Archive of Our Own

Courtesan

When Sakura had graduated college, she'd taken a desk job for a couple of years.

Something about the work had left her extremely unsatisfied. She was unfulfilled. Every day felt like she was going through the motions and that she wasn't really occupying her body.

As the feeling ate away at her, she began researching the concept of going back to school. It felt right.

At 25, she'd opted to enroll in graduate school and as a result she'd been accepted to a prestigious, four year program. She'd quit her desk job on the spot after she had received her admission letter.

Her graduate student stipend however, had been too low to support her lifestyle and pay her bills. She couldn't work full-time while being a full-time student.

She had just escaped the 9 to 5 grind and was frustrated that she hadn't thought everything through.

She'd struggled the first couple of months. She had moments where she'd regretted her decision to pursue an advanced degree.

Then, one of her friends from undergrad had told her about the high-end escort industry.

Sakura had not blanched at the idea. Ino had sold it to her unbelievably well.

It might have explained why her friend excelled at the job to begin with. Getting into people's heads and overtaking them with woven dreams and ideas came naturally to Ino.

It had ended up being perfect for Sakura. The work helped pay her bills easily. She typically had time to take three to four clients a month, usually on the weekends but occasionally during the week.

It did not get in the way of her advanced studies and it did not require too much effort on her part.

The job came with a substantial amount of required discretion.

She wouldn't be outed as a 'prostitute' if she was seen with a client, out to dinner. It just looked like a man and a woman, out on a date.

At her level of the sex worker industry, things were different.

She was paid a significantly large sum for her skills and expertise as a well bred, educated woman.

One who had sex alongside her intellectual and social savvy companionship.

Granted, there had been a couple times in the beginning where she'd felt pretty awkward.

She'd gotten over it quickly after she'd received her first paycheck.

Sasuke was one of her regular clients. He booked her once a month through the escort service agency that she was employed by.

Once in a while she would see him twice a month.

Out of all of her clients, she found him the most interesting. It helped that he was young, successful and handsome rather than middle-aged, married and balding.

Those older clients sucked. Some of them smelled bad too.

Sasuke didn't say much; but what he didn't say verbally, she could usually discern from his facial expressions or his behavior.

He'd been her client for the past two years, so she felt like she knew him pretty well at this point.

She knew how long it took him to come from a blowjob. She knew what positions he preferred depending on what mood he was in and she knew how to read his different moods intimately.

She knew about his job and his family. She knew what he liked to eat and what he didn't. She knew he had a bizarre OCD about fingernails (his own and other people's) and that he slept on his back and rarely on his front.

She figured that this was probably why he only booked her, as opposed to anyone else.

She'd been told he'd booked a girl or two before her and they'd both come back to the agency crying.

"He was so mean! Verbally abusive!"

She'd never had that experience with him, so she wondered what that was about.

The first time he'd booked her had been a couple months after she'd first started at the agency.

She thinks he's older than her from the high position he holds at his firm, but she is surprised to find out that he's several months younger than her instead. She had just turned 27 this year.

His birthday was coming up soon.

Once in a while he took her out to dinner or drinks first. Other times he wanted her at his penthouse from the jump.

Sometimes she accompanied him to business events or fundraisers. He would simply introduce her as Sakura, nothing more.

Once, he'd paid to fly her to his hotel during a business trip. That had been wild. She'd needed to dig out her passport for that one.

Her boss hadn't liked that. Kakashi preferred to keep her local, but Sasuke had offered to pay triple, so Kakashi had felt less inclined to refuse.

Sasuke had sat her in first class, which had been absurd. She'd never flown in the front of the aircraft before.

People had eyed her curiously as she sat down on the plane in her designer garb and her oversized designer sunglasses and her large leather couture handbag. Her long, glossy pink hair had just been blown out at the salon, and she'd looked intriguing, she was sure.

Yet, she wasn't anyone important. She was a high-end hooker being flown to Paris at the whim of her number one client, but the other passengers didn't know that.

She didn't like being labeled as a hooker though. She avoided it if she could.

She was a premium, high-end companion.

Sakura blushes frequently at the memory of those couple days in France. She'd seen and done it all, but that trip had been something else.

There was a nagging feeling that something had been wrong with Sasuke that weekend, but she wasn't getting paid to ask him any questions he didn't want asked.

So instead, she'd gone along for the ride as they'd fucked ten million ways and drank champagne out of fancy crystal glasses and she'd let him snort blow off the small of her back while on her hands and knees, naked.

It had been outrageous.

"Are we in Paris or Las Vegas?" she'd joked breathlessly.

He'd growled at her and mauled her neck from behind as they stood on the balcony of his boutique hotel suite.

Her hands had gripped the metal railing as she'd looked out at the city while he sucked on her pulse point.

Afterwards, he'd taken her to get coffee and a croissant on the patio of a chic Parisian cafe.

She remembered being amused by the rapidly shifting activities, but then again he'd been snorting cocaine nonstop since before she'd arrived. She had a hunch that may have been a large factor in his inability to sit still and focus on one thing.

She'd done a couple key bumps for fun, but nowhere near as much as him.

He'd been the rowdiest she'd ever seen him, but he'd somehow remained a mostly respectful gentleman throughout.

It was the most exciting trip she'd ever been on.

The payout was good too. Obviously.

He liked to dominate her.

He had her hands tied up above her head with his necktie today and was kissing and biting his way down her body.

She inhaled sharply as he tongued and bit at her breasts.

He glanced up at her briefly, but kept going. Down her stomach, towards her center.

He spread her legs open with his hands. She had just gotten a bikini wax, the agency requiring all the girls to maintain their beauty regimens religiously.

It's not like anyone actually checked, but some other asshole clients tended to bitch about very particular things, so it would get back to the agency one way or another.

He paused at her pussy, then licked once but didn't continue.

She let out a frustrated sound.

Sometimes he teased her and it annoyed her because she couldn't tease back.

"It doesn't turn me on, it just makes me fucking mad," he had shared with her.

He didn't like it and he was paying a premium rate to fuck her and make her do whatever the fuck he wanted so…

He licked at the inside of her thighs, then inserted two fingers into her and curled them inwards.

She gasped. She had her head tossed back on his pillow and her eyes closed, but they snapped open and locked on to him at his entry.

He was looking back at her with lust. His hair was disheveled, his aristocratic features hyper focused on her.

She could see how hard he was through his pants.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked quietly, his fingers curling in and out of her.

She swallowed and shifted her tied hands a little bit to relieve some pressure.

She shook her head, yes.

"I can't hear you," he said.

She frowned.

Jerk!

