Give Me A Reason

Rhareth pressed his fingers into his temples, struggling to get another puff on the last dreg of his cigarette. A wispy curl of smoke furled away from his nose as he signed the last of his paperwork.

Finally.

Dealing with the extortion—taxes, he corrected himself—always gave Rhareth a headache. Stapling the packet of papers together, he filed the entire stack away to deal with later tonight.

Rhareth leaned back against his chair. He tried to get another puff of his cigarette. With a small sigh, he spit it out onto the floor, where he used the toes of his high-heeled pumps to crush it.

The Rotten Eden was both his pride and joy, but also his biggest headache. Rhareth had learned a long time ago that the greatest pleasures in life also brought the greatest of pains.

Throwing back the melted ice of his whiskey glass, Rhareth wiped his mouth with one finger before he started on clearing off his desk. What boring work.

As Rhareth finished sticking everything, including his empty glass, into the drawers of his desk, the door to his right creaked open.

A small smile graced Rhareth's lips as he watched Iarilan slip into the room. Even after a night of dancing and pleasure, she looked beautiful. Her hair may be a tad on the frizzy side, her makeup a little smudged, and her perfume may have faded a little, but none of that mattered to Rhareth.

Although the thrumming music had stopped a while ago, Iarilan still donned her leathers. Her corset didn't cinch her waist as tightly as it did early in the night, but her large breasts and thick hips hardly needed it to. Her breasts still spilled out of the cups in the front. The ties of Iarilan's thong still held tight to the curve of her hips. However, she had taken off her stiletto boots—the ones which cut off mid-thigh—leaving her long, sepia legs bare.

Rhareth's tail twitched back and forth. He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs. With one hand, he pulled the already open collar of his button-down shirt even lower.

"My queen," Rhareth purred. "To what do I owe the honors?"

"No honor, my dear Rhareth. Just seeing how far along you are in your paperwork, is all."

Rhareth gestured with open hands at his now emptied desk. "Finished. Finally." A small sigh escaped his lips. "Still need to count the money for our... landlords." He spat the last word like a curse.

Iarilan's lips quirked downwards. "I see." Iarilan swept over, her bare feet not once producing a noise on the creaking floorboards. She came up behind Rhareth, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Rhareth leaned his head back into her soft chest, settling his head as best he could into the crook of her soft breasts. This close, Rhareth scented the last of her sweet and supple perfume, which mixed with sweat and the luscious smell of lasting pleasures.

"Will you be needing some aspirin?" Iarilan murmured, working her hands into his muscular shoulders, kneading out the tight knots within the muscle.

Rhareth shook his head, his eyes fluttering close as he drank in her scent yet again.

"Is there anything I can do for you then, my king?"

Rhareth cracked his eyes open a tad. He peered up at Iarilan. This close to her, all he could see was her chin.

His tail curled beneath him as a familiar prickle began at the base of his spine. "I just need a break, my queen. A breath of air to forget all of this, even for a moment." He leaned up to press a kiss against her chin; a kiss lined with a flash of sharp fangs.