E. Volkarin: There is somewhat of a difference in our ages - nothing suspicious or unseemly, mind you - and I am afraid that I might be unable to keep up with her needs in an intimate setting.

If a sinkhole had opened underneath the funeral home and swallowed him then, he wouldn't have complained.

Dr. Elizabeth Riley is typing...

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: You want a prescription for Viagra?

E. Volkarin: If it isn't too much trouble.

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: Do you take any nitrates or medication for hypertension?

E. Volkarin: No.

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: Do you have a heart condition, high blood pressure, liver or kidney disease, blood cell or bleeding disorder?

E. Volkarin: None.

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: Have you ever had a heart attack, stroke, or an ulcer?

E. Volkarin: No.

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: I'm faxing a prescription for Viagra to the pharmacy you've listed in your profile. It'll be ready by the end of the day. The pharmacist will provide usage instructions.

E. Volkarin: That's wonderful! Thank you very kindly for your efficient assistance!

Dr. Elizabeth Riley: Goodbye.

He had been initially off-put by the doctor's chilly demeanour, stewing over it throughout the remainder of the day between the suggestive text messages Rook kept sending him, but as Rook pulled into the parking space outside of the pharmacy near his house, he supposed he would be rather annoyed too if a stranger took it upon themselves to assume he was married.

She put the car into park and her hand went for the ignition, but halted when Emmrich said, "No, no, darling - you just wait here where it's warm: I won't be long."

He'd formulated this stop at the pharmacy during the drive to his home after their brief stop they made at her apartment for her to quickly pack a bag for the weekend.

'I realized I don't have a spare unopened toothbrush for you to use,' he said. 'We'll just make a quick stop and I'll pick one up for you.'

It was almost too perfect of an excuse - and it turned out that it actually was, because when he said that, Rook just shrugged and said, "It's no big deal - I don’t mind using yours.”

Suppressing the shudder wrought by the idea of putting another person's used toothbrush in his mouth - even if it was someone whose tongue had been there - he smiled indulgently at her and impressed that it was no trouble, and he had a few other small things he'd been meaning to stock up on anyway.

He returned to the toasty car minutes later, carrying a reusable shopping bag containing a variety of completely innocent and utterly non-suspicious items: the promised toothbrush, a bottle of the same shampoo he'd seen Rook use that morning (in case she wasn't fond of his or it made her hair greasy), a carton of orange juice (no pulp - texture issue), a box of Band-Aids, some Bactine, a sleeve of red licorice for Rook (he’d seen her snacking on it at her desk a few times), and of course the stealthily acquired prescription bottle of Viagra that he had secreted within the inside pocket of his coat.

He navigated as they drove to his townhouse, and she ventured down the wide streets lined by healthy, well-established trees, paying attention to the road, but also to the perfectly landscaped lawns and beautiful estate homes built on massive lots and illuminated with aesthetically pleasing decorative lighting in the form of replica iron lampposts and deliberately angled pot-lights. She didn’t say anything as she took in a well-dressed couple strolling down the sidewalk with a gangly purebred-something - surely worth thousands - dressed just as smartly as its owners in a little yellow sweater and booties, but her eyebrows certainly raised a little.

He may have found himself in a place in life where he could afford to live in a neighbourhood like Darrowley, but he never felt like one of its residents. Didn’t quite fit in with the upper crust and snobbish folk that saw fit to raise a fuss during each quarterly Home Owner’s Association meeting about some perceived slight or another: so-and-so’s car in their driveway is an eyesore and detracts from the ‘visual harmony’ of the street so it should be mandatorily parked in the garage. ‘Those people’ down the lane planted a spruce tree, and everyone knows those aren’t allowed because the acidic needles kill the grass and make the surrounding lawns look like shit… and so on.

Having been raised in poverty, it was true that he enjoyed the finer things in life now that they were available to him, but he liked to think he was still humble… different from ‘old money’, purely because he made a deliberate of remembering what it was like to have nothing rather than pretending that success and wealth were what he was owed - he just hoped that Rook saw that too. Hoped that she didn’t think look at him and see one of them.

“I’m excited to meet Manfred,” Rook said, taking the next left per Emmrich’s instructions. “I always wanted a cat but my dad was allergic - or said he was, at least.”

“He’s a wonderful companion,” Emmrich bragged, unable to help himself. “Though he can be rather… unconventional in his approach towards new people in his home— take your next left and follow the bend at the end of the street.”

Rook’s frowned and she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. “Uh… what do you mean by ‘unconventional’?”

