Coco Shady 🎶

You lay tangled in the sheets of the swanky hotel room that had become the usual setting of your rendezvous with Marshall (aka your favorite client), catching your breath as he did the same. You were both smiling the type of smile people have when they’ve just had a moment of pleasure with someone who feels familiar enough for you not to have to give them too many directions. In moments like these, you almost forgot it was transactional, for both of you. For a second, you could have believed you were just two people burning for each other, and not a luxury Escort and a rapper trying to forget about loneliness.

Ever the gentleman, Marshall handed you a bottle of water. It was now a silent inside joke between the two of you. The first time he’d done that, you had pointed out that you were the one getting paid and that, therefore, you might as well be the one providing the aftercare. It was customary after all. He’d replied he didn’t care for customs and that he didn’t want to be like the rest of your clients either. In retrospect, it was pretty unsurprising, coming from someone who had made clear that, if he couldn’t be your only one client, he at least wanted to be your #1. Whatever that meant.

You had refused his offer to provide for you in exchange of you dropping your other clients, but, to be fair, since that trip to Europe, you had sort of made him your #1 client. There was nothing official to it, of course, and you did everything you could so that the agency did not really you had a favorite, but you did treat him much better than you did the others. You prided yourself in providing premium services, but Marshall had it even better. More kisses. More rounds. Actual answers when he asked about you (though you’d always made a point not to give him your actual, civilian name). It was transactional, but it also wasn’t just about the sex anymore. Marshall liked to talk and you obliged. You even asked the right questions, just for the sake of seeing his boyish grin and sparkle in his eyes whenever he talked about something he was passionate about. And on the rare occasion he’d had a hard day before one of your rendezvous, you listened, like, actually listened.

« You alright, handsome? » you asked after a couple sips of water. « I’m good, » he muttered, eyes closed. « Third round? » you offered as you inched closed and kissed his collarbone. He let you but did not give in to the temptation. « I’d love to, but I have a plane to catch » he sighed. You looked at him, a little confused. « You’re not staying the night? » you asked, unable to help the frown on your face. That was unusual. In the past few months, he had consistently spent the night with you. It was tradition at this point: one night with you, then a flight back to Detroit or wherever he was due. « Not this time, » he hummed. « I have to fly home tonight. You’ll have the room to yourself ».

He seemed factual about it. Not sad but not pleased either. You knew him enough to make the assumption that he’d rather stay. He was a creature of habit after all. You sat up and tilted your head to the side. « That’s… unusual » you noted. He huffed and gave you a smile. « Are you saying you’ll miss me? » he teased, raising a hand to cup your face. « Just wondering if I should be worried for you, » you shrugged in an attempt to play it cool, so tat you wouldn’t have to admit to either him or yourself that you were attached to the habits you had with him. « All good. But I’m spending tomorrow with the family. For my birthday, » he explained though he was not required to. You hummed and leaned into his touch.

« Birthday, huh? You should have told me, » you teased. « I would have brought a present ». He chuckled and pulled you closer. « Oh yeah? Is that part of what you do? » he asked, amused. « Favor treatment. I thought you wanted to be my #1 client » you replied on the same tone. « I don’t do presents. I like giving them but I suck at receiving them. All I ask for family time » he hummed. You giggled and shook your head. « It’s just as well. I’m sure you’re impossible to shop for, » you smiled against his neck. « Exactly. See? I didn’t tell you because I wanted to spare you the headache. And that is precisely what makes me your #1 client » he pointed out as he let his hands wander around your waist. You hummed and placed a chaste kiss in his neck before looking up. « And if I were to want to treat you for your birthday, hypothetically, how would I do that? » you asked, batting your eyelashes.

« Hypothetically, » he murmured « I’d want you to give me something no one else has. Something you wouldn’t give anyone else ». You smiled and gave him a look full of mischief. « So, orgasms are a no » you joked. « And if memory serves, you’re not big on anal either, so… yeah, it’s probably best we’re speaking in hypotheticals » you giggled. He chortled, as he always did whenever you joked about your professional endeavors. You knew he loved that about you, your self-awareness and the way you could poke fun at your own status as an escort. « As if you would have let me fuck you in the ass » he hummed in disbelief, fully aware of your limits. « For your birthday? As my #1 client? I might have. Don’t you dare doubt me like this, Marshall! » you gasped in mock offense. « I would never, » he whispered teasingly. « I commend your generosity, but I happen to hate my birthday, so… yeah, hypotheticals. But it’s important for my kids, so… birthday tomorrow, family time, dinner and shit. Flight’s in two hours. Which means I should probably head for the shower » he added before getting up.

You lay in bed while he showered. You weren’t exactly surprised that he hated his birthday. On a couple of occasions, he’d told you a bit about his childhood. You weren’t a certified psychologist by any means, but you had dealt with enough successful men with tragic backstories to know that people with a history of being abused by their parents and growing in squalor did not necessarily see the point in being celebrated on the anniversary of their birth. You could also recall him telling a story about a couple of very sucky birthday’s he’d had in the past, and how no birthday party could ever compare to the one Proof had thrown for his 31st. Far be it from you to pity your clients, but you hated the fact that Marshall was about to turn 53 and not feeling great about it. And you also hated the way a part of you sometimes wanted to go out of your way to make him smile, but as usual, you told your brain it was future you’s problem.

He came back to the room moments later, a towel wrapped around his waist, searching for his clothes. He gave you a kind smile as he started getting dressed. « Already booked you for next month, » he said. « I’ll stay the night, this time ». You hummed and nodded, before getting up to give him a kiss. « Good. I like our traditions. And you’ll owe me one more round, too, » you stated in mock seriousness. « Owe you one more round? I didn’t know that we were keeping track. Or that I, the paying customer, owed you anything » he chuckled, visibly amused. « Do we have a contract I don’t know about? ». You shook your head and shrugged. « Statistics. Based on your performance over the last year, we have an average of 3.5 rounds, » you recounted and he nodded. « Ah. Wouldn’t want tonight to ruin my excellent track record. One more round next time, then, » he promised. « Now, that’s why you’re my favorite » you murmured.

You looked at each other with mischief all over your faces and kissed one more time, just because. He glanced at his watch and sighed. « Don’t want to be late » he hummed. « You fly private. I’m pretty sure they’re required to wait for you before taking off, » you pointed out in amusement. « Punctuality’s a virtue » he replied as he grabbed his jacket. « Go and have fun, birthday boy » you told him as you wrapped yourself in a robe. « Sure, » he sighed as he rolled his eyes. « Just so you know, I’ll spend the entire flight trying not to think of the fun I would have had with you» he added, only joking a little as he headed for the exit.

No matter how much you hated Marshall’s guts, you had to admit that he’d been pretty decent in the way he dealt with your separation. Once he had realized that no amount of begging or tearful apologies would get you to stay, he had decided to be mature about the situation. When you sat down with Emmy, to break the news to her that Mommy and Daddy had decided not to live together anymore, you had half-expected him to make a snarky comment about how you were the one who decided to « break the family » but he did not. In fact, he surprised you with how calm he was, even taking it upon himself to say the hard things. And when your four year-old inevitably asked why, he had kept his composure. 

« Sometimes, grown-ups have disagreements and they think it’s better not to live under the same roof. It makes getting along easier, » he tentatively explained. « It’s better to have two houses than to live together and be in a bad mood all the time ». His tone had remained even, though you could see the sadness and regret in his eyes. It almost made you reconsider. For a quarter second, you thought about staying, about how great of a father he was. But then, you remembered his confession, and imagined him getting his dick sucked in Los Angeles, by some woman who was at that listening party. A friend of a friend, he’d told you, not even able to remember her name. It did not matter how many times he’d apologized since he came clean, and you didn’t care that he’d pushed her away before anything else happened, and that he did not even come or fucked her. The simple thought of him looking at another woman with his bright blue eyes, smiling at her and kissing her was enough to make you sick to your stomach. It was enough to make you realize that nothing would ever be the same. Enough to make you feel like, perhaps, the life the two of you had built together was not the fairytale you once thought it was. 

Maybe it was fate, after all. The universe’s way of getting back at you for falling in love with another woman’s man, getting him to leave her for you, having his baby and planning your happily ever after with him. Maybe it was all you deserved : getting your heart broken, probably as much as Michelle’s had suffered back then. And now, you had to watch your now ex fiancé tell his youngest child that her parents would not live together anymore. 

