a fine looking high horse// {stare}

If I'm a pagan of the good times
My lover's the sunlight
To keep the Goddess on my side
She demands a sacrifice

You were so busy trying to convince yourself that you could make it through the encounter that you nearly missed it starting. One moment you're alone, damning yourself to hell and back about forgetting cigarettes, the next she's here. Her skin presses against yours and her face is too close to yours. Your fingers no longer itch for the weight of tobacco, nor do your lips long for the taste of smoke. Your body has switched its obsession and you find yourself wanting every part of the woman in front of you. Her laughter in your ear, the weight of her head against your chest, the sensation of running your fingertips across her skin.

“Just water? If I were you, I would have ordered something strong.” You can only gape at her, struggling to find a snappy retort to throw at her but your search is fruitless. Your suit jacket feels like the sun itself but you can't give up a single inch of ground around this woman. She will steal every bit of it away in even a second's moment of weakness.

Alicia turned to sit and you received a full view of her outfit. A little black dress that clung to her in every possible place. The fabric barely reaching down far enough to keep her decent, showing off her pale thighs to everyone. To you.

You swallow hard, and thank lady luck that there is a tablecloth to hide your lower half.

Her lips effortlessly form a compliment that seems to float through the air until it reaches your own. It was nice hearing something so simple from a complicated woman like Alicia. Of course it was immediately followed by a inquiry to where you had her money stored.

You want to be strong, you want to fight the desire that threatens to over power you any second now. But sitting face to face with the roses and cream complexion, plump lips, and long red hair....

You find yourself breaking.

No, no. You must fight fire with fire. Use the lust you feel for her to make her sit in the hot seat as well.


"Would you like to take it out yourself?" you smirk, holding one side of your suit open. Inviting her to come over and take what was hers, and you don't mean just the cash.

I was born sick,
But I love it
Command me to be well
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.

You were winning. She faulted under your gaze, under your smooth words. So why is it that pink flush in her cheeks softened your heart? Why did her stuttering and uncertainty make your arms ache to hold her?

Oh no. You're in far too deep now.

Her words sputtered out demanding her money, her lips pursed into a thin smirk that failed for just a second too long. The warmth of her ankle brushing with your own under the table. It was all too much in that moment. Her uncomfortable speech, her desperation- you didn't want that. You wanted her to be playful and snarky. You wanted her to be...

Careful, Benedict. You'll drown.

You could play with her all night like this. Toying with her like a cat does a mouse until she finally gets her cash and you go back to your nice apartment alone. You could smirk and laugh about how you can come up with a comeback faster, you could take pride in knowing that you'd never need money as much as she needs yours in this moment. You could go to bed knowing you're safe from her influence because you came out unscathed tonight.

But that won't happen. Benedict Nolan, big shot in the suit. Cold hearted bastard that's swindled money from dozens of starving men felt an odd warmth in his chest.

You could feel the grin fall from your lips as you watched the girl across the table fidget. Truth be told you had played the cat and mouse game with women before. A roll in the sheets and they were gone. You thought this would be the same, and soon you realized it was something more. Only, you thought you could treat this girl like every other conquest. All smirks and cigarette smoke. You can't. She's too good for that.

Speaking of smoke, you'd give anything to burn your lungs with it in this moment.

Leaning back in your chair, you let every facade crash to the floor. No charming smiles or witty words. Just a young man in an expensive suit paid for with blood money. You're both too young to be so coarse.

Taking the wad of cash from inside your jacket, you let it fall onto the table. It makes the water in the glasses slosh out onto the linen, and other diners turn to see what the ruckus is about.

"You already worked for this money, I'm not going to make you labor anymore for it," your voice was low and raw. Like the times you whispered her name into her skin.