Camille sat in a private balcony at the Blind Eye, thankful again that Quinn kept her bottle of cherished whiskey safe as she rolled a fingers worth around in the crystal cup in her hand. It was a nobles drink, and about the only vice she allowed herself, good drink. Be that a gift from a client or patron, or something she purchased for herself, she had kept away from the worst of the vices that were catered to in the city. After all, being able to be a free woman in such a city was a blessing in itself.
But tonight was special, as she watched the dancers on stage, the dance tasteful and artistic, something that Camille enjoyed. She often thought, that maybe in another life, she would have been a successful dancer. But she had been drawn to fabrics, felt the pleasure of creating with her two hands, felt the rush of excitement seeing something she had pulled from the primordial stuff of creating drape properly across flesh. Tevinter's nobility were her canvas now, and she had made quite the name for herself.
And in turn, she had made many friends, ones that had tried to buy her exclusivity several times, and ones that were quiet about their patronage. And she respected those that wanted to remain silent partners in her enterprises. They were her favorites, as long as they were happy with their share in the contract. Five percent here and there had seemed like drops in an ocean when it had come right down to it, and it had given her the capita to start. And she retained eighty-severn percent of her business and sales.
But there was a familiar fop of hair in the crowd and she leaned forward on the balcony rail, calling down to the man below, Monsoir Pavus, come to crawl between my legs and find succor in my breast tonight? How much longer will you keep me wanting, my love? There was no secret around her and Enzo's flirting, it was to them as breathing was to others. Camille knew she drew life from teasing him, and since the first time she had dressed him and had to take measurements, she had aggressively poked at him every chance she got, if only to see if he rose to the bait. She'd yet to be disappointed.
What a rare day. No family business to attend to, no bothersome assignments from the Eyes. He was free to simply enjoy himself. He spent it largely at the Pavus stables outside of the city. He took a few of the newly acquired mares out for short runs, assessing their fitness and inclinations, then spent the better part of the afternoon running Allegro all over the countryside. He'd had the hang-tooth for years, yet he still ran like a colt.
He returned to the city with ample time to bathe and dress for the evening. He'd received word that The Blind Eye was hosting a particular night of revelry, beyond the typical schedule. Perfect. When he stepped from his carriage, it was in a peacock blue suit and gold waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. Subtle gold stitching wove through the blue of the suit, catching the light just so. Almus greeted him at the door, as he often did, sharing some of the guests of note in attendance tonight as Enzo cut a leisurely path through the crowds.
"...and your acquaintance, ma-"
"Monsoir Pavus..." her voice was not loud, but clear over the music and din of the crowd. Almus, cut off, bowed as Enzo waved a hand to dismiss him. His eyes had wanted to jump to where he knew she'd be perched, but he held them down for a moment as his smile formed. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he then allowed his eyes to glance upward. His head tilted upward soon after to gaze upon her properly. Enzo then took a deep breath, his shoulders rising visibly. As he exhaled he let his mouth fall open slightly in a sigh, as if the sight of her had rid him of some inner pain and left only pleasure.
"Madam de-Solar!" he called back up to her. "I would crawl hand an knee to such paradise, but I dare not ruin this masterpiece." Enzo gestured at his suit, one of hers of course, then held up a finger. Turning quickly, he made his way to the stairs that led to the balconies. A few moments later, he appeared through the curtained doorway. "Perhaps we can find some place I could take it off." he said, stepping closer and bowing, hand extended to take hers. "So I might worship you properly."
And he did so in such a masterful way that it put even her remarkable skills to the test. The lip between teeth -- worrying the flesh of the lip -- it would lead the imagination to think on what it would feel like to feel those same teeth again one's own lip. The thick, full lashes that women could be jealous of, like the fur of mink, sweeping against a tanned cheek that sat high on cheek bones that could cut a hand when slapped. An open mouth completed what most every woman knew to be the single fastest way to capture someone's attention, the dart of eyes from lips back to eyes, perhaps even lower, leaving someone feeling undressed in their trail -- classic, and all together too much for Camille to let stand.
