Gideon did not want to talk numbers anyway. He waved this line of conversation away and went to lift the champagne bottle, the ice slushing into the void left behind. It was already open, courtesy of the hotel, probably, so there was no shocking pop or spill of bubbles. Instead, he artfully poured two glasses, tipping them so that the bubbles did not build up, both stems balanced in one hand. Cole's mouth went dry as he watched those fingers stretch around them.

There were scars on his knuckles like maybe he boxed in his spare time or something. Before he could wonder too much about them, Gideon handed him one of the glasses.

"Cheers."

"Cheers." Cole lifted his glass. If Elijah were not in the hallway, there was no way on the planet he would drink from a client's open bottle of champagne, but if he started to feel off, all he had to do was shout. So, he knocked back half the glass and enjoyed the way the bubbles fizzled and settled warmly in his belly.

"Do you like it?" Gideon twisted the bottle to look at the label and made a face before putting it into the ice bucket again. But Cole did like it, so he nodded and took another sip. Gideon propped the side of his thigh against the table and looked at him.

"It took quite a lot to get you here tonight," he said.

Numbers.

Cole smirked. "All to serve me some champagne?"

"Sure," Gideon said easily. "Just watching the way you hold the glass and put it to your lips. Then the way you swallow..." He trailed off into an appreciative whistle. Cole held the glass in front of his mouth and giggled. He was used to flattery, but he could tell Gideon was not taking himself very seriously as he said it, and he liked that.

"Or is it so you can request something only to have me turn you down?" Cole asked.

"Don't worry, I know tying you up is off the table still." As he said this, Gideon removed the tie clip and loosened the knot, all with one hand. Cole watched the flex and roll of his knuckles, the veins that snaked over the tendons in the back of his hand, and the way his fingers deftly stripped the tie out of his collar with a smooth rasp of fabric against fabric. He licked his lips.

"Why don't you show me what you have on under that coat?" Gideon asked.

Cole tried to copy what Gideon had done to his tie, fiddling with the knot of his belt with one hand until it loosened. Gideon watched his fingers work, and when the belt was fully undone, put a hand up and said, "Stop."

Cole stilled and allowed Gideon to come closer. He traced a finger between the flaps of the coat, the pad of it close enough that if Cole were to inhale deeply, it might brush against his chest. But he was holding his breath. So, Gideon did not touch him as he parted the coat and looked down.

"Baby," he purred through a lascivious grin.

Oh, how Cole liked the sound of that – pleasing this damned man.

"Do you like it?" Cole asked.

"Very much."

He thought about the hundred dollars and how clients always liked to think there was something special between him and them, something nobody else got to see. "I've never worn it for anyone else. I don't usually wear lingerie for people."

"You buy it just for me?" Gideon looked up to meet Cole's eyes, which meant he saw the moment of hesitation when Cole decided whether or not to tell the truth. Wearing something only for Gideon might give the impression that there was something special between them, but admitting it was from his personal collection confirmed that there was.

"No."

Gideon understood immediately because he was frighteningly perceptive. "They are yours then? Just for you, because you like them. And you wore them for me?"

Cole bit his lip and nodded. "Well, you went to so much trouble to get me here tonight."

"All because I liked you so much last night," Gideon said. "I liked the sweats and the ratty tennis shoes, too."

"Oh," Cole pouted and fiddled with the champagne flute. "You don't actually like my outfit, then?"

"Baby," Gideon's voice dipped like Cole just said something particularly stupid, "I love your outfit tonight. But it's only because you're wearing it. You could make anything look good."

Cole flushed so deeply that his cheeks would probably match his maroon stockings if his skin was not hidden beneath a layer of foundation. Gideon cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Then he abruptly reached for Cole's face, and the little bit of champagne left in Cole's glass nearly spilled when he fumbled it in surprise.

"Although, I can't say I'm a fan of not being able to see when I make you blush," Gideon muttered. "Why all the make-up?"

He swiped his thumb across Cole's cheek, pressing over the bruise and making Cole hiss and flinch away from the dull throb that radiated through his skull. Gideon froze. They stared at each other, then Cole stepped away and giggled – uncomfortably this time.

"Sorry," he said at the same time that Gideon growled, "You're hurt."

"I'm embarrassed," Cole corrected with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't want you to see the evidence of how clumsy I am. This morning, I tripped getting out of bed and smacked my face on the bedside table."

Gideon stared at him. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He repeated, like the universal code word that it was, "Clumsy."

