Blood Roses
Chapter 8: Possession
"Alma?"
Her eyes flutter open at his voice, at his touch. The last thing she remembers is sitting down on the couch in the train's main compartment, leaning her head on the arm of the chair…
"Hmm … you're back."
"I didn't mean to take so long." He's stroking her hair, and she feels her pulse quicken. "Maybe you should go to bed …"
"No," she says quickly, moving into a sitting position. "I'm awake now." Very awake. "I'm not tired."
"Then what would like to do?" Hi voice is like silk. She doesn't know how he does it, but it just makes her…
She bites her lip.
"Well apparently, you'd like to blush for me." He chuckles. With his hand, he tilts her chin up so he can see her face, so that her eyes meet his. She masters herself with effort and arches a brow, doing her best to look cool and sophisticated instead of besotted with him.
"Would you like to play a game of chess?"
His smile turns predatory. "An excellent idea. I have a set in my quarters. Come."
She takes his hand, and they walk together to his room. Her fingers intertwine with his automatically.
As the door closes, she feels like she's entering a sanctuary. The room reflects him; rich, but understated … her eyes are drawn immediately to the chess set. It's a beautiful one, classic, all gleaming ivory and rich ebony, and she takes a moment to appreciate the workmanship. She picks up a piece, the black queen, feeling the smoothness of it in her hand.
"Lovely."
"Thank you. I was going to ask you to pick your side, but it seems you already have." She smiles and puts the queen back in her place. At his gesture, she sits, and so does he.
"So who moves first?"
"I'll allow you that courtesy, my dear."
It's been a long time since she played – in fact, the last time was when he watched her play with Gauis – but as she always does, Alma loses herself in the beauty of the game. Even the nearness of him can't stop her from becoming completely absorbed in what she is doing…
Though it's not as if she forgets who she's playing with …
"Tell me something, Alma," he says, contemplating his next move, "When did you first start to play?"
"I was very young." She keeps her eyes on the board. "Sometimes I feel like I could play before I could walk. My father taught me."
"Hmm. Well, I think he did a good job."
"Maybe not good enough, if I can't beat you."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think you're holding your own. And remember Alma, I've had more years of practice… why won't you look at me?"
She's tempted, but still does not take her eyes from the board as his hand hovers near one piece, then the other.
"Because my father always taught me that in chess, concentration is key. He taught me to never let myself be distracted …"
"Good advice. It can be easy to let attention wander, given the right circumstances…"
"Do you speak from experience?"
"Oh no. I can't be distracted." She hears the challenge in his voice and feels a little thrill.
"Can't you?"
Their eyes meet briefly, and he looks amused that she should even think such a thing is possible.
Alma moves from her seat to stand behind him. Leaning down, she lays a hand on his shoulder. His eyes remain on the board.
She moves her hand to the back of his neck, where it makes little circles.
"What is that you're doing to my neck?"
Her hand slows. "Was I doing something to your neck?"
"You know you were."
She leans down then, put her lips to his ear. "Was it bothering you?"
"Oh no, it was quiet pleasant…" Does she imagine it, or does he tense slightly? Can she affect him with her nearness, her touch, as much as he affects her?
She puts her face close to his cheek and blinks, letting her eyelashes brush his skin.
"Alma," he says softly, softly.
He will turn and kiss her now. He will.
"Check."
She opens her eyes, looks at the board, and scowls. She slinks back to her seat, makes a valiant attempt, but in the end, checkmate is inevitable.
"Well," she says, "apparently you can't be distracted, after all. Or else I'm just not a very good distraction." Trying not to appear a sore loser, she begins setting the pieces back in place.
"Oh, you're much more than a distraction, my dear. I think you know that by now. And the game was well-played. I don't think I've had anyone present me with such a challenge in quite a long time. And trying to distract your opponent through seduction is a … potentially effective, if unorthodox, strategy. But the danger of it is, if you get too caught up in what you are doing, you may find you're no longer the one doing the seducing."
Alma looks up at him. "Oh? And how would that work, exactly?"
He smiles. "I think you can imagine."
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me."
He moves towards her, and she tries to remember to breathe. He slides an arm around her, places his hand flat against the small of her back, as though they are preparing to dance again. With his other hand, he strokes her hair, her shoulder, her neck.
