****************
Slicing through the last of the onions, Rose dropped them into the skillet with the mushrooms and shook the pan. Taking a long swig of her beer, she swayed a bit to the music drifting through her flat. She loved dinnertime, when she had the night to herself with no clients to take care of or impress.
Tonight she was having a light meal, some good beer, and a comfortable evening at home.
Bare feet padding on the hardwood floor, she moved to the fridge. Cold air hit her bare legs, making her shiver. The man's shirt she was wearing only hit mid-thigh, the open collar revealing just the tops of her breasts. Wasn't the warmest thing in her wardrobe, but for some reason, it... well, no, she knew the reason. It made her feel sexy.
Made her think of the Doctor.
Made her imagine it was his shirt she was wearing. That he was just in the other room, shirtless, perhaps even naked, hair mussed, lying in bed after a bout of fantastic sex. And if she stretched her imagination even further, she could be making him dinner.
Tapping her fingers in time with the light music, she grabbed a block of mozzarella and tossed it to the counter.
Melissa's words came back to her as she grated some of the cheese over the chicken, and her mind tried to puzzle through it, but she angrily shoved the thoughts aside. She didn't want to think about it right now. Because, right now, at this very moment, she was just Rose Tyler, enjoying an evening at home. Later, she could figure out what Melissa meant. Later, she could wrestle with her grief and the loss of her mum and Tony.
Later, she could say goodbye to the Doctor properly.
Right now was about her. Her favorite meal, her favorite music and beer, and later, a nice, relaxing soak in the tub. She deserved it. Her nights and days had been too full lately. Too much about other people and what they wanted and not enough about herself and what she wanted.
Men, women, couples; they'd all been her concern for far too long.
"It's me time," she mumbled, swilling more of her beer, glancing around her flat while her dinner finished cooking.
Maybe Melissa was right about one thing though; this place wasn't home. All the money she'd saved up over the past two years, only a fraction of it had gone toward necessities, even less than that toward comfort. It was a nice place, very high end without being overly posh or fussy, but it was just hardwood floors, a nice bank of windows open onto the city, and nice furniture, nothing that screamed Rose Tyler.
Perhaps because she didn't exist anymore, she mused, setting her beer bottle down, wondering if it was time to change that.
Turning her back on the empty room, the white furniture that had no personality, the bare walls without so much as a stitch of color, she stirred the contents of the pan, then shut the stove off, shaking the vegetables over the chicken and cream sauce, serving it all up.
Taking her plate and beer to the dining room, she sat down and held her beer bottle out to the empty chair across from her with a chuckle. "Cheers, Doctor."
****************
After dinner, she did the dishes and cleaned up a bit, putting everything back where it belonged. She'd had this night in mind for a long time, and she wanted it to be perfect.
Saying goodbye wasn't going to be easy.
Taking a letter down from her empty bookshelf, she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles, running her finger over the name on the front of it. He'd never know, but she felt like she needed to do it anyway.
Pulling the keychain out from beneath her shirt, she grasped the metal key in her fingers and drew in a deep breath.
It was time.
Sliding the letter into her bra, she padded into the kitchen, opened a drawer, slipped a small, metal object into her shirt pocket, then left her flat behind. Near the end of the carpeted hallway, just past the lifts, she pulled open the door to the stairwell and headed up, toward the roof.
Her building was rather quiet, people mostly kept to themselves here. She knew some of her neighbors by sight, had talked to a few of them on occasion, but she didn't tend to socialize outside of her job. Her life, for the most part, consisted of work, lunches with Melissa, or one of the other girls, and the occasional evening out. Melissa had paid her a few visits, and Rose liked to think of her as a friend, but she knew that most of her relationships were mere shadows of what she used to have with Shareen, Mickey, and her mum.
The Doctor.
Which was why she'd finally decided enough was enough.
Pushing the door to the roof open, she stepped out into the cold night air, immediately assailed on all sides by a harsh wind. It stung her eyes and whipped her hair about. But it felt good. Smiling, she held the strands of her long hair back and headed to the south edge of the roof.
