MATE AND HIS LOVER 9

#7 Ian is here

The dimly lit room is charged with sex. 

Be it the neon lights, dark purple silk sheets, or the small gaudy vapor machine at the corner, everything in here is chosen to make sex feel better and worth every penny the customers pay for it.

Madame Poppy's skilled fingers slowly wrap around the glass on the side table. She lifts it and takes it to her chest and pours a thin stream of water over her ample breast.

The man she is with laps it up. As his tongue slides against her smooth skin, Poppy licks her lips. She likes it when they play with her breasts.

Once her session is over, Poppy washes up and slips into her favorite red dress. And just as she finishes drawing her red lip, a girl in a flowery lingerie hurries in. "Madame, Ian is here," she says in a European accent.

"Fuck," Poppy says, slamming the lipstick on her vanity and startling the girl a little. "Go. I'll be there in a second."

The girl hurries away.

Poppy grabs the bottom of her breasts and push them up from under. She then pinches the fabric at the sides of her thighs and pull it up a couple of inches, just enough to leave her crotch still hidden albeit barely.

Her red stilettos clack a sexy rhythm as she walks to the front of the brothel, swaying her hips more than necessary — a habit that had helped her plenty in her profession.

As in each time he visits, every other client has been taken inside by the hookers, and only Ian Stanton sits on one of the tables. A few of his men linger at the front and back entrances.

"Ian," Poppy says sitting at the side of the table and leaning forward, exposing her cleavage. "It's been a while." She reaches out her hand and lets her fingers slide down the edge of his shirt's placket. His tattooed and toned chest come to her view, and involuntarily, she feels wet between her legs.

Ian is a devil with a devilishly handsome face and ripped body. There could be a million reasons why the women throw themselves at him — his power, money, the sheer authority of his name — but almost always, it's him: his disarming face and burning hot body, and the stories of how amazing he is on bed (or in shower, or the couch, and some more places the stories had taken place in.)

"How are you, Poppy?" the younger man asks with a slight smile.

If this was some other day where he's just visiting for sex, Poppy would've already stripped down and climbed onto his lap. In all her life Ian has been the only one who has managed to drive her absolutely crazy on the mattress.

But he's also the scariest of them all.

Poppy knew he would soon drop by and she would have to answer him. But Poppy is also hoping that Ian knows that she had nothing to do with what happened and that hurting Poppy won't help Ian.

"Better than ever," she says, pulling down her dress' neckline.

"And how is she?" Ian says. 

Poppy swallows. "W-Who?"

Ian laughs. And then takes his finger to push away some of the hair strands off her now sweating face. "You never fail to amuse me, Poppy."

"I don't know," Poppy says, her voice trembling in spite of her best effort. "S-She didn't tell me anything. I swear."

Ian says, "Well, I should know she's too clever to come to you. Still, I don't want to be careless again."

One of the men standing at the front entrance comes in. He's followed by a lanky pizza delivery boy carrying a pizza box. The boy nervously looks around the now almost empty looking brothel.

"What is it Oslo? I told you no one is to disturb us," Ian says.

"Sorry, Ian. The boy here says you have a delivery... from Daisy."

Ian quickly straightens up, wearing a smile. He takes the box from the guy and opens it. It's Ian's favorite — black olives. There's a note sticking to the bottom of the box's top. Ian peels it off.

The note reads: "Missed me? Keep your fucking hands off her if you don't want me to swipe clean all your accounts :) Always, yours faithfully, Daisy ⚘"

Poppy's lips slightly part as she sees the expression on Ian's eyes as he looks down at the small piece of paper in his hand. It's as if he's reading a love letter. Which both amazes Poppy and terrifies her at the same time. Even though Poppy is not religious, she silently prays Ian never finds Daisy.

Still smiling, Ian takes out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to the delivery boy. "Thanks, man."

With a shaky hand, the boy takes the cash and is promptly shown out by the man who brought him in.

Ian stands up. Poppy does, too. "I'll drop by another day," Ian says, picking up a slice. He walks out of the brothel and stops at the entrance. He looks up at the CCTV camera strapped to the streetlight opposite, and takes a bite.

"Stop making my life a hell you scumbag!" Daisy shouts at her laptop screen and shuts it loudly in the living room.

"Hey!" Frank says who had just entered the house. "Don't you dare swear at Nate."

"No, this is another scumbag."

"Oh," Frank says before realizing what she said and getting angry again. "What?"

"Why are you here anyway?" Daisy says. "Isn't it too soon for your bedtime?"

Frank glares at her. "I'm here to pick up some change of clothes for me and Nate."

"Does your mate knows you're sleeping with Nate?" Daisy asks.

Frank ignores her.

"Where are you guys eloping to? And don't worry, I'll take good care of the place."

Frank laughs. "Like we'll trust you with that. We'll be back at night."

"Why do you need change of clothes then?"

"It's for a stakeout."

"A stakeout for what?"

Frank is done answering her. He grabs his and Nate's stuff and gets away before Daisy could ask anything else. 

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