Inamorata

Chapter Nineteen - Crown to the Toe, Top Full

Chapter 19. Author's note - Another Macbeth quotation for a title. As you can no doubt surmise, I love that play. Anyway, votes and comments mean the world to me, so please let me know what you think!

On Friday morning, directly after Michael had left - with a few very cryptic words that he'd "be seeing her very soon" - Nightingale had another visitor. When she was lying on her floor, having moved from the bed so that she could sprawl on the floor and read, there came a visitor for her.

"Nightingale," sang Bobby, practically sashaying into the room. "Delightful, delicious, delicate Nightingale!" Then he chuckled, evidently pleased with his alliteration.

She rolled her eyes when he couldn't see her.

"Nightingale, you know how I had that fabulous idea to rent you out last weekend?" asked Bobby, flopping down on the bed.

Nightingale, knowing that even Bobby, even lascivious, lecherous Bobby would not ask her to fuck him there (it was his philosophy that Inamoratas had to be given at least twelve hours between fucks in order to rest properly), did not immediately crawl up onto the bed.

Instead, she stood up, wearing only her bathrobe, and exposed one of her shapely legs.

 "I do," she purred.

He grinned. "And you know how Mr. Beckett rented you out?" he said, his greedy eyes sweeping her from head to foot. Nightingale prayed in her head, to whatever God Inamoratas prayed to, that he would not break his twelve-hour rule due to her charm.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "How could I forget the illustrious Mr. Beckett?" Her voice turned from seductive to affectionate at the end.

"Well, someone else wants to do the same again," he said, and his grin got even wider and smugger.

"Mr Beckett?" enquired Nightingale politely. Her heart was aflutter with hope. He'd said he wouldn't be back for a week, but maybe he needed her earlier.

"No. Another of your fans," he said. "Mr. Castleman."

Nightingale felt nervous. A whole weekend, alone with Michael? She was worried what it would do to his psyche, having her there, like a normal, human woman. Already, the poor man loved her more than he ought to.

"For the whole weekend?" she asked.

"No. Just overnight. From three pm today until noon tomorrow," said Bobby. He shrugged and closed his eyes, relaxing back onto Nightingale's bed. "No idea why he's not just going to come here, but he's letting me charge him twice the ordinary amount, so I'm not complaining."

Nightingale glanced at the analog clock hanging on the wall. "Bobby," she said.

"Yes?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"If he's picking me up at three pm-"

"You only have three hours to get ready," said Bobby, turning his head awkwardly to see the clock's hands. As he did so, he exposed his throat. A sort of vicious hunger rose in Nightingale's chest, clawing at her like some wild animal, as she imagined what it would be like to wrap her fingers around that neck and squeeze.

She shook her head, dispelling the idea. "Okay," she said, but made no move.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" cried Bobby, leaping off the bed. "Get that lovely ass of yours into gear!"

Nightingale had to feign a light, playful laugh as Bobby slapped that "lovely ass" of hers and then ambled away. But the moment he was gone, her face fell into a snarl. When the doors of her room closed, she leaned forward and, her hands curled into claws, she spat: