Chapter Text
“Tav.” Astarion nods at his dearest friend as she returns to their pool chairs with two tall stemmed glasses of prosecco. “Don’t look now, my darling, but that man over there has been eyeing you up since you got up to go to the bar; and I have to say, if I know you at all – he’s right up your alley.”
“Oh, shit.” Tav hands him a glass and looks up, scanning the pool area. “Which one?”
He slaps her arm lightly with his free hand. “What the fuck did I just say? Don't look now, idiot!”
But it's too late – she sees who Astarion’s referring to immediately, because he is, in fact, looking straight at her.
…She thinks.
Honestly, it's hard to tell behind the Gucci sunglasses – but then he lowers them, flashing an expensive watch and signet pinky ring in the process, and his gaze is locked on hers.
It's the same man she’s been staring down since she and Astarion got here three days ago. He’s middle-aged, tall and broad, with a slim waist and, admittedly, a very nice ass. Looks great for his age. She hasn’t managed to get a good look from the front, but the back of him, at least, is a treat.
…Which, perhaps, makes her sound creepy as hell, but she’s certain it's nothing out of the ordinary at this absurdly elitist resort chain anyway. Everybody here is wealthy, gorgeous, and out to fuck or be fucked, married or not. It’s not Tav’s usual scene, but she’d let Astarion talk her into a week-long stay for pure indulgence’s sake. And, she has to admit (however begrudgingly) that it’s fun to play at being rich elites for a few days; to lie by the infinity pool and wave a clean-cut, tanned pool boy over for a tray of canapés; to get a Brazilian wax and wander around in skimpy, beachy little outfits she’ll never wear again. To do that all while people-watching is simply a bonus.
The only person here Tav hasn’t watched actively take part in this name-dropping, cognac-soaked, ketamine-laced sex game is the man whose gaze is currently burning holes right through her. He’s seemed content to sit on the sidelines and simply watch in silence, not unlike her. It's not that he's not wealthy and gorgeous, but she hasn’t seen him once with a lucky man or woman on his arm (and there’s no way he hasn’t gotten an offer or two over the duration of his stay). Something about that says mystery.
And she likes a little mystery.
“Okay, cover blown,” Tav sighs, smiling sheepishly. The man picks up a lowball glass from the table next to him and sips at its amber-colored contents, giving her a little wave with his ring and pinky fingers. He makes a very pretty picture against the sunset backdrop.
Astarion scoffs lightly as he watches the gesture. “Clearly not a problem for him. Are you planning on going over to have a little chat?”
“I think I have to, now.” The object of her attention is garbed in a low-slung pair of swim trunks and a thin white button-down shirt, half-unbuttoned to show the smattering of wiry dark hair across his chest. Tav licks her lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Well, by the look of him, I’d estimate that this very handsome man has a net worth somewhere around ten or eleven figures. So, I'd say the sooner you can get on that, the better.” He smiles encouragingly when she shoots him a nervous grin. “Time’s ticking on by, darling.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve been eye-fucking the bartender for thirty minutes. Why do you think I look like this?”
Tav pauses and turns to take in her friend’s artfully tousled appearance. Astarion’s white curls are perfectly styled, a lock of hair hanging across his forehead like it’s meant to draw the eye. And – is that – is that baby oil across his pale chest? He looks impeccable; ghoulishly godly, like a ghostly Grecian sculpture. He’s not being particularly subtle, but subtlety doesn’t seem to be anyone’s strong suit here.
He raises his bubbling flute to her, fluttering his eyelashes. “The art of seduction, my dearest friend.”
“Yeah, alright. Sing your siren song and I’ll go sing mine. How do I look?” Tav stands and turns slowly on the spot, knowing she’s still being watched from across the pool.
Astarion smirks knowingly, looking her up and down. “You look hot as the Hells, darling. Go give him the old ‘razzle dazzle’, as they say.”
“Jesus,” Tav laughs. “Okay, I’m going.”
She wonders what she looks like to her mystery man as she wanders over. She’s glad she wore this black one-piece today; it’s cut high on her hips and low in the back to bare a little more skin than usual. Perhaps that's enough – she doesn’t trust herself to put together a sexy little prowling walk on the fly. It’d probably end with her in the pool, and not on purpose.
Her target takes off his sunglasses fully as she gets closer, nestling them into his slicked-back chestnut-brown hair. She’d put him in his late forties or early fifties – the hair at his temples is streaked with distinguished greys, and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smirks at her. He looks like he laughs often. He looks like he moves mountains.
“My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He makes no effort to hide the way his gaze travels along her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts, then the curve of her hips beneath thin fabric.
Tav’s breath catches in her throat. So much for her siren song – his low, melodic voice alone could tempt any mortal soul to its flaming doom.
