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Ah, there he is again: the gentleman who occasionally graces this place with his company. With confidence, he steps up to you and you nod and smile as a greeting. No exchange of words is needed. He follows you into your chambers; so you begin by taking his heavy coat, but not before his nimble fingers whisk away the keys draping the lapel. He raises his eyebrows with intrigue, then allows you to take his gloves. Your eyes meet, and he wears nothing on his chiseled face but a disinterested, cold gaze.
You put the items on the satin armchair guarding the corner of the room. He pays well for such simple activities. Before you can say anything, he taps your shoulder and slips you a coin pouch, copiously filled... For your discretion, of course.
“The usual, then?” You ask.
“I would prefer tea, this time.”
Not wine? Intriguing. “Very well, yet I do hope you find black tea palatable.”
He simply nods with a subtle and easily missable smile.
Shortly, you return with the beverages. The room is quiet, the silence between the two of you comfortable as you sit down. He takes a sip, you take a sip... The way it’s always been. After so long, you start to wonder why this man has been paying such hefty sums just to sit in your company and drink wine with you - well, except tonight. Normally, clients pay for something else: carnal pleasure.
You knew not each other's names nor even the sound of his voice very well, as quiet as he was and content with just idling the minutes away like this. Perhaps he is just lonely, or mayhaps he leads a stressful, boisterous life, and these few minutes of silence are all that he ever gets.
“What is your name?” he asks, shattering your train of thought.
The question lingers through your mind like the tea on your tongue, sweet and gentle but with a warmth that burns through you before you answer: “Phryne.”
He dips his head and stares into the cup he holds. “Tell me, Phryne,” he drawls out your nickname. “Do men often linger in your presence the way I do?”
“I can’t say they do, sir.”
“Perhaps…” he trails off and takes another sip, “it is because I have time, and they don’t…” he says, yet it feels like the words aren’t for your ears to hear so you keep quiet. “You are a very patient woman.”
“Thank you, uh—”
“You may call me Thresh; a pleasure, madam.” He stands up and steps before you. With a little bow, he takes your hand and places a soft but cold kiss on your knuckles. “Patience is a virtue, and a trait I so very deeply appreciate in a soul.”
You smile and nod in gratitude. The moment he lets go of your hand, you notice the hitched breath that trembles in his chuckle. Or is it a scoff?
Flustered, you clear your throat. “Would you like another cup?”
“No, thank you.”
There it is again, that numb silence. It’s as though nothing just happened. But as your gaze lingers on him, you notice a new tension in his shoulders, along with a subtle furrow in his brows, and the gentle press of his lips. He is uneasy. “Thresh?” you say his name, and it rolls through your lips and off your tongue like you’ve always known it.
He snaps out of his quiet trance to courteously glance at you. “Yes, my dear?”
“Would you... like a massage?”
Thresh clicks his tongue in contemplation, and for a moment you think he might refuse. “Very well. What use are small pleasures, if we don’t indulge them?”
You gesture for him to sit on the edge of your bed, and he complies without fault. “If you want me to stop, just give me the word,” you say.
He nods, and his gaze searches for you as you shift behind.
The mattress sinks beneath you but he is steady against it. You adjust your nightgown to find a comfortable sitting pose, and gently take a hold of his shoulders.
Indeed, he is tense. His muscles strain even more at your touch, so you linger in place to give him a moment to consider it. “Relax,” you murmur, and you find goosebumps at the edge of his collar. “Let me do the work.”
Thresh exhales deeply and gently slouches his shoulders little by little under your careful hold.
Your palms press across the length of his broad shoulders in a slow and gentle caress, while your thumbs find the knotted grains of muscle that curve around the bones beneath. Then, you repeat and retrace the shoulders; this time, however, you go higher towards the neck. With an easy but steady hand, you brush away his hair to find the skin it hid, and you press your thumbs at the edges of his spine to relieve the tightness underneath.
Thresh deeply sighs and throws his head back slightly. You can see the wrinkles on his face and the way he unfurrows his brows. He smells of perfume and his skin is silky and warm.
