Arthur had satisfied his primal needs by fucking her two times, gently by all means, but a good fuck remained a good fuck, and he felt much better now. He could see clear again, he felt calm and calculating, focused on learning the names of the bastards calling Constance a whore. She was sleepy, dozing off, snuggled against his chest. Arthur cupped her sex, sliding with one finger gently through her folds. She sighed and a smile graced her lips.
"Third time is a charm, darling," he whispered and slipped with two fingers into her pussy.
"I'm still exhausted by the second time," Constance answered and placed a sloppy kiss on his collarbone.
"You have no idea of how exhausted you will be by the time you're allowed to sleep." Arthur grinned and added a third finger, easily.
She was still wet with her own arousal and two loads of finest Shelby semen. His thumb circled her nub and she reacted immediately, instinctively, primal. Her legs fell apart, she turned on her back, tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him.
Fuck, he wanted to take her so badly, but his cock wasn't hard yet – 15 minutes may be nothing for a twenty year old stud, but for him, a man in his mid thirties, with too much whiskey pulsing through his veins, 15 minutes weren't long enough to recover. But, and that was the plan, he could edge her for half an hour, giving him more than enough time to be ready again. He started slowly, having all the time in the world. He wanted her to be fully relaxed, to feel good. She wasn't an enemy, nonetheless he needed to get the information.
"Tell me, sweetheart," he whispered, "who said you were Arthur Shelby's whore? And don't you dare lying, Constance."
He circled her nub with his thumb while speaking, fingers fucking her slowly.
"I ... I ... oh ...," she panted lowly, adding an indignant "OH!" because he stopped as her body started to tense.
He kissed her deeply, drank her breath, before whispering: "You say a name, you get to come. That easy. Be a good girl, Constance, and you get what you need. I'm gonna make you scream in pleasure, I'm gonna fuck you senseless, but first, I need a name."
"That's not ..." Constance whispered and he chuckled, starting all over to edge her a second time: "Fair? Modest? No, it isn't. There are two ways to make a woman compliant, sweetheart. You can beat her up until she does what she's told, or you can take this way, denying her the pleasure she craves so much. Play along, fight me, show me how good you can keep a secret. In the end, I'm gonna win."
"Men always win, right?" She whispered and closed her eyes, committing herself trustfully to him.
"If they're a Shelby ...," he answered and kissed her forehead. "Don't forget to tell me the names ..."
Arthur enjoyed the sight of her losing control and reminded her from time to time that he needed to hear something particular.
"Arthur, please...," she moaned and he chuckled: "Don't know any guy with this name. Arthur Please? Never heard of him."
"You're nasty ... oh, god, please, please!" She panted, her body writhing.
"Uh, I am. But you know what to do to get what you want," he teased, enjoying this way too much.
He wanted to be more severe, more pressing, but he knew he had to save this for another time, when her trust in him was steady, tightened and unbreakable.
"The names, honey," he reminded, "tell me and I'm gonna give you pleasure."
"Please ..., please ...," she mumbled breathlessly, lost in the bubble of lust he'd sent her in.
He took his hand away and tsked at her: "That's not a name."
Two tears ran over her cheeks, tears of struggle and frustration, and she didn't want him to see them, so she hid her face at his chest.
"You're beautiful like this, little one," he whispered, caressing her back, waiting for her to come down.
Suddenly he remembered a conservation he'd heard in a trench in Turkey, when seven soldiers, tired, worn out, dirty, niffy and underfucked, talked about women.
"One day in the future," he heard Quentin Fisher say, "I'm gonna lay in a bed with a beautiful woman, and the only thing that'll matter will be us. On this day, when I'm able to be fully concentrated on giving her pleasure, this will be the day I've found peace."
Arthur smiled, as his peace finding day seemed to be here. And he waited long enough for it to come.
"You are a cruel and evil man, Arthur Shelby," Constance whispered, still breathlessly.
"And yet I give you so much pleasure, right?"
"No, you don't, and that's why you're so cruel." She sighed, turned over and pressed her whole body on his.
Her hips searched for friction and she started rubbing her pussy against his thigh.
"No," he smiled, shifting his leg out of reach. "Nice try. Better luck next time, Madam."