“He’s not anti-social or aggressive - just… very curious. I apologize in advance for his lack of boundaries. It’s something we’ve been working on, but frankly I don’t entertain often, so he isn’t exposed to people as frequently as perhaps he should be in order to refine his social skills. End of the street on the right, darling - the one with the porch light on: the unit on the end.”

As they drew close to the driveway, Emmrich reached up and hit the button on the remote garage door opener he kept clipped to the sun visor.

“I’ve never parked in a garage before,” Rook said, leaning over the wheel and nibbling on her lower lip.

Luckily Emmrich’s was well-organized, tidy, and free of any clutter or things lining the walls that might present as obstacles.

“You’ll be fine,” he encouraged. “Just use enough gas to get over the curb, and then keep your foot off of it and over the brake as you pull into the garage. You won’t hit anything - you have an abundance of space.”

“I keep imagining myself accidentally flooring it and driving through your wall,” she laughed nervously, but she followed his instructions, mounting the curb smoothly and slowly inching into the garage until she was satisfied that she was far enough inside that the rear bumper wouldn’t get swiped off by the door closing on it. She cut the ignition and dropped her hands to her sides, resting her head against the seat and letting it fall to the side so she was looking at Emmrich, her grey eyes taking on an enchanting slate colour in the garage light. “Well, you’re officially stuck with me for the weekend.”

“So I am,” Emmrich shed his seat belt and reached up to press the button on the garage door remote again, leaning forward and planting a long, sweet kiss on Rook, lowering his hand to curl his fingers into her soft dark hair as the door lowered behind them.

She sighed into his mouth and he felt tension dissipating from her body as she relaxed into his touch like she was finally at peace for the first time that day… he supposed he was too, when he thought about it: sitting in his car in the garage, having just arrived home for the weekend, all night and all day ahead of them to just… be.

It was a familiar sense of domestic comfort that Emmrich was no stranger to, having had his fair share of relationships before. But the fact that this wasn’t new to him did little to change the fact that he adored this feeling: the very idea of having another person to share his space and his thoughts with felt… it rather felt like home, didn’t it?

He gripped her hand in his and squeezed before opening the door. “I’ll carry your bag.” He popped the trunk where the shopping bag and her duffel were. “Let’s introduce you to Manfred, shall we?”

As soon as Emmrich opened the door inwards, Rook was greeted by the pulsating trill of an alarm system. It was dark and the light from the garage spilled inside, reflecting eerily off of a pair of wide, saucer-like eyes that were rapidly moving towards them with the pitter-patter of soft feet and a veritable chorus of chirps and chatters until an incredibly lean and leggy beast emerged from the black, brilliantly white with perfectly round green eyes that immediately locked onto Rook and did not leave.

Rook stepped out of the doorway to give Emmrich access to the keypad on the wall, and he disarmed the alarm while Manfred approached her without hesitance, looking directly up at her, intensely cyan eyes perceiving her with a level of comprehension and scrutiny that was not what one would expect from even the most discerning of felines.

“Mraow.”

A short, clipped utterance delivered with the same cadence one might use if they were to ask, “Who are you and why are you in my house?”

Manfred continued, looking over his shoulder at Emmrich, circling in place, then looking back up at Rook, chittering all the while as if to say, “And where has he been? I’ve been left to my own devices since last night, did you know that? Was that your doing?”

“Hello, Manfred,” Rook said, her tone gentle and friendly. She bent at the hip and held her knuckles out to the cat as Emmrich flipped on the hallway light and watched on.

The sleek creature did not move closer, but instead stretched out his neck towards the hand offered to him, lips curling slightly, ears flattening against his head, lending him an decidedly skeletal appearance: a construct of bleached bone brought to life. He sniffed at Rook’s fingers eagerly - thoroughly - like he was gleaning her entire life story from the exposed digits.

“I knew he was lamp-eyed from the pictures you’ve sent me of him, but I didn’t think his eyes were always like that,” she chuckled, watching the studious twitch of Manfred’s pink nose and the slightest narrowing of those eyes as his assessment continued.

“He’s an unconventional looking cat, but I find him to be quite distinguished,” Emmrich beamed, closing the door and locking it. “He’s not to everyone’s taste, but he suits me just fine, and I him.”

“He is very handsome,” Rook agreed, flipping her hand so her palm was facing upwards. She could feel little huffs of air as Manfred sniffed at the pads of her fingers. “You said that he more or less adopted you?” Rook flinched when Manfred, apparently satisfied with everything he could learn from her right hand, lit from the floor and neatly landed on the small gray console table next to her by the door only to immediately started pushing his nose into the sleeve of her leather jacket. He inhaled deeply, lip curling back even more, teeth slightly bared - they were very sharp.

