#john wick fandom

[John Wick & Teen!Reader]

Synopsis: After finding Helen’s old recipe book, you decide to surprise John with breakfast for Father’s Day, but of course, surprising an ex-assassin isn’t the easiest thing to accomplish. And unfortunately for you, he’s not particularly pleased with the result.

WC: 3479

Category: Heavy Fluff, Slight Angst, John!POV, Found Family, Grumpy + Sunshine Trope, Reader Is Around 14-15 Years Old, John Being A Dad {TW: Drugging (Not Out Of Malicious Intent), Mentions of Murder/Death}

I know Father’s Day isn’t for another month, but John gives me such girl dad vibes, and I just had to write about it.

you'd swoon when you looked out the window and saw him walk out to the curb to check his mail, the way he looked in those grey sweatpants and that white t-shirt...

he'd give you a polite smile and a slight nod when you passed his house on your daily walk while he was working in his front yard, which made your face heat up instantly.

you'd build up the courage to interact with him more, make excuses to be around him. you'd share your baked goods with him or ask for help around your house with something... anything to get closer to him.

your hand would brush against his as you hand him a container of cookies you'd baked for him to try...the electricity of his touch lingering long after.

john could tell you had a crush on him, so he'd occasionally tease you, make you squirm under his intense gaze and soft smiles, his voice sending chills down your spine.

paring: keanu reeves x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, rough sex, arguing, degrading if you squint, little to no plot, shower sex, age gap

masterlist

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you and keanu had been together for nearly a year now. you were an 20-year-old rising star with a rare blend of grace, beauty, and talent, while keanu, in his late fifties, was the seasoned actor everyone knew and loved. despite your significant age difference, your relationship was strong, built on mutual respect, a shared passion of acting, and an understanding of each other's unique lives. your love had a depth that surprised many, including yourselves.

you had been cast in the latest john wick film as a pivotal character - a young assassin with a complexed relationship with wick. it was a huge break for you, a role that demanded everything you had to offer and more. but it also meant grueling days on set, hours of preparation, and physical exhaustion like you'd never known.

keanu was giving everything to the film; it was his most iconic role, and the fans expected nothing less than perfection.

the set was close to your shared home, each night you would return home, grateful for the privacy and comfort it offered. but something had begun to shift between you since the shooting started. the long days left little room for intimacy or even simple moments of connection. you would often return home after 10 PM, too tired to do anything but collapse into bed. some nights, keanu didn't even make it home, having to stay behind to train or prepare for the next day's fighting scenes.

but you could feel the tension building inside you. you missed him- needed him- missed the way you used to be before the shooting started. the stolen kisses, the laughter, the way you would get lost in each other's arms. and of course the sex. you used to fuck like literal animals, loving to be at it practically every minute, every day. but now it's completely different, both of you are always way too tired, especially keanu. it's not like you didn't have the energy or motivation to have sex, you dearly desired it, but it was keanu who mostly every time declined it. you understood that then film demanded everything from him, from both of you, but it didn't stop you from feeling the frustration of your growing distance.

you wanted him. hell, craved him. and the longer you went without any real intimacy, the more the frustration build up.

one evening, after another exhausting day on set, you finally made it back home just after 10 PM. you entered the house first, tossing your bag to the floor with more force than necessary. keanu followed you, his face lined with exhaustion, but there was a gentle smile on his lips as he greeted your dog, who was eagerly wagging his tail.

"I'm going to change." keanu said, his voice rough from the day. he kissed your forehead lightly, barely brushing your skin, before heading upstairs to your bedroom. you stood there, body tense, the kiss doing nothing to alleviate the storm of emotions swirling inside you. you wanted more than just a peck on the forehead.

you wanted all of him.

you needed him in a way that only passionate sex could satisfy. you couldn't even describe it properly how much you needed him to ruin you. but every night, the exhaustion seemed to win.

keanu reappeared a few minutes later, now in a pair of loose sweatpants and a faded band tee. he sank into the couch with a groan, his head leaning back as he closed his eyes. the sight of him like this - vulnerable, weary - only intensified your desire. you couldn't wait any longer. you walked over to him and sat beside him, your hand gently caressing his cheek. "keanu." you whispered, your voice laced with yearning.

he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a tired but warm smile. "what is it, darling."

instead of answering, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. keanu responded, his lips moving against your with a familiar softness, but there was a hesitation in his touch. undeterred, you deepened the kiss, your hand sliding down his chest, grazing his almost unnoticeable bulge ever so slightly. keanu pulled back, confusion written in his eyes. "y/n, wait..."

but you didn't want to wait. you knew what you wanted and that was definitely him. you straddled his lap, pressing yourself against him, desperate to finally feel him against you. the moment you felt his dick pressing into you, your hips began to grind down on him hard. "I need you keanu." you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with desire.

he placed his hands on your hips, gently but firmly stopping your movements. "I'm... I'm tired, love. I just don't have the energy." the words hit you like a slap in the face. you pulled back, your expression hardening as anger flared up inside you.