"Y-yes," she said softly.

"What?" he asked.

His mouth latched onto her clit then. She screamed at the feeling, then answered him again.

"I said, YES!"

He was sucking on her and rubbing at her insides intensely.

She shifted herself against him, wishing she could use her hands to run through his hair.

She brought the roped appendages down and tried anyways. She wasn't tied to anything. It was just her hands, tied to each other.

He grunted at the feel of her fingers running through his locks, then pulled himself away from her.

She whined at the loss.

"You weren't supposed to do that," he said.

She glared at him.

He pulled at her ankles abruptly and flipped her over.

He gripped at her hips to lift her onto her knees, but her cheek stayed pressed against the mattress. Her hands were useless and in a loose position, tied over her head, so she couldn't support her upper body.

Her back was sloped and smooth and she could feel herself breathing hard.

He was kicking off his pants behind her, then he was on his knees and pushing into her with force.

She let out a sound of discomfort at the initial entry, but it quickly morphed into a moan as he gripped the flesh of her ass with both hands and pounded into her.

She could kind of see him over her form from the way her head and face were angled.

He looked like he was enjoying himself, like he had nothing to care about in the world except for what they were doing right now.

Sakura groaned as he lifted his leg and put his foot down near her face. He was fucking her in a lunge now and he was impossibly deep.

She cried out at the feeling of it. It felt good.

She heard him laugh breathlessly, "Yeah, I know you like that shit."

She squeezed herself around him then.

"Shut up!" she responded playfully.

He smacked at her ass as retaliation. She felt it sting but didn't care.

She came after a couple more of his forceful thrusts. Loudly. She was wailing. He was hitting that spot inside of her and she couldn't hold back.

He groaned and quickly followed, spilling into her.

Her services included sex without a condom, though the agency required alternative birth control and ample STD testing from both parties.

She was trying to catch her breath.

He stayed inside of her for a minute then moved his leg, straightened up and pulled out.

He let go of her hips and she fell to her side.

She looked at him kneeling near her feet, her chest rising up and down quickly.

He looked satisfied.

"Can you untie me now, please? My hands hurt."

He fell forward onto the mattress and yanked her body towards his chest, then tugged at his necktie around her hands.

He liked to hold her sometimes after he screwed her. He didn't book her in the middle of the day too often. It was usually an overnight reservation, so she'd end up asleep next to him one way or another.

Her hands now released, she rubbed at her wrists then pressed her naked skin into his side, throwing a leg and an arm over his body and resting her head on his chest.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

As far as clients went, he was a pretty good lover.

She'd dealt with a fair amount of clients who were bland and boring in the bedroom. They'd be done after a couple pumps and they'd think they had accomplished a truly amazing feat.

Ironically, those were the men who would complain that they'd lost sexual interest in their wives and that's why they'd booked an escort.

Maybe your wife lost sexual interest in you if that was your performance, asshole, she'd think.

Sakura wasn't allowed to judge openly, but she didn't favor her adultering clients. At all.

She might have favored Sasuke a little bit though.

Sometimes she felt like she was getting paid to hang out with him and it didn't feel like work because she didn't mind spending the time with him.

She'd probably do so if money wasn't involved anyways.

But she doesn't think she'd have met him in any other way outside of this, for that to have happened serendipitously.

Their lives were very different.

The following month he'd been kind of spazzy. He'd booked her to accompany him for an important work event that evening and he was very clearly stressed out about multiple things.

"What percentage of your fee do you get again?" he asked.

He was in his bedroom bathroom, shaving without a shirt on. He'd already put on the pants and shoes for his tuxedo, though his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped.

She'd eyed him with uncertainty at that choice from across the room. What if he fucked up his trousers with shaving cream? Wasn't he supposed to put the shirt on first anyways?

"After the 10% booking fee, it's a 50/50 split," she informs him.

She's sitting at the small round table in his large bedroom, a circular spotlight mirror she'd brought with her propped up so that she could paint her face. She looks at the view out the floor to ceiling windows of his penthouse briefly, then looks back at herself.

"So you got $13k for the weekend last month?" he asks.

She digs her hands through her make-up bag, pulling things out before responding.

"Yes."

Recently, he'd been randomly fixated on the possibility that her booking agency was shorting her.

They weren't, but the concern was noble... she supposed.

He came out, approaching her while drying his face with a hand towel. He stood over her, looking down at her hands as she rubbed moisturizer into her cheeks. He was scrutinizing her manicure.

"You're missing a nail."

Shit.

"Shoot, sorry."

Sasuke is glaring at her.

"We're going to be around some overly analytical people. Make sure you're put together," he scolds.

He is a little irritated at her, she notes.

"I have some nail glue. I'll just glue it back on real quick," she replies offhandedly.

Her focus is on prepping her face, so she's not paying him too much attention.

"Well what if one of them falls off while you're shaking hands with somebody important?" he berates.

She shrugs, but this makes him more agitated. He goes on with his nonsensical tirade.

"What the fuck! Why are you wearing fucking fake nails tonight? You couldn't wear fake nails last time, when we had nowhere to go?" he continues.

She pauses her ministrations and looks up at him. Was he seriously throwing a tantrum over this right now?

"I didn't have time to get a manicure," she complains.

He gives her a mean look, he's dropped the hand towel he was using to dry his face to the unoccupied chair across from her.

"What am I paying you thousands of fucking dollars for, if you're going to show up like this?"

He was being ridiculous.

Yet, he was the client and the client was always right. Unless the client was causing her physical harm or distress. Then the client was going to meet her foot, in his ass.

"What are you actually stressed out about?" she asks cautiously.

She gets up to get her nail glue and set of nails out of her suitcase so that she can fix the fuck up. She'd pulled the suitcase out of his walk-in closet earlier and had it sitting open on the floor near the door of it.

He looks at the back of her head angrily as she looks for what she needs, then groans.

"I don't like this partner I need to close this deal with tonight," he says.

He's still hovering over her make-shift cosmetics set-up, his arms crossed in annoyance.

"Why?" she asks, approaching the table once more.

The band of her robe has come undone and her lingerie is exposed. His eyes drop to her body and linger for a moment on the lace before he responds.

"I'm pretty sure he's a fucking pedophile," he states.

She makes a face of disgust.

"Ew," she says, sitting in her seat again.

He stares her down as she glues the back of her real nail and the back of the fake nail. She holds the nail to her finger for 20 seconds.

"There. Good as new," she waves her fingers at him.

He reaches across the table and grabs her hand, then walks a little closer to her chair.

He pulls at each of her other nails and wiggles them around.

"Ouch!" she cries.

