Doubleheader (Wilson/Robin, House/Robin, House/Wilson UST, kink, NC-17)

[daasgrrl]

Leaving this here for a couple of days, because I’m just a little nervous about this one. No, I don’t know what I was thinking, either. Blame 
antychan.

Title: Doubleheader
By:
daasgrrl
Pairing: Wilson/Robin, House/Robin, House/Wilson UST
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,700
Summary: Late post-ep to Airborne. Wilson makes an arrangement.
WARNINGS: Kink (pegging). This is so not my fault.
Beta: Thanks very much to 
evila_elf and
bironic for quick, helpful and occasionally pervy beta. Also to 
topaz_eyes  for email therapy *g*
Notes: This was a hangover from the pain of two episodes in a row when they didn't even speak to each other. Also a present for
antychan, as a tribute to her relentless campaigning. Be careful what you wish for; you might get it.

Doubleheader

By the time she reached the hotel, the stars were out, but they were no match for the floodlights illuminating the building in their harsh glare. The parking garage was well signposted, and she pulled into it, rolling down the window in order to reach for the intercom button. "Room 512, James Wilson," she said in response to the bored tones of the operator, and the boom gate lifted after a moment's pause.
It was already close to ten o'clock, but she'd called ahead, and Doctor Wilson had told her it was fine, he'd be waiting for her. James, that is. He had wanted her to call him James. She prided herself on such details - providing the personal touch. For the same reason it was rare for her to be doing what she was doing now, going directly from one client to the next without a pause to change and shower and generally put herself to rights, but this was a special case, and he was paying her well. Plus, he was a nice man. Completely screwed up, as most of them were, but nice. She had no shortage of potential clients, and these things counted when she decided what she would or would not agree to in the course of her job.

She turned off the ignition, and sat for a moment listening to the ticking of the cooling engine in the silence, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror one last time. Then she got out, swinging her black leather work bag over her shoulder and straightening her clothes. She still ached a little between her thighs, and would probably ache more before the night was over, but she figured it was still better than wearing a paper hat and standing in the backspray of a deep-fat-fryer for eight hours a day. The hours were flexible, the outfits she chose for herself were a whole lot classier, and on the whole the work wasn't bad, given that she had the luxury of choice. It wasn't for everyone, but she had known that she could make it work for her. She had gone into this clean and sober, with her eyes open, and would be straight back out of it when the debts her bastard ex had left behind were paid off. That was one lesson it had cost her dearly to learn; at least now she was getting a decent return for her efforts. When that was all finally taken care of she would reapply to college, study something like psychology or law, and be as boring and respectable as everyone else. But until then, this was her job, and she believed in doing it well.

Her heels tapped on the marble of the foyer as she crossed from one bank of elevators to the other. She nodded at the desk clerk with false familiarity, and he smiled back with equally false recognition. They never questioned her. It was sometimes a little trickier when the elevators used keycards and she had to request assistance, but in this case she made her way up to the fifth floor without difficulty and tapped lightly on the door.

He opened it immediately, as though he had been pacing the room, just waiting for her to show up. Possibly, he had.

"Hello, James," she said brightly, cataloguing him as she spoke, something she did by reflex with all her clients before committing herself to an appointment. The agency claimed to screen, but all that meant was they tried to weed out the obviously drunk and high. They did nothing concerning the rough, the violent, the borderline psychotic, and there was a reason she carried a little more than toys and lube in her roomy shoulder bag. She wasn't expecting any trouble from him, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Ah, Robin," he said awkwardly. "Please, come in."

He looked not much different than he had at the hospital - he'd changed his clothes, of course, and his hair was a little disheveled as though he had either been asleep or running his hands through it repeatedly. His eyes looked clear and normal, if a bit shy of meeting hers, and her nose told her he hadn't been drinking, or at least not enough to make a difference to his breath or his behavior. Satisfied, she slipped past him and into the room, and stood there watching him as he shut and latched the door.

"So… did you…" he began, and then stopped to take a deep breath, noticeably composing himself. It seemed as though he'd been anxiously waiting for her, but at the same time he didn't seem all that pleased now that she was actually here. "Sorry," he said. "Obviously, he did let you in. But did he give you any… trouble?"

***

She knocked at the door, instinctively re-checking the 'B' as she did so. There was no answer, so she tried again, more insistently this time. There was a long pause, and then she heard movement, followed by a slight thud, as though someone had leaned heavily against the door.

