Exhausted, Jim wanted nothing more than a drink and sleep. He unlocked his apartment door and strode to the kitchen counter without turning on the lights.
He had just poured the brown liquid into his glass and raised it to his lips when she spoke.
"Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?"
He cursed under his breath, downed the liquor, and slammed the glass on the counter.
"What do you want Sofia?" He said, turning to look at her in the darkness.
He could just make out her silhouette in the dim light from the moon coming through the window. She sat at the small table, reclined against the spindles of the single chair.
She leaned forward, her voice low, "You know what I want, Jim."
He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another drink.
"Kidnapping kids to get Penguin to make a deal? Is that what you want?" He asked, walking toward her, glass in hand.
"I didn't hurt him!" She shouted, jumping up from the chair.
He eyed her warily, "I didn't say you did."
"Penguin, he..." her voice wavered, "I gave him back, and he blew him up."
Stepping around her, he dropped into the chair. He sighed as he looked up at her, tears glistening in her eyes. He looked back at the glass in his hand, swirling the liquid.
"The boy is fine," he said, knocking back the drink.
"What?" She asked sharply, eyes wide.
"Oswald came to see me. He told me you kidnapped Martin and used him to make a deal. He blew up the car to keep the kid safe. He sent him away after."
"He tricked me," she whispered.
"Would you rather he did blow him up? Is that what you're into now? Killing kids?"
He saw her look of shock before it darkened to rage. Her palm hit his face hard enough to turn his head, the sound reverberated through the kitchen. He worked his jaw, reveling in the sting as he turned to look at her. She gasped as she met his eyes, even in the low light she could see his gaze held more than anger. Warmth filled her, and she stepped forward, leaning down until her mouth was level with his ear.
"This is what I want," she whispered, pulling his jacket halfway down his arms, pinning them to the chair. She smiled down at him as she moved to straddle his lap, grinding against him as she settled. He turned his face away from her, clenching his jaw. The skin on his cheek was slightly discolored and she ran a fingernail across the welt. He closed his eyes, but she could see his pulse quicken. She bent to nip at his neck, feeling his soft moan vibrate through his skin.
She continued to kiss and bite his neck and jaw while her nimble fingers worked his belt. Once the buckle was open, she leaned back to pull it free of his pants. He looked up at her in mild confusion, but she just smiled down at him. She pressed against him, capturing his mouth this time, tasting the liquor as her hands wove his belt through the spindles of the chair and around his wrists. As she pulled it tight, fastening it on the last hole, he growled low in his throat, sending shivers through her.
She moved her hands to his chest, feeling his heart race as she dragged her fingernails across the fabric of his shirt. She found the buttons, slowly pushing them through the holes, her mouth never leaving his. She opened the last button and pulled his shirt free of his pants, pulling it open to reveal an undershirt.
Tracing a finger along his sternum, she whispered, "So many clothes, Jim. The way you dress says a lot about you. Covering yourself in layers, trying to hide," she looked at him, his eyes wild. "But I know how to find you," she continued, voice husky. She slipped a hand under his shirt, scrapping her nails along his abdomen.
He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. His mouth twitched into a smirk, "What does that say about you? How you dress? Like some kind of fancy whore." His eyes were open now, watching her.
Her eyes glinted with anger in the moonlight, "I am not a whore!" she screamed as she hit him again, making sure to aim for the mark already on his cheek.
He tasted blood as his teeth sliced into his cheek, the pain fueling his need. He roared, pulling at the spindles on the chair; they snapped and he shook his hands free of the belt. Tossing his jacket aside, he crushed her to him, devouring her mouth. She mewled, digging her nails into his shoulders. Holding her firmly against him, he stood and carried her to the bedroom. He hated her because of what she was, but he hated himself more; she was right, she knew how to find him. She knew how to punish him.