What the fuck was he doing?

"This one's loose," he comments, pinching her ring finger.

She rolls her eyes at him. Normally, she wouldn't be so loose tongued and reactionary with a client, but he'd asked her in the past to be casual around him.

"What the fuck are you doing? Are you reading from a script? Just act normal," he'd complained.

It had been the second or third time he'd booked her and he had gotten pissed off at her.

She'd needed clarification though. People had vastly different definitions of normal in the world.

"Be yourself," he had said.

She reglued the second nail he'd been wary about, as he continued to hover. He was annoying when he was anxious. It was maybe one of his biggest faults for her.

"Don't give the partner any more information than is needed," he instructs.

She nods. She's putting on her foundation now.

"Don't tell him you're in grad school. Literally, bare minimum. I don't trust him," he continues.

He walks off to his dresser and pulls open a drawer to select a watch, then turns back to her.

"If he asks how you know me, tell him you met me at a charity event," he finishes.

His colleagues usually didn't ask her that when she was with him.

The kind of people he worked with and the benefactors who attended these kinds of events were all absurdly wealthy, upscale and a bit out of touch with reality. Their hobbies and interests were on another level. She could barely wrap her head around it.

Most of them were adulterers and if they weren't, they were most certainly familiar with the concept of high-class companionship. People didn't ask questions they didn't need an answer to.

Though they did shmooze with her about other random and nuanced things at his work events. She was generally prepared, knowledgeable and well spoken, no matter how obscure the topic. She had to be. It was part of the territory for the job.

Sasuke liked this.

"I don't have to say as much when you're there," he'd grumbled.

She also reported back interesting information to him if applicable. People's tongues got loose at these events, and they got looser when senior leadership was not in earshot.

He liked this too.

He hated the events she knew, but he was essentially an executive at his firm and had to be in attendance for most, if not all of them.

"Okay. I won't say anything to him," she says.

He nods at her and then heads to his large closet to finish getting dressed.

"Shit, did I put this on in the wrong order again?" she hears his exasperated voice carry over to her.

She hides her giggle behind her hand.

They are at the event and she can tell that Sasuke is in a displeased mood.

She'd opted to wear an expensive, floor length, dark navy dress. She had donned flashy diamond jewelry around her neck and on her ears. Her pink hair is up in a bun, held together by a gaudy diamond clip. Tendrils of it fall to her neck.

She is standing next to him at a cocktail table, sipping daintily at some champagne that's been poured in a coupe glass.

He shakes hands with the partner he'd been bitching about earlier, Orochimaru.

She catalogs that he one thousand percent looks like a pedophile.

She notices Sasuke eyeing the man's hands with distaste. His fingernails are kind of yellow and she knows Sasuke probably does not like this.

Orochimaru looks to her and asks her a question about the volatility of the stock market this week.

She smiles prettily and provides her opinion. It is an accurate and concise assessment. He eyes her appraisingly from across the small standing table.

She needed to keep up with politics, finance and a slew of random facts. The agency required it due to the nature of the company that was kept. Clients were paying premium for premium service, it wasn't just sex they were booking.

They wanted the whole package, the girlfriend experience or 'the GFE' as they abbreviated it at work. The only thing the clients didn't want, was the commitment.

Sakura's clothes were all designer, down to her lingerie. Her job required her to rub shoulders with the elite, and in order to accompany her high paying clients, she needed to fit in and look the part.

She bought most of it with earnings from her rate.

Some pieces she'd buy per a client's request.

Sasuke didn't care too much about specifics, but he did have a favorite color. He didn't ask her to wear it, but she purposefully slipped it in here and there for fun, to indulge him. She wore whatever she felt like around him, though it was of course always high-end or couture.

He was generally in a fitted suit for work or a tuxedo for galas or events and it wouldn't make sense for her to be prancing around in jeans. When she showed up to his house she'd dress a little more relaxed, but it was never sloppy.

She had some other fussy clients that would demand she wear a certain cut or hemline or certain stocking or certain heels or certain panties.

It drove her insane. Who fucking cared if her premium designer dress had a sweetheart neckline versus a v-neck plunge if the asshole was just going to rip it off of her at the end of the night anyways?

When she went to restaurants or to get drinks with Sasuke, the establishment was almost always five star, so she was always dressed up.

She doesn't recall ever going anywhere casual with him.

She scoffs at the idea of Sasuke eating a greasy hamburger. When was the last time she even ate a hamburger?

Her clients were always ordering her lobster and fucking oysters. The worst was the dreaded, "She'll have a salad."

She didn't want a fucking salad.

Sasuke at least, let her order anything she wanted. That was a plus.

She snaps out of her internal musings, worried she's missed something. She needed to stay sharp this evening, especially because this appeared to be a sensitive negotiation for her client.

"Where did you find this one, Sasuke-kun?" Orochimaru asks.

He sounds overly interested. She feels her client bristle at the honorific. It is undoubtedly creepy.

She answers as she'd been instructed to earlier.

"We met at a charity event," she says lightly.

She knows Sasuke is already gearing up to mentally exit this conversation. He was predictable in that regard.

He downs his liquor next to her, the hand hanging at his side feels the fabric of her dress, then drops. The table is tall enough that the man across from them does not see the action.

"How quaint," Orochimaru responds.

He looks to Sasuke and informs him that he'll forward the signed paperwork and documents tomorrow. They had an accord.

Sakura is meeting with her booking agent at the escort service office the next month. The office was everything you'd expect in a boutique business establishment.

It was clean and modern and just a little sexy. Framed pictures of some of the girls lined the walls. Sakura was in a few. She is smiling and buzzed at one of their agency holiday parties.

She's sitting in a chair across from her agent, distracted.

"He wants you for four days this time Haruno."

Sakura is immersed in the calendar on her phone, she had a presentation coming up and a research assignment that she needed to tackle for her graduate seminar course.

"Huh? Who?" she looks up at Kakashi.

He shifts behind his desk, shuffling papers and adjusting his black silk face mask.

"What do you mean who? Who do you think?" he questions.

She grips her phone and squints at him.

"Sasuke?" she questions.

He nods.

Her eye swivels back to her calendar nervously.

"When?" she asks.

Kakashi looks down at a paper in front of him and taps a couple things on a tablet that's resting on his desk.

"End of the week," he supplies.

Fuck.

She scans the walls of his small office, the wallpaper a dark black with white embellishment. It had a noir feel.

"Are there details on the booking?"

He shakes his head.

"It just says to call him on this one."

Kakashi looks at her skeptically and continues.