"tired?" you echoed, voice tinging with disbelief. "we haven't had sex in weeks, keanu! I know you're exhausted, but so am I! don't you think I need you too?"

Keanu's brows furrowed, his weariness replaced by frustration. "of course I know that, but I've been pushing myself to the limit every day. this movie - its grueling. you know how demanding it is!"

you stood up abruptly, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I'm not asking for much! just one night, keanu. I want to feel close to you again, to remind myself that we're not just co-stars living in the same house!"

his eyes flashed with anger, his own patience wearing thin. "and you think I don't want that too? I'm not some machine, y/n! I'm giving everything I have there, and when I come home, I'm spent. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you." the harshness of his words cut deep, and you felt a sting of tears in your eyes. you turned away from him, arms crossed over your chest, unable to bear the sight of him in that moment.

"I can't believe you don't see how much this is hurting me." you mumbled quietly, voice shaking. Keanu's silence was deafening. he watched you, his expression softening but he didn't budge. he knew he had a point.

you shook your head in disbelief. "I'm going to take a shower." you muttered. without another word, you walked away, leaving keanu alone in the living room.

as you stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, the sound of the water cascading down felt like a small reprieve from the turmoil raging inside you. with a sigh you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the hot stream, letting it wash over you, hoping it could cleanse away the anger and hurt you felt. but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, mixing with the water as they fell from your cheeks. a sob escaped your mouth as you leaned back against the wall, head tilting up. you had barely touched each other in weeks, and the absence of his touch, his presence, was like a void. you ached for him, and not forget to mention the sex. but every night it seemed to slip further away.

as the minutes passed, you anger began to ebb, replaced by a deep, gnawing sadness. you hated fighting with keanu, hated the distance between you. how had you come to this? you had been so happy, passionate, so in sync. all you wanted was for things to go back to the way they were before the movie had taken over your lives.

you weren't sure how much time had passed when you heard the bathroom door creak open. your heart skipped a beat as you opened your eyes and turned your head slightly, expecting to see keanu standing there. he was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his expression softened by an apology that had yet to be spoken. he was still wearing his sweatpants, but his shirt was gone, revealing his toned body you loved so much.

"y/n." he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the small space. you didn't respond, your eyes flickering with a mix of emotions - anger, hurt and a desperate yearning. keanu took a step closer, his gaze never leaving your as he reached for the hem of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them down. you watched, your breath catching in your throat as he stripped down, his vulnerability in that moment touching you in a way you hadn't expected. he stood there for a moment, hesitating, as if unsure whether you would welcome him or push him away. but then he stepped into the shower, the water immediately soaking his hair, his body, as he closed the distance between you.

his hands found your waist, and he pulled your to him, your wet bodies pressing together as the stream enveloped you. "I'm sorry." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

you looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for any trace of anger that had been there before, but all you saw was regret, love and... lust. "I just... I miss you keanu." you admitted, voice trembling. "I miss us." he nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I know, and I miss you too. I've been so caught up in everything - the training, fighting scenes- I lost sight of what really matters." he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears on your cheeks. "I'm here now y/n. I'm right here."

the sincerity of his voice broke down the last of your defenses. you leaned into him, your hands gripping his arms as you felt the warmth of his body against your own. Keanu's lips found yours, this time with a tenderness that melted away the frustration that had built up inside you. the kiss was slow, deliberate, a silent promise that he was there with you, fully present in that moment.

you stayed like that for a while, the water pouring over you as their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more needy. his hands roamed over your whole body, slightly squeezing your breasts. his touch ignited a fire within you that you had longed to feel for weeks. you responded with equal fervor, your fingers sliding up and down his chest. "keanu," you breathed as you pulled away from your intense kiss. you looked at him with lust filled eyes, wanting him right now. "I need you."

his response was a low groan as he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you up. instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to your aching body. the passion between you was undeniable, a raw, primal need that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long.