« But Mommy says it’s important to make-up and forgive people, » Emmy had bargained. « Like the time Rosie broke my doll ». That earned her a sad chuckle from Marshall and a kiss on the forehead. « It’s a little more complicated than this, sweetie. But Mommy and I we- We’ll always be family. We’ll always be your parents. And we’ll always get along for the important moments. You’ll have both of us for every Christmas, every birthday, everything. But we’re going to live in separate houses and you’ll spend half the time with me, and half the time with her », he told her. 

The following days had been hard. At four years old, and having inherited her Daddy’s brain, Emmy had kept on asking questions about logistics, and pointing out the flaws in the plan, saying how she wanted both of her parents at the same time, in the same house. The two of you kindly explained to her that she could still have the two of you together sometimes, and that it would take some getting used to from everyone, and that you’d try and make the transition a little easier. « Daddy will come and tuck you in, when we move to the new house. You’ll still see him, » you had assured her. « The house I got for you and Mommy is walking distance from here, peanut, » Marshall said. « You’ll have both of us a lot of the time ». You’d given him a stern look. One that said « just because you bought a house and put it in my name to make up for cheating doesn’t mean I’ll hang out with you unless I absolutely have to ». 

The only pro Emmy could find was that she’d have two rooms and « twice as many toys ». She’d had to be nudged in that direction by Stevie, but the perspective of being able to request some pink and purple glittery wallpaper did seem to make her more… accepting of the circumstances. And Marshall had made sure to make it happen, too. He move had been handled swiftly, as had the renovations. He had not kept his promise to cherish you and remain faithful, but it seemed like he made a point of keeping his vow to look out for you and make sure you’d always be provided for. To be fair, you suspected that him doing that when he had no contractual obligation whatsoever (since he’d had the bright idea to cheat a week before the prenup appointment) was a way to prove to everyone in his life that he wasn’t a bad person altogether. From what you’d heard, the news of your separation and the disclosure of the reasons behind it had earned him an earful from his family. Even Nate, ever his big brother’s ride-or-die had told him he’d fucked up massively. 

In the weeks and months that followed, you built a new normal and made sure Emmy adapted. At first, she requested that both of you tuck her in, whether she slept at your house or Marshall’s, but eventually, she got used to the routine. Monday through Wednesday at Dad’s, Wednesday through Friday at Mom’s and one every other weekend. Wednesday night were a « family dinner » night. You either went to Marshall’s and he came to yours, and you all ate together while your daughter told you everything fun she’d done in the last few days. After she went to bed, Marshall would usually try to strike a conversation, ask if you needed anything, or if the house needed fixing. You did your best to remain civil, while assuring him that, no, the house did not need fixing, and that if it did, you were fully capable of calling someone yourself. As were you of remembering that your car’s yearly inspection was coming up (you did not tell him that you had absolutely forgot before he reminded you). 

On your first mother’s day since separating, he sent you flowers. A beautiful, oversized bouquet with a heartfelt note praising your mothering and a small reminder that he’d be there at six for dinner and to bring. They showed up on time, your daughter holding a smaller bouquet and handing it to you. « Happy Mother’s Day, mama » she greeted you. You hugged and thanked her and, when you looked up, you were greeted by the sight of her father, looking a little too good for your taste. No sweats, no rap album cover tee-shirt. He was wearing jeans, 4s, a plain black tee under a designer jacket (that did not do a great job hiding his pecs) and a white gold chain. The one you had gifted him for Father’s Day last year. Typically the type of outfit he’d wear for… date night. You raised an eyebrow, already judging. « You clean up nice » you stated. « Are you expected somewhere? ». He gave you a smile and your usual peck on the cheek. « Coming back, actually. Photoshoot day. No time to change before school pickup. Barely had time to remove the makeup » he explained. You hummed, trying to hide your relief that he did not have the audacity to go on a date on Mother’s Day. 

Dinner was relatively uneventful, except for the fact that Marshall insisted on ordering in. « It’s Mother’s Day, how about you chill instead of working in the kitchen? » he argued and you eventually caved in. He immediately grabbed his phone to order Postmates from your favorite Chinese restaurant, the one you craved when you were pregnant with Emmy. At dinner, your daughter told you all about school and how fun it was to spend time with her Dad and her cousins. « The boys came over, and we built a fort in the movie room, and Daddy even let us stay up super super late! And we had candy! But it’s okay because it was not a school night » she recounted while Marshall tried to hide a sheepish and guilty smile. « And did Daddy remind you to brush your teeth after? » you asked with a raised eyebrow, more out of principle than anything. « He did » she sighed in annoyance. « But there was no strawberry toothpaste left so I had to use his, » she added with a grimace. « Mommy hates it too » Marshall chuckled, teasing you about how nauseous his strong mint toothpaste used to make you when you were expecting. « Well, it’s not out fault if you choose to brush your teeth with the strongest toothpaste known to man » you teased as you rolled your eyes. « Better than your sparkly Jasmine and Peach thing… » he muttered. « Hey! You complimented my breath right before our first- » you started, which earned you a chuckle and smile. You looked at each other for a beat, obviously reminiscing the night of your first kiss. 

The moment was short lived, though, interrupted by a very dramatic four year-old gasp. « Mama! We forgot to ask you! I need pictures. For school. With you and daddy! » she said, suddenly very serious. « Pictures with me and daddy, huh? Does Daddy not have some at his place?» you asked. « Family tree project or something, » Marshall shrugged. « We got some but she wants the one of the three of us under the tree. You took the frame ». You hummed and nodded. It was the last « official » picture you’d taken as a couple, weeks before the breakup. Marshall had agreed to an engagement photoshoot, and you had compromised and decided to organize it in the backyard. Back then you’d thought it fitting to have your engagement photoshoot in the backyard of your « forever home ». The pictures had turned out great, and one of your favorites was one of the two of you and Emma, under her favorite tree, everyone smiling and the huge rock Marshall had given you catching the light perfectly. He loved the picture as much as Emmy did. Which was exactly why you had taken the frame before moving out, seething and declaring that he did not deserve to have it in his home. He could have the ring back for all you cared, but this picture was yours to take. Specifically because you knew he cared more about this picture frame than about the ring and you’d felt petty. You smiled quietly and got up to grab a box from your home office, where you kept old pictures. You came back and placed the box on the table, and Emmy immediately started rummaging through it. Just like her dad, she loved pictures. Ever the old-school man, Marshall had always preferred analog over digital and he’d always made a point to print the pictures he loved, either to frame them or to put them in albums. Something about them meaning more if one could actually hold them. Emmy seemed to agree. 

She gasped triumphantly as she held up two frames. The one with the picture under the tree and another one, taken about five years ago : you in a pink sundress, proudly posing in the den of Marshall’s house, cradling your baby bump. You had found out you were expecting a little girl a couple days before, and when Marshall saw you wearing pink that day, he had declared that he simply must take a picture. You could still remember the reverence with which he had directed you, and how he made sure to take the perfect picture. « It’s the first picture we’ll have of you and our daughter » he had said emotionally. You’d told Emmy the story of this picture and she’d loved it ever since. Something caught in your throat as you saw the happiness on your daughter’s face and the emotion on her father’s. You found yourself unable to make a sound. Thankfully, Marshall gently grabbed the frames from her and set them aside. « You can’t use the pictures in the frames, baby, » he said gently. « We want these to stay intact. We’ll print copies for your project, ok? ». You gave him a slight nod, a silent thank you. 

As was now tradition on Wednesdays, you handled bedtime as a team. The weekly ritual that had the tree of you gathered by Emmy’s bed, in either house, reading bedtime stories. One each. A little treat that had been decided as a way to make Wednesdays feel special and fun, and not just about separation. Marshall usually went first, making up a silly voices for each character, and you went last, choosing soothing tones to help your daughter sleep peacefully (you figured it’d be easier than asking her to sleep right after her father made her wheeze). Once Emmy was asleep, you dimmed the light and both exited the pink and purple bedroom and headed downstairs. « Water? » you offered Marshall before sending him on his way, and he gave you a nod. When you came back from the kitchen, holding two glasses, you did not find him with his jacket on. He was leaning against your dinner table, a small box in his hand. Black. Velvety. Familiar. « Nope » you shook your head as you placed the glasses on coasters. « You haven’t even opened it, yet » he argued. « Don’t care » you said softer than you intended. « I gave this ring back to you ». He stayed silent for a second, seemingly hesitating, but handed you the small box anyway, something firm in the way he moved. « That’s not a ring, » he said. Oh. 

You raised an eyebrow and bit your lip, suddenly nervous and unsure why your ex was handing you jewelry. You took the box and stared at it before opening. You were greeted with the sight of a familiar rock. Colorless. Cushion cut. Big enough to have its own zip code. Set in yellow gold and surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds. But contrary to last time you’d seen it, it was not mounted on a ring. It was now a pendent. Your breath caught as you looked at it, and you couldn’t pretend you had not missed feeling its weight on your ring finger. You did not trust yourself to speak (and frankly, you didn’t know what to say), so you just let your gaze travel to Marshall. « It was your push present, » he tentatively explained. « I know you gave it back, but it was your push present, that I gave you about three years late on Mother’s Day, when I proposed last year, and I want you to have it. So I had the jeweler transform it into a pendant, and I figured it could go to Ems when she’s older ». You could hear the emotion in his voice and you stared at him and gave him a slight, imperceptible nod, still unable to talk. « We always said it would make a great family heirloom, but I thought… You didn’t wear it long. And I didn’t want her to look at it someday and think ‘there’s the ring my jackass dad gave my mom, and she wore it for like five months before he gave it back because he was dumb enough to ruin everything’ so… Yeah. Sorry. If you don’t want it, I’ll keep it in a safe. But I thought… It’s Mother’s Day. And I know you loved this rock, so you should have it. If you want. It’s yours, I mean ». 

You took another look at the pendant and hated that he was right. You did love that rock with all your heart. « I don’t know if I can wear it but… Thank you. That’s very considerate » you thanked him earnestly, touched by the fact that he went out of his way to turn the ring into something that could still be yours. « You carried our daughter for nine months and you’ve been the most amazing mother I’ve known ever since. You deserve something for it. Even if that something is not… tied to me anymore » he muttered. You could feel your eyes burn and decided to think about something other than the heartbreak in his voice. « We did make a very cute baby » you acknowledged. « She’s the best thing you ever gave me ». He nodded and attempted a smile. « I’m glad you pestered me for a baby » he hummed. « I’m glad I caved in ». You laughed a watery laughed as you remembered what a hard bargain you’d had to drive. Before that, he’d told you he was done with raising kids, that his daughters were grown up and that he wanted to enjoy the next two decades in peace with you, without a single diaper. He’d given you a whole speech about being « old » and « tired » and how he’d finally earned the right to sleep more than six hours a night. For a moment, you’d thought it was reasonable, and that you could be happy without having kids, but your ovulating self had disagreed on a monthly basis, and it had turned into you being feral each cycle, as if some horny hormone goblin had taken control of your brain. After months of innuendos and implying that his genes mixed with yours would result in the cutest baby on earth, glancing at him every time one of your friends offered to let your old their babies, and you attempting to seduce him every hour of every day every time you were ovulating, he had finally caved in. 

« I’m glad you did, » you whispered. He smiled and grabbed his phone, went to his gallery and showed you a few pictures, taken in the last few days. It was a tacit agreement you had with him : minimal texting during the week, but every Wednesday, you showed each other pictures of Emmy and what she’d been up to during the time you’d spent with her. There she was, playing with Alaina’s dog, sitting in her dad’s chair at the studio, playing with the buttons on the mixing board, or mixing chocolate cake batter in his kitchen. He got to another picture of her, taken at the pet shelter, playing with some kitten. And a video. « Daddy… Can I get a kitten? » she was asking with bright eyes and an hopeful smile. « We’re here for volunteering with Hailie and Stevie, baby » his voice, on the other side of the camera, reminded her. « Besides, you’d miss him half the time ». You could see her pouting for half a second before retorting. « He could come with me at Mommy’s and I wouldn’t miss him » she argued with an angelic smile. « Or, maybe I could have a little brother? » she added in suggestion, as if both options were equal. In the background, you could hear Hailie’s laugh and a comment about what a tough negotiator Emmy was. « I’ll see with Mommy about the kitten when we see her » Marshall’s voice assented, and you could hear his smile. 

You let out a giggle and looked at him, sighing. « She has you campaigning about sharing custody of a kitten? You’re better than this, Mathers » you chuckled. He hummed and rolled his eyes as he put his phone in his pocket. « Oh, she had a plan. She told me to wait until she was in bed tonight. And to absolutely not tell you she’s the one asking for a kitten. But definitely do it tonight because we ate Chinese food and she gave you flowers and that always puts you in a good mood » he recalled. « Manipulation at its finest. And she has you falling for it. That kid is going places, » you admitted. « Well, your genes are good at manipulating me, » he noted with a smirk. « Besides... Kittens make you less nauseous ». You snorted and shook your head eyes at the implication. « You already said yes, didn’t you? » you accused with a sigh. « I said I’d check with you. I really did. But if it brightens her days, I mean… I’m not against it » he concluded. « Your call, Mommy ». 

You smiled at each other and you let out a chuckle. « Most of the time, I’m thinking we’re good, you know? Like, we don’t suck at this co-parenting thing, and we’re civil, and we joke. And then, you do stuff like this. You send my favorite flowers, and you show up looking unfairly good, and you make me cry with jewelry and ambush me about kittens and how great of a dad you are. That’s not fair, Marshall. You’re not making this easy on me ». He winced as you spoke and shrugged a little, mouthing an apology he didn’t really mean. « I kind of hate you » you sighed, only half-joking. « I’m sorry » he hummed and meant it, this time. « I want to be good. I want to do good. ». You closed your eyes for a second and nodded. « You’re a lot, Marshall Mathers. But you’re not too bad. You’re a good dad to her. And a good… co-parent, to me ». 

You saw him bite his lip, a usual telltale of how deep in thought he could be. « I wish I could have been a good everything to you, » he summarized. « Because you always were the best part of me, Y/N. I mean it ». You let out a small laugh of disbelief at how unfair life could be and shrug, as people shrug when they have to make peace with their own existence. « You were, Marsh. You were a good friend. My best friend, in fact. You were a good fuck. You were a good partner. And you were a good future husband. Except the one time you were not good and it broke me. Not because you’re not good. But because I couldn’t be sure we would ever be good again. And now, I have to watch you be great dad and a good co-parent. You’re still good, » you consoled with tears in your voice. He exhaled and before you knew it, his arms were around you and you could hear his voice whisper an apology you’d heard a thousand times. « I’m so sorry, Y/N » he rasped and you could feel tremors. You closed your eyes and let him hold you for a minute. Your first embrace in what felt like forever. You inhaled and accidentally breathed him in. A mixture of his natural scent, and his deodorant, and his laundry and his strong mint toothpaste. You could feel his embrace tighten around you and his breath against your neck. 

The rational part of your brain was telling you to wish him a good night. Gently nudge him towards the door, send him on his way and call it a night. Instead, you felt yourself hold him a little tighter. Just enough for him to feel it. He stepped back just enough to be able to watch you. The look on his face was a perfect mixture of seriousness, ache, apology, amazement and devotion. The look of a man who’d always been yours, even during the ten fateful minutes that had ruined everything, who couldn’t help but be yours for the rest of his life, who hated it but, at the same time, would not have it any other way. Next think you knew, his mouth was crashing on yours. Slowly, at first. Or at least, slowly enough to give you time to slap him for overstepping. But you didn’t. You kissed him back, arms looping around his neck as you caved in and decided to make the chastising voice in your head tomorrow’s problem. You could feel the relief in him as one of his hands found your waist and the other found the back of your head. What followed was a mixture of tongues, breaths, hands grabbing at clothes and feet attempting to make a way somewhere. Maybe a couch or a kitten counter, or at the very least the dining room table. You were noisy in the very specific way parents of young kids learn to be noisy, muting sounds just enough, so as not to disturb peaceful sleeps. You both scrambled, not looking where you were going. You could have but refused not to. Opening your eyes meant realizing that you were in a new house, kissing a former lover and making a mistake, so you decided to do the very irresponsible thing and stumble as you kissed him hungrily. 