Emmrich stroked the curve of Manfred’s back and the cat’s head jerked back as if to say, ‘Do you mind? I’m busy,’before resuming his incredibly in-depth exploration of Rook’s sleeve.

“Quite right. He started haunting my front porch when he was just a kitten. I thought he might belong to someone else in the neighbourhood who saw fit to let him outside, so I would leave out a bowl of food for him from time to time, thinking he was being properly cared for somewhere else, but when he kept coming back I began to have my doubts about that. One day he ignored the food completely when I opened the door to his customary summons and instead, he sprinted inside the house. It was then that I realized that this place had become synonymous with home to dear Manfred, and that he didn’t actually have one.” The warmth in Emmrich’s eyes as he recounted Manfred’s history was unmistakeable. “He’s a curious spirit - I believe he belonged to somebody at one time, and they found themselves unable to cope with his unendingly inquisitive nature. A shame, but their loss turned out to be my gain in the end.”

Right as he said that, Manfred’s jaws clamped down on Rook’s forearm, the leather of her audibly popping as his impressive fangs punctured it.

“Ah!”

The bite wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but Rook knew that panicking would probably change that, so she forced herself to stay still.

“Manfred!” Emmrich chided, gently working the cat’s mouth off of Rook’s sleeve and batting away a probing paw with an ease that betrayed the fact that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to extract Manfred from something - or someone. “We’ve been over this before: biting is not how we make friends!”

Rather than fleeing at the rebuke of his unanticipated exploration, Manfred only licked his lips and sat back on his haunches, shifting his weight from foot to foot and hissing softly, head tilting Rook-wards once more.

“Oooh…” Rook winced, “I don’t think he likes me…”

“He likes you perfectly well,” Emmrich asserted, regarding Manfred with the benign but unamused expression a parent would regard a naughty child with. “Don’t let his hissing fool you - he simply enjoys relying on that particular vocalization amongst those in his repertoire… I suspect he likes the way it sounds.” He shot Manfred another chastising glance and took Rook’s hand, lifting her arm to examine the place where Manfred had bit her, warding off another casual attempt to snag her sleeve - with claws this time. “Are you all right?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine - didn’t even break skin. Lucky for me it’s a thick jacket.”

Emmrich’s thumb ran over the fresh puncture holes in the worn black leather, lips pressing together in a thin line as he hummed. “Be that as it may, I’m tremendously sorry for the damage he’s done to your jacket.”

“Damage?” Rook laughed, pulling her arm from his hand and turning on in place (sidestepping another swipe from Manfred, who seemed disinclined to leave his post on the table.) “Have you taken a good look at this thing? It’s been stomped on, dragged around, burnt by clumsy cigarettes…” she indicated a piece of leather about half an inch wide near the zipper that had torn when she clambered over a chain link fence instead of going the long way around yearsearlier. “… snagged on fences, practically marinated in beer and sweat. Trust me: it was ‘damaged’ well before Manfred sunk his fangs into it.”

“Be that as it may,” Emmrich repeated, still looking at her like he’d offered great insult to her mom or something. “I’ll gladly have it repaired.”

Rook made a dismissive sound and let the jacket fall down her shoulders and into her hands so she could hang it on one of the hooks on the wall, feeling Manfred’s eyes on her the entire time. “With all the things this jacket has seen, you’d be better off just buying me a new one.”

“I will… if you want me to.”

Rook paused, her back still to Emmrich. When she turned away from the coat hooks to face him, he was absently scratching Manfred behind the ears, his other hand in the pocket of his suit pants, an oddly serious expression on his narrow face.

“You’d buy me a brand new leather jacket because your cat gently savaged mine?” She lifted an eyebrow. “You know I got it practically brand new for only fifty bucks at a set sale for a movie that was filmed in town?”

“If you want me to,” Emmrich repeated, his voice low, his rich bottle green eyes nearly as intense as Manfred’s.

Okay, so maybe there were semi-dubious perks that came with dating a person with the disposable income that Emmrich clearly had.

