On Monday, there’s a body in the hallway.
Eve thinks it’s the man she saw taking out his garbage last week. She wonders if he’s dead. He definitely looks dead, Eve thinks.
Eve takes an extra minute to open her own apartment door and drop her bag on the entryway table. She takes off her jacket, hangs it, before she goes back into the hallway. The body hasn’t moved. Definitely dead.
Still, she decides to check. She approaches and leans over him, pressing her fingertips to his pulse point. Her suspicion is confirmed. Definitely dead.
Eve turns around, wills herself to go back into her apartment, get her phone and call emergency services. But she doesn’t. Because the dead man is right in front of her strange neighbour’s apartment.
The strange neighbour, who didn’t introduce herself when Eve did, has lived here longer than Eve. Even so, Eve notes that she’s hardly home. She regularly sees her leaving the apartment in strange outfits, coming and going at odd hours and at times leaving for days at a time. Eve thinks she may have been gone several months at one point.
Eve would be lying if she said she hadn’t been watching. It’s not her fault, really. She’s a naturally curious person and who can blame her for being drawn to someone so curious themselves? And, if she hadn’t been watching she wouldn’t know that her strange neighbour had been out with the dead man at her feet just last night.
So Eve turns back around. She steps over the body and knocks on the door he seems to have died in front of. Music in the apartment stops suddenly as Eve hears footsteps approach. The door swings open, and the strange neighbour’s smile drops when she sees Eve on the other side.
“Hi.” Eve says, before stepping to the side and gesturing to the recently departed man on the floor.
“Oh, shit.” Eve doesn’t know if it’s a good sign or not that her neighbour seems just as shocked to see him.
“Don’t you know him?” Eve asks.
“You came home with him last night?” Eve asks like a question, but she knows it’s true.
“Sure,” the woman agrees. “But I don’t know him.”
“That’s… still pretty incriminating.”
“Then why don’t you call the police?”
Eve pauses. “Could you just deal with him?”
The blonde woman nods and licks her teeth. “Yeah,” Eve notices now that her accent is Russian. “I know people.”
The woman gives her a look. “…okay.”
Eve turns on her heel and walks back into her apartment. She doesn’t look back to see her neighbour smiling at her as she walks away.
A week passes before someone knocks on Eve’s door.
In the days prior, the body had been promptly removed. Despite Eve’s watchful eye, she doesn’t notice when he’s taken away. She wonders if her neighbour does it herself or if a cleaning crew had come in during the few hours she had slept. In fact, Eve spends much of her time wondering about what her neighbour does, or what she’s doing, and where. In a week’s time, she has usually come and gone several times. This week is quiet, and uneventful. By the following Sunday evening, Eve has grown restless.
In that sense, the knock is not unwelcome.
Eve opens the door without looking, feeling that she has a good guess as to who waits on the other side. So when she is met with a tall blonde holding a bottle of wine, she’s not surprised.
“Villanelle.” Blonde woman says.
“My name.” She doesn’t look amused. “Villanelle.”
“Oh,” Eve flushes. “Hi, Villanelle.”
Villanelle smirks at Eve and pushes past her, elbowing the door further open so she can slip into Eve’s apartment.
“Can I help you?” Eve calls after her.
Villanelle enters the kitchen and places the bottle on the counter. “Bottle opener?”
“Top drawer on your left.” Eve answers. She opens her mouth to ask again, but she already told her where the bottle opener is. Villanelle pours and hands her a glass of the wine and Eve concedes.
They sit at Eve’s kitchen table, and Eve pretends she doesn’t feel Villanelle’s eyes on her.
“That was a nice thing you did.” Villanelle says after several minutes of tense silence.
“You know,” Villanelle makes a vague gesture with her hand. “Not calling the cops on me.”
“So you did kill him?” Eve presses.
“I didn’t say that.” Villanelle narrows her eyes.
“You implied it.” Eve counters.
Villanelle chews at her bottom lip. “It was unintentional.”
“How do you kill someone unintentionally?” Eve can’t help it. Her curiosity has been piqued, and it’s never been like her to keep her nose out of places it does not belong.
Villanelle seems exasperated. “Eve,” she says it like a sigh. “In my line of work, unintentional murder is unfortunately common.”
“This is your job?” Eve puts her own wine glass down and leans forward over the table.
“This? Having wine with beautiful women?” Villanelle preens under Eve’s undivided attention.
