Every Inch

They were alone, mostly, the room was just a low table, some pillows for sitting. Golden drapes covered the walls to dampen the noise of the rest of the place. A paper lantern hung over the table with shadows of dragons in it that moved on the walls behind them, black wyrms moving across the rippled gold of the curtains.

Randel looked across the table, sipping his wine. The sharp eyes moving over her body with the temptation to kiss every inch, one he clearly entertained as he looked at her. The long hair was loosely bound and his clothing, while dark grey, was fitting for a night out to a fine place.

As she spoke of her power and her connection he watched. He clung to every word and watched her every movement with careful practice as if it were the last thing he may see. His eyes never left her, his focus on her never waned. He listened and took note of names and references.

When her hair was let down he took note and she could see the sight of it was alluring to him. She could feel his lust, he was careful to hide it, to control it. His outward appearance hid it well, one may not even know he was feeling any desire with his passive manners, but she could smell it, and he could not hide that from her.

He made a practice of hiding what his motives were, what his intentions were. He had become expert at lies and deception, so much he sometimes wondered if he was fooling himself. If his own lies he told himself were the greatest ones of them all. That he was a force for good and those he hurt, those he harmed were all sacrifices on the alter for a more righteous cause.

He wanted to be fooled, but he was not.

He stood, taking off the coat he wore, leaving him in the white silk poets shirt and vest that buttoned to the center of his chest. He lay the coat to the side and sat. “How much of your body must a woman kiss to know?” He asked and lifted his wine with a salacious look. “Or are women not allowed?” He asked as if challenging her.