, his face strained in almost torture. "But darling — god ! — I don't want this to end."
Her heart swells, and she can't help but look at him adoringly, because only this man could be balls deep and seconds away from coming inside her and sound so sweet and innocent.
She thinks to remind him they have all night, that he can go multiple rounds, but she doesn't want him to think she's rushing him, so she lets herself give into the feeling again, entirely certain a second orgasm is out of the question, but not wanting to rip the experience from him.
It never stops feeling good, and the pressure builds up in her again, drawing out moans and sighs against his lips, and she can see him practically trembling, so when she licks behind his earlobe and breathes heavily against his ear, she isn't surprised to hear the low groan come from him, spilling out compliments and about how wonderful she is, how beautiful, how perfect, and how he's going to come now, he's going to come. His hips thrust and hers go to meet his own and then he comes, his body tensing, eyes shutting tight for a moment as he gives into the moment, nearly stilling inside her, only moving in slow, methodical strokes.
"I—" he starts, before stopping himself from wherever he was going. "Thank you" he settles on saying, and she bites back a laugh because she knows he'll misinterpret it as laughing at him, when truly, she wants to laugh because he's adorable, and he's made her so truly happy tonight, and that is rare. Frankly, under the circumstances, unheard of.
He's off to the bathroom, and when he returns he looks…conflicted. Upset. And she has a desire to make sure he feels okay, to make sure he doesn't view this evening as a weak moment in his life. She's not sure why, but she doesn't want to be that type of memory for him. He doesn't deserve to be feeling badly for hiring her, not when he's treated her well, not when she's truly enjoyed herself.
.::.
Sex for the first time in four years is a lot like having sex for the first time ever. She was warm, and wet, and tight, and soft, and everything all at once, and she came on his tongue, or she faked it, and faked it wonderfully, because her juices were all over his lips and tongue, she had clenched tightly around his fingers in patterned, fluttered movements so reminiscent of what he felt with Marian.
It had almost been therapeutic, almost like a massage for his soul, being together with someone else like this. It didn't take away from Marian's memory like he had worried. Though when he entered her, when they became joined, the feelings that surrounded him were almost too much, and he wondered if it had ever felt this good before.
Every movement she had made, every moan, every time her eyes stared back at him, he found himself falling deeper into the sensations, completely overwhelmed.
When he felt her come, her muscles clenching around him, massaging his cock as liquid warmth surrounded him, his body begged for the same release, the sounds she was making were almost enough to drive him over the edge. But he had bit down, refusing to finish, because this would be it.
He isn't doing this again. It is wrong to do this, and certainly dangerous to feel this close to a woman he had hired. He is going to hurt himself, he is more far gone than he knew, feeling things so quickly for a near-stranger. He has to reign himself in.
But frankly she is like a drug and the thought of never having her again was painful to him, and he had been determined to stretch this out as long as he could.
Until, his balls tightened and throbbed, his cock twitched for minutes, painful now, his entire body had gone tense, and then he had looked into her eyes and let himself go, spilling inside the condom, feeling utterly satisfied for the first time in forever.
He had kissed her then, just gave her lips a quick peck, then he pulled out of her (his heart raced a bit when he heard her groan at the loss of him) and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. And the realization of what he had just done hits him. Because this isn't real, he used her, asked her to play a role and his poor, immature heart has already fallen for every part of her.
When he returns to the bedroom, he finds her sprawled out on the bed, laying against a pillow, and her arms are out, beckoning him to go lie down next to her. Because he's paid her for the whole night, he reminds himself. Not because she wants him there.
He shouldn't. This is dangerous, and he's already feeling too much. This isn't real, this is make believe with a beautiful, sensual actress.
He shouldn't go back to bed. He should get changed, wish her a good night, and go.
He tells that to himself over and over again as he joins her in bed, kissing her forehead and pulling her onto his chest.
"Thank you" he says again, giving her body a quick squeeze.
She chuckles "You don't have to thank me for this," she reminds him, but he shakes his head.
"I do though. I don't think you realize…." He sighs, because he can't put it into words what the experience has meant to him, and frankly, she probably doesn't care.