"Go away!" a voice yelled from within. "I'm not selling the apartment, I don't care about cancer, children or saving the planet and I don't need Jesus in my heart!"

"Okay!" she yelled back, undaunted. Doctor Wilson had spent a good half an hour coaching her on various aspects of her visit, after assuring her several times that his friend was in no way "dangerous". She'd been equal parts amused and intrigued by his careful briefing. "But Doctor Wilson is going to want his money back if you don't let me in!"

There was another pause, during which she could almost feel herself being evaluated again through the peephole. Finally, the door opened a little way, and a haggard-looking man peered out. She'd caught a glimpse of him earlier that week from a discreet walk past his office, but up close and personal the eyes seemed bluer, the lines in his face more pronounced. He looked a good deal taller and more irritated, as well.

"That's a lie," he said, looking her over closely, but not in a lascivious way. "Working girls always get paid up front, and they never, ever give it back."

"I said he was going to want it back, not that I was going to give it to him."

She thought he might have smiled a little at that, but he merely grunted and pulled the door open barely wide enough for her to enter. He was about as gracious as she'd expected, but his matter-of-fact manner still left her a little bemused. She would have thought most people might be a bit surprised, perhaps even offended to hear that someone had hired her on their behalf. Not for the first time, she wondered at the intricacies of human behavior.

"My name's Robin." She smiled warmly, not expecting it to have any impact on his mood. It didn't.

"He could have warned me," he said, staring past her for a moment almost as though she weren't there. She took in the grey sleeping T-shirt, the striped pajama pants, the cane gripped firmly in one hand. The TV was on, but it was down low, and she hadn't heard it from outside. Aside from the papers scattered on the couch and side table, the room looked fairly neat and tidy, nothing out of the ordinary. She stole a quick glance at his right thigh, but as yet could see no indication of the scar Doctor Wilson had warned her about. When she looked back up, he was glaring at her again.

"Okay, what's this about?" he said.

***

"It was fine," she said. "I just did what you told me to do."

James nodded as though he had heard, but then he just stood there, staring at her uncertainly, in much the same way Fran had done. It was obviously up to her to do something or she'd be there all night.

"Mind if I sit down?" she said lightly, relying on James' courtesy reflex to kick in.

"Of course, what was I thinking? Uh, there's a…" he said, studiously avoiding the bed and gesturing to one of the guest chairs. She laughed and perched herself in it, taking the bag off her shoulder and putting it on the coffee table. He offered her a drink, which she declined, and then he grabbed another chair from behind the desk, dragging it a little closer to her before sitting down.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I haven't ever, you know, done this before."

"You mean, had sex? Or paid for it?" she said, teasing him a little.

He was blushing again, in a way she found as ridiculous as it was sweet, considering the detailed discussion they'd had in his office earlier that week. She reached over and patted his hand gently.

"It's okay. You can pretend you've taken me out to dinner, we've talked, we've laughed, and you've invited me up to your room. See, it's exactly the same."

"It's really not, you know," he said, but at least he was smiling, and looking fractionally more relaxed. "So now what?"

"First, you go take a shower, while I get changed. Or I could join you, if you like. But I don't think that's what you wanted." He'd been very specific that he wanted her exactly the way she was, although she had taken two minutes in the car earlier on to touch up her makeup.

"No," he said quickly. "And it's the same… outfit. That you'll be wearing."

"It is," she assured him. Over time she had built up a suitable collection of 'working' outfits, all suitably skimpy, and more importantly, machine washable. This one was a flattering deep red, with side slits from mid-thigh up to the bikini line, and a cleavage that plunged to the middle of her ribcage. It was damp with drying sweat and lightly stained from the night's work already past, but it wouldn't kill her to wear it again if it that was what he wanted.

He got up then and headed to the bathroom, but stopped in mid-stride and turned back.

"I want you to… to tell me everything that happened," he said quietly.

"Yes," she said. He nodded, took another deep breath, and then the door clicked shut behind him. She sighed a little and began to pull the dress from her bag.

***

"Why would Wilson send you over here?" he continued. "He probably needs you more than I do. Have you slept with him already?"

"The why is none of my business," she said briskly, the smile temporarily abandoned. Most men preferred sweet and girlish, but she wanted to make it clear that she did have limits to the amount of aggression she would take. "And no. Not that that's any of your business."

