He shook his head with a sigh, turning away from her. "Nothing."

Without thinking, she stamped her foot in disappointment, her arms crossing in front of her chest as she sighed in anger.

Bugger.

Told ya so.

What was that?

Shut up and keep out of it.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Lovett?" he asked, turning around despite himself. He was almost amused by her childish reaction.

She was pouting, her brow furrowed. She ran her fingers through her hair again, sighing before she brought her hands to her hips. "I-No, sir. Nothin'. I'll get yer dinner as soon as I's finished gettin' dressed."

You love her. You want her. Tell her and take her.

Overcome with lust, Sweeney only registered the last thing "Ben" told him. Take her.

With a growl, he closed the gap between them and crushed her lips in a kiss, his arms going for her waist and bringing her to his level.

Mrs. Lovett squealed happily in the back of her throat, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as she excitedly returned his kiss.

Is this really what you want from him? Just sex? You want to be his whore?

I want ta be his wife.

That's not what you are to him. That's not what you'll ever be to him. Why would he buy the cow when he's getting the milk for free? Not to mention the cheese and the butter and-

Shut up.

They fell against the bed, his weight crushing her deliciously.

"Oh, Mister T!" she purred, breaking their kiss and grinning widely.

"Shut up," he growled, rocking his clothed hips against hers and making her eyelids flutter. His fingers tangled in her short, raven locks and he forced her head back to expose her pale neck.

She ignored him and continued speaking, her voice somewhat strained by their positions. He was sucking at her neck, his tongue ghosting over the purpling bruises he'd made there, as her own nails dug into his neck just below his ears. "I knew ya cared, Mister T. I knew it. I knew if I could just make ya jealous, ya'd realize it."

"You know nothing," he snarled against her skin, angry that she seemed to have planned all this.

She froze beneath him. "Wh-Wot? Ya mean y-ya don't care bout me? Not 'tall?" She pushed him back from her with some difficulty until her chocolate eyes met his cold, gray ones.

"No, Mrs. Lovett. 'Not 'tall,'" he lied, mocking her thick Cockney accent.

He leaned down again, going for her neck, but she stopped him.

"Mister T, do ya mean ta tell me tha' ya don't care 'bout me even a littl'? I don't 'spect ya ta care 'bout me the way ya did yer Lucy, but not even a littl'?" Mrs. Lovett asked incredulously, looking into his eyes again.

He almost told her the truth, the pain in her eyes hurt him so much, but then he remembered the way she'd moaned that customer's name in her attempt to make him jealous and anger flared within him. "Yes, Mrs. Lovett. That's exactly what I mean to tell you. The only thing I care about in regards to you is what's being held up by your corset and what's between your thighs. Now shut the hell up, stupid, bloody whore."

She swallowed, closing her eyes to ward off tears as she nodded, "Yes, Mister Todd. So sorry." She bit her bottom lip, still nodding.

Sweeney tore her corset from her, throwing it to the side before leaning back and pulling her panties over her hips. He leaned over her, kissing up her stocking-ed calf before his lips met her bare thigh.

"Ya really don't 'ave ta do that, Mister T," she forced out, her voice very low so it wouldn't betray the tears forming in her eyes. "I-I mean, I'll do you, if ya want, but otherwise, let's jus' get righ' to it."

He tilted his head in confusion, his lips still ghosting over her inner thigh.

She thinks you think of her as nothing but a whore. She'd rather be crying in peace right now but knows you want sex.

That's not true. She knows how I feel, insufferable woman. She said so just now.

And then you denied it.

He growled in the back of his throat, prying her legs further apart before running his tongue along her slit.

"Ple-Please, Mister T," she started, her body trembling lightly in what he assumed was anticipation.

He grinned, running his tongue over her clit teasingly, his hands holding her thighs in place.

"Please, jus'- Don't," she choked out, wiping feverishly at her eyes to erase the evidence of her tears. She didn't want anything that would prolong their coupling. She just wanted to be left alone to cry. So, the sooner they finished, the sooner she could do so. "Can't we jus' get on wif it?"

He sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared at her. "What?"

"I- It's not you, love. I jus'-I don't-" she stumbled, trying to find words as his cold eyes seared into her. She bit her bottom lip again, trying to make it stop quivering with the coming onslaught of tears.

"Am I not up to your usual customer standards, Mrs. Lovett?" he asked, the condescension clear in his voice as he stared down at her.

"I-" she looked away, staring at her wardrobe in the corner as she wiped the tears from her eyes again. "Sorry, Mister T. Whatever ya want."

"Because the customer is always right?" he sneered, pushing himself away from her and pacing the room. He started for the door and looked into her mirror just in time to see cover her face with her hands.

She was naked-- her pale form completely exposed to him-- and lying on her back, her knees bent and pried apart as he'd left them, as she cried as quietly as she could into her hands.

