Chapter Twenty-Five: Hard To Say 'No'
He didn't know how long he had been standing there. Standing at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets as he watched Sylvia sleep under the heavy silk comforter. Watching, contemplating—wasn't it the same thing, really?
After he had finished his drink, it might have been thirty minutes after Sylvia had gone to bed. To his satisfaction, he was pleased to see that she hadn't been sitting in the bedroom, waiting for him; the time had passed too quickly as he had ruefully scoured his brain, finding ways of confessing his newfound love for his friend, knowing that he wouldn't come up with a definitive answer tonight. Even if he did, he'd doubt its integrity, especially now.
Was he drunk?
That was still up for debate, really.
He'd ascended the stairs easily, although he would admit to no one else that his brain was a little fuzzy, and tripping over his own feet, stumbling through the hallway would not have been his proudest moment should his employees or even Sylvia had seen him.
Or even, Ed.
Luckily, the staff had retired to bed around the same time Ed had gone to his room, so the only people awake were him and his passive, however playful, spirit concocting the most voracious, lewd images in his mind.
First it had started as an idea, then, as Oswald opened the bedroom door, it became something more. Curiosity was kinder to him when he was clear-headed. Never did he feel more daring—that was until tonight.
Sylvia's predilection for teasing him earlier was still very fresh in his memory; the minx who could titillate his mind, and still leave his body yearning for days. If he was in his right mind, Oswald might have dispelled the idea almost immediately, having never acted on such a thought although it had come to him more than a few times before in the entirety of time that he had been with this woman.
How many times had he watched her sleeping beside him? And so quietly. How many times had he stayed up during those late, restless nights, wanting nothing more than to take the edge off with one of their more lecherous trysts that even while they were man and wife, seemed so Rubenesque.
Oswald quietly took off his clothes, the rustling of the material sounded louder than it really was. Moonlight blinking through the closed window blinds, shedding light over the bed, granting him enough vision to see that Sylvia was asleep; even in her slumberous form, she tempted him.
Days—no, weeks—of their going back-and-forth: subtle flirts, idle teasing. Sexual tension boiling beneath the surface; not just for her sake, but for his as well, neither of them had really acted on it.
It was a time for grieving, they'd been telling themselves. Mourning for the child they lost, the daughter they had both sought to protect and yet failed in doing so. The guilt of it weighed on their shoulders so heavily. Passes were made between them during that time, but when did he start feeling this sudden inhospitable need to feed this desire?
Oswald knew.
Sylvia had always been beautiful, a seductress, a siren wearing human's clothing but when they had been going after Reese, Sylvia had been in rare form.
His warrior. His enforcer. The one he relied on when it came to taking down his enemies, who could disarm and disable ten armed bodyguards…She moved faster than any of them combined. Sylvia wasn't just good at what she did, she was effective.
His weapon. His to command (given the right circumstances), and his to control.
You can do whatever you want to her…And she would let you.
That thought, Oswald recognized, was one of his own, and it was the one that made him feel most primal. Primitive.
As though he'd made up his mind, Oswald shed what was left of his clothes, pulling them down to the floor. He stepped out of them, and crawled onto the bed. His presence shifted the weight on the bed, but Sylvia had no reaction to the abrupt displacement; in fact, she hardly seemed aware of anything at the moment.
If she was really sleeping, that is.
The moonlight shining through the blinds, peeking through, gave the room and his ambition an illicit air.
Oswald tugged at the comforter; once the foot corners had been pulled from underneath the mattress, he then burrowed under them, smiling and quietly chuckling to himself, a mischievous shiver running down his spine, tingling it pleasurably.
First, he touched her bare legs. They were smooth, soft. Then to her thighs with feather-light strokes, and he stifled a groan when he felt the texture of her panties: silk, and lace.
Clever, he thought.
He carefully steadied himself on his knees, the blanket following suit, and then falling behind him. Oswald inhaled sharply, thanking the gods—deep, royal purple panties.
Sylvia always did look good in that color. Maybe that was why it was her favorite.
"So beautiful," he whispered, gliding his hands up and over the silk. He hooked his thumbs underneath the band of her panties, sliding them slowly down her legs, then her ankles, and watching them fall to the floor with an almost reminiscent appeal.
Then he turned to look at her.
Still asleep.
Gently, he massaged her inner thighs, working his way up. Fingertips ghosting over pink flesh, her soft petals.
She stirred. And he ceased his movements, watching her carefully.
Sylvia moved a little, and a small moan escaped her mouth. Whether that was meant for him or it was the resolving power of her brain trying to work his movements into an ongoing dream, Oswald didn't really mind it.
He bowed his head to her sex, taking her clit into his mouth, licking and gingerly sucking. Watching her the entire time, waiting for another reaction. And he was rewarded for his patience; Sylvia moved, her legs attempting to close but Oswald separated them again, smirking when she let out another moan, although this one came out in the form of a pout.
He could feel her heartbeat against his lips, the bundle of nerves swelling under his manipulation. Oswald slid two fingers between the slit of her sex, and his cock grew harder when he felt wet silk.