You felt his hands roaming your back, your ass, grabbing the back of your thighs and lifting you. Your back recognized the table and your skin recognized his hands as they slid past the hem of your dress. From then it was all sighs and moans and whispers and his sultry voice in your ear reminding you not to make noise. And a « wait, shit, fu- », and you opening your eyes and seeing him catch one of the frames that was about to fall from the table. The one with you in the pink sundress, glowing with love and devotion. You look at the frame, then at him, visibly panting and attempting to catch his breath. « Y/N, » he started and you bit your lip, attempting to conceal your embarrassment of getting caught up in the moment with such ease. You glanced at the frame again, the picture a proof of the consequence of… him. No wonder why you were burning with desire. « We do make cute babies, » you heard yourself say. He looked at you and laughed. « You’re ovulating, ain’t you? » he asked with a smirk and eyes glowing at the sudden realization. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped your lips. « Maybe, » you whispered, as your eyes failed to hold his gaze and travelled to his lips, his neck. « You’re fucking impossible, » he murmured as you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at the realization that months after your separation, this man still knew your tells. « I should have known, » he continued. « You smell hot and you only look at me like that when you’re up for breeding ». 

You huffed, rolled your eyes and playfully swatted at his chest. « Shut up, » you whispered. « You know I’m right » he playfully recounted. « Remember when we were trying for Ems? And before that? When you were begging me to- ». You stopped him with a hand on his mouth. « Yeah, well, you weren’t complaining back then, » you reminded him with a frown. He shook his head, still smiling and inched closer to your face. « Not complaining now either, » he whispered. « But we’re not making another baby ». You looked at him and rolled your eyes at his obvious comment. « Yeah, well, fucking obviously. I didn’t say I wanted- ». 

He huffed before you could even finish your sentence. « What, you don’t believe me? » you whisper-argued. « I believe that you believe you don’t want another one. I’m just saying… I know this look on your face, » he stated, as if he were presenting scientific evidence. « I’m horny and ovulating, Marshall. It’s not that deep. Unlike you, I haven’t been around, » you jabbed, your tone sharpening as the usual feelings came back to the surface. He closed his eyes and shook his head. « Alright » he hummed. « I- I think you should leave, » you declared, fully sobered-up now and aware of the mistake you’d been about to make. « You want me to go? » he asked in a low voice. « I just said you should leave, » you retorted in exasperation, hating your own heart for beating so fast. « Just because you say I should leave doesn’t think you want me to, Y/N, » he whispered. « You know you don’t ». He cupped your face and you knew you should push him away but you felt yourself lean into his touch, into his palm. It was laughable how pliant you were when ovulating. How unable to control yourself. It was almost shameful how much of an insult to your own feminist beliefs you were. About to beg your cheating ex to take you to bed and fill you to the brim, because he was there, and he could and you were now very aware that your body had been missing his every night for months. « Marshall » you whined in frustration. 

« Tell me you actually want me to leave, » he commanded in a low voice. « Tell me you want me to go, and I’ll be on my way, Y/N ». 

Your breath caught and you found yourself remaining silent, and you kind of hated yourself for it. But it had been months without his touch, without his lips and the way his gaze dropped to your chest , watching the way it moved whenever your breathing was affected by him. Months of attempting to « heal » and of telling yourself not to overthink it and refusing to admit you couldn’t stop loving him if you tried, no matter how hard you hated his cheating guts. You pursed your lips in frustration and listened to your own deafening silence. 

- Before he met you, if anyone had told Marshall Mathers that he’d be dating a public figure, he would have laughed in their face.

- He’s notoriously private. And busy. His own schedule is a nightmare already, so asking him to try and coordinate that with another artist? That’s basically his own version of hell.

- An actress is even worse, to be honest. Because if he dated a recording artist, it’d be easier. He could have offered for her to record in his own studio. It would have been more manageable. But movies often require travelling to various locations. So dating an actress wasn’t exactly in his wish list.

- But then, he met you and you pretty much became the whole wishlist. And quickly enough, you had Marshall becoming a strong contender for supportive boyfriend of the year.

- He’d seen you on screen a couple times before. He’d found you talented, of course. Beautiful, too. But that’s when he met you in real life, at some event he wasn’t even supposed to be at, that he became obsessed with your filmography. You were so magnetic that he went on a wormhole.

- And after binge-watching your entire filmography, he decided to do something he never thought he’d do : pursue you. Asking you out and everything.

- He actually embarrassed himself a little on your first date. He didn’t mean to be in fanboy mode but he went on and on about how incredible you were in this TV show, and how one of your lines in that one movie gave him chills. He only realized he spent 25 minutes telling you how amazing you were after the fact. You found it charming and a little intimidating.

- As your relationship evolved, he always supported your various projects.

- It needs to be noted that this man respects the hell out of your job. He’s acted often enough to know how hard it is and, while he likes it, he could never make it his full time job. And as someone who is very dedicated to his own craft, he’ll never dare complain about you being a perfectionist and rehearsing a scene over and over.

- Actually, he likes that you’re a perfectionist. He’s smitten with that part of you. And he doesn’t offer to help too often because he’d hate to intrude, but if you ask him, he’ll happily take the chance.

- Of course, he watches every single one of your on-screen appearances, whether it is a small role or a starring one. Even if you tell him it’s fine if he doesn’t watch, because you know he’s not going to like the overall project, he still does.

- If he’s being absolutely honest, he likes it better when you do movies. He likes a good TV show or series, but he finds it easier to coordinate schedules if you’re filming a movie. You’re two busy people after all.

- He doesn’t have a favorite genre (though he hates anything corny, cheesy and soapy). But his favorite one to watch you in is horror. He thinks that’s where you shine best.

- Misdsommar kind of changed the way he looks at you. To this day, he still goes on and on about all the emotions you portrayed so well in that movie.

- When you played Ani in Anora, he was very supportive. You were a little anxious about how he’d react to you playing a stripper but he’s very professional and trusts your judgement 100%. And, to be fair, he really enjoyed watching you prepare for that role.

- When you have to portray nudity on screen, he doesn’t have a say. And he usually doesn’t get jealous. For your sake, he just hopes it’s tasteful and that nudity scenes have a point.

- What’s bothering him more is the idea that some creeps might take some scenes out of context and objectify you. He knows he can’t do anything about it, but he still hates the idea. And it’s a good thing he’s staying off Twitter, because he’d be tempted to put some people in their place, with all these edits about how hot you are (that point he agrees on, though).

- Intimacy scenes are something else though. He knows it’s acting. And he doesn’t get jealous per se. He’s respectful. But he better not hear word of the co-star being a dick or trying something.

- If he had to name his least favorite project of yours, he’d say Euphoria. He watched if, of course, and he thought it was great, but the subject matter stirs something in him, what with his past with addiction and all.

- That one was actually hard on the two of you because you didn’t really talk to him much while you were preparing for the role. You didn’t want to make it awkward or bring up the topic. And since you’re very involved as an actress and your roles tend to stick to you on some level for quite some time after filming, this was not the happiest time in your home.

- He admires your dedication to the various characters you portray. But sometimes, your process takes a bit of a toll on him. Especially when you take on serious roles, characters with dramatic backstories.

- Also, while he’ll never tell you what you can and cannot do, because your job isn’t his business, he easily gets worried if you start going into the extremes. Roles that require some big weight loss or gain? He’s worried about your health. One time you joked about pulling a Rooney Mara and getting lots of piercings done for a role and he nearly had a stroke. But he would have loved and supported you anyway.

- When you ask his opinion about projects that are submitted to you, he is always earnest and he has your best interest at heart. He’ll never tell you to accept to be in a movie just for the sake of paying the bills (he thinks you’re too talented for that).

- And when it comes to negotiating? He thinks you’re worth all the money in the world and constantly encourages you to ask for more. Not because he wants you to be money-driven but because he believes in you.

- Long story short : this man quietly supports you, without conditions.

- The only limit to his support is the public eye: he loves you, but he’ll avoid the red carpet at all cost. Even if you were nominated for an Oscar, he’d decline. Not that he doesn’t want to be seen holding your hand, but he hates attention and the idea of his relationship getting attention makes him cringe. And he’s very aware of who he is and he wouldn’t want you to be reduced to « Eminem’s girlfriend ».

- So he does his best so that no one knows about the two of you. But in private, he is your biggest fan.

- If your relationship ends up being public knowledge, it’s not the end of the world, but he’ll never broadcast it and no matter how famous you get, he will always avoid questions about you.

- He reckons the only good that might come out of the world knowing is that maybe it’d make it easier to campaign for your projects to be shot in Michigan. Because that’s the one thing he likes the least : you being gone for weeks and months at a time.

After a few years doing the escorting thing, you were ones of those girls who could pride themselves on having a faithful clientele. High-ends clients who either liked you enough to have you listed as their preferred girl or, better yet, refused to book time with someone else. For the agency, it meant steady income. For you, it meant a higher rate and, most of all, much higher tips (as well as a few luxury gifts - which you technically weren’t allowed to accept per agency guidelines, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right?). Most of the time, you were lucky enough not to have these clients placing requests that clashed with one another. Most of the time.

