She left a half hour later in about the minimal amount-of-nice clothes she could wear to that particular restaurant, mostly to preserve Sebastian's sentiments and dissuade Armetti's. When she arrived, a waiter led her to his table, and she sat with a polite smile. "You going to tell me what this is about? You're making Moran antsy."
He smirked just a little. "Well, I'm terribly sorry he's so on edge... But this was a more personal matter." He looked up as the bottle of wine was brought over, tasted it, and nodded. He waited until the waiter left, then turned back to her. "I'll be straightforward. I miss you, Lorna. Much more than I thought I would."
She raised her eyebrows slightly at him, largely unaffected by his confession. "I hate to break it to you, Vince, but it's been, what, four, five years since I left? There's really not that much you can do about it now. Moran wants to leave New York within the month."
"I'm not going to ask you to stay or anything foolish like that. Just to enjoy the time we have here. I've changed since we last met. I know my ethics- or lack thereof- bothered you. My moral code.. I've adjusted it." He sat back, wine glass in hand. "Enjoy dinner, consider coming to play. I've got a few interesting projects that I think you would enjoy."
"Alright, I'll consider it," she agreed, taking a sip of wine. At least his taste in it was still exquisite. And really, what did she have to lose, in this situation? Fuck, she deserved a vacation, or something like it. "But no promises."
"Come by tonight, after dinner. See what's available so you know what to think about. For now, let's order. It's been too long since I had dinner with you. I'd like to catch up." He gave her a smile.
"Well, as long as they still have that killer ravioli, I'm game," she smirked, flipping open the menu. She would not be volunteering any information tonight about Moriarty, on the off chance that that was what he was truly after (but he knew better than to go after Moriarty, hopefully), but she saw no issue answering his questions otherwise. She had, at one point, been close to him.
He spent the next hour and a half asking her about her life since she left. He was careful to avoid subjects she couldn't discuss, focusing instead on her family (a sore subject, as he found it), and her life in England and outside of work.
When dinner was finished and she was done with her wine, she cocked her head towards the door. "You wanna show me those projects you got going on now? I think I'm tipsy enough to agree, so you better get your ass in gear."
He grinned, standing and offering her a hand. "I think you're going to enjoy it, but I look forward to your comments. Our current specialists are creative, but not nearly so much as you are."
"That's because so few people are as fucked up as I am," she smirked, taking his hand against her better judgment. She didn't want to revert back to the person she'd been when they'd been in a sort of partnership, but it was just too tempting to resist.
"You will have to explain to me why you restrained yourself so much... talent like that... You were an artist, Lorna," he sighed, leading her out to a waiting car and opening the back door, motioning for her to enter.
She slid into the back, waiting for him to get in after her before answering. "I don't know, Vince..." she sighed, leaning her head back, suddenly very glad she hadn't bothered with any makeup tonight, because she would have just felt grimy. "I guess maybe I've spent too much of my life not in control. I don't like losing myself that way anymore. I mean, I was still doing heroin when I left you, and that was bad enough. But the way I get sometimes.." she shook her head, looking over at him. "I'm worried that I'll do something I'll regret."
"Cherie, that was what I was here for," he sighed, leaning back and shrugging. "Good that you're off the heroin, though... you were never at your best on that stuff. Congratulations."
"Yeah, well, when they gave me the job offer for a position in Moriarty's network, it was get clean and get the job, or get killed," she shrugged. "Thanks, though."
They fell into a pleasant silence, and he seemed at ease, a small, soft smile on his face, though he wasn't conscious of it.
They arrived at a different building than that morning, and he stepped out, walking around to open her door. "My private quarters, and below them, the labs. I like to have access to the work 24/7."
"I know. You used to live in the brownstone," she smiled, stepping out with a small nod of thanks. "Holding meetings in the same place you live. Never understood it. Beautiful house, though, that brownstone. This isn't half bad either. Do I get a tour of the labs, or is that after I say yes to your project?"