Something stirred within Rook. Something buried deep within the chaotic rubble of an adulthood which, up until this point, had been spent babysitting grown ass men: putting someone else’s aspirations and joy ahead of her own wants… her own fucking needs, because that was just how she was, wasn’t it? Forever watering herself down. Diminishing herself in the name of someone else’s self-worth; underachieving and overreaching like such things would earn her some sort of fucking award or prize in the end. Yet here she was at 25: financially and emotionally bled dry, in thousands of dollars of debt, boasting a double-digit credit score while collection agencies called her daily and sent her nasty letters threatening legal action.

Maybe it would be nice for a change to let someone take care of her. This wasn’t transactional: he wasn’t offering to buy her an expensive jacket in exchange for a sloppy, emotionally vacant blowjob. There was more to it.

But if she took him up on it, would that change? Would the dynamic insidiously shift until she found herself in a place where her autonomy was slowly whittled away by jackets and gifts and financial stability, until one day she woke up and realized she was totally, completely, and entirely reliant on a man? — something she swore she’d never be.

The correct and right thing to do in this scenario, would be to decline: giggle coyly and say ‘no thank you’ with a simpering and humble pout tacked on for good measure — the palatable, dignified response of a woman who would never dare take advantage of a man’s success - whether out of pride or manners… did it matter? A self-respecting woman simply wouldn’t, but she could certainly betray that self respect to act like a coquettish child just to save face.

Ha. That was fucking stupid.

“Yeah alright then: buy me a new jacket.” She crossed her arms and sat into her hip, taking in the sight of the handsome man petting his tiny furry murder-machine like it was no big deal. He was so… normal looking, wearing his funeral blacks, standing in the entryway of his enormous, fancy house that didn’t smell at all like mold or stale cigarette smoke. “That’s really sweet of you — thank you.”

He rubbed his thumb up the bridge of Manfred’s nose and the cat tilted his head upwards, big wet purrs issuing from him, and as Emmrich stood there, showering affection upon his slightly insane looking pet, he looked… pleased?

“It’s no trouble at all, darling. You’re welcome.”

Manfred eventually stopped circling Rook ominously after dinner, though he did insist on following her wherever she went, unwilling to let her out of his sight for even a moment.

"So: talking to the dead."

She broached the topic post-dessert ('nothing special' Emmrich claimed, 'just leftover banana bread I baked earlier this week), while they smoked on the patio of the small but private yard behind his unit.

"I prefer to call it 'corpse whispering'," he said, smoked trailing from the premium cigarette between his fingers. He'd seen fit to bequeath one unto Rook one too, rather than watching her choke down one of her dirt-cheap, half-sawdust 'cigarettes'.

"That's so dramatic," Rook snickered.

"Perhaps," Emmrich admitted, resting his elbow atop the arm that was crossed over his abdomen, looking dignified and elegant while he smoked in a way that Rook very much doubted she could duplicate. “It’s hardly as if it’s common knowledge anyway — I can call it what I want, so long as it’s within the boundaries of propriety, at least.” He took a drag, smoke drifting lazily above his head. “What did you want to know, darling?”

“Tell me about the first ghost you saw and spoke to? I can’t help but think that must have been terrifying for a little kid: was it?”

“Actually, no. The first echo I ever saw was that of a young boy who lived in the same orphanage as me. We were close in age, and formed a strong bond with one another as many of the children in the orphanage tended to do. Casper, was his name. He was bold and precocious where I was withdrawn and timid, and he seemed to take it upon himself to bring me out of my shell when I first arrived after the loss of my parents.” He extended his fingers, idly surveying his many gold rings on one hand. "He took ill one day and did not recover: the last time I saw him, he was being taken away to the hospital. He never returned to the orphanage. Not alive, at least."

Emmrich's words weighed heavily on Rook, and she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket - who would be texting her right now? She hadn't made any other plans this weekend. She ignored the urge to dip into her pocket and assuage her curiosity - this wasn't the sort of story one listened to while scrolling through their phone.

"He appeared at the end of my bed one morning, mere days after we were all told of his passing. All of the other children moved around him ignorant to his existence, but as he stood there and looked at me, and I looked at him, I knew that he knew I could see him." A sentimental smile pulled at Emmrich's lips as he lifted his cigarette again. "So he did what any lonely frightened child would do and asked if I wanted to play with him. And I answered like any lonely frightened child who had already lost his parents and was now dealing with the loss of his only friend as well: I said 'of course'."

Rook’s heart pulled at the mental image of a small boy utterly alone in the world, burdened with a cosmically unfair amount of grief when such things should have been mysteries to him for years at least.