"Make sure he's not trying to take you to Paris again or wherever the hell else his loaded ass goes at random. If there is travel, we need to know about it. For your safety and per our liability clause."

"Yeah, yeah," she murmurs.

She wouldn't mind going to Paris again.

"Give me the booking sheet," she demands.

Kakashi closes a folder in front of him and files it away into a drawer.

"I just forwarded it to you," he states.

Sakura refreshes her inbox and taps it open.

She skims the reservation and then zeroes in on the booking details field.

Call and then his number is listed.

After she leaves Kakashi's office, she heads to one of the open lounges at the office and drops herself into a plush velvet sofa.

She waves distractedly at Tenten, who looks like she's headed towards Kakashi's office next.

She dials Sasuke's number into her device and calls. She doesn't have it saved, but she doesn't need to look at the booking sheet for it either. She has it memorized.

She is a little nervous because his appointment conflicts with the timeline she had set for herself to write out her research paper.

"Hello?" he answers.

Her number shows as 'Restricted' when she calls clients.

"Hi!" she says.

"Sakura."

"I got your booking sheet. What's up?" she asks, casually.

Since he liked when she was herself with him, she didn't talk this way to her other clients. She blanches at the thought of saying 'what's up' to a first time client.

That wouldn't fly.

"I have an event this weekend," he states.

"Okay, what day?"

He'd booked her for four days so it wasn't exactly clear.

"Saturday."

"Formal wear?" she questions.

She wished he would just fill out the booking details, but she suspected that he was uncomfortable with Kakashi or her other handlers reading his business.

If he wasn't a repeat client, the way he filled out the booking request would not be acceptable.

"Black tie."

"Okay…" she says. Her mind is on her research project.

"...What is it?" he asks suspiciously.

She can hear typing in the background. He is at work.

She scrunches her eyebrows.

How did he know there was an it?

He wasn't even in the same room as her! Was she that obvious over the phone?

"What about the other days?" she asks, trying to keep her tone within a normal range of curiosity.

"Nothing in particular, why?" he still sounds skeptical.

So outside of his work event, he just wanted to go to dinner and have sex for three days. She rolls her eyes.

Sometimes she didn't understand why he didn't just have a girlfriend or a wife, but her clients were an interesting breed and it wasn't her job to figure out their motives or state of mind.

She had thought about it a little in regards to him however. He was a solitary individual. From knowing him the past two years, she had assessed that he likely didn't want someone around all of the time.

She didn't really think he had it in him to devote much time to a relationship. He was married to his work.

It's not like she was on the market either. She had no time to date at this point in her life. Her academic research took precedence to most other things.

She hears more typing on his end, and answers him.

"I have a research assignment due for my seminar and—"

"You can work on it, I don't care," he says, cutting her off.

She lets out a sigh of relief.

"Okay cool, thanks!"

"Be here at 7:00 p.m. on Friday night," he requests.

"Sure."

On Friday, she arrives at his penthouse and they order takeout then fuck in his kitchen. The view from his place is insane, the perimeter of the kitchen is floor to ceiling windows.

The sun is setting and the room is bathed in a funky, purple-pink light as he nails her from behind, her unclothed front pressed up against the glass, her palms flat on the window near her head.

The glass is cold against her tits and she shudders a little at the sensation.

"Be careful! What if the glass breaks?" she exclaims.

She looks down worriedly. She can barely see the street from this high up.

It was a long way down.

He groans behind her, pinching at her thigh briefly with one hand, before raising it back to grip her hip.

She yelps at the action.

"It's not going to break," he huffs in her ear.

But he was pressing her against it so forcefully as he pushed in and out of her!

She reaches a manicured hand back to run through his hair. He drops his head to her shoulder and licks up the side of her neck.

She's still nervous and he can tell, so he snakes his other hand in front of her, around her waist, pulling her a little backwards from the glass of the window.

She relaxes against him and rests her unoccupied arm over the one he's just planted on her.

He picks up speed now that she's more relaxed and he's got a better grip on her.

Her eyes take in the sunset in front of her, his chin is resting on her shoulder and she thinks he's looking at it too as he fucks her, standing up.

She turns her head to kiss him. He's kissing her back slowly, searching her mouth with his tongue and then she's tensing up and coming in his arms.

He groans again, into her mouth. He grips her hip and her waist tighter and then comes too as she nears the end of her orgasm.

She wants to fall back into him, so she does. It's hard to continue standing.

Both his arms are wrapped around her now, so she drops both of hers over his too.

They stand for a while longer as the sky turns a dark, indigo blue and then the kitchen is overly dim and the sky is black.

He pulls out of her, turns her around to give her a quick kiss, then sends her away so she can get cleaned up or shower.

"I'm gonna use the other bathroom," he says.

Sometimes she showered with him, but he wanted some space now and she was cool with that.

He was the client and she'd do whatever he wanted.

He was paying.

Around 9:00 p.m. she yawns, then decides she wants to read for a bit and highlight some passages.

He's in lounge pants playing his Xbox while seated on his leather couch. He is shirtless, post shower. His lengthier and mussed dark hair is curling at the ends as it air dries.

He gives her a cursory glance as she pulls a fat tome out of her bag. The tote had been resting against her chair, on the floor.

She'd brought a couple bags with her for the weekend. A standard suitcase packed with her lingerie, designer outfits, relaxed clothes, a couple handbags and several shoes and her cosmetics.

Her school tote with the materials for her coursework, research and her laptop. And she had a garment bag with two dresses. One for the gala, plus a backup.

Just in case.

She'd learned to always have the backup dress after a particularly fucked up situation with a client who had never booked her again. That scumbag had told Kakashi that she was lackadaisical and a sorry excuse for an escort.

"Send her back to the corner, she fucking sucks!"

Insulting. She'd never worked 'the corner.'

She wasn't that kind of call girl.

She's in an armchair adjacent to him, her socked feet propped on the armchair's corresponding leather ottoman. She's otherwise scantily dressed in a short, lacy, dark red colored negligee.

She knows her calf-length black and white striped socks are a little silly with her risqué sleepwear, but she doesn't think it's a big deal.

Thigh highs and garter belts were annoying to secure to each other and she wasn't in the mood to put those on.

She had a feeling that Sasuke could care less about what she was dressed in right now, but some of her actions during an appointment were routine for her and she stuck to them.

"Need me to turn it down?" he asks, his eyes not leaving the giant TV screen.

"Yes, please," she says.

He pauses his game then reaches for the remote and turns it down for her.

Then he unpauses and is back into being immersed in whatever the hell he's doing.

She smiles softly then opens her book. She tucks a pencil behind her ear and uncaps her highlighter.