"Pity," he said. It was difficult to tell whether he was being serious. “If he were a real friend he would have made sure you knew what you were doing first.”

"If you're not interested, it doesn't make any difference to me. Otherwise, you have two hours, but if you want anything kinky it'll cost you extra."

For a moment she really did think he was going to turn her away, which she would have regretted only in the sense that she would have to tell Doctor Wilson - James - she had failed. But then he smiled, although it spoke more of curiosity than warmth.

"So is this some kind of bizarre, Wilson-style apology? Or is he just sending you to spy on me and report back?"

She met his gaze squarely, revealing nothing. "He's your friend. Or so he says. You ask him. I'm just the hooker." The crudeness of her words was deliberate, challenging.

He gave her another penetrating look, and then shrugged and pointedly looked at his watch. "Then I guess I'm wasting time standing here."

"I guess you are."

"I'll just…" he gestured down the hallway and she nodded. She'd been told that he'd know the drill.

"Do you want any help?" she asked, not bothering with the seductive tone, and got an indifferent wave of the hand in response.

She went back to the lounge room and cleared and stacked up the papers a little, even though she wasn't exactly being paid for her housekeeping skills. Then she turned off the television and the overhead light, leaving the room in the glow of the side lamps. It was a little nicer that way, and these things mattered to her. She wouldn't go into the bedroom, though, not until she was invited.

Satisfied, she quickly changed into her working outfit, and stowed the bag under the side table. Then she walked a little down the hallway and waited patiently for the door to open again, leaning a little against the side wall. He came out bare-chested, with his lower body wrapped in a towel, cane still in hand. She drew herself up and smiled sweetly.

"So, Greg, what would you like me to do today?"

***

"You… look amazing," James said. Unlike his friend, he had changed back into his clothes after the shower.

"Thank you."

She smiled. It was part of her job, of course, but it was always nice to be appreciated.

"Am I… allowed to kiss you?"

She also appreciated that he'd actually read the agency guidelines. Kissing was specifically not on her 'will do' list; she set the rule according to the client and her own mood. In this case, she didn't mind, and it would probably make him more comfortable to play pretend a little.

"If you like," she said, and moved a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand and putting it on her waist.

He leaned in and brushed her lips with his own, and she could tell he'd taken the time to brush his teeth as well. She rubbed up against him and kissed him more deeply, which seemed to relax him a little. Then he pulled back abruptly.

"Did he kiss you?"

And there it was again, the reminder that there were more than the just the two of them involved in this transaction. She wondered why he hasn't just suggested a threesome and been done with it. However, she also remembered the scowl on his friend's face, the prickliness of his demeanor. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all.

She shrugged in response to the question. "He didn't ask."

"So what did you do with him?"

***

He seemed more subdued now, after the shower, and merely looked her up and down appreciatively without passing comment. Then he asked for a massage, and she went back out to fish around in her bag of wonders before following him into the bedroom. By the time she got back he was already lying face down on the bed, the towel still wrapped around his waist. She quickly took off her shoes, then rubbed a little of the almond oil between her hands and moved up to straddle his back, being careful to avoid brushing against his right leg as she did so. He smelled of soap, and his skin was warm and still a little damp from the shower. She started off with his neck and shoulders, which were incredibly tense, particularly the muscles on the right side, and worked at them slowly until the knots loosened and relaxed. Then she moved down his arms, all the way to the fingers, before starting further down the back.

He was quiet during all this, with only the occasional sharp intake of breath when she dug into a particularly tense area, or a soft sigh of appreciation. When she had made it to the small of his back, she tugged at the towel, and undid it when he made no objection. Then she continued, working the buttocks and down to his feet. She avoided the upper half of his right leg altogether, not knowing how much pressure would cause pain.

"Fine, you can go now," he said lazily, when she'd given him a final pat. She smiled, finding him much more agreeable in this mood than his previous one. "Tell Wilson he should feel free to send you over anytime."

"Well, that's up to you, of course," she said, referring to his dismissal. She was kneeling up beside him with her hands on her hips, surveying her handiwork. He rolled over halfway, not bothering to pull the towel back over his body, and looked at her speculatively. She gave his leg one quick glance and then looked back into his face. The scar was ridged and ugly, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

"Although on second thought, it would be a shame to waste such a great body with time left on the clock."