But when Aria, one of the « agency managers » who organized your bookings called you one fine Monday morning and announced you were going to hate her, you had a hint what it was about. « You know, that booking you have at Chateau Marmont for Friday night? » she asked. Of course you remembered. James. British. Early forties. A gentleman, decent lover and, most of all, ama-fucking-mazing tipper. One of your most regulars. His tips from the last five months alone had bought you a new car. You hummed, praying he didn’t cancel, which would seriously clash with your grandma’s latest hospital bill. « Well… your Waldorf Astoria client placed a last minute booking request », Aria continued. « I told him you were booked, but he told me to contact you directly to sort this out… Y/N, you know you’re not supposed to handle your own schedule… ». You sighed in annoyance, not sure what pissed you the most. That someone younger than you had the nerve to lecture you, or that Marshall motherfucking Mathers, one of your absolute favorite clients, felt entitled enough to your schedule.

« I know, » you said as you pinched the bridge of your nose. « I’m not handling the schedule. That’s why I told him to always book me through the agency. Because you’re the ones handling the schedule ». You could hear Aria hum on the phone. « Well he seemed to think that you guys had some type of arrangement that granted him some kind of priority » she said. « Well… he’s an entitled rich man. That’s nothing new » you sighed. « I’m giving you a choice because I did tell him I’ll check with you, but please tell me you’re not cancelling on the Chateau Marmont guy. He’s your most regular ».

You stayed silent for a second. If you were being honest, sex with Marshall was better. Much better. But from a strictly business standpoint… James was a better client. More regular. More money. And also, your pride and pettiness made you want to teach Marshall a lesson. This was your job after all, and no man had any type of claim over you. Over the years, you’d had clients try to claim priority. Hell, you’d even turned down a couple marriage proposals, men promising they’d care for you in exchange for your devotion and fidelity. But you absolutely refused to be anyone’s property. And that was not about to change, and just because he made you come twice last time you spent the night with him did not make Marshall your #1 client.

« Yeah, no, » you said as you cleared your throat. « The Chateau Marmont booking still stands. If Waldorf Astoria still needs company, you can recommend Ginger. She’ll be a good fit». Technically, it was true. Out of all the girls in the agency, Ginger would be the best fit for him. Less experienced than you, but she had the same softness to her that you reckoned Marshall would appreciate. But regardless of how good she was, you knew that Aria’s phone call would not be pleasant.

However, you came to doubt that on Friday afternoon, when you got a call from Ginger. The two of you weren’t exactly best friends but she wasn’t just a colleague either. The kind of co-worker you have fun with but are still technically competing with. « So… I was with one of your client last night. Waldorf Astoria. You secretive little thing! I didn’t even know he was in the listing! » she said with a tint of excitement in her voice. « You know I don’t name-drop my clients, G » you hummed quietly. « Still. Some clients are just too big not to name-drop, you know! And honestly… I don’t even know how you kept your mouth shut. Because he’s a good one too, you know what I mean? » she continued. You weren’t even sure what to reply to that. Maybe you’d become bored over time, or maybe Ginger wasn’t experienced enough with celebrity clients. Either way, you weren’t the type to debrief every single one of your bookings with your colleagues. Especially the best ones. « I’m glad you had fun » you finally said. « And I’m glad you could fill in for me. I hate to disappoint my regulars but you know the rules. First come first serve ». There was a blank. Even without seeing her, you could sense the awkwardness. « Yeah, about that… that’s kind of why I’m calling. I don’t think that’s going to be just filling in. He asked if I did trips. Something about Europe. I was so excited, I said yes. So… I don’t think he’s going to be one of your regulars anymore, you know? And I figured you should hear it from me » she explained.

You stayed silent for a couple seconds. No shade to Ginger, but you wouldn’t have thought she’d be that good. Or maybe you thought that, after all the bookings you’d done with Marshall, and the fact that he now allowed you to call him by his first name and seemed pretty comfortable with you, it would have taken more than that to get him to become someone else’s regular. Either way, you hadn’t expected to hear it and it left you wondering why you felt disappointed. You usually try not to let your ego let in the way, but you wouldn’t have expected Marshall to be your first regular client to go for someone else. You didn’t even realize how long you’d stayed silent until you heard Ginger speak again.

« Y/N ? Are you- are you mad? Look, I’m sorry. It’s just… you do have regular clients. Several. And I don’t, yet. And it’s Europe. I’ve never been to Europe, you know? Please tell me you’re not mad at me» she implored. You sighed and took a deep breath. « That’s fine, G. It’s not a big deal. I’m happy for you. I hope you enjoy Europe. When are you leaving? » you replied, trying not to let your disappointment show. « I, uh… I don’t know, yet. I don’t think he told me the dates. But I suppose he’ll book me via the agency. He did say he would. I gave him my number, I mean, I know I’m not supposed to, but come on, that’s Eminem, you know? But anyway, he seemed pretty set on working with the agency… » she rambled, as you got up to make tea, figuring it’d be a long monologue.

In the following weeks, you weren’t surprised not to hear from Marshall. After that call with Ginger, you were pretty sure you wouldn’t. You tried not to overthink it. She was right after all: you did have other regulars, so it’s not like you needed him to pay the bill. Thank God. That was the main reason you started escorting. Not having to depend on one man to get by. So as far as you were concerned, you were good… right?

But you did hear from him again. Or rather, you heard from Aria, who added a booking to your online schedule. Waldorf Astoria. Tuesday night. 10PM. No client name, as usual. At first, you thought it was a coincidence. After all, he was not the only client booking appointments at that particular hotel. But when you looked at the suite number, you could tell it was him. Same one as usual. One floor down from his usual penthouse suite. You tried to refrain from smiling to yourself but failed miserably. As much as you liked Ginger, you were glad she didn’t manage to poach him from you on the first try.

When you showed up on Tuesday night, you were all dolled up. Extra pretty, wearing your finest lingerie and ready to make it up to him for sending someone else. When you entered the suite, using the keycard, you found him in the chair, scrolling on his phone. As soon as you entered, he got up to greet you. He had his usual demeanor. Calm but not smiling. « Good evening, handsome » you greeted with your usual sultry voice, extending a hand. As was now usual, he raised it to his lips and kissed it while staring at you with his big blue eyes. « Y/N » he spoke before motioning to where you usually placed your bag. « Long time no see » you hummed as you took of your coat. You would have expected him to return your smile. You’d hoped he would. But he didn’t. Instead, he hummed to himself. « Yeah, well… Whose fault is that? » he calmly asked. You turned to him and did your best to stay composed, flashing him one of your most elegant smiles. « Sadly, I had… prior engagements. But I did tell Ginger to take good care of you » you smiled. « I’m told she’s very skilled on her knees ». He huffed, his annoyance clear as day.

« Other engagements » he repeated with a raised eyebrow. « is that what you’re calling it? ». He did not raise his voice, but the tone made his vexation evident. You weren’t surprised, though. You’d known for a while now that Marshall was a creature of habit and that he did not take kindly to changes of plans. And, frankly, in this job, you were used to dealing with men’s emotions. You smiled and sat on the bed while sorting through your bag, meticulously placing the condoms and lube on the nightstand. « Engagements, bookings, dates… there are many words we use. This is one of them » you kindly informed him. He stayed silent for a couple seconds while staring at you, then crossed his arms. « So, that’s it. You, what? You had another client? » he asked, as if he couldn’t believe that was the only explanation. « I did, » you nodded. « Longtime booking,» you added, though that was none of his business. « You couldn’t cancel? » he asked again, his eyes narrowing. You gently shook your head and let out a soft sigh, before getting up and walking to him. « This is my job. And you know the rules : first come, first serve. No exceptions, » you replied. He rolled his eyes and and sighed, not saying anything. You allowed yourself to place a hand on his arm, trying to bridge the distance. « Did you miss me? » you asked teasingly, with practiced ease and Bambi eyes. He did not reply immediately and you could see him fight not to give in to your expert charm. « Ginger’s nice. I mean, she’s good » he conceded in a low voice. « But she’s not… you » he finally said, almost reluctantly.