"Why do you think you're here?" he asked with a laugh. "I'm not going to dangle the candy and not let you taste it. I want you on this, Lorna. I miss working with you. Even if only for a few weeks."
"Believe me, there are plenty of reasons someone would bring me back to their home-slash-laboratory, it's always better to check," she chuckled, fishing her phone out of her pocket to send a quick text to Moran stating her location before putting it back. "Shall we?"
He sighed as he watched her text. "Don't tell me. He has you checking in? But yes, please, right this way." He led her through the front door into a pleasant house. "Coffee? Something stronger?"
"Coffee sounds great," she hummed, deciding to forego the alcohol and adding a point to her Made a Good Decision tab. "And yeah, I mean, I've already been harassed in this city. I rather he come save my ass if I get in trouble than be childish about it and spend the rest of my life in some cellar, you know?"
"I want to apologize once more for that," he said, heading into a kitchen area. "I made it clear that you were to be left alone. A few of my people had other ideas." He pulled out a few bags of beans, considering them, before selecting one and putting them in the grinder.
"Mm. Well, they certainly started showing up dead, so thanks for that. They scattered like roaches after the third one dropped," she snorted, leaning against the counter beside him. He'd aged well. He looked more refined now, like the last bits of marble had been chipped off of him to reveal the art underneath. Granted, next to Sebastian (and she was comparing the two of them, how could she not) he looked about as dangerous as a mop, but hell, looks weren't everything.
He nodded a little once the grinder stopped, shaking the grounds into the coffee maker. "I got so angry with them..." For a moment his gaze flashed slightly manic, eyes hard and bright like fish scales. Then he softened again and could have been a fit suburban husband for all anyone knew. "But anyway. That's not why we're here."
Lorna nodded, quietly and eagerly awaiting her caffeine. Vince had always had a bit of a protective streak that showed up in violent ways. "So what are we here for? What do you need little old me to help you out with?"
"Why don't we let this brew and I'll explain?" he said, heading for a solid looking wooden door near the back of the kitchen and entering a long code to open it.
"Sounds good," she agreed, eyeing the door with interest as she passed it and stepped down into a stairwell. This must be the entrances to his labs. "Good security. Have to have an ax to get that door down."
"The ax would struggle with the iron center. I don't take my security lightly. I don't want anyone getting in or out without my permission." He started down a well-lit set of stairs, and here there were security cameras, tucked into almost every corner. "I've picked up an associate of Mallory. I believe you've met. Mark Alan."
"Oh, we've met alright," she replied darkly, feeling a resentful surge in her chest. It was because of that piece of shit she'd gotten that infection, why she walked with the slightest of limps now. And it wasn't completely Mark's fault that she'd been captured, suspected of treason, and therefore subjected to torture at the hands of the person she cared most about in the world, but if the woman was in reach, well... Hell hath no fury like a woman tortured by two different parties in four days.
He nodded a little, something burning under his own eyes. "I thought as much. So you may understand my problem. She undoubtedly has a vast store of information on Mallory, but I've been unable to tap it. She knows all of our methods, and the pain is still there, but the fear isn't. That's why I need to bring in an expert." The unspoken you hung in the air.
"I'll do it," she agreed, without hesitation. Any chance to inflict that pain on her torturer... She would take it with glee. "That's all you had to say."
He nodded, looking relieved and pleased. "This way," he said, guiding her through another door into a hall with doors leading off of it. "We chose this building mainly for how expansive the basement area was," he said, walking down the hall and starting to unlock the door.
"I can see why," she murmured, stepping into the room as he opened it, and staring down at the woman strapped down to a chair eerily reminiscent to a dentist's. "Hello, Mark. Imagine meeting you here."
Mark was bruised and bloody, face swollen up and a nasty network of burns across her bare chest, but she still smiled. "Lorna," she said, smiling. "How's that leg doing...?"