"Why, aren't you charming," she said acidly, but a smile quirked the corner of her mouth.

"Hey, it works on all the girls I pay."

He rolled over the rest of the way onto his back and then asked her, quite politely, to suck him off. In another trait common to experienced clients, he kept his own preferred brand of lubricant and condoms in the nightstand. She started off using her hands with a little bit of lubricant, working him into a full erection before sliding on the condom with her mouth. It would have been easier without, and some girls would do it that way, but she valued her health too much to take the risk. He was surprisingly passive and let her judge for herself what he liked and what he didn't from his reactions, which she appreciated. The controlling ones were often the nasty ones, and vice versa. But finally he opened his eyes and motioned to her with an upward tilt of his head.

"Get on top."

Here she hesitated just a little. James had been very specific as to what he wanted, and while she knew he'd understand if it didn't work out, she did like to do her best to fulfill her client's requests. Of course, usually the person who paid and the person fucking her were one and the same.

"I bet that's the way you always do it," she said. "How about a change?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why, what do you suggest?"

***

She told James about the encounter in fragments, letting him run his hands over her dress, her body, caressing him in return. It wasn't the strangest situation she had found herself in, but it was certainly unusual. Although he seemed appreciative of her body, it was clear that she wasn't exactly uppermost in his mind. When she had finished describing the way she'd gained entry to his friend's apartment, their conversation, and his request for a massage, she offered one to him as well. If he really wanted the things he had alluded to in their previous discussion, it would help for him to be relaxed as possible. He agreed, and she slowly stripped him of his clothing and directed him to the bed, which had already been turned down completely, the covers folded into a neat stripe across the end. She moved them partly aside as he got onto the bed.

Then she straddled him just as she had done his friend, and began her usual procedure, using the oil as before. This time she interspersed her work with descriptions of the sounds his friend had made, the places he had been tense, the way his skin had felt under her fingers. Even as James' eyes closed and his muscles relaxed under her ministrations, she could feel a different kind of tension building in his body, the way his breathing quickened, the small, shifting movements he made as though he were restraining himself from rubbing against the bed. It wasn't exactly having the effect she'd intended, so she stopped talking for a while, and continued with her work in silence.

As she reached his lower back and buttocks, she shuffled down until she was kneeling on the bed, pushing his legs apart to make room for herself between them. She felt him tense, and stopped for a moment to give him a chance to change his mind. Sometimes the fantasies people thought they wanted became very different when it came to acting on them. But no protest came, and she went ahead. Her hands were still slippery with oil, and she gently ran one finger down the cleft of his buttocks, circling the small hole, feeling his whole body shiver as a small gasp escaped him.

"Is that okay?" she said, and did it again.

"Yes," he managed.

He'd been so very awkward, the day they'd made their arrangement. She'd paid her visit to Fran, and then found her way up to his office alone, where he'd practically hustled her inside. It had been obvious that he'd worked out exactly what she did and what her relationship to Fran was, and it was equally obvious that he didn't have the slightest idea how to proceed with that information. She had let him stammer for a while, but he'd been kind to Fran and respectful to her, so she took pity on him and asked straight out whether he wanted to hire her. After he'd worked his way up to a positive answer, she'd smiled and handed him a copy of her rates.

Once that had all been established, he had seemed to relax a little, but had still been hesitant. He'd begun to talk about his friend, Doctor House, the one who would likely have been treating Fran if he hadn't been away that day. His friend was a regular user of paid services, as he put it, and would probably appreciate a visit from her. He, James, would pay, of course. Then he went to some lengths to reassure her that while his friend was a little antagonistic at times, he would not treat her badly. She hesitated a little at this request, but her instincts told her that this man would not vouch for his friend unless he were absolutely certain of his facts. It was a little unusual, but she would inform the agency as usual of exactly where and when she was going, just to be on the safe side. It would cost her their usual percentage, but, amongst other things, that was what she paid them for.

After that had been settled, and her fee paid over in cash - regardless of whether or not the encounter was 'successful' - she'd thought the interview was over, but he still seemed to have something on his mind. It was then that he'd started telling her exactly how he wanted her to handle his friend, what to say, and what he wanted her to do with him, if she could. She had been a little puzzled by this, but his eyes implored her to stay and listen, and so she did. And then finally he'd told her what he wanted for himself. Afterwards. Not directly - he'd made her do most of the talking while he skated around the subject. But eventually she'd thought she understood. It really wasn't that outrageous a request, but then, as now, he looked as though he were going to die of embarrassment.