“Imaginary friends are not at all uncommon for children to have. No one thought much of it - thought that I was merely an infant coping with yet another tragic death the only way I could at such a tender age. The other children already avoided me to begin with, so no harm was done to my reputation amongst them. And happily for me: Casper wasn’t imaginary: he was very real.” Emmrich exhaled, looking pensive as he stared into the dark, snow shrouded yard. “I believe the lingering imprint of his soul returned to the orphanage because he couldn’t bear to be alone - nor could he bear the thought of leaving me alone.”

Rook had not been expecting such a sad story - stupid, really: How could the origins of a child gifted with the ability to see the dead not be crushingly sad in some way?

She puffed on her smoke, and leaned back against the wall. “What became of him?” She already knew the answer to the question, but it felt right to ask.

Her phone vibrated again.

“As I mentioned to you last night, the imprints of those who linger are impermanent. Casper was my first conscious experience with the dead, and my first introduction to the fact that they too are as fleeting as the living.”

“Maker… I’m so sorry, Emmrich. That must have been awful.”

“Oh, no need to fret on my behalf,” he said, tone brightening as if she’d just apologized for spilling his tea. “Casper and I enjoyed each other’s company for the better part of a month after his passing, and there isn’t a single day that passes where I don’t look back on that time fondly. One day he was simply gone. I don’t think that any harm or suffering came to him - only what remained of his residual spiritual energy weakened and finally dissipated.”

“Yeah but for a kid to have to reconcile with that?” Rook hauled on her smoke and shuffled closer to Emmrich, partly to keep warm, mostly because she wanted to be close to him. “You can come to terms with something like that when you’re older and with like… therapy. But… but not when you’re fucking six.”

“An arguably unfair hand, but the one that I was dealt regardless,” Emmrich opined, snaking his arm around Rook and enshrouding her with his warmth. He looked down at her, illuminated by the dim porch light and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Besides, I think I turned out all right, all things considered…”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rook grinned, returning his embrace, basking in the sophisticated, gentlemanly scent of him that mingled with the stigma-drenched aroma of the thousands of chemicals immolating into the air around them. “It must have lonely for you, carrying that around for so much of your life.”

“Each of us bears our own burdens and tribulations, and my rare gift happened to be mine. I resolved early on to make the best of it and ultimately it lead me down the path of becoming a mortician, which has in turn allowed me to help hundreds of families over the years.” He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on a small bistro table by the door. “Aside from that, who better to help people cope with the seemingly relentless and disorientating agony of grief than one who has been exposed to its passionless magnitude before?”

Wow. This got dark.

“Yeah,” Rook agreed, knowing all too well about that passionless magnitude herself. “Makes sense to me.”

She let Emmrich go and reached into her pocket for her phone, ready to navigate away from the topic of death before she started oversharing again. Her face dropped when she looked at her screen.

“Maker’s balls,” she sighed, burning the smoke in her fingers down to the filter with one final haul.

‘Are u home? Can I come by? I wanna see u.’

‘I guess you’re not home. Ur lights are all off. When will u be back?”

‘cmon lovely miss noir dont leave a fella hangin. I’m just at the bar down the street come get a drink with me.’

“Fuck…” she breathed, reaching past Emmrich to dispose of her butt.

“What is it, darling?”

Concerned. Genuinely concerned - that’s what Emmrich was, and now she was going to have to let him in on this whole… mess - because that’s what it was.

“It’s nothing,” she said lightly. “Just… uh…” How fucking embarrassing... “Just that… that piece of shit ex-boyfriend I told you about yesterday. I broke up with him like five months ago and - he’s… he’s had some drinks, and sometimes he does this.”

“Does what?” Emmrich frowned, clearly not taking the hint despite her forced smile and the fact that she’d shoved her phone back into her pocket.

She opened the door and breezed past Emmrich into the warmth of the house where she shrugged out of her jacket and kicked off her unlaced boots, careful to keep them on the mat so they wouldn’t ruin the hardwood. “Oh, uh…you know - he’ll text me or call me or whatever and act like a dumbass.” She left out the fact that he implied he’d been outside her apartment that evening.

She fished the phone out of her pocket again and pursed her lips as she re-read the messages, all from a random number not in her contacts. “I can handle it though, no need to like… knight in shining armour or anything. I don’t even give him the satisfaction of replying - I just straight up block the number and move on.”

Emmrich, who had followed her inside and taken her jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs in the breakfast nook, looked unconvinced.

“Does this happen often?”

“No, now can we please not talk about it anymore?” Something in her expression must have registered for Emmrich, because he nodded once, let it go, and went over to the handsome milled walnut bar built into the wall near the living room.

