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He regarded me silently from across the room. I sat on the couch, my head spinning not only from the drink, but from the events of the last 2 hours. My head tilted back on the couch, my eyes closing involuntarily. The hiss of fabric was my only warning.
"Did I, or did I not expressly forbid you to talk to that man?"
My eyes flew open as the impact of his question hit home. Lifting my head, speaking quietly, I repeated the word back to him.
"Forbid?"
His eyes narrowed at my tone. While we didn't have a dynamic per se, he and I had talked about his need for control- and my need to relinquish it, but we had never formally agreed to anything. He jutted his jaw out, gritting his teeth. Normally this would have me squirming up onto his lap, seeking his forgiveness- failing that, at least his touch. The man was a drug, and fuck if he didn't know it, and utilize it to his great advantage.
This time was different. I don't know if it was the Gentleman Jack talking, or if I was just completely unfiltered, but as I watched his temper flare, I was determined to give as good as I got. Strike a blow for all women kind, so to speak. This gorgeous bastard needed to be brought down a peg or two, and right then, I was the woman of the hour.
I sat forward and watched his eyes as they darkened dangerously. This wasn't fun-pissed Tom, or playful Tom. He was actually angry. At me. For conversing with Jon. Granted, Jon had betrayed Toms trust before- but he had never even tried to pull anything with me- he knew better. And truthfully, Tom knew me better too. I had rolled my eyes at him when he had said that earlier.
"Jon will be there tonight, love- don't go off talking to him, you know how he gets."
In my haste I apparently took this as, at most, a joking reminder that this man, this Jon person, was as close to a nemesis that good-natured Tom would ever have. Knowing my own heart, I didn't even equate him as a threat....all of this flashing in my mind instantly as I gauged just how unreasonable Tom was going to be with me.
He leaned forward from his perch on the arm rest of the easy chair across from me- almost mirroring me exactly.
I spoke again, my voice lowering, "Forbid, Thomas? I don't think so." As I stood, my chin went up, and my hands clenched at my side. Drawing breath to speak again, my lungs stuttered into a gasp as he unfolded himself and in two swift strides was inches from me. His broad hand spanned my chest, just over my breastbone, the other holding the small of my back, pressing me to him.
It seemed like time both speeded up, and went into slow motion, as I found myself suddenly pressed up against bookshelf, the knick-knacks littering the shelves trembling from the force of our bodies. A grunt of air escaped my lips, as I swore. "Fuck me, Thomas- was that really necessary?"
Even in my heels, his 6'2" frame towered over me. I was no little girl, at 5'7", and fairly thick, I used to tease him about being a featherweight to my middleweight. Since he began Corio though, he actually outweighed me for once.
He lowered his head to look me square in the eye, his breath hot, and whiskey'd against my cheek. He ghosted his lips over my jaw, beneath my earlobe, and I felt his fingertips flex into my cleavage, his hand on my back sliding down to squeeze my ample ass.
"Very necessary, my girl, as our discussion will be stepping up a notch. I don't think you quite understand-"
His soliloquy was cut short as I abruptly and (surprisingly) gracefully spun out of his grasp. As I said before- I wasn't about to give any ground to this infuriating, high handed, arrogant sonofa- I cut my internal monologue short as I heard him actually growl as he turned to face me.
"Did you just- growl at me?"
His nostrils flared. My eyes travelled up and down his body, assessing the situation. One corner of my mouth quirked up, and then, his cultured voice melted out of his mouth, wrapping around me like warm honey.
"Something you find amusing in this situation, Darling?"
I took a step back, without realizing my error. Never show a predator you are prey- stupid stupid. Our eyes locked, and we realized what just happened almost simultaneously. My breathing sped up, and then, without even trying, I let him have it...everything I had ever held back, my anger over so many nights alone, my quiet hurt about dates missed, phone calls forgotten, my resentment of being his "good girl" who never complained. All those moments when I tried to flirt, to tease, to play, and he was distracted by work, by friends, by fans.
His jaw tensed, his hands fisted as he heard me vent, his eyes filled with tears- here I was, with one of the sexiest men alive, envied by women and some men even, and now he gets possessive?
"What the actual fuck, Thomas? Now your green eyed monster is going to show up?"
Momentum gained, I took a step toward him, his face a study of conflicting emotions.
"Are you jealous, Tom? You should be. You just think about this situation, you self-professed control freak... and you know what else? Jon-"
At the mention of that name, I watched him snap back to himself. I watched as his irrational fear and jealousy invaded him, and I savored it. This had been a long time coming, and I was ready for it. I braced myself as he flung his considerable strength at me.
It's funny, looking back on that night now- an outsider might just be horrified at the damage we had done to each other, but sometimes, when a foundation is flawed, the only way to fix it, is to break it.
His hand on my throat, his rush of speed propelled us into the guest room. He fairly picked me up and threw me on the bed. But for all that pent up violence I intentionally incited, I never feared him. He would never harm me, not intentionally, I knew this- he knew this. He had always been so careful with me. Too careful- teaching me to respond passively. Something clicked inside me, and I could almost hear the light bulb pop in my brain. The relief was so great, I almost sobbed with it. He was *afraid*.
I looked up at him as he paced around the small bedroom, understanding dawning on me. Why we do the small things we do, unknowing. This room, the spare room, no familiarity in it, no memories of lazy Sunday mornings with coffee and fruit in bed, no scent of each other embedded in the sheets. No expectations of tender loving embraces. Neutral territory.