But then he spoke, flattering her by calling out her work -- of course he would, she had crafted that suit for him recently, in the blue and gold, she had thought it a waste to see him off in the colors, wanting to put him in a deep aubergine with more gold. He was suited for darker jewel tones after all. But, it had been blue. One of these days she would have to just ignore his requests and dress him properly even if it meant him pouting afterwards. She raised an eyebrow as he made his way up to the private balcony, and closed the curtains behind him, her hand already out and waiting to slip into his as soon as he was there, I keep telling you to name the place and I'll peel any of my designs off you.
She paused a beat.
Or let you peel me out of these leather trousers, as long as you leave me in the corset and stockings. I like that they give proper hand holds to be manhandled easier. Instead of waiting for him to graze a kiss over her knuckles, boring, she instead ghosted a thumb over his lower lip, hang moving into position to cup his cheek. And if you're down there you could absolutely worship me, but you'll miss the dancing my love, and you know I have the best seat in the house for when the girls flip their skirts. She raised a brow, even as her features gave way to some of the more lustful thoughts she had about the one principle dancer and how fine her legs were. It was no secret that Camille was a woman who played at heterosexuality for her clientele, and behind closed doors had a far more board palate when it came to her sexual partners.
An ill kept secret, of course. And she was a consummate professional.
She couldn't have some little strumpet coming into her shope and leaving with stories about the modiste. So, the act was necessary to keep herself safe, at least for the time being. Join me on the couch here, we'll enjoy some of my good whisky, and then we'll send down for a bottle of that wine that last time had us shivering from simple touches. Maybe this time you'll be brave enough to stick a hand down my corset. Maybe she would be brave enough to let him. Perhaps not. It was the tease after all, that was the fun for the two of them.
He smiled, lips kept pressed together, as she spoke and offered her hand to him. But before he could kiss her knuckles, her hand moved to his face. As her thumb teased his lips, they parted and his head turned slightly to chase it as it moved to his cheek. He leaned into her hand for a moment, chuckling at the images she was conjuring in his mind. Very few women seemed willing to tease the way Camille did. Fewer still from the ranks of the Altus houses.
Cruelly, or perhaps kindly, she halted their banter. Sighing a little dramatically, Enzo bowed his head slightly and then straightened to look back down to the stage. "Is Lilith dancing tonight, then?" he asked, giving Camille a sideways glance and smile. They both favored the woman.
"You spoil me." Enzo said at her invitation to sit and drink. But he didn't need to be asked twice. He turned immediately to the table where the decanter sat. Taking it in hand, he poured a touch more into Camille's glass before pouring two fingers worth into another. He then took up the glass and sat down beside Camille, one arm draping across the back of the couch.
"To courage." he said, clinking his glass against hers. His head turned to look down over the crowd again as he sipped at the whisky, but he couldn't help stealing glances back at the woman. She'd brought too many thoughts to the forefront of his mind. "It's been some time since I've seen you here." he said, the fingers of his free hand grazing the couch just a breath away from her shoulder. "You haven't found someone else, have you? I'm a terribly jealous man, you know."
Had the curtains been drawn, Camille might have had the mind to find a riding crop, something leather and structured to move across his exposed skin, the small bite of a slap that would redden the skin some, would leave a tiny bruise that later she could try and tempt him into letting her darken with lips and teeth and tongue, but the girls would remain dressed until much later in the evening. And she was of the mind to buy them a private performance from their favored dancer, One of these days we're going to have to buy her for the night so I can feel her tongue between my legs as you ride her till dawn. The idea of sharing the woman between them excited her, but it was just words at this point -- the teasing.
