Chapter Text
Lottie did not often go to clubs. Wynn was her best friend and she came from a repressed household. Or not repressed, exactly, it was difficult to explain. But she enjoyed clubs, she spent her weekends there, Lottie would wish her goodnight on Thursday evenings and she would see her again Sunday afternoon.
Lottie began her shift at the bakery at four in the morning most days, she could not sustain the same schedule as Éowyn, she just couldn’t.
Any time she went out clubbing with Éowyn she had the night of her life. It was only difficult in that the next day would be the worst day of her life. She could only show up to work still drunk and covered in glitter so many times. No one said anything, they were all straight out of pastry school and underpaid, she wouldn’t be the first one to get relegated to muffin duty because she couldn’t be trusted to do anything else. But laminating croissants or dealing with industrial mixers when hungover was simply not a thing she felt like doing. The night before needed to be worth the pain. Or she needed to have the day off. And then there were no more rules.
Éowyn grinned at her and leaned over, she pressed her nail into the edge of Lottie’s lip and put her lipstick back within the lines. She told Lottie to open her mouth and she put a pill inside, Lothíriel washed it down with the rest of her drink and asked if Wynn wanted another. The girl shook her head, “My brother is almost here, I’ll let him get it. He’s moved up a tax bracket this year, he can afford it.”
Lottie didn’t hear most of that, the music was very loud, she just saw the head shake and shrugged. She’d never met Wynn’s brother, he lived in Australia where his sister’s delightful accent came from and most of Éowyn’s family looked equally blonde. She knew the two were close, she wasn’t sure why Éomer couldn’t make more time for his sister. Éowyn was wonderful and she went through moods. Highs and lows, Lottie knew some of it but not all and she judged her friend’s family harshly for only ever calling her on the phone or flying her to other countries for the weekend, never seeing her home. It was the bare minimum and Wynn deserved more than that.
But in this case, if she heard what Wynn actually said, she would have happily pointed out that Éowyn currently lived off her trust fund. She could afford to buy her own drinks.
Lothíriel sighed at the chaos of the bar, she tossed her long hair back, wriggled her dress down a little bit and began to press her way through the mess of people. When she got to the bar she very slightly pushed her arms together, hoping to make something that looked like cleavage happen. She was already irritated. By the time she got two bottles of water and another vodka soda, and when the machine flashed a decline and the bartender looked to her expectantly, she moved on to being genuinely frustrated. Her boss had a random schedule for paychecks which amounted to ‘when I feel like it’. Now she was out of money, about to explore whatever trip the random pill would take her on and she’d have nothing until Isolde ‘felt like’ depositing something in her account.
She saw a man put up a hand, he asked to add a beer and two tequila shots to the mix and tapped his card before she could protest. She turned to look at him, “You don’t need to do that,” she said.
He pointed to his ear, pretended he couldn’t hear her and handed her the shot.
“Tequila is certainly… a choice,” but she took the lime and put the salt obediently on her hand, tossed back her shot and licked the salt off. She groaned.
“You survived, well done,” either the tequila was very strong or her trip was starting. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and she felt like she spent ages looking at them.
“Beggars, choosers,” she said with a grin, “I appreciate it, I’ll get cash out, pay you back.”
“With your declined card?”
“With… something, eventually.”
“It’s a gift,” his eyes drifted down to her chest, “Someone should appreciate your efforts. Couldn’t let you go thirsty after all that work.”
She blushed. It seemed like even the glitter on her face turned pink, “It’s a vicious world,” she stepped in a bit closer so she could hear him. So he could hear her, “Sometimes you have to do things you’d be embarrassed of if someone saw. Other than a bartender. Who you hope does see.”
“It sounds complicated,” he agreed and looked back down to see if it was really that complicated, it wasn’t, “I can’t pour you a drink but I can get you one.”
“You’ve already-”
“Oh no, you’ll have to get my attention again. It’s vicious out here.”
She laughed then, covered her red face and tipped her head back in disbelief. A warm hand touched her hip, she looked down and he was grinning at her.