That was where she'd decided to do it.
Tiny pebbles dug into the bottoms of her feet as she scuffed them carefully along the gravel and dirt. Wincing when a large stone dug into the arch of her foot, she pulled the key from her neck, loosening it carefully from her hair. Stopping in front of the roof edge, she breathed in deep, feeling the sharp, cold air burning her lungs.
A feeling of calmness settled in her, but she shoved it away. She didn't want to be calm. This wasn't a time for calm. There should be tears and sadness and despair. Screaming and railing at life. There should be... no, there should be peace.
This was a time for resolution and decision-making.
Dropping to her knees, she settled on the rooftop, breathing an immediate sigh of relief at the calmer air. Threading the key and chain through her fingers a few times, she glanced up at the moon. A zeppelin drifted lazily by, blocking out most of the light.
Plunging her hands deep into the cold, damp soil of the garden box, she dug deep, past all the compost and mulching, carefully avoiding the flowers that were stubbornly clinging to life in the cold weather.
The soil crammed itself under her nails, and, for a moment, she just enjoyed playing in it, reminded of being a kid, playing in the dirt and mud, squeezing it through her fingers, squishing it between her toes. She was tempted to stand up and step into the flower box, but managed to resist the childish urge.
Her fingers began to throb in discomfort after just a few seconds. Shoving the dirt aside, into a pile, she settled the key at the bottom of the hole and poured the chain down on top of it.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Rose said a silent goodbye to the TARDIS, her home for some of the best years of her life.
She shook her hands, brushing them free of the dirt, then slipped her fingers into her shirt and took out the letter. Once again, her fingers smoothed over the name of the person it was addressed to, leaving faded smudges of dirt on the pristine envelope.
Digging into her pocket, she pulled a small, metal lighter free and touched it to the edge of the cream-colored envelope, striking the lighter. She knew the words by heart, and recited them in her head as she watched flames lick at the paper.
Doctor, this is the last time I'll be writing you, or at least I hope it is because I need to move on with my life. And, since you're no longer a part of that life, it's time I let you go... That this was the fifth such letter she'd written over the years didn't matter, nor did it matter that they were all still safely tucked away in her room. She'd never got this far before, never been able to go through with letting go of the past, never taken these last, final steps in saying goodbye to him. This letter, and her TARDIS key, were her last real links to the Doctor.
Her old mobile was down in her bedside table, useless and dead. It was connected to him as well, but it was also a link to her mum, and she wasn't prepared to let go of that just yet.
The wind whipped around her, teasing at the flames, making them dance wildly one moment, then lick and reach toward her fingers the next.
Dropping the pages that were beginning to peel away from the envelope, she saw by the moonlight, a few words here and there. Burning, singeing pieces curled up and turned to ash.
It took only a minute before her heart's words were gone completely.
She'd expected to feel better; lighter, freer. Instead, her heart ached and she was shuddering, though not just because of the cold. Resting her dirty hands on her thighs for a moment, she caught her breath and let the pooling tears slip free.
The Doctor was gone from her life now, forever, and there was no getting around that fact anymore. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she sniffed deeply, resolutely, and pushed the ashes of her love into the hole with the TARDIS key.
Chuckling at her own dramatics, she covered the remains of her life with the Doctor, patting the mound of dirt securely, hoping Bobby wouldn't notice she'd been in his garden. Hoping he wouldn't go digging around in there. He was all right, but she also knew he'd go around to every flat, asking about the key.
Pushing to her feet, she brushed her hands off. A cloud drifted in front of the moon and she stared up at, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. There was something different about the moon here, but she'd never been able to figure out what it was. Apparently a problem she had about a lot of things.
Melissa's words came to her again as she crossed quickly to the door, shivering in the windy night.
At the outset, there are a variety of men represented in your clientele, but if you look closer, there are similarities that can't be dismissed. I just wondered if you were aware of it? Rose hadn't been, and she still wasn't. Her clients were of many different body types, had many different features, different personalities, all with very little in common, no matter what Melissa thought she was seeing. Or not seeing. Descending the stairs to her floor, she straightened her shirt at thigh level and ran her dirty hands absently through her hair.
Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe it was a moot point. She'd been thinking of quitting anyway. She had more than enough money saved up to live in style, if she cared to. For a few years, at least. Longer, if she were as frugal as she'd been these past two years. But maybe it was time to splurge a little. To do something for herself, something that wasn't just about necessity. Something that would firmly entrench her in this universe instead of leaving her floating in limbo, neither a part of it, nor separate.
Closing the door of her flat behind her, she turned the lock and pressed back against it for a moment before heading into the bathroom. She needed a nice, long soak in the tub tonight. Something to relax her muscles and her mind, to wash away the dirt and memories.
Flipping the light on in the en suite, she padded across the marble floor, using her lighter on the half-burnt cream and purple candles spread throughout the room, sending up the scents of vanilla and lavender.
She hadn't always been one for such girly things, but her life these past two years had changed her. Awareness was more a part of her now, both sensually, and visually. She had a thing about touch now; something she'd learnt from the Doctor; that the simplest, most basic touch could mean so much more than the most intimate kiss, or caress.
Melissa had taught her more still.
But those simple things, the light touches, holding hands, knowing that could mean so much hadn't stopped her from wanting more from the Doctor.
A sad smile lifted her lips as she turned the faucets on. She'd never see him again, let alone get the chance to make love to him. Uncapping her favorite bath oil, she poured in a fair amount of the silky liquid, inhaling the scent of wildflowers as translucent bubbles formed in the churning water.
Capping the bottle, she moved to the sink to pin her hair up, but got a good look at her dirty hands and turned back to the tub, plunging her dirt-smeared fingers into the fountain of water. The hem of her shirt rose up, tickling her thighs and bum.
Touch.
Scrubbing under her nails with the warm water and a bit of soap, she realized it was time for another manicure. Her French tip nails were-- no. Here they were called ice tips. This universe had different names for quite a few things, but she'd stubbornly insisted on using her universe's names and titles and words.
Perhaps it was time to change that as well.
This was her home now and she ought to treat it like it was. So, from now on, she'd get her nails ice-tipped. Have her beans on bread, and refuse to watch the Northenders.
Shaking her hands over the tub to remove the excess water, she straightened up and began unbuttoning her shirt, striding toward the sink again. Fingers sliding under each button, she watched herself in the mirror, seeing what her clients saw. Many of them liked to watch her undress. More liked to undress her themselves.
She wondered what the Doctor would like.
Her lips curved up knowingly. He'd definitely want to watch, she was sure of it.
Working each button free, slowly exposing each inch of flesh, she raised her eyes to her hair; it was hanging down wildly, resembling nothing more than sex-tousled hair, truly sex-tousled, that was, not the artful way she arranged it for her clients.
With the last button freed, she dropped the shirt ends, leaving it hanging open, the swell of her breasts, tanned and golden, nipples still hidden, showed just enough to tease. Raising her arms, she ran her damp hands through the strands of her hair, combing them, taming them a bit. Fashioning the mess into a quick, messy bun, she stared at herself, trying to see what others saw.
Honey blonde hair with lighter streaks in front, darker underneath. Hours in the salon.
A trim body, all the excess she used to have, gone. Opening the ends of her shirt, she slipped it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Small, perky breasts. Flat tummy, curvy hips, trim legs.
Blowing air out from between pursed lips, she made a face at herself.
Sexy was what others perceived in a person, a piece of clothing, a hairdo, it wasn't what she, as a human being, was. It was all the preconceptions others had that made her sexy in their eyes. She didn't see it herself though. To her, the woman standing before the mirror was still the same tomboy from the Powell Estates, following Mickey around, flirting with Jimmy, arguing with her mum.
But sometimes, when she'd been with the Doctor, she'd felt sexy.
The way his eyes widened when she dressed up the first time. Cardiff. The warmth in his gaze when he looked at her in the lift on Satellite 5 and took her hand.