You move your fingers across his jawline and massage it as well, encouraging him to rest his head against you with a gentle pull. His lips part with a soft exhale. “That’s it,” you whisper in his ear. He looks at you.
Startled, you stop moving.
“Do go on,” he says.
You continue, relieved that nothing was amiss. “Let me take your hand, please?”
Thresh nods again in response, and you pick up his wrist - his pulse was so light. His hands were cold. You rub his palm, then lightly stretch his thin, long fingers. His arms and forearms receive the same treatment, and by now his body is relaxed against yours. “May I ask you to lay down?”
He lightly chuckles. “But of course; I apologize.” Thresh shifts next to you, and lays down face up. He looks at you with uneasy anticipation, fingers entwined on his torso and his legs crossed.
“Turn around,” you smile. “I can’t reach your back.”
With slight hesitation, he obeys. Thresh’s long hair spreads across your pillow like vines. You mount over him to better reach his back and he stops breathing. Just as before, you wait a moment for him to relax, but this time he never does. “Is something the matter?”
Thresh says nothing, so you press onward. First, you caress the base of his neck, and hold yourself steady. You slowly, gently trace the silky cotton shirt he wore down to the valley between his shoulder blades and follow the curvature of his spine until it meets your legs by his hips.
Then it is the same, though now your other hand joins with rising pressure in mirrored gestures.
When you grab his waist this time, Thresh seems to tense up more and more as you reach his hips a second time. You hold your position.
“Should I stop?”
“No,” he replies.
Ah, so that was it, then.
“Very well,” you say. And with more confidence, you find the rest of his muscles before he inevitably becomes a taut ball of tension. You lean down above him and brush his hair away. “May I go lower?” you whisper, and he shuts his eyes with a soft hiss in agreement.
Once more, you follow the waves of his shoulders, the valleys of his back, the edges in his hips. Then, you caress his ass with soft but firm strokes of your thumbs, cupping his supple form as you do.
He gasps. His knee jerks slightly. The breath he had been stifling escapes in a deep sigh.
You do it again, and his hips dip into the mattress, synchronized with your touch. Slowly working your way back up, you see Thresh frozen in place, ten times more rigid than before. You sit down next to him and contour his features with a finger. “Allow me,” you murmur and your eyes meet.
For the first time since you met him, he breaks a gentle smile. “Pardon me, I am afraid I allowed myself to get carried away,” he says.
“Good.” You purr and slip your fingers underneath his. “Turn around, please,” you encourage and tug him towards you. For a moment, he lingers on his side as he looks at you with uncertainty.
“I…” he starts, “will have to take you up on that cup of tea.”
You chuckle, and so does he. “As many as you’d like. Later.”
There seems to be a moment of tension, like the sweet anticipation of a kiss as you sit so close to each other. His pupils are blown wide, but he is reluctant. So you smile and sit up. “Would you like me to continue?”
Thresh gently grimaces and shifts in place, seemingly uncomfortable, but he lays down on his back. “Indulgences, indulgences…” he mutters with an almost nervous chuckle. You pretend not to see his arousal, straining against his pants.
“Indulgences, indeed.” You smirk and slide over on top of him; your nightgown drapes his legs and thighs, but he doesn’t seem to care. The only thing that has his attention are your hands, resting on his shoulders. “Allow me to take your shirt off, please?” You ask.
He swallows an unspoken word, and nods.
With an easy feather-light touch, you begin undoing his shirt, concentrating on its intricacies. His pulse races, and he presses his lips together while his piercing gaze follows your work. You manage one or two buttons before he clears his throat.
“That is enough,” he says, a touch breathless. “Give me a moment.”
“Of course,” you move away.
Thresh sits by the edge of the bed and looks out the window, then he walks to the coffee table where the tea is. He pours a cup and downs it in one go. It must’ve gotten cold by now. He searches his pockets and rests the keys on the table.