“Or this one can be on me. You’ll get the next round.”
“We both know I won’t.”
“Then I guess that one is on me too,” his hand left her hip and she involuntarily stepped forward, her body tried to chase it. Her mind wasn’t really trying to slow her down either.
“I’m getting the feeling you’d like to get me drunk, handsome stranger and one: it’s a very bad idea, two: I can’t leave my friend there alone. I have the keys and she’ll end up in Newcastle or something.”
“One: I am handsome, thank you,” he looked to the bartender, held up two fingers and handed his card in to start a tab, “Two: she’s waiting for her water,” he nodded at the water bottles that technically belonged to him. Lottie was momentarily defeated.
When the shots came back and it was tequila again, she raised her eyebrows, “Is this a punishment for objectifying you?” He pointed to his ear, would she like to say it again? She shook her head and reached obediently for her drink. He stopped her. In a show of pure brazeness that took her breath away, he took her hand, licked the spot where salt went and put it on for her. Then, he took his shot with his eyes on her, she barely tasted her own. She was going to fuck a stranger tonight. She would never hear the end of it.
He tipped her chin up and looked at her eyes, “You took something fun.”
She nodded, shrugged, “My friend… she’s never met a pill she didn’t like. Or a friend she wouldn’t share it with.”
“I could be a friend,” he said.
“You could be an excellent friend,” she agreed and tipped her head to where she left Éowyn, a warm hand touched the small of her back, he held his beer carefully out of the way and blocked the crowd from her. God, she really was going to fuck a stranger.
She caught sight of Wynn but her friend’s face lit up, she yelled, “ Éomer! ”
Lothíriel looked around, behind her. Realised only when the warm hand left her back and Wynn threw herself into his arms that Éomer was her handsome stranger, he had a name.
The lights got very pretty and the music felt very nice. She might have a problem. She was definitely going to fuck Éowyn’s brother. Definitely.
Lottie gave Wynn a water bottle and her vodka, the tequila was creeping in quickly and going back to the bar was a very long walk. Éomer accepted something from Éowyn, probably the same thing Lottie had, but It was hard to tell. Wynn had a trust fund and a million contacts. It might have been anything. Despite Lottie’s best intentions, Éowyn did drag her brother back to the bar, Lottie declined. The music felt good, it was her favourite part of these pills, how the music became a sensation and dancing became all encompassing. She didn’t need to drink anymore or this night would be over very quickly and that sounded like a massive mistake. It had just gotten interesting.
She finished her water and wanted another badly, she still couldn’t see them, she wasn’t sure how many drinks they would need. Australians drank as much as her Irish family did and with similar enthusiasm. Which was fun. But also took for-fucking-ever.
She very rarely danced alone, usually they would come with four of Wynn’s admirers, maybe one of Lothíriel’s other friends. They kept it small today to avoid Éomer navigating so many names but it also meant she was left behind. Éowyn never would have left her behind, usually. She’d feel guilty later but it didn’t really matter, drunk girls liked other drunk girls and they protected their own, she was so busy with her new friends that she almost didn’t see Wynn slip back into the crowd. She only felt her arm get touched and she got goosebumps. Éowyn’s pupils were blown out and her grin was lazy, she pulled Lottie to her, dancing close and her long gold hair sparkled in pulsing lights. Lottie touched it, shook her head, it didn’t feel the way it looked. Éowyn had gone a bit unfocused, she did that sometimes, as if the edges of her blurred and she got lost in herself. She would find herself eventually, it was Lottie’s job to make sure no one else found her first.
She wasn’t sure what she expected from Éomer, he had a name now and he was Éowyn’s brother and his eyes still watched her. He was much taller than his sister with a few day’s worth of scruff and a body she wanted to climb. It felt visceral, how badly she wanted him to still be a handsome stranger, albeit one whose name she now knew, her body didn’t seem to understand that his status as Éowyn’s brother should be of greater import than his potential as the man she planned to fuck.