She misses him looking at her intently, the screen of the TV blaring GAME OVER in giant red letters.

He's on top of her before bed. His event is not until 8:00 p.m. tomorrow and he's taking advantage of the four days he's booked her for in full.

He'd pushed up the lace of her garment, moved her matching lace underwear to the side and entered her unobtrusively.

She gasps softly and grips his lean arms from underneath him.

He gives her a knowing glance. She's really wet and there hadn't been much foreplay.

He's looking at her face, his dark eyes locked with her green ones. Her long hair is splayed across the pillow beneath her. The pink strands pop against the white of the pillowcase.

She wraps her legs around his waist as he rocks against her and crosses her now bare feet behind his back.

He kisses her firmly and her eyes flutter shut.

She liked kissing him.

He pulls away.

"Do you have a favorite client?" he asks as he moves.

Yes. You.

He already knows she only sees three to four a month. He'd asked that before. He hasn't asked this.

Once in a while two of those slots are booked by him in a single month, though not always. If he double books, she sees one less client.

She doesn't have many other regulars. Once in a while someone would book her a second or third time, months after an appointment.

There is no one else like him though.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she smiles coyly.

He scowls down at her.

"You're not going to answer?" he asks, frustrated.

She shakes her head, no.

His brow furrows and he's a little rough with her after that.

He pulls at her hair to move her into different positions, then shifts his hands to grip harshly at her soft curves.

He fucks her mouth and her pussy with no restraint.

She whimpers throughout, the force of him intense and unyielding.

She's sore in the morning. When she wakes up he's not in bed anymore.

Her eyes rotate around the empty bedroom. She's totally nude underneath the duvet, her negligee and lace panties in a ripped up heap on the floor.

She rolls to her side and glares at the irreparable articles of clothing.

That set had been expensive.

Asshole.

She plants her feet on the ground and goes into his closet to dig through her suitcase for a couple things.

She had scooped up her trashed lingerie on the way and stuffed it into her bag.

She grabs her silk robe from the back of a chair in his room and disappears into the bathroom to freshen up.

She pads out to his kitchen, yawning. Her short robe tied tightly against her lithe form.

She spots him at his metal kitchen table, a hand at his head as he looks angrily at the screen of a sleek laptop.

He is now beating up the keyboard typing something out. She glances at the modern clock on one of the interior stone walls. It's barely 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday and he already looks like he wants to murder something because of work.

"There's coffee," he says curtly.

He glances at her for half a second, then looks down at the screen again.

He's in his lounge pants with no shirt on again. His hair is standing up in every direction, either from sleep or from running his hands through it in aggravation.

She walks past him and peers into his mug, it's empty. So she grabs it and fills it, then gets herself a fresh mug from the cabinet and pours herself some too.

Sakura spots a piece of toast already browned in the toaster. Assuming it's for her, she sticks it between her teeth and picks up the mugs.

She approaches the table once more. His hand is outstretched for his cup, his focus still on his work.

Putting it in his grasp, she pulls the toast out of her mouth, then yawns again.

She sits across from him and sips at her drink while looking out the window and nibbling on her toast.

The city looks ethereal from this high up.

She glances at him.

"What's going on?" she asks.

He gives her an angry look for a moment and drinks his coffee.

"This partner fucking sucks."

Orochimaru, she assumes. She raises an eyebrow, signaling at him to continue.

Her high tier clientele expected this as part of services. The ability to confide in her and be listened to.

It didn't really feel like work with him though, she genuinely wanted to know what the hell had him so riled up.

He was kind of cute when he was flipping out over emails.

She was trying very hard not to smile but she was failing.

Fuck, fuck.

"What the fuck are you snickering about?" he demands.

Her eyes went wide.

"Uh…"

She tries to straighten out her face, but she can feel herself still smirking. She shoves her toast in her mouth to cover it up.

"Didn't you have a paper to write or some shit? Go do that, you're distracting me," he waves his hand dismissively at her as he speaks.

He looked away from her, back to his screen, then picked up his work phone. He suspiciously appeared to be sulking now.

She got up, squeezed at his bare shoulder with her soft hand and exited the kitchen with her mug and the last of her toast.

He eyed her back as she walked away.

Later that evening, she's straightening her evening dress and about to exit a bathroom stall at the event, when she overhears some women stumble into the lavatory loudly.

The nature of their conversation makes her pause, and she steps slightly back from the door and does not open it to come out.

They're clearly less senior at the firm from the way they are speaking and as a result, have less disposable income than Sasuke's closer tiered colleagues.

Sakura can tell their income level from their shoes. She sees their feet from underneath the stall.

That heel is pleather and suspiciously looks like it's from Target, she thinks.

She eyes her own Manolo Blahniks with appreciation before continuing her eavesdropping.

"But she's always with him at these events, Hanabi."

Sakura can hear the sink running as one of them presumably washes their hands.

"Yeah I know, but I'm pretty sure she's a prostitute, Temari."

She hears the clink of what sounds like a glass being set on the marble of the sink's vanity.

"How do you figure?" the woman named Temari asks. Her voice is deeper.

"She's not his girlfriend, Temari. Izumo from accounting told me."

The sound of running water from the sink ceases.

"How does he know?"

One of them takes a seat in a lounge chair. From beneath the stall, Sakura can see a set of legs now crossed and lower to the ground.

"He heard it from Anko in HR," the one with the information, Hanabi, responds.

"Oh my god, stop. How does she know?"

"I don't know!" Hanabi exclaims.

She hears what she thinks is the sound of lipstick uncapping. The girl in the cheap shoes has shifted her feet to stand in front of the bathroom's floor length mirror.

"That's crazy though, she seems so nice and put together?"

"She's like a high-end escort or whatever! She gives the 'girlfriend experience,'" Hanabi continues.

Both of their heels are clacking against the ground now. They're both moving around again.

"What the fuck is that?" Temari questions.

"It's not just paid sex. There's like emotional intimacy and a whole comprehensive experience. Going out on dates and waking up together in the morning and having breakfast. Stuff like that," Hanabi states.

Sakura shifts from foot to foot quietly. She hears the zipper of a bag.

"I've talked to her before though, she said she's in graduate school!"

Sakura wracks her brain, trying to put a face to the voice of Temari. Vaguely, she recalls talking to a dirty blonde haired woman a couple events back. They had been ordering drinks at the open bar next to each other.

"Yeah, high-end escorts aren't the same as two cent hoes. It's a whole other thing," Hanabi adds.

"Wow, that's insane," Temari mutters.

They're walking back towards the door, their voices getting softer as they do.

"Right?"