You knew you shouldn’t feel proud. And you usually despised gloating. But the reluctant confession did something to your chest that you did not quite know how to name. And you couldn’t resist teasing him some more. « You like me better, huh? » you jokingly asked as you leaned in closer, to which he rolled his eyes while biting back a grin. « Really, Y/N? You’re gonna make me say it? » he asked back in faux-annoyance. « It never hurts to stroke someone’s ego. It might help you remain in my good graces, handsome » you purred as you leaned in closer. « What good is it anyway, if you don’t make exceptions for me? » he snorted. You closed your eyes for a second, reminding yourself that, while snapping at him was tempting, it was not good for business. « I’m sorry you were disappointed » you said softly. « But I’m here now. You have me for the whole night if you want ». He did not reply. You gently placed a hand on his chest and looked at him while he closed his eyes and took a breath. « I’ll make it up to you, » you seductively assured him. « I think you’ll like what’s underneath my dress ». He hummed and opened his eyes, staring into yours. « Yeah? » he asked, almost whispering. « How about you shower while I get ready, handsome? » you suggested.

He nodded and went to the bathroom. While he was in the shower, you undressed and stared at your reflection on the mirror, silently scolding yourself into keeping your composure. When he came back, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, you were in your finest lingerie and high heels. You always made sure to look good - that was part of the job after all - but this time, you had overdone yourself. A waspie. Stockings. Your sexiest stilettos. The whole nine yards. Even Marshall and his usual deadpan face couldn’t hold back a smirk. « Like what you see, handsome? » you asked in a sultry voice, though you already knew the answer. He silently nodded as he took a couple steps closer. « Good. Because I’m yours for the whole night » you whispered. To which he nodded again, before grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him for a kiss.

He always kissed you beforehand. His way of initiating things, of signaling the start of that part of the service. The cue that he was now ready to take you to bed. However, he was usually gentle at first, and he’d never kissed you this hungrily before. You weren’t even sure anyone ever had. This time, he was not sending you a subtle sign that it was time for you to spread your legs. He was staking a claim. A silent promise that he’d make good on your assurance that you were his for the night.

One thing about Marshall was that his bedroom skills never disappointed you. So you had no doubt whatsoever about what followed being quite satisfactory, with 95% chances of orgasm, according to your track record with him. However, what you did not expect was him turning absolutely feral and possessive, turning your own pleasure into a delicious torture weapon. In nearly two years of regular rendezvous, he’d learned to read your cues and he’d proven before that he could tell when you were on the verge of climax. He usually embraced it and let you right the wave, which often led to him finishing. This time, however, he stilled, right before either of you came. You froze, wondering if anything went wrong. You stared at him, breathing still heavy. « Are you- » you began, but he cut you. « Was it that good with him? » he growled. « That other guy. Does he fuck you as good as me? ». Your eyes widened and you almost let out a laugh, practically impressed by his audacity. You shook your head and let it fall back. « No, he doesn’t. Please » you whimpered, on the verge of tears. Good answer, you guessed, as he started thrusting again. « Maybe you should keep that in mind, then, Y/N » he whispered in your ear, before burying his face in your neck and picking up a faster pace, giving in to your plea. He collapsed on top of you right after you both reached climax. You closed your eyes and lay there as you did your best to catch your breath, his face still in your neck and his arms wrapped around you. When he finally rolled over, you opened your eyes and smiled at him as you sat up, before grabbing a water bottle from your nightstand and passing it to him.

You both remained silent from a minute. You were familiar with his routine, now. Had been for a while. Round 1. A minute of silence. Ordering room service. Possibly making out while waiting for the food to come up, if he’s in the mood. Food. Making out. Round 2. And, depending on his energy levels, maybe round 3. « You hungry? » he asked as he grabbed the room service menu, though you already knew he’d end up ordering his usual. « I could eat before round two,» you replied with a shrug and a smile. You never declined dinner. Not that you were especially hungry, but you knew he definitely was, and hated being the only one eating. Over time, it had become customary for the two of you do have a small dinner break. Not at the beginning, though. It used to be one round, and he’d leave, letting you enjoy the suite and order room service if you felt like it. But after a few months, Marshall started feeling more comfortable with you. He’d stay longer, chat for a bit…

You both ended up ordering your usual. Filet mignon for him. Linguine with lemon garlic sauce for you. After ordering, he turned to you and cleared his throat. « Can I ask you something? » he asked carefully. You nodded, encouraging him to continue. « Is this something you do all the time? » he elaborated, a gesturing to the room service menu. « Eating? » you gently teased. « I’d say I have two meals a day. Sometimes three » you gently chuckled. He rolled his eyes. « No. I mean… with clients. I’m just curious, you know » he shrugged. « Like… do you have a favorite order in every LA hotel? Or is it one per client? Am I, like, your linguine guy? ». Before you could help it, you let out a snort and a giggle. « Oh yeah. What, they never told you? That’s absolutely your code name at the agency. You’re listed in my schedule as linguine. That’s, like, your code name » you joked with a mischievous grin. He let out a sigh and tilted his head, almost glaring at you. You rolled over and rested your head on your hand. « You’re awfully curious, tonight, handsome. I don’t think you’ve ever asked this many questions about my job » you gently pointed out. He sat back on the bed and seemed to think before replying. « Just wondering how this whole thing works for you » he explained with faux nonchalance. « I mean… if you’re eating Italian with every client, that’s like… a lot of pasta, you know? ». You let out a giggle and shook your head. « I don’t. Not really. I mean, do some clients take me to dinner? Yes. That’s part of what I do. Some clients don’t even want sex. Just a pretty girl to spend time with. But this? Post-orgasm service between rounds, while they tell me about their underdog football team that they swear will make it to the Super Bowl this year? No. Just with you » you replied with a smile. « You may find it surprising, but not everyone generously educates their regular escort about football with a forty-five minute lecture. That’s usually not how they… employ their time » you added with a wink. He scoffed and shook his head. « That was one time, Y/N. You were the one who asked, too! » he chuckled. « No. I asked about the lion logo on your hoodie. I did not ask about their stats for the last three seasons or what you think about their quarterback » you playfully countered. He smirked and remained silent for a second. « So… you don’t talk with your other clients? », he finally asked. « No, I do, » you hummed. « Not like this, though. Most of them tell me about their job, their marriage… But it’s not this. It’s not as fun or chill, you know? ».

The food finally arrived. As you sat at the table, wrapped in robes, he spoke again. « Look, I don’t mean to be annoying but… If I’m more fun, why did you send Ginger, last time? » he asked with a raised eyebrow. You couldn’t help but sigh. You didn’t doubt that his persistence was probably a great quality but, in that case, he was being a colossal pain in your ass. « I told you. I don’t bail on clients. I’ve built a reputation on being reliable and professional » you calmly explained. « If you’d booked me in advance and paid good money for my company, you wouldn’t appreciate me cancelling last minute just because I have more fun with someone else, now, would you? ». He hummed and seemed to ponder for a second. « Yeah, probably not, » he finally admitted. « But tell me… if you don’t do priorities… what can I do to make sure you’re available? ». You chuckled and tilted your head. « Not request a last minute booking » you deadpanned before flashing him a small smile. « Well, if Paul hadn’t planned this trip last minute, I wouldn’t have » he muttered in a tone that reminded you of a grumpy teenager. You set your cutlery down and brushed his forearm with your hand. « Well, from what I gather, it did work out in the end. You’re taking Ginger to Europe, yes ? ». He scoffed and let out a laugh, though there was no humor. « No. I asked if she was available. In case you left me stranded again. But the way she reacted… Jesus. She looked like she’d won the lottery. And… I didn’t know. Maybe you’re just a great actress who ended up on the wrong career path… But at least, when you’re with me, you look like you actually like me. She looked at me like I was a walking ATM. Or worse. Eminem » he said, his tone bitter. You hummed and got up, taking a seat in his lap. « Well… I’m sorry to break it to you, handsome… but you kind of are him » you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips. He groaned and glared at you. « Yeah, but at least, you have the decency not to remind me every fucking second. And, look, I get it, you have other clients and that’s your job and shit. But I guess what I’d like is someone like you, but who doesn’t have other clients, you know what I’m saying?» he explained as you nuzzled his neck. You pressed a kiss there as he wrapped an arm around your waist. « Sounds like what you want is a girlfriend » you teased. « A nice girl with great tits who really likes you and only makes herself available for you ». He sighed and shook his head. « Nah. Not a girlfriend. I don’t care about the… romance. I’ve told you before. Dating’s hard for me. I’d rather have to pay to avoid wondering about women’s intention. Come on. Isn’t that something you’d like? Being paid but only having one dude to deal with? » he asked as he toyed with the belt of your robe. You let out a small laugh, clearly in disbelief. « Is that an offer, Marshall? ».