He grinned at her and she had an arm around his shoulder, his hands were on low on her back and they started a certain amount apart. And then their hips practised what they would do later and he pressed her closer to him. He did feel the way she imagined, a hard chest, his clothes quite soft, the muscles of his back moved under her hand and she grinned up at him. He moved her hair slowly, looked closely at her shoulder, then seemed to notice the line of her arms. He touched the long tattoo there, thin leaves that wrapped from her right ear, down her collar, past her shoulder to her middle finger. He followed the line of it, his dancing slowed, he traced the shape with two fingers, right down to the wrist, he flipped her hand over and put his fingers on her pulse. A little higher, right on the crease of her elbow were two words in bold, ‘ fuck you’ .
“I thought so,” he said into her ear and smoothed a hand over the goosebumps he raised, “Wynn says you’re so sweet.”
“I am sweet,” she replied, she felt his fingers sweep over her collar bone, up her neck it rested where the tattoo began, “Once you get to know me.”
“How long will that take?” he looked down her arm again, then her other, looking for something new there. He wasn’t disappointed, a whisk, a measuring cup, sugar, vanilla. All the sweet things. One of the tattoos covered a healed burn, sizable and clearly bad. He looked at it but she stopped him from touching it.
“I usually ask thirty minutes at the least,” she turned away from his exploration, turned around so she could see Wynn and so he could kiss the start of her tattoo and the salt on her skin, his hands came back to her hips and pulled her just as close as before, it was easier to focus when her back was against him. And then it wasn’t. They’d be like this soon but with her dress pushed up and his pants pushed down and she couldn’t stop picturing it, so she dug her fingers into his hair as he kissed her and changed her mind, “I’d prefer a few hours though, three, four, I’ve got time.”
“I have a few tattoos,” he said and his hands touched the hem of her dress as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and thought it was the perfect idea, “I wouldn’t mind showing them to you.”
She could already see a few, he’d rolled his sleeve up, which was already doing something for her and there was dark ink on both forearms, something hid on his neck but he was very tall and she planned to spend at least ten of their minutes enjoying anything and everything that lay under his shirt. On this they were agreed.
“I can’t take you back to ours,” she left the next part to him. As long as Wynn was home safe, Lottie would go anywhere with him. They were barely dancing now, his hand wrapped around her throat and tipped her head back, he kissed her, pressed her lips apart and his hand tightened on her hip, as if he could take away their clothes and pull her closer there on the dance floor at a grimy club and she knew the pills made him beautiful, and he saw her as smooth and soft and maybe glowing. Things were generally a bit glowy.
“I’d like to get out here,” he said, “I have a hotel, it’s not far. How can we make that happen?”
“Éowyn first,” on this she was set, they did not leave each other behind, ever.
“Éowyn first,” he agreed as though that was a forgone conclusion. Before she could pull away, he kissed her again, hands firm as he tipped her head back, “You’re going to look so nice on my bed.”
She grinned, “Stop it, or we’re not going to make it there and it would be a fucking shame. I’d love to see what rich hotel sheets feel like.”
“Not as good as you, I can promise you that.”
With that completely distracting thought, she went to get Éowyn who was dancing with two very nice girls and kindly kissing both as equally as she could.
“Would you like their numbers?” Lottie asked before she pulled her away.
“Nah. Next time,” Éowyn shrugged, downed her last drink and followed obediently. That was the lovely thing about being the responsible one, it meant she was rarely questioned. Wynn probably didn’t want to question very much anyway, her friend was about to lock herself in a hotel room and from the looks of it she would not be coming home that night.