But she maintains her composure, resting a hand on her hip and jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Astarion (who has now donned a pair of dark sunglasses and leaned back in his lounge chair as if dozing off; but she knows his eyes are wide open and watching this exchange with great interest). “I have a pretty good wingman. He tipped me off that you'd been stealing glances for a bit, so I figured I'd come take a closer look.”
“Seems I owe him one, then.” He laughs – a rich, throaty sound – and gestures to himself with a long-fingered hand, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”
“Well.” Tav grazes her lower lip with her tongue and boldly eyes the length of his body just as leisurely and lasciviously as he had hers, sweeping her gaze over the thin sheen of sweat glistening across the visible portion of his chest and dampening the lapels of his shirt. “Nice view. In my opinion.”
“I’m honored.” He smiles lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Who is he? Your boyfriend; husband?”
Tav shakes her head. “No. My best friend. I’m not – um, I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a husband. Or a girlfriend. So we’re…we’re good.”
He quirks an eyebrow, amused.
She sighs. There’s something about his warm, laughing chocolate-brown eyes that trips her up; makes it hard to focus. “I’m single and extremely smooth, obviously.”
“Evidently.” But he’s still smiling, so she supposes she hasn’t fucked up too monumentally yet. “Sit.”
Tav seats herself on the lounge next to his, facing his way, and he sits up to match her stance, crossing an ankle over his thigh and resting his elbow atop it.
“Are you here to seduce me, then?” His slight, sly smile is difficult to interpret. (Tav thinks that maybe he gets that a lot.)
She leans in closer, placing a daring hand on his arm. It’s unusual for her to be the one propositioning – she’s usually the one being propositioned, if she’s to be honest – but this is an interesting experiment. He looks down at her fingers and then back at her, and she’s truly not sure if he’s about to scold her or kiss her; which is, unsurprisingly, her favorite sort of dynamic. Her stomach flips pleasantly.
“Perhaps. If I’m lucky.”
…And she means that, too. He’s hard to read: enigmatic, magnetic, charismatic, aloof. She’s normally that person in the exchange. Difficult to parse when she’s faced with someone who matches her.
His smile spreads across his face, slow and smooth as syrup. “If you’re lucky, you say? A useful tool, flattery. One might say you’re a paragon of luck.”
“Does that mean you want to?”
“Do I want to what? Use your words, my dear.”
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and lays her metaphorical cards flat on the table, as if he didn’t already know exactly what she was insinuating. “Do you want to get out of here?”
The amount of time that passes between her question and his answer isn’t nearly long enough for her to worry like she does, but it feels like an age, and her heart pounds in her chest.
“With you?” He looks at her pointedly.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Another slow, inscrutable grin, and an artful pause – oh, he’s very much aware of what he’s doing –
“I do, little dove.” He rests his hand on hers for a moment. “Come back to my room with me. I’d be honored to enjoy you tonight.”
That last part is nearly purred, and Tav can’t hide the flush that spreads down her neck and across her chest. His eyes follow the color beneath the material of her swimsuit, lingering on where her skin ends and fabric begins.
“I’m glad to hear it.” A bit dizzy with sudden lust, she stands, willing herself not to topple over, either onto him or into the pool. “Let me grab my things.”
“A moment, my dear. What does your friend like to drink? I’ll have a bartender bring him something as a thank you – and as an apology for stealing you away.”
“Well, aren't you sweet?” She’s genuinely touched by the gesture. “We’re drinking prosecco now, but he’s almost certainly finished his at this point, given what a terrible job he’s doing at pretending not to be nosey over there. Indulge him in a glass of any extra-dry Italian red and he’d be delighted.”
He waves a staff member over and requests one of the top-shelf wine bottles behind the bar be brought to Astarion, tipping the young man very generously for his trouble. Tav pretends not to notice the number on the bills he presses into the attendant’s palm, cheeks growing warm as she stares determinedly at a suddenly interesting point on the sunset-colored horizon.
As soon as the very grateful fellow is out of sight, her date for the evening turns to her and says in a patient voice, much lower than before:
“Go get your things, and come back to me.”
She nods, breath speeding up involuntarily. “Got it. Be right back.”
Astarion, meanwhile, does an admirable job of staying in place until she’s all the way back at their original spot. She almost believes he’s dozed off until he lowers his sunglasses and gives her a toothy grin.
“Well? By your absolutely sinful blush and slightly unsteady gait, I’m guessing mission success.”
“Mission success,” Tav confirms, unable to keep the grin from her face. “We're going back to his room, so…hot DILF is in the bag.”
“You adorable creature. Beautiful little thing. Of course the sexy, mysterious older man wants to fuck you,” Astarion coos, taking Tav’s hand in his for a delighted squeeze. “And who could possibly resist? Have fun, my love. Let me know if you need a tag out. Or a third.” He taps his chin with a pale finger. “Or if he turns out to be a bloody murderer.”
