2. GWINETH

I let him take my hand and we swim through the crowd, towards the elevator. As soon as the elevator doors close, I expect him to pin me to the wall, but he doesn't. His arm is around my waist, fingers playing with the fabric of my dress. I don't know why I'm doing this.

James Moriarty, was it? Never heard of him, and that's strange, because I have heard of every criminal in London. And yet, he's been invited and he knows everyone downstairs. James Moriarty. I'll run a background check tomorrow.

He takes my hand again and leads me to the penthouse, and I wonder why I'm doing this, though mostly I wonder how he can afford the Ritz penthouse even for just one night.

It's his eyes, I conclude, black pools of madness. And his Armani suit, and the Alexander McQueen tie. There's something extremely sinister about him, and I'll admit, I've always liked my men sinister.

Nothing has changed, since then. Maybe that's why I became a defense attorney, to increase my chances of meeting psychos.

And here he is, the man of my dreams. He loosens his tie and grins like I'm a gazelle and he's a lion. What he doesn't know, is that I'm no gazelle.

He takes my dress off and takes his suit jacket off very calmly, and his eyes never leave mine, and he never stops grinning. When he pushes me onto the bed and climbs on top of me, there's a strange light in his eyes and my god, I want him to stop being such a gentleman.

He must have read my mind because suddenly he's kissing me so violently that I almost want him to stop. Except I don't really.

He bites my neck and the first, low moan escapes my lips. I can't keep it together anymore, and I take off his shirt and he smirks and slips out of his trousers.

He grinds on top of me and nibs at my neck again, then he's kissing me and biting my bottom lip and I can taste blood. Oh, no, this is very bad, Gwineth. You won't be able to avoid wanting to marry him, now.

Somewhere between him taking my pants off with his teeth and me taking his off, I notice a couple of scars on his chest. They don't look like surgery scars, but right now that's all the reasoning I can get done because his tongue is circling my nipple and I want to die more than ever before. No, scratch that, because he's biting it now and my deathwish grows even deeper.

And when he moves south I wish I had my gun with me so I could shoot myself right now because nothing will ever be as good as this is. He keeps my legs apart with his hands while I dig my nails into the mattress, and I feel like I could stay like this forever. But I don't, because this man is a gift from god and far from me to be ungrateful, so I push him off me and crawl on top of him. He seems surprised, but in a very good way. I kiss him and then proceed to leave a trail of wet kisses from his neck down to his abs. Mr. James Moriarty seems like he's about to implode when I run my tongue from the base of his cock up to the tip, so I tease him a bit more - okay, a lot more - before taking him into my mouth. My tongue is still masterfully working his length as I suck it. He trembles under me and I kiss the tip of his cock before going back up to his neck and biting down on it as hard as I can. He growls like a wild beast, then he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back down onto the bed with such strength and violence that I'm almost frightened. Oh, you are truly the man of my dreams, Jim.

He reaches out a hand to take something from his trousers pocket, but I stop him, and I'm too breathless to tell him why we don't need a condom, but we don't, we really don't.

"Sure?" he asks, his voice deep and throaty. I nod. I'll explain later, maybe.

He takes my wrists and pins them down above of my head, his grip so tight it's gonna leave bruises. I hope he knows that if he bites my neck one more time I'm gonna scream. Oh, hell, apparently he does. The bastard grins before kissing me again, and while he's doing that he finally thrusts into me and there's actual fireworks in my brain. I wish my hands were free so I could pull him closer, but he keeps them locked above my head with one hand, while he uses the other to balance himself on top of me.

At this point, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. He's violent and he's rough and he's completely insane and I can see in his eyes that he could still be so much better. I manage to free my hands as he gives another perfect thrust, but he doesn't look displeased by that. I put my hands around his neck and he kisses me again and I dig my nails in his shoulders and he growls from the back of his throat, then grins again.

I hadn't been bottom in a very long time. I always top, mostly because men are clueless so I have to do all the work if I want to get somewhere. I could roll us over and have my way with him, but why? This is so much better, and a lot less effort too. So what I do is arch my back until it hurts and move my hips in circles around him, and the look on his face and the growling sounds that that gets me are my new favourite things in this world.

He finds a steady pace, and rocks into me with an unprecedented passion. But you can do better, Jimmy, I know you can.

"Harder," I whisper in his ear. "Harder, James..."

He smirks and suddenly he's even rougher, his hipbones smashing against mine with each painful, perfect thrust. I will have pretty bruises to look at and remember this moment. I'm scratching his back with my nails now, and he goes even deeper inside me. Oh, perfect, beautiful, insane, psychopath. Be mine, James Moriarty.

I feel myself getting close to release, and I want to hold it back but I am too far gone to manage that. I don't know if I actually screamed, I'm not a screamer, well, not usually. Okay maybe I did scream, just a little bit. James looks very proud of himself, and he gives a couple more glorious thrusts.

"Gwineth..." he breathes, and I nod again, I want him to come inside me, and the best part is that he can do it without any repercussions whatsoever. He smiles, a very bright and evil smile, before giving a few more thrusts and finally wasting himself inside me.

Holy hell, that was glorious.

He rolls off of me and chuckles to himself, and I can't move but I turn my head and look at him, and he meets my eyes and smiles again.

You perfect little bastard. Who are you?