Éomer gave his sister a piggyback all the way back to their apartment, it was a long ten blocks and he kept up a constant stream of barely intelligible chatter, Éowyn equally unintelligible and Lottie drifted behind, watching them. It didn’t seem like a year since they’d seen each other. They acted like best friends, they finished each other's sentences, they laughed at the dumbest things. She made herself think about it. If she was going to fuck Éowyn’s brother, she should at least be aware of that fact. The night was dreamy and the cold air felt like heaven, their voices got quieter and she lagged. She had her shoes in her hands, her hair swished against her back, right, left, right left. She closed her eyes and spread her fingertips wide like she walked on a balance beam in first grade gymnastics. Her eyes snapped open when Éowyn yelled for the keys. Éomer was watching her, she couldn’t really see his smile but she knew it was there.
“I’m not sure I should let you in,” she told him, brushing past him to unlock the door, feeling his hands touch her hips for a moment. Éowyn frowned at him and then moved Lottie out of her way. Lothíriel heard her heels hit the floor, her phone hit the couch. Her door creak open. She knew her friend exactly. She could be off her tits and still do the same routine. Lottie would put her phone to charge before she left. She’d put the heels away and make sure she got water.
“It’s a mess in there?”
“Clubbing is serious business, it requires preparations.”
“It is,” he agreed, “but I need water and I think I can manage a mess. Wouldn’t mind a smoke either, if you have one to spare.”
“I bet you Éowyn had one rolled already, shield your eyes, beware floor forks.”
“Floor forks?”
“When there are rogue forks but they live on the floor. I’m not sure how they get on the floor. I’m not sure of a lot of what happens when I’m not around, to be honest.”
“You don’t mind the mess?”
“I just live here, it’s not my flat, so it’s not my problem,” she shrugged, “Sunday is cleaning day, you’ll have to see it then.”
“I’ll have to,” he agreed and she got the sense he was laughing at her. Before she could figure out how she felt about it he pressed her against the door frame and his hands were pushing up her dress, his thigh between her legs, he kept her there until she grabbed his shirt, then with immense satisfaction he let her go and kindly helped her pull her dress back down, “I’ll be back Sunday, it’s a date. Can I come in now?”
Lothíriel sighed, recognised she would be fighting a battle of control all night. The lights were too bright and she missed the music at the club. She tipped her head to the door then cringed at her apartment. Something that never usually bothered her. There were dishes in the sink, most at least rinsed but the drying rack was full and the heels of several loaves of bread lay in the bread box, unloved and unwanted. Her very attractive kitchen clogs lay at the front mat, her work pants and a shirt covered in chocolate hadn’t quite made it to the laundry hamper. All of Éowyn’s black, sharp clubbing clothes lay strewn on the floor so they could judge each one and make-up took over the whole living room table. There was only one floor fork which she brought to the sink in hopes he wouldn’t see it. She heard a laugh and knew that he did.
Lottie flicked on the lamp and turned off the lights, she turned on music and waited for Éowyn to roll them a joint. Éowyn was properly high, she was struggling and Éomer went to help her. Lothíriel went to pick up the clothes. The music drew her, she moved to it, closed her eyes for a moment so she could feel it. She deposited the clothes where Wynn would not sleep on them and went to empty the dish rack but Wynn called her, the smoke was rolled and she was ruining the vibe. Chill out.
They sat on the front step, passing the joint between them. Weed had a way of waking up the drugs, of making them perk back up and they all relaxed, at least until Éomer’s hand came to rest very high on her thigh and he did it so casually that none of them blinked. Until she realised it. But his hand was heavy and she was too and it felt very nice. Wynn regretted the numbers she had not gotten and Lottie laughed, she’d asked, that’s all she could do.
“What finally brings you to London?” she asked Éomer, taking a deep drag of the smoke and tipping her head up to the sky to breathe it out.
“Wynnie mostly, it’s been a while and I scheduled it in. It was overdue.”
“ Much overdue,” Wynn confirmed, she reached for the smoke and Lottie passed it, Wynn shrugged, “Éomer’s made something of his life, his trust fund is all tied up in it. So he has to work for his money.”
“I’ve seen some of his work,” Lottie said and glanced down at the tattoos on his arm, “Is it a bit arrogant to display your own artwork on yourself?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, brushing his thumb over the bowl and mixing spoon that lived just below the crook of her elbow, “Is it any less arrogant to wear your job on your sleeve?”