Rook observed him as he busied himself with pouring a drink for each of them, silver hair catching in the warm incandescent light of the bar.

Her eyes followed the slope of his shoulders as he pulled glasses from shelves and uncorked a bottle.

Nothing about Emmrich could be described as ‘broad’ or ‘wide’. He was proportioned attractively enough, sure, but his physical charm was seemingly rooted in the fact that a creature as intimidatingly tall as he was had no business being so lithe and graceful: his narrow, waifish frame was a rebellion against nature… and it was very, very enticing.

Oddities and trinkets adorned the nooks and crannies of the bar in front of him: an armillary sphere, a Galileo thermometer; a shadowbox containing the iridescent carapaces of half a dozen preserved scarab beetles.

She wasn’t entirely sure why, but her throat tightened and she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling as she watched the lanky man pour a measure of expensive looking brandy into a pair of snifters that were finer than anything she’d ever drank from.

How’d she go from Tommy to this? Did she even deserve to be fed thoughtfully made dinners and poured pricey drinks?

He corked the bottle and turned to Rook holding the crystal snifters. The look on his lined face wasn’t one of condescension or unwanted pity, but rather a polite expression of understanding.

“A digestif. I hope it’s to your liking,” he murmured, returning to the kitchen. “Not that… not that I’m trying to get you potted so I can take advantage of that fact, of course, I—”

“Thanks, Emmrich,” Rook interjected before he could properly carry on with his assurances that he wasn’t a debased rapist. She swept the delicate patterned crystal out of his hand and swirled the deep golden liquid within like she’d seen mobsters do in the movies. “Cheers, handsome - to a good weekend.”

Emmrich hesitated at first, his fingers curled prettily around the swell of the snifter. For a horrifying moment, Rook thought he was going to insist on talking about the situation with Tommy, but he seemed to think better of it when he raised his glass and softly met his rim to hers.

“To a wonderful weekend, darling.”

And that was exactly what it was going to be, she decided, her nose dipping into the snifter as she brought it to her mouth, the warm, ethereal aroma of the brandy doing an elegant foxtrot over her olfactory receptors. It tasted rich and luxurious and suited Emmrich: his cashmere sweaters and tailored pants and his fingers covered in gold. It imparted warmth and comfort like he did. Stable. Gentle. Safe.

Rounding the corner of the island, aware of Manfred leaping up onto a bar stool to keep an eye on her, she stood in front of Emmrich, looping her index finger through the belt loop of the casual chinos he’d changed into. His hand came to rest on her waist, his thumb slowly tracing the flare of her hip.

“Maybe I don’t have the greatest track record with the guys I date… but maybe that’s about to change…” she mused, taking in his distinguished face: sharp angles and planes that contradicted the softness of his heart, and betrayed by the deep smile lines around his mouth - chiseled into flesh by decades of kindness and compassion served up in the form of a simple empathetic curve of the lips. The crow’s feet around his eyes also gave away the goodness of him, for Rook knew that a person whose smile did not meet their eyes could not be trusted.

She could see herself reflected in the his gaze: wide-eyed, young - immature and inexperienced and unsure, even as she rose slightly on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

“My ghosts tend to hang around a bit longer than yours,” she set down her brandy and slipped her hands under his shirt, fingers trailing along the dip of his spine, tapping out some brand of bastardized morse code over the peak of each vertebrae. “And they rattle their chains a bit louder too, I bet…” She closed the distance between them, bracketing his thigh with hers, one hand still languidly roaming the expanse of his back while the other drifted over the distinct crests and valleys of the spaces between his ribs. “Do you still want me?”

“Of course I do,” he breathed, almost looking hurt that she’d even thought to ask, setting down his own brandy and removing his glasses before running his hands over her waist and up the small of her back.

Rook leaned into him slightly, capturing him in another kiss, the friction of his leg between hers sending a shiver up her spine. “Something about being in a kitchen with you really does it for me, apparently,” she observed, fingernails digging into his skin, and she rolled her hips just enough to relieve the ache at the juncture of her thighs, moaning softly against Emmrich’s lips.

“Does it?” He inquired curiously, tucking her hair behind her ear while tilting her chin up gently, and Rook couldn’t help but think he’d moved his leg forward ever so slightly. His tongue swept over the seam of her lips and she parted for him: she’d allow him unimpeded access to any part of her he wanted if he only asked - she burned for him in a way that made her feel fucking stupid.

“Mhmm…” she hummed, pressing herself against him with mounting desperation, clit throbbing; making no effort to disguise the way she was moving against his leg - well aware of the tightening at the front of his pants.