Looks like it's just you and me now. His slow smile when he first saw her in her 50's getup for Elvis.
Sitting on the back of his Vespa, arms curled around his waist, she'd felt sexy because his stomach muscles had fluttered under her palms, and as she'd pressed her face against his neck to hide her face from the wind, she'd felt him catch his breath.
Now, standing naked before her mirror, candles lit all around her, the scent of the bubble bath behind her, she felt like Rose Tyler. Not Di Star.
Maybe that was good though. She didn't want to lose herself completely after all.
Drawing in a deep breath, she dropped her arms and crossed to the light switch, flipping it off. The candles provided plenty of soft, fluttering yellow light throughout the large room. The fluffy cream, gold, and red décor soothed and calmed her, allowing her to relax and her mind to wander. It went where it always did, and where she no longer fought against it going.
The Doctor.
He was never far from her thoughts, always popping up in them.
A giggle left her as she imagined him popping up out of the bath, throwing his head back, getting water everywhere as he shook himself off with a loud, 'Ah!' bubbles dripping down his chest. Eyes inviting her to join him.
Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.
Sighing, she stepped over to the tub and turned off the faucets, wishing she'd got the chance to kiss him at least. A real kiss. As herself and fully aware. Who knows if it would've led to more? Maybe he didn't have sex. Maybe he wasn't attracted to her. Maybe he didn't even have the right parts. Would've been nice to have found out though, one way or another.
Watching the steam rise up toward the ceiling, she dipped her fingers into the warm liquid. Perfect.
She stepped into the tub, gasping at the sudden heat, sighing in delight as it lapped at her legs.
But the thought of the Doctor in there with her wouldn't leave her alone.
He could hold his breath for a long time. She'd once seem him dive into a lake after a guard force on Teepel threw his sonic screwdriver in, then waited for minutes without a sign from him.
Closing her eyes, sitting on the side of the tub, she imagined him in there with her now, kissing his way up her legs, stopping just inside her left knee to press a tender kiss there, sliding his tongue along her skin before moving higher. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, always had. She loved his hair. If he were here in the tub with her, his head would be just there, between her legs.
A breath escaped her lips at the thought. She could almost feel the soft strands brushing the insides of her thighs.
She was growing warmer than the heated water could claim credit for. Her body was loosening up, muscles relaxing, turning to liquid with the calming scents drifting through the room, the warm water, and the fantasies skimming her mind. Her fingers skimmed just as lightly along her thighs, widening them a bit to accommodate the Doctor's imaginary head.
Fingertips reaching her folds, she trailed them away again, imagining him wrapping his hands around her waist, imagining his nails digging into her hips, holding her still when he slid his tongue inside her.
Moisture began to gather in her and she dipped her hands into the oil-scented bath water, then slid one up to her breasts, dropping her head back. Cupping a breast as water and bubbles slid down her arm, she straightened her back and pinched her nipple. Spreading her legs even farther apart, she dipped her other hand into her folds, teasing the hot flesh there, playing lightly with her swollen folds.
Thoughts of the Doctor always aroused her so quickly. She wanted to go straight to her clit and rub herself off, but she knew it'd be better if she dragged it out, extended her arousal, brought herself to the brink several times before letting herself come.
But the Doctor.
Would he be that skillful? Did he even know how to bring a woman to orgasm? Did he have any idea that she'd fingered herself to thoughts of him so many times over the years?
Before losing him she'd huddled under her covers, breathing deeply, biting her lip to silence her cries, sliding her finger into her folds, getting herself off quickly, afraid he'd know. Afraid he'd guess that she was in there touching herself.
She'd feared he'd toss her out if he found out.
But she hadn't stopped. In fact, as time went on, she'd got bolder and sneaked a vibrator on board in her laundry. He'd never caught her. Not that she knew of anyway. Never guessed. Though, at times, she'd wished he would. Fantasized about it, like now. Pictured him coming into her room and catching her with a vibrator deep inside her, imagined him watching in silence before approaching the bed and taking over for her, using his fingers and mouth.
