jetaiimee

[jetaiimee]

"Oh, I bet it crossed your mind--" Celine teased in regards to his fancy car, squirming as his hand left a sting on her ass. What she didn't expect though, was for Isaac to pin her up against the car, a light gasp emitting from her as his strong hands found her hips. Celine smirked up at him, instantly turned on by the way he reacted. She would do anything to bring out this side to him.

"That's what i do all day -- sit pretty," she pouted up at him in a jokingly manner. Celine's hands were quick to brush her free hand up his muscular chest, while the other found its way back into his pocket, returning the stolen goods.

"I only want rewards tonight," Celine demanded; she had planned the perfect night for them, sharing a bottle of wine or two before fucking. Then they would cuddle, maybe she would give his back a rub, and she would pretend as if their little affair wasn't exactly that. Little. And to him, maybe meaningless. To her, it was all she could think about.

"Be a gentleman and open the door for me?"

❝I‘M  SURE  YOU  DO.❞  ISAAC‘S  LIPS  TUGGED  INTO  a  smug  smile,  rubbing  her  lower  lip.  he  pulled  back  when  they  arrived  on  the  parking  lot,  beckoning  for  her  to  step  out  first.  he  took  the  opportunity  give  her  a  brief  once-over,  and  followed  behind  her,  stopping  once  they  got  to  his  car.  he  had  brought  a  sleek,  black  mercedes-benz  with  him.  ❝we‘re  here,❞  he  announced.  ❝i  don‘t  think  i  need  to  compensate  for  anything—especially  for  my  size.❞  he  gave  her  ass  a  rough  smack.

he  was  about  to  grab  the  remote  of  his  car  to  unlock  it,  but  she  reached  forward,  attempting  to  take  it  from  him.  just  as  she  did,  he  pinned  her  against  the  hood  of  his  car.  a  look  of  amusement  crossed  his  countenance.  ❝i‘m  sure  you  do,  darling.  you‘ve  proven  yourself  plenty  of  times.❞  his  words  held  double  entendre.  ❝but  you  will  remain  as  a  passenger  princess  and  sit  pretty.  you  can‘t  do  anything  unless  i  allow  it.  or  else,  you‘re  going  to  be  punished  accordingly.❞  he  was  set  on  putting  the  little  brat  in  her  place.

[jetaiimee]

The way Henry gives in to her makes her question whether she was asking him this at the right moment. He was weak, not his usual confident self. Or maybe this was the man he really was, the one she hadn't met before - until now? "Henry," Freya sighs, a palm pressing against his chest as he pulled her closer. "We shouldn't rush into anything. However I'm not saying we should think about it." Her chin dropped lower as she meets his eyes, a desperate look in them.

"Words can only get you so far," she stated, knowing all too well how men could promise her the world, but when it all came down to it, they failed and left her in pieces. Shivers ran down her spine as Henry's hand brushed against her back, her palm dropping lower as their bodies leaned against each others.

"Show me how badly you want it," Freya demanded, a challenging and alluring look upon her face. Stepping backwards, she kept her eye on him until she reached the bed, pushing herself back onto it.

"Or half-assed." It may have worked on his previous hook-ups. Henry had a long leash as a rich, aristocratic entrepreneur. He could get away with abhorrent dating behavior, so long as he could foot his bill and send over selections from Net-A-Porter. But Freya is different. Whether it's because of how he feels about her, or what she's willing to put up with, remains to be seen. "I don't want to commit such an injustice." Not when the only other option is losing Freya, for good.

"And what you want... Is me." Henry answers, after a prolonged beat. Desperate hands against her waist, ushering Freya close. In all this time, he'd yet to kiss her, and he couldn't have a conversation about their future until he did. His lips finds hers, longing and desperate. Like a man in the abyss, at his first taste of sunlight. "Babe, I want you." He says into her mouth, a hand snaking along her smooth neck, a thumb pressed on her Adam's apple.

"If what you want is for me to humble myself in front of you. To promise I will never let you down..." Henry has to chuckle against her jawline, peppering kisses along her smooth skin. "I'll do it." He promises, a warm hand pressed along her bare back. "The question is - would you say yes to this? To me?"

[jetaiimee]

Greg knew they were about to cross a line tonight, and there would be now way back to simply being colleagues. Their connection was way more than that, something deeper - with meaning. It had been a while since Greg had been in a somewhat serious relationship, he found it way easier to stay single with his demanding job. He never predicted someone like Andrea would stumle into his life; yet here he was, in a foreign country, getting lost in her sensuality.

