"You planned this all along," she said, raising her brow at him as he was taking a seat opposite her, at the candlelit table set just for them, in the middle of the already closed hotel restaurant that reopened just for them, after a call he sneakily made behind her back a moment earlier.

"That we'd be fooling around till they close the kitchen? Can't take full credit for that, I'm afraid." He popped a shiny, green olive into his mouth and reached for his wine glass, a corner of his mouth rising in a playful grin. "Not that I can't be romantic."

"What does that mean?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Whatever you're thinking right now…" He said in a thick whisper, his eyes narrowing seductively, mouth twitching in a subtle grin as he raised his glass towards her.

"I don't do romantic," she said flatly, annoyed by the thudding in her chest.

"I can see that…" He arched an eyebrow, grinning knowingly when their glasses clinked. "Me neither," he said, his voice taunting and raspy.

"I can see that," she echoed, narrowing her eyes at him with a grin of her own.

"I'm serious. I've never had a candlelit dinner with anyone before."

She took a sip of her wine, a little bigger than she meant to. "Do you use that line on everyone?"

He tilted his chin slightly, his face turning serious. "Just the women I'm serious about."

She gulped, almost choking on the liquid flowing down her throat.

"Careful with that wine, baby," he winked at her.

"You really think you're something, don't you?"

"I am something." He raised his eyebrows at her in a taunting expression.

"Something of an arrogant asshole."

"You love that about me," he said huskily, narrowing his eyes slightly as he flashed her that cheeky little grin of his that made her feel like a teen on a date with her first crush — it was alcohol — but at this point — maybe it was wine, or maybe she just gave up on this pointless struggle out of plain exhaustion, but — she didn't even have the strength to hate herself for that, this damn power she let him hold over her; no, not for any of it. Maybe it was time to stop hating herself. Maybe a lifetime of doing it was enough. Maybe it was possible to let herself live a few hours without judging herself, see how that felt like. She was going to make up for it tomorrow, anyway.

"There's only one thing I like about you," she said.

He raised his eyebrow, grinning. "And that would be?"

"It's not what you think." She raised her own brow, biting down a grin of her own.

"How do you know what I think?"

"You're easy to read," she said, giving him a catlike smile, feeling the pleasant echo of wine around her head.

"So, what am I thinking now?"

"Wondering what I'm about to say."

He laughed out, so loud she caught herself smiling, disarmed by how much she loved the sound of his laughter, the look in his face, so uninhibited; the face she longed to hold, feel the rough stubble under her palm, the plump, warm softness of his lip under her thumb—

It had to be the wine; there was no other plausible explanation why every single little thing about him got her all quivery inside — it didn't use to be like that, did it? — this wasn't her, men didn't affect her like this — the way he held her hand when she was rising from her chair, the firm touch of his palm on the small of her back when he led her outside, the way he always opened doors for her — which should make her cringe at best, which it normally would. Which, strangely, didn't make her cringe at all.

And so they smoked, and then, a cigarette turned into a walk by the blue-lit pool outside — unexpectedly pleasant due to the whole area being heated, including the pool, likely — she wondered what the temperature was.

It was only when they seated themselves on a wooden recliner each — which they dragged to the very edge of the pool, for some reason — it was only then that she realized he had the wine bottle on him — and she just thought one thing — two things — that she shouldn't have any more wine — and that she would just take a swig, the last one. They both laughed when she spilled it, when it ended up trickling down her chin. She didn't wipe it off, enjoying the feel of the tiny, ticklish stream running down her cleavage, the vision of him following the path with his tongue making her core muscles pulse.

"You have many skills but drinking wine out of the bottle clearly ain't one of them," he teased, straddling her recliner.

"I'm good at spilling it."

"I do like your way of thinking," he grinned, and frowned when she handed him the bottle. "It's almost all gone."

"There's more here…" She glanced down her chest, at the glistening trail between the swells of her breasts, then up at him, the fire in his eyes covering her flesh in goosebumps.

"Well, we can't let good wine go to waste..." He leaned in, his lips brushing along the edge of her jaw, tongue lapping softly, a rushed breath leaving her lungs as she felt his mouth move down to her cleavage. "Just when I thought I couldn't love your tits more…" He pulled down the straps of her dress, breathing and humming against the bare flesh.

"I love it how much you love them," she whispered, catching her breath, ticklish waves of pleasure flooding her as his mouth roamed all over, making everything else fade. The silhouettes on the other side of the pool got blurry; cradling the back of his head, she gazed at them for a while, wondering if they were watching.

"We're not alone," she said between shallow little breaths.