“We don’t need… intrusions,” he says. He sits back on the edge of the bed in front of you, and looks over his shoulders. “You may continue.”
“Of course,” you wrap your arms around him from behind and find the last undone button. With your chin rested on his shoulder, you sense his uneasiness returning. “May I make an observation?”
“Yes,” he replies. You can feel his breath on your cheek.
“You are very tense.”
At first, Thresh is quiet; though, an answer comes after a deep sigh. “ This is… something unusual for me.” He gestures towards you.
“I understand.”
“Say no more of it,” Thresh demanded.
A small ‘mhm’ hums from your throat at the request, and you unfasten another button of his shirt. His breath hitches. Another button, another flinch. You’ve reached the middle of his abdomen by now, and you can see the folds in his skin stretch with each deep breath and tighten with each flex of his muscles. You slip your hand underneath the shirt, and he holds his breath again. Your glance finds his squeezed shut eyes, before you brush away his hair to place a small peck on his cheek.
Your other hand slithers along his hips to unbutton the rest of the shirt from down below as your lips find the edge of his jawline with sweet, chaste kisses that trail towards his neck. The sweat gathering on his pulse covers his taste with a salty dew, but it makes it all the sweeter when your tongue finds it in a tender lick.
Thresh relaxes his head against you and he gathers the sheets in tightly knitted fists, his knuckles white from the clutch; the breath he holds is relieved in whimpers, stifled by clenched teeth.
You slide a thumb across the hem of his pants, and his back arches with desire.
The tongue you held against his neck glides and flicks with a hungrier kiss, and you embrace him tighter against you; he pulls at the covers before his fickle composure fissures and he catches your hand.
First, he guides your palm along towards his face and you brush a thumb across his thin lips, before he shows you the way back down towards his thighs; yet he hovers above where he had just caught you, then stops. You take the initiative to unbutton his pants, and barely slip your fingers even lower.
His fingers entwine with yours and he squeezes them surprisingly hard. Thresh pushes your hand downwards, and softly moans at your touch. He searches for something else to grip - and he finds your thigh next to his hip, glued to him. Thresh sinks his fingers in it with the same strength he just displayed.
You hold his other hand with your free one, and encourage him to remove his own shirt completely, revealing his aged but lean body; he is a very attractive man. Handsome, too, now even more so with his face twisted by pleasure.
The trail of your kisses finds new skin to explore, going from one shoulder to another with bites and licks, drawing wonderful groans from Thresh.
“Touch me,” he breathes out, taking your hand which rested just above his member and guiding your fingers around it, “here.”
You listen and do as he asks without a moment’s hesitation; you pull his length out, toy with his skin and caress his cock from base to tip with just the pads of your fingers before wrapping your hand around it with just enough pressure to elicit a guttural moan from him.
Then, you pull away his hair to glide your tongue across the entire length of his neck as you lazily tease him, and his lips twist in a delightful beg for more. Thresh huffs in anticipation, and bucks his hips at the slightest touches you grace him with.
You stroke him with languid gestures and this pace seems to drive him close to release; so, you pull a few teasing breaks in your rhythm to edge him away. Even if it is selfish, even if it is just to listen to his shaky breaths, or to his delectable hidden moans for a little while longer. Even if it is mainly for you, and not just for him.
And after so many fruitless visits of his, you definitely want to indulge in his taste.
The ache between your thighs can no longer be ignored either, and you increase your pumps towards a frantic pace and let go of him. “Be still,” you whisper in his ear, before you step in front of him and kneel. With a furtive glance, you find your place between his thighs and simply admire Thresh. He is a sculpture of lust, coiled in a greedy desire he pretends to hide.
“Go - on,” he barely whispers through gritted teeth. You don’t obey. “I said—”
You cover the tip of his member with your breath and he gasps. You split his thighs further apart and he leans back on his elbows in a proud display of his body.
With a careful but sensual touch, you glide a hand to hold his hip; your other rests around his cock, waiting to meet your mouth. Just… not yet. You shyly lick his tip, and steal a look at the way he begins to pull at the sheets again. And with a kiss, you run your tongue down the entirety of his length and enjoy his barely controlled movements. His pants are tight around his thighs.
