Eve raps the door so tentatively that her knuckles hardly graze the surface of the splintering wood. She knows Villanelles will make her wait so she idly runs a hand through her hair, fluffing it up to enhance the volume and so that a few stray locks hang in her face ever so slightly. "Goddamn it, Eve," she mutters to herself; why is she always trying so hard to look good for Villanelle?
Behind the door, Villanelle adjusts the lapels of her suit jacket, thumbing the burgundy velvet with a surprising degree of apprehension. She stares at herself head-on in the mirror that sits on the wall to the door's immediate left, pulling her hair back into a taut ponytail and grinning furtively; at last, she and Eve will be reunited—Eve who had spurned her with such cruelty and disdain, Eve who she had shot and left for dead amidst the ruins in Rome.
Two minutes pass before the door is opened.
Villanelle has prepared a pot of tea, and she guides Eve over to an austere dining room table. "Sit," she demands, with a smile that's bordering on a smirk. Eve pulls out a chair and when she finally sits down, Villanelle takes a seat across from her, placing her hands nonchalantly at the back of her head and leaning back precariously.
Eve glowers. "Why'd you do it?" she asks thunderously.
Villanelle smiles incredulously in response and then gives Eve a doe-eyed look that causes Eve to start shaking her head vigorously. "Unbelievable," she mutters and shifts in her chair, rising slowly towards the door.
"Eve, stop!" shouts Villanelle. "I can explain."
Nothing is explained and, instead, they both sit silently, sipping earl grey from tiny coffee-stained tea cups. Villanelle won't stop wetting her lips with the tea and slowly sliding her tongue over them, irritating the hell out of Eve. A small jar of honey sits in front of the teapot and with a sudden determinedness, Villanelle dips her thumb in it and raises it to her lips, sucking off the glob of honey with a mind-numbing slowness and once again, making doe-eyes at Eve.
Eve rolls her eyes. "What do you want?"
"You, of course," responds Villanelle, looking rather dumbfounded, and blinking dramatically.
Eve sighs and for the second time that night, gets up to leave. "I can't do this."
With that, Villanelle brings her fist down on the table, hard enough that both the teacups rattle on their saucers. She pushes her teacup to the side and leans over the table, so that her whole upper body is pressed firm against the polished mahogany. "But Eve, I love you," she whines as if she were a petulant child who had just had their iPad taken away.
Despite herself, Eve stares inconspicuously at Villanelle's lips which are still shiny and slick with the honey. She imagines what it would feel like to slide her tongue over those lips and taste the sweetness, to gently bite down on that bottom lip, to slip her tongue inside... Eve stops herself and scoffs, audibly. "You don't know what love is, Villanelle."
Villanelle pouts and looks Eve up and down, who at this point is standing behind her chair, hands clenched tightly at the chair's back. She's wearing a forest-green turtleneck and simple black slacks; when Villanelle looks closely, she sees that Eve must have applied a little blush to her cheeks, and her eyelashes are tinged with mascara. "Oh, Eve," says Villanelle, tsk-tsking sarcastically.
Villanelle stands up abruptly, lifting her body off the table, and sidles casually over towards Eve, hands buried deep in the roomy pockets of her velvet pants. "Eve, Eve, Eve," she sighs.
Eve can feel Villanelle's breath on her face, warm and damp and smelling vaguely of tea and honey and milk; her heartrate quickens and she wills herself to move back, to turn around and walk out the door. Instead she leans in further so that their lips are just inches apart, so that she can feel Villanelle's eyes boring into her.
Villanelle seizes the moment as an opportunity to suggestively unbutton her suit jacket; up until now, she had kept it tightly buttoned up. Underneath the velvet, she is wearing only a simple black bra and she smiles devilishly when she notices where Eve's eyes have landed.
Eve knows she has been caught but she does not avert her eyes right away, taking in the firm roundness of Villanelle's breasts, outlined and pushed together perfectly by the bra. Her eyes drift to Villanelle's stomach. She's inexplicably drawn to the smoothness of her skin and the shape of her belly button; she imagines making circles there with her tongue.
"You like what you see, yes?" asks Villanelle, unable (or unwilling) to suppress her glee.
Eve snaps out of her trance with an alarming suddenness, turning away from Villanelle and practically marching to the front door. "Goodbye, Villanelle," she says flatly, left hand grasping at the door knob.