She turned a little and pulled her skirt up enough to show the ugly, still-pink scar. "Pretty nasty," she shrugged, dropping the hem again. "But here you are, like a surprise birthday present. Made my day, you have." She bent in front of her, a cold grin spreading across her face. "Are you ready to see the inspiration you lack?"
"I've been doing this for years," she smirked. "There's nothing a grifter like you can do that I haven't seen."
Armetti just chuckled.
"Oh, you poor uninformed thing," she gushed, tilting her chin up and pressing her fingers into a yellowing bruise viciously, "You don't know, do you? I wasn't always a grifter. I killed people first. In... inventive ways."
Her face tensed slightly, but she laughed. "If that's all you've got, you're going to be here a long time," she sneered.
Lorna let go of Mark, turning to Vince and raising her eyebrows slightly. "What kind of supplies do you have here?"
"Whatever you like," he said, smiling. "I stocked up on your old favorites, and almost anything else I can have in an hour. Just give me a list."
"Mercury, a vaporizer, two iron bands that will fit around her torso, and one of those little torches for creme brulee, if you can swing it. Welding torch, if not. Railroad spikes would be a good addition, but I assume we'll have to have our coffee while we wait for most of this."
"I have the mercury, the bands, and the torch, actually," he said, smiling. "We will have to wait for the vaporizer and the spikes. So yes. Coffee." He smiled.
"Excellent," she hummed, flashing a smile over her shoulder at Mark before slipping by Armetti out into the hallway. "Oh, also - Carolina Reapers. Or hotter."
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "I'm so glad you're on this. I've missed your creativity. Can I ask your plan?" he asked, unlocking the various doors.
"Among the many symptoms of mercury poisoning, hypersensitivity and nerve pain are the most useful," she smirked, smoothing a hand over the aging injury on her thigh as it gave a twinge of discomfort. "After I administer that, you'll see what follows."
He gave a low whistle as they entered the kitchen to the warm smell of coffee. "You haven't lost your touch."
"I work under Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. I pick up a lot from them," she laughed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He'd serve her. He always did.
He returned with two cups of coffee on a tray with cream and sugar. "Still white, no sugar?" he asked, preparing his own quickly.
"Yeah. Thanks," she agreed, taking her cup with a smile. "I'm glad my coffee preference is memorable enough to stand up for 5 odd years."
"You're memorable. The coffee preference comes along for the ride. We had a lot of mornings very similar to this. I remember those." He shrugged, sitting down with his coffee.
She was silent for a moment, sipping at her coffee. Then, she had to ask. "Has there been anyone else, Vince?"
"No," he said easily, his voice soft, unhurried, and he sipped his coffee. "No one else."
She nodded, silent again for another minute. But Vince was the jealous type, and the murderous rage type. She had someone to protect. "I hope you know if something happens to Moran and you had a hand in it... I will be displeased."
He didn't look insulted by the idea, just nodded. "I thought that might be the case. Assuming he doesn't cross me on separate issues, he's safe."
"Good." She didn't want to have to kill Armetti, not really. She was torn. She wanted to tell him that finally, fucking finally, she'd found something, someONE who made her happy. But she didn't want to aggravate him.
He nodded. "I understand where your priorities lie, Lorna," he assured her softly. He glanced at his phone as it buzzed. "My people should be here within a half an hour with what you requested."
"Good. You know patience was never my strong suit," she snorted, tilting back the rest of her coffee. "Well, you can rest easy knowing that the coffee habit you inflicted me with has stuck with me to this day. I drink it more than I drink tea. And I'm British, Vince."
He grinned, laughed. "It's the American way. You spent too long here for it not to wear off." He sifted the dregs of his coffee around, contemplative.
She chuckled. "I still hate baseball, though, don't you fret. Haven't changed too much. Damn, what a boring sport. I don't get NASCAR, either, but whatever, I guess. My life wouldn't make much sense to the average American's, probably."
"Still the same old Lorna," he laughs, smiling and glancing at his phone. His face instantly went dark, and he hit a button, raising the phone to his ear a moment later.