"How far have you gone?" she asked quietly, continuing to stroke her finger up and down and around the sensitive area, encouraging him to relax.

"Tried… fingers," he mumbled, and she didn't need to look at him to know he was turning bright red again.

That was good to know, though. It meant this would be a little easier, both for herself and him. When she felt he was ready, she ran a little more oil between her hands and pushed in the tip of her forefinger, feeling him tense and then relax again around it. Slowly she pushed in further, stroking the inner wall gently, continuing to caress him with her other hand.

"Oh, god! Stop… stop… please," he begged as her finger brushed against his prostate.

She complied and let him catch his breath before continuing. In her experience, many of her clients found such stimulation pleasurable, but the sensation could be overwhelming at first.

"Were you… like this…?" he asked, and she knew he was talking about his friend again.

"I think I was up on my hands and knees a little more."

She moved carefully with him as he climbed into a rough replica of the position she had been in. His dick was completely erect, and glistening with moisture at the tip. There was a small damp patch left on the sheet where he had been lying.

"Like this?"

"He was standing on the floor - because of his leg. Said it would make it easier, because he couldn't kneel very easily." She tactfully left out the part where he'd complained that he was a cripple and that she and Wilson were conspiring to kill him. James shuffled back accordingly to the edge of the bed, and she got her feet under her. She was a lot shorter than his friend, but the hotel bed was low, and it was actually better this way - the angle would mean a lighter stroke across his prostate.

She began moving her hand again, in and out, slow and gentle. He gasped a little at each movement. When she shifted a little to check on him, she could see that his eyes were firmly shut, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and along the edge of his nose. He was quieter now, as his body adjusted, and she returned to a more comfortable position before adding another finger.

"He had his hands on my hips when he put his dick in. Like this," she said, placing one of her hands about where she had felt it, and picking up the pace slightly. He groaned and twisted under her.

"God, yes," he said, in a near whisper. "Just… like that. Now. I want you to do it…"

"Okay, hang on."

She pulled her fingers out and wiped the excess oil off on the sheets before going back to her bag. Behind her, she saw him settle down to rest on his elbows and thighs, still not touching himself, although he must have been desperate to by now.

Quickly she retrieved proper lubricant, a condom, the leather harness and the smallest and slenderest of her toys, which was a rather unattractive shade of beige. She fitted it to the harness with practiced hands and slipped herself into the straps, securing them so the weight rested firmly over the pubic bone. Then she applied the condom over the top, and ensured it was all well covered in lubricant. When she looked up he was watching her, and he was almost smiling.

"I'm sure he was a little bigger than that," he said dryly.

"He was," she said. "But trust me, to you, it'll feel like Ron Jeremy."

That drew a small, nervous laugh from him, followed by a grimace. "I think I could have done without that image."

As she walked back over to the bed, he lifted himself up again, and she positioned herself behind him. She made a single, short thrust into his body, which made him cry out and fist the sheets in his hands for a moment. The rest followed more slowly, and she balanced herself by placing her hands on either side of his hips. It was always an interesting sensation to penetrate instead of being penetrated, and the rounded hub of the attachment rubbed pleasantly against her groin.

"Are you okay?" she asked again.

"I think… you might be right."

She smiled and began to build up a gentle rhythm, rocking herself against him. At last he seemed to relax into it, and she breathed a little easier herself.

"So… what… was it like?" he was saying now, quietly. "Tell me."

***

After a little complaining, he agreed to try out the position she'd suggested, which surprised her a little. It would put much more stress on his leg this way, although she thought that he could probably manage it. She suspected it was not the position itself, but her reasons for asking that interested him more.

"This whole acrobatic thing wasn't your idea, was it?" he said, as he thrust into her from behind. "And you can knock off the moaning. My ego can take it."

Since he couldn't see her face, she allowed herself a small eyeroll, but bit her lip in silence, lifting one hand to brush the hair out of her eyes before putting it back down on the bed. There was a pause, and then he went on talking, his voice growing harsher.

"It's what he wanted. And you're going to go back and tell him all about it, aren't you? Like a bad girl."