“Let me get rid of these,” you murmur.
“Yes,” he breathes out, and you pull them down. Thresh is seemingly at his limit, but you’re just getting started. He slips off his pants completely from around his ankles and his uneven breathing sends gentle arrhythmic waves throughout his body.
You contrast this with a steady touch, returning to taste him more eagerly than before, and you swirl your tongue around his cock. He groans, throws his head back in pleasure and almost tears apart the sheets now.
You gently scrape your teeth against his skin before you soothe the trail of saliva with your lips, and now Thresh’s composure completely shatters as he unravels his lust by tangling his fingers in your hair and bucking his hips in the same rhythm you’re keeping; his previously suffocated moans breathe out of his lungs freely, his smothered desire now burns brightly with shameless, but wordless demands.
It takes but this simple affection to make him come undone: you hollow your cheeks and suck him tightly once or twice before he falls flat against the mattress with a husky moan. Then his back arches, his knees buck, and his voice breaks as he pulls down your head with both hands to take him even deeper when he comes. A word you’ve never heard spills out from his throat like a curse.
You swirl your tongue away before you allow him to come back down from his high, and you stand up. Thresh pants erratically; his eyes meet yours as he sits up, dishevelled and flustered — the first time you’ve ever seen him like this.
You stand up and gently ruffle his hair. “Cigarette?” You move away to pull one out for yourself, and sit at the coffee table. You take another look at him: he runs his hands through his hair, and you think about how soft it is… and how pullable.
“No,” he breathes out.
“Not a smoker?”
Thresh ponders your question, but it remains unanswered.
You take a puff and the heat of the smoke covers the desire that knots up in your throat like an ache, begging for more of him. You wait for him to dress but he doesn’t, so you indulge your eyes for one more lingering moment.
“Undress,” he murmurs. Your eyes meet.
The knot grows larger, and you can barely breathe. So you choke your enthusiasm with another taste of the cigarette before resting it on the ashtray.
You pull one string of the gown off your shoulders, but Thresh clears his throat as if to speak.
“Stand up. Come here,” he says. Despite his warm tone, his demands are strong.
With soft steps, you approach. He grabs you by your waist and pulls you between his legs. You brush away your other shoulder string and let the nightgown cascade down your naked body. You pull Thresh’s chin gently. “What now?” You ask.
“Be still,” he repeats your words from before.
You freeze in place, resting your hands on his shoulders.
A couple of his nimble fingers slither between your legs and he hooks you closer by your entrance with a gentle but firm ‘come here’ gesture. You jerk your hips as the sudden intrusion of his action sends lightning down your spine.
“Be quiet,” he hisses. “Not a sound.”
You nod.
He jerks his fingers into you with a lustful roughness and you try so hard to comply. Your pulse feels too tight against your skin, your moans tear against your pressed lips, your knees are weak and your nails dig into his skin each passing moment. He reaches even deeper and adds a third finger in, and your head falls forward in search of support against him, but he moves away to look at you.
“Whatever shall I do with you...” he smirks.
You don’t respond, but almost whimper.
He hushes you, and he slides his palm down your neck before he finds one of your breasts to toy with. Thresh takes a nipple in his hand and pinches, then he sinks his teeth around it; yet his tongue barely grates against the skin — all while the hand between your thighs threatens to break your silence with each stroke.
“M—” you almost say. More. That is all you want. You crave his lips against your skin, you want him to stretch you, to bend you, to demand things only you can give. You need to feel him against you, to kiss his moans. You ache for him to surrender to his desires, whatever they may be, and you long for tonight to be never ending.
Thresh retrieves his hand only to turn you around. He slithers his fingers through your slit again and he fondles your breasts from behind, like a mirror of what you’ve done to him. He stands up and drags his slick fingers to your mouth, making you taste yourself on them.
