RONIN
"Hang around me long enough and you'll learn I'm not a type at all," Ronin mumbles to the whore in his lap, letting out a breath of almost relief as she starts to unfasten his pants. He finishes the bottle of whiskey and plants down the empty, turning his attention entirely to the white-clad woman, even as Cian's question echoes over to him. "Longer than you were, but probably not ages," he replies simply, his hands already getting their fill of the curves on offer.
"Why, were we on a schedule?" he asks, already too distracted to really care about the answer. It's the Eye's fault if he thinks about it, bringing a man predisposed to vices and missing very regular and very mindblowing sex to a whorehouse.
"Why, were we on a schedule?" he asks, already too distracted to really care about the answer. It's the Eye's fault if he thinks about it, bringing a man predisposed to vices and missing very regular and very mindblowing sex to a whorehouse.
one more wish for you