While she may take lovers, specifically female, Enzo was a man she'd like between her legs at least once in her life. Having dressed him before she was already enamored of his physique, but it was the fact that he teased back as much as he took from her, her glass refilled as she felt the man ease in beside her on the couch, Of which neither of us seem to have enough of yet, she clinked her glass to his and then let the burn of whisky slide down her throat as her eyes slid over the legs of one of the dancers on stage now. I've been busy with some beaded number that's been requested as a rush order, and while I can trust the girls with most of the work, this neckline has to be perfect for this client, I know exactly who's eyes are going to be sliding over the fabric that drapes those contained breasts and a single bead out of place to distract from that creamy skin will be my head. Perfect breasts, really, with large always hard nipples, that or my store was too cold that day.
Camille stretched out as she laid back over his lap now that he was near -- that wine from the last time that seemed to bring every nerve alive, heightened and flushed with a single breath of air might be on the menu again tonight, she decided as she tried not to push her shoulder up into those wandering fingers. She wanted the image of them sharing the red headed dancer to linger in his head just a bit longer before she'd try to tempt him into bending her over the balcony, Are you? Jealous that is? Of someone paying me company, touching me? She let her free hand slide over the leather of her trousers, up towards the ties of her corset, where her fingers played for a few moments with the ties, tugging one just enough so that the looped ribbon strained hard not to give free, the tiniest bit of friction still keeping the last bit in place -- a hitched breath would have the entire knot, and her cleavage, freed some, as if the edge of the black satin didn't barely cover her modesty, the faintest trace of one dusky areola just barely visible over the edge of the garment. And if I had? Would you try and win my attentions back? Make me forget them? Finally take me to your bed to make me forget anyone else ever existed in the first place?
She looped the loosened tie of her corset over the fingers of his hand on the back of the couch, sipping her drink again before looking back to the stage, Of course not, if I can't have you making me scream your name till dawn, then I prefer having a woman under me. Now, let us turn the tables, my love, and tell me that you've not found a woman to sate your lust on, when I'm right here, ready and willing, practically begging to have you take me in full view of the club tonight. Oh, ...oh. I think I just discovered a new thing I'd like to try eventually my love, not sorry for putting that idea in your head.
"Now, now, Camille..." Enzo tutted. "Why do you believe we'd have to buy her?" The truth of the matter, and something of a point of pride for Enzo, was that he'd never bought a lover. When he was younger, he hadn't needed to. The idea had certainly occurred to him from time to time as he aged. Indeed, he'd almost succumbed to the temptation in that first black year after the barrier had gone up. There had been the one that had reminded him so painfully of...
He shook the thought from his mind, returning his focus to her explanation for her absence from the club. His grin returned as she provided details, though not enough for him to identify just whose skin was so creamy. She might tell him, if he pressed for the name. But Enzo enjoyed searching out her work in the wild, as it were. It was always interesting to identify which women... and men... chose Camille as their modiste. Keeping his face toward the stage, he looked sidelong at her and gave a chuckle. Her store did tend to be a bit chilly, and he suspected she did that on purpose.
For a moment, he thought she'd not respond to his jest of another man, but then she shifted, draping herself across him. Enzo sat a little straighter, moving a pillow next to his hip for her head. At her words, Envy stirred, giving more life to the image of another man's hands on her body than she had. Enzo clenched his jaw slightly, even as he smiled down at Camille. He took a slow drink of his whiskey, eyes focused on the movements of Camille's hand, as he mentally struggled to shove Envy back into a dark corner.
"Tell her what you'd really do." Envy breathed. Enzo took another drink.
The satiny feel of the ribbon and her words pulled his mind back to Camille. At her admission that there was indeed no other man, Envy snaked back into the shadows of Enzo's thoughts, rebuked but still gleeful at the rise she'd managed to get out of Enzo. At her reversal of the question, Enzo took the time to breathe in deeply and let the silence grow tense. He could play this game too.He focused his eyes on the ribbon between his fingers. He rubbed his thumb on the fabric of it, holding it just as she did, on the edge of release.