He looked up and stared into your eyes intently before shrugging. « What if it was? Is that something you’d consider? You know money’s not an issue, for me. You’d be taken care of. All you’d have to do is be on standby. And I wouldn’t have to resort to someone else. Win-win » he stated as if it were obviously the offer of the century. You kissed his cheek before getting up and going back to your seat. « Handsome… If I wanted that, if I wanted to depend on a man, I’d get myself a husband » you gently replied. He stared at you in disbelief, obviously confused. « So… what? You’re telling me this is your dream job? That this is what you want to do until you’re sixty? » he asked. « Y/N… I’m offering to take care of you. Rent. Bills. Clothes. Trips. Even more money if you want ». You shook your head again and rolled your eyes. « That’s a very nice offer, Marshall. I know you mean well. But I don’t need to be taken care of. I don’t need to be saved. And I’ve seen enough to know that depending on one man is far too risky. And I realize that, to you, escorting must seem like a hell of a career choice. But sometimes… you don’t have a choice. I couldn’t pay for college to get a fancy degree that would help me land a high-paying job. And, believe it or not, my old job at a spring factory wasn’t going to help me pay Nana’s hospital bills or Mom’s funeral ». By the last sentence, your tone had turned dry.

You both remained silent for a minute. You bit a lip, trying to contain your frustration and attempting to decipher who it was directed towards the most. Him, for being entitled and pressing you on the matter ? Or yourself, for losing your usual calm and giving away more about your personal life than ever before ? You looked down, staring at your place as you picked at what was left of your linguine. « I’m sorry, » he finally muttered after a minute of silence. « I didn’t mean to imply- that wasn’t cool. That was out of line, I’m sorry ». You looked at him and nodded, gently brushing his hand with yours for a couple seconds. « That’s alright, handsome » you replied with a soft smile, putting your usual charm back on. « I guess I just don’t really like knowing you have other clients » he confessed. You shook your head and got up before grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed. « None of them are here, though. You have all of me for as long as we’re both here » you reminded him. « I have more rounds in me, » he smirked as he leaned in, before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You kissed him back heartily, wrapping your arms around his neck while he pushed you into the bed.

That was the longest you’d ever spend with a client on single night. When you finally got up from bed, right after the final round, the sun was starting to rise. Marshall was laying there, hair mussed, propping himself on his elbows. Evidently, the two of you were exhausted. When you came back from the bathroom, he gestured for you to sit back on the bed. « You might as well stay for breakfast, » he suggested. « Missing me already? » you softly teased. He didn’t reply. Instead he grabbed his phone on the nightstand. « Thought I could feed you while I ask you to check your schedule. For Europe. I want you there. If you’re up for it. It’s in three months. Early October. 10 days. And since it’s first come, first serve, no exception, I figured I’d ask early » he hummed. You nodded and grabbed your own phone from your handbag, checking your schedule. « Nothing planned. Count me in, handsome.  I’m yours for ten days» you said quickly. He gave you a satisfied grin as you glanced at the screen again and shot Aria a text.

From : Y/N

To : Aria

- For obvious reasons, his identity was not disclosed prior to your first rendezvous.

- It happened in a swanky hotel he was staying at, on a trip. Mostly because he needed company. And also because he wouldn’t have been comfortable doing that in Detroit.

- Loneliness isn’t exactly easy to deal with and, let’s be real, dating kind if sucks for someone in his position. That’s why he hired you for a night.

- The rendezvous doesn’t happen in his suite though. He got another suite just for his time with you. Partly because he values his privacy and his possessions would give too much away. And partly because part of him is a tiny bit ashamed of hiring a professional so compartmentalizing feels safer, in a way.

- Sometimes, client give your agency their preferences and requests. He didn’t. Simply requested someone « nice, lowkey and elegant ».

- When you show up and he opens the door, you don’t recognize him at first. He looks far more normal. Still charismatic, though. You assume he’s just another loaded client. Its when he speaks and introduces himself as Marshall that you realize who he is.

- You would have expected him to be cocky but he’s not. If anything, he comes across as a little awkward, maybe nervous, even. However, he’s very polite and soft-spoken, offers you water and a place to put your bag.

- You’re used to easing clients in. Your work persona is subtle and flirty. You kindly explain the process and the « ground rules » as is customary (shower first, mandatory condom, consent, and if there’s something he’s not comfortable with, he can tell you to stop at any point).

- He nods. It’s pretty obvious that he’s done that before. Enough times to be familiar with what’s about to happen, not often enough to be fully comfortable.

- You let him shower first and go second. Since you did not get any outfit instructions, you decided to go for an elegant black lace lingerie set. And the look he gives you when you come back to the suite tells you you made the right choice.

- If it weren’t enough, he compliments you and tells you you’re gorgeous.

- You offer to start with a massage, to make him more comfortable. You’re not in a rush, since he paid for a full night.

- You feel him gradually relax underneath your touch during the massage. When he finally turns around, his arousal now evident, he stares at you intently and you can tell he’s ready.

- He sits up and stays silent for a second, obviously pondering some matter, then raises an eyebrow before asking « kissing ok ? ».

- You smile and nod before leaning in, though you let him take the lead and initiate the kiss. And as soon as his lips touch yours, you can tell this is not going to be your worst client. Far from it. At this point, you can’t speak for his bed skills. But it’s obvious that, in the very least, the man is a seasoned kisser.

- Contrary to some of your colleagues, you never refused to kiss a client. But you have to admit that, usually, kisses are usually sub-par. Marshall Mathers however ? Best kisser you’ve ever met on the job.

- As things escalate, you can tell he’s not as confident with his bedroom skills as he is with his kissing skills. He’s not bad at it by any means, though. Maybe it’s because it’s been a longtime. Maybe it’s because you’re a professional, who knows?

- You’re not dumb and you’re very aware that usually, clients are different with you than with other partners. Some people take the opportunity to explore some kinks they can’t reveal to their partners. Others, on the other hand, stick to the basics, as if telling you what they really like would give away too much of who they are as a person. Marshall is like this.

- However, this is not your first rodeo, and you’ve learned to read cues. You quickly understand that, while missionary is fine and « satisfactory », it’s not what really gets him off, but he’s too polite to tell you. You could just lie here and he’d still come (eventually), but where’s the fun in that ? Or, more accurately : he’s one of the « biggest » clients you’ve had, you want to make a good impression and experience has taught you that, the better you are at your job, the bigger the tip.

- As soon as you whisper-ask the question « do you want me to get on top? » it’s like flipping a switch. Less than a second later, he’s wrapping an arm around you and flipping you over so that you’re on top. And his facial expression tells you everything you need to know.

- He also happens to be very receptive to your own cues. One of those clients who need their egos stroked, probably. He knows he’s the paying customer and it’s about him. But the idea that he could make you come if he tried? Yeah, he likes that.

- In fact, he does try. At first, he subtle, and he’s reacting to your own cues, the way you breathe, your moans and gasps. As a professional, your focus is on the client, so you’ll never say things like « just like that », but he can quickly tell if there’s something you like. That angle that makes you gasp? The way you bite your lip? Yep. He catches on quickly.

- Your personal rule is pretty simple : you allow yourself to have pleasure but you don’t especially seek it. You’re not going to hide your pleasure, but you don’t simulate either. Basically : You’re here to make the client come, not the other way around.

- But some clients get off on seeing you get off and Marshall Mathers is one of those ones. And if they want to try and take you there? Yeah, you’ll let them (as soon as your boundaries are respected).

- He’s very sweet, polite and respectful about it, too. He actually asks if you mind, before he tries something.

- Overall, as a client, he’s good. Obviously, it doesn’t compare to an actual passionate one night stand (not the same vibe, you know?). But it’s still solid. Definitely not the worst you’ve had. Maybe one of the bests, too.

- When it’s over, he’s not the type to linger, get emotional or seek some other form of intimacy. Lots of clients do, but not him. He’s not the type to use you as a therapist, get personal or disclose why he chose to hire an escort.

- That being said, he lingers a bit, takes time to catch his breath. He doesn’t talk much but he’s not fleeing just yet. He takes his time. He’s the one who paid for the suite anyway.

- He kindly asks if you’re alright before getting up to get rid of the condom and get dressed.