"Did I tell you that you could make a substitution? Did I fucking tell you- Put Peter on. Put him on now." A pause. "Left pinky. Use your lighter to stop the bleeding, wrap it up, and keep going. You will still be here within a half hour or I will take yours as well."
She watched him leaned back in her chair, mildly running the tip of her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "How many of your men are missing fingers? And, out of curiosity, what did he try to substitute?"
He shrugged. "I've lost track. It doesn't matter. And he was trying to substitute 10-inch nails for the railroad spikes. I disagreed."
"Mm. I would have just taken off all the nails on his left hand. More poetic. Anyway, gotta be careful about wronging too many people. I've seen the top predators get overturned before," she replied neutrally. She didn't really care how he ran things, if it didn't directly involved her.
He smirked. "Oddly enough, some of them take it as a badge of honor. But I'll keep that in mind..." He stood, reaching out to take her empty mug. "Another cup?"
"A badge of honor for fucking up. Hear something new every day," she laughed, smirking. "All my scars are a detriment. Not a single one of them I'd brag about."
He shrugged. "Seems to be something about being able to show off that you work for me. Hell if I understand it." He took her silence on the subject of a second cup as a no, and put both in the sink. "So. Moran. How in hell did that happen?" he asked curiously.
She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head a little. "I don't know. We got assigned to this job in Italy. He was supposed to cover me, get me out in one piece, you know the deal. Had to fuck some Don to get the information I needed. Guess that opened a realm of possibilities," she smirked, brushing a crumb of bread off the table. "It just kinda became a thing we did. We'd fuck, and then we'd fight, and he'd call it off, and then somehow we'd end up doing it all over again. I don't know when I started caring about him. I mean, at one point he got my mother shot in front of me, and I still... got over it, I suppose. I don't know what he feels about me. All I know is that he bends over backwards to keep me from getting killed." And that I'm his weakness, but Vince doesn't need to know that much.
"Sounds healthy," he said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "What is it with you and getting addicted to things that just cause you trouble?"
She sighed, sitting back with a shrug. "I don't know, Vince. I get addicted to things that make me feel... better. Good, even, sometimes. Heroin, murder, alcohol, Moran. 'Cept with the first three I've always chosen the 'quit' bit in the quit or die." She was silent for a moment, just looking down at the table. "I'm... a pessimistic person. You know that. I don't like to admit it, but I am, deep down, a miserable human being. I do the things I do to cover that shit up, to ignore it's there. But Moran... he's not just another drug."
"The way you just described him, that's what he sounds like," he pointed out, walking back over to sit across from her.
"No, it's... He matters, Vince," she frowned, "In a way none of the drugs ever did. The drugs never made me feel safe. Never stopped me from having nightmares. They never held me together when I was about to shatter into a million little fucking pieces. I know that what we have... whatever it fucking is, isn't perfect. But it's better than anything else."
He seemed to contemplate that, and for a moment his eyes and fist tightened and his lips pursed, but then he shook his head slightly and relaxed. "If that's that, then... It's good you're happy I suppose." The words seemed to wound him slightly going off the tongue, and his nose wrinkled.
"I'm sorry, Vince," she said quietly, shaking her head a little. "I've always been a little broken. I don't know what would have happened if I'd stayed here. I don't know if anything would have changed."
"I let you go, didn't I?" he asked, standing suddenly again and walking over to start rinsing dishes in the sink. "I told you before. I'm not here to ask you to stay. Just to revisit old times for a bit."
She sighed. These things were difficult for her. It was so tempting to start faking it, to revert to lying, to keep herself removed from the messy emotions that she couldn't make herself feel. Moran was the biggest exception for her. "I know. I just never know what to say in these situations without lying."
He laughed, then, a deep, long, genuine laugh, a broad smile on his face. "It's fine. I know. Don't lie. You never did with me before. Don't start now."