“So obedient,” he purrs. He pulls you against him, and you feel his cock between your legs, twitching against your wetness. “Shall we?” he murmurs in your ear, a hint of breathlessness in his velvet voice.
You barely manage to nod.
Thresh leads you a few steps forward and presses you against the wall, before he runs a hand down your spine to catch your wrists. He grinds against you from behind, relishing in this tease with each fruitless thrust; he pulls your hips backwards to slide across the entirety of your folds; and of all things, he chuckles.
He enjoys toying with you.
You struggle against his frail restraint and free your wrists before he quickly pins them to the wall with moderate strength.
“Struggle all you wish, it makes it all the sweeter.” Thresh crooned.
With careless desire, you grind against him again and again, if only to refuse him the right angle. He returns the gesture in a staccato rhythm until he leans his head against your shoulder with a defeated sigh. He sinks his fingers into your waist and... they’re trembling.
You smirk. “I thought my patience was a virtue,” you breathe out.
Thresh turns you around to nestle himself between your legs, and he holds you up by your thighs before he sinks into your heat without warning. He pushes so hard and deep, your back burns against the wall at the friction. His teeth latch onto your neck with a hungry, but clumsy kiss. You gently cling onto his back as he thrusts again, now with less intensity. He takes a second to breathe, and you relish in it, enjoying his size and how it completes you.
You clench your thighs around his hips and clutch his shoulders. “Harder,” he groans, rolling them as a hint, “harder.”
You dig his nails into his back harder and leave crescent moons sunk into his skin, and his hips buck deeper again at this. You drag your fingers down his back and imprint red stripes across his back, and he arches beneath your touch wonderfully.
Thresh moves into you roughly but oh so tastefully, as though he’s always done this. Like he knows just the way you want him.
Unable to resist anymore, you pull him into a kiss, soft and tender.
He freezes in place and you let go. His gaze, filled with lust, meets yours. “I…” he breathes out, and the moment lingers between you as something intimate that feels forbidden. “I beg your pardon,” Thresh says; he kisses you back.
He moans against your mouth as he begins to move again, and his tongue rests on the edge of lips in an invitation for another kiss. A deeper one, this time.
And you pick it up, you wrap your legs tighter around him and angle your hips for him to bury himself deeper while your tongue meets his. You realize, as your teeth click and your tongues tangle in this passionate kiss, that it might be his first. You wrap your arms around him and caress his locks, riding out the waves of pleasure he sends through you without restraint.
“Thresh,” you murmur his name in a half moan, “don’t stop.”
He smiles and buries his head in the crook of your neck, “I won’t.” With this, he picks you up and lays you on the bed, your hips never disconnected from one another. The sudden change of angle allows him to thrust into you just right: it numbs your mind, blurs your vision and takes your breath away. And he simply… stops. Thresh devilishly smiles. “But I asked you to keep quiet, have I not?”
You bite your lip in frustration, and nod.
“Good. Sometimes, silence can be just as wonderful as screams,” he says. You watch him pick up your half burned cigarette and take a puff of it before breathing it out in disgust. “I believe I am not a smoker,” he notes. You chuckle, and he sits next to you.
Thresh reaches his hand to your lips and beckons you closer to him as you lean towards the cigarette he holds. “Sit,” he commands, and tugs your hips to slide you over him. His fingers brush against your mouth the moment he places the smoke between your teeth, and slides a palm on your shoulder as he aligns his length to your entrance again. Then, he pulls you down.
You groan as you take a puff, and collapse over him in pleasure at the new angle; he sinks into you so deeply, you can't help but moan out the smoke in your lungs. Thresh glides his arm around your hips and he lays down. At his movement, you spread your legs further to allow him to reach you even deeper.
“Move,” he breathlessly whispers.
You rest a hand on his abdomen and feel the mounds of muscle underneath your palm as you hold the cigarette with the other. He relaxes at your touch.
Thresh rests a mild grip on your thighs and picks up your cigarette just as it burns out, and snuffs it completely by the headrest. He flicks it away. “No more distractions, keep your eyes on me.”
