Page 2 of Marked by the Demigod

"I could be convincing."

* * *

He leadsher up to the top floor, unlocking the door with a swift click.

Aimes whistles as soon as she sees the room.

Plush white carpets, a shining dark wooden bed frame, and mirrors on all the walls, with gold accents.

"Who woulda thunk that Kansas City had a room this nice?"

He chuckles right behind her, so close but not touching her. "You come in and say money's no object, you can find a lot of hidden gems." Soft, careful, he grabs her hand and leads her in.

The lighting is soft, almost akin to candlelight, and he seems to glow in it. He fiddles with his cufflinks, setting them on the bedside table. They're a shiny metal symbol, something unknown.

"Where were you at today that needed cufflinks?" Aimes asks, sitting on the bed.

It dips beneath her, soft as clouds and far superior to the one she had waiting for her two floors beneath. She spreads her hand over the comforter, it's silky.

"I really didn't, I overdressed." He throws her a sideways grin, a quick twisting of his lips, and she'd rather he’d put those lips to use against her. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a small, glistening golden bottle. "Have you ever had dolce?"

She raises an eyebrow. "No, but I've heard of it."

"Elixir of the gods." And the twisted smile is back. He breaks the seal and pours a tiny bit in a hotel glass, hands it to her. "This will be the best thing you taste all month."

"I thought you said you didn't want a drink?" If she hadn't seen him break the seal in front of her, she'd refuse, but as it is she takes the small glass.

"Not of anything they had down there." He toasts her with his glass, then drains it in one go. She follows example, and it's so sweet it almost burns, but so sweet it's like candy and syrup. It's chilled, way more chilled than is logical for it to be out on the counter.

"Do you give all the girls fancy drinks?” In spite of herself, her stomach flutters.

Not like it has been a long time, but everything about this is subtly off, in ways she can’t put a finger on. It’s delightful.

“Only the pretty ones.” He sets his glass down, careful, deliberate, before shedding his suit jacket. The fabric whispers away from him, soft and quiet.

They lock eyes for just a moment, before he reaches out, snaking a hand behind her neck and pressing his lips against hers.

He freezes, the moment of contact, and she opens her lips in response, leaning in. He hmmms, before shifting closer to her on the bed, a hand slipping under her shirt and settling at her waist.

He inhales, sharp, as if unsure, and Aimes winds her hand up to his hair, pulling softly.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. The moment seems weighted, too much so for a hookup in a semi-decent hotel.

He opens his eyes, as if unaware he had closed them, then smiles, a soft twisting of his lips. “Yeah,” he says, hand at her waist, “yeah I think I am.” And he leans over her, pressing hard against her, before deftly - and roughly - pushing her down on the bed.

Her back hits it with a satisfying thump, the breath almost knocked out of her.

The man - Jake - climbs on her and starts kissing up her neck, his actions strange, disjointed. It’s almost ticklish, to the point of ever so slight distraction, a brushing of stubble and lips and skin upon skin.

She arches into it. It has been too long since someone had done anything more than a perfunctory peck of a kiss, and even longer since someone actually paid attention. Anonymous sex tended to be more focused elsewhere.

“Been a bit?” He mumbles into her neck. He chuckles, soft, and she feels rather than hears it.

She nods, and he runs a hand through his messy hair, sitting up.

They’re still fully clothed.

“You want to do this?” His voice is soft, almost cautious, almost pleading.

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