Clive glances at the other woman and then back to Jill, hooking a thumb into his waistband to pull it down. He murmurs: "Well, there's more to come, shortly."
He sets about undressing properly, gathering his discarded clothes and hers and putting them in the first empty locker he opens. When she peeks, he catches her eye and smiles wryly, and then offers her his hand to walk her out.
"Turn around so you don't have to see them," he says, fairly unbothered by the nakedness, or even the eyes on them –– in fact, he's quite comfortable, though content to walk close to her, especially with the way she grips his hand.
"It's not dissimilar from being in the barracks," he replies, leading her out onto the pool deck. A few people glance over, but most are busy making out on the deck chairs and padded benches.
"No, I wasn't." She wanted to leap out the window, really. But the memory now makes her laugh. "Imagine what he'd think of this? Us, here? I can practically hear his laughter."
"He would never let us hear the end of it." Thinking of Cid always feels like a fond experience, but never more than now. Clive takes them to the nearest bench and sits –– he is going to avoid the water until otherwise forced. He continues: "He would probably be the one taking us here."
Jill smiles warmly, forgetting her creeping apprehension about other eyes on them for the moment. Clive sits and she stands between his knees, pushing the fingers of both hands through his hair.
"Imagine? He would have the time of his life at our expense."
She moves between his thighs and he sits up a little straighter. His eyes are level with her breasts —— starkly pale on the bright pooldeck —- and his gaze drifts down to her navel. He finds her hips with his hands.
“I think between the two of us, we could wrangle the upper hand… somehow…”
He leans towards her just a bit, nose nearly skimming her sternum.
“Is the goal to make him jealous, then?” he says. He feels cautious and careless at once, tiptoeing around her own jealousy, but it’s a rousing thought. “That I can satisfy you in ways an older man can’t?”
"Perhaps. You satisfy me in ways no one can," she tells him, leaning in so that his face can fit between her breasts, fingers still carding through his hair.
And then she laughs.
"He would be very flattered right now." To speak of a dead man during foreplay.
Order heard and received. Clive's eyes flutter shut. It is easy to imagine particular faces amongst the people here, any of whom might look over. He kisses her again, lips dragging as he moves a little south, one hand roving down to grab and squeeze a handful of her ass.
Jill leans her weight into him, knowing it's such a slight thing to him.
"I love your hands, Clive," she murmurs. All of him, really, but he knows just how much strength to use when touching her. It's a talent. "I fill them perfectly, don't I?"
That sounds horrific. Now and then, she thinks about the life she could have lived--a queen in the north, or some princess by marriage, and she thinks perhaps she wouldn't have found satisfaction with the attention those roles demand from others. She's only ever wanted attention from Clive, at her side.
"You worship me by spending time with me. By thinking to surprise me." A field of flowers or dinner or even this place. "I'd rather you in my arms than at my feet."
He glances up at her, fleeting but tense. He doesn't need to worry about having misstepped because he knows he has, but he can follow her curve. He refocuses. Cid wouldn't say that shit.
"Wherever you want me," he says, a hand sliding down the back of her thigh. "Whenever you'll have me."
That glance gives her pause. She knows him, and while she feels like she's been relearning him lately, she catches the look in his eye.
"I could be your mistress, for the night. Your master. Does that..." Help? No, there's nothing to be helped, is there? "Does that sound appealing, Clive?"
"It does, and very much so," he admits. "But one thing at a time, I think. You've never..."
To his knowledge, she's never had sex in public before, and the thought of throwing her in far deeper than she's prepared makes him apprehensive. What if it spooks her entirely? They never talk about these things until they're in the moment.
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She forces herself to leave him be for a moment so she can kick off her shoes and pull down her skirts.
But she does sneek a peek at him.
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"What do we do when someone breaks their neck to look at you?" Jill teases, scrambling to keep her good mood.
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"You're not nervous, Clive?"
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Jill keeps her eyes on Clive.
"Do you remember when Cid took us to that brothel?"
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But things were different, then, and Valisthea does not particularly lend itself to pleasure without strings –– or shackles –– attached.
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"Imagine? He would have the time of his life at our expense."
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“I think between the two of us, we could wrangle the upper hand… somehow…”
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Though there's a quirk of her lips--she can imagine Cid finding some way to use that to embarass them both.
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“Is the goal to make him jealous, then?” he says. He feels cautious and careless at once, tiptoeing around her own jealousy, but it’s a rousing thought. “That I can satisfy you in ways an older man can’t?”
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"Perhaps. You satisfy me in ways no one can," she tells him, leaning in so that his face can fit between her breasts, fingers still carding through his hair.
And then she laughs.
"He would be very flattered right now." To speak of a dead man during foreplay.
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"He would be," he says. "The stories and innuendo I've heard over the years..."
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"I think you should use whatever you've heard as inspiration for what we do here. Stories to share, should we meet Cid again."
Nevermind that he'd likely have some opinions on their whole relationship and what's become of it.
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"I love your hands, Clive," she murmurs. All of him, really, but he knows just how much strength to use when touching her. It's a talent. "I fill them perfectly, don't I?"
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"Everything about you is perfect," he murmurs against her skin. "I could worship at your feet at any hour, any day."
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"You worship me by spending time with me. By thinking to surprise me." A field of flowers or dinner or even this place. "I'd rather you in my arms than at my feet."
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"Wherever you want me," he says, a hand sliding down the back of her thigh. "Whenever you'll have me."
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"I could be your mistress, for the night. Your master. Does that..." Help? No, there's nothing to be helped, is there? "Does that sound appealing, Clive?"
Some level of compromise.
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To his knowledge, she's never had sex in public before, and the thought of throwing her in far deeper than she's prepared makes him apprehensive. What if it spooks her entirely? They never talk about these things until they're in the moment.
"I want to discover what you want."
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