“C’mon, get real.” She rolls her eyes and pulls on the sheer cover-up she brought: a loose, patterned beige-and-white number that hangs open in the front and falls to her knees. “I will text you if I think I’m about to be murdered, though. Promise.”
“I'm just saying. Of all the clientele we’ve seen here – if that man hasn’t personally killed someone in an incredibly devastating, sexy way, then surely someone else has done so for him. I don't need to see it to tell you that's some luxury cock.” He passes Tav her bag from the chair next to him. “But – I think I’m almost in with the bartender. He keeps looking over at me like a lovesick puppy. I’ll have to go get another one of these.” His near-empty glass of wine twirls between his fingers.
“Oh! Actually, good news – you’re about to have an obscenely expensive bottle of wine brought right to you, courtesy of Mr. Luxury Cock himself.” Tav flashes him a grin and turns to leave. “I’ll see you later. Don't wait up.”
“Fabulous.” He snickers. “Enjoy the ride, my darling!”
Mr. (presumed) Luxury Cock is finished folding up his used towel when Tav returns to him, leaving it neatly on the vacated lounge chair along with another folded bill beneath the terrycloth.
“Ready, pet?”
Tav nods. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t touch her directly as they walk together back towards the hotel, but Tav’s hyper-aware of him so close to her, their arms brushing once or twice by accident. An employee pushing a wide cart of towels down the hallway causes him to pull her gently out of the way, though, and she sucks in a sharp breath when his hand at her waist brings a heat she can feel through her two layers of clothing.
His suite is a step up from hers, to no surprise. It’s equipped with a full bar and larger kitchenette, which is nice – but Tav is struck by the sheer size of the room itself. Seems like a lot for one person.
“Something to drink?”
Tav puts her bag down on the coffee table and seats herself on the brocaded loveseat. “Absolutely.” She looks around, taking in the lavish, red-hued finery of the room. It’s a bit gauche; certainly extravagant for extravagance’s sake. Not his fault, but an amusing choice nonetheless. “It’s just you here?”
He turns away from her towards the room’s marbled bar and uncorks a crystal bottle, pouring two glasses – a finger each – of the dark liquid inside.
“Just me, yes.”
“What’ve you been doing with all this furniture?”
He chuckles. “I like to have…options.”
Tav’s not sure if that means something innocuous, like he appreciates variety in where he sits to read in the evenings, or something utterly debauched, like he’s planned and executed wild orgies in this room with all manner of resort guests.
She doesn’t ask for further clarification. Perhaps it’s better to remain uninformed.
When her to-be paramour comes to sit next to her, Tav takes the glass from him and has a careful sip. Willing herself not to cough at the harsh burn that follows presents some difficulty. Amused eyes follow her movements.
“The aftertaste is better than the first note, I promise.”
He's right – after she swallows, she feels deliciously warm, a rich cherry taste on the back of her tongue.
“Mmmm. Okay, yeah.” Another sip, and it’s time for a little familiarity; a little contact, Tav thinks, sliding her feet out of her Birkenstocks and lifting her legs up onto the sofa. She drapes them over his, bending one to rest the arch of her foot on his thigh. “You know…this sort of place isn't my usual haunt. Astarion talked me into treating ourselves for a few days, and I’m glad I'm here,” she gives him a winning smile, “but it’s been a disarming experience.”
He slides a warm hand up the smooth skin of her calf and grips her leg right above the knee. “There's something to be said for a little opulence from time to time, my dear.”
“Yeah?”
“Perhaps I can show you.” He squeezes her thigh.
Based on what she’s observed so far, he’s not a particularly tactile person, so the touches he allows himself – or, likely, allows her – are deliberate. Meaningful. Tav shivers; she’s got goosebumps already. She thinks she’d let him show her quite a bit.
He notices her tremble, feels her goosebumps under his fingers. “Are you cold?”
He knows she’s not. She’s watching him hold back a condescending laugh, so she decides to own it. Be bold. “No. I just like it when you touch me.”
She holds her breath as she waits for him to respond.
He places his drink on the coffee table in front of them and takes the foot of Tav’s bent leg into his warm hands, beginning to massage its arch. “In that case…”
“Oh…well, that’s lovely,” she murmurs. Touch is terribly important for her, in contrast.
“Mhmmm. Good.” His hands are warm and soothing, thumbs pressing into the fleshy part of her foot. She tilts her head back onto a throw pillow and takes another sip of liquor, studying him as he works at her muscles. It’s a comfortably intimate picture.
“What’s your name?” he asks her after a few minutes as he moves to her other foot, having gently placed the first back onto his thigh.
This is the first thing he does that catches her off-guard. She’d thought that she had him figured out; that the concept of anonymity would be intoxicating to him. After all – there’s something thrilling about not knowing, isn't there? About being strangers in a luxurious hotel room about to share a night of passion – at least, to her. “Why?”
“Because I’ll tell you mine,” he responds with palpable patience. “What’s better than a devil you don’t know?”