"I won't," he simply replied to her cheeky comment, grinning down at her as Andrea's hands tugged at her skirt. She wasn't hiding anything now, her intentions clear as she pulled him closer. "You should give me a moment to admire though. The view is great," Greg chukled, biting down on his lower lip for a moment as his eyes took in her figure. Lifting his hand, he placed it on her neck, urging her closer to give her full lips another kiss. There was nothing rushed about it this time; he was planning on taking his time.

"Come," he said and took her hand, guiding her back inside. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, he allowed his hands to trail up the backsides of her thighs, all while his eyes were locked with hers. He could barely remember what she looked like that night, only knowing his lust for her had been strong ever since. She was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. "You're beautiful."

Her cheeks are pink, flush with the startling way he looks at her. She's always known about Greg; his danger, his cheekiness, his way with people. But it's not until she looks back at him that she realizes this new side of him. The one that sees her so clearly, Andrea is almost shy when he pulls her back in. "It's new for me, too." For her, and the laundry list of nepo baby ex-boyfriends. Eager to please, but never much more than the sum of their parts. Andrea moans eagerly into his mouth, fingertips coursing through his black hair. A way of saying everything she couldn't.

"Don't lose your nerve now, Greg." She muses with a shake of her head. If this is uncharted territory for them both, then all they can do is sink into it together. Her dark eyes glaze down his chest, biting down her lip eagerly. She's been a brat about her own pleasure since they first found each other. What's the point in hiding it now? She's the first to move with certainty, undoing the zip of her skirt and pulling it down her hips. "I'm dying for you to touch me." She has since they first landed in L.A. Her hands travel down his chest, gripping the buckle of his pants. Pulling him closer against her eager body, a leg wrapped around his waist.

[jetaiimee]

Freya's genuine soft laughter fills the air between them, accepting Henry's attempt of trying to ignore her point by being witty. "I could very easily be," she countered, her manicured fingers toying with the collar of his crisp white shirt. "But we both know I won't settle for something ordinary, so.." Henry was no such thing; he was as extraordinary as humanly possible. She noticed how his eyes wandered down to her chest, and a warm feeling spread through her body. His desire for her was clear - just like she wanted it to be. She wanted to be adored, devoted, worshipped.

"Yes - commitment," she repeated, tilting his chin back up to tear his gaze away from her cleavage. "If this was just another fling, would I really come all the way up here to care for your well-being? What if it was the other way around?" Freya inhaled softly and tossed some of her blonde hair off her bare shoulder.

"I don't think it's a question of what I want - the question is; are you ready for it? Because I know what I want, and I work hard for it."

"No, no. Of course not." He's quick to correct, gentle even when his words carry such conviction. "Freya, what I'm saying is; you not only have your earned-right to be here." Henry has to shift under her piercing gaze, to keep his own nerves at bay. "But you belong here." He sees now, what his own self-loathing and grief didn't allow him to see. He sees what his Uncle and Godfather see so clearly. Freya suits him and his world. She belongs to it; the feminine force that can keep him on the straight and narrow. "

I want you, here." Henry admits, in no uncertain terms. He can swing back-and-forth on the pendulum of mental health. But he's certain about Freya. "You are deeply connected to my purpose." It may sound like fluff, but he means it sincerely. His hands slotting easily against the small of her waist, ushering her closer.

"Are you anyone else's?" It's the closest he comes to his old self; cheeky and self-assured. "I'm sure there's a line out the door. But come on," his dark eyes lower to the plunge of her dress, appreciatively humming at the view. "Is there a question who you put this on for?" It's all for him. An inspiration, a muse, to right his mind. Freya's words turn on him, however, and Henry is smart enough to pick up on her own dissatisfaction with him. But she raises commitment, and with her words, his eyebrows lift.

"Commitment." Henry repeats lowly, lifting a hand to the small of her back. His fingertips playing with the strands of her blonde hair. "What do you want me to do? Buy up every designer on Bond street? Hard launch you on my socials?" And suddenly, his uncle's imploring words echo so clearly in his ear. "Or are you looking for something more permanent?"