"You're a very beautiful woman, Alma," he says softly, so softly, and she bites her lip to keep from making a sound. "I imagine you know that. But then … beautiful is not quite the right word, is it? Too common. No, I think a better description would be … exquisite. Yes, I think that would be apt. Do you like that?"
"Yes."
He keeps touching her, and every time his fingers brush her skin she can't keep from shivering with pleasure and drawing closer to him.
"Do you know," he says, "It has occurred to me to wonder … in what ways you might most … enjoy being touched." She draws in a sharp breath. "What might most please you … even … excite you …" She can't help it, she actually whimpers. "But just for now … I think I would like it very much if you would just … say my name."
"Coriolanus."
"Oh thank you my dear, thank you." He presses a kiss to her cheek, and she leans into him, practically swaying on her feet. When he pulls back…
When he pulls back, he looks at her, amused.
"And now my dear, I think it is time for you to retire for the evening."
"W-what?"
"You asked for a demonstration. I have provided you with one. I know you're tired. Goodnight, Alma. I'll see you tomorrow."
He was toying with her. Of course. He's always, always toying with her! She was a fool to let him have such power over her…
She is full of anger, full of thwarted desire. But she makes herself cold, makes herself dignified, makes herself stone.
Keeping her face and her tone expressionless, she steps away from him.
"Goodnight, sir."
Then she turns on her heel and stalks out of the room.
She manages to stay on her feet until the doors of her own quarters closes behind her. She gives herself a moment to indulge in her feelings of frustration and anger, and then she sits, catching her breath. She needs to think.
Yes, he likes to toy with her, but she knows their attraction is mutual. So this time, there has to be more to it than that. What was he trying to prove tonight, sending her away?
She hardly has to ask herself before she knows. He was trying to prove that he was the one in control. That he is always the one in control.
And if he had to do that, it must mean he felt his control was threatened. That he had made himself vulnerable to her, even if it was only in the slightest and most subtle of ways. She can still remember his reaction when she tried to tease him on dance the floor. She is … she is actually capable of hurting him, and that gives her power, power that he doesn't want her to have.
Power. Well, that's what she came here for, isn't it? She'd always intended to get power from him … but not like this, not on a personal level. She never intended to get anything from him on a personal level…
And if she has some small power over him, it's nothing compared to the power he has over her. She has never felt this way about anyone.
Could she stop all this? Could she will herself to be like she just was with him, always: cold, stone? Could she walk away from the personal and go back to the professional, retract the intimacy that has formed between them? Could she stick to her original plan, and be his successor instead of his lover?
And then it occurs to her: Does she have to choose? Why should she have to choose? Why can't she be both? Why can't she have it all, everything she wants, a private life and a public one? Does she somehow become something less if she is in his bed? Because if all he wanted was a bed warmer, he would have taken her by now, taken her and maybe even already discarded her. But she knows there is much more to them than that.
She wants him. All of him.
She will have what she wants.
The next evening finds her curled up on the couch again in the main compartment, this time with a book. She's trying to concentrate, but she keeps reading the same paragraph over and over, and her focus isn't helped when he enters the room.
"Good evening, sir." She quite pointedly does not look up at him.
"Good evening, Alma." She waits for him to say something further. She won't look at him. She won't. She's going to continue to pretend to read. Let him be the uncomfortable one for once!
"Do you feel like another game of chess?"
She smiles. She closes the book and looks up, finally meeting his gaze.
"Yes, I do."
She follows him to his room, where the chess board is waiting for them.
"You move first this time. It's only fair."
As before, she becomes lost in the game, but things feel different. This time, there are no distractions, no seductions…
And this time, she's knows she is going to win.
"Checkmate."
She looks up and meets his eyes again. It took a long time, but she actually managed to win this game. He does not look upset at being beaten. Quite the contrary, actually.
He looks … proud of her.
"Congratulations, Alma. It's been a long time since someone's defeated me, but I do believe you earned it."
"You didn't let me win, did you?"
His blue eyes pierce her. "Do you think I would do something like that?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "No."
He leans back. "Well, it appears that once again, our evening is at end. Unless you would care for another game…"
"No, but … I want to stay."