Villanelle watches calmly as Eve fiddles with the doorknob, its chipped gold paint staining her fingers.
Eve removes her hand from the knob and stands up straighter, staring intently at the nothingness of the door in front of her. Then, when her vision has begun to blur from staring for too long and too hard, she turns around.
"Fuck it," Eve spits out, almost venomously. "My husband's dead. I have nothing left. And—" She pauses, stuttering and looking down at the ground. "And I want you."
Villanelle beams. "Ahh, Eve, at last—we are lovers. When should the wedding be?"
Eve laughs sarcastically. "We fuck, Villanelle, and then I leave. That's it."
Villanelle frowns. "Fine, have it your way. We will see what you say in the morning."
Again, Eve scoffs. "I'm not staying over."
Villanelle steps forward, grabbing the hem of Eve's turtleneck and using it to pull Eve closer to her. "I like this color on you."
Eve inhales sharply. Why the fuck am I so wet already? she thinks to herself. Villanelle hasn't even touched her skin.
Villanelle revels in Eve's blatant desperation. She raises her thumb to Eve's lips, brushing it against the border between Eve's top and bottom lip. "You really want me, huh?"
At this, Eve adopts an annoyed facial expression, but she quivers with desire, despite herself.
"Follow me," says Villanelle, still holding a bunched-up section of the turtleneck in her hand, and guiding Eve away from the front door.
"Not the bedroom?" asks Eve hesitantly, upon realizing that Villanelle has led her to the edge of the dining room table.
"Oh, later," responds Villanelle, brushing off the question with a wry smile and a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Lie down."
Eve pushes herself up onto the table, careful not to bump into the teacups or teapot that sit perilously at the edge of the table, and lies back.
Once Eve is on her back, the bottoms of her legs dangling off the table, Villanelle leans forward. Offering Eve an eyeful of her cleavage, she grabs a fistful of Eve's thick, raven-black hair, admiring the way its wavy strands seem to curl around her fingers. "God, Eve—beautiful," mutters Villanelle.
Eve sits up slightly, pulling off her turtleneck and bra and tossing them aside carelessly. She observes intently as Villanelle undoes her belt, leaving the waist of her pants to rest just below her hip bones. She swings it around lightly, but almost maniacally.
"Lie back down," Villanelle insists. She clasps a hand around Eve's wrists firmly, pushing her arms over her head and looping her belt around Eve's hands. She pulls tightly, sending an anticipatory shiver down Eve's spine.
Villanelle can't decide what she wants to do first and simply stares in prideful awe at the beautiful woman tied up and spread out before her. Her eyes shift to the small jar of honey still sitting atop the table.
Eve wants Villanelle so badly, she can barely think. But Villanelle won't touch her, as least not yet. Rather, she just stands over her, reaches for the jar of honey and unscrews the lid with a pace and precision that is quite simply, aggravating.
Villanelle flips the jar, capless, upside down inches above Eve's bare breasts. The honey trickles from the jar slowly, coming out in drips and globs, and making thick swirls around her nipples, before almost completely obscuring them from view.
The honey feels sticky, but unexpectedly soft, on Eve's skin. The smell of sweetness on her chest wafts towards her nose and she sighs, deeply, with simultaneous satisfaction and hunger.
Villanelle eyes the small, honey-covered mounds on Eve's chest longingly. She leans over, yet again, and then pulls herself up onto the table, so that she is straddling Eve's stomach.
Eve practically gasps upon seeing Villanelle sink down gently on her stomach and feeling the soft velvet of her pants on her bare skin. She finds herself confused when she feels a striking warmth near her belly button, but the confusion quickly transforms into pleasure when she realizes just where the warmth is coming from and just how aroused Villanelle must be right now.
Villanelle lowers her mouth to Eve's breasts, greedily lapping up the honey with her tongue. She pauses and sits back up; the honey drips from the corners of her mouth, pooling at the indent in her chin.
Eve can't take her eyes away. Villanelle brings herself back down, sucking hungrily on Eve's flesh and nibbling on her nipples, pausing every so often to look up and stare into Eve's eyes which are dilated and vivid, and somehow syrupy, the color of a dark French roast.
When she is done tonguing and licking and sucking, Villanelle slides off of Eve and gets down from the table, leaving Eve there on her back. Villanelle exits the dining room, returning with lube and a wet washcloth which she gently applies to Eve's breasts, soaking up the last remnants of the honey.
