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Throughout your life, you used to associate daytime with all things bright—colour, movement, chirping birds. But it’s the nights that are truthfully blinding to the senses. After the time spent accommodating the lifeways of your new household, you’ve come to learn this much. Even if you close your eyes, you can still feel the lights pressing on your eyelids, a hypnotic burst of violets and greens, twirling, swirling like a kaleidoscope. Music is still ringing in your ears, and there’s liquor that you can taste as you run your tongue across your swollen lips. You can taste it on his lips, too, take in the way it blends with the cologne and nicotine soaked into the collar of his shirt. 

Just like he got you used to, he catches on instantly, instinctively, like he was made to read into your reactions. Oh, and how he enjoys seeing it. Having you lose it to your senses, bite into his bottom lip just as Eve would lick the Fruit off her fingers. He lets you know that with a smile spreading past the corners of your mouth and a meaner squeeze on your hip. You pull on his hair a bit harder. There’s a whine, a wet, sinful one. 

“Ah,” Laito breathes against your cheek. He weaves the words low and alluring, only for you to hear. “Look at you grinding so pathetically on my lap, not even giving a fuck about the driver probably having the worst time of their life in there.”

He throws a glance past your shoulder—a trick. If anything, Laito lives for watching you pull through the shame blooming to your cheeks, hide your eyes behind one shaky hand. But after a while, you’ve caught a thing or two about him as well, know which and how many ropes he pulls to get anything he wants from someone. For all you know, this driver might not even be able to see what’s going on in the back of their limousine. 

And still.

A twisted part of you doesn’t want any of this to end, so you choose to keep quiet about it. Or rather, you’re too fucking drunk to care. 

“I bet they’ve seen worse,” you say, and it’s honest.

A small chuckle comes out of his throat, tickling your skin. Alcohol shouldn’t affect him as much. 

And still.

Even the faintest octave he gets from you tonight is numbing his mind more than he would like. Maybe you both went a little too far this time. 

Laito pushes his arousal between your legs. His grasp on your sides tightens. “You’re underestimating yourself, Bitch-chan. For one I had no idea you can move your body like that,” he hums, moving your hips from left to right. “Should I start calling you Stripper-chan from now on?” Half-mocking, half-pensive. 

There it is—the shame, the racing heart. Heat crossing your face, you recall yourself from just moments before, sweaty chest, swaying hips, fading into neon. You also can’t forget the way Laito’s hands coiled themselves around your waist back then, matching your rhythm. “You just lo~ve having so many eyes on you, don’t you?” his head rested at the crook of your neck. “Naughty Bitch-chan. How about I take you right here and show everyone you already belong to someone?” You shuddered at that because you knew he might actually be up for it. He settled on sinking his fangs into your shoulder blade, “Just one sip, okay? You know I get dozy when I have too much”. Hotly, stealthily, and you closed your eyes to focus on the music and the pain and the lasting tingle his voice was leaving on your skin. 

Despite your better judgment, you watch yourself aim for a similar high, tracing a thumb across Laito’s lips. “That would make this our VIP corner, and you still haven’t paid for the service,” you say in a voice you hardly recognise. 

“This is how you like to play, hm?” Laito leaves a kiss on your knuckle, his smile dangerous. There’s no hesitation as his hand reaches for his wallet, plucking out his credit card and pushing it under the waistband of your underwear. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach. Laito looks at you with the eyes of someone ready to exchange status for one cheap thrill at any given chance. Propping his chin on your chest, he chirps, “Then go on and eat the rich, like they say.”

No one prepared you for this. You smile back, somewhere between amusement and curiosity. Laito’s credit card flattened on your abdomen, cold and risky, you allow yourself to sink into the role, index finger guiding him against the backrest of the vehicle as your body starts working through some kind of imaginary music. By no means do you think you’re a pro at this, and there’s enough booze in your system to not even pretend that you are, but he drinks in each movement with rare fascination. Hair ruffled and eyes fogged out, his cheeks catch a redder shade when you hook a finger into the collar of your top, showing skin, and more after that. 

“This is good,” he says, breathless. “You’re a natural at turning me on, Bitch-chan.”

You can’t help yourself. “And one would say I’m the pathetic one here.”

Devilish, poised. “Will I be charged extra for the bad-mouth act? Oh, but I wish there was something more on me to give in return.” 

He knows how you’re about to answer that. He wants you to. Legs spread, emerald eyes gleaming through messy curtains of hair, Laito lingers on each second as you lean yourself closer, arms thrown around his neck. When you speak, you can feel his mouth coil against your cheek, “There is. I’ll expect it once we get back home.”

Bullseye. His laughter is fragrant, effortlessly sensual. Something about this enrages you. Excites you. The car rushes into a turn, and you cling onto him in search of balance. 

“When I was just starting to think you were leaning to the more adventurous type,” he says after a while. Soon he takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, voice dripping from his lips like melted, melting wax, and you can feel each word searing into the shell of your ear. “Come on, Bitch-chan. Whatever you want me to do, I bet you’re very much aware that I can do it here.”

Shameless. 