Sakura comes out after she's sure that they're gone. She looks at herself in the mirror at the sink.

The bathroom is lavish and dim lit. It's half lounge, half restroom, and there are complimentary toiletries and hand towels set near the faucets.

She tilts her head to the side and frowns very slightly at her reflection.

Her make-up is impeccable. Her hair is done well. Her features are unique and her skin is flawless.

She wasn't ashamed of what she did for work. She was educated, professional and attractive. She had her life goals outlined concisely and felt like she was on a trajectory that she was satisfied with.

There was something about overhearing strangers talking about her in that fashion that had her feeling conflicted however.

She straightened out her expression and washed her hands before exiting and returning to Sasuke's side.

She tells Sasuke what she's overheard once they are back at his home.

His face is unreadable as he attempts to pull off his bowtie. He is a little drunk, so he's doing a sloppy job.

"Did you say anything?" he asks.

She approaches him and reaches up to do it for him. He drops his hands and looks down at her while she undoes it.

"No, I was listening from in the stall," she says.

She leaves the tie undone around his collar, then turns her back to him, looking at him expectantly over her shoulder.

He shrugs, unbothered. His eyes focus on her neck and he lifts his hands to undo the zipper on her evening gown.

"I don't care," he says, under his breath.

He seems more alert as he pulls the zipper down her back. She inhales sharply as his fingers press against her now exposed spine. The dress falls to the floor at her ankles and they trample on it as they make their way towards his bed, preoccupied with one another.

The rest of the weekend is uneventful. She keeps him company, makes good progress on her presentation and paper in the downtime, and then she goes home.

Later that month, Sakura is booked by a new client. He requests her company for a gala. His name is Gato and he is not attractive. He's middle-aged and he's got a receding hairline he's trying to hide by styling his thin hair to shoot outwards.

Sakura still treats him like he's a general of the army though. He was paying $2,000 an hour for five hours and she wanted the payout after the agency took its cut.

Sasuke had been there.

Her eyes widen when she meets his gaze from across the room. He was staring and had seen her, before she'd seen him.

She'd been looking around shyly, scanning the surroundings.

This client wanted her subservient and had asked her not to speak unless spoken to.

Okay I guess, she thought.

She was a little worried about sleeping with him, he seemed unstable. She's crossing her fingers that he doesn't want her for sex, but if his lecherous looks at her earlier in the evening were an indication, she doesn't think she'll be that lucky.

She's a little curious that Sasuke has not booked her for this event, but it's not his company's event and she's guessing that he's just here to show face and then leave. She doesn't recognize or notice any of his usual coworkers here. He'd likely been sent as the sole delegate on their behalf.

He breaks his eye contact with her and looks away.

One of his hands is tucked into one of the pockets of his dress pants.

He only did that when he was nervous.

Sasuke ended up on edge in that way when his boss was being a drunkard around him at events and trying to get him to take on more work and more assignments.

His boss is not here right now though.

The client was making her uncomfortable. Her red flags and internal alarms were going haywire. He'd cornered her near the deserted coat check closet. The weather was unseasonably warm tonight and no one had brought outerwear.

"So, you're a fancy slut? Let's test that top shelf merchandise."

Her mouth dropped open.

What. The. Fuck.

If this guy wanted a crack whore he should have gone and picked one up from the nearest sleazy motel!

She was panicking. She tried to act demure.

"Oh, Gato don't be silly," she laughed.

She rubbed her hand up his arm teasingly and tried to sneak around him to guide him to somewhere more populated.

It didn't work.

"Don't tell me what to do, whore. I tell you what to do."

He'd grabbed her aggressively then, slamming her body face forward into the wall and crowding her from behind. The delicate beading on her fitted, turquoise couture dress pressed uncomfortably against her skin at the abrasiveness.

She yelped as she saw stars.

Fuck, fuck what do I do?!

"Stop!" she said, frightened.

She was about to open her mouth to scream, when she felt Gato abruptly pull away from her.

"Who the hell—" he said.

She gasped.

She had turned around in time to catch Sasuke punching him hard and in the middle of his face. She hears a sickening crunch as Gato grabs at his nose, blood flowing from beneath his fist.

Sasuke shakes his hand out, the expression on his face displeased. He'd fucked up one of his nails and his knuckles were raw, she sees him eyeing the nail bed briefly in annoyance.

Gato is disoriented, and he's falling to his knees at the door of the coat room.

Sakura is shocked. She looks at her client on the ground, then up at Sasuke.

He looks her up and down, sweeping his gaze across her body, assessing for damage. There is none.

Then he inclines his head at her, nodding at her to follow him.

She leaves with him, grabbing at his arm. She's still shaken, but she is thankful that he'd been there.

Sasuke escorts her home. He'd ordered a premium ride share and they're sitting next to each other in the back of it.

She isn't supposed to engage her clients outside of a formal booking, but she is confident that this is a grey area that can pass off without repercussion due to the events that had just transpired with Gato.

It is quiet for a while.

"Why is this your job?" he questions.

"It pays well," she says.

She's feeling some of the spots where beads had ripped off her dress with her fingers. She had just bought this dress and she was hoping to wear it more than once. She frowns.

"That's it? That's the only reason?" he asks.

He is sitting close to her, his leg pressed alongside hers. She doesn't mind. He's warm and she is comforted by it right now.

"It's interesting. I get to do things I wouldn't do otherwise," she supplies.

She lists the events and experiences she's had. She includes that Paris trip on her list and notices that his lip turns up half a centimeter at the reminder.

He'd definitely had fun on that one too.

"I get to meet people I wouldn't usually, learn things I wouldn't otherwise know..."

She shrugs, looks out the window for a bit, then looks straight ahead.

He is examining her side profile.

"Has that happened before?" he asks after a pause.

She turns her head towards him, but he has stopped looking at her. His attention is out the window on his side now.

"No," she says quietly. "That was the only time."

She doesn't think he is going to respond. He gives a simple acknowledgment however, his eyes still focused on the passing scenery.

It's dark. She doubts he is really looking at anything.

"Okay."

Sasuke doesn't book her in October and she's a little weirded out by it.

Was he okay?

When she sees him in November he looks gaunt and a little haunted.

She squints at him and doesn't say anything, but she gives him a questioning look. She's asking what's wrong with her eyes, but she doesn't verbalize her inquiry.

She doesn't need to. He understands that she wants to know.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay... " she says, cautiously.

Just because he understands, doesn't mean he's going to cooperate and answer however.

"Take your clothes off," he says suddenly.

He was acting strange and out of character. She had felt like something was off when his booking request had been filled out with some details, rather than a request to call him.