[jetaiimee]

Even though he downed numerous glasses of red wine with dinner, he could clearly see what was playing out in front of his eyes. Andrea was mesmerizing, taking her time as she undressed. Greg's hardness was throbbing in his pants, excited to be experiencing something he had spent so many weeks fantasizing about. "Fucking hell," he murmured, the corner of his lip pulling up into a smirk. His eyes darkened with lust as his gaze trailed down to her chest, and for a moment he forgot all about what she had said about taking it slow.

Reaching his arm out towards her, he found his way to her waist, pulling her back in. "This is different," Greg chuckled, reflecting on how he was (almost) completely sober, kissing a girl he actually cared for. "..but it's nice," he quickly added, making sure he didn't make her uncomfortable. Truth was, Greg was a bit awkward when it came to love - even though he was so good with people. Maybe it was the butterflies.

Brushing his hand down Andrea's side, he leaned in for another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time. He wants more, and he wants it all. "We're really doing this?" He asked when pulling back slightly, gazing down at her with a soft smile upon his face. "We could always blame the booze if things go south."

"No? I don't know." She emits, almost nervously. Greg's put butterflies in her stomach, or a tingle down her spine before. But it's the first question he's asked that's made her feels nervous and seen. "I just know I can't go back home to Brazil as anything less than a triumph." The Alvarez's wealth is what brought her to Pierpoint, and if she didn't dominate or come home with a lavish husband? Well, then her parents would ask - what was the point? This time, she puts her hand on her chest, genuinely laughing. "Oh boohoo," she mocks tauntingly, nudging him back in the ribs. "Like you don't have girls in your DM's." There's a long line up for men like Greg; handsome, sweet-hearted men in finance. A man that looks as good in a suit as he does in country wear, with a perfect English dog and a perfect English cottage.

It's quiet when he kisses her. Andrea inhaling a sharp breath at the tenderness of it. The last time she kissed him - they were drunk off an open bar, high off lines done on the back of his cellphone. Crammed into a tight stall, with all of the city bearing down on them. This is new; light and open, almost frighteningly clear-headed. Andrea murmurs his name against her lips, grazing along his clean-shaved jaw line. Her fingertips reaching for the buttons of his shirt, undoing the final few buttons. She drops her lips to his Adam's apple, nipping at the tender skin as her nails drag along his hard abdomen.

She drags her lips away from his body, cheeks burning red. Andrea pulls back, but she's only just started with him. Her eyes don't move away from his, as she starts lifting off her shirt, body quivering as the fresh air brushes against her skin. Standing warmly in front of him, in nothing but her skirt and the black lace bra she was wearing underneath.

[jetaiimee]

"I wasn't going to either," Freya playfully returned, closing the door behind him and waltzing past him as he observed the room she was so lucky to be placed in. It warms her heart to hear she has gained the approval of the guests; it was important to her and a sign of her being in the right place. If anyone had told her she would be where she was today a few years ago, she would never ever have believed it. Working hard for her goals, she had managed to acheive more than she could imagine.

"I'm not just any woman - I like to think I've earned my right to be here." She's confident in front of Henry now, knowing he's not his usual invincible self, and he's able to see what she's good for, without all the distractions the city offered.

Her legs already felt like jelly, but when Henry calls her his, she melts. Resting her palms onto Henry's chest, she leaned her weight against his, a bright smile forming on her lips. "I'm yours, huh?" She teased, brows raised up at him. "I know you're a man that goes after what he wants, but doesn't it take two to tango? Commitment usually goes both ways." She was trying to be witty about it, but in reality she was calling him out on his flaky behaviour. It wasn't that she wasn't able to forgive, but a formal apology was in place. Preferably in the form of a shopping spree and a boquet of 100 red roses.

Freya wrapped her arms around his neck, fingertips brushing through the now longer hair in his neck. Tilting her chin down, she locked eyes with him and sighed softly. "Henry, I want to be yours. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

She answers her own question. Freya holds his feet to the fire, demanding he show up and hold himself accountable. And true to his word, he does just that. He puts on his suit, making good conversation and a handful of jokes. It's not the Henry most knew; loud, charming, and certain. But a step in the right direction. His eyes keep lingering back at Freya. The silent, deadly power of hers that not only brings him to the table. But earns the warm appraisal of his Uncle, his godfather, and the rest of England's most titled and influential men. Over cigars and whiskey, the consensus is clear - Freya fits the bill.