"What?"
"I … I want to stay. I want to be with you."
There it is, her desire, laid bare and exposed before him. He couldn't have been unaware of it, but still, it is daunting, declaring herself like this, and facing the possibility, however slight, that he will reject her.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Good." He takes her hand and pulls her up from her chair. Her hair is coiled at the nape of her neck, and he undoes it in one smooth motion, giving a small sigh of satisfaction and it cascades down. Again, his hand is on the small of her back, and again, his lips are at her ear:
"Don't imagine now, Alma, that you are in control of the situation."
"But I am."
"Oh, I think not."
"You think not, hmm? You don't think I'm in control of anything?" She winds her arms around him. "Well, I'm in control of myself, at least."
"We'll see."
He pulls at the top of her dress, almost roughly, so that her bare shoulder is exposed. She shivers when he kisses her there. His lips trail across her collarbone, her neck, her chin, her cheek, and she lets out a little gasp when he just brushes past her lips, kissing his way down the other side, ending at her other shoulder, and then …
And then, he steps back, letting go of her. He looks at her, waiting to see what she will do.
She could walk out right now. Show him how much control, how much power she has.
But she's long past the point of wanting to be the one in control.
So she closes the distance between them, and finally, finally, their lips meet, and then …
And then, she is gone.
What little control she had quickly evaporates. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly takes control of it, insistent, demanding, and she yields to him instantly. He reaches for the zipper of her dress…
She never imagined it could be like this. She never imagined that she could so willingly give up control to someone else, or how good it would feel. His touch makes her crazy, makes her reckless, make her cry out helplessly for more. He sets their erratic pace, first moving with aching slowness, then going so fast she can't breathe, can't even get his full name out: "Cori, Cori, oh…"
He brings her to the edge once, twice, and finally, the third time, when she's writhing beneath him, practically sobbing in his arms, "Yes – Please – Now –" he brings her to release, and the world explodes with a pleasure so intense it's almost pain.
It seems a long moment before she comes back to herself. She is aware of the pounding of her heart as she tries to catch her breath. Part of her can't believe they just did that.
And another part of her wonders why they waited so long.
"Alma … you're trembling."
"I … I'm alright," she whispers, and leans over to kiss him. "I'm alright, Cori."
"Oh, that's what you're calling me now?"
"Yes, that's what I'm calling you now." She kisses him again. "Get used to it. Oh, I didn't know anything could feel that good." She sighs. Later, she will think of all the complications this could bring. Right now, she can't feel anything but contentment.
"Alma?"
"Hmm?"
"Were you a virgin?"
Was it obvious? "Is that relevant?"
"Not really." He strokes her face. "I may be older than you, my dear, but I don't hold to some antiquated notions of female purity. You just seem…"
"What? Inexperienced?"
"I was going to say magnificent."
"Sure you were."
"Alma, I'm not so foolish as to think I'm the first man to want you."
"Well, you're the first man I've wanted back enough to do … this," she admits. She doesn't know how it is in the Districts, but the Capitol has some confusing and contradictory attitudes towards sex. On the surface at least, many people purport to subscribe to the ideal of confining sex to the marriage bed, but then, half the gossip in the Capitol is about who is having an affair with whom. And while no one exactly talks about sex openly, is widely whispered about in corners and contemplated covertly.
Alma has had a few flirtations over the years, some of them ill-advised – a particularly embarrassing crush on one of her father's co-workers when she was a teenager springs to mind – but she has always been too focused on her goals to get involved with someone, and the idea of a one-night stand or a mindless fling just didn't appeal to her.
"Would it matter?" She asks him now. "Would it matter if there had been someone before?"
"Not really. Because whatever happened in the past … you're mine now."
The way he says it makes her shiver with pleasure. It will be long time, years from now, when those words make her shiver with fear. Then, she will find it disturbing.
Right now, she's just finds it romantic.
"I am?"
"Oh yes." He wraps his arms around her, and she curls to his side. They kiss again, and she lays her head on his chest, closing her eyes, feeling sated, feeling safe, feeling his.
The last thing she hears, before she drips off to sleep, is his voice.
"You are mine, Alma. Now, and always."