Then his cock.
Not knowing about his sexuality, or his abilities as a lover was both a blessing and a curse. She didn't know if he had the bits, but she could fantasize that he did. If she'd found out for sure that he didn't, it would have ruined every one of her fantasies.
Although he still had a mouth that he liked to use.
Could've used that on her, she thought, sliding her fingers in deeper, caressing her clit with slow circles. Gasping breaths slipped past her parted lips as the moisture on her skin began to gather and drip down. Strands of her hair that'd escaped from the knot plastered themselves against her skin.
Cupping a breast, she pinched her nipple harder, beginning to thrust her hips a little as pleasure washed over her. Curling her toes on the bottom of the tub, she pressed her feet up on tiptoes, sliding forward a bit, seeking more of her own teasing fingers. She masturbated quite often, had to in order to come these days. Images swirled around in her head, not shoved out by the wrong body type, or the wrong hair color.
An image of the Doctor, strong and vibrant, settled in her mind, and there was no one above her or behind her or between her legs to ruin the vision.
No voice to drown him out.
Slipping her fingers deep inside her folds, she gathered the moisture there and thrust them in a few times, adding a third after a couple of strokes. The feel of her fingers filling her up made her arch her back and open her eyes to peer in the mirror in front of her.
She wished the Doctor were here, aggressively taking her from behind.
A whimper escaped her at the thought and she briefly considered going to her room to get her vibrator, but she was too impatient tonight, didn't want to tease herself anymore. She just wanted to come.
Licking her lips, she spread her legs wider and watched her fingers disappear into her body. She could see him, sitting in front of her, watching her fingers, her hand, eyes darting from there to her face, stopping midway to caress her chest. He'd want to taste her. Slip his tongue under her nipple, then bite it, sucking the flesh into his mouth.
He'd want to touch every inch of her, taste every bit, see every reaction.
Would he stroke his cock as he watched her? Grit his teeth at the intense pleasure of his own hand? Imagine her swollen folds surrounding his hard flesh?
Biting her lip, she twisted her nipple, seeing what so few of her clients ever had; true arousal on her face. Pure pleasure.
Her responses lately had become so artful and designed. Phony. But they liked it. If she didn't come, screaming, most of them would be offended. Some wouldn't care, others would complain and demand another girl.
She didn't want to be known as the cold bitch that couldn't come.
And it wasn't that she couldn't. It was just rare. And, most times, it was the women clients who managed to get her to that point. Though some of them were just as clueless as the men. Thought they were god's gift. Thought that, just because they were women, they knew what she wanted, what she needed. None of them could ever be what she wanted.
Sliding her fingers free, she slipped them between her lips, curling her mouth up at the taste. Wasn't her favorite flavor in the world, but it was all right.
Would the Doctor like it?
A lot of men didn't. Jarrod was one of the rare few who did, and he always insisted on making her come with his mouth. She didn't even pretend to come from his cock anymore since he enjoyed 'taking care of her' as he liked to say.
It was a typical male fantasy. And Jarrod liked it all. The whole 'girl next door' thing. Clean cut, fresh-faced. Innocent and untouched. The whole shebang.
She played a part, a role, did what was required of her, and that didn't usually include coming. The pleasure on her face now, though, in the mirror, that was real, not fabricated.
Rubbing her clit with her thumb as she thrust back into her folds, she felt her body tauten, beginning to burn from the inside.
It wasn't
her fingers she wanted in her though. It was the Doctor's. Or, better yet, his cock.
But Rose was nothing if not realistic these days. Maybe he didn't have a cock. Maybe he did but it was shaped differently. He could have tentacles instead, or tentacles coming off of his cock. Or spikes, or bumps or... it could render a human immobile.
She didn't know. Nor would she ever.
With sadness beginning to burrow in her, she sped up her thrusts, pushing everything but her thoughts of the Doctor away. Her fingers became his cock. Her panting breaths, echoing in the large room, became his. And when she began to thrust her hips harder, it was against his body, into his mouth.
