Emma took a slice of peach. Popped it in her mouth. Chewed twenty-three times before swallowing. Sipped her chardonnay. Nibbled on a square of Colston Bassett Half Baby Stilton. Rinsed. Repeated.
"Sweetheart." Sebastian placed his hands on her shoulders. He had such fine, smooth hands. Manicured. Perfect white ovals in perfect square nails. Not like Scott's--
Emma shut the thought out. Out, out, out. Like a head from a guillotine.
"Is something bothering you?" he asked, his hands moving southward.
"Yes," she answered curtly. "Your waistcoat doesnt match my new chaise." She flicked cheese crumbs at the offending garment.
Sebastian shed it instantly. "Does anything else insult your aesthetic sense?"
"Your entire outfit, actually. Darling, you must know that shade on shade is the only way to do these days. You're being far too garish."
Emma's penthouse was a thousand shades of white in a million different textures. Scott would never fit here, not with his slightly swarthy complexion, his plebeian colouring.
"Wait!" she said, just as Sebastian was about to take off the last article of clothing. "Not the hairbow."
"The hairbow matches?"
"The hairbow matches."
Sebastian also knew the difference between making love, sex, and fucking. This was sex. Last night was making love. What they were going to do between meetings was fucking. Emma took the hairbow and tied it around him, a white ribbon to reward his good performance.
"You're thinking about him," said Sebastian, lighting his cigar.
"Don't be tiresome."
"You are. I can tell when you are." Naked, he walked to the bar and shook up two Gibsons just the way she liked it: Ciroc vodka and a quick glance at the bottom of the vermouth bottle. "How's the seduction going, by the way? Eased into the mother-hen role? Will I be seeing muffins next?"
"Don't be an ass."
But Sebastian was not the type to let things go. It was one of his charms. "What does he do for you, sweetheart? Does he play our games? Does he even know how to play or did he get shocked at the idea of positions other than the missionary."
Emma fixed him with a glare. "Sebastian, it's bad enough I spend most of my days there. Don't drag him into my one link to sanity."
"I've got it!" He put the martinis down on the night table and pulled out a pair of shades from the drawers. "Will this do? I can also have a go at beaming up at your with a puppy-dog expression although I warn you, it'll take some practice."
Without warning, she went diamond. Her arm cracked against his neck, making him laugh.
"Oh, darling, my darling, you are perverse." Taking her hand, he kissed each faceted finger. "His innocence makes you so hot."
"Of course. I like to see things corrupted."
"I rather like it." He downed his martini in one gulp. "And have you, corrupted him?"
Emma smiled. She dipped a finger in the martini. The droplets, as crystal pure as her body, dripped down her raised forefinger. She watched him watch the droplet, enjoying the gleam in his eyes. "Just watch me."