“You’re both pretentious pricks.”
“Should we see who has more awards for their work?” he looked only at her, his challenge less about awards and more about what she knew of him. And what he’d been told about her. The roommate. The brother.
“You’ll win by a mile,” Lottie shrugged, “All I have is a useless engineer’s ring, a pastry diploma and an overdraft fee.”
“Wynn says you work at-”
“Le Etoile, yeah,” Lottie shrugged, “My boss is-”
“A cunt,” Wynn supplied when she hesitated, “She’s never heard of a forty hour work week, and she can’t seem to calculate overtime.”
“She’s just… a genius. The shitty kind, where they’re so genius that it just doesn’t matter how they treat people. Because we can’t lose that kind of innovation. All the-” she was handed the smoke and took a long desperate drag, she loved her job, she loved her job, she loved her boss who saw her second degree burn and asked if she could at least finish her shift, “All that fucking innovation.”
“But you stay.”
“Yeah, I love innovation. She’s a cunt but I can be one too. I’ll learn some shit and leave when I’m ready,” she took one more drag, felt the world spin, handed the smoke to Éomer, and took a deep breath. Tonight was amazing, tomorrow she’d be dead to the world. Saturday she’d be back in a hot bakery, panicking that she’d get into a shouting match with Isolde over the phone the moment something went wrong. She liked her job. Mostly. But she loved the first thing in the morning. When only two bakers were in and she was alone with flour and yeast. And her boss wasn’t that bad. As long as Lottie came ready to fight, she was actually alright. Well. Manageable.
“How’s school?” Éomer brushed his thumb over her arm one more time and took his hand away, he turned to Éowyn who wrinkled her nose.
“Taking forever, law is hard.”
“Which no one could have seen coming,” Lottie murmured and felt Wynn’s hard pinch which she slapped away. Wynn winked at her. It was nice having a roommate who loved her work and resented it, it made Lottie feel better. They both had things they loved, and ways in which they were ruined by others. It wasn’t a flaw in them. It was the way things were.
“A year left, I reckon,” Wynn shrugged and stubbed out the joint, “How’s Théo? He’s left me high and dry the last few months.”
“You know,” it was the most serious she had ever seen his face go, she didn’t know it fit that way, “The weight of the world on his shoulders. The usual.”
“Fuck,” Wynn rubbed at her eyes, “I wouldn’t be him for the world.”
“I don’t think he wants to be him, Uncle tried at the end but he left him a fucking mess. He said he’ll come next time. He can’t wait for you to visit.”
“He didn’t say any of that,” Wynn said it very casually but Lottie reached out and drew her close, the blonde girl sunk into her friend, tangled her hand in hers and huffed out some bitterness.
“He didn’t,” Éomer agreed, “But he means it. Just give him some time, Wynnie. He’ll get there. He feels fucking awful-”
“Yeah. Well. Maybe he should talk to me about it.”
“I know,” Éomer came to standing, he offered Wynn his hand and he saw her hesitate at the part that came next. She wanted to keep her friend a bit longer. But Lottie wasn’t hers and she would be back tomorrow. She let Éomer hoist her up and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He glanced back at Lottie and she smiled but chose to stay where she was, the cool night air was too nice, and their house too crowded, he turned back to Wynn, “What do you want to do while I’m here?”
Their voices trailed away and she leaned her head back against the railing. She didn’t know much about what happened with her family before Wynn came to London. She knew they made luxury cars. Proper luxury. That their uncle was incredibly rich and bought this apartment for her before he died. Left her a sizable trust fund and another apartment back in Australia. She knew something happened with the uncle’s orderly. And that was the gist of it. Éowyn said things when she was high, when she was upset, with her mascara smudged under her eyes and her heavy black boots tucked underneath her. But she never said anything when Lottie tried to talk to her sober.