“What? No. Killing people.”
Villanelle sighs, and then very seriously says: “Yes. I’m a highly paid assassin.”
Eve waits a beat, and sure enough Villanelle follows with an eyebrow wriggle that discounts the seriousness of her tone.
“What’s that like?” Eve asks, ignoring Villanelle’s antics.
Villanelle groans and puts her glass of wine down on the table hard enough to cause a ripple in Eve’s own glass. “I thought this would be more fun, you know.”
“Sorry - next time you’ll have to call ahead. My fun personality is only available for drinks on Fridays.” Villanelle glares and Eve allows herself a smile.
“My job is boring,” Villanelle answers Eve’s question. “I don’t want to talk about my work.”
Eve feels a stab of disappointment for reasons she can’t place. She leans away from the table, taking her wine glass with her. She takes a long sip while Villanelle watches her.
“The killing,” Eve puts her glass back on the table. “Is that boring?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Eve is silent, and Villanelle takes the opportunity to change the subject.
“What do you do, Eve? Besides watching me through your peephole.”
Eve flushes. “I’m a writer.”
“What’s that like?” Villanelle mimics her earlier question.
“Boring.” Eve echoes. “I don’t want to talk about my work.”
Villanelle lets out a short laugh. “I guess we are at an impasse then, Eve.”
They sit in silence. Eve watches Villanelle, as the blonde woman finishes off her glass of wine and takes in Eve’s apartment around her. When Villanelle grabs the bottle to refill her glass, Eve watches the way her hand grips the neck of it. She wonders how many people those hands have killed.
Villanelle places the bottle down and moves suddenly, standing from the table and moving towards the fridge where Eve has old photos haphazardly stuck with magnets. Eve tenses when Villanelle reaches out, plucking a photo from the collection.
“Who’s this?” Villanelle turns to display the photo for Eve.
“A friend.” Eve’s voice is flat, and Villanelle frowns.
“A friend?” Villanelle lilts. “Is this… friend around?”
“Eve,” Villanelle pouts. “I’m just getting to know my neighbour.”
“He’s dead.” Eve takes a long drink of her wine.
“Dead?” Eve is grateful when Villanelle does not look sympathetic. “How did he die?”
“Bill,” Eve avoids Villanelle’s question.
“Bill?” Villanelle looks up from the photo at Eve.
“His name. Bill.”
“Ah,” Villanelle moves to place the photo back under its magnet on the fridge. “So what was it then? Cancer, heart attack?”
Eve feels a growing annoyance at Villanelle’s persistence, and answers in the hopes that the subject will be dropped: “Cancer.”
Villanelle nods and has the decency to look deep in thought for a moment before she responds. “Shitty way to die.”
Eve can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it was pretty shit.”
“I should kill you.” Villanelle is serious now, staring Eve down from across the kitchen.
Eve swallows. “Okay.”
Villanelle moves around the table until she’s sitting in the seat next to Eve. She puts her wine glass down and Eve’s breath catches in her throat when Villanelle leans closer. But she doesn’t move away.
“Okay?” Villanelle brushes a hand against Eve’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I will do it quickly.”
Eve shivers and fights her instinct to lean into the touch. Chooses to ignore the heat that seems to pool low in her gut. “How?”
Villanelle leans away, grimaces. “You ask too many questions.”
Eve is silent, she doesn’t dare move, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the woman in front of her. Villanelle almost looks sad for a moment. Her eyes are glassy and Eve finds herself wondering what she’s thinking about. Villanelle stands abruptly, startling Eve and nearly knocking over the wine glasses set on the table.
“I’ll see you later, Eve.”
Before Eve can argue, she’s out the door.
A few days pass before Eve sees Villanelle again.
In the meantime, she reads. She reads news articles, books, and newspapers. Stories of women who have killed. Women who have stolen their husband’s guns to kill them with, women who have strangled their assaulters in the street. Each story makes her wonder, would Villanelle think this is boring? Would it be fun for her? The man stabbed by an anonymous woman in the femoral artery, who had bled out almost completely before he even realized what had happened, excites Eve. She wonders if Villanelle would think it exciting too. Or maybe she likes it slower, Eve thinks. Like the woman who had died of asphyxiation after inhaling poison from a perfume bottle.
