Leather, by Tori Amos
Look I'm standing naked before you
Don't you want more than my sex
I can scream as loud as your last one
but I can't claim innocence
Oh god could it be the weather
Oh god why am I here
If love isn't forever
and it's not the weather
Hand me my leather
I could just pretend that you love me
The night would lose all sense of fear
but why do I need you to love me
when you can't hold what I hold dear
Carlotta snuck in the back way. Once this sort of clandestine behavior had given her a little thrill, but now it just made her feel cheap. She wasn't some Tea addict and she resented being treated like one. So why are you still coming here? asked the little voice in her head. She banished it immediately.
Hatter's flat was empty, and would be until he'd finished up in the office. Carlotta had been told that she wasn't welcome there, where someone might see her. There was anger at that thought, but she tried to quell it. She may not be a Tea head, but that didn't mean she wasn't addicted; it was only that her addiction was for a man.
Carlotta wriggled out of her coat, which she threw over a chair, and wandered around the small living room. There were a lot of books here, stacks of them. She knew where he'd gotten them, though he didn't know that she knew. One word dropped in the right ear and this place would be overrun by Suits; it was proof of Hatter's connection to the Resistance.
"Hmmm." Carlotta paused in front of the oval mirror that stood in the corner. She turned this way and that, running her hands over her dress to get the wrinkles out. She always took extra time to get ready before coming to Hatter, though she knew it didn't matter to him. Her curly red hair fell softly past her shoulders, which were bare. Her emerald green dress, which set off her eyes so well, was a tight-fitting sheath that accentuated her full breasts. Carlotta knew she had a good body, and she knew how to use it.
"You're early," Hatter said. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, just watching her. Carlotta smiled, slow and sexy. She read the weariness in his eyes, took note of the faded bruise high on his cheekbone, and wondered why she cared. She knew she was nothing but a semi-regular lay. He wouldn't appreciate her concerns that he was working too hard; that wasn't how their relationship worked.
"Rough day, sweetheart?" Carlotta sidled over to him and ran her hands across his chest.
Hatter looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark, and then he pulled her roughly to him. His lips were hard and needy against hers, and one hand had already wandered down to her breast.
Carlotta thrilled to it, to him, and hated herself for it. There was no romance here, nothing but lust and desire. She knew she'd never have a candlelit meal with Hatter, or walk the ledges with him hand in hand. When he'd been sated, there would be no lazy pillow talk. But if he let her stay, and sometimes he didn't, he would pull her in close while he slept, clinging to her. And she tried to let it be enough. It never was.
Hatter's lips moved to her neck, alternately kissing and nipping at the tender flesh there. Carlotta pressed herself against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and let her self get lost in the scent of him, the feel of him under her hands. She would enjoy every moment, every sensation. She would take what little he had to give her, because despite everything she loved him.
It was the most painful kind of love, because once given it could never be returned.