He didn't really seem to be expecting her to answer, so she kept quiet. Sometimes it was like that - the men were so intent on themselves and their own pleasure that they more or less forgot she was there as her own person. She'd had the sweetest, mildest clients scream abuse at her while they fucked her, but as long as it wasn't accompanied by actual violence, she accepted it as part of her job. They were usually incredibly apologetic afterwards, even though she assured them she knew it wasn't personal.

"And then what? Are you going to fuck him?" He was moving faster now. "Or are you just going to… just… oh… describe it while he jerks off?"

His hands clutched her hips tightly, with noticeably more pressure on the right. Then he inexplicably released her left hip, and a moment later she felt him running the tips of his fingers against the tight pucker of her ass as he continued to thrust into her. However, it was no more than the gentlest of touches, and the pressure was gone almost before she had time to register it. She glanced backwards and saw that his eyes were shut, his voice breathless and indistinct.

"It figures… he'd like that," he muttered. "All talk… and no…action. Just wants to… oh… just wants to… oh, god… sit back and… watch." All of a sudden he jerked roughly against her, groaning, and she rode out the length of his orgasm, clenching her muscles around him in silence until she felt him sag forward slightly against her.

***

"He was pretty quiet," she said, keeping up her slow, even thrusts into James' body. "Except when he came. He did say one thing, though, while he was fucking me."

"What… ah… what… was that?" he ground out, his voice taut.

Finally, he had begun pushing back against her, encouraging her to fuck him harder and faster, and she complied. She could tell he was very close.

"He said, 'If Wilson has something he wants to tell me…'" and here she finally removed her hand from his hip and moved it to encircle his cock, "'he should come around and do it in person." She stroked him firmly, once, twice, and then she held on as James' entire body jerked and thrust desperately into her hand as he came.

"House," he gasped, and she felt a small shiver of pleasure at that, only part of which came from the satisfaction of a job well done. She was more than a little aroused herself by that point, which happened more often than she'd expected at the beginning, but she could take care of that in private, later on.

When his shudders had subsided, she pulled out slowly, and let him collapse onto the sheets. Then she stepped away from the bed and unstrapped the attachment from her body, rolling the condom off and putting it in the trash. She would have to give everything a better wipe-down later. The hem of her red dress fell back around her thighs, now more rumpled and stained than ever. She walked back and sat on the side of the bed, avoiding the sticky mess in the middle, and gently rested a hand on James' shoulder, not saying anything. She didn't yet know if he liked to be touched afterwards, but he neither leaned into her touch nor shied away. He was still breathing heavily, and his eyes were shut, and he was probably somewhere else altogether.

She got up and went into the bathroom to fetch a washcloth, washing her hands along the way. Warm water; never cold. When she got back out he had turned over onto his back, and his eyes were open again. He reached out his hand for the cloth to wipe himself down, even though she would have been happy enough to do it for him. She contented herself with wetting another cloth and cleaning off the sheets a little, knowing they wouldn't be changed until the following day.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, when she had finished. She murmured something soothing, but he reached out and grabbed her free hand before she could move away. "Did he… really say that? That I should…?"

***

She did her usual clean-up, and then went back out to the living room, repacked her bag, and prepared herself to leave, her job done and another still ahead. He surprised her by catching up to her before she left, having put on his pajama bottoms and found his cane in the interim. She tensed slightly as he angled the cane across her path, but he apparently just wanted to make sure he had her attention.

"Just don't go making him fall in love with you," he said roughly. "Making him think he can 'save' you. He'll never live it down."

Then he turned away and left her to let herself out. She frowned and bit back the retort that was already on the tip of her tongue. If he didn't want to know, it probably wasn't her place to tell him.

***

"That you should go talk to him? Yes, of course," she replied, without hesitation. Her job was all in the details, and while she knew full well that she shouldn't get involved in the lives of her clients, sometimes, such as had been the case with Fran, she didn't feel like she could just walk away with a clear conscience. She had seen the wistful look flicker across his friend's face, heard the longing beneath the irritation. Had known exactly who and what he'd been thinking of while he fucked her. It was really the same thing. Wasn't it?

She leaned over and gave James a small kiss on the forehead. As pleasant and profitable as their time together had been, there was a small part of her that hoped she'd never hear from him again. She dimmed the room lights and pulled the covers over him a little. Then she walked away and let him sleep.