At night, Eve wonders how Villanelle would kill her. The thought of Villanelle pushing a knife into her flesh, between her ribs, is enough to make her wet. When she finds her hand wandering down, she imagines the situation in reverse. She thinks of hovering over Villanelle, her hands around her throat. When she tightens around her own fingers, she imagines Villanelle’s face. How pretty she would look with Eve’s hands around her neck, gasping for air. Clawing at Eve’s wrists desperately wanting to be released. When she finishes, Eve has to bite down on her knuckles to keep from crying out Villanelle’s name.
In the mornings, Eve sips coffee and writes. At some point, between the reading about murder and thinking about her homicidal neighbour, she has to work. Unfortunately.
It is during one of these mornings when she hears the door across the hall unlock. Without pausing for a second thought, Eve shuts her laptop and moves to the front door. Before she can open it, old habits have her check through the peephole first. What she sees isn’t Villanelle at all. A man stands in the threshold of the apartment, peering into it like he’s waiting for someone to jump out at him. When no one does, he moves further through the door. He turns to close it, and Eve ducks as he seemingly makes eye contact through her door.
When she looks back up, the door is closed.
When Eve finally sees Villanelle again, she is standing in the hall, fumbling with her keys. Eve swings her own door open, startling Villanelle. The keys clatter to the floor.
“Where have you been?” Eve ducks to pick the keys up from the floor.
“Did you miss me?” Villanelle drawls, taking her keys out of Eve’s outstretched hand.
Eve ignores the question. “Someone was here.”
“Oh,” Villanelle makes a face. “Probably my uncle.” She looks at Eve, and smiles like she’s remembered something funny. “He’s not actually my uncle. But he has a key.”
“If he’s not your uncle, who is he?” Eve asks.
Villanelle rolls her eyes. “He’s like… my boss. Or he thinks he is.” She waves a hand as a means to dismiss the topic.
“But he’s not really your boss?” Eve presses.
“Eve. You can be so annoying.” Villanelle glares. “He is not my boss. He gives me my assignments. But they do not come from him.”
“Who do they come from?” Eve can see Villanelle is on the verge of some sort of tantrum, but she can’t stop herself. The questions come out of her mouth almost of their own volition.
“I don’t know,” Villanelle kicks at the ground and Eve can’t help but liken it to a toddler stomping their foot.
“You don’t know who you actually work for?”
“No! Who cares, Eve? I kill people. I get paid quite a lot. Does the rest of it matter?” Eve gets the sense that she has touched a nerve. Villanelle’s words say one thing, but her rising frustration, while it’s currently aimed at Eve, feels misplaced.
“I guess not,” Eve throws in the towel. When she turns to walk away, Villanelle sighs audibly.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Eve turns back to see her chewing her lip, almost nervously.
The stark difference between the woman in front of her now and the woman who had threatened to kill her in her own kitchen makes Eve pause.
“You don’t have to,” Villanelle fills the silence. “I’m just,” she kicks at the ground again. “Bored. I guess.”
Eve knows the feeling well.
They watch How to Marry a Millionaire.
“I’ve seen it a hundred times.” Villanelle tells her.
“Why do you want to watch it again, then?”
“I want to watch it with you.”
Eve is silent while Villanelle pulls the movie up on her television. She watches as Villanelle leaves the room, and then returns dragging a blanket from her bedroom with her. She doesn’t even say anything when Villanelle throws the blanket over her. Or when she sits close, closer than a couch this size could justify. She just sits, and watches the movie, like a polite guest would do.
Eve is only half watching the movie playing out in front of her. Villanelle’s visit in her kitchen a few days ago plays like a highlight reel in her brain. She should be dead, Eve knows this, and yet. And, what? Eve doesn’t know. For the first time in years, Eve doesn’t know what to expect. She feels like an electrical current has been turned on inside her, thrumming through her veins with anticipation.
When they’re nearing the end of the movie, Eve only knows it’s the end because Lauren Bacall is on screen in a wedding dress. Eve feels Villanelle watching her instead of the TV. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, and she turns to look at Villanelle. Eve thinks she sees something there, in her face, before Villanelle switches into a blank look.
Eve doesn’t look away. “Are you going to kill me?”
Villanelle says nothing. Eve feels like her heart might beat out of her chest.
They turn back to the movie.
When Eve wakes up, it’s dark. She sits up, notices the couch beneath her that is definitely not her bed. There’s a blue glow from the television barely illuminating the room.
