As they walked, Hannibal savoured every molecule of this night; the moonlight almost bouncing off the slick waters of the river, light perfume filling his nostrils, the warmth of Clarice's delicate hand on his arm. At night, senses were enhanced, augmented to such a degree that it was almost inebriating. Having nursed a drink all night, Hannibal knew he was not drunk. That made his senses all the sharper, to enjoy the flavour of the night.

The prospect of a night with Clarice was enough to set his blood singing, and his steps quickened just a smidgeon, eager to get home and tear that wonderful, teasing shift dress off of her body. The lines of her form were most promising, and Hannibal had the feeling that she would be breathtaking naked.

Clarice likewise was eager to begin their night together. His arm was taut under the expensive fabric of his suit, muscles tensed to exhibit a little power. Despite only being a little taller than she was, his hands were rather large, and for a brief moment she entertained fantasies of her all over her body. Almost immediately, she blushed.

Still so virginal, even in your line of work. The voice in her head was never kind, was it? Clarice banished it from taking up residence in her mind.

As they walked, the still night remained poetically mild and romantic. Blossom was just beginning to bloom, buds unwinding from their tight knots into modest flowers. Branches reached over the river, and the railings on each side glittered in the yellow lamplight.

Gradually, the houses became more and more luxurious, growing larger and grander with every street the pair passed. Curious, Clarice eyed each housefront carefully, wondering if this one or that one would be Hannibal's, and being wrong every time. They passed the redstones, the townhouses, and finally what looked like a small manor house. Hannibal stopped suddenly, making Clarice scuff her shoes.

The house before them was expensive, she could tell. She may be just a girl from West Virginia, but she could at least recognise luxury and taste when she saw it.

It was fairy-tale-esque, in the soft evening light. Red brick, three floors, immaculately manicured lawns and neatly trimmed shrubs either side of the wrought iron gates. From where Clarice was standing, the whole outlook was framed neatly, each side of the house perfectly symmetrical. It was dark, and classy, and somehow perfectly matched it's proprietor. As Hannibal opened the gate for her, Clarice felt a little like Mary in The Secret Garden, allowed into this beautiful, rich world.

Fishing the keys from his inside pocket, Hannibal gave Clarice a warm smile as the latch clicked and the oak front door swung open invitingly.

The interior d├ęcor was as lavish as the exterior, all rich red carpet and warm brown panelling, with tasteful art pieces hanging in the hallways. Clarice looked about her in wonder, amazed by such a wonderful design, so classy and upper-class.

So this is how the other half live. Feeling jealous, inadequate yet, Clarice? Her wonder was once again interrupted by the snide voice in her head. She shook her head determinedly. Not tonight, not tonight.

"May I take your coat?" Hannibal broke across her internal monologue. Clarice smiled, and nodded.

"You may." Her accent sounded so coarse next to his cultured voice, she winced.

Hannibal pretended not to notice her grimace and took her coat, hanging it up neatly on the polished hooks either side of the front door. Taking her by the hand, he lead Clarice into the drawing room, and sat her down as he set himself delaying tasks. Through setting a blazing fire and pouring them both a glass of sweet dessert wine, Hannibal hoped that she might become more comfortable.

She didn't. Clarice's posture didn't relax, despite the comfort of the sofa and the warm atmosphere. Her hands gripped the small glass tightly, and remained resolutely in her lap.

"Clarice, if I may, you don't look at all comfortable. Is there anything I can do to help you?" Clarice looked entirely taken aback.

"Hannibal, it's not you at all, it's... look, I-I'm not really accustomed to luxury of this caliber. I warm beds for a living, it's rare that I'm invited to such a wonderful home." Hannibals suspicions were confirmed; Clarice felt insecure. From her accent, she was West Virginian, and although well-mannered, she was not at all high born. Not that it mattered to him, but it was obviously a factor in her discomfort.

"I understand. But I want you to know that you belong here as much as I do, Clarice. Luxury is not just for the chosen few." Hannibal met her eyes, and wondered at the cold warmth there. Curious description, cold heat, but that's what her eyes looked like. Blue may be the warmest colour, after all.

"Thank you, Hannibal, you do have a lovely home. It's only a shame that-" Clarice stopped herself short. She was presuming too much.

"A shame that what, Clarice?"

"Forget I said anything, it wasn't proper." Clarice waved her wine glass, in an attempt to be flippant.

"Clarice..."

"It's not important, Hannibal." She made her tone a little firmer.

"Please tell me?" His eyes implored her.

"I was going to say that it's a shame that you live alone, but I don't mean to presume anything about your life, I should make such comments, I'm only hired evening entertainment after all, and-" She began to babble, feeling the insecurity mount higher and higher, and her shoulders rise to her ears, and her hands grip the glass tighter.