"Don't let me stop you." Henry says amenably, eyes lowering to her bare feet. If he'd come minutes later, he might have the thrill of catching her fresh out of the bath. Such a thought makes him smile. Already, Freya is working her magic. That sort of carnal desire was stoked away in the last few weeks. An oddity for a man as sexually charged as he. Stepping into the room, he glances around one of the familiar rooms. Looking over his shoulder, and back at her. Again, a perfect fit. "It's a common occurrence around here. Always some formal dinner, or another." He expands. "For most, a place like this is suffocating or foreboding." he inspects Freya appreciatively.

"Rare is a woman that can bring new life to it, or pass its tests. But the reports are in. Everyone thinks you are a triumph." And that winning energy? It pulls Henry closer into her orbit, desperate for a piece of it. "And that I am the luckiest of chaps to call you mine." Henry approaches, finally being the first to touch - his thumb along her cheek, taking her in. "Thank you." He whispers, blinking down at her. "For reminding me who I am."

[jetaiimee]

He appreciated her honesty, happy to know she was comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him - even though he was some flashy VP taking advantage of his title to some extent. Greg's eyes narrowed down at Andrea, questioning her witty comment. "Is that what you really want? Nothing wrong about it, sure - but a girl like you could conquer the whole world if she wanted to." The corner of his lips pulls up into a coy smile; he had never really thought about what kind of girl he would prefer. All he knew was that Andrea was fierce, and he fucking loved it.

"You have certainly achieved that in my opinion. I might be a bit biased, though.." Greg shrugged, having another sip of his beer. "You're talented. And pretty," he smiled down at her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he leans against the raiiling. "...perhaps a good fuck too, I wouldn't know." He nudged her side playfully, teasing her for keeping him on the edge for so long.

As Andrea reached out to place her hand against his cheek, he turned further towards her, allowing himself to be drawn into her allure. She's smooth about it too, finding a way to connect with him on a deeper level - like few had managed before. Greg let his hand rest against her hip, drawing her closer with eyes locked with hers, slowly leaning down to kiss her lips. It all feels so natural, yet his heart is racing, as if sparks ignited when their lips touched. There's no need to say anything, their shared kiss says it all.

A low, satisfied hum emitts from his chest, hungry for more. There's a taste of liquor on Andrea's lips, a perfect mix with the sweet taste of her lips. The scene with the two of them kissing on the balcony is as if taken straight out of a movie; her hair flowing through the air, the sound of the city in the distance. For the first time in forever, Greg felt comfortable in the present - there's no need for any substances to highten his reality. Andrea's lips is all he needs.

They crossed the line of professionalism before. Yet somehow, this feels infinitely more personal. His shirt is undone, sleeves rolled up. Andrea's heels are left on the carpet, and she's already undoing the slick bun holding her curls at bay. In this warm, California setting - they are the furthest from the nightclub, where work existed between them. "To the patriarchy. And to bloody Pierpoint." She accepts, a dark humor about it all. Did Andrea love the institution? No. But like Greg, she finds herself drawn to it, in all its flaws and misdeeds.

"Maybe I'm just waiting for some rich, upwardly mobile VP to wife me up and set me up in a country house." It's her turn to return with ginger wit, a wicked smirk on her face. But one long, lingering look is enough to flush an honest answer out of her. The whiskey helps her liquid courage. "I feel like that all the time. Like everyone's just waiting to be right about me. Nepo baby. Hired as a favor." She sighs, lamenting into her drink. "Pretty face, good for a fuck." Maybe that's why she's toyed Greg along for so long. Trying to disprove a point. "Not forever. Just until... I don't know. Land myself some 'fuck you' status? Then, do what I want."

Before she can overthink it, she places a hand against his cheek. Brushing along his smooth skin, sinking in the somber look in his eye. "Don't let this place define you. Just, slow down. No high's or bloody lows." Andrea reaches for his half-finished bottle of beer, placing it beside her whiskey. "No booze. No anesthesia." What Greg needed was something real. "Be a person, with me." Nodding, she lingers invitingly. "Kiss me - slow. Like you've got all the time in the world."

[jetaiimee]

Henry's smile and obvious amusement makes her giggle, beyond pleased to have him cheered up - if only for a brief moment. "What, because you think I'd pull off the latex-look?" She's teasing him now, well aware of the fact that he loved it when she was in control. Not just in a sexual way, but putting him in his place, making her expectations clear. She wouldn't catch her dream man by accepting bare minimum - she had supermodel potential, remember?! "I'm not asking too much of you, am I Henry? If anything, you need someone to keep you accountable."