Eve orients herself, remembers, this is Villanelle’s apartment. The movie, Villanelle. Eve rubs at her eyes. For a moment, allows the disappointment of Villanelle not being there on the couch anymore settle in her chest before she pushes it aside.
With the sleep cleared from her eyes, Eve notices a post it note stuck to the coffee table next to an abandoned drink.
went to bed
come stay if you want
Eve grips the note in her hand for a moment before intentionally placing it back on the coffee table. She definitely can’t stay, she thinks. Definitely not.
But when she moves to leave, she can see into the bedroom where Villanelle is asleep in her bed. Despite her best efforts, she hesitates. She can feel rationality pulling her to the door. She lives right across the hall, for fuck’s sake, there’s no reason to stay over. But something else pulls her to that bedroom. Something Eve can’t touch. Won’t.
The lump that Eve had assumed to be Villanelle shifts, and squints at Eve. Eve stands frozen, backlit by the blue glow of the television, and says nothing.
“Eve.” It’s a statement this time. “Eve, stop being weird. Just come here.”
The lump shifts back into a horizontal position. Eve hesitates a second longer, but the something else pulling her into the bedroom feels stronger now that there’s a verbal invitation. She moves forward into the room, almost mechanically, and climbs into the bed opposite Villanelle.
Villanelle hums and rolls over to face her. Eve almost smiles at the simplicity of it. Of being in bed with her should-be killer.
“Are you scared?” Villanelle asks, but her voice is thick with sleep and not at all intimidating.
“No.” Eve answers. It’s honest.
Villanelle seems to consider this for a moment. Then says: “I don’t like bananas.”
Eve can’t stop the laugh that comes. “What?”
“My job is not the most interesting thing about me, Eve.” Villanelle is serious.
“And your opinion on bananas is?” Eve can’t help but smile, which earns her a dirty look.
“It might be!” Villanelle swats at her.
Eve shifts to dodge the attack and laughs at Villanelle’s indignation. “Villanelle!” Eve dodges a kick this time. “Okay! Okay, stop!”
Villanelle relents. “Ask me something.”
“Why don’t you like bananas?” Eve concedes.
“The texture, and,” she pauses to make an obscene gesture in Eve’s face. “I don’t like anything phallic.”
Eve shoves Villanelle’s hands away from her face. “You’re gross.”
Villanelle hums in agreement. “And you? Do you like men? Or women?”
“Both.” She can see Villanelle’s grin even in the dark.
“Bisexual?” Villanelle pokes her in the ribs.
“Whatever,” Eve grunts but doesn’t push Villanelle’s hand away this time. Even when it flattens against her ribs and stays there.
Eve does her best to pretend it doesn’t bother her when a week passes with no word from Villanelle.
It’s when they reach the two week mark that the restlessness sets in.
Eve starts to take her work to coffee shops, if only to escape from the way her heart jumps and the subsequent disappointment every time she thinks she hears a key in the lock across the hall.
She even accepts an invitation to join Elena at a bar they used to frequent months ago, before working from home had sucked Eve into the homebody she was now.
She’s halfway through her third gin and tonic when Elena asks about Villanelle.
“Are you still keeping tabs on that weird neighbour of yours?” Elena finishes off her own drink, a beer Eve can’t pronounce the name of.
“Huh?” Eve has to consciously bring herself back to the present. “Oh, yeah. Villanelle.”
Elena scoffs, “Villanelle? That’s quite a name.”
“I think it’s a type of poem,” Eve swirls her drink. “She’s pretty nice, actually.”
“Pretty nice?” Elena sounds incredulous. “Last time we talked you thought she was some sort of serial killer.”
Eve laughs, mostly to herself. “I’ve been known to get ahead of myself, haven’t I?”
“Can’t argue with that.” Elena agrees. “So what is her actual job then? If she’s not out killing for hire.”
Eve drinks the rest of the gin in front of her. “Oh, she’s… an interior designer.”
“Okay, that’s pretty cool.” Elena flags the bartender for another round. “Not as cool as a killer for hire, but still.”
Eve is silent for a moment, watches as the bartender grabs Elena another beer and mixes her another gin and tonic.
“Her apartment is really nice. You wouldn’t even know we live in the same building.”
Elena looks at her. “You’ve been in her apartment?”
“Oh, yeah. We - for drinks.” Eve swallows more gin. “And we watched a movie.”
“A movie?” Elena’s eyebrows raise. “So you’re having sex.”