"Good," he muttered against the exposed flesh he kept squeezing and nipping, "I'm gonna fuck you right here, for them to see."

She let out an abrupt sigh, shaken by the violent spasm in her lower abdomen, thinking that, if he kept saying things like that, he could probably make her come without touching; and now, with his mouth all over her chest, it probably wouldn't even take long.

"Let's go inside…" she uttered half-consciously.

Then, her eyes still closed, she felt herself being cradled in his arms and then, it was like some vacuum sucked her in, under such pressure that when she was able to see again, she had to stick fingers in her ears to stop the ringing.

"What the hell was that…" She glanced around the familiar looking room, nausea building in her stomach.

"Perks of being a god."

"I need to lie down…" She frowned as he walked towards the bed and placed her on it. "Water," she uttered, her lids closing.

"You just traveled at a speed of light, you can feel queasy for a bit."

"Really? No shit…" She grimaced, swallowing with effort, locking her fingers around what had to be a glass he put in her hand, the smooth, round surface pleasantly cool to the touch.

Forcing her eyes open, she squinted against the ceiling lamp flooding the room with brightness too intense for her current state. "Turn off this damn light…" She grunted, throwing her arm over her eyes.

"Any other orders?" He chuckled.

"Come here and fuck me."

When no response came, she blinked her eyes open. The central light was off, the walls bathed in a warm, orange glow cast by several shaded lamps scattered around the room; and he was standing in the middle, shirtless, undoing his belt. "What're you doing?" she asked, her pulse quickening.

"Taking my clothes off?" He gave her an amused look.

"Why don't you make them disappear?" she muttered, frowning.

"I'm not in a hurry," he said huskily, undoing the top button of his pants, pulling on the zipper lazily.

She swallowed, cursing inwardly, unable to take her eyes off him; the soft glow of the lamp light painting shadows across the chiseled curves of his chest and abdomen, her throat going dry.

It didn't meant anything, it was just temporary infatuation, and alcohol, and it was just a body, a piece of flesh and both, for hell's sake — no matter how achingly beautiful — how stupid for it to make her pulse go wild like this, before he even touched her, before she could smell him, the animalic, leathery scent of the skin, feel how smooth it was under her fingertips, hearing his breath hitch as her mouth roamed all over it, down his chest, past his abdomen.

"Wait…" He stopped her.

She looked up, confused.

"I want you to wear this."

More confused, she looked towards where his gaze was directed, at the set of white lingerie on the bed next to her, which she could swear wasn't there before. "Seriously?" She couldn't help a smirk, but then, softened a bit when she saw his expression, the shade of apprehension in his eyes, no trace of the usual bravado there; almost like he was anxious she would say no, or ridicule him. Her chest rose with a deep breath.

He could've gotten her dressed with a wave of his hand, and yet he asked her, not even demanded — requested — and was gazing at her, in a way that didn't make her feel like ridiculing him at all — maybe just taunting a bit — though, she knew it was just to play down how much the request aroused her. "Do you have a bride fetish?"

He glanced down briefly, grinning a little, his lashes fluttering with just a little glimpse of uneasiness, making her melt entirely. "What if I do?"

She stood up, her heart racing, skipping another beat when he took her in his arms, his palm stroking the small of her back.

"I'd say it's adorable." She run her palms up his chest, almost gasping at the touch, at how smooth his skin was.

"Adorable?" he echoed, the corner of his mouth rising in a grin.

"Mm…" She reached up to his face, brushing his lower lip with her thumb; how good it felt, to touch him like this, how weird for it to feel so familiar.

"Can't wait to see you in it," he whispered, his eyes narrowing when he took her thumb in his mouth and suckled on it.

Entranced, she just watched; as he sprawled himself over the red-velvet armchair, the unconceivable bulge in his underwear sending a wave of heat over her.

"Take your clothes off. Slow."

She slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders, let the garment slip to the floor, unhooked her bra and let it join the dress, loving how hazy his eyes went. But it was when she started rolling her panties down her hips when his eyes clouded completely, his chest heaving, all of it making her body react in spite of herself.

"Come here," he said throatily, and when she did, he reached up to pull the thin piece of black fabric down her thighs, down her knees and calves, and, his eyes never leaving hers, brought it up to his face and inhaled deep, the breathless curse dying in his throat before he seized her hips and buried his face at the top of her thighs, making her stomach fluttery, muscles twitchy, her legs almost giving up.

"I need to sit," she said weakly, her head spinning; and it was all she managed to say before it all went black.

She opened her eyes, blinking with confusion. "What happened?" She took in the surroundings; the orange glow on the walls, him, lying across the bed at her feet, and herself, naked; suddenly so naked she felt like covering herself; and scolded herself for the irrationality of it.