She snuggles closer into him, and he breathes in her smell, basks in the warmth of a naked body next to him like this, and it's wonderful. Makes him feel safe, alive, and almost understood in a way he hadn't remembered feeling since Marian.
He's missed this. He's missed this more than he can say, more than he knew when he finally broke down and hired this woman, planned this night. Yet, it still feels like an impossibility to have something like this again. Outside of the manufactured connection so easily crafted by the clever woman next to him, of course. Finding something real would require a larger commitment than he's willing to make right now, and would subject him to more heartache then he's ready to face.
But he can't help but wish the woman next to him was really there for him , that the night wasn't just a transaction. A transaction, he reminds himself, is all it had been, regardless of how he felt, regardless of appearances. Regardless of the orgasms she appeared to have, regardless of how comfortable she seemed in his arms right now.
It was a transaction where he'd paid her to play a part, and she'd done so very well. A part she probably had to play because she needed the money desperately, for some reason, and he had openly degraded her, taken advantage of her struggles and it was wrong, so wrong.
Guilt washes over him in heavy waves, his conscience berating him for wanting to keep her the whole night, she should have the night off, it's the least he can do.
He kisses the top of her head, breathing in her intoxicating smell once more, and then painfully extracts himself from her safe embrace.
"I should go," he says in a whisper, and he sees her face fall into confusion.
"That bad, huh?" she responds with an attempted wink
"Huh?" he asks, almost befuddled.
"Skipping out early. We have the whole rest of the night, you know."
"I….no, tonight was probably the best -" He won't finish the sentence, because it's pathetic to admit this is the best night he's had since Marian died. "Anyway, it's just, I figured, you might want to, your son—"
"Do you need to get home to your son?" she asks, interrupting his rambling.
"No, he thinks I'm in an out-of-town business meeting."
"My son actually thinks the same thing. So I can't go home tonight." She shrugs. "I already called him while you were in the restroom with that child during dinner — and told him I had arrived safely and to listen to the sitter."
He nods, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "Regina, I can't express how great this night was, but…"
"You don't have to feel guilty, you know." She says plainly, and he realizes he's easier to read than he thought.
"What?" he asks, a bit shocked by the bluntness.
"There's nothing to feel guilty about. You were a perfect gentleman, and I was truly enjoying tonight. And I don't just say that sort of thing. So don't feel guilty. And don't pity me either. If I look at you and see pity in your eyes, I'll smack you. Ok?"
He laughs, looks up at her in amusement, but there's still sadness in his eyes. "Okay."
She pulls him back until he's once again laying down and she's on top of him.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, it's not accusatory, just curious, and soft.
She removes herself from his chest, turns towards him, laying on her side so she can face him.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to make me feel better about all of this. Trying to… you already went above and beyond, you know."
She sighs. "If I told you I liked you, would you believe me?"
He doesn't answer, only smiles. He shouldn't let himself believe that, no. But he'd like to.
"Well, I don't want you feeling miserable after what should have been a good experience. You looked so happy for a moment, and now…" she cups his cheek, planting a kiss on his lips. "I don't want you leaving looking like this night has put you in any pain. You've been in enough pain, it sounds like. Okay?"
"Painful is the last word I'd use to describe this evening," he admits, his cheeks flushing red. She laughs, looks him in the eyes and there's a tender moment.
"Stay awhile," she says, almost a whisper. "I know you don't want to leave, so stay. Let's pretend to be a normal couple for tonight."
He shouldn't. It's a terrible idea.
"Alright" he says, turning and lying on his side and facing her.
She draws him out in a light conversation, and he eases back into comfort. They're lying there, naked, strangers to each other only hours ago, but things feel so comfortable. It's not awkward, and his hands start wandering and tracing her curves as they lay facing each other, soft touches that get bolder, because god, she's so beautiful, so sexy, and so warm, responding to his touch, goosebumps when he traces over her hip bone and strokes to her back side. Her breath hitches as he rubs his fingers lazily up from her hip to her navel, and then, tracing the side of the swell of her breast. Her hands wander too, stroke his side, lightly cupping his ass, she's going soft and gentle, easing him into this as they talk about favorite places to travel, sharing teasing childhood memories of family vacations gone bad.