"Oh, god ...," the noise coming out of her throat, half sob, half moan, made his spine prickle, made his cock twitch. "I really shouldn't tell you, it's a very bad idea and you're gonna be so upset ... but ... I need you, need this ... so, alright, you win, Mr. Shelby."
"I always win, honey."
"His name is ...," she took a deep, shaky breath, "Matthew. He is Carl's brother."
"Never heard of him," Arthur frowned and tried to remember whether he had met this man or not.
"He visited me for the first time two weeks ago. He lives in Wolverhampton, and owns a hardware store."
"And he came to Birmingham to ... affront his former sister-in-law, or what?" Arthur asked and drew circles with his fingers on her back.
"Not to affront. To marry."
"He ... what?" Arthur jumped up, staring at her in disbelief.
"He's a widower for six years now and in his family an unwed man marries his sister-in-law when she's widowed. To keep her in the family. It's very traditional."
"It's something right out of the dark ages, Constance." The beast in him awoke with a growl, demanding to kill this man before the sun sets, to reunite the goddamn Erbe brothers in every single of the seven hells.
"Exactly. The Erbe's are very old-fashioned in these things. Matthew was upset as he heard the rumors about us. He did a little research and was furious as he got to know who you are. He called me a dirty whore, satisfying the sinful needs of a godless, notorious gangster, murderer and fancy man. He told me I'm a miserable person and a stupid, spoiled brat to warm a bed for a man like Arthur Shelby."
"He doesn't know what his brother did for a living, right?"
Constance shook her head: "Obviously not. Not even I knew about his ... business."
"Go on. What else?" He hissed, fighting for control, fighting against the streams of blood that narrowed his sight.
"First, he didn't want to marry me anymore, but after talking to a priest he decided that it is his Christian duty to save me, to reconvert me into the good wife I used to be when I was married to Carl."
"You're not marrying him. You're mine," Arthur growled and kissed her deep and hard. "And you are a good wife already. For me." He continued after finishing the kiss.
"He ... he said he'd gave me three weeks and a few encounters between my backside and his cane and I would be renouncing the sin and ruing that Arthur Shelby ever laid a finger on me. Matthew said that you're gonna kill me and dump my body in a roadside ditch once you're fed up with me."
Constance spoke under her breath, searched shelter in his arms.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you will be angry and ... and harm him."
"Oh, that I will. I promise," Arthur growled, baring his teeth. "But first ... I'm gonna fuck you. I owe you some pleasure, right? My good girl ..."
"Arthur, please, do not hurt him. He ... just wanted to be ... helpful, he wanted to make sure that I'm ... aided."
"No one is aided with a cane and stupid blaming. I'm gonna kick his holier-than-thou-ass out of town and tell him to never come back, if he wants to stay alive."
"Arthur?" She asked in the moment he settled himself between her legs.
"Hm?" His eyes were focused on the tip of his cock sliding through her folds to her entrance.
"Is he right?"
"Right with what?" He asked, thrusting balls deep into her in one swift movement, eliciting a moan from her. "The assaults on you? On me? The presumption that beating a woman into a state of forced submission is something that his god approves? The plans of making an unwilling woman his own, of stealing another man the woman he loves? That I'm going to kill you? Right with what, Constance?" Arthur held her gaze and couldn't suppress the aggression in his voice, the anger, the fervour and the madness.
"Are you a fancy man?" She whispered, her voice gave her fear away, and he nearly pulled out, driving back into her with more force than ever, making her gasp.
"I'm no fancy man, Constance. I'm a notorious gangster and I love you. If you die it won't be through my hands. I would mourn you, bury you on a damn cemetery and buy a fucking headstone." He answered and added, even more firmly: "And for the rest: think of the questions you should never ask, aye?"
Later, while she slept, he thought about how to handle the newest Erbe problem. Killing could be difficult, two accidents in a row could raise suspicion, in Erbe's family or at a police station. He needed a plan, a clever one. He watched the shadows wandering through the room, watched them getting darker and darker until the room was pitch black.
"Arthur?" She mumbled, interrupting some very brutal scenes in his head, full of hate and blood.