Lottie thought then that she shouldn’t fuck her roommate’s brother. Probably. It seemed like a bad idea to complicate their family further. She dragged herself up to standing, pulled herself to the kitchen and poured Éowyn a glass of water. She poured one for herself and sat on the counter to drink it. Éowyn’s phone was gone, her heels put away. She had a good brother. It was like a rebuke for how much she’d enjoyed his hands around her throat and his knee between her legs. He was an excellent brother and she really shouldn’t do this.
“I believe you owe me a few drinks,” Éomer held out his hand and she gave him the glass to finish, took the glass back, refilled it, gave it to him and he drank half, evening it out before she finished it. They could each have their own glass, it felt like a sitcom. He stepped into her more slowly than before, his hands found her thighs and he pulled her to the edge of the counter, kept his hands there, “I would still love to see you in my sheets.”
He was so handsome, his eyes were so blue, consequences would have to wait for the morning, “Let’s do that then.”
His hotel was fifteen blocks back the way they came, it was a slow walk, side by side, then hand in hand, her thumb brushed his knuckles slowly.
It was a very nice hotel, perhaps not a rich person hotel, as nice as her father would stay in, not nearly nice enough for her boss. She noticed the pool immediately and pulled him over, the gate was locked, the rules very clearly stated what the open hours were.
“Come on,” she said, let him go and started her way up the gate, she got to the top and looked down at him, “You’ve never climbed a gate before? I don’t believe that at all. I’ve seen Wynn run from the cops enough times.”
“You run from the cops a lot?”
“No. But I have three older brothers and they would leave me behind if I couldn’t catch up,” she slid her way down, “So catch up.”
He watched her from his side of the gate, “Really?”
“I’m covered in sweat,”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“I do, can’t mess up those lovely rich people sheets. It’ll feel amazing. Water always does,” she dropped her bag on one of the sun loungers. She’d changed to real clothes but when she wiggled out of those all that remained was her underwear. She generally did not believe in bras, had wanted to need one desperately as a girl and now accepted that they didn’t love her and she didn’t want one.
She took another step back and heard him hop the fence almost before she dived in.
The water did feel amazing, it cooled her down, held her. Softened the sound of him following her, she came up and found his dark eyes on her, she dove and he caught her ankle, dragged her to him and she obediently wrapped her legs around him. She was right, the water felt amazing and it felt like he was going to get started right there, she wasn’t sure if you were meant to fuck in a pool. She was pretty sure you shouldn’t, but if he fucked at all how he kissed, she was willing to risk it.
“Please come to my room,” he half begged, only half because his hands were tracing her body and it was clear he was going to win their negotiations, “Before security comes to kick me out, preferably.”
He asked so nicely and his sheets really were exceptional. She had no dress to push up and he had no pants to push down but they didn’t make it to the bed before he turned her around and braced against the wall, his hand between her legs. There were probably many romantic things that should happen on beds that big, with sheets that nice. Those romantic things would have to wait. He threw her on the bed and tried to protest when she pushed him down too. Then she tasted chlorine and had her mouth on him and his protests turned to low groans. His hands gripped her wet hair and pulled hard, he did not plan on a thirty minute being anywhere close to enough time. He had thrown her toothbrush in her bag and dragged her out the door. Now she belonged in this room until morning. Maybe longer. Probably longer.
He tightened his grip and dragged her up, she took a moment to appreciate him properly. He had hundreds of tattoos, some generally awful, some so good that she wanted to stop and examine them. Later. Right now his broad chest had all her attention, his hips and his dangerous smile. He was still glowy and his eyes were enough to make her ready when he pressed himself against her. He watched her like a thing he wanted to claim, felt her tighten around him and and her nails dug into his hips. He kept his hand between her legs until she arched her back and he felt the heat of her orgasm. He held her through it, forced another one just to see it again. She began to laugh and begged for mercy when he pushed for a hat trick and she shoved him off of her, effervescent and breathless. She put his hand over her heart so he would understand how she’d give out if he did it again so soon. He didn’t really care about her heartbeat. He was happy to touch more of her.