Cole threw back the rest of his champagne. "Yes."

"Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag. Why don't you go wash the makeup off so I can see what I'm working with? Don't wanna hurt you again."

"Sure." Cole put his glass on the table and went into the bathroom. He took the coat off and splashed water on his face, rubbing until all the make-up was gone, leaving just the dark bruise, a splotch of blue-black across his cheekbone, feathering out into purple just a little bit, stark under the bright bathroom lighting. He grimaced and looked away from his reflection.

"Another glass?" Gideon asked when he emerged. Cole smiled and nodded. By the time he crossed the carpet, the bubbles were already settling in the glass. He plucked it from Gideon's hand with a quick thanks, a little too chipper from trying to cover up the bluster of embarrassment he felt at having the bruise on his face seen. Gideon's eyes did not linger on it, thank goodness, instead drifting across all the skin on display now that the coat lay forgotten on the bathroom counter.

"What's this?" Gideon touched the kiss mark from Alexis, which Cole had completely forgotten. The pad of his finger was warm against Cole's skin, smudging the red lipstick. All the hairs on Cole's belly stood on end as he fought a shiver.

"One of the bartenders sends her greetings."

Gideon smudged it some more, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Would you let me hit you tonight?"

Cole stilled beneath Gideon's touch, unaware that he had been pushing into it until his heart skipped a beat and the blood froze in his veins. "What?"

"I asked if you would let me hit you tonight."

Gideon met Cole's eyes steadily, giving away nothing at all. Cole's mind was just blank noise, so he said the first thing that came to mind - not Logan's voice reminding him that Gideon was paying enough to get whatever he wanted, nor curiosity about why the hell the man's response to seeing a bruise on Cole's face was to ask to hit him, but simply that he did not like being hit.

"No."

Gideon smirked. "Guess I got my money's worth out of the night."

Cole stared at him. He continued to hear white noise for a couple more seconds before vaguely remembering that earlier in their conversation, he had teased Gideon about putting out so much money only to be told no. The relief felt like tuning into the correct radio station, and the world began to spin on its axis again. He was able to let out a shaky breath and meet Gideon's smirk with a small smile, trying to cover up how his heart pounded by tipping the glass to his lips.

"Bad joke, I suppose. Come here, and let me tell you what I really want." Gideon slid his hand from Cole's belly to wrap his fingers loosely around his wrist and lead him to the bed. They sat on the edge, rose petals under their asses, facing one another. Gideon's hand slipped from his wrist to enfold his fingers.

"Well?" Cole sipped his champagne, looking at the satin petals.

"I want you not to orgasm unless I give you explicit permission."

Another game. One like last night's, which should have been simple to win. Cole was nearly always in control of his arousal with clients. If they wanted him to get hard, he managed it. If they wanted him to orgasm, he did. If they didn't care, he could decide on a whim whether he wanted to let himself get into it or not. But it was all for show on some level. All he had to do was remember why he was here, to look at the stranger's hands on his body, and any heat of arousal would sizzle out as if an ice bucket had been dumped over him.

But last night, he had lost the game. And he had been trying not to think about that too much since. There was something about Gideon that brought him up in Cole's mind even when he was not thinking of him, though. Maybe it simply was Cole's curiosity that made Gideon so compelling. Whatever it was, Cole found himself trembling just slightly with anxiety and excitement at the idea of playing another one of the man's games.

Externally, he cooly sipped the champagne and said, "No tip this time?"

"All the champagne you want, and I've ordered room service, but you get those regardless." He leaned in close so that there was nowhere to look but into his gold-flecked eyes. "Your reward for being good is that I will let you orgasm at the end."

Oh boy. Cole took a swig of his champagne. "What happens if I just decide to orgasm whenever I want? Will you call Logan and demand your money back?"

"Hardly." Gideon sat back again and contemplated Cole. "No hitting, so I can't spank you for being bad." Cole's face heated up, and he looked away. Then Gideon said, "How sensitive do you get after an orgasm? Is it painful for you?"

"I guess I'm the same as any guy." Cole shrugged.

Gideon hummed. "Then if you orgasm without permission, just know I won't stop playing with you until I make you come again...and maybe another time right after that. Maybe until I get you to cry. But if you are good, you get one nice satisfying orgasm."

Three or more orgasms in a row sounded like a death sentence. Cole would probably have a heart attack and die, although death by orgasms might not be a bad way to go. Elijah would be disappointed in him, though. He drained the rest of his champagne glass and shrugged again. "I'm game."