She cocks her head to the side curiously, anticipating a punchline. “Tell me.”
“A devil you do.” A rogueish grin, like he’s practiced that line before. Like it’s his favorite.
Tav grins. Despite his tone, she doesn’t think he’s joking. “Then you go first, devil. Indulge me.”
“Oh, I do like you,” he drawls, low and rumbling. “My name is Raphael.”
She likes that he wants her to know his name; wants to make her remember it by the way he says it, so sensual and flourishing.
Softly, she repeats it: “Raphael.” His name feels foreign – almost misplaced in her mouth – but he makes a satisfied sound at her utterance, and lifts her foot to his lips, planting a bold, open-mouthed kiss beneath its arch before placing it next to the other on his thigh.
Tav drags that foot up his leg to rest lightly on the now-sizeable bulge beneath his shorts. He watches her movements with interest, quirking his brow without a word when she pushes her pretty, painted toes experimentally against his semi-hard cock. “Raphael,” she murmurs again, a little breathily, and watches him clench his jaw as he grows harder underneath her touch.
Ah – a vain devil, he is. She likes that he wants her to say his name.
Despite her teasing, he doesn’t move. He waits instead. She feels him continue to stiffen beneath the ball of her foot; feels him begin to strain the fabric of his shorts; yet he doesn’t touch her further than he already has.
It's clear, then, that he expects her to make the first move. Whether that’s brought on by gallantry or laziness (or both), she isn’t quite sure yet. So, ignoring her quickly reddening cheeks, she slides her legs from his and stands up. Shucks her outer layer, baring once more to him the swath of smooth skin he’s already seen.
“My name’s Tav.”
Taking a deep breath in, she hooks her thumbs underneath the straps of her swimsuit and pulls them down her shoulders in a teasing little dance, looking at him through fluttering eyelashes. He props an elbow on the back of the sofa and rests his chin on his hand as he observes. Calculating, lusty eyes go straight to her breasts as she reveals them to him.
“Well?” she says, now more than a little breathless, watching as his pupils dilate. “What do you think?”
“Come here, Tav,” he commands roughly, extending a hand. “Have a seat.”
With bated breath, she takes his proffered hand and moves to straddle his thigh, swimsuit halfway off.
“Am I doing an adequate job of seducing you, Raphael?” She lifts her other hand to his chest, fingering the gaping placket of his button-down shirt.
“What do you think?” he murmurs. Tav grins and leans in to press her mouth to his.
The crack in his stoic, enigmatic dispassion is deepened with a kiss. He opens his mouth to her right away, lets her explore him; she bites down on his lower lip and sucks it wetly between her own. His lazy, languid kisses burn like the liquor they've been sipping. Their breaths mingle. She traces his pout with her tongue and trails the fingers of her free hand through the hair on his chest; begins to lace the fingers of her other hand tightly with his as she grinds down onto his thigh. But he has other ideas, dropping his grip entirely in favor of grabbing handfuls of her ass, hauling her properly into his lap, closer still to him so he can bend and lavish attention on the soft mounds of her breasts.
This metaphorical crack extends further and further as Raphael presses his mouth to more and more of her. His kisses to her lips are syrupy-sweet and sensual, but he gorges himself on her body; and Tav revels in being eaten up. She wonders how wholly he’ll consume her when he’s inside of her –
Strong hips roll up against her core, and Tav sighs with pleasure. He’s fully hard now between her legs. The gusset of her swimsuit is damp with her arousal.
“Take it off,” he rasps, pulling at the stretchy fabric. He’s not asking.
She stands up and shimmies the rest of the way out of her suit, relishing the way he visually consumes the sight of her bared body, so hungry, like she’s a mouse caught in a trap. He’s not the cat – he’s more than that; more fearsome. Doesn’t want to toy with her, entrap her, play with her; wants to swallow her whole, keep her inside of him untouched like a caged bird.
Breathing heavily, he sits before her as a king would.
(And – to be fair – he might be one; what does she know?)
There’s entitlement in his posture, in his voice, as she’d expect from a man so expensive. Elsewhere she might find it unappealing; but here he’s magnetic, and she kneels before him, pushing his thighs apart, positioning herself between them to pay the appropriate respects to her handsome stranger-king. Pulls open the knotted drawstring of his swim shorts and undoes his buttoned fly to reveal his Luxury Cock, and audibly groans.
It makes him grin, toothy and wicked. He knows it’s good.
Tav takes the tip of him in her mouth gently, starting slow to accommodate the stretch her lips have to make around his girth. Tastes like soap and salt and sweat and chlorine, a familiar musky cocktail for a post-poolside rendezvous. She watches his fists tighten atop his thighs as she makes her way down his length with soft, lapping kisses, and she yearns to get through his stoic, condescending facade, to push him far enough that he breaks. Each step becomes a calculation. It’s lovely to watch him above her, to see how he responds to each of her little ministrations. She sees him inhale sharply through his nose when she begins to massage his balls in time with her fist’s wet strokes along his shaft; sees him fight the urge to let his eyes fall closed in bliss, keeping them wide open instead, fixed on the obscene stretch of her mouth around him.