“No!” Eve coughs, “no. We haven’t had sex.”
“Yet.” Elena adds.
“You haven’t had sex, yet.” Elena clarifies.
“Elena,” Eve groans, putting down her drink in favour of running her hands through her hair. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay,” Elena seems to concede. “But you do want to shag your hot neighbour.”
“Please shut up.” Eve rolls her eyes, but the gesture is lost on Elena.
“Fine,” Elena sighs anyway. “Do you want to hear about Kenny? We had our third date last week and I finally got him to take me home, but the poor guy was so nervous he couldn’t get it up.”
Eve makes a face. She downs the rest of the gin in front of her and resolves her commitment to talking about Elena’s sex life.
Anything to get her mind off of Villanelle.
Of course, Eve thinks. Of course this would be when she sees Villanelle again. When she is beautiful in green silk and Eve is stumbling up the stairs, much drunker than she ever planned.
“Eve?” She hears it but can’t respond. All of the energy in Eve’s body is focused on the minuscule task of making it up the last few steps.
“Is the room spinning for you too?” Eve manages, as her foot lifts up and her body leans left.
Eve barely registers Villanelle moving towards her until there is an arm being wrapped around her waist.
“I don’t need your help!” Eve snaps. But she does, Eve knows it and Villanelle (or an angel shaped like Villanelle, Eve wonders) does too. The combination of alcohol and Villanelle’s touch is overwhelming, and Eve’s head sags forward. She closes her eyes like it will help protect her against this sudden attack against her senses.
Villanelle, what a great sport, ignores Eve’s outburst and continues to help until they reach the landing between their two apartments. When Eve is on solid ground again, Villanelle slides her arm free and steps towards her own door. Eve barely contains a whine at the loss of contact.
“Can you get yourself to bed alright?” Villanelle asks.
“Obviously,” Eve spits.
Villanelle nods, immune to Eve’s drunken attitude, and goes to let herself into her apartment. Eve fumbles but manages to get her own door open, but her drunken curiosity gets the better of her.
“Hey,” she turns to face Villanelle again, who pauses and turns back in her own doorway. “When you… If you kill me, how will you do it?”
Villanelle is silent for a long moment.
“You are so selfish, Eve.”
It’s not the answer Eve expects. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Villanelle slips into her apartment and the door shuts behind her.
Eve vomits on her shoes.
Eve hides in her apartment for a few days.
When she opens the door on a Wednesday morning, intending to check the mail, there is a white box sitting on her door mat.
She crouches down, inspecting the box for some sort of label or address. There is none. Tentatively, she lifts the lid. Careful not to disturb the contents. Inside is a cake. Scrawled in red icing, it reads:
Happy Birthday Eve
Eve swallows. Slowly, she raises her head to look at the doorway across the hall. It’s closed, but Eve can’t shake the distinct feeling that she’s being watched.
Mail temporarily forgotten, she closes the box again and brings it into her apartment. She puts the cake down on the kitchen table at the same time that her phone chimes in her back pocket. Sick with anticipation, she wastes no time pulling it out.
Did I get the right day?
It’s an unknown number. Eve closes her eyes for a moment, relishes in the thrill that sends chills down her back. She responds.
The number texts back almost immediately.
And a few seconds after that,
i’ve been watching you too
She shows up a few hours later.
A vision in black, modest for her, with a tulle neckline that reaches her chin. Eve, admittedly not interested much in fashion, is impressed. Eve lets out a shaky breath as Villanelle seems to float past her into her apartment.
She doesn’t say anything as she glides to the kitchen table. She sets down the bottle of champagne in her hand, and delicately lifts the lid to peer at the cake.
“You haven’t eaten it,” Villanelle observes. Her expression is unreadable to Eve. “Worried it’s poisoned?”
“No,” Eve‘s voice is barely above a whisper.
It’s honest. She’s worried it’s not poisoned. Knows that it isn’t. Somehow, Eve thinks that might be worse.
Villanelle hums. She turns to face Eve again, and approaches slowly. Eve tenses momentarily when she sees the curved blade in Villanelle’s hands, and swears it wasn’t there only a moment ago.
Villanelle is close now. Eve can smell her perfume. Dark. Floral, without crossing the line into something Eve would call feminine. Villanelle presses the tip of her blade to the soft spot between Eve’s ear and her jaw. Eve swallows against the pressure. She steps back, but hits the door. Villanelle follows, and there’s nowhere to go.