"Clarice. I am not offended, at all. Calm yourself, you are free to think and presume all you desire here. I'm frankly flattered that you feel I must be lonely. Truthfully, I have always enjoyed my own company, since I was a child."

"But surely you don't spend all of your time alone?"

"No, of course not. But I am well-practised in the art of being solitary." Clarice tipped her head contemplatively to one side.

"Then why am I here?"

"Because being alone can be rather dull sometimes." Hannibal smiled, and Clarice smiled back. He raised his glass to her, and she mirrored him. They both drank.

"Now, I hate to ask this question, my dear. Its crude nature ruins your lovely company, but I must ask; how much do you cost for one night?" Clarice didn't even blink, her expression didn't change from the soft smile gracing her lips. He did look genuinely contrite, bless him.

"For you, Hannibal, I'm free." She whispered, as she set the glass aside carefully and shifted closer. He watched her closely, as she began to stroke his shoulders through his shirt, caressing the expensive fabric.

"Are you positive, Clarice, because I am more than happy to-" She cut him off with a burning kiss, hands moving to his chest and trailing down. Trailing back up, she began to unbutton his shirt slowly, opening her mouth just a little. Hannibal answered with the parting of his own lips, and their tongues met. Shuddering softly, he eagerly deepened the kiss, eyes shut, hands cradling her jaw.

Kissing her was a dream, a waking dream, so warm and fulfilling. Her mouth was sweet, honeyed, like a well-aged wine. Softly, she bit his bottom lip, and he groaned lightly into her mouth. He felt her smile, and doubled his efforts. Soon, his hands were running down her bare arms, fingering the thin straps of her dress. He was vaguely aware of his shirt opening, and her hands on his chest, but sensations were a little hazy.

She was heady, she made him giddy, with her soft mouth and delicate hands and warm body now pressing against him-

"Oh!" He gasped a little, the unexpected heat of her suddenly very close. Clarice withdrew, and Hannibal unwittingly followed her mouth as it moved away from his.

"Are you alright, Hannibal?" He blinked, and nodded.

"Yes, I feel wonderful. Would you mind resuming your earlier actions?" Clarice smirked.

"Not at all," she purred, letting their lips meet chastely, before opening her mouth to him again. Their moans sounded in tandem, almost in harmony, hers throaty and his growling.

Suddenly, Hannibal hoisted her into his lap, large hands spanning her slim waist. She giggled as she settled, wiggling her hips to fit snugly against his. Clarice looped her arms around his neck, and began to kiss down his jaw to his neck, paying special attention to the spot just under his earlobe.

Breathing heavily, Hannibal savoured her mouth on his skin, feeling himself warm all over. With her squirming in his lap, his body awakened, hardening for her. Her hips rolled expertly, as he held her waist tightly. Her mouth reached the soft junction of neck and shoulder, and sucked once, quickly. He gasped in excitement.

Suddenly intent on paying back the teasing treatment, Hannibal moved his mouth over the delicious skin, finding her sweet spot with ease. She was a responsive lover, and one who made plenty of encouraging sounds when he did something she particularly liked. She also tasted delicious, dark and wanting and woman.

Rolling her hips a little rougher now, Clarice purred under his attentions, her whole body vibrating with pleasure. He was a talented lover, indeed. She had lucked out with this one.

Hannibal gripped her tighter, and yanked her closer, if that was even possible. They were practically breathing the same air.

Abruptly, he stood up, and Clarice wrapped her toned legs tight around his waist, still enjoying his oral attentions. One strap fell down, leaving enticing shoulder bare, and Hannibal chased it, kissing down her chest.

"Take me upstairs, Hannibal," Clarice whispered in his ear, and he obliged, climbing the steps with ease. Taking one hand off of her ass to open the door, Hannibal replaced it as quickly as possible, and Clarice hummed in approval. Suddenly there was nothing in the world more important than divesting herself of clothing right this second, and Hannibal was only too happy to oblige. Her dress pooled on the floor, and she stepped out of it in her lingerie, white satin with soft lace trimming. She was a vision in loveliness, and the sight of so much soft flesh begging to be tasted had Hannibal hungry for her.

His own clothes had become bothersome, and she helped with the zipper at the front of his trousers, deliberately palming his bulge, and smirking triumphantly at his groan. Pushing him onto the four-poster bed, Clarice climbed onto his hips, straddling his hardness and delighting in his hungry look.

"How do you want me, Hannibal? Gasping underneath you, moaning above you, pushing back against you, desperate and starving for your-" She let her hips buck once, informing him through touch which part of his anatomy she was referring to. His answering loud moan was music to her ears, and his hot hands burned over her body.

She felt him grow harder under her, and smiled. It appeared his body had made the decision for him.