Now look what you've done. You've reduced the poor woman to tears. And you know how strong she is.

You remember when her husband died, don't you Ben? She muddled through. Same as she did when she lost the child she'd had with her butcher-husband, and she'd lost the child so soon after her husband had died.

And here she is: crying. Cause you called her a whore. Again. Even though you know how in love she is with you.

"Mrs. Lovett?" he breathed, suddenly feeling very guilty. "M-Mrs. Lovett?"

She wiped her eyes, her makeup smearing, as she gasped quietly and looked over at him. She pushed herself up into a sitting position before wiping at her eyes again. She forced a smile for him, "Oh, Mister T. I-I thought you'd left. Sorry, love." Her voice was raw with the tears still forming in her eyes. "Did-um- Did you want anythin'? Oh! Your supper! Sorry, love. I'll get it in jus' a tic."

"No, Mrs. Lovett. That's not it." He exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his own tangled mane. "I… I wanted to tell you that I don't really think that you're a whore, Mrs. Lovett. I know you're not. I just-" he sighed. "I just said that to hurt you."

She briefly considered lying and saying that he hadn't but decided it would be foolish since he'd seen her crying. "Why?" she whispered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her smeared eye makeup gave her a raccoon-like appearance as she blinked up at him, her full lips curling into a pout.

"I- Because- You-" he sighed again. "Stop asking so many infernal questions, woman!" he shouted, frustrated that he couldn't make himself tell her.

Mrs. Lovett looked down at her lap, "Sorry, Mister T." She pulled her panties back over her hips before reaching for her corset. Her hands were trembling as she tried to do up the laces until Sweeney finally pushed her hands out of the way and tied it up for her properly. "Thanks, love," she whispered, chancing a look at him as she reached for her skirt.

When she looked at him, though, he seemed mentally removed, nodding without really looking at her.

She let out a shuddering breath and looked away, standing before she stepped into her skirt and pulled it up to her hips. She leaned across the bed for her tank, squawking in surprise when he forced her suddenly to the bed and covered her body with his as she laid on her stomach.

"'Chu doin', Mister T?!" she demanded, her voice slightly muffled against her sheets.

She squeaked again when he threaded his fingers through hers and pinned them by her ears before licking just below her earlobe.

"I want you," he murmured, having convinced himself he could tell her how he felt without really saying so in words. He'd managed to convince himself that she knew that his telling her he wanted her was his way of saying he loved her.

You're just his whore. That's all you'll ever be to him.

Mrs. Lovett forced her tears back again, resigning herself the life her voice of reason foretold. It didn't matter that this loveless sex would break her heart and tear her apart. All that mattered was his happiness and that she did everything she could to make him as happy as possible. She would hold herself together enough for him so that he didn't know how much it hurt her that he didn't return her love.

"Yes, Mister Todd," she nodded.

He rocked his hips against her rear, groaning against the back of her neck. One of his hands left hers so that he could move his hand between her body and the bed, his calloused fingers moving against her corseted stomach. He moved his palm against her clothed breast, working her skin through the fabric, as he rolled his hips against her again. His teeth found her earlobe and he bit in an almost playful manner making her squeal in response. Pushing himself off her enough to roll her over, he capture her lips in a kiss, his tongue brutally pushing against hers.

"You're mine," he growled, his razor cutting open her corset before doing the same with her skirt and panties.

That's twenty pounds, ten shillings, and seven pence.

A whore's expense.

"Yes, Mister Todd," she panted, spreading her legs so he could settle between them. She hissed in pain, biting her plump lower lip, when he penetrated her.

Sweeney buried his face against her neck, kissing and sucking at the bruised skin, his breathing heavy as he delivered powerful thrusts into her.

Her body rocked in time with his as she wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching him desperately as she whimpered. She ran her fingers through his hair, savoring the feel of his course hair against her fingertips.

"Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine," he was repeating with every thrust or so.

Mrs. Lovett nodded, closing her eyes. "That's righ,' Mister Todd. Yers." She lifted her head to press kisses to his shoulder, her tongue gliding along his hot flesh lovingly, as she wrapped one arm around his neck. Feeling him starting to swell within her, his pace less measured, she squeezed him between her thighs and bucked her hips forcefully. "Go 'ead, Mister T. Let go. Yer Nellie's 'ere fer ya. 'Ts okay."

"Nellie!" he choked out, his voice muffled as he sucked at her pulse point. He released within her, trembling, before collapsing on top of her.

She wrapped both arms around his neck, her fingertips playing in his ebony mane, as she cooed quietly to him in a voice just louder than his labored breathing. Her own eyes drifted closed as she bit her bottom lip again to ward off tears.

That's a woman's role, it is.

That's a whore's role.

"I love you."