You smirk and press onto his waist as you roll against him, enjoying the newfound confidence he displays. He hisses in delight and his hands run upwards to grip your hips, pulling them down harder as he raises his. You bite your lip and furrow your brows in pleasure. He thrusts again and you swallow a moan.
“I wonder,” he whispers, “what would it take to break your silence?”
Your eyes meet his and you playfully smile.
“Ah…” he breathes out. “Only I can.”
You take his hand and run it down your body; he cups one of your breasts as it gently sways against your mellow rhythm.
Thresh suddenly pulls you against him and tangles the both of you in the sheets, before he rolls on top of you and cups the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches at the way he overpowers you so easily. He spreads your legs apart as far as he could, and thrusts into you with a grim determination, as though he is looking to shatter you into pieces. He bites his lip and runs a thumb over your throat.
You moan loudly the moment his unforgiving pace speeds up, and his hand squeezes you slightly while the other holds a thigh; Thresh leans over you and tastes the way you scream in pleasure, your voice muffled by his passionate kiss.
“Delicious,” he whispers against your lips, before he moves down to bite your neck, drawing more erotic noises from you. He needily grabs your hips and raises them higher to find an even better angle, and you throw your head back and arch your chest into his. He holds you steady, yet his thrusts are anything but.
Thresh presses himself against you and bites your lip, then he keeps his mouth so close to yours, your breaths become tangled and indiscernible. “Say-” he huffs, then demands: “say my name.”
He was close enough that you smell the taint of tobacco in his hair, and you feel the tip of his nose touching yours at the rocking of his hips, along the way his forehead pressed against yours with each deeper, lingering thrust. “Thresh,” you whimper.
“Louder.” He groans. His voice is hoarse and sultry; he makes sure fulfills his wants by pinning your wrists above your head and licking your neck.
“Thresh!” You whine. Thresh does not relent. He bites, he scratches, he pulls. And by the gods, does he moan so delectably. “Thresh,” you call out his name in a lustful chant, on and on, before you pull him in a rough kiss to show what you cannot shout. Your tongue rolls against his, ever hungry, and you dig your fingers in the back of his head. He wraps his arms around you as if to cage you with his body, and he jerks his hips once or twice. The moment you violently dig your nails into his back and scrape his skin, he loses all control.
Thresh’s head falls in the crook of your neck and his breath hitches just as he spills inside you. It’s a quiet, tender moment; and of all things, he embraces you tightly. He takes a moment to breathe, and you’re both panting out erratically in the aftermath. Finally, he pulls himself off.
You gently brush him to the side and pick up your nightgown before you retreat to the washroom to clean yourself up. When you return, Thresh is perfectly tidied up and he sits at the coffee table; somehow, the tea is steaming hot.
“Join me,” he somberly demands.
You sit by him and he takes a sip. When you tried to, you burned your hand.
He smiled in his cup.
You keep quiet about it.
“My dear, do not act as you have not partaken in one of my most intimate moments. Do speak your mind,” Thresh says.
You study his face, no longer twisted by pleasure, or tormented by the tension he wore. He looks almost… serene. “Will you stay a while longer?”
He replies with a charming smile: “I will have to leave soon.”
You press your lips together, and it’s as though you want to beg him to stay. “Are you going to come back?”
Thresh grins. There was something hidden in his eyes. “You may come with me, if my company is what you desire.”
“Maybe I will,” you reply. “On your next visit.”
Thresh stands and pulls you up as well; he holds you closer to him. “Deal,” he murmurs and kisses your knuckles. He presses a coin in your palm; it looks different than the ones you received so far. “For your service,” Thresh says. “Darling Phryne, I bid you farewell.” He takes a few steps away, and you hand him his coat and gloves.
You hold him in place. “Thresh?”
“Hm?”
“I look forward to seeing you again.” You then kiss his cheek, and he courteously bows to you before he takes his leave. The night is silent in his absence, and ever long.
*
Who knows when he will return, yet you will be waiting.