House call. 11:00 p.m. Dress up.

The time to meet on the request was also unorthodoxly late. He usually wanted to have dinner and hang out, but clients who wanted to meet late at night really only wanted to do one thing.

She pauses. She's standing in the middle of his bedroom. The only light that's on is some dim fixture in the bathroom. The bedroom door is shut.

"Did I fucking stutter?" he continues.

She gives him an uncertain look.

"Do your job," he mutters, looking away from her briefly.

Slowly she unzips the back of her dress and lets it fall to the floor. His eyes are zeroed in on her again.

"Turn around," he commands.

She does. She's nervous.

He gets on his knees behind her, rips her underwear off, spreads her as she stands and eats her ass.

Oh my god. What.

She didn't include butt play in her services. It was on the list of things she didn't do and she knew he was aware of that.

She'd caught him studying her call sheet on the website before, in her presence. He had the tab open on the computer in his home office at the penthouse, as she loitered about. He'd asked random things about what was listed on it to sate his curiosity.

"They make you fill this stuff out? Why the fuck do you need to list your dominant hand?"

Believe it or not, some clients had a preference.

She was convinced he just really liked her picture on her page though. He'd said as much.

"I like this picture."

Maybe it was the only reason he kept the tab open. She wasn't sure.

Other girls did full service or offered 'the PSE' or porn star experience, but she wasn't one of them.

She wasn't uncomfortable with what he was doing to her now though. She was turned on.

He'd inserted two of his fingers into her from below and it was loud and squelchy.

She moaned at the feeling of him licking behind her and penetrating her front.

"Touch yourself," he demands.

"O-okay."

She starts circling her clit with her fingers and groans.

She was on fire.

He adds a third finger and picks up force and speed.

She can feel herself trying to clamp her legs shut but he's still holding her open at the ass to eat at her.

"I'm going to—" she starts.

She's trembling.

"I'm going to—"

He pulls his mouth off of her.

"Yeah. Come for me," he says.

She does.

She almost falls over but he braces her at the thighs.

The next month, in December, she's sitting across from him at dinner and he's very distracted.

His chin is on his palm, his elbow on the armrest of his chair, his eyes fixed on the edge of the tablecloth.

His plate is mostly untouched, though he'd drank half the bottle of vintage wine he'd ordered them already. He had let her pick it though. His glass is empty.

He hasn't spoken for over ten minutes.

It's not unusual for him not to speak, but his body language is off.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

She's not faking the concern in her voice and hopes it's not too obvious.

He rubs his fingers against his forehead, gives his head a little shake, then raises his eyes to hers.

"Nothing. Eat your dinner," he nods at her plate.

He'd left marks all over her body after that. She was sore and everything hurt in the morning. He had gripped and pulled and bit at her way too hard in bed last night.

He'd left his house for work already, expecting her to see herself out, she knew.

What the hell is wrong with him, she wondered.

She didn't exactly feel violated. She was more unsettled than anything else.

She was technically supposed to report this kind of behavior to her agency.

If clients overstepped or acted bizarrely it was noted in their ledger so the agency and other girls would know what to expect.

Sasuke didn't book anyone else to her knowledge and she felt a little uncertain about sharing this with her boss. Almost like she would be betraying Sasuke's trust if she did so.

She made a face as she made to get out of his bed.

Why would that matter? she thought to herself.

Oftentimes a client would get blacklisted if they'd done something too untoward. Like that guy at the gala, Gato. Her agency didn't accept his business any longer.

Kakashi and his team vetted clients aggressively. Everything about them was on file. Name, profession, address, income level, occupation, education.

You needed a referral from another client to even become a client at their agency. They didn't take just anybody. Gato had slipped through somehow. Fucking sleeze.

She winced.

Her legs hurt.

She looked down and noted a handprint sized bruise on the inside of her thigh.

She frowned.

He'd never done this to her before.

"I'm sorry," he says.

It's the next month and he's booked her again as usual. She had not seen or spoken to him since she'd stumbled out of his house, her body visibly marked by him from head to toe.

Not speaking between visits was the norm. Her leaving a visit kind of physically damaged and wrought with tension was not.

She didn't report him to her boss.

She had not been able to accept clients for several weeks after that.

No one wanted to undress a prostitute of her caliber and see evidence that she'd been thoroughly used already.

She had lied and told Kakashi that her academic schedule would not permit her to see anyone for the rest of the month.

Sakura had enough in savings to take the hit from the income loss, but it had all around been an unexpected circumstance.

She plays stupid with Sasuke now though. She wants to see how he intends to explain himself.

"For what?" she asks.

She had just arrived to his house for the evening and was sitting on a modern chair near the bar in his house, nursing a whiskey he had poured and handed to her.

"About last time," he says.

He's staring into his own cup, standing near the liquor bottles and leaning against the bar.

"I…"

He doesn't say it.

Instead, he frowns, swishing the liquid in his glass around.

The sleeves of his button up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the top couple buttons undone.

He just shakes his head. Then he looks up at her.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

She assesses his mood from her seat. He's worried and a bit remorseful. Morose even.

Her legs are crossed at the ankle, her feet in an edgy heeled Louboutin boot. She'd opted to wear tight black pants tonight and a revealing low-cut top with quarter length sleeves.

"I'm fine," she says simply.

He nods, then looks away from her, sipping at his drink.

Sasuke doesn't have sex with her that night. He just holds her close while he sleeps.

He doesn't get that rough with her ever again.

"Uchiha's been blacklisted," Tenten informs her.

Her tone is hushed, but her delivery of the news is quick.

"Wh-what?" Sakura asks.

She had been sitting on one of the plush sofas in the lounge at the agency, reviewing one of her pay stubs for any inaccuracies against a previous month's booking calendar.

"He did something fucked up to Ino," Tenten continues.

Sakura is in shock.

One, because he'd booked somebody else other than her, and two, because he was no longer eligible to be a client.

She was trying desperately to convince herself that she was upset because of the impending loss of income, but she was struggling.

She wouldn't be able to see him anymore?

"What—what happened?"

Tenten sits down next to her. She's dressed in some shiny, patent leather leggings and a short, electric blue fur coat. Her hair is styled into her trademark double buns.

"Apparently he booked last weekend and just yelled at her for two hours straight while throwing and breaking literally everything in sight!"

Sakura gasps.

What?

"She's like... traumatized," Tenten adds on.

Sakura goes to see Ino. She's not far. She's sniffling on a couch outside their boss' office.

Ino spots her walking towards her and immediately dives in.

"I don't know how you put up with him Sakura, he was so fucking scary."

