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[haggle]

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[haggle]

( no response comes for another minute. the lean stretch into five, into ten — anora's brand of stage presence over a room, knowing how to sweat out an audience before the curtain opens. the longer the hush, the louder the entrance. some habits stay sharp like muscle memory, even after the work dries up.

when ani slips through the adjoining bathroom into embry's room, it's more like swanning into it: the practiced art of entering a room, and forcing it to notice you. the sash of her robe rests in a loose ribbon of an afterthought, not enough to scandalize — just an elegant laziness that somehow seems stylized, from the rumpled curls of her hair to the careless wrinkles in the satin. the bed gives a pleased little bounce under the dramatic, swooning drop of her weight, lips curled around a tart grin.

saccharine-sweet, rolling off her mouth like a maraschino cherry: ) Every time you call me a cunt, I add a zero to that price tag.

( odds say she'll be rich, hitting jackpot, by the end of the night. her spoon taps almost smugly, a tinny and silvery chime, when she dips into the first bowl. pops a sloppy scoop of blueberry cheesecake onto her tongue like the cat who got the cream. )

[hymen]

[ he’s still in his shirtsleeves, belt and tie discarded, his blazer hanging carelessly on the back of a chair. his eyes glitter like shards of ice, watching her every movement from the moment she enters to when she settles on the bed, her lips curled around the spoon. he’s entranced enough that a dozen bad decisions crowd his mind, convincing himself that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to ask her if she’d mind terribly if she just stayed here while he went to ash’s side instead, and would that be strange? she’d consider it a boon to get rid of him, probably.

when he pushes off the wall, it’s not to go toward ash’s direction, but to slink onto the bed with her, ignoring the lack of decorum when he snuggles up behind her, fitting his chin atop her shoulder like a puzzle piece slotting into place. the satin of her robe is liquid heat, absorbing every inch of life from her body, one hand roaming along the curve of her thigh, less of an invitation than a study of what transpired without him. his other hand knuckles breezily up her spine, kneading her muscles into pleasurable relaxation so she won’t immediately pull away. ]

Did you guys talk about me all night?

[ his first, and most obvious question. ash permeates the room like a shotgun blast to the head. he focuses instead of her soft skin, on the spun sugar taste she licks from her lips. ]

[haggle]

( a long-suffering sigh puffs out of her, powder-soft. not exactly contentment, but a shade of its spoiled, high-maintenance cousin. the sound of feline superiority from a pampered housecat, enduring attention that isn't on its own time and terms. built to be worshipped, bought to be spoiled, always dangling on the edge of boredom. her head lolls back with a languid roll, like tolerating his invasive petting is beneath her, but — acceptable, for now. reserving her bite for the moment it becomes too much. )

God. ( around a mouthful of creamy sugar, she scoffs a slick laugh, disbelieving. this is the shit he dragged her out of ash's bed for — narcissus wanting to drown in the pool of his own image. the spoon waves with an exaggerated motion. ) You are so fuckin' obsessed with yourself, you narcissist. You beat off to your own reflection, too?

( the rest is just ash, ash, ash. all of them launched and lodged in his fucking orbit. the only reason her name is memorable in anyone's mouths anymore. she snorts, rolling her eyes so far back in her skull that it grinds in the sockets. digs her spoon in with a harsher clang, diamond-sharp and deliberately loud, a sweetness gone curdled. if it ever existed at all, in the presence of embry moore. she refrains, by a fraction of willpower, from saying this is why no one fucking likes you. )

Don't flatter yourself, honey. We were busy putting better things in our mouths.

[hymen]

[ he sneers, his breath cascading warm against her ear — ] No, I beat off to the pictures of you that make it in the papers.

[ does he actually? it’s more likely than you think, especially when ash looks so fucking regal in them himself, and embry’s favorite pastime is self-flagellating by his lonesome. both of his hands move to her shoulders now, fingers pressing expertly into worn muscles, his thumbs dragging down the soft skin along the nape of her neck as he briefly lapses into silence. he moves the satiny fabric of her gown down her pearly skin so he can knead into her shoulder blades. ]

He’s my brother. I have a right to ask. [ moody. he’s well aware the bottle of gin by the bed is half empty, drained in the time he was listening to rough groans and slapping skin. ] He spends all his time with you now.

[ ash and anora. it sounds so perfect it makes him want to throw up. at least the magazines don’t use his nickname, reserved only for his close friends and family. maxen and anora sounds fucking stupid. ]

Which one’s your favorite? [ he gestures with his chin toward the bowls, looking over her shoulder again while his fingers card through her inky hair, fingertips scratching lazily. ] Or I can get three more until you’re satisfied, if you give me your special requests.

[haggle]

( a frothy laugh in her throat, as obnoxiously loud as champagne-popping, fizz spraying. no care for the mess it makes, a little like embry's cum dribbling over his knuckles, leaking wetly onto her glossy headlines. it's meant to disgust her, no doubt. weak men always try to make you feel like your body is dirty when they're not allowed to touch it. like it's only clean and holy if they're the one inside it, theirs to defile. like ani hasn't been branded with sex symbol as often as the scarlet letter of slut, sold so many times she's stopped flinching. embry moore is just another sharp-smiling pretty piranha that treats her the same. vicious and hungry, hating the very thing he chases.

a finger swirls into the milky drip of a scoop over its bowl, dips onto her tongue with a melodic, sweet hum. an emphatic fuck you — a pointed reminder that what he scorns about her is exactly what makes his dick hard. it dislodges from her mouth with a wet, satisfied, stage-moan pop, wiping her saliva off on the crisp line of embry's no-crease, perfect little pant leg. little repressed boy playing dress-up in his brother's big boy clothes to impress him. )

You and everyone else, honey. Try my Playboy spread next time. My tits got good reviews.

( as unaffected as the idle shrug of her shoulders, as if he had simply said anora, i've watched all of your films, listened to every one of your songs. good to know her work still goes so appreciated by her biggest, most devoted fans. )

The London Fog's good. ( said to the same tune of: congratulations, you managed not to fuck it up, throwing a dog a bone. ) I always liked lavender.

( probably doesn't matter — it's just another piece of information for embry to lock in the vault when he wants to bribe her into behaving. she spares a glance at him sidelong, each relaxed of her breath hard-won. she knows what the play is: another man breaking her down slowly by touching her soft. )

Are you sure you're askin' as a brother, and not a fan? ( her mouth pouts, faux-sweet. ) 'Cause I can get you an autograph. Might even kiss it for another grand.