She kissed a line down Emmrich’s jaw, then his spent some time on his neck, causing his breath to hitch before he whispered, “I had no idea you were so passionate about the culinary arts…”

“Me neither,” she mumbled, nipping at the soft slightly scratchy skin of his neck - his five o’clock shadow was darker still than it had been this morning and she knew he was literally itching to shave, but wouldn’t dare allow himself to abandon her for something so self-indulgent.

She dragged her hand over his cock, and he groaned at her touch, pushing away from the island and swapping their places so she was leaning against it instead. His hands found her ribcage and he shifted her up onto the countertop, slotting himself between her legs to resume kissing her feverishly.

Maker, he was so good at kissing: every time his lips crashed into hers, tongue stroking past her lips, hot, heavy breath feathering across her skin, her stomach jolted and sparks of pleasure suffused through her entire being.

Pushing up her shirt, he unbuttoned her jeans and dipped his hand inside, bypassing her underwear and uttering a quiet, pleased sound when his fingers encountered her slick heat.

Rook gasped and flung her arm to the side to brace herself on the cool surface of the counter when the tips of Emmrich’s fingers pressed against her clit, and she felt her wrist brush one of the crystal snifters hard enough to send it toppling to the floor where it landed with all of the predictable finality of shattering glass.

“Shit!” She breathed, going rigid, Emmrich’s hand still down the front of her pants. “I’m so sorry… I’d better… I’ll… Manfred.”

‘I’ll clean it up: wouldn’t want Manfred to hurt himself,’ was what she was trying to say.

“Leave it,” Emmrich said, moving up her neck. “He doesn’t care for brandy - he’ll give it a wide berth…” his teeth scraped over the skin under her ear. He slipped a finger inside of her and the willowy muscles and tendons of his forearm tensed. “I’m sure you can only imagine the misadventure that led us to that particular discovery…” He leaned part of his weight into the inside of her left leg, opening her wider, keen to move on from the brandy incident. “Ohhh… you’re so warm, darling. So tight…”

Rook could only whimper in response as a second finger joined the first, stretching and filling her so wonderfully until she could feel the metal of his rings against her skin. She threw her other arm over Emmrich’s shoulders, the scent of the spilled brandy rising into the air to mix with her fragrant arousal.

She bucked against his hand, chasing every bit of friction she could earn and whining into his shoulder when each time she tried to grind against the hand that was responsible for her bliss, he’d pull away slightly, depriving her of what she sought - taunting her - before returning and imparting even more intense sensation.

“Emmrich…” she entreated, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You teased me all day,” he said, the smarminess of his tone not diminished by the intimate sussuration of his words, imparted so tenderly into her ear. “It’s only fair I return the favour…”

Ohhhh you bastard…

She had. She had teased him relentlessly: had sent him a picture of her skirt hiked up, a dark stain soaking through the front of her thong during her break… along with more than a few colourful suggestions of what they should do later.

He’d staunchly refused to rise to her bait for the entire day, and apparently this was why: he had collected each lurid, flirtatious message and stored them in his pocket for later - leverage to turn to his advantage, because now she was sitting on his natural quartz countertop with her legs spread open as he tormented her with his fingers, dragging her right to to the edge and then backing off with almost infuriating efficiency.

She moaned his name again, back arching, toes curling against the cupboard doors as he stroked her g-spot. She clenched around him, a sharp gasp spilling from her lips, and once again his ministrations cruelly receded.

Emmrich’s voice rumbled approvingly in the depths of his chest and he shivered against her, thumb dragging so, so fucking slowly over her clit, sending her arcing up further into his arms. “You’ve no idea how much I enjoy your pleasure…” he breathed, “Every twitch and tremble - every little sound you make…”

Rook made a sound that might have been an attempt at his name.

“Teasing or not, you’re so perfect… especially when you’re like this. Such a good girl…”

A ragged gasp ripped from her at those words - so sinfully delivered in a tone unlike anything she’d ever heard from her kind, cordial mortician.

No one had ever said that before: never called her a good girl - and she’d never aspired to be labelled as such, operating up until under the belief that people who were into such things had deeply seated issues that only therapy could resolve.

“Holy fuck…” she panted, floored by the effect those words had on her: partly confused, partly ashamed… entirely aroused.

She was a good girl. She was a good person. She worked her ass off and paid her bills. She said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and didn’t toss her cigarette butts on the ground. She was polite to waitstaff and held doors open for old ladies. She laid her own happiness and aspirations down before other people like a coat over a mud puddle so they wouldn’t get their fucking feet dirty, just to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was - at the very end of the day - good.