"Aye?" He looked to the window, guessing what time it was. Three? Four?
"Why don't you sleep? Do I bother you?"
"Never, love." He placed a kiss on her head and rearranged the blankets.
"Do you think about Matthew?"
He made an affirmative noise and turned on his side to pull her nearer. The silence felt comfortable and he found a little bit peace in the fact that she slept in his bed, in his arms, not in Matthew's or in Carl's.
"Would you like to marry him?" He asked after a minute.
"No."
"Will you marry him?"
"I ... maybe I considered it. For ... for a day," she whispered and he sighed deeply.
Again, they remained silent until a car held in front of the house and the laughter of men filled the air.
"Let's assume you were not mine, alright? Maybe he is as cruel as his brother. He'd rape you, beat you up – do you like it this way, Constance, or why do you think about marrying him? Do you want me to rape you, to discipline you? If this is what you want, you can have it. I'll do my best then ..." Arthur sounded as pissed as he felt, unable to understand how she dared to think about marrying another man. Erratic jealousy pulsed through his body, his mind presenting him pictures of his hand around her throat, of his mouth at her ear, her eyes filled with tears. If she needed a lesson she could have one. He'd provide it flawlessly, a spanking as well as rape. He could hear her begging, her cries, he could see her useless fighting against the grip around her throat, her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. Pointless, as she had not a fucking chance against him. Her body would go limp, she'd lose consciousness, so he could pump his semen in a defenceless, conquered woman. Once she came round she would cry for hours. She wouldn't dare to speak in his presence, wouldn't even dare to look at him. The feeling of power, of mastery and force would be overwhelming, no doubt who's calling the shots remaining.
The sound of her voice pulled him back in reality and he fought against the shocking scenes his mind presented him. His cock was rock hard, he was totally turned on by the imagination of introducing her to the monster she chose to live with. Carefully he withdrew from her body, brought some space between them and got up. He searched for his clothes and took cigarettes, matchbox and flask out of the pockets before he walked to the window and opened it. The cold air hit his naked body like a slap in the face and the disturbing pictures paled a bit. The whiskey running down his throat calmed him immediately, and he lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the window. Once he could think clear again he felt ashamed and was thankful for her continuing their conversation.
"Of course I don't want this, Arthur. Please, don't be angry with me. You told me you don't want to hear lies. But if the truth upsets you ..." She spoke carefully, very keen on not annoying him even more.
"Alright, alright." He took a few deep breaths, rubbing over his face, calming himself before asking: "So, why did you consider a marriage with him?"
He turned around to face the room, blowing the smoke over his shoulder, felt goose bumps bloom on his back. Constance sat upright in the bed, her back against the headboard.
"It's ... he's a dangerous man. You are one, too. I know you could kill me in a heartbeat, without me being aware of it. But when you die, Arthur, when someone shoots you, I'm all alone. Tommy will not marry me, John can't, and Finn's way too young. I'm gonna end in a whorehouse or on the street. My future feels safer by marrying Matthew."
"So, you ... leave me?"
"No."
"What does that mean, Constance? Want me to keep as a male concubine?"
"Of course not. We would both hate that. I'm ... I'm gonna live with you, if you still want me to. I'm leaving the rattrap. My feelings for you are stronger than the fear of an uncertain, unstable future."
Arthur lifted his head, relief made his momentarily black soul a bit brighter: "Good. One problem solved. Uh, by the way: I've found a house a few days ago. Gonna buy it next week."
"I'm sure I'll like it."
"How can you know?"
"You'll be there, that's enough. You're the first man who treated me not like an annoying, ugly blowfly. I like being with you. Officially, I'm going to be your live-in housekeeper. Thousands of unmarried couples covering their love this way, right?"
Arthur gave her a small smile and cocked his head: "But you still fear me."
"Yes. I do. But that's alright, Arthur. You need me to fear you. It helps you to ... restrain yourself."
She gave him a smile and reached out for him. He tossed the cigarette out of the window and closed it, before taking the two steps at her side. She intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of his hand.
"I fear you, I respect you and I love you, Arthur Shelby."
He didn't answer, he lay down, pulled her in his arms and slept dreamless and easy until Tommy knocked impatiently at the door.