“Is this what you wanted, Eve?” She can feel Villanelle’s breath against her skin, and it makes her shudder.
Eve doesn’t answer. Can’t.
“Answer me.” Villanelle is demanding.
Eve inhales sharply. Villanelle drags the blade down her jawline, in warning. “Yes,” Eve exhales.
“Tell me,” Villanelle pushes closer into Eve’s space. Flips the blade until the tip is resting against Eve’s sternum.
“Yes!” Eve is louder this time. “I wanted this. I want this,” she looks into Villanelle’s eyes. Watches for a reaction.
Villanelle stares back. “How do you want it done?” Her eyes are wide and dark like an animal that’s just caught it’s prey. Eve feels like a bird caught between her teeth.
“Your hands,” Eve admits. Her chest heaves under Villanelle’s blade.
Villanelle pauses to consider. She drags the knife until it cuts into Eve’s shirt, exposing more of her sternum. “My hands?” She asks, her eyes never leaving the blades path.
“Yes.” Eve’s voice shakes.
Villanelle cuts until the top of Eve’s shirt falls open into a V. The top of her breasts, and absence of a bra, exposed. She drops the blade then, and it clatters to the floor between them. Eve watches her kick it away carelessly.
Villanelle looks back at Eve, presses her hand lightly to her exposed chest. Eve gasps when her hand slides up and closes around her neck. “Like this?” Villanelle asks. Her voice is breathy with excitement and Eve can’t speak, she just nods.
Villanelle presses harder, pinning Eve against the door. Eve feels a hand pulling at one of her legs and she shifts. When Villanelle presses a knee between her legs, she whimpers with the little air she has left in her lungs. When her hips grind down automatically, she flushes red with embarrassment.
“God,” Villanelle looks at her like she’s seeing the sun for the first time. “You really like that?”
It’s a rhetorical question but Eve nods desperately anyway. Her vision is starting to go spotty and her eyes roll into the back of her head. She feels unconsciousness as it digs it’s nails in but before she slips under completely, Villanelle loosens her grip.
“Not yet,” Villanelle speaks right into her ear, before leaning closer to suck at the skin of Eve’s neck.
Eve can’t help it, her head falls back against the door and her hips grind harder against Villanelle’s leg. Villanelle drops her hand from Eve’s throat and grabs at her hips instead, encouraging Eve’s movements.
The friction is barely there between the layers of Eve’s pants and underwear, but it’s enough to make her gasp. Villanelle moves her leg with Eve, slamming her back into the door while her mouth is busy leaving marks wherever she can.
Minutes pass, and Eve grows increasingly frustrated at the lack of direct contact.
“Villanelle,” she groans. The blonde hums in response but doesn’t stop. “Villanelle! I need more,” Eve gasps.
Villanelle reluctantly pulls back to meet Eve’s gaze. “What do you want?”
“Your hands.” Eve echoes her answer from earlier.
Villanelle doesn’t move.
Eve hesitates. “Please.”
Villanelle makes quick work of the button at Eve’s navel, shoving her pants down until Eve can step out of them and kick them away to join the forgotten blade. When Eve moves away from the door to take her panties off, Villanelle pushes her back with a forearm pressed against her throat.
“No,” Villanelle grunts. Eve can’t form the words to protest.
Eve is grateful that Villanelle does not choose this moment to go slow. Her free hand dips into Eve’s underwear immediately, her fingers finding Eve’s entrance and dipping inside.
“So wet,” Villanelle comments.
Eve’s hips jump when Villanelle drags her fingers across her clit, already sensitive from the build up to this moment.
“You,” Eve moans. It’s all she can manage to get out.
“Me?” Villanelle’s breathy laugh is hot on her neck. “Are you wet just for me?”
Eve can’t speak. She nods. Villanelle must like that answer, Eve thinks, because in a blink there’s three fingers inside of her. She feels herself tighten around Villanelle and wills herself to hold on, not ready for this to end.
Villanelle must feel it too, because she shifts until her hand is around Eve’s throat again. She tightens her grip until Eve can barely breathe, and curls her fingers hard. “Eve,” she whispers. “Come for me.”
Eve does. Her hands fly up to grip Villanelle’s wrist, her mouth open in a silent scream as her hips buck hard against the fingers inside her. Even as she comes down from her orgasm, Villanelle holds tight to her neck.
Eve’s vision swims until everything goes dark.