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[haggle]

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[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.