It’s clear that Raphael wants to be worshiped; wants to watch himself be worshiped. Her earlier inner question of gallantry versus laziness is answered: it is selfishness. It is vanity. But she’s not disappointed. Rather, she is vocal as she services him, moaning appreciatively here and there – and finally when she slips a hand down between her legs with a particularly wanton, desperate little sound, making sure he’s watching her do so, he fists into her hair and pushes her head down further onto his cock so she’s nearly gagging.
“Say my name, Tav,” he grinds out, jaw clenched.
Tav, tears springing to her eyes, makes a strangled noise around him, hoping it’s good enough.
It is.
Raphael comes down her throat with a deep, ragged sigh, loosening his fist in her hair and dragging his fingertips down to caress her cheek.
Tav swallows the last of him and pulls off, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb, turning her head to kiss his fingers. “Need a moment?”
His nose wrinkles in a sneer. “Yes, if you must know, you troublesome little thing.”
She grins and stands, lifting her arms over her head in a full-body stretch while Raphael catches his breath, his greedy gaze drinking in her nude form. “Okay, okay. Are we staying out here, or moving to the bedroom? The bed’ll probably be better for your aging back.”
Raphael reaches forward to swat at her thigh. “Mouthy brat. Bedroom, yes.”
He stands and tucks himself away, refastening his shorts. Tav smiles fondly up at him and he bends to press a chaste kiss to her lips.
“Go get comfortable. I’ll pour us a refill – on the rocks this time, for the sake of your own delicate countenance.”
The bedroom is, like the rest of the suite, lavishly decorated, and Tav has to reposition several throw pillows in order to arrange herself in what she hopes is a devastatingly sexy pose. Raphael’s eyebrows go up as he enters a few moments later with their refilled glasses, and he appraises her silently as he hands her one to place on the nightstand.
She thinks it’s a compliment, and she’ll take it.
For now, though, she wants him naked, and shuffles forward on her knees to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. His mouth quirks up in a patient smirk; he allows her to do as she likes, turning as necessary to help facilitate the removal of his clothing.
The years have indeed been kind to him, Tav notes, as she lets her fingers glide along his arms, his chest, once the shirt is on the floor. Aside from the streaks of grey in his brown hair and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, a touch of softness around his midriff is all that truly belies his age. “How old are you?”
He huffs a laugh. “Hmmmm…coming up on two thousand, if I’m remembering correctly.”
“Ha! Okay, I’ll let it go.” Tav leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It was actually going to end in a compliment, I promise. Was going to say your body’s a 10.”
Raphael preens at said compliment, letting that slow, syrupy smile slide over his features once more. “Much appreciated, dove.” A hand comes around Tav’s hip to pat her ass. “Now, let me up. Something about my back needing a little support, hmm?”
She laughs and acquiesces, scooching backwards into her original position against the pillows. He unlaces his shorts and shucks them fully – Tav’s mouth waters at the sight of his cock again, even near-flaccid as it is now – and climbs up to join her, capturing her mouth again, wasting no time before nestling himself in next to her and pulling her down to lie with him. Hooks a thigh underneath hers to open her legs for him; softly groans his approval when he reaches down to find her slick and wanting.
“For me, sweet girl? You honor me so.”
Tav purrs her approval as he lightly toys with her. “I’m simply enjoying your particular flavors of opulence.”
Her words earn her an eager, hot tongue on her neck. Oh – and teeth. He sucks harder at her as he starts to stiffen again against her thigh, and she clutches him to her, happy to let him mark her in the way he likes.
“That’ll leave a bruise,” he says with a smirk as he pulls away, lips reddened with his efforts, and Tav knows he’s not sorry.
“I’m privileged to wear it,” she croons. He kisses the corner of her mouth again with an approving hum.
Raphael is still a king with his hand between her legs just as he was with her mouth between his, but here he is one of wicked indulgence rather than cold grandeur. Perhaps it’s not his first inclination, but it’s evident that he, too, is very capable of giving abundantly, especially when it’s on his own profane terms.
He wants fear and love in equal measure, and she will be happy to give him both tonight.
Tav picks up her drink from the bedside table and takes a sip, wincing again at the burn of the whiskey in her throat. And another. A trickle of amber liquid evades her parted lips, dripping down her neck and between her breasts. Her lover watches the trail it leaves with hungry, half-lidded eyes for just a moment. And then she blinks –
– and he’s on her, chasing the droplet with his tongue, closing his mouth around her pert, pebbled nipple. She spreads her arms to grip the pillows at the head of the bed, giving him room to work and watches, enraptured, as his eager mouth decorates her breasts and belly with glossy traces of saliva. She is delighted by this other half of him, unmasked once he breaks: eager and sloppy and lewd.