You think of the driver peering at you from the rearview mirror. Fighting the knot that has set in your guts with the image, you drowsily twirl some strands of hair around your fingers, rest your head on one of his shoulders. “What if I want to make you wait? Or even better, make you beg for it?” 

Laito’s ecstatic. “For letting me service you?”

“Mhm.”

“You minx,” Laito wails. “As much as I love the pretty faces you make when you squirm in my arms, I must say this side of you isn’t that bad either.”

“Then you know what to do,” you say, unrelenting. “If you want to see more of it.”

His hand rolls then to your inner thigh, thumb pressing into the flesh. He doesn’t stop looking at you as he massages the skin with the skill of a sculptor. It’s almost reverent, the way Laito touches you like you were one of his most prized creations.  

A chuckle trembles in his throat, “Well, who am I to deny you this?” 

Laito’s thumb wanders somewhere deeper, hitting your sweetest spots through your clothing. Your breathing slows down. He takes it as a sign to push harder. 

His voice drops to a whisper, “I can’t bear it anymore, Bitch-chan. I always make you feel so good, don’t I? So please, let me be yours. Use me to your filthiest desires.” 

Without realising, your judgment is fogged out by a bolder touch and a pretty face and a handful of candied promises. The power he has over you. The expressions a sweeter voice can paint on him. 

“Will you promise to be good, Laito?” you say at last, your hand raking through his hair. 

“You wound me, really. Haven’t I always been a good man to you?” Laito croons against your neck. Soon his mouth dips lower, until your body is conveniently laid across the back seat of the limousine and his head poises itself between your legs. 

You feel grateful for not being allowed to answer that, for Laito wastes no time before beginning to pull down your jeans, sighing into your underwear. “I promise to make this a night you’ll never forget.” 

Then he traces a greedy tongue across the spreading stain on the fabric, and it sends a shiver up your spine as he does. You gasp. He licks again. His voice is muffled as it adds to the numbing heat building up throughout your body. 

“So deliciously wet already,” Laito muses. “Is it because you’re being watched, I wonder?”

Reflexively, you turn your head to the driver’s seat. The privacy curtain has already been set. Not sure whether to feel uneasy or relieved by the realisation, you let out a breath. Quick to notice the change, Laito giggles against your clothed folds. He’s always known how to pluck the best of responses from your body. Every time he coaxes one, he shivers. An addictive dance.

“Ne, don’t be disappointed. I’m sure there’s still so much we can do to feed that dirty mind of yours.” Saying this, he pushes the fabric aside, careful not to disturb the credit card you so rightfully earned just minutes ago. “Something like this, maybe?”

With this, he buries himself in, lapping at your slit and moaning in shameless delight. It was teasing at first, tongue circling past the spots that have you writhe the most, but beats later, he starts eating you with the desperation of a starving man, always aching for more, never satiated. Lungs pressed onto each other, you lock your legs around his neck, pushing him deeper into your soaking core. Laito is sinfully good at this, like he got you used to, but it’s the rush of this night out together that has you lose it completely. The moment your voice finds its way out of your chest, it’s whined and quivery, hitting an octave you didn’t know you had. It only pushes Laito to swallow more, mewl louder, and as he takes one second to look up at you, drunken, flushed, equally trashed out, you cannot help but feel your stomach burning up.

“H-ha,” Laito coes at you then. “What an exquisite taste, Bitch-chan. Almost as maddening as your blood.” He licks at your slick a few more times before adding to the thought: “Only the sweetest, and only for me to indulge.”

Fuck—you’re getting close.

“Laito, keep going,” you urge him. 

“Until you die thinking of me,” he promises. 

In anticipation of your orgasm, you hopelessly thrust your hips into his face, increasing friction. Laito continues to devour you without much concern about the lack of air. Sloppy lips, flattened tongue, squeezing hands. He needs to restrain himself from begging for his name, to watch it sit on your tongue the way it did only seconds ago. When you come, it’s loud, it’s obscene. Your nails are scraping into his scalp, and your lips start tasting like blood. Laito is likely to be just as loud as you are, but you can’t tell for sure, since your senses are still numbed out from the high you’ve been riding. After leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, he eventually lifts his weight from your legs and catches your eyes in a persistent stare. You don’t have the time to level your breathing as Laito leans in to enjoy the taste of your bitten lips, fangs scraping the wound with little care for it. The blood stays smeared on the corner of your mouth like a signature. 

“Just as I thought,” he breathes out. “You’re delicious from head to toe.”

A loose smile blooms to the side, “Don’t think you’ll get away with just this.”

Laito’s hand runs a touch through your hair, a tender gesture. His lips are coated in your slick. “Don’t you worry. I simply happen to know how to satiate greedy little things such as yourself.” Then, taking to hushed, “That’s what makes me your favourite toy after all.”

It does not take long until the limousine reaches the front of the manor, and Laito helps you step out of your ride. The building reflects your memories, tall and flat and unkind, with vegetation climbing atop the windows. Sluggishly you gape at the sky unfolding a pleasant blue over the lot, wondering when the sunset even happened. But just as you think about heading towards the entrance, you notice that Laito continues to hover by the limousine, knocking on the driver’s window. It rolls down. He giggles.