Zara's mocking of where her two year long client went was enough to earn more tears from the redhead; was enough to strike at a place that was still so tender and raw that she didn't even share it with Atticus, with Master Ryan. The Master thought she was fine, completely over her grief, able to work with no issue, and she was, until now. She wanted to jerk away and put up shields, ones that no one expected from her. William had died, died and left her here all alone. It hurt. It hurt more then she wanted to admit, then she ever wanted to think of. Was she not a real woman? She had never heard that insult before. She struggled then, trying to move away, but it only made the rocking of Zara's hips more invasive and she tremble at the whisper into her ear.<br/><br/>She wouldn't go to Zara's room, wouldn't give the dark haired beauty that much pull over her. To do so would mean that the other whore was right and that Fiona was nothing, she was aware of the emotional games some could play. Lessard had warned her. She had just never had anyone want to pull her apart before. It was an unsettling experience.<br/><br/>Fi's aquamarine gaze went wide in shock and she gasped when Zara's hand invaded between her thighs and she tried to pres them closed, to deny the other woman entrance to so intimate a part of her body. Zara was having none of that and Fi made a soft sound of protest before it turned into a soft moan of pleasure when the other woman found the apex of her legs, when Zara kissed her. It was harsh, brutal. Fi didn't pull away though, but rather melted into it, giving way to the desires of her body to distract from the pain in her heart. That was all she could do here, be pliant, yield. She gave her mouth to Zara, let the other whore lead them deeper, she whimpered for her, squirming against her, her hands coming up to cling to Zara's shoulders, one trailing down her back, wanting more. She gave not in anger or fear, but in eagerness, in desire, perhaps that would show Zara what she meant.