He bites to tease, but also to mark her further – she won’t be able to don a swimsuit for the next few days without displaying the remnants of tonight’s activities. She thinks she’ll happily advertise them to whoever cares enough to look.
A finger slips between her folds to play at her clit in tandem with Raphael’s teasing nips; spreads her wetness around. She’s slick and sticky and warm and blissed-out, and when he slides that finger inside of her, she whines and pulls him back up for a kiss. He kisses like he smiles: syrupy-sweet and smooth and sensual. So easy to fall under his spell; hard to think of much else.
Once Raphael is sated of her body, it’s his turn to take the glass from Tav’s hand – ice clinks against the sides and it sounds like summer – and take a drink. But instead of swallowing, he leans down and lavishes each of her nipples again with his cold tongue, making her gasp; and then buries his head between her breasts and opens his mouth, letting the cold liquid seep down her midriff and collect in her belly button.
Tav’s eyes widen. “Ahh –”
He follows the trail with his mouth, stubbled chin scratching against the soft skin of her belly. Laves open-mouthed kisses against her flesh; tongues the divot of her belly button and slurps the liquor loudly, overindulgently from her body.
He meets her eyes, gaze taunting and playful; grins and purrs, “Decadent, love.”
Tav can't help but laugh disbelievingly, delightedly at his hedonistic display. “You are too much.”
“I promised to show you indulgence, my girl. And I will deliver.” Further down, his lovely, sinful mouth now hovers over her cleanly waxed mound. “Shall I continue?”
Tav spreads her legs for him in response, and he groans at the sight.
“Ah! Already learning – you do indulge me so generously.”
“I’ve been known to be particularly magnanimous in the bedroom,” she gasps, as he lets that wandering, still-icy tongue of his place sweet kisses along her inner thighs and finally, at last settle between her dripping folds he’d abandoned a few moments before. “Ohhhh. Cold.”
“You’ll live,” he coos patronizingly, pausing to smirk up at her. “It wouldn’t be decadence if it didn’t come with a little sting.”
There’s that word again – decadence. Tav thinks that surely it must be Raphael’s favorite term; possibly his middle name. Decadent is his mouth between her legs. Decadent are his fingers sliding into her again and crooking upward just so –
“Fuck,” Tav gasps, her hands moving to grasp tight fistfuls of his carefully coiffed curls. His grey strands shine nearly golden in the last light of the setting sun from the window. “God –”
“Far from it, I'm afraid,” he chuckles – somewhere between merriment and danger – and lifts her right leg to rest on his shoulder before he dives back in, supporting her hips just above the mattress with his long-fingered hands. “I dance far closer to the boundary of Hell than to the gates of Heaven, love.”
“Ah,” she manages shakily between his licentious licks, “there’s the devil I know.”
“See? What did I tell you?” He opens his mouth and lets his tongue loll out obscenely, dragging it through her once again, eyelids fluttering. His low groan at another taste of her elicits nearly the same sound from her own throat. “Say my name again, now that you know me, sweet Tav. I do enjoy the way it sounds from your lips.”
Tav may not know him terribly well yet, but she at least knows this.
“Raphael,” she moans, obliging him, sliding a hand up her body to grope at her own breast, pinching her nipple between her fingers in time with his flicking tongue on her clit.
He buries his face between her legs, hot mouth open and consuming. His cheeks hollow as he sucks noisily; and, as Tav keens for him, he rumbles, rougher against her – “Again.”
“Raphael,” she gasps. He scissors his decadent fingers within her, lapping at her bud with the flat of his tongue like a thirsty dog, and she’s edging closer and closer to her climax.
“Once more,” he urges her in a growl, his breath quickening. “Say it.”
“Raphae–aahhh!”
He's dipped lower still, letting a wet trickle of his saliva and her slick kiss her other entrance before his mouth follows suit. His elegant nose nudges at her clit as he enthusiastically teases her asshole with the tongue she is becoming more and more fond of with every passing second. His breaths are noisy and ragged and lewd and sucking and –
Tav lets her head fall back into the pillows. “Can’t hold on,” she pants. “Can’t –”
And then he plunges in, and gods it’s been a long time since anyone’s done that to her, and is this decadence? Again and again and again and she’s so wet and he’s sloppy as the Hells and that’s a third finger he’s pressing into her loose, dripping cunt and she’s going to fall apart, she’s going to –
“Come” is his low, gravelly demand of her, his voice rough with arousal. It reverberates in Tav’s chest; she feels it as she breathes in; it makes her head spin. She does as she is commanded with a low wail of his name, body wracked with a great, shuddering sob.
Raphael lowers her hips back down to the bed and places a kiss just above her slit before returning to lie at her side as she comes down from her high. She rolls to tuck herself beneath his chin for just a moment, breathing steadily in and out.