I relaxed. I got it. Now to get him to "get it". Calmed inside now, I kicked off my heels. His pacing continued as I fairly ignored him, and his angry mutterings. I pulled my jewelry off, let my hair out of it's updo. I made a long arm, and reached for a tissue, wiping off the bulk of my makeup. It wouldn't do to look like a raccoon, I had a feeling I would be shedding some very real tears tonight. Minor basics dealt with, time to turn my attention to my lover. He was stilled, finally, standing at the foot of the bed watching me. Still angry. Still afraid.
I knelt on the bed, facing him. His pupils dilated. Slowly, I lifted my dress, revealing the lacy panties barely covering me, up, up, revealing the sheer bra, that hid nothing. His eyes were hot, raking over my skin. The possessiveness that he fought so hard to contain, his passion that he channelled so carefully into his art, it all simmered there, barely contained. The puzzle pieces fell into place- his characters that he played so artfully, so completely, were a part of him. A part he had reserved only for film and stage. A part he was afraid of unleashing on his "Darling Girl". I knew him better than he knew himself right now. His attempt at forbidding, his hot and cold of passionate and distracted. He was trying to protect me, from himself. From his own primal desires.
All of it, finally roiling beneath his skin, raked up by his stage-fueled rage, waiting for the catalyst, waiting...for me.
So I pushed the button.
I wanted him. All of him. Even, especially, his dark parts.
I swept my hair over one shoulder, baring my throat. I sat back on my heels, and looked up at him. I kept my eyes open and fixed on his, and in the silence, I waited. Without words, I dared him. I conveyed my challenge to him, waited for it to dawn on him. He is a smart man, it didn't take long.
His voice was gravelly and strained when he finally spoke. "I want..." his throat worked as he came to terms with his desire. "I want to Take you. To make you mine. To make you forget anyone who has ever captured your interest."
I lifted my chin, willing myself to not flinch, no matter what he said, or how he said it.
His voice came out stronger now, harsher. "I want to make you scream until your voice is raw, beg until you are nothing but desire," his voice began to get louder, "I want to bruise your thighs, and paddle your arse, and make you come so hard IT FUCKING HURTS." the last of the statement coming out in pure Coriolanus growling. "I want to FUCKING LOSE CONTROL..." His upper lip curled up in a sneer, his body shaking from pent up energy as he waited for me to respond.
"Yes."
I could have laughed at the look on his face, if it wasn't so sad. He expected me to say no. I saw it. So I said it again.
"Yes, Thomas."
It sunk in. His eyes narrowed. The sneer became a grimace, as he showed his teeth, snapping them at me.
"I'm no trembling, fragile flower, Thomas, if you want to dominate me, you'd better fucking mean it. I'm not easy- not even for y-"
In a heartbeat I was pinned to the bed. One hand of his wrapped around my throat, the other- what the fuck? The other, in possession of a beautiful knife, with an emerald green hilt. My panties were toast before I could register the cold press of steel, my bra didn't last much longer. Adroitly, he flicked the knife, and it flew, embedding itself in the wall, vibrating with the force of the throw.
My indrawn breath was noisy, as his hand was still pressed to my throat. I swallowed, and maintained eye contact with him. This could do one of two things- inflame his passion, or anger his inner predator. I was okay with either option, so I didn't look away. I honestly think it did both.
He pressed his full body weight onto me, and used his other hand to unzip, and free his cock from the confines of his trousers. While down there, he slid one finger inside me, as if testing the water. My moan was loud in the quiet, and his hand twitched around my pulse.
Two fingers, three fingers, and his thumb on my clit made me jump and jerk beneath him. I reached for his shoulders with my unfettered hands and his low voice uttered minimal commands. I was to slide my hands beneath my lower back. I didn't argue.
Leaning to one side, he slid his hand round my throat, pressing the pulse to his palm. His thumb pressed up on the underside of my chin, tilting my head up, effectively immobilizing me.
He pumped inside me then, once, twice, drawing the wet out with obscene noises. He pulled his fingers out, sliding his hand down my inner thigh, he pulled my leg up, opening my very core to him. Without warning, he slid smoothly inside me.
His length and girth usually necessitated a slow penetration, but this time, not only was I more than ready for him, he was not willing to be gentle.
One hand still at my throat, the other pressed to the bed with my knee hooked over it, he lowered his head to my shoulder, and set his teeth firmly into my skin. I cried out, the sensations overwhelming me. His breath matching his rhythmic thrusts as he pushed towards his orgasm, the very heedlessness of his need spurred mine on as well. Like a wave breaking on the shore, my orgasm crashed over me, arching my back, tensing my whole body. As I tightened around his cock, sobbing from my release, he roared into my throat, slamming inside me harder than he had ever dared. Over and over, he drove himself into me, not stopping, not slowing.
His rhythm faltered, as he began to come, his body bowing into mine, seeking, seating, sheathing himself in me.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
He collapsed on top of me, shaking. Releasing his hands from me, I pulled my arms free, and wrapped them around him. My sobs calmed to stuttering breaths as I realized he was actually crying in my arms. I felt his hands beneath me, sliding up my back, my shoulders, finally cradling me fully, his fingers tangled in my hair.
He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes dripping tears, as his mouth worked with his emotions.
I leaned up to kiss away the falling tears, finally kissing his lips, our first kiss of the evening. As he deepened the kiss, his hands clenched in my hair. Drawing me back from him, he pressed his lips to my ear.
"So help me, my girl, if you ever incite me again I'll -"