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you may be a lover, but you ain't no dancer

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She wants to cut a deal.

She's splayed out on the bed, legs spread wide; her pale flesh is scantly clad in lacy lingerie; she smells like vodka and perfume and the woman wants to  cut you a deal.

Tonight wasn't going to be important. It was a night you were fully intending to forget in a drunken stupor. You were supposed to do two very simple things tonight: get drunk off your ass in a seedy bar, then go home with the first woman who gave you the time of day. Unfortunately, you could only accomplish one of those things--and that woman happened to be a prostitute.  And, as you're only realizing now? The prostitute bit was all an act. You aren't sure if it's more or less fortunate this way.

She shifts forward. Being in bed with a stranger isn't new. The part where she's making you a business proposition, on the other hand, is. 

"Vincent, was it?" she purrs. Her words are honey-smooth and her smile just as sweet, even when her knees are level with his shoulders.

There's talk of an organization then: basics, really. The money, a spare detail or two, a first job. A first killing. Most importantly, your brother worked for her.

She can find you the man who killed him. "Vengeance begets vengeance," she tuts, smirking.

Of course, that's your chance. How can you  not  say yes? 

But, well, what comes next comes next, and your glasses go on the nightstand.

Your kisses soon dip below the stranger's navel; her soft warm flesh and the dizzying strength of her perfume clouds your mind even more than the alcohol does. Your teeth gently tug at the lace on her panties, pulling them from the woman's hips; hey, you're even better at  this  part than you thought you'd be.

It  is  easy to do this when you're drunk, you realize. 

But then she's generous enough to moan for you and wind her fingers in your hair, and all other thoughts, for the moment, fade from your mind. Nothing else matters but the way she tastes on your tongue.