"You want me on top, yes? Riding you hard until you can't handle it any longer, gasping for release?" Her hips bucked harder, rougher, rotating expertly. His hands held her in place, encouraging her movements. He nodded furiously, seemingly unable to do anything but gasp and groan.

"Clarice, Clarice," Hannibal gasped, holding her tight against him, bucking upwards, seeking friction. Her name on his lips was a prayer, a whisper, a plea and a hymn all at one. He made her simple name sound like music.

Clarice slowly removed her bra, sliding the straps down teasingly before unhooking it, letting the lace tickle her as she pulled it away from her body. His eyes went immediately to her breasts, soft and heavy. His hands travelled up her ribs, silently asking permission. At her nod, Hannibal allowed his fingertips to brush the underside, feeling the weight fill his palms as he cupped her. As his thumbs circled her sensitive nipples, Clarice gasped and moaned.

"Hannibal, oh, yes," she hissed, pushing her chest into his hands.

"Are you desperate for my touch, Clarice? How many men took the time to really appreciate your body for the gift it is?"

"None," Clarice gasped, "Only you." He smirked in victory. Palming her breasts, Hannibal felt her hips begin to circle his once more, her wet heat warming his own private area. She was soaked, he could tell. Teasingly, he let his fingertips trail down her sides to pull at the waistband of her panties, tugging playfully. In answer, Clarice tugged at his black silk boxers.

Reluctantly, she rose up, and they both quickly rid themselves of undergarments. Settling herself back down, Clarice and Hannibal released synchronised moans at the contact. Tipping her head back, Clarice began to rise and fall, teasing Hannibal harder and thicker. He obliged, feeling himself swell almost painfully.

She was dripping, wetter than he had ever experienced.

"Clarice, I think it's time, don't you?" Hannibal growled. Clarice simply nodded, and moved off Hannibal enough for him to reach for a condom. Taking it from him and ripping it open eagerly, she rolled the rubber neatly over his hardness. Clarice rose up to grip him tightly, hearing his quick intake of breath. Smiling, she guided him inside of her wet heat, the pair moaning as she sank down on him. He was large, and filled her up. She felt a sense of completion, and Hannibal stroked her hips, letting her slowly adjust to him.

Truthfully he wanted to savour this moment, allow her to really feel him deep inside of her.

As she began to move slowly, Hannibal felt her tighten and relax periodically, her excitement obvious and incredibly arousing. She was a little temptress, rocking her hips against him, accepting him further inside. He had just enough control over himself for this to last as long as she wanted.

Clarice was almost bouncing on top of him, hands planted on his chest, breasts bouncing with her. She was a sight to behold, she left Hannibal in awe. She inspired music and art and beauty. A woman's body was truly a piece of art, made for hands on waists and hips, beautiful and feminine. And Clarice's body was more than just art, it was heavenly.

Gasping, Clarice rode him harder, clenching her walls around him tightly, prompting a groan from him. Eagerly, Hannibal gripped her and helped her rock, pushing his hips up into her. At her pleased moans, he doubled his efforts, thrusting upwards energetically.

With a passionate cry, Clarice shuddered around him, wetness gushing down his length, her pleasure sparking through her entire body like electricity. She rode her orgasm for as long as she could manage, fluttering around his hardness, before collapsing onto Hannibal's chest.

"Wow," was all she could manage, and Hannibal chuckled, stroking her hair tenderly. She rose to look at him, meet his eyes, but before she could speak realised that Hannibal was still hard and hot inside of her.

"Oh, Hannibal, I'm so sorry, I didn't notice- oh!" Before she could even finish her sentance, Clarice found herself under Hannibal, his length reaching new, wonderful angles. Her eyes drifted shut at the sensations.

"I believe it's my turn, wouldn't you agree?" Clarice nodded, and lifted her legs to lock around his waist. He thrusted once, experimentally, and felt her tighten around him. She was a wonderful lover, responsive, eager to please, noisy. Her little gasps and moans could get him hard all on their own.

He began to pound into her, focusing on getting her to a second peak with him. Her noises were heaven to his ears, mouth open in pleasure, and hips thrusting to meet his. The bedframe was rocking, hitting the wall with the force of their shared passion, and with one last thrust, Hannibal felt Clarice tighten almost painfully around him, before shattering again with a soft cry of ecstasy. He moaned in answer, and exploded inside of her, feeling at one with this wonderful woman.

Breathing heavily, the pair smiled and came down from they respective highs with gentle caresses. When Hannibal pulled out, Clarice moaned a little at the loss.

Hannibal quickly dealt with the used condom, and joined Clarice back in bed, gathering her into his arms. Warm and sated, the couple snuggled together, and fell asleep almost instantly.