"You fainted. They said it could happen for the next few days if you strain yourself too much," he said, toying with her foot, rubbing his palm against the sole.

"Strain? We hardly even started," she said, making him chuckle. "I know this song," she muttered under her breath, only now realizing there was music seeping quietly out of some speaker she couldn't localize at a glance. She closed her eyes and pushed herself up against the pillows. The song; the one he played in the club, the day she met him. The one she danced to.

He must have not heard her because he said nothing, but then she gasped and cursed when his hands locked on her calf and started kneading the muscles there. He turned to her with that boyish grin of his, the smile deepening when she threatened to kill him if he stopped.

"You're already killing me," he said, a serious vibe to his voice making her think that it wasn't one of his stupid lines this time.

She didn't want to get into what he meant by that. "You're immortal, you can't die," she said, cringing at how stupidly it sounded.

"There are ways," he said, somewhat darkly; and she didn't want to know what he meant by that, either.

"What's it like?" she asked, to steer away from the subject.

"What's what like?"

"Being immortal."

"Not all it's cracked up to be," he said with a deep sigh.

"Must be a nightmare."

He was silent for a moment. "Used to be quite to the contrary. Why would you say that, though?"

"Put your hands back there," she almost hissed when let go of her calf.

He laughed. "I love it when you do that."

"Do what?" She closed her eyes, humming with pleasure when she felt his strong grasp on her leg again.

"Boss me around like that. No mortal had ever done that."

"Well, here's the one thing we agree on."

"One of very many, I'd say," he said, his voice dropping lower, his mouth pressing to her knee in a brief kiss. "Why do you think immortality sucks?"

At first, she was about to say something random, dismissive, but the genuine curiosity in his voice made her stop and think. "Being sentenced to eternity of living with the things you've done, your conscience eating you up alive — doesn't sound like a good time to me."

"Not if you have conscience," he said in a humorous tone.

"And that's one of many differences between us," she said grimly, some sudden, sobering disappointment settling in her stomach.

"Not true. There're fewer than you think."

"This one's enough on its own."

"You're wrong about this one. I do have regrets about what I did in the past."

"Like what? Shooting MB?" she sneered.

"In the past you don't remember," he said pensively, ignoring the sting. "I always regretted how sour the things between us had gone."

"What happened?" she asked in spite of herself. She didn't want to get into that, the talk about the whole past-life nonsense, it still irked her, but she couldn't herself, curiosity won this time.

"You wouldn't trust me. And I didn't take it well, handled you all wrong," he paused, lowering his gaze, his lips pressing together, a little twitch in his jaw. "And lost you in the end," he added quietly.

"You regret losing something you wanted, that's not conscience," she said, trying to shake off the sudden uneasiness, some strange echo resonating around her mind in the aftermath of his words.

"Well then, I'm rotten to the core, you got me."

"I knew it the first time I laid my eyes on you."

"Did you also know you'll be mine?" He moved his hand up her leg, past her knee, up her thigh.

"You wish."

He shot her a glance before he leaned in, his breath moving up her inner thigh, following the path of his hand. "I don't think it's just me, though," he whispered, pulling her legs apart, blowing air on her heat before claiming it with his mouth, making her forget what she wanted to say.

"You're so fucking good… I love the way you do it…" She said breathlessly; and caught a glimpse of the smile he tried to hold back.

"I love the way you taste." He said between hot, lingering kisses, his eyes locked on hers.

"I love this song…" she blurted, her eyes falling shut.

"Back when I played it in my office…" he said, kissing and nuzzling her thigh, "I thought I'd lose it and just fuck you right then and there."

"Me too," she moaned softly.

"You did?" he breathed. "I jerked off right after you left."

She smiled, her eyes closing.

"I know you did, too… I thought I'd come the second I saw it," he whispered, dipping a tip of his finger inside her, teasing at the entrance.

"Fuck… what?" she asked weakly, struggling to open her eyes, her lids too heavy to lift.

"I'm a god, baby, I can watch you whenever I like."

She frowned and sighed, feeling she should be mad, but failing to be, his mouth and fingers making her thoughts fade into nothingness, his voice and words only making her dissolve more.

"You're so hot when you touch yourself," he said, and her knees trembled, heat coiling in her abdomen when she pictured it, him watching her. "So beautiful when you come… look at me.."

For a moment, she managed, to force her eyes open, for a brief moment before they squeezed shut again when she felt herself losing it, so hard she sobbed, his scalp sweaty, hair soft under her fingers, the sound of his voice reverberating somewhere around as it all went white.