Voyeur
The heat is perfect. Just one more excuse to take her clothes off.
Sometimes Lilah wonders if he wants more from her: the feeling of his hand against her heated flesh, the fluttering of her lips against his, maybe some words whispered in the dark.
But he never asks, so she never offers. Besides, their current situation suits her perfectly.
The blouse takes its sweet time falling to the floor, one button at a time. The silk feels delicious against her back as it slides down, almost liquid. She knows he's smiling, one hand probably moving to the zipper of his Armani trousers. Not that he's planning of coming right there. It would spoil the fun.
The bra -- black lace, his favourite -- soon follows the shirt. It's only a matter of time for the pencil skirt, panties and silk stockings to join the discarded clothes. Then she stretches lazily, almost feline, dark in all her sexiness. She moans softly and runs her fingers through her hair. She knows before opening the door that everything will be just the way she likes it: Coltrane playing in the background, a bubble bath set at just the right temperature and a glass of wine on a gold tray next to the marble tub. To the untrained eye it seems simple, but the glass has real gold trimmings, the bathtub is Italian marble and selling a single bottle of this wine would feed a family of four for two months. Such luxury makes Lilah squirm with pleasure.
So he's not good looking for Lilah standards -- she likes her men rough, dark and maybe a little aggressive as well. He's none of these things. With him is all about clean cut, sweet evil (if such a thing exists). He gets off on being a spectator to Lilah's fun. And hey, as long as he doesn't get to really, really touch her in real life, she actually thinks it's a pretty nifty deal.
Only two years on the firm and she was already at the right side of Holland Manners. So was corn fed Lindsey McDonald, but that was alrightÖ for now. Intuition told her the boy is not made for a lifetime of Wolfram and Hart. And even is she was wrong, she could always work around it.
And there was also the issue of the cameras.
So far, she'd found six all around her apartment. No bothering looking for the rest. At first she thought it was just a test of loyalty from her lovely employers. That ended one late night at the office, when, while saying goodnight, Holland's hand had moved from her shoulder to her neck, his fingers hovering for a nanosecond near a small sensitive spot just below her ear. She'd dimly remembered doing that at nights, while she read or watched TV, trying to ease a small cramp. Then he'd given her the number of a massage therapist who ëdid wonders'.
She took the number and went to see the guy. Three days later the cramp was gone and she had discovered the joys of being watched by the boss. Unlike Lindsey, who sometimes has the look of someone who has to get on their knees for the Man, Lilah gets to make Holland happy by giving in to his voyeuristic fantasies.
The door is left ajar, because he likes just a glimpse of beautiful things and the sound of her voice under dim lights. From his point of view, all he sees is an exquisite woman getting in a warm bubble bath, purring as she raises one infinite leg to the skies, water dripping down the pale column of flesh. Delicious.
She rests her head against the edge of the tub, closing her eyes and splashing water against her chest. After a few minutes, her hands travel underwater, caressing the inside of her tights and the slippery folds of her aroused sex.
When she touches herself she allows a tiny bit of Holland to slip through her mind. What kind of touch would a man like him would have? Would he hold her gently in a mockery of love or just take her against a wall, grunting and scratching as he follows his most primal urges?
Guessing is fun. She's not attracted to Holland, but to the fantasies he invokes. Even if the actual idea of the two of them together is not that appealing her, their wicked game is a lot of fun.
And sometimes, like now, Holland's lonely image washes away and a hundred different faces and images dance around Lilah's thoughts.
A man in black, who she knows tastes of darkness.
A naked, trembling girl covered in grime and ashes, with many deaths in her destiny.
Fear in Holland's eyes as the last moment of his mortal life approaches.
Death everywhere.
Lindsey's wicked smile as he pretends to walk away.
A rough lover with more than lust in his eyes.
Death itself, sharp and shocking in its quickness.
And then Holland once again, all sweetness and darkness, surrounded in flames. Welcoming her to their new place in life(?).
In when having these thoughts that Lilah climaxes the hardest, a cry dying in her lips as she opens her eyes and looks around, briefly disoriented.
Is she seeing the future or just hallucinating?
She knew the moment she signed her contract, dying in bed surrounded by family was not an option anymore, and she's always been okay with that. But sometimes -- like now, as she opens the cold water faucet and starts rinsing her body -- she wonders how everything will fit. She's going to have power and wealth and sex and she'll lose it all just before dying. Just before gaining a different kind of power, wealth and sex. She just knows, don't ask her how.
Lilah steps out of the bath, draining the wine and picking up a towel, reminding herself that Holland Manners chose her. He alone saw the potential in the pretty, jaded young woman with the ambitious eyes. If he thinks she's gonna make it, she will. Hell, even if he doesn't think so, she will make it anyway. Because she's more than a pretty face. There's a reason Holland doesn't dare go beyond feather-like touch and voyeurism. Because he's seemed the things Lilah sees in her wildest fantasies. He's probably seemed beyond that and knows that, no matter what, Lilah will go places, too strong for him to take. If he can have just the visuals of Ms. Morgan, he will take them with a grateful bow.
As she exits the bathroom, a blue robe wrapped loosely around her, she blows one kiss to the nearest camera, the initial heat replaced with a gentle coolness.
Good night, Holland.