“Now, not to rush you, Tav, as I’m a patient man; but I’ve got to fuck you, or be damned.”
Breathless, she laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
She slides down his body and seats herself between his legs as he lies back against the pillows. It’s clear he prefers she ride him, which she won’t complain about. But first, she raises herself onto her knees and slides a hand between her own legs, humming in pleasure as the last of her aftershocks pass.
He scoffs, but there’s no real irritation in it. “So quick to chase your own pleasure once again? Have I not indulged you thoroughly enough?”
She may have figured out what makes him tick, but he’s no fool either – he’s seen her, and he knows just what he’s doing. A little bit of her wants him to continue scolding her, to tease her into a frenzy with his words as he watches her overstimulate herself, but that’s not what tonight is for. A fond smile crosses her face as she instead shuffles forward to straddle him, positioning his cock at her entrance, bracing herself for what she knows will be a breathtaking stretch. “Sorry. My turn to spoil you, hmm?”
He nods, his slow smirk returning. “I should think so.”
Tav sinks down onto him at a leisurely pace, whining softly at the stretch, and he grips her hips immediately to still her before she can start moving.
“Slowly,” he grunts.
“Yes, Raphael.” She makes a ridiculous show of pouting. “I’ll take my time, just for you.”
He swats her rear. “Ungrateful little thing, you are.”
True to her word, she fucks him gently; leans forward to press her breasts to his chest and tuck her face into his neck. She lets him hear and feel her hot, panting breaths against his ear; lets him hold tightly to her hips as she angles them in the ways that make him moan and sigh the loudest. Plays up her own sounds to match his when he deigns to match her movements with upward thrusts.
But it doesn’t take long to come to an end. A prayerful invocation of his name against his lips is all it takes to push him over the edge; he comes quickly and unceremoniously within her with a ragged groan, and she kisses her regal, tired stranger-king with endeared exasperation.
(Perhaps a bit disappointing, but she can't really complain; he's been a delight to learn, and he's pretty, besides.)
“Good?” she asks, allowing him to slide from her tenderly as he softens. She settles at his side, hooking a leg over his thighs.
“Adequate,” he responds with a smile, and this time Tav knows he is joking. She grins and lays her head on his chest, sliding her fingers along the sweat-sheened planes of him, contented.
After a moment, she glances up. “May I stay with you tonight?”
The corner of his mouth quirks into a wry smile. “Since you asked so nicely – you may. I leave tomorrow, but I won’t turn away a lovely, fucked-out woman in my bed on my last night before returning to the real world.”
A pang of disappointment runs through her at this information. “A shame. I’ll be sad to see you go. Wouldn’t mind doing this again.”
He pulls her up to him, in close for a kiss, and murmurs dramatically, “That’s what the shower’s for, darling Tav,” to her delighted giggle.
Tav sends Astarion a text to let him know she won’t be returning to their room tonight (receiving a string of alternating smirking face and water drop emojis in response), and then Raphael makes her come a third time in the aforementioned shower, her back against his chest as he presses her into the wall, two fingers deep within her once more.
He gives her some privacy to freshen up after they finish toweling off, offering a spare hotel toothbrush and mouthwash to chase the burn of the cherry-tinged liquor from her throat before striding out of the bathroom with a spring in his step.
She brushes her teeth thoroughly, then opens the vanity’s three drawers in search of the other item. The third drawer offers a small, clear bottle of a pale bluish liquid, which she uncorks – but then stops. It smells bitter, with a touch of almond, and it is half-empty.
Eyes widening and heart pounding, she puts it back where she found it. That’s not mouthwash –
– And then she sees that the bottle of Listerine he’d offered is on the counter, right in front of her face. Stupid. Totally unnecessary to have gone through his drawers.
Totally unnecessary to have seen what she thinks – is this crazy? – might be poison. She thinks back to what Astarion jokingly said earlier about her mystery man’s likely propensity for devastatingly sexy murder, and laughs disbelievingly to herself. Surely that’s not – it can’t be. But she’s certainly not going to taste-test the bottle.
The cogs in her mind whir at a breakneck pace. She doesn’t think she’s in any danger. She is unimportant here; her death would net Raphael nothing. Would net anyone nothing. And, if she’d been poisoned – she thinks it’s likely that she’d be dead already, and the liquid in the bottle is half gone.
Not to mention: if his own words are to be believed, he likes her.
Tav rinses her mouth with the correct bottle’s contents. The harsh, minty, alcoholic burn wipes the faint cherry essence from her tongue. She finds herself missing it.
She is quiet as she returns to the bedroom, where Raphael lounges like a Renaissance painting as he waits for her, naked and clean. He meets her gaze, his eyes narrow, and she knows he knows what she saw; she knows she’s right about her hypothesis; but what will come of it?
