Olaf appeared from nowhere to remove their dishes, refill their water, and offer coffee or after-dinner drinks. Only moments after they both refused and their server faded into the gorgeous woodwork once more, her jaw cracked in a huge, unexpected yawn.
Marcus snorted.
“Good thing we’re almost done for the evening.” He pointed a scolding finger at her. “Don’t stay up too late on the computer, either. After cleaning all day, you need your rest.”
She shook her head at him, exasperated and amused.
So he did remember their Twitter DMs, where she’d briefly described her plans for the weekend. Because of course he did.
His gaze held a new warmth, a fondness she wouldn’t have anticipated. Not after one evening together, not given how carefully he guarded himself. At least until just a few minutes ago.
If he asked her on a second date again, after that conversation—
Well, he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d asked for the check.
When it arrived, he wouldn’t let her see the total, much less pay her half.
“I can get the tip, at least,” she protested.
Brows high in a silent rejoinder, he pinned her with a look that said everything.
I’m starring in the most popular television show in the world. I have a multimillion-dollar home in LA. According to fashion magazines, I pay four hundred dollars per haircut and use seven different styling products every day, each of which costs more than you make per hour.
Okay, so maybe she’d filled in a few of the specifics herself, but still. Those were some damn expressive eyebrows. No wonder the man could afford that home nestled in the Hollywood hills.
Out loud, he said only, “I believe I can afford dinner.”
She didn’t argue further. Her exhaustion was dragging at her shoulders now, turning her legs into aching pillars, and she couldn’t help a sense of . . .
Deflation, maybe.
This was over. Whatever had happened between them tonight, it was done as soon as he handled the credit card receipt and stood to go.
But after he signed his name and closed the little leather book, he didn’t stand. Instead, he took a sip of water, those cloudy blue eyes—if she was judging the angle of his gaze correctly—resting on her hair. Her cheeks. Her bare arms.
Then he met her own gaze. His chest expanded in a huge inhalation, and he reached across the table. Laid his fingertips lightly on the back of her wrist and spoke as she tried not to shiver at his touch.
“If you don’t want a second date with me, that’s absolutely fine, and I promise not to bother you again. We can take a few selfies before leaving, post them tonight or tomorrow, and go our separate ways.” That knife-sharp jaw was working again, but he managed to sound calm. Sure. “That said, I want to make certain you understand something before we leave.”
With her free hand, she fumbled for her water glass. Sipped away the dryness in her throat before responding.
“Okay.” Whether he knew it or not, his fingertips were moving on her flesh. Just a millimeter back and forth, in the subtlest caress she’d ever known, and it burned. “What should I understand?”
“Your fanfiction, whatever you’ve written—” His fingers stilled. “It may make things a bit awkward, a bit more complicated, but it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t stop me from hoping to see you again. If that was your main reason for turning me down, I wanted you to know.”
If that was your main reason.
He knew she’d been fibbing to save his feelings, and no wonder. She wasn’t much of a liar. Never had been. And unlike him, she had no natural talent for acting.
As he straightened in his chair, his fingertips slid away from her wrist, and she almost snatched them back.
“If you had other reasons, though, that’s fine too.” His voice became oddly formal then. Solemn, as if their dinner together held more meaning for him than she’d realized. “And if this is the last time we meet, please know it was an honor to spend the evening with you, April Whittier. AKA Unapologetic Lavinia Stan.”
She’d given him a final chance, and he’d taken it.
Now she had hers.
She wasn’t hesitating another moment.
“Let’s do a second date,” she told him. “Are you free the day after tomorrow?”
That smile. Fuck, that smile.
It banished the shadows in the dim restaurant. Lit his eyes. Turned her buoyant and giddy, light as helium, as his hand reached for hers again and tethered her safely to the earth.
“Yes,” he said, his fingers interlacing with her own. “Yes. For you, I’m free.”
Rating: Explicit
Fandoms: Gods of the Gates – E. Wade, Gods of the Gates (TV)
Relationships: Aeneas/Lavinia, Lavinia & Turnus, Aeneas & Venus, Aeneas & Jupiter
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern, Sex Work, Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk, Porn with Feelings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, The Author Regrets Nothing, Except Maybe All Her Previous Life Choices That Led to This Fic, Hard to Say Really, But Seriously Prepare for the Smutathon
Stats: Words: 12815 Chapters: 4/4 Comments: 102 Kudos: 227 Bookmarks: 34
Pretty Man
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan
Summary:
When Aeneas arrives in Latium upon the orders of his mother and grandfather, he finds himself disoriented, guilt-stricken, and without enough resources to survive. Unless, of course, he uses the one resource he values least: his astounding handsomeness.
Luckily, his first sex work client is Lavinia. He won’t need another.
Notes:
This is not at all accurate when it comes to sex work, I’m certain, as I wanted to keep things fluffy. But I did intend to explore how two people defined by their appearances in totally opposite ways could find comfort and love and a sense of self-worth through the medium of sex.
* * *
Aeneas sees the woman before she spots him. And she is definitely looking for him, or someone like him; there’s no doubt about that. No woman comes to this street at this time of night for anything other than what he can offer: sex. For a price.
He hasn’t decided on that price yet. This first night, he intends to play it by ear.
Once he sees her face under a streetlight, pale and crooked and homely, he knows: she’ll pay plenty. This one act should make him enough for a night at a hotel, at least. And in return for shelter, he’ll give her the best fuck of her life.
“No need to keep looking, sweetheart,” he calls out from the shadows. “Here I am.”
Only, once she sees him too, she laughs and keeps walking.
“Too pretty for me,” she calls over her shoulder, and he finds himself somehow startlingly indignant.
“Excuse me,” he huffs.
“Consider yourself excused,” she says, not looking back, and without quite understanding why, he discovers he wants to change her mind.
8
THAT NIGHT, AFTER SHE’D SHOWERED AND CHANGED INTO her pajamas, April opened her laptop and went online. Most likely, she’d received several new DMs from BAWN, but she wasn’t ready to face those quite yet, much less the Twitter reaction to whatever dinner pics had been posted already.