Ira was insatiable.
So was he.
Throughout the long night they shared together, he could not keep his hands off of her. His body ached to thrust inside of her, hearing her gasp and moan for him again and again. She told him to be selfish, and he was more than happy to do so, though not without making sure she sang to him, her thighs quivering each time that high note was reached. They only seemed willing to let up during short respites of cuddling, and the very late night delivery.
He didn't know what time they finally fell asleep, and he didn't care; he was in her embrace, his head nuzzling against her heaving chest as he was finally spent. Her fingers ran through damp locks of his hair, that gentle caress brought him the comfort he ached for as the salt of his sweat stung along the long scratches she left on his skin. The expansive bed cradled both of them, the cashmere quilt tangled between their legs. If her offer meant spending many nights like this, then his answer played over and over in his mind.
Yes.
A thousand times, yes.
He slowly opened his eyes, the warmth of the sun on the pleasantly stinging tears along his back, waking him up from his slumber. He blinked several times, lifting his head reluctantly from her ample, tempting curves. He turned towards the large wall to ceiling window, smiling as he took in the rising sun over the city. He lay on his side, admiring that view with not just a peaceful joy but also a tinge of envy, "Is this what you see every morning, sweetie?"
A loud snore answered him, and he chuckled, turning to look towards the sight of his lover sleeping beside him, her wild hair spread cascading over the damp sheets. He stroked her cheek, his finger tracing along her jaw before his thumb moved to wipe some saliva from that thick bottom lip. He bit his lip, tempted to press his lips against hers, to have his teeth gently pull that bottom lip into his mouth like he loved doing the night before. "Oh, Sweetie...the things you do to me..." He shook his head, fighting off that morning lust.
She released a soft snort against his touch before she turned to her side, cuddling against the large pillow before the melody of her snores continued. He laughed, the sweet sound light and airy; she was peacefully asleep, no trace of a nightmare showing on her brow. He smirked, caressing her sides, "My fiery queen is tuckered out and satisfied."
He moved his hand away, sitting up on the bed and stretching against the glow of the rising sun. He hissed and tensed as sudden pain from the long, deep scratches along rippled up his nerves. He shuddered and released another laugh as he touched those scratches, "My queen is rough. I knew that...I can handle that." He set his feet on the plush rug covering the rich hardwood floors, looking back at the city, his brow furrowed but with a determined smile on his face, "...It will be hard, but I'll help you. I won't let you sink into that hell." He rubbed the side of his neck, his eyes fluttering as he remembered her bruising bite, "Not anymore."
He moved the quilt away from his lap and pulled the soft fabric over her shoulders, pressing his forehead against hers, "Thank you." He combed back those thick curls from her face, softly laying a kiss on her forehead before pulling back, a gentle smile on his face, "I love you." He cooed softly as she shifted against the sheets, caressing her cheek softly before reluctantly moving away from the bed. His eyes took in the various pieces of clutter scattered around the room, including several empty pizza boxes from the night before. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head before he pursed his lips together. He carefully picked up those boxes, his feet moving aside some cluttered as he took a mental note to take care of that later.
He walked out of the room he had grown so fond of before carefully pacing down the stairs. He had to pause to admire the modern, gourmet, and practically unused kitchen. He felt a bit of shame as he stained the pristine sight before him by setting those pizza boxes on the marble countertop. "The Ferrari, the expensive restaurants, the private balcony tickets...and this? Babe, what do you really do?" He looked out that large window in the living room, biting his lip, "How much would you give me?"
Another answer, echoed sweetly in his ears, a response in her voice, leaving pleasurable shivers down his spine, "Everything."
He moved towards the interior of the kitchen, behind the long island, appreciating the large gas stove and double ovens. He scratched his cheek as he mulled over an idea, "A romantic breakfast in bed. You may like that." He moved over to the large double door fridge, opening it to peer inside. He really should not be surprised to discover that all that stainless steel and smart technology was used on a refrigerator that contained absolutely nothing but wine. Not even a hint of food.
His eye twitched with annoyance as he slowly let the door closed. He looked towards the large window of the living room. He smiled, noticing blue umbrellas in the near distance, "I guess a coffee and some chocolate croissants will have to do."
He looked around the ample space for his clothes before he found them neatly folded on the gold-accented wooden coffee table. He touched the freshly scented fabrics gingerly, and he felt his chest tighten slightly, feeling their clean warmth. His hand quickly jumped from his clothes to his cheek, his nails trailing against his skin, leaving slight red lines on the pale flesh, "You even have people for laundry? You can't just own a few businesses for that, babe...what do you really do?"
This was too much. Tristan moved his hand away from his cheek, taking a slow breath to push away how overwhelmed he felt. He chuckled as he fought back his doubts, lifting his shirt from the impeccable pile, "No turning back now, not from my sugar mama."
He began to get dress, hissing as he felt the soft fabric of his shirt caressing those deep, burning lines against his skin. The lingering passion of last night had faded away, leaving only fire against his skin. He shook his head, ignoring the pain as he pulled up his boxers and then his pants. He stood up, his fingers shakily buttoning his shirt. She was offering him everything, giving him everything.
He was not turning back.
He turned towards the entrance hall, stepping towards his shoes before he paused, seeing a large door in the kitchen. Most likely, it was pantry that was most definitely empty. He snorted softly, ever hopeful and admittedly curious, "All right, what does someone, with so much money, but no groceries, keep in there."
He reached over to that door, the light inside turning on as he opened it slowly to peer inside, "As suspected. Empty." He laughed softly, realizing that not only could he offer her his body whenever she liked but maybe even cook for her, teach her a thing or two about shopping. He looked up towards a few shelves, his laugh a little louder, "Nope, not empty; she has whiskey. Expensive, I can't even pronounce the name, whiskey." He shook his head, slightly disappointed and yet not really surprised as he reached up to grab a bottle.
As he slowly took hold of one to pull it off the shelf, he felt something else shift and jumped back, gasping as whatever it was hit the ground. He gritted his teeth, setting the bottle back and rubbing his forehead, "Shit. I'm sorry, Sweetie." He looked down towards the object, bending over to pick it up before he froze.
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