keanu pressed you against the cold tile wall, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck as you arched against him. your arms wrapped around his neck, a moan slipping past your lips. he passionately started to suck and lick on the sensitive skin, enjoying the sounds you were making.

your excitement just grew even more when you felt his hard cock press up against your tingling pussy. slowly, you started to move against him to gain some friction, eliciting a low growl from him. "please more, keanu." you whimpered. he pulled away from you neck and looked at you with those eyes that would make you weak every time. "my little impatient girl."

the hand that rested loosely on your neck, sneaked it's way down to your aching cunt, slowly, going up and down between your wet folds. he moaned out at the feeling, giving you a peck on the lips. "you're so wet for me baby." he mumbled as he pushed two of his fingers inside of your warm walls. "ah- just f-for you." you whined out. he scissored his fingers inside you before he arched his fingers up, pressing directly onto that spot that made you see stars. when he began to thrust his fingers up, a loud moan escaped your throat and your head flew back in bliss.

your grip on keanu tightened and you rocked against his fingers, needing to feel him even more. the pace of his fingers increased, making you a moaning mess already. he just knew too well how to make you fold. your walls started to flutter around his digits, the coil in your abdomen slowly building up. "fuck, daddy!" you breathed out as your eyes shut close.

"you're doing so good for me baby." he rumbled right into your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. the sight of you made keanu twitch in excitement, needing you just as much, he knew he couldn't hold back much longer. after a few more strokes of his fingers, he pulled out of your slippery hole, making you cry out at the denial, your forming orgasm fading away. "daddy..." you whined, staring up at him with those puppy eyes. a smirk played on Keanu's lips when he heard your desperate cries.

"don't you want to come around daddy's cock?"

your mouth opened a little, but you just nodded silently in reply, eyes sparkling with desire at the thought of it. "of course you want it, little slut." he growled before he lined up with your welcoming entrance. with a swift move of his hips, he slid into your hole with ease, filling you up to the brim. a loud squeal escaped your throat at the feeling of getting ripped open by his dick. you would never get used to his size, doesn’t matter how many times you would fuck.

the burning pain washed through your whole body and your face scrunched up in discomfort. keanu watched your face closely, observing your every reactions. he didn’t move, waiting for you to get used to him and tell him to start.

he would always do that. he wanted you to feel safe and comfortable around him.

but there definitely were times where he wouldn’t care a bit about your comfort, completely showing off his dominant side.

and you secretly loved this.

obviously.

you breathed in sharply before you opened your eyes, immediately meeting keanu‘s lustful gaze.

"you can move.“ a quiet whisper echoed in the room. his grip on your body tightened before he began to thrust inside you with a slow but hard pace. the second he began to move, your world turned upside down.

you had missed this way too much. missed him way too much.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and clung tighter to him, your face buried in the crook of it. keanu grabbed your thighs harder before he began to move your body against his, meeting his own thrusts. his lips found yours, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. your lips moved against each other with desire and when you let out a whimper, keanu slipped his tongue in, fighting for dominance.

hot, high pitched moans filled the air as the water poured down on you, adding even more intimacy to your long desired moment.

"please go faster keanu.“ you whimpered as you pulled away from the kiss and the second the words left your lips, he increased his speed, clashing his hips faster, more furiously against you.

"oh fuck.“ you moaned out at his pace. one of john’s hand wandered up your body, caressing your tits, squeezing ever so harshly and pulling on your hardened nipples before it grabbed ahold of your throat. his grip was harsh and he pushed your head back against the tile wall, making you look at him.

"is that what you wanted?“ keanu asked, his hips rutting harsher and faster into you at every word that came out of his mouth.

with the pressure of his hand on your throat and the intense hammering of his hips, you couldn’t even think straight, your senses were completely dazed, all that was on your mind is keanu and how good and hard he was fucking you. you didn’t even comprehend his words.

a harsh slap on your cheek, drove you back into reality and your eyes shoot open to look at him. he was already staring at you with harsh, darkened eyes.

"answer. me.“ he growled as he tightened the grip around your throat even more, almost cutting off your airways and just fucked rougher into you.

