A/N: For those who were confused in the previous chapter, I'd like to clarify that the ambiguity was deliberate! It's meant to give an impression of kinky doggy-style pronz, when it was actually just an intense massage. I tease, cuz that's my job. ~_^

Hotel XXX

Chapter 4

Her hand viciously swats the buzzing alarm clock that forces her back to dreadful reality. Normally, she would wake up naturally with the laughing sun, fully motivated to start her long hours of university lectures and rigorous studying, but for the past four days, her body feels like the living undead, with a pasty complexion drained of all blood along with heavy bags hanging under her eyes, and not to mention the sharp pain coursing throughout her stiff body, courtesy of the Penthouse Demon's demanding massage regiment.

As her tenacious perseverance manages to hoist her cadaver out of tangled sheets and into the bathroom where the shower may revitalize her still-dormant human spirit, she worries about the warning Azusa had given her before leaving the hotel last night. Apparently, the gossiping staff was suspicious of Maka's routine, wondering why she had been coming into work when she wasn't even scheduled. She couldn't possibly admit the truth, so she told Azusa a lie that could buy her a little time—she said that she had lost a precious item and was desperately combing the floors to find it—but she knew that her excuse could not hold any longer and she needed a new cover for tonight.

Her drenched body steps out of the shower, secures a fluffy towel around her skinny frame, and wipes the foggy mirror to observe her reflection. At least she no longer looks like death, she thinks to herself as she brushes her teeth, still gazing into her own green eyes to somehow find an answer to her problem.

And then, simplicity dawns onto her, the solution popping up like a cartoon lightbulb above her dripping ash blonde locks. Quickly rinsing out the minty foam from her mouth, she rushes for the telephone to make a call.

She doesn't know why she let Blair have her way, but she now regrets it as she nudges down the tight short skirt that rides up her thighs at every stride she takes. Out of all the outfits her promiscuous friend had offered, thisone was actually passable because she was at least able to tone down the precarious length with black pantyhose that covered her legs and made her feel less naked. Moreover, the upper portion of the ensemble wasn't that bad at all: despite adamantly appreciating the boost of the push-up bra, her bosom was modestly hidden by a smart blazer that gave her a nice added shape with its crisp angles and classy allure.

To top off the look, Blair transformed Maka's usual lank hair into luscious waves, and threw in a pair of large celebrity-like sunglasses to hide her distinct green eyes. But it's the heels that really complete the disguise: five inch stilettos pummel loudly into the ground, turning heads at every piercing step she makes. The excessive attention could not be a good thing, but at least it hides her identity really well because the Maka Albarn that everyone knew would never flaunt her female attributes like this doppelganger is currently doing.

Soul likely agrees, since he doesn't recognize the smokin' hot figure greeting him when he opens the door of his room.

"Ah shit, was it a guy named Wes that called you here?" He scratches the back of his head, thinking that his brother had once again ordered an escort without his consent.

She smacks him hard in the chest, enough to startle him out of his thoughts and curse his stupid brother for sending a realone that specialised in BDSM.

"It's me, you idiot," she whispers out, forcing her entry and removing her sunglasses to reveal her identity. "I needed to come incognito cuz my coworkers are getting suspicious."

He's still too shocked by her appearance to properly respond. Still gaping at her, he blurts out the first thing that pops in his mind.

"Fuckin' hot," he mumbles.

"What was that?" She honestly didn't catch his slur of words.

"Oh umm.. aren't you gonna get hotin that coat?" he quickly corrects, tugging at the long sleeve of her blazer.

"Well, it's not a coat, since it's meant for indoors. I'll be fine," she brushes off casually, walking further into the suite. "So where do you want it tonight?"

Somehow the implication of that sentence seems to sound extremely different, now that they come from pink glossy lips while her long sexy legs walk so seductively towards his bed where she rests her tight ass by the corner. He refuses to think that he's just some regular dude that wants to jump any girl with fine legs and a mini-skirt because no, he's not after that, but fuck, he couldn't deny her sex appeal.

He has always found Maka pretty, maybe a little prude and down-to-earth, which was entirely acceptable, but to now see her dressed like this, he just couldn't stop himself from feeling self-conscious. Nevertheless, Soul Evans never failed at hiding his emotions, so he played it cool and tossed away any inappropriate thoughts like pouncing on her petite body and ripping those black tights right off her gorgeous stems.

"I had a pretty intense piano session today, so my hands are a little sore. Mind starting there?" he calmly suggests, successfully hiding the war with his dick.

"Sure," she says with a smile, and he takes a seat beside her, gulping at the scent of delicious shampoo.

But when he places the backside of his hand on her lap, the feeling of self-consciousness spreads into Maka since she cannot deny the masculine presence conveyed by strong phalanges that tense up at her touch. She kneads into the firm light flesh of the palm, her tiny fingers pressing deeply to feel his solid bones, and when she massages the hard bumps of his knuckles, she nearly exhales in arousal.

This hand of his. This sinful devilish tool. Just how dextrous could he possibly be, with these Spartan-trained joints like a well-oiled machine, namely groomed to tickle ivory but certainly capable of much more. The blood rushes to tint her cheeks when she remembers that these exact fingers have once fondled her private region, thoroughly exploring her hidden secret with utmost care, to effortlessly push the right buttons of her ecstatic release.

Yet she had been asleep while these deeds were being given, so it still remains a dream, a farfetched conception of her perverted mind that she could never admit aloud. The mere existence of these perfect pieces of human anatomy sends her soul into a bothered state, and it almost angers her that she obediently has to serve the hand that has once serviced her.

"Ugh Maka, you're kindda hurting me. Can you tone down the strength a bit?"

"Oh sorry."

He's treading in very dangerous waters since their thighs are flush against one another, and any misbehaviour on the part of his male member could not be passed as unnoticed with such proximity. She had once accused him of being a rapist, so he could not afford another slip-up; he needed to alter his current position before it really was too late.

"Ya know, it's Friday night," he states in a bored tone. "We should go out and relax for once…There's some great live jazz at the joint not far off from here."

"Well umm, I don't really understand jazz," she reluctantly admits, a little embarrassed of her lack of knowledge in this field.

"There's nothing to understand, you just sit back and listen." He stares at her slight pout, and comes to the conclusion that he hasto take her out. "Alright, I've decided: you're coming along."

Before she can protest, he folds his fingers into a firm grasp around the small hand that was already in his palm, and the feeling of those sinful digits silences her as they drag her out the door and into the night of cool sensual soulful jazz.