Still drunk from the afterglow, she propped herself on her elbows, the cloud of smoke reaching her from where he lounged with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the red-velvet chair so small under the chunky heaviness of him. Her eyes roamed greedily, she couldn't help it, nor was she subtle about it; he enjoyed it, she could tell. How could it still move him? He had to be used to this, female eyes devouring him this way, how could he still find it enjoyable? She didn't; hadn't, for years. And dancing half-naked for the pasts several months made her more indifferent than ever; no matter who the eyes belonged to, no matter how much they burned, the gaze wouldn't really reach her, maybe just scratch the surface at best.
Until now. Now, when he pinned her with those bottomless, dark eyes, it did reach her; so deep inside that it felt like a spell, the heat of his gaze coursing through every inch of her, inside and out, stripping her off what she didn't know was there to strip off, making her feel so naked it chilled her, so beautiful it made her lightheaded.
And right now, whether it was booze or whatever else, it make her mind blank, all her other thoughts dispersing for a while. Then, the annoying feeling spread over her chest, over her mind, the feeble but pesky thought that she shouldn't be here, shouldn't love being here with him, not like this, not to the point where it made everything else dim and distant, too blurry to even catch focus of.
Pushing the thought away, she came up to him, took the glass of what turned out to be bourbon from him and downed it in one swig, getting a grin in response. A grin that faded as soon as she reached for the little pile of bright lace stashed on the bed; when he saw her do that, he blinked rapidly, his mouth parting.
"Do it here," the maddening, throaty sound of his voice stopped her on her way to the bathroom. "I wanna see you put it on."
She swallowed with effort, her pulse racing. "As you wish…" she narrowed her eyes, and, never breaking her gaze, loving the way he drew a breath through open mouth, she took her time rolling the sheer stockings all the way up to the top of her legs, unhurriedly adjusting the cream lace around her thighs; insane, the way he was looking at her, the lust and worship in his eyes, intoxicating, every shaky little flutter of his eyelids strumming her like a string.
The outfit wasn't what she expected. Subtle and vintage, so unlike what she thought his taste was; unlike anything she had on before. It felt awkward at first, to have so much of her hips and waist covered, the lace waistband of the panties reaching so high above the navel that only a narrow piece of bare skin separated it from the sheer bra coating the breasts with a thin layer of fine, cream-colored lace, so soft she couldn't stop touching it.
She drifted away for a moment, relishing the way her breast felt in her palm, her lids pressing together at the thought it was going to be his hand in a moment, groping softly just the way she loved it, like he read her mind.
Their eyes met; his, drunk with lust, now softening into a tender look, his brow twitching, creasing a little.
"What?" she asked.
"You just…" His chest expanded with the air he inhaled, his eyes closing briefly. "You take all my breath away…" His gaze; she could drown in it; fire, the one she ached to walk straight into, let it burn her to ashes.
"It's just a piece of fabric," she said dismissively, to play down the embarrassment when she realized that the burning sensation in her face meant she had to be flushing red.
He swallowed, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Turn around."
She did, finding herself face to face with her reflection in the gigantic mirror that appeared out of nowhere. She stared, mouth agape, mesmerised by the view; the bright lace standing out against the tanned skin, the bridal vibe of it adding to her arousal, for some reason.
He took a sip of his bourbon and put the glass away. "Come here," he said softly, slightly out of breath, something in his eyes that wasn't there before, disarming; making her feel that — if she approached him now, if she stepped any closer, it would be too close, he would take too much.
She didn't move, relishing the thrill, aching for it to last.
Several slow steps later, the bubble burst, the thrill ebbing, giving way to the simple pleasure of his touch on her, as his hands slid up her hips and stopped at her waist as he brought her an inch closer, nuzzled her breast and kissed the bare skin underneath, and looked up at her, the suffocating feeling overcoming her again, her stomach contracting, chest welling up with — she didn't know what — something that felt better than any drug ever had; and she sighed when he drew her closer, his hands gliding up the back of her thighs, cupping her backside.
"Don't look at me like that…" she said on an impulse, in some desperate attempt to keep the ground under her feet.
"Like what?" he muttered against her abdomen.
Like you love me… "Like you know me."
"I do know you…"
"You don't." She sighed, cradling his head, her eyes closing when his nose brushed the skin above her navel, his mouth following.
"I do… better than you know yourself…" He pulled her down till she straddled his lap. "I know your fears… I know what drives you… and I know you decided to spend the rest of your life staying away from what turns you on the most."
"Yourself?" She raised a brow, sighing softly when he gripped her waist.
He half-grinned. "I'm glad we established what turns you on the most."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. This was good, humor was good; she should keep it this way, to steer clear of where this talk was going just seconds before. Why would she even say that? He didn't know her, he knew someone she reminded him of; that was the person he longed for, not her — so what? It shouldn't move her, it had zero impact on anything. And tomorrow, none of this would matter, she'd be gone. In fact, she should just fuck him and leave, end this torture before she'd lose her mind entirely.
"The only thing I don't know," he said, reaching up to wipe the wetness off her cheeks, the tears she never realized were there, "is what you've been through in this lifetime." He touched her upper arm, his thumb grazing the long row of pale incision scars adorning the skin above her elbow.