"mh-yes, that’s- that’s what i wanted.“ you managed to mewl out before you focused on the pleasure he was giving to you again. in reply, keanu just smirked darkly before he completely pulled out of you.

with knitted eyebrows and mouth wide agape, you looked up at him with confusion written all over your face. "what- what’s wrong?“ she mumbled.

wordlessly, keanu set you down and with the blink of an eye you were turned around and mushed up against the frigid glass wall. he reached around your middle, pulled your hips back, and made you arch your back. with his knee, he pushed your wobbly legs wide open and with a sharp thrust he filled her hole up again. "keanu!“ you yelled out, pressing your palms against the glass for support but it was useless. he immediately started off with a quick pace, hands placed on your hips.

the new angle allowed his tip to brush exactly into that one spot that made your knees go weak and eyes turn to the back of your scull. the cool sensation of the glass wall on your hardened nipples only added fuel to your receiving pleasure.

"my little slut. taking me so well.“ he murmured against your ear, his dick plunging into you in an animalistic speed and harshness.

too lost in the moment, you didn’t even notice when keanu sneaked a hand around your middle again and began to rub circles on your swollen clit, eliciting a loud and powerful whine that echoed in the room.

with the constant stimulation on her clit and g-spot, you felt her orgasm slowly building up and your legs began to tremble, almost giving out.

keanu seemed to notice this and wrapped his other hand around your upper body, supporting you in the best way possible. hearing your sweet moans and cry’s sent waves of pleasure through his whole body, getting closer and closer to his release as well. his eyes fell closed and his head leaned back, enjoying the feeling of your warm, velvety walls wrapped around him so perfectly.

the speed of his fingers increased and your moans began to get louder and louder, almost reaching your peak.

"im gonna cum, daddy!“

with an answering groan, keanu pounded into you deeper than before and sped up his moving hips to their maximum, his fingers pressing and circling your nub harsher.

"cum with me princess.“ he snarled as he finally let go, spurting all of his seed deep inside of you. his orgasm triggered your own and with a pornographic moan you stumbled over the edge, coming hard around him. keanu fucked you through your orgasms, letting you ride it out.

"oh god, keanu!“ you yelled out at the intense fire burning inside of you as you pressed your cheek against the wall.

his movements slowed down and after a few thrusts his hips came to an halt. you gasped out, breathing heavily. keanu now wrapped both of his arms around your body lovingly, pressing his chest to your back.

"you did so good for me y/n.“ he whispered, voice soft, placing a small kiss to your temple.

carefully, keanu pulled out of your hole, eliciting a groan from both of you, and turned you around.

"i‘m sorry y/n. i shouldn’t have treated you like this. i- just- i hope you forgive me.“ the man mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours. you wrapped your arms around his torso, enjoying the warmth of his body.

"of course i forgive you. i‘m so relieved that we finally talked about all this, that you finally understand how i feel.“ you replied with a softness in your tone.

how could you ever be mad at him. he’s your whole world.

keanu smiled at your words and captured your face, pulling you into an passionate kiss. but the kiss showed off all of his emotions - love, happiness, sorrow, tenderness. you returned the kiss with equal fever, pulling him closer.

"i love you doll.“ he whispered against your lips.

Y/n is sweet and kind and isn't part of Vincent world, but he fell for her anyway and although he's ruthless he has a soft spot for her as she's his wife. A fic of him killing someone and she accidentally sees and get scared and he comforts and cuddles her.

Thank you for the request! I found myself immediately inspired and I wrote it as soon as I could.

I am working on the other requests, too! It will just take a little time :) 🖤

Safe in his arms

Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

The first time he had seen you, truly seen you, was at the Louvre. On a January morning, when Paris was still cold and tormented by a wind blowing from the north, when the fog rose in the city's parks and around its splendid monuments, bathing everything in an intense white, you had waited for hours on those stairs, with your arms crossed, looking at one single work of art. At first Vincent didn't give it much importance. But when the crowd thinned out, around noon, knowing that soon the guests would arrive at his private event — yet another official HighTable lunch right there in Paris — and seeing you still there, fascinated, he approached.

Part One | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

"WE ARE CURSED, YOU AND I."

Summary: You are no stranger to loss. Grief is an old friend - a feeling that's settled deep within your bones. Maybe that's why you're the first person John Wick seeks out after Iosef Tarasov steals his car and kills his dog. Or maybe it's because you're the only person he can trust after finding himself thrust back into a world cursed by betrayal and violence.

Pairing: John Wick x Female!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, angst, no use of y/n, use of nicknames

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: I know, I know. You're finally updating Shane's Girl and now you're posting a whole other story? I was feeling inspired after rewatching the John Wick franchise and wanted to write for my favorite boy. Let me know what you guys think and let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters.

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Part Two is here!

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

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