"I'm endeavoring to do my best," she said, smiling slightly. She had no desire to alienate him. "You should feel special. I lie to almost everyone else."
"I'm honored," he laughed, then looked up at a knock at the door. "Ah. Your supplies, I believe. If you'll excuse me..." He walked out into the hall, and there was the sound of the door opening, followed by a beat's silence.
"I take it you understand why I did that."
"Yes boss..." A voice that was hoarse and off. Pained.
"And you won't repeat your error?"
"No, boss."
"Good. Don't. Or the results will be far worse. Consider your pay raised $5,000 annually. I'll send you the appropriate paperwork. I reward loyalty and... education. But do keep your mouth shut about it. Talking would be one of those mistakes we discussed."
There was the sound of the door closing, and Armetti returned with a box of equipment in his arms. "Ready?"
That conversation was an enormous reminder about big fish in a small pond. Here, Armetti was king. This city was, effectively, his. But his reach didn't extend beyond it. Moriarty's raise to her after he'd had her tortured was more along the lines of an extra five grand a month. But that was the difference between local and international corporations. Not to mention the conversation he'd had with her detailing her future as a second, more espionage-oriented Moran. She shook herself from her thoughts, and pushed out from the table to stand, nodding. "Definitely."
He smiled. "Mind taking the box so that I can unlock doors?" He handed it over, and started the fairly lengthy process of getting them back down to the cells.
She just followed him down into the bowels of the building, mentally stepping into the headspace that would be best to work in. She was going to make Mark wish she'd never been born.
Finally he keyed into the last door, smiling pleasantly at Mark, but leaving Lorna to do the talking.
Lorna, however, said nothing. She used talking to get people to like her, to be interested in her, and this wasn't one of those cases. She had nothing as personal against Mark as she'd had against DeWitt, so a vengeance speech also wasn't necessary. She just got to work, pulling the vaporizer out of the box and pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she got out the container of mercury, briefly reading the fading instructions on the bottom of the little machine before pouring the odd liquid metal in, setting it down under Mark's chair, and securing the mask over the woman's face. Then she flicked it on, smiling. "I hope you're ready for a long night. I don't know if I'll want to stop, even when you do spill the beans."
Mark struggled just slightly as the mask was placed over her face, but once it was clear she wasn't getting away from it, she just grinned. "I have an advantage. I'm willing to die. You aren't willing to lose me."
"That's where you're wrong, kiddo," Lorna grinned, tapping Mark on the nose playfully and then turning back to the box, bringing out the iron bands and very carefully avoiding the container of Carolina Reapers nestled at the very bottom of the box. "You see," she began, setting one band up around the woman's torso by screwing it into the chair, leaving it just brushing Mark's skin, "You're going to die in here. That's not in question. The question is how long it's going to take. How long I'm going to make you suffer before you go. How long I can draw out your last breath, even as you're begging for it to be over. You tell me what I want to know, and I don't kill you slow."
"You rhymed just there, did you know?" Mark retorts, still grinning, even as vapor filled the mask. "Mercury isn't exactly revolutionary, you know."
"I'm not here to start a revolution," she shrugged, setting the second band in place and then reaching back into the box for the torch, playing with the gas settings before crouching in front of the chair and beginning to run the flame back and forth along the bands, careful not to touch Mark's skin directly. "I'm here to make your life miserable."
Mark saw what was going on and immediately sucked in her gut, looking displeased with the development. Armetti walked forward further, eyes alight. "My hands are yours if you need them, Lorna," he said quietly so as not to disturb her concentration.
"Put on those gloves," she murmured, watching the metal start to glow red under her ministrations. "And get my knife out of its thigh-sheath, use it to scrape her skin. Not cut, just scrape. Enough to bring a few drops of blood to the surface, nothing more. Cut open a pepper, rub it on the scrape. Repeat."