He wants her again, and she knows it, is certainly acting like she's into it too (she's paid to act like that, you idiot, he reminds himself), and he fights with the voice inside his head telling him not to do this again until lust takes over and wins the argument he was having with himself, and his hands grow greedy, rubbing and touching her and finally touching that spot between her thighs, reveling in the warm honeyed feel of the wetness there. All talk stops, and she is kissing him, straddling him, putting a condom on him without so much as asking what he wants (she knows, he thinks, she can read him well). She's riding him as he looks down at her from below, watching her tits bounce as she fucks him, delighting in the view, the sounds, the feel of her.
It feels like she comes right before he releases, like they almost come together, and when she lays back down on him she's panting, sweat-sheened and raw and beautiful, and he wants this forever, he's already lovesick like a school child, and it can never be.
It's depressing. And yet the thought of never seeing her again…
As he comes down from his high, sees her breathing regulate, knows she'll be asleep soon, he finds himself reaching for another time, another contact.
"I, uh, I was wondering if you um did lunch dates" he says, quickly amending "just lunch, and of course, I'd you know, pay the time, I just…"
She smiles and shakes her head. "I don't do anything before 6 PM on weeknights. I have a day job."
"Ah." Curiosity overwhelms him but he knows she won't tell him much about this day job, so he prefaces "I'm not asking where or who you work for, but what sort of work do you do?"
Regina glances up at him. "I'm an assistant for someone very powerful. I do a little bit of everything. In title, I'm not much more than a secretary. But make no mistake, the place would collapse without me."
Robin laughs. "I have no doubt" he says.
When it's time for him to go, he dresses, his eyes never leaving her as she stretches naked on the bed, giving him a satisfied smile and looking so sweet, her facial expression so oddly innocent, such a starch contrast to her sinful body, the utterly tantalizing position it's in, and he has to draw his eyes away, because he wants more.
"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" Her facial expression is soft, resigned, but almost sad, as if she misses him already.
He can't hide his shock. "I want to see you again." He admits, a sad smile on his face. But no, he wasn't going to do this again. If she had agreed to a lunch…to some time where he could just pay for her company, where he wouldn't be tempted to go further with her – where the call of returning to work would keep him from making another date into…all of this, sure he might have convinced himself it was worth it. But she wasn't available like that, and he shouldn't be doing this anyway.
"There's a discount for repeat customers" she says, and it's almost like she doesn't want to see him go, but he's hit again with the guilt, the realization of what thisis when she mentions the money.
"It's not about the money" he says, because it's not. It's a lot of money, but it's nothing he can't handle. He lives cheap, he makes enough to get by to splurge on these costs.
"I figured." Her eyes go down for a bit, lashes flutter. And then she looks back up at him, a tender little glance that has his heart knocking hard in his chest. "But, if you ever feel the need again…" she trails off, and god he wants to say yes, but he can't.
.::.
She shouldn't keep pressing to see him again. The offer was already made, and he won't accept. She won't get a client like this again, and it's probably for the best. She sighs. "Well, I wish you the best. You're a good man. And a good father. You should, get back out there, you know."
He frowns a bit, at that, and he clearly disagrees, he's been adamant that he's done with real dating, real relationships. "I'm a bit of a mess, you know."
She nods. "Me too."
He tells her again how wonderful the night was, that it meant a lot to him, more than she knows, how wonderful her company had been, and she feels the sting of tears behind her eyes, because no one has sounded as grateful as he did at the end of an evening, no one has sounded like they truly felt anything more than scratching an itch, and he, he made it sound like she had just cured an ailment, patched him up, healed him, did something good, something that wasn't dirty and demeaning.
She wants to wrap herself up in those kind words, wear it as armor for all the dates she will have in the future. But the words will fade overtime. This memory will get replaced by other, grosser ones. And life will go on.
She won't see him again. Of that she is almost certain. And she shouldn't be sad or disappointed over that fact.
