You Take me by the Heart when you..[poptart]

Mikhainon as herself, in the body of Cecilia, descended from the second floor stairs. Her body and clothes were the same but her expression and demeanor was a stark contrast to the Cecilia Lochlann was previously acquainted with — where Cecilia was vapid, affectionate and flirtatious, Mikhainon's face was the face of a mastermind, her smirk a mix of amusement and malice.

Also, unlike before, the waiting staff was at her beck and call, and she had a waitress tell her about a man with seaweed in his hair asking for her. She dismissed her with a wave of her hand and settled near the stairs, gesturing to Lochlann with a finger to follow her.

The first floor was too loud and too public. If Lochlann brought her what she thought he did, they would need some privacy. She really wished he did bring the heart. It would make the night much more interesting.

She climbed the stairs, again, not looking to make sure he followed. She knew he will. She kept her pace slow enough to keep up with and led them to one of the empty private lap dance rooms at the back of the second floor strip club, closing the door with her foot.

Mikhainon took the heart into her arms, carrying it like a newborn baby.

She peeled the tattered shirt away and — ah, there it was. It was fresh. It was the size of a fist and smelled heavily of blood, that same blood staining the shirt it was in. It had been so long since Mikhainon held a heart in her hands.

"Amazing," she said softly. "I can tell a person's qualities by their heart. This was a human woman, one with a brilliant creative mind. I'm surprised. I thought you'd hire a hooker and eat before you're asked to pay."

She paced around the room, thinking about her contracts.

"This girl, she could've gotten a decent wish. She could've wish for a kingdom, a pile of treasure, magic only she can conceive of — she could make her wildest dreams come true if she knew about me. This kind of heart is a prize. I'm almost sad I had to see it in his form. But you..."

She leaned against the door, a dangerous smirk on her face.

The tension was thick in the room, it had been since Lochlann came in, but Mikhainon smiled past it because she knew she was the one that caused it and controlled it.

"People like you don't get to have good wishes. Are you kidding me? You're barely cheap change. It's not like it matters, anyway." A dramatic pause. "I don't grant wishes to people that aren't human!"

She dropped the heart on the ground —

and crushed it under her four-inch heels. It made a squishing noise before eventually popping, spilling blood on the carpet, her foot, her heels, even her leather pants. She dusted her hands off and crossed her arms.

"That was just a joke, but kudos to you! I didn't think you would actually do it!" She laughed, and it was inappropriately chipper for the situation. She lived for these kinds of moments, really.

Mikhainon always found that people were most fun when you indulge them in their addictions. She was the type that would slip an alcoholic another glass of beer, a junkie another hit. Their souls turned into absolute shit, but she couldn't put a prize on the way they groveled — the same pathetic display Lochlann was doing right now, actually. She knew she had pushed Lochlann off the deep end and it remained incredibly hilarious to her.

Mikhainon had a special fondness for insects.

She supposed she could indulge him for the time being. She'd been drinking, and the elixir was still tingling all over her body, arousal forming the minute Lochlann's tongue made contact with her foot.

She chuckled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his head. "Well, come on, then. Show me what you got."

Mikhainon touched him back, her hand idly trailing from his chest down to his crotch, giving him a slight squeeze before climbing up again. She couldn't tell what he was thinking — if he was angry or if he was indulging himself now with the hearty meal in front of him. But whatever it was, it was going to be fun.

She remembered a man who got so pissed because of their contract that he fucked her literally to death. She had no intention of that happening again, but the orgasm she had before he choked her to death was exhilarating.

"Suddenly you have standards? What happened to fucking my brains in a bathroom?" Mikhainon chuckled. "I have a room in the third floor. I want you to do your worst."

She was referring to sex, but she wanted to see what he was going to do too. She was the type of person that teetered on the edge of danger because it was literally impossible for her to die. She pulled out keys from her pants, dangling it in front of him.

The third floor was literally just a single hallway with one room in it, the fabled VIP room. Inside was a penthouse suite. She tilted her head at the door, giving him a challenging look.

Mikhainon allowed herself to be hauled around like a problem pet because, really, she deserved it and she didn't want to ruin Lochlann's thunder. As they passed by the second floor, the bartenders, strippers and even the bouncers watched their mistress get humiliated with surprise and a bit of fear, but she raised a hand and shushed them before they could intervene.

The suite was impeccably clean. It looked like it belonged to a single bachelor, not a woman. Of course, Lochlann was probably too sex crazed to even notice that.

What happened next surprised her.

She was tossed onto the bed like she was nothing but baggage, hitting the mattress uncomfortably and disorienting her — a disoriented state made even worse by all the alcohol she drank that night. She recovered pretty quickly, tossing her hair back and adjusting her corset.

She could feel the danger in Lochlann's tone, see firsthand the near irreparable damage she had done to him, and she found that she was really incredibly turned on. Whatever was going to happen tonight was going to be sick and depraved. She was up for sick and depraved. The closet near them, when opened, only contained a variety of sex toys and bondage equipment ranging from vanilla to the incredibly dangerous.

She crawled over to him like a feline stalking her prey and reached out to grab his shirt. She leaned forward, her knees on the edge of the bed to keep her from falling, and whispered in his ear, "You're taking too long."