"Right here?" he asked, inching his fingers down the ribbon closer to her corset. He stopped but an inch from where the ribbons looped into the garment. "On this couch?" he let the ribbon fall from his fingers, moving them feather light over the satin that barely held and to the edge where her skin burned hot enough that he could feel it without touching. He hovered over the cleft of her breasts. "Or maybe at the railing, to put on your show?"
He leaned his head forward a bit to hover over her, his hand still just not touching her. He downed the last of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you haven't begged." he said, his voice deepening, softening. "Not yet."
Below, the music swelled and then came to an abrupt end. The crowd cheered. Enzo wiggled his empty glass above her. "Another?"
I have no problem buying my lovers, Enzo, if I leave sex to a transactional affair, I never need by disappointed, Camille breathed heavily, chest rising and falling quicker as she saw those fingers slide down the ribbon, closer to skin, to feel the electric feeling ghost of his skin being so close, so very close to touching her. How easy it would be to arch her back up just a bit more, to breathe just a bit more deeply to have the swell of breast over satin press to his skin, to finally, finally be touched exactly how she wanted to be touched by the man. Her lips parted as she watched, tongue barely sliding along her lower lip before his movement made her look back up into his eyes.
I'll beg, when I know you'll finally deliver, Pavus, until then, I will tease you with all the imagery I can of exactly the different ways I'd let you ravage me, until I touch on the one that makes your pulse quicken enough that I know it's the right one. Since obviously it's not a shared lover between us, nor voyeurism, thought, I must admit, I am a little dishearten by that one, I think it would be fun to know someone found release watching us in the throes of passion, you are a very lovely man after all, and I am a beautiful even by these Northern standards here.. She waited until his hand moved, so that she could raise up some from where she had reclined back over his lap, Our children would be so beautiful that you'd have every major house banging down your door trying to secure a marriage.
Camille's hands went over to the bottle on the table, brow raising some as the more tame show for the night came to an end, and the props were changed for a more risqué one. She brought the bottle back over and poured another two fingers into the glass, eyes flicking back up to his even as she still felt the flush along her décolleté, along her neck, up her ears, that she had hidden under the short bob of her hair this evening. She tilted the bottle up over her own glass and then flagged for a bottle of the wine from last time to be sent up for them, because she was certain they'd finish off the bottle of whiskey this evening, from the pace they were consuming it. Another would be obtained and she would have it delivered to Quinn to keep at the bar for her still -- such was the nice part of knowing the owner of the Blind Eye, her favorite drink always on hand. Does it excite you, begging, that is? To have a business woman like myself, voice made small and demure, eyes large and trusting, begging for the filthiest most depraved things a lover could ask another?
She placed the bottle back over on the table and settled back down across his lap, her own finger now tracing over the edge of the satin of her corset, absent mindedly almost, back and forth as she talked, enjoying that he wasn't as easy to unnerve as others. She liked the game to see if she could make him break, wanted to see the darker side of his rise up and take what it wanted, then again, admittedly, she had been reading a rather sinful serial lately that had been giving her ideas to what she would try and tempt him with. Is it really as simple as a 'Please Enzo, I need you to touch me'?
She took a swig of the drink, letting the whiskey burn down her throat, even as she couldn't get the next part out, the request for him to kiss the whiskey from her lips, dead before she could even find the courage to put a syllable to voice. She'd need more drink before she could even think about making an earnest attempt at begging him. It was safer to tease, and to play, instead of laying herself completely bare for him. No amount of giving him the temptation to tug her bodice open, nor imagery like railing her over the balcony's railing would cause her to give pause.
But to truly be vulnerable, enough to beg?
It sent her hiding back behind the bravado of the tease, shying away from the intensity of his gaze, even when all she wanted was to let herself be lost in it. She couldn't be brave enough, not yet, not in that moment, but she would, one day, she could, maybe, she realized as she watched him still. The bottle of wine being delivered to their table, and the usher ducking out, her eyes never moving away from his.