- He’s actually not the type to just toss the rubber aside and let you deal with it. Not just because he’s polite, though. Because he’s just paranoid enough to want to ensure that you’re not going to do anything weird with his jizz (like impregnating yourself and sue him for custody in nine months). He hired you from a high-end and reputable escort agency (that takes care of NDAs and stuff), but he’d rather be safe than sorry (you wouldn’t believe how many weird people he’s encountered over the years).

- He takes a quick shower and comes back fully dressed. Before going back to his own suite, he hands you a small stack of $100 bills. You’re too classy to count in front of him but there’s about $1000. Tips usually transit via the agency service but lots of clients also tip directly, with bills. Helps ensure the money goes to you directly.

- He politely thanks you. The exchange is brief but not too awkward. « Room’s paid for the night. Feel free to order something to eat. On me. There’s a complimentary breakfast, too » he kindly informs you, before heading out.

- A couple days later, you get your payment from the agency. He also tipped you via their service. Most of the time, you don’t get feedback (it usually doesn’t happen unless clients complain about one of the escorts) so you’re not surprised that there’s no note.

- You don’t overthink it. As far as you’re concerned, he was a pleasant client but a pretty standard one for a high-end escort such as yourself. You’re very factual about it and assume that you’re not the first professional he hires (true) nor the last, so you don’t waste time wondering whether or not you were the best escort he ever had. It’s pretty useless, in your opinion.

- You go for months without thinking of him, until someone calls you and says they got a request asking for you personally. They don’t name the clients (they never do), but they mention the date and the hotel, so you know it’s him.

- He’s a creature of habit. He’s not doing the dating thing, these days, so hiring the same girl is the closest thing he’ll get to having some sense of «routine ». And since he’s somewhat shy, it works well for him to hire the same girl.

- That second time, he’s not as nervous or awkward. He kisses you a couple more times that he did last time, and he appears more willing to take the lead.

- It’s pretty much the same as last time he was with you though. He’s not talkative, not flirty. But he’s more relaxed and smiles a bit more. The tip is bigger, too (and you do appreciate a good tipper).

- Only difference is that he actually lets you know he might be coming back to town next month, and he’d like to hire you again, if that’s fine with you.

- Over time, he becomes one of your « somewhat regulars ». Not a weekly client. Not even a monthly one. But you know that every time he flies here, for work or whatever brings him, he’ll request you. One of the girls at the agency even lets it slip that he doesn’t even put it as a preference (like « I want to hire someone, preferably Y/N ») but he (or whoever takes care of that on his behalf) directly asks « is Y/N available on that date ? ». In your book, that’s a pretty big compliment.

- After a while, he even asks you if it’d be more comfortable for you if it was a direct transaction. Not to be your Superman or whatever, but since you do your job well and bring him satisfaction, it only sounds right to offer a solution that doesn’t let an agency screw your over, in case you need it (you don’t, but it was kind of him to ask, and also, you figure it’s more comfortable with him to have an intermediary that takes care of NDAs and stuff).

- You usually only do one night with clients. Some people ask if they can hire girls for a whole weekend or for some trip, and it usually pays very well, but it usually comes with logistics and expectations that aren’t super comfortable for the girls. You usually avoid these types of missions, but when Marshall asks if you’d happen to be free on a particular week and if you’ve ever been to some specific destination, you’re intrigued.

- You’re comfortable enough to be making jokes, at this point. Not like you guys are friends or whatever, but you’ve slept with him enough to let your personality out on occasion. You teasingly if it’s going to be a « Pretty Woman type of situation ».

- He smirks and shakes his head, though. « Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not taking you on my business dinners or on the jet with my team », he chuckles. « But I might need company at night. So if you’re up for it, I’ll fly you out separately and you’ll get your own suite. You’d do what you want during the day and make yourself available at night. If you want. ».

- He’s not forcing anything on you, and if you don’t want, that’s fine. But you can tell that, in case he needs to hire professional company, he’d rather you be it.

- The trip is nice. It’s no different than any professional trip, really. You’re here to do your job and be on standby at the hotel at night and on his days off in case he feels like fucking. Some nights he does. Some nights he doesn’t but you make sure to be ready anyway. You don’t interact with his team at all (though you suspect one of his assistants might now). If you cross him in the lobby while he’s with his security, he doesn’t acknowledge you.

- The « arrangement » doesn’t really change after the trip. He’s no different from any regular clients that get more comfortable with an escort, with force of habits. You know what he likes. What he doesn’t. Sometimes you enjoy room service together. He jokes around a bit but it stays professional. He never tries to get over your professional boundaries and ask personal questions, which you appreciate, and he likes that you do the same. You sometimes have conversations but it doesn’t get deep or intimate by any means.

- The only time you allow yourself to ask something personal is when a female hotel staff member brings room service. You see her eye-fuck him (can’t blame her, he’s in grey sweats and a black tee and looks like a snack) and, after she leaves, you can’t help but state the obvious. « You obviously don’t need to hire me, » you kindly observe. « I’m pretty sure any of the maids would do what I do for free ». It’s not a question but he can sense where it’s going. You’re wondering why he chooses to pay for something many ladies would throw at him for free. Most of your clients pay because they have kinks, because they don’t have time for dating… but Eminem is one of your only clients that could get laid this easily.

- He’s not bothered by the question. He simply raises an eyebrow and smirks. « I don’t need to pay you, Y/N. Hell, if I asked nicely, maybe you’d even let me hit it for free. But when I pay you, I don’t have to wonder if you’re here for me or for money. I don’t need to wonder if you’re going to turn something casual into something with expectations I didn’t ask for, I guess… I don’t need to pay for sex. But these days, I think I need to pay for peace».

- That answer kind of shuts you up. For a second, his straight face makes you wonder if you fucked up and went too far. But then, he adds : « Also, I like that I’m not the one to ask you you to sign the NDA. It usually gets awkward » that makes you chuckle.

- He’s not the type of client who will put you in your place over the fact that they’re paying you, but he certainly makes it clear that it’s a transaction, in a way that is still kind and elegant. Over time, you understand that it feels safer for him and you respect that.

- He might be your favorite client. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any « quirks » that annoy you. Most regular clients have them and he’s no exception. In his case, the one thing that makes you roll his eyes is his entitlement. When you’re with him, he’ll always be respectful and mindful of your boundaries. But the one time you tell him you actually won’t be available for him next time he flies to California (because you already have a booking with another client)? He’s a bit pissed. You’ve already had clients who pout when you say you don’t do anal. But this one pouts when you tell him you can’t make it that one time.

- It’s that kind of stuff that reminds you that men will be men. When he asks « what do you mean you have another client? » he asks, raising an eyebrow. By now, you know him enough to know how to interact with him, so you do what you do best: bat your eyelashes and smile. « I mean someone already booked me for the night on that date. Expecting a good fuck. First come first serve, you know. That’s how hookers work » you say with a sly smile and just enough humor in your tone to make it light.

- You would have thought it’d be enough to make him deal with the disappointment but you should have known better than to think any wealthy man who wants something would let you off the hook that easily. « D’you like that client? » he asks calmly. You roll your eyes and shrug. You’re not the type to betray your professional values and give too much away. Even for a charming rapper with big blue eyes. « I don’t know yet. He’s a first-time client. Maybe a future regular, who knows? », you reply. He smirks and leans against the wall, crossing his arms. « So you’re telling me you’re choosing a some random over me, and you don’t even know if he’s half as good? What, does he pay that well? » he jokes. You let out a laugh and flash a smile. « You have no idea. Over double what you pay. I couldn’t exactly pass the opportunity » you tease, with enough seriousness to let him wonder if it’s true. Before he can reply, you gently add « I recommend one of the girls to cover for me. I think you’d like Ginger. She’s nice. I’ll even brief her about what you like ».

- You swear you can almost hear him groan. You know he’s a creature of habit and, while Ginger is actually nice, he’d rather have you. « I’ll tell you what. You ask Ginger to handle that other guy and I’ll pay you triple » he says in a low voice. You bite back a laugh. « I don’t know… that’s not very professional of me. I don’t think I could betray my values and disappoint a client and the agency unless you… quintuple it? » you teasingly suggest, ever the business woman. He sighs and rolls his eyes. « Quadruple it. You know I’ll make it worth your while. And if you’re nice, maybe I’ll throw in those concert tickets you mentioned last time» he hums. You flash him a grin, always happy to notice how easy it is with these rich men. « Tip’s not included, though » you whisper as you lean in, batting your eyelashes for good measure. He rolls his eyes again but extends a hand so you can shake on it.