She is pressing a well used Kleenex to her wet eyeballs as Sakura takes a seat next to her.

Ino's bare legs are crossed, her large chest heaving in a banded, hot pink mini-dress.

Sakura wants to strangle Ino for reporting him, but she can't. She doesn't blame her, per se.

"Kakashi is scheduling me with the trauma counselor for a follow up. I'm so shook up," Ino wails.

Sakura takes a deep breath.

"What happened?" she asks.

Her eyes are on her own black leather ankle boots for a moment. She'd stopped in after being on campus today, so she's not nearly as eclectically dressed as the other girls.

She looks back to her blonde friend.

"I don't know! I was surprised he booked me to begin with!" Ino moans.

She dabs her eyes some more.

"Everyone knows he's your regular," she continues.

Sakura nods. Her wavy pink hair brushes against her shoulders, contrasting against the colored material of her thin, shift dress.

"He just was quiet for ten minutes and then he did a 180 and flipped a fucking shit!" Ino exclaims.

Sakura frowns.

"About what?" she asks.

Ino shakes her head, looking at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

"He wasn't making any sense. Something about work and hating himself and his life and his feelings and being tired and... I don't know! I stopped listening!"

She throws her hands up and sniffs snot back into her thin nose.

"I was covering myself because he was throwing glass and it was shattering like everywhere! He was fucking crazy!"

Sakura spends a week unsure about what to do.

If she made contact with him it would be a breach of her contract. She'd lose her job if the agency found out and she needed the money.

She was paying off a mortgage and a car payment and a million other things that she simply would not be able to fund on her graduate student stipend alone.

...But she was getting more and more anxious as the week wore on.

She waited until 7:00 p.m. on Thursday, knowing he came back from his office around 5:45.

Then, she showed up at his penthouse.

The doorman let her up without question. She'd been coming here once a month for two and a half years at this point and her hair and her build were hard to forget.

Sasuke had her as an approved guest with the building staff's roster anyways.

His unit had its own elevator and it opened up directly into his penthouse.

He was waiting for her in his entryway as she got out of the elevator, unsurprised to see her from the look on his face.

That didn't stop him from asking her what she was doing there.

"What are you doing?" he questions.

He sounds a little arrogant and he's looking her up and down with avid interest.

She is in casual wear. Something she'd wear to seminar or to meet with her advisor. Fitted designer jeans and flashy sneakers and a tight basic tee.

She doesn't respond.

"Isn't this a breach of your contract?" he continues.

She grips the handle of her purse tightly as she stands across from him, but she still does not say anything.

"If I report you, you'd lose your position wouldn't you?" he questions, arms crossed.

She gives him a suspicious glare.

"I was reviewing the fine print on the client agreement the other day," he says offhandedly.

She's mad now.

"Did you... did you fucking do this on purpose?! To get me fired?!" she asks, voice high-pitched.

He shrugs.

"What the fuck!" she screeches.

She shoves him, though it doesn't do much. He remains standing in place.

She feels her face getting hot from her emotions.

"Fuck you! I'm not swimming in fucking money like you are! I need my job!" she cries.

He looks at her, callously. Then he explodes.

"You're a fucking whore for a living. That's not a job!" he yells.

She slaps him.

His face flies to the side with the action and he does not move, irritated at her behavior, she knows. When he turns it back to look at her, he is more visibly unhappy than before.

"What's wrong with you?!" she huffs.

She is actually crying now. She wants to stamp her foot.

As her tears stream down her face, he looks at her with the same errantly irritated expression he's had since she arrived.

She feels like she hates him a little bit. And she came here worried about him too, so it's making it worse.

"I have feelings for you," he says.

She stops, frozen.

"I think they're mutual and you have them too," he continues.

She's looking at him with her wet face and a pout and a frown and a mix of a bunch of different things.

"I—" he starts.

Her handbag falls out of her hand with a loud clunk as she steps closer to him.

Then she is cutting him off, kissing him forcefully. He is surprised for a moment, but then reciprocates. His hands cradle her damp face and she grips the front of his simple dark t-shirt, anchoring her hands there tightly.

She is involuntarily making a noise from the back of her throat, one of her hands going into his hair and pulling on the strands.

He bites at her lip and pulls away from her, looking at her intensely, out of breath. Her lips are parted.

She's staring back and then she pulls him to the ground and gets on top of him, straddling him.

He looks at her from below, unimpressed.

His hands are resting on her denim clad thighs, while she's ripping off her top.

She runs her hands up and underneath his shirt, yanking it off of him. He lifts himself briefly to allow it, then lays back down.

He is still giving her that look though.

"What?" she asks breathlessly.

He raises an eyebrow at her, his hands sliding up to her bare waist and gripping her there.

"Are you just trying to have sex or are you going to say something?"

Now he looks expectant. She looks to the side, away from him. She is flustered.

Sakura looks back into his eyes. She doesn't say anything for a full minute.

"You're my favorite," she murmurs.

She's finally answering his question from months ago.

"And I… and I like you a lot. More than I should."

One of his hands is sliding up her stomach, up past her chest and to the front of her neck. It rests there for a moment.

"More than I've liked anyone before..." she trails off.

He slides his hand from the front of her neck to the back and pulls her down for another kiss. His tongue is in her mouth and behind her teeth and everywhere in between.

They strip off the rest of their clothes and she rides him right there on the marble floor. It's hurting her knees, but she doesn't care.

Her hands grip his shoulders and she leaves her face close to his, breathing in his air and looking into his eyes. Their noses touch. Her hair has fallen in a curtain around their heads.

His palms don't leave her waist.

He comes before her, his mouth opening and his eyebrows drawing together. She sucks on his lower lip and grinds herself against him, then she finishes too with a loud moan against his lips.

She rests on top of him for a while, unmoving.

He squeezes the skin at her hips, then drops his hands away from her. As she slides off of him and tucks into his side, he covers his eyes with one of his arms.

They're both breathing hard.

As they lie naked on the glossy floor of the entranceway, she feels lighter than normal. It feels like a tension she didn't know was there, has now left her body.

He grabs one of her hands and kisses it. She looks at the action, then at his face. He's shifted the arm over his eyes a little higher. It's over his forehead instead, so that he can look at her.

His voice is gravely when he speaks.

"If you need money I can help you. I just don't want you to work there anymore."

She gives him an inscrutable look. Her eyes focus on her small hand clasped in his large one.

He's holding it over his chest now and she feels a lot of repressed things at once.

She doesn't think she'll take his money, though she knows he'll try and force it on her anyways.

She does think she'll quit tomorrow though. For him.

She gives him a kiss. Then says, "Okay."

FIN.