The thought of the Doctor's mouth on her made her whimper and her body snapped. Her hips bucked wildly, while her inner muscles clenched uncontrollably around her fingers. She held her breath until her chest began to ache, and then let it out in short, shuddering breaths in time with her mildly jerking hips.
The intense pleasure began to lessen as her body relaxed into a shaking mass of flesh and liquid muscle. Slipping into the tub, she lazily stroked her sated folds, feeling the overwhelming pleasure begin to rise again, slowly, so slowly. Closing her eyes, she relaxed back against the warm porcelain, feeling the water lapping at the top of her breasts.
The scent of her body's musk mingled with the candles and bath oils and she got herself off again to thoughts of the Doctor as a final goodbye.
****************
At a rapid knocking on the door, Rose crossed the hotel room and opened it to a grinning, bouncing Jenna. She was, naturally, what some of the other girls had to work so hard to become; clean-cut, fresh-faced, and innocent-looking. Quite a favorite with her clients. Her eagerness just now, didn't help disabuse of that notion in the slightest. In fact, it helped it along.
She slipped past Rose, light brown hair bouncing in a high ponytail, teasing her back. Spinning around, she took in the room with bright eyes. "New client," she practically squealed, and Rose couldn't help but grin back. "Are you excited? Scared?" She turned from her examination of the room with a low, impressed whistle. "I've never been here," she said, voice low. "It's gorgeous. I mean really gorgeous."
Rose had to agree with her. "It is." She really was much more inclined to these rooms than the ones she'd been frequenting for the past two years now. It was all dark wood, mahogany-covered walls, a monstrous desk in the corner, and the large, wrought iron bed right in the center of the room, set up on a small dais. Just a single step up.
Her new client had insisted, and Melissa had obliged. Rose wasn't sure if she was impressed with the new bloke's clout and sway over Melissa, or annoyed.
Though she was definitely verging on annoyed.
As Jenna dropped her purse to the bed, Rose continued placing candles around the room. Another condition: he wanted no artificial light, just the subdued glow of candlelight.
After a moment of silence, Jenna joined her, helping with the last of the candles, moving some of the ones Rose had already placed, looking at them with a designer's eye-- her former profession. She slid a red candle across the surface of the windowsill and tossed a quick glance Rose's way. "You
are nervous. And here I thought you were the stoic one."
Rose shrugged, tilting her head at the perfection of Jenna's work. "A bit nervous I guess," she admitted. This wasn't how she usually worked. Normally she'd choose her own clients, or, at the very least, had a final say-so. The last word. This time though... all she had was a single name, and it probably wasn't even real. She sighed, blowing her hair out of her face. "I don't understand how this is supposed to 'help' me." Setting another candle on the nightstand, she grumped, "And I still don't see anything wrong with my selection of clients."
Jenna watched her with a concerned eye. "Melissa's good people."
"Yeah, I know," Rose agreed, and really, she was. Melissa was a good friend, if a bit mum-like. "I just-- I'm really nervous. Haven't been this bad since my first month. What if there's something wrong with him that Melissa's background check didn't catch?" Bracing her arms on the wrought iron footboard, she slumped down a bit, loosely tied robe gaping open.
Jenna joined her, mimicking her position, eyes slipping to Rose's chest for a moment. "What if he's hideous?"
"He could have the cleanest bill of health ever, like she said, but he could also be completely mental. Psychotic." She tightened her robe tie and straightened it with a sigh.
"A nutter," Jenna added in a hushed voice, but then her sunny disposition jumped to the fore again and she grinned, pushing away from the bed. "He could be a celebrity. Cor! What if it's David Beckham?"
Rose scoffed and circled the bed, glancing at the clock. Ten minutes. Her heart was beginning to pound, palms starting to sweat. Next time Melissa tried to talk her into a new client, sight unseen, she'd tell her thanks, but no thanks. "I'd rather it weren't. Too high maintenance." Slipping two simple blouses from her overnight bag--a red one and a blue one--and a pair of black slacks, she untied her robe.
