Inamorata

Chapter Nine - Foolish Christian, Clever Cyrano

Chapter 9. Author's note: comments and votes (especially comments) are very appreciated. I'd love to know what anyone who is reading this thinks of it. Thank you, if you do give feedback, or if you just read!

Later that night, Nightingale found herself lying next to Michael, her head on his chest, listening to the gentle sound of his heartbeat and the slowness of his breath. Assuming him to be asleep, she gave a sigh.

And so she was surprised when Michael ran one hand along her spine and murmured, his voice humming in his chest and sending vibrations throughout Nightingale's body:

"You're not asleep?"

She, with another sigh propped herself up on one elbow and examined him, a smile on her face. "No," she said, and stroked his cheek. "Why? Do you want to go again?" She was careful to skirt around any words that would have proved more blunt, as she he raised herself in a well-practised manner and straddled him, smiling as winningly as she could.

He looked up at her with his slightly foolish, but entirely charming eyes and said something that was bashful that it nearly made Nightingale blush.

"Only if you want to," he said.

Nightingale sighed once again. With any other client she would have purred her put-on desire to fuck him again, but she was finding it more and more difficult to lie to him. He must have picked up on her indecision as he tentatively put his hands around her waist and said nervously:

"You don't want to?"

Nightingale wondered if he knew that she never wanted to sleep with a man. He must not have based on the surprise on his face. She knew that most of her clients at least wanted her to pretend that she wanted it - it soothed their egos, made them feel somehow masculine.

At least a part of this emotion must have shown on her face, as Michael's eyebrows shot up as fast as he sat up. "Nightingale, have you ever wanted to...sleep with me?"

Nightingale bit her lip. She had no idea why she suddenly found it impossible to lie. She knew she was an excellent liar. It was part of what made her such a successful, sought-after whore.

"Yes," she told him, feeling her lie fall flat. So she amended it to something more truthful. "Well...I've never minded it with you. You're very gentle and considerate."

Michael seemed to take it as a compliment, and it was. "Gentle and considerate" were two adjectives that Nightingale could apply to no other clients. He was gentle with her, and considerate of her feelings, though she always allowed him to violate those feelings. Combining that with "never minding it", something that was not entirely true except in comparison to men like Bobby, created the highest praise she could offer.

Michael was quiet for a while. During this time, his fingers walked their way up and down Nightingale's flesh in a way that was, most surprisingly, not unpleasant. Normally she hated it when men touched her, but Michael's hands were different.

"Have you ever enjoyed it?" he asked, his voice small.

Nightingale knew the answer she could give, but could not bear to lie. "No," she said sadly, and took his face in her hands. 

She knew deep down that she ought to have said yes. All her clients liked her to pretend at least that she sort of enjoyed herself during their encounters - except the few truly twisted ones who liked her to kick and thrash about, screaming, as though she were being raped - and yet she never had. She found it entirely impossible to, for the evident reason that it was impossible to savour something you were forced into.

Michael flinched back as though someone had pressed a red-hot poker into his skin. After a moment's consideration, he said, "That's not too surprising."