The dinner was rather uneventful, except the longing stares exchanged between the two of them, and the woman next to Freya going off about her latest shopping spree at Cartier. The scene didn't offer any privacy - granting Henry and Freya few opportunities to catch up. The crowd called it a night after hours of chatting, drinking and reminiscing about the past, and Freya found her way back to her bedroom. It was a rewarding feeling to step out of her shoes after such a long day, and as promised - a knock on her door.

"There you are. I was almost about to unwind," Freya said as she invited him in, his suit scenting of cigars and brown liquor. It was a smoky mix of aromas, feeling very familiar in Henry's presence. "I didn't get the chance to compliment your outfit earlier. You look very dapper," the blonde hummed, her alluring smile a warm welcome into her safe space in which she hoped he would feel comfortable in.

For the first time in weeks, Henry cracks a bemused smile. Freya's sweetness masks her expectations of him so well, he almost didn't notice. But it's her same game, used to seduce him, that would save him from his own introversion. "Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a world class dominatrix?" He asks before censoring himself. Surely, Freya knew that. She had him abandoning his worse self to appease her. "Cheer up. My uncle is a fan. He wouldn't have brought you up here, if he wasn't." The Muck's were notoriously aristocratic, gatekeepers of society. And his ever-traditional uncle wouldn't call on any young woman to pull him out to bright.

"Who said I'm talking about how I look?" Classically handsome, Henry knows he may not be at Freya's level of ethereal beauty. But isn't that what his lineage and silver spoon made up for? "They are calling me a crook, a thief, a failure." Noticeably, it's the last that gives him pause. The only one that bears true insult. "Shouldn't you be on the arm of a winning man?" Ideally, not one of his pals, but it is a slim circle. Finally, Henry takes true stock of her. The hug of the silk against her body, the pert pout of her lips. All he had to do was show up, and he would please her. Something about that reality edges him on.

"I'll get dressed." He agrees, amenably. "Where did my uncle put you up? The duchess' room?" It's where he'd expect Freya to be. A pristine bedroom, but not yet those reserved for the women in the Muck men's lives. "I'll come to your bedroom after brandy and cigars."

[jetaiimee]

Greg found her drink of choice quite bold; but what else to expect from Andrea? She was fierce as fuck. "You're certainly way more addicting,- that's for sure, " he contemplated as he knew she had been on his mind ever since that initial night together. And the best was yet to come - if everything were to play out as it seemed to at this point. With her in his room already, there was simply a fine line between professionalism and indulgence.

The warm breeze from the ocean felt nice against Greg's skin, undoing the top button of his shirt as he leaned down to pop open a bottle of beer. Stepping out to the balcony, he joined Andrea, leaning casually against the railing. "I dunno, happy clients? Climate change? The Patriarchy?" Greg is his usual witty self, rarely able to be the dead serious person people mistake him for.

Tilting his head to the side, he locked eyes with Andrea and that same admiring look upon his face returned. Taking a swig of his beer, he glanced over at the mesmerizing view, a sense of inner peace as it was a stark contrast to his usual hectic London life. "Do you ever think you'll stay in Pierpoint forever? You're just starting out -- I know. I love the thrill of it all, but I'm just fucking scared I'll explode at some point." He looked back at her as he felt the wash of honesty flush over him, blushing slightly at his confession. "You know I like to have a good time, but dear god, my body is rotting inside."

"She's a cow." Not very kind or feminist of her to say. But Andrea isn't exactly the poster child for sisterhood, either. Pretty and clean-cut as she may be, she's always been competitive. And whether Greg realizes he's stoked the fire of her own wanting of him, by chatting up the receptionist, remains to be seen. "Nonsense. You came here with me." Straightening her posture, she adds; "I'm better than any drug you're used to." It's promising a lot. However, she's observed Greg for awhile now. Circled this seduction with practiced ease. There is a high from a woman, clear-headed and wanting, that counts for more than anything else.

"Nice upgrade." She hums, leaning into the glass case for a mini-bottle of whiskey. Dark eyes glancing down at the beach, ears piquing at the sound of the ocean. She kicks off her heels on the rug, walking over to the balcony to get a better look. "What should we drink to?" Andrea asks, turning back at Greg expectantly. A palpitation in her chest as she watches, caught between her self-control and her own inner desires. Leaning against the balcony, she uncorks the bottle, glancing between his exposed forearms and his dark eyes.