But she has wandered the lion’s den this long and survived. Perhaps it’s the few days of utter indulgence clouding her mind with a misplaced sense of invincibility; but she dares to climb back onto the bed, dares to tuck herself into his side, under his outstretched arm. Dares to let him pull her close and press a kiss to her forehead, dares to listen and believe him when he says firmly and meaningfully you are safe with me, Tav.
Dares to fall asleep next to him, his arm slung over her naked torso, his soft, hot breath on the back of her neck. Ninety-nine percent sure that she’ll wake to see another day.
–
Tav wakes.
She wakes, and when she does, Raphael’s side of the bed is empty; but she hears the shower running. Can see steam leaking from the cracked bathroom door. He’s humming a low tune to himself, and Tav lets it soothe her back into a light doze until she opens one eye to find him standing at her side.
He bends to kiss her cheek, trailing his fingertips beneath the sheet, down Tav’s naked hip. “I’m afraid I had to change to an early flight out, my dear.”
Through bleary eyes, she sees him as he looked the day before: clean, put-together, in a golf shirt that hugs his biceps and a spotless pair of khaki slacks, hair slicked back effortlessly. He looks vain, proud, and gloriously expensive.
“You're leaving?” She can't hide the disappointment in her sleepy voice. Hopes she doesn't sound like a petulant child.
“I am.”
“I won't see you again, will I?”
He smiles, and Tav thinks that perhaps she’s not imagining the regret in his eyes. “Highly unlikely. But – go back to sleep. Checkout time isn't until noon, so you’re welcome to make use of the room.”
She bites her lip. “You sure there's no chance of breakfast?”
“No, love.” He shakes his head. “I really must go. But –”
He puts down his shoulder bag and kneels, bringing him eye to eye with the woman in his bed, and she props herself up on her elbow.
“-- I truly enjoyed last night. You were…exquisite, my dear Tav. Splendid, luxurious, magnificent.”
She pulls him in for a lingering kiss. He smells like musky cinnamon. Tastes like mint toothpaste when she greedily pushes her tongue into his mouth. Strong hands come up to cup her cheeks as he returns the kiss with fervor.
It’s fleeting. She says his name one more time against his lips when they at last break apart, and is surprised that the responding intensity of his gaze doesn’t set her aflame.
It’s not until after he leaves that she finds his signet pinky ring on the bedside table, engraved with only an outrageously embellished letter R. With a wry smile, she pockets it – it’s been less than twelve hours of knowing this man intimately and she’s never been more certain of anything: he does absolutely nothing by accident. Why he left it for her on purpose, though; she has no idea. He certainly didn’t leave the suspicious little bottle in the bathroom. That’s gone – Tav checks.
Despite Raphael’s invitation, she doesn't linger in his room. Astarion is asleep when she returns to her own suite; and, after a quick shower, she dons her coziest pajamas and joins him in bed.
“Welcome back, my darling.” Her friend curls his long, lithe body around hers, pulling her against his chest. “Good night? You're back early.”
“Very good, yeah. He had to catch an early flight out.”
Astarion clicks his tongue and kisses the top of her head fondly. “Shame. Would've been nice to be invited to breakfast and watch him eye that purpling bruise he left on your neck.” He chuckles.
Tav nods, and is silent for a long moment. And then –
“I think someone’s going to die.”
There’s a beat before he scoffs. “Ugh. You said you’d text me!”
–
When the announcement comes around lunchtime, Tav bites her tongue and widens her eyes with the rest of the resort’s population. A slow-acting poison – likely cyanide, but the test results are unavailable at this point – led to the death of another guest: the CFO of a global corporation, whose direct report, say the press releases, is set to immediately take over the now-vacant position.
Everyone’s brought in for questioning by the police one-by-one, but there’s one guest who can't be found. A few reports saw him leaving the pool area with Tav the day before, and with this she confirms his whereabouts for both the expected time of poisoning and time of death – all during the time she spent in his room. Congratulations are in order, says Astarion incredulously (and not without some reverence), as Tav was the perfect alibi.
(But was that all it had been? She pushes the thought aside.)
No culprit is found before she and Astarion leave a few days later, and to Tav, this is not a surprise. Raphael disappears from conversation like a ship into the fog. It’s almost bizarre, the way the police hardly even bother with him; acting as if he’s a completely dead end. And – even if they were to pursue him – where would he be? Tav can't find any trace of him on the internet; (he’s not even on LinkedIn, her last shot in a fit of desperation). The other guests were barely aware of him. There’s no record of his hotel stay, as if it’s been erased, so she doesn’t even know his last name.
It’s like he was never there at all.
The bruise on her neck fades after a few days back home. His signet ring is placed in her jewelry box, on her polished vanity, and there it remains.
Tav doesn’t know why she didn’t say anything to the police about the little bottle in his bathroom. Maybe it’s instinct; maybe it’s something more; but, despite their last exchange before he left – she somehow doesn’t think it’s impossible he’ll come knocking again at her door one day.