"You're thinking of Posh," Jenna corrected, looking over the clothes with a critical eye. "The blue one's nice." She slid her hand down the simple cotton blouse.
Letting the Posh versus Beckham thing go, Rose held the blue blouse up, pressing it against her, slipping her leg out to see it against the blue material. "It's new," she told Jenna, holding the red one up as well. "
He insisted on all new clothing. Not like he'd know anyway," she sniffed. "I get the feeling he doesn't like to share."
"Then what's he doing going to a call girl?" Jenna snickered, putting a hand on her hip, giving Rose a commiserating look. "We've all been around the block a few times, honey." She stopped and bit her lip, then twisted them up in distaste. "Oi, that sounded stupid."
Rose's eyebrows lifted in silent acknowledgement.
Jenna shrugged a shoulder. "Been trying out different personas, ya know? Don't wanna be the girl next door, or the 'girlfriend' forever. I wanna expand my client base." She fingered the blue blouse again, fingers trailing down Rose's hip a bit. "Looks lovely. You should go with the blue, definitely. The red is too... naughty seductress. The blue is softer, more casual. You said he wanted casual, yeah?"
"Yeah." Glancing from one to the other, she finally shoved the red blouse back into her bag. Another glance at the clock and she realized time was running out. Six minutes left. Dropping her robe from her shoulders, she laid it on the bed and slid the blue shirt over her head. Quickly stepping into the black trousers, she saw Jenna's eyes slide over her body.
"Sure he doesn't want a threesome?" Jenna murmured, green eyes taking in Rose's exposed flesh, paying particular attention to her breasts, the tops of which were exposed just slightly.
Rose chuckled and arranged her breasts in her bra, shifting and stretching until her cleavage was just right. Pulling out the black silk scarves and matching padded handcuffs from the bag, she tossed Jenna a look. "Sorry. Doesn't like to share, remember?"
Jenna shrugged and moved around to the other side of the bed, silk scarf in hand. "That's what they all say, but what they really mean is that they don't like sharing with other men." She considered her words with a bob of her head. "Unless they do. In which case they don't want another woman there." Sliding the cool silk between her fingers, she shook her head. "They all want something different, and yet, it all boils down to the same thing. Sex."
"Soon too," Rose told her, with a tap on the clock face. "Help me light the candles so it's not all smoky in here when he gets here. Then--"
"Tie you up?" She grinned, eyeing the black silk.
Rose eyed Jenna, noticing a devilish spark in her eyes. She was acting oddly tonight, a bit more familiar than usual. Well, she'd always been overly friendly, but that was just a part of
her. Her personality. "No, he doesn't want me tied up. Just... apparently all he wants is to talk." Brow rising she considered Jenna. "You weren't planning on readying me while I was tied up and helpless, were you?"
Jenna's lips slid up, though she tried to fight it. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Rose didn't believe her one iota. "Sorry, not this time. Besides, never with a new client that I'm not comfortable with yet. He asked for so many specific things, and though I hate the idea of jumping through hoops for him--anyone!--I'd rather not screw this up. Okay?"
Grin fading, Jenna nodded crookedly and sighed. "Yeah, that's fine. I was mostly having you on."
Rose nodded, satisfied that she was telling the truth this time, feeling a bit of the tenseness leave her. After this one time, she was telling Melissa not to make executive decisions in her clientele ever again. She liked the control it gave her to pick and choose who she was going to allow to fuck her.
Stripping the duvet back, she smoothed her hand down the silken sheets, nearly purring in pleasure.
"Ooo la la," Jenna squealed. "This guy is definitely a celebrity. I mean, this hotel is
posh, Di." She grinned again as Rose tried to calm her nervous stomach. "And, you know, if you can, just work in the fact that you're right on with threesomes, just... bring it up to him casually, and, wow, coincidence, you have the perfect girl in mind for one." She raised her eyebrows, hopeful smile lifting her lips.