[jetaiimee]

Freya was happy to hear he would accompany her to dinner - she would feel awfully out of place if she was seated around that table without Henry. He was the sole reason for her being there. "You will," she smilingly agreed, figuring a small challenge from her was just what he needed to keep himself accountable. "Even though you might not be the best of company right now, you're still way better than being seated next to a seventy year old man talking about everything that's wrong with today's youth."

She waved the thought away, watching Henry as he got up to get himself drief off. Her eyes couldn't help but wander to his figure - even though he had been on a bender for the past weeks, he was fit. Skinnier, perhaps, but still very pleasant to the eye. "You clean up pretty nicely, don't you?" Freya asked, her feminine charm still present as she smiled up at him. "Beauty and the beast; it's how it should be," she shrugged, getting up from where she was seated by stepping into the water, climbing the stairs until she was out of the pool.

"Isolation will rarely do any good. You will figure it out, I'm sure." She's walked up to him now, locking eyes with him as she cups his cheek in her hand. "Let's get through this dinner, and then we'll talk some more."

It's just as he expected. His uncle, in his eternal wisdom, put Freya to the task of pulling him out of his worst instincts. Henry always did have a weakness for beautiful women who knew what they wanted - and how to take it from him. "I wasn't planning on it, no." But even as he says it, one look at Freya's crystalline eyes make it clear. His attendance isn't an option. Not if he intends to make up for lost time, or have a prayer of getting back in her good graces. His eyes flick shut at the brush of her finger against his arm. "But I'll power through it." He finally relents.

"That's my fault. I should've taken you up here for a weekend." He says, another mark to his self-loathing. It's not as if he and Freya ever defined it in absolute words. But it was the closest thing to a relationship that he's had. "Bless my uncle for being a better bloke than me." Henry walks over to the lounger, picking up the towel and patting himself dry. "You're a princess... And I'm," he frowns sourly. "I'm a beast." A picture of privilege and hollow loathing that couldn't be filled.

"I thought a few weeks would do me some good. Put my head on straight. See the light." He admits, the artifice melting away into something oddly sincere for his and Freya's lurid affair. "It hasn't worked. I still feel like a boy, sent down from Eton, muscling my way through the day." Popping his lips, he stares down at her. "Not what you signed up for when we started getting it on."

[jetaiimee]

"She couldn't resist my british charm," Greg returned, clearly proud of his little accomplishment chatting up the pretty receptionist. He was good with people and he knew how to read the room. Small talk was no issue for him. Greg chuckled slightly as Andrea mentioned the vast amounts of illicit drugs usually carried in his pockets, finding himself completely without it when traveling. The risk was way higher than the reward in his opinion. "I came here empty-handed," he confessed, lifting his hands up in surrender. "Guess we'll have to get hammered the old fashioned way tonight."

Andrea certainly makes things hard for him - maybe that's why he's hooked. His pulse was hightened as her hands trailed down is front, noticing how his body leaned into her touch, craving so much more. He watched her as she snapped his key card from his pocket, following her out of the elevator, eagerly so. "The mini-bar's stacked," Greg hummed in return, pushing the door open for her to pass. As soon as he entered the room, he tossed his jacket onto one of the chairs, begging to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Eyes glued on Andrea, there's a admiring smile upon his face, intrigued by her poise.

"Really?" Andrea can't help but stare at him, suspicion clear as day in her eyes. "How'd you convince her? Did you bat your big, beg-for-it eyes at her? Or sneak her something from the walking pharmacy in your pocket?" She eggs on, a hint of jealousy caught somewhere in her mocking tone. They played this game well, with Andrea comfortably in the driver's seat of how much or how little to give. A fair exchange, considering he's the established VP in their little twosome. But would she really be playing this hard, if a part of her wasn't desperately intrigued by Greg? The idea of him playing this game with anyone else makes her skin burn, antsy to be touched.

He's in her space. An unmistakable glean in his eye as he pushes her against the wall. After a long game of cat-and-mouse, he's ready to take matters into his own hands. "I owe you one?" She repeats, licking her lips just enough that Greg can feel the hint of it against his own skin. "I'm a prize, Greg. I deserve everything, for free." Andrea reminds him boldly. Sharp eyes keen to remind him of just that. She sinks her lips just above his, a wistful kiss just withholding enough to tease. As the elevator stops on his floor, she puts a daring hand against his chest, fingernails running down his hard abdomen. "But if you want me to give as good as you gave me, you're gonna have to inspire me first." Her hand brushes over his pants, feeling his hardness against her hand. Then, her ginger fingers work to find his hotel key. "Drink first?" She suggests, untangling from his arms, giving him a view of her backside as she walks towards his room.