Her hands soothed any chance of boredom, he praised the pills that made this intense enough to coax two orgasms from her and made her hands feel so good that he worried it would end there. A blessing and a curse, those pills would also make it difficult to finish. They could be here a while. His neighbours must hate him, the front desk would charge a disturbance fee. And then her thighs were on either side of him and his hands held her hips as she rode him. His eyes were glued to her chest, then he remembered himself and came back to her grin as she watched him, he kissed her, bit her lip hard enough to bruise and felt her slow as if trying to reject the way she reacted to it. He bit down hard on her shoulder and felt her hips buck against him. Her hands tightened on the headboard. Resisting.
“Don’t do that,” he said and she stopped entirely, she pulled back slightly, “I don’t care what you like, I’ll bite you black and blue. We’re going to ruin these sheets, Lottie.”
“It’s not the- It’s… you haven’t yet. Even once,” she didn’t know why she stopped herself, not shame. Embarrassment? That he barely needed to touch her and she’d fall apart, it didn’t seem fair to have someone take all that control, “Maybe we-”
“No,” he held her hips again and tipped them to start her moving again, “I haven’t heard my name nearly enough, I’d like to pay a fee for ruined sheets,” he brushed the mark he already made, moved his hands and touched a new spot that made her shiver. He looked at her and she could feel her body react to him. God, she was going to ruin his sheets. His hand wrapped around her throat, like he had at the club, that didn’t help either. Or it did. It helped a great deal, “It’s just the drugs. You feel amazing. Don’t stop again.”
He held her throat and bit her hard enough to leave a mark. He achieved his hat trick and was rewarded with another possible noise complaint. He laughed and let her melt for a moment. He kissed her chest, the rise and fall. The same rapidly beating heart. She grinned when he let his hands go soft and he traced the lines of her face, brushed over her closed eyes.
“Did you know who I was when you bought me a drink?” she asked with her eyes still closed, enjoying his hands and slightly overwhelmed by how well her night was going, “I should have realised who you were. I’ve seen a picture of you before. Once.”
“I’d heard your voice before in calls. I knew a little bit, just what Wynn told me. But no. You were just easy to like.”
“Because I fell for your tequila trick?”
“Because you were so annoyed when your card declined. Not embarrassed, you didn’t laugh it off. You were pissed. You don’t see a lot of deeply frustrated women covered in glitter at bars.”
“I think you’ll find there’s loads of deeply frustrated girls at bars.”
“Then I’m just lucky, I guess,” he brushed his finger along her lip and she caught it, bit it very lightly, he kissed her and felt her teeth bite him, less lightly than she did before, “You can use your nails,” he told her, “Especially now. I like it,” she nodded, “Any more questions?”
“Are you really coming back on Sunday?”
“We have a date,” he said with a grin, “Are you cancelling it?”
“No. Not at all.”
“You could stay here until Sunday.”
“You don’t even know if you’ll like me in the morning,” she moved her hips, just a bit, just to see what would happen.
Éomer reacted like he’d expected it, as if they’d never stopped, but much slower, speaking to her as though nothing was happening, “Let’s check in the morning then, you might not like me either.”
“After three orgasms, I’m pretty sure you’re my favourite person in the world.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Pretty sure,” she confirmed.
“Great. How many more before you go from pretty sure, to entirely sure?”
“One more should do it,” she said with a grin.
‘We’ll make it two, just to be safe.”
She clung tightly to his back and scratched much harder than she had until then. Harder than she meant to, she felt him buck into her, his teeth marked her one more time, his hips bruised her and she held on tightly. Kept her nails against his back until he finished and held her there for a moment. Then two. His forehead was against her shoulder, she could feel his heavy breath against her skin. Felt the relief of watching him beg for her the way he’d made her beg. Then the comfort of being pulled to bed. His warm body against her back. His lips followed her shoulder for a few more seconds but even then relaxed.
They fell asleep very quickly, the night was day and they were rightfully exhausted.