"Yes, ma'am," he said playfully, grinning and lifting her skirt just enough to get the knife, sticking it in his belt while he put on the gloves, and then removing it again. Mark was starting to sweat slightly in reaction to the heat, a thin sheen raising up on her skin, and she sat abnormally still, not even reacting as Armetti started scraping across her skin, leaving it raw and pink in his wake. He grabbed a pepper, examining it with a whistle of appreciation before he sliced it open and smoothed it across her skin. There was a beat, then Mark's teeth tightened and there was a muffled swear.
"Not to jump ahead of you," Armetti said pleasantly, glancing at Lorna, "But most of the capsaicin is in the seeds. I could grab a mortar and pestle from the kitchen if you're interested."
"I was actually considering that myself. I thought I'd give Mark a chance to say something first, though," she chuckled, looking up at the woman with a wicked grin, moving on to the second band. "But you can use the flat side of my knife. Doesn't matter if you ruin it, I have more. Not my favorite one, anyway."
"Oh, fuck off," Mark spat, grinning under the fogged mask, though it was tense. Armetti smiled, and walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the room, pulling out a metal tray. He came back and started cutting the peppers deftly, seeds piling slowly in the tray.
She set down the torch as she finished heating the bands, turning to the box again to bring out the railroad spikes, showing them to Mark with a smile before picking up a spike and a torch and beginning to warm it. "I hope you're not too fond of your hands and feet."
"Ever heard of pacing?" Mark spat, torso shaking slightly with the effort to stay below the bands. "Don't waste all your party tricks in one da- fuck -" she hissed as Armetti started scraping again with the now-capsaicin-coated knife.
"My time here," she said mildly, setting aside the torch and lifting the red-hot spike into place above Mark's hand, "Is limited. And, anyways, pacing is for squares." With that, she leaned down all her weight onto the spike, slowly pushing it down into Mark's hand.
Mark lasted about four seconds before she screamed, hand scrabbling and curling, which only served to further shred and burn the muscle and skin the spike was cutting through. It scraped against bone and stopped, hissing and sizzling, the whole room smelling like burnt flesh.
"Three more to go," Lorna said cheerfully, leaving the heavy spike half-embedded in the woman's hand, bending to grab the torch and returning to heating the bands. "I'll give you a little break, though. In case you're willing to talk."
"F-fuck... off..." she panted, eyes closed tightly wincing as she accidentally came in contact with a band. Armetti had stepped back with the knife while Lorna had worked, figuring it wouldn't be noticed under the pain of the spike, but now he returned, using a dropper to add a few drops from the peppers to her raw skin. She tried to arch away and hit the bands again, swearing loudly.
"This is just no fun for you, is it?" Lorna gushed, picking up another spike, eyes wide and dark. Vengeance. Delicious no matter how it was served. "I, on the other hand, am having a blast."
Every breath brought more of the vapor into her system, her lips starting to condense silver droplets. Armetti's eyes were as black as Lorna's. It was so easy to fall back into their old dance, and he caught her eye as he pulled Mark's head back and scraped the knife up her throat, unable to resist leaning down to taste a drop of the blood that welled up spicy, mixed with the heat of the peppers. "She's going to dismantle you," he whispered in Mark's ear. "Choose to die as yourself, or as a whimpering pile of scraps at her feet."
Lorna turned off the vaporizer with her foot - the risk of Mark suffocating or her lungs seizing up was too high to ignore, but a few moments later, at her continued silence, she set the next burning-hot spike against her skin. "NO!" Mark shouted, her voice breaking, her eyes glassy. "N-no.. I'll tell you what you want to know. Please."
Armetti smirked in victory, flashing Lorna a smile, and walked around to face Mark. "Where is Mallory?"
"He's in Queens," she whispered, twitching slightly. Likely the mercury affecting her. She managed to keep still enough to stay away from the iron bands. "He lives above the Ginger Swan tattoo shop. There's only one of that name, just... just look it up." Lorna dropped the spike to the side and fished out her phone from the waistband of her skirt, messing up the letters a few times, hands jittery with excitement.