[jetaiimee]

any recs for male actors with a good mustache??? (lol)

[jetaiimee]

"Isn't it obvious?" Celine hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're clearly falling for it."

open to -> f

" what do you think you are doing ? "

[jetaiimee]

Greg laughs along with her, finding her taunting comments extremely entertaining. She knows how to challenge him; keep him on his toes. She also plays very hard to get, Greg being on the verge of giving up. He followed her into the elevator, a big grin plastered all over his face as she finally surrenders. "Actually - they did not. But I did manage to talk the receptionist into giving me an upgrade, so I have the comfortable luxury of a bathtub and a couch to lounge on."

Once the doors closed, Greg took control of the situation, placing his hands on her hips, walking them backwards to the wall of the elevator. "Did you really believe we would fly across the fucking atlantic together and not indulge in each other? Andrea, you're cool, but not that cool." Chuckling softly, he leaned in and brushed his nose against hers, watching her for a moment, to see if she would turn him down. They had been down this route before, but she had left him hanging. "Bet you've been thinking about the RIF party a million times already. Know I have. And -- you owe me one."

She laughs - equal parts delighted and offended. Andrea presses her elbows against his ribs, rolling her eyes in protest. "No, actually, I was kept looking at you because you wouldn't stop looking at me." It's childish, really, like two kids in elementary school going back-and-forth to keep from being the first to cop to a crush. But toeing the line has kept things mess-free at the office, so far. Flirting with Greg was the most she could dare to do, with all of the floor breathing down on them. In California, however... "As long as that's all I wake up with. A hangover." Andrea teases, licking her lips as she feels Greg pull her closer. They played this game so long, Andrea didn't know where to stop. But in the fresh L.A. air, right off the high of a successful client dinner... God, keeping herself from succumbing is infinitely more difficult.

"Fuck it. Let's play." She finds herself saying, before she can stop herself. Walking backwards into the elevator, inviting hands against his forearms. "I bet Pierpoint set you up in a suite." Much better than her standard room, she thinks. "Show me?"

[jetaiimee]

The man in front of her tonight is not the one she knows; Henry was clearly at a really low point in his life. He had to be, as he was hiding in this grand place. "Dinner's almost ready. Your uncle and some other guests are having aperitifs, and since I couldn't find you there, your uncle assumed I would find you here." Freya's hand brushed down Henry's arm, a comforting gesture to let him know it was okay for him to not be okay.

"You are joining us for dinner, aren't you?" The blonde asked, tilting her head to the side to keep him focused on her. He did look a little confused to see her. Her eyes flickered up to his hair which had grown longer, showcasing how long it had been since she had seen him. Brushing her fingers through the dark strands, away from his forehead, she offered him her soft smile. "I got an invitation that I possibly couldn't decline. Believe it or not, I don't get invited to grand castles too often. Although I could double for a princess," Freya lightly shrugged, laughing softly. She was here to cheer him up, after all.

Resting her hands on the edge of the pool, fingers curling around the cold stone, she moves her feet through the water, enjoying the calm aura the room offered. "When are you coming back to town?" Freya asked, lifting her chin to look back at him. She didn't want to sound as if she wanted him to rush back to the city, but she missed him. "The Henry I know wouldn't be hiding away like this."

Any feeble attempts to forget about women, forget about Freya, disappear with her unexpected appearance. Something carnal and primitive stirs inside him, as he blinks away the wash of water to see her. Before his company and his reputation was blown up before all of England, he was lost in her. Happily lapping up being told what to do, how to do it. Something thrilling about a man who's had everything, suddenly needing to please a woman with remarkable standards. He almost forgot it, too.

"My uncle and his eternal wisdom." He says dryly, yet there's a truth to it as well. For all of his manly pursuits, Henry can be a bot when it comes to his demons. What better way to inspire a boy out of a lull than a feminine touch? And who is more feminine, more ethereal, than the blonde in her slim-cut dress narrowing in on him? "What time is it?" He's lost track, but judging by her dress, Henry suspects its nearing dinner. With a hollow laugh, he emerges from the pool. "You're just being polite. I look like shit." His beard gone untrimmed, his hair uncut. If Freya is grace and beauty, Henry is a most monstrous version of himself. Inhaling the perfume he's sure he bought her, he kisses her cheek.

