The Smiling Death

"See you guys tomorrow."

Amon raised a hand in a casual wave as his friends filed out through the heavy front doors of the mansion. Silence settled over the entrance hall like a soft blanket.

Scarlett stood a few steps behind him. When the last echo died she turned her head toward him, amethyst eyes calm.

"I guess we should also go to bed," she said, voice low and even. "It’s late."

Amon nodded. "Yes."

He fell into step behind her without another word. The long corridor stretched ahead of them, lit only by the soft glow of mana lanterns set high on the walls. Their boots clicked against the polished stone floor in a slow rhythm. The sound seemed louder than usual in the hush of the empty mansion.

His gaze dropped almost of its own accord.

Scarlett’s black trousers hugged the full, round curves of her ass. The fabric stretched and shifted, outlining the sway of those lush cheeks as her hips rolled. It was a natural, not deliberately done by her yet it held his eyes completely. Heat stirred low in his stomach. He swallowed once and kept walking, heart beat already a little faster.

She noticed. He was certain of it. The faintest tilt of her head, the slight slowdown in her pace but she said nothing. She simply continued down the corridor until they reached the door to their shared room.

Inside, the air was cooler. The large windows stood open, night wind drifting in and setting the long curtains swaying. Moonlight spilled across the floor in silver bars.

Scarlett stopped inside and glanced back at him over her shoulder.

"I’m going to take a bath before sleeping."

She didn’t wait for an answer. She disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door with a click.

Amon stood alone for a moment, blinking at the closed door. Then he exhaled slowly.

"Well... in that case I’ll just go to bed."

He moved around the room with calmness. One by one he extinguished most of the mana lanterns until only two remained, their light dimmed to a warm, low amber. The soft yellow glow pooled across the large bed and left the corners of the room in gentle shadow.

Night wind continued to slip through the open window.

He climbed onto the wide mattress and settled on his back, one arm folded beneath his head. The sheets were cool against his skin. From the bathroom came the clear sound of running water. He closed his eyes and listened, he swallowed.

Minutes stretched.

The water stopped.

Silence, then the faint sounds of movement, then bare feet on stone. She had stepped put of the bathroom. Amon’s heart gave a single hard thump. He kept his eyes closed, pretending at calm he did not feel.

The bathroom door opened.

Soft footsteps crossed the room. He heard her pause by the open window. The quiet friction of a towel against damp hair. He waited another few breaths, then slowly turned his head and opened his eyes.

The breath left his lungs in a single, sharp rush.

Scarlett stood in the moonlight, drying the ends of her long, bright-red hair. She wore a black lace babydoll that seemed designed to destroy whatever calmness a man still possessed. The fabric was semi-transparent in places, opaque in others, clinging to every curve of her body like a second skin.

Her skin was pale and smooth, almost luminous under the combined glow of moon and lantern light.

Training had left a subtle muscles in her arms and the line of her shoulders, but nothing hard. They were lightly muscular.

Her hair, still slightly damp, hung loose down her back in heavy crimson waves. Amethyst eyes met his across the room, warm with affection and something deeper. Maybe hunger.

Her usual rosy plump lips looked fuller tonight, a deeper rose, as though stained by wineor blood.

The babydoll’s bodice was made of delicate black lace that only half-contained the heavy swell of her breasts. The deep valley of her cleavage was on shameless display, the soft inner curves pressed together and rising with every breath.

Thicker panels of fabric covered the lower half of each breast, but the upper slopes and the shadowed cleft between them remained visible through the sheer lace.

Below, the material turned almost completely transparent across her midriff, revealing the gentle dip of her navel and the soft plane of her stomach.

Her waist was narrow, then flared into full, fertile hips that the short hem of the babydoll only barely covered. The lace ended high on her thick thighs—thighs that carried the soft plumpness of a woman and the power of a trained fighter. Slightly muscular yet held softness. They looked warm, heavy, perfect for gripping.

Amon’s mouth had gone dry. Heat flooded his face and pooled heavily between his legs. His trousers suddenly felt far too tight.

Scarlett tossed the towel aside without looking. She walked toward the bed with slow steps, hips rolling in that same slow way.

The short hem of the babydoll fluttered against the upper curves of her thighs. When she reached the mattress she climbed onto it on all fours and began to crawl toward him.

Amon pushed himself upright, back against the headboard, eyes locked on her.

Gravity pulled her huge breasts downward as she moved. The lace strained, the deep cleavage shifting and deepening with every forward motion.

The soft, pendulous weight of them swayed, and the shadowed valley between them seemed to invite him closer.

She stopped when their faces were only a hand’s breadth apart. Her warm breath touched across his lips and cheek. The scent of clean skin and faint soap wrapped around him. He could feel the heat radiating from her body.

Her gaze dropped deliberately to the front of his trousers. A slow, knowing smirk curved on her mouth.

"Someone is very excited tonight."

She lifted her right hand and let her palm settle lightly against the hard ridge confined by fabric. The simple contact sent a sharp jolt through him. His hips twitched; a low sound escaped his throat.

"Ah... Scarlett... haah..."

He looked up at her face, desire filled in his eyes. Her amethyst irises had darkened, pupils wide. The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip for a fraction of a second as her fingers gave the slightest pressure against him through the cloth.

"You’ve been staring at me all the way down the corridor," she murmured, voice soft and rough at the edges. "And now look at you." Her thumb stroked once along the strained length of him. "Tell me what you want, Amon."

He swallowed hard, pulse hammering in his throat. The night wind stirred the curtains again, cool against the fever building under his skin.

Outside, the mansion was silent. Inside, there was only sound of their breathing and the soft rustle of lace as she shifted closer still.

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