"Yep. There it is. Thanks, Mark."
"Yes, thank you, Mark," Armetti said, smiling. "We'll have some more use for you later, I think, but for now, let's see if your story checks out, shall we?" he asks, smiling and pulling out his own phone, dialing a number.
"Yes, hello. I have another job for you. Apartment above the Ginger Swan tattoo shop. Male, late twenties, scar on left ear and cheek. I want confirmation and delivery. No. Alive."
Lorna just stood over Mark, looking over her handiwork with fascination. She never paid too much attention to what she was doing in the present so she could look back at the end and see the fine details for the first time, to better appreciate the big picture. When Armetti hung up the phone, she spoke. "I don't care what you do with Mallory, as long as I see his corpse. Job security, and all that."
He nodded, reaching out to run a hand over Mark's arm. She shuddered. "If you want to have a go at him, you're welcome to." Mark was thoroughly checked out, so he didn't mind adding "Once we have him, this one's yours. Feel free to use our facility. Consider it a gift. I know what she did to you."
"I might just take you up on that," she murmured, finally looking up from her work. "But him, I couldn't care less about. There'll always be a thousand more like him, lining up to try their shot at the head of a network. Now. You have been wearing gloves with those peppers, but I still want you to wash your hands. Thoroughly. I'm not getting one of the hottest peppers in the world on me while we fuck."
He didn't blink, just gave a wide smile. "Fuck, I missed you," he muttered, walking over to the sink in the corner and peeling off the gloves, starting to wash his hands.
"With this ass? Hard not to," she laughed, pulling back the vaporizer mask on Mark and then letting it snap back into place, grinning as she flinched. "You know, none of my torturers have gone for my best assets. Do you think it's just too hard for them to destroy art?"
"If that was the case, they wouldn't touch you in the first place, cherie," he chuckled, drying his hands and walking back over, holding out his hands. "These meet your approval?"
She took one and lifted it up enough to taste his palm with just the tip of her tongue, then let him have it back. "Yup. No spice. I wouldn't be so careful if I didn't have an incident in the past. A very, very unpleasant experience."
He made a face, and shook his head. "I don't even want to imagine," he muttered, before reaching out to brush fingers over her cheek. Her tongue on his palm had sent warmth through him. "May I?"
"Yes," she agreed quietly, leaning her cheek into his hand. She loved Moran. Loved the raw hard sex, loved being bitten and bruised by him. But he didn't do soft. It would have been hard for him to even try - there was nothing about his 6'2, 6'3, (she couldn't remember exactly, just that he was fucking tall) muscle-and-bone frame that was gentle. But it was nice to be treated like something precious, once in awhile.
He leaned forward to kiss her, slow, relearning, remembering, molding against hers in familiar forgotten ways. Christ almighty, he had missed this woman.
She returned the kiss softly, ignoring their surroundings, ignoring the woman injured and bound in the chair not three feet away. This was what she'd liked about Vince. The contrast. Vicious and unrelenting one second, careful and kind the next.
He reached up to brush fingers through her hair as he kissed her, eventually resting the hand at the base of her neck, the other wrapping around her and pulling her close, relishing how close she was.
She kissed him a little harder, plucking his shirt free from his belt, without rushing. "It occurs to me," she murmured, between kisses, "That I probably shouldn't fuck you. But I'm going to anyway." She got his shirt untucked all the way, giving his lower lip the slightest nip of her teeth. "If you don't have a condom on you..."
"Wallet," he returned in an equally relaxed fashion, letting her lead the way, shivering slightly under her teeth as his hand slipped beneath her shirt. "As for fucking me... Do what you want."
Don't fuck with my love
That heart is so cold
- Ed Sheeran - Don't -
Don't go back tonight (You got me so insane)
Keep me satisfied (You're poison in my veins)
Don't go back tonight (Take my heart inside my chest)
Keep me satisfied (Take it out until there's nothing left)
- Barcelona - Sick -