It was about fucking time someone else recognized that she was, in fact, a Good Girl.

Emmrich appeared to share the unspoken sentiment, looking rather pleased with himself as he extracted his hand from her pants and started pulling them down her legs, mindfully sliding the other brandy snifter out of harm’s way as she raised her hips from the counter briefly to assist.

The stone was cold under her bare ass, and the goosebumps that rippled over her skin were born of a combination of the jarring temperature and Emmrich’s tongue ghosting over her swollen clit as he knelt between her thighs, staring up at her with an unmistakably lewd glint in his lust-blown eyes.

“You smell divine,” he declared, sinking soft, sweet kisses into the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. “You taste divine. I can’t get enough of you, my darling Rook…”

He shrugged his shoulders under the backs of her legs and parted her with his fingers, his nose rubbing against her clit as he pressed his flattened tongue against her, licking up the not insignificant amount of moisture pooled in and around her entrance, sounding as charmed as ever to make the acquaintance of her pussy.

“Fuck!” She whispered shrilly, carding her fingers through his hair while he took his time, eyelids sliding shut as his mouth shifted here and there, seeking out every single aspect of her labia; lips periodically closing over her clit to suck gently before drifting elsewhere.

It wasn’t that all of the sex she’d ever had before was bad. It was just that it wasn’t this.

He was actively ruining her for anyone else ever again with each perfectly placed flick and stroke of his tongue.

He had described himself as ‘familiar with the finer points of anatomy’ during dinner the night before.

His tongue laved over her, then into her.

Is he fucking ever, she thought, hips stuttering against his mouth as he feasted on her like she was actually the third course of the night and the banana bread was the most clever red herring that ever was.

She felt the tug of his lips sealing around her clit again, and he bobbed his head against the engorged organ, the very tip of his tongue pressed against the underside of it, maintaining a consistent, solid rhythm as Rook’s fingernails scrabbled over the smooth surface beneath her. Her breathing was pitched and ragged as she writhed in his grip, cursing, crying his name, and moaning loud enough for her voice to echo through the main floor.

“Cum for me, Rook…” he beseeched hoarsely, parting from her for only enough to make his desire known, gazing up at her, lips and chin shiny with her slick. “Cum in my mouth like a good girl.”

“Oh… fuck!”

Release splintered through her, brought about by the sheer eroticism of the command and the ruthlessness with which his hot wet mouth plundered her. Her voice strained and then broke, her hips jerking sloppily as her fingers tightened in his hair and she felt sudden warmth as she gushed forth, rivulets of sweet liquid trailing down towards her ass and dripping from Emmrich’s chin, plummeting to the ground in small drops like a welcome summer rain.

“Maker! Emmrich!”

He fumbled for her hand, brow furrowing as he moaned into her, gathering her palm to his and locking his fingers between hers, squeezing assuringly - talking her through it wordlessly while his mouth was still occupied. He held on tight while she rode out her orgasm, encouraging squeezes eventually replaced with the comforting stroke of his thumb until her muscles relaxed and she melted into the counter, her head coming to rest on the hard cold stone, legs dangling over the edge, spread out like this year’s uncooked Wintersend turkey.

“Holy fuck…” she whispered again, blinking up at the ceiling as her limbs continued to tingle.

“Such language, dear,” Emmrich purred from between her legs, gracing her thighs with more grateful kisses, palming her smooth belly.

“That’s your fucking doing…” she breathed, accepting his assistance when she started to sit up and he guided her upwards, his hand still holding hers. She kicked her feet lazily through the air on either side of Emmrich and pulled him into a somewhat dopey kiss, tasting the remnants of herself on his lips and tongue; smelling herself on his moustache and his skin.

“I think I’ll tease you more often,” she decided, kissing the well-defined curve of his chin and caressing the side of his face. “Time for bed?”

They were both aware that sleep was not on the menu. Not for a while yet, anyway.

“If you insist,” his face split in a wide grin that touched his eyes differently than she’d seen before. “Up the stairs, the door at the far end of the hall - I’m going to clean up this glass first and feed Manfred.”

He helped her down off the counter, careful to guide her away from the pool of brandy that was still slowly spreading past the shattered snifter, and then picked up her jeans from the floor and neatly folded them in half before handing them to her.

She padded towards the stairs, looking over her shoulder at him, her face flushed and glowing.

“Only a minute, darling," he smiled after her.