"Yeah. I'm good." It's a lie. Why else would his Uncle resort to calling on Freya, if he was in better states? Clearing his throat, he fumbles under her fox-like gaze. "Been better." Henry admits. "You didn't come here to listen to me pontificate on my demons, did you?" Freya is gorgeous and brilliant. But in his assessment, his demons would only scare her away.

[jetaiimee]

"Of course he loves me," Greg grinned down at Andrea, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, mostly to keep himself stable after all the wine. "You did alright. You kept staring at me; the guy knew getting into your pants was a lost cause." He was happy to have her there with him, she was incredibly smart and being a female, it balanced out their representation of Pierpoint. "Are we really going to bed already? We're really going to wake up tomorrow without a hangover? Don't let that Californian mentality get to you. Soon enough you'll be hiking too."

Greg let his hand fall down to Andrea's waist, pulling her close as the two of them stopped near the elevators. "Work's done. I think it's about time we get to the play-part."

@jetaiimee | Greg and Andrea, after a client dinner in L.A.

"What's with Californians and all the hippie, mumbo jumbo?" Andrea asks out loud, buzzed off the bottles of red wine from their client dinner. After laying it on thick since her rehiring at Pierpoint, she manages to wrangle herself onto one of Greg's clients. And, as a result, one of his business trips for an annual review. If he minded her leaning on his business, trying to make a mark on his clients. Well, her certainly didn't seem to mind. After all, it was a two way street - she bolstered him to his clients, repeated his great ideas, and signaled his affluence at the bank.

"I swear, he was one more whiskey away from making us hike up a fucking hill." Thankfully, California investors were not the party animals their UK counterparts were. By one in the morning, they were already back at the hotel lobby. "But he's obsessed with you, if didn't already know. Your clients love you." And now, they would love her too. Smirking gingerly, Andrea asks; "How'd you think I did?"

[jetaiimee]

Freya didn't want to be the girl who obsessed over a man, but every time her phone chimed, her heart had skipped a beat, hoping it would be Henry that reached out. She had walked ten-thousands of steps through the streets of London, listening to music and drowning in her own thoughts. Everything had seemed promising as they got to know each other more after the trip abroad, Henry taking her on dates and sending her beautiful flowers. However, it was too good to be true, as he'd suddenly left her hanging and went radio silent. She was rather surprised as Lord Norton had reached out, practically begging her to stay some days in his castle in order to reach out to Henry.

Finding Henry in the indoor pool, Freya's pulse was heightened, trying to keep her elegant demeanor as she approached him. "Your uncle," she replied to his question before she could get any words out, stepping out of her stillettoes before making her way over to the edge of the pool. "You look well," Freya added, deciding to avoid pointing out how he'd disappeared for such a long time. She was sure he would open up to her at a later point. Resting her eyes on Henry, she took a deep breath; gosh - she almost forgot how godlike he looked.

Freya pulled some of the fabric of her dress up, gathering her hands in her lap before stepping down into the pool, ankles deep into the water. She took a seat next to Henry on the edge of the pool, locking eyes with him and leaning in to place a soft kiss onto his cheek. "How are you, Henry?"

@jetaiimee | Freya and Henry, The Norton Castle

There is no peace in failure, anymore than there is in success. Henry flips between the two spectrums; from Lumi's record high on the exchange, to the disastrous low of a public flogging. He emerges with more zeroes in his account and more followers on his socials. But the negative press takes its heavy toll, and those demons he's shooed away turn into weeks in the deep end. Hallucinogens. White powder. Even a stint in Eastern Europe, traveling with those justas haunted as he. It takes his uncle, Lord Norton, to lure him back. "Rest and relaxation" back at his country estate. Somewhere to sober up, clean up.

It scarcely works, and one restless breath from the pool later, he sees what looks like Freya's mirage standing at the entryway.

"Am I still blasted?" He asks rhetorically, moving towards the steps of the pool. When was the last time he'd seen her? Somewhere in between his public trial, and his last bender no doubt. "Who sent you? My uncle, or my godfather?" Even as Henry says it, there's a breathe of thankfulness. He never would have picked up the phone on his own accord.