Rose chuckled and crossed to the bathroom, arranging her hair into a loose ponytail. He'd wanted minimal makeup and simple dress, nothing fancy, and, she thought, tilting her head this way and that, she looked a little too close to Rose Tyler for her comfort. It was better to be Di at all times with clients.
Jenna leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.
"Anyway, that's all on my bio page. I'm sure if he wants a ménage a trois, he'll say something." Eyeing the younger girl's excited face, she added, "He could be a politician for all we know. Prime minister or-- I mean, president," she corrected hastily.
Jenna eyed her curiously. "Sometimes you say the oddest things. I mean, you're smart and all, but I sometimes feel like... I don't know, like this is your first trip to planet Earth the way you get some of the easiest, most fundamental things wrong. Like beans on bread!" She chuckled and pushed away from the doorjamb, watching Rose as she went past. "Who'd want beans on
toast?"
Rose chuckled self-deprecatingly, thinking to herself, yeah, who'd want them that way when having them on soft, mushy bread was so much tastier. "It's just something my mum made me back when I was little." Forcing the butterflies in her stomach to settle, she eyed the silk ties. He hadn't requested them, but with him wanting the mask, it was always a possibility.
Here just to talk.
Sliding the ties and cuffs under the pillows, she breathed deeply, smelling the cinnamon candles.
She wasn't a fan of being tied up, but she'd learnt to deal with it. All those prisons she'd spent time in with the Doctor hadn't helped any. She'd had to get past the feelings of helplessness and the loss of control before allowing a client to restrain her. Hours of practice with Melissa and a few of the other girls had helped.
Jenna stood back to examine her, then slid a hand down Rose's arm, eyes on her face and breasts. Then she was touching where she was looking, trailing her fingers along the swell of Rose's cleavage. Slightly lower and Rose let out a breath, liking the touches, liking Jenna being the one touching her, but this was neither the time, nor the place.
Well, it was the place, but she had no more time. "Jenna," she warned. "He'll be here any minute."
That snapped Jenna out of her lust. "Sorry." She hastily moved around the room, lighting candles and rearranging a few at the same time. "It's just, well, it's hard having a relationship outside of work because you're lying to him--or her--and if you do tell him--or her--he's threatened and just ends up leaving you." She paused, biting her lip, watching Rose in the mirror across from the bed. "So, I thought, well, dating one of us might be easier, yeah? No lying, no feeling threatened. No jealousy. And..." she sighed and darted across the room, standing on her toes to press a firm kiss to Rose's lips, sliding a hand down to cup one of her breasts. "Well, I just really like you, Di."
Rose sighed, frustrated that Jenna had chosen now of all times to bring this up. "Now's really not the time, Jenna." Her eyes darted to the clock. Two minutes. She shifted in place, trying to ignore the small caresses of Jenna's hand on her nipple. "I need to get ready now. He'll be here in a tic, just--" she bit back the words, eyes darting toward the door when a knock sounded. Panic soared in her and she shooed Jenna away. "Hurry," she whispered, nodding toward her bag. "The blindfold."
Jenna rushed around to the other side of the bed, bending to rifle through the bag before holding the black silk mask up with a triumphant grin. Kicking the bag under the bed, she hastily circled it, handing the mask to Rose who quickly slipped it on and arranged her hair around the elastic band.
Rose wanted to tell her to just go, slip out quietly, but Jenna pressed another kiss to her lips, silencing her.
"Have fun," she whispered and then she was gone.
Rose sat on the edge of the bed, holding her breath, trying to catch any sound she could, but Jenna was being very quiet. A moment later, the door opened and Jenna greeted the mysterious client with a cheerful hello.
"Don't mind me, I'm just on my way out, she, uh... she needed some help preparing."
Straining for every little noise, Rose was disappointed when all she caught was a soft click and the barest, lowest murmur of a man's voice, muffled behind a partially closed door. This whole thing was frustrating. She'd been blindfolded by clients before, but not without knowing the person first. Not without having spent at least
some time with him or her.
She was going to kill Melissa for psyching her out about her client list and then forcing her into taking on this new one, sight unseen.
