( not liable to survive a lie detector: the uptick-jump of her pulse, an arrested inhale in her throat. busted and booked and bagged, evidence to serve on trial. ani smiles through it, anyway. sticky-sweet, shameless, a mugshot that says: i'd do it again. she might have denied it, made him sweat to extract the confession from her, if she'd missed him less. if he was only another failed audition for a husband in her bed, and not the real thing. the one she wrote her life around, even when he wasn't on set. a leading man she can't recast. )
You and me, baby. ( a practiced silhouette, her head tips to the side, dark hair sliding down the bared curve of her robe. femme fatale charm, right before the double-cross — innocent voice, bedroom eyes, dirty mouth, worse mind. she leans in, the big reveal: ) I want everyone to know you fuck me wearing it. That ain't a crime, officer.
( a good thief works in the shadows, lets the job speak for their reputation. he doesn't have the luxury of an anonymous identity anymore; ani never had one the minute she signed away her privacy. jake seresin, retired burglar. anora mikheeva, retired wife. until that one last irresistible job comes around. if he's going to wear that ring and mean it, she wants him caught in the act of loving her. let the whole goddamn world know what he stole. some men don't stay gone. some things don't need to stay hidden. sometimes, stepping into the spotlight ain't so bad, when you've finally got something worth showing off.
she never did have the same taste for subtlety that makes a good con artist.
punctuation, the question mark at the end of that sentence: she swirls her hips over his jeans. proof she still fucking owns him, proof she can still drive him crazy without lifting a finger. she giggles around a sigh, a shivering hum. equal parts siren song and girlish glee, like playing opposite him again is the most fun she’s had in years. )
Save 'em for the anniversary. ( her head moves with his mouth, distracted, squirming when callouses catch on her sides. letting him case the joint, look for new pathways, map the old ones. wondering, all the time, if she still feels like a blueprint he'd known blindfolded, if he has every one of her structural weaknesses memorized. ) Nothin' beats the originals.
( her first love. her first husband. her first ring. sentimental, sure. always. proven by her fingers plucking up his chain, wrapping it around her wrist until it's been repurposed. finders keepers. oldest trick in the book. )
How about a deal? ( a glint in her eye. high stakes, high drama. the way she's always loved to play, if he's her opponent. the way she knows he can never resist the thrill of a challenge, especially if the prize on the other end is worth the pursuit. ) I'll wear it if you can find it. First clue: it ain't far.
no subject
You and me, baby. ( a practiced silhouette, her head tips to the side, dark hair sliding down the bared curve of her robe. femme fatale charm, right before the double-cross — innocent voice, bedroom eyes, dirty mouth, worse mind. she leans in, the big reveal: ) I want everyone to know you fuck me wearing it. That ain't a crime, officer.
( a good thief works in the shadows, lets the job speak for their reputation. he doesn't have the luxury of an anonymous identity anymore; ani never had one the minute she signed away her privacy. jake seresin, retired burglar. anora mikheeva, retired wife. until that one last irresistible job comes around. if he's going to wear that ring and mean it, she wants him caught in the act of loving her. let the whole goddamn world know what he stole. some men don't stay gone. some things don't need to stay hidden. sometimes, stepping into the spotlight ain't so bad, when you've finally got something worth showing off.
she never did have the same taste for subtlety that makes a good con artist.
punctuation, the question mark at the end of that sentence: she swirls her hips over his jeans. proof she still fucking owns him, proof she can still drive him crazy without lifting a finger. she giggles around a sigh, a shivering hum. equal parts siren song and girlish glee, like playing opposite him again is the most fun she’s had in years. )
Save 'em for the anniversary. ( her head moves with his mouth, distracted, squirming when callouses catch on her sides. letting him case the joint, look for new pathways, map the old ones. wondering, all the time, if she still feels like a blueprint he'd known blindfolded, if he has every one of her structural weaknesses memorized. ) Nothin' beats the originals.
( her first love. her first husband. her first ring. sentimental, sure. always. proven by her fingers plucking up his chain, wrapping it around her wrist until it's been repurposed. finders keepers. oldest trick in the book. )
How about a deal? ( a glint in her eye. high stakes, high drama. the way she's always loved to play, if he's her opponent. the way she knows he can never resist the thrill of a challenge, especially if the prize on the other end is worth the pursuit. ) I'll wear it if you can find it. First clue: it ain't far.