The streets of Paris preened as they lived up to their so called label of ‘romantic’. The air wasn’t stifling like the lazy morning you’d had, a touch cooler and more breezes the closer you ventured to the Seine from the maze of glorious, antique buildings. Windows before were flung open and the sound of old radios’ ceased to be heard once you entered this sector of the city, gait impossibly smooth.

Luxury was the backdrop. Security unflinching and ruthless as they discarded fake IDs and were cruelly amused to watch the broke students scamper off to cheaper places. Familiar faces were greeted with subtle dips of chins and a flicker of recognition across flawless faces.

The rich are ever so pretty. Feigning disinterest is a pastime so long as they appear half as gorgeous as they hope they do. But the rich don’t hope. Not really. They just swipe, and it’s done. No need for such feeble things as wishes. Or patience. It doesn’t bode well to encourage them to try and indulge their time into patience. It’s more foreign than Latin to middle school children.

The doors opened on command, they always did. The air was the same as outside, no warmer, no colder. But not as fresh. This place was steeped in drastically expensive cologne and perfumes, subtle when individual, but when marinated together.. heavenly. Other-worldly in the sense that you can’t tell if you’re tired of drinking or high on someone’s drugs the next table over.

Upon entering you felt at home. The dress was tailored to fit every inch of your body. Cinching the waist and creating the impression your hips flared further. Not to mention the wonders it did for your chest. Though you can count that and expensive lingerie. Or more so the billionaire whom splurged a small fortune on the matching set you deemed appropriate for tonight.

Embellished with thousands of miniature diamonds the dress was a rich navy, with small swirls and shapes in varying shades of silver and golden. Your hair was down, loose and natural in the way summer encouraged with her rays’. Makeup subtle enough to accentuate your face, not change it. As you rubbed your lips together, eyes carefully scanning the room, you were nudged forward ever so slightly.

As you turned to glare at the perpetrator, a grain of amusement and familiarity graced your features, softening the blow of your icy stare. Once meeting the startling blue eyes of said man, your lips curved away from their straight line.

The grey jacket was hand-made to hug every generous muscle and inch of Hugh Archeon’s body. Sleek, powerful muscle. A little nudge was generous. The man could and had killed with his bare hands alone. But in here, most of them could. Killing via hands? Messy. You prefererred to nod in the direction and it was taken care off. His shirt buttons were undone, no doubt from where he was wooing some blonde tourists.

“Didn't think you were coming tonight.” His voice was low, and smooth. Visibly, you didn’t react. Inside? Your pussy ached and your inner thighs became as soaked as your panties. “I heard what happened with Danny-boy.”

You snorted softly, and crossed your arms. “And pray tell, what narrative were you told?”

“The one where you’re cruel,” his arm landed on the wall beside you, curving you into his side. “And mean.” His lips moved down a few inches to your neck where he mouthed against the skin there. “He even threw heartless into the mix. That’s not very nice of you.” He chastised, while nosing around your neck.

“He knew what I wanted. I made it clear that I wanted something simple. His fault if he lied to himself,” You shrugged, and that just brought his kissed to your jaw and cheeks.

“God I love how you break hearts.” He muttered roughly.

“Want me to break yours?” You turned your head so your noses bumped intentionally.

“Every night, baby.” It sounded like a beg disguised as a command.