She let out a breath, reluctantly awaiting the question to fall, the question she wasn't going to answer; but nothing came. He didn't ask; just gently pressed his mouth to the spot, and looked up at her, his eyes so beautiful, unguarded; soft but piercing, hitting so hard she just sat idle, drugged by the feeling welling up in her chest, her eyes clouding again.
His phone rang, brutally snapping her out of it.
"Sorry, gotta take this." He brought her hand to his face, pressed his mouth to her knuckles.
"Knock yourself out," she said casually on the way to fetch her bag. Having fished her phone and lighter out of it, sticking an unlit cigarette in her mouth, she headed for the bathroom, where she closed the door behind her, lit up a cigarette, and sat on the edge of the tub when sudden dizziness hit her, his muffled voice reaching her from behind the door.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," he said. "I don't give a fuck how you do it, but if you don't fix it by tomorrow, I'll come to fix it myself — and tomorrow I'll be an ocean away from here, so if you make me come back all this way, I can promise you right now — you're not gonna like that. So, anything else you wanna piss me off with?"
She drew a deep breath, staring at her frowning reflection in the oval mirror above the sink, wishing she hadn't heard that, wishing she hadn't known what he meant, wishing it hadn't reminded her how the similar sequences of words tasted in her own lips just years ago. Not on the phone, though. She never did it over the phone. When it came to solving problems, she didn't like technology to stand in the way.
She wished she didn't remember.
She wished it didn't give her a thrill to.
"Get rid of the body. No. Be in the port 1pm tomorrow. Container number 6521. Take your cut and the rest goes to Bouncy asap, he's got expenses to cover."
Exhaling, she blew out a cloud of smoke towards the mirror, her reflection blurring.
If she'd met him back then… gosh, they would've… it would've been pure madness.
It was probably what he was counting on, that it would eventually, one day come to that, that he'd manage to seduce her, tap into that side of her he somehow knew was there. The side that should've been dead by now.
The side she had silenced, locked away when she met Amy. And now this, him, showing up in her life like a glimpse of the past, a flashback, thrilling and nauseating at once.
She closed her lids with a deep sigh. Would he manage to do this? Make her lose herself again?
She glanced down at the phone screen and, realizing it was still recording, tapped the red button, the last fifty three seconds now fixed as an audio file in her cloud storage.
Then, the phone rang in her hand, making her flinch. Strange; she was sure she'd set it to mute. Though, on second thought, she wouldn't bet on it; her mind had blurry patches ever since yesterday. She turned off the sound, her jaw tightening when she saw the caller ID.
"Do you know what fucking time it is?" she hissed into the phone.
"The time you're flashing your tits at a bunch of incels?" the annoying male voice resounded in her ear. "Oh, I'm sorry, outlaws and incels. Do you think they overlap at some point? Like, incels become outlaws 'cause they're not getting any?"
"Better watch yourself, then, you're not far from it."
"Not as close as you are, though."
"What're you blabbering about?" she asked tiredly, glancing towards the tub. A bath would be nice.
"Just a hunch I have. You've been fucking him for weeks and haven't sent me shit."
"A word of advice — why don't you stick to your little office duties and let real cops do their job, how about that?"
"What's your cut? Is he generous?"
"Why, you want in?"
"Will I have to such dick for it?"
"You wish."
"I bet it's what you're doing right now."
"I'll drop by tomorrow."
"You know… if you were capable of human feelings, I might think you've fallen for the guy."
"It's a good thing I'm not, then, isn't it?"
"It is, isn't it?" he said after a moment of silence, something in his voice so unnerving she had to fight off the urge to send the phone crashing against the floor.
She hung up, stubbed out the cigarette in the sink and sat back down on the edge of the tub, catching her breath, her heartbeat drumming in her chest, the lowered, but agitated voice reaching her from behind the door, the menace and power in it so strangely familiar, so alluring.
Was this what drew her to him?
"I burn inside you… you can feel me there, like a fever…" the words echoed in her mind, her heart racing, heat flooding her. Out of everything he said to her, this hit home as nothing else. Whether she liked it or not, she wouldn't have worded it better.
She put her hand on the door knob, her heart racing like crazy.
His gaze transfixed on the phone in his hand, he didn't look at her when she walked in. She approached the nightstand and placed her phone there, and walked over to where he was standing with his back to the window.
Her phone vibrated briefly on the bedside table.
"You better text him back, he gets cranky when you don't," he said, not sparing her a glance.
She frowned, her heart skipping a beat. He knew. Of course he knew, he probably hacked her phone without even touching it.
"You ain't got much to share, though, do you?" he sneered, raising his eyes at her. "Apart from that little piece on your voice recorder."
She blinked, taken off guard. "I'm not gonna share it."
"Why not? Would earn you a nice little badge, no?"
"What's the money for?" she asked, ignoring the sarcasm.
He scoffed, looking away. "For what you asked."
"What?" She frowned.
"For the girls to leave town. Bouncy's taking care of it."
Letting out the breath she was holding, she cast her eyes down, dumbstruck.
"Oh, I'm sorry the money's not clean enough for your taste, but I didn't exactly have time to make five million overnight in a way you would condone."
Words froze on her lips as she stared at him. At first, he looked like he wanted to say something; then, passed her by and left the room, the bathroom door slamming in the distance a moment later.
She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to remember where she left her cigarettes.
The nightstand.
She grabbed the pack and, pulling the drapes aside, slid the terrace door open and, shivering as the cold hit her, stepped outside.