He licked his lips, relishing the taste of her. Fuck, so sweet.
Her thighs were edgily quivering; Oswald glanced up to see her breasts, enclosed in the deep royal purple bra; they heaved up and down—evidence.
Yet, another reaction he was delighted to see.
He lowered his head to have another taste, dipping his tongue inside her slit, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Tongue-fucking her.
Then, quite suddenly, he felt a hand grab his hair by the roots, and he could feel some tearing.
That might have been his deepest concern if he hadn't heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back, and his eyes looking up to meet the end of a .40 Smith and Wesson.
Instinct picked up the pieces: He held up his hands cautiously, and his gaze flickered to Sylvia, who looked at him with the same dangerous glare he had seen her give Dolores Reese just seconds before shooting her down with a shotgun.
"Oh, fuck, thank god, it's you." Sylvia managed breathlessly; immediately, she let him go, and the gun was thrown none too gently on the end table.
Oswald rubbed the back of his head from where she'd grabbed him and said indignantly, "Who else would it have been?"
"I didn't know, that's why I was going to kill whoever the fuck it was!"
He prepared to retort, but she sat up, and kissed him. Taken in by her demand, the argument of how she just finished holding him at gunpoint was lost as Oswald returned it wholeheartedly, his tongue trespassing through her slightly parted lips to find her own.
Argument forgotten, he moved on top of her, smirking when her legs lifted; he felt the inside of her ankles digging gently under his thighs, coaxing him closer to her; his body weighted her down, pinning hers between his and the mattress.
"I could have really killed you, you know," Sylvia murmured against his lips.
"You wouldn't have pulled the trigger." Oswald told her knowingly; he kissed her neck, up to her ear.
His breath hitched when he felt the barrel of the aforementioned gun against his back, the cold metal like ice against his flushed skin.
"Would I have not?" She whispered dangerously.
"I stand corrected." He breathed into her ear. "You would have. If it hadn't been me."
He heard the gun drop to the floor; on the carpet, it made a small thud. Oswald grabbed her hands and forced them above her head, meeting her eyes.
"Don't ever pull a gun on me again, Sylvia."
She lifted her lips to his, pulling another kiss from him.
"What if it's just something that gets me off?" She asked innocently.
"Are you saying that because it might?"
"Well, you've used a knife on me in bed before, and we both know that certainly did the trick."
With his free hand, Oswald wrapped his fingers around her throat. He kissed her again, and moaned when he felt her hips grinding against his; her wet pussy humping against his hard cock.
The very feel of her could flip a switch in him…
"I can taste myself on your tongue." Sylvia murmured in between kisses.
His cockhead nudged up and down the slit of her sex; he smirked when he pulled a whimper from her.
"Please…"
"Tell me what you want." Oswald told her calmly. "What do you want me to do to you?"
"Fuck me."
"Easy enough."
She tried to get free from her restraint; her wrists moved, but Oswald tightened his grip on her. He licked her upper lip, nipping her there.
He drawled into her ear, "I know how you like it…" She whimpered when his hand on her throat tightened.
"Baby…"
"You want to be controlled, dominated."
"—Yeah—"
"So, we will do it my way."
She started to protest; his hand moved from her throat to her mouth, muffling. His cockhead which had been teasing her now nudged through her entrance, and was slowly engulfed by her wet, silky warm walls. Her avid protests became amplified moans.
Such a strong warrior, with the skill of a hitman and the strength of a weight trainer and for all her passions and resilience, she had one weakness.
Him.
He spared her no leniency, granting her little reprieve. Once he felt her climax, her sex becoming an earthquake of orgasmic tremors and heat, he pounded through them. Sweat glistened over her forehead and between her breasts, the look of sheen under the moonlight.
He let her hands go—but only for a second—as she tried to push him off. He restrained her, one hand anchoring each of hers down onto the mattress.
"I can't take anymore!" Sylvia squeaked.
"You could fight me off if you really wanted to," Oswald panted.
She was so sensitive, not yet numbed, and feeling every tingle, every small electric shock. Sylvia let out a desperate cry when he penetrated deep enough, hitting her g-spot and forcing her into another orgasm; her back arched, and her hips lifted to meet his every thrust.
"Oh my god…." Sylvia grunted through gritted teeth. "Fuck! Oh, fuck!"
'Fuck' was right! Oswald was getting close; climbing the mountain to get to the peak, he could see it, he could feel it. He was close to coming.
He shoved his mouth on hers, kissing her. She let out another helpless whine.
"Do you want me to stop?" He questioned, although he kept the same unforgiving pace.
"No…"
He couldn't help the snicker that came out next: "You can't ever say 'no' to me, can you, Pet."
Oswald nipped her ear, relishing in the eager gasp that he pulled from her.
"How can I," She said breathlessly in between passionate kisses. She tilted her head to the side, responding smartly, "I just like your dick too much…"
Vulgar.
"Is that all you want?" He challenged.
"Perhaps I just need a stern talking to—"
"Or maybe," Oswald said huskily, "you just need a good fucking."
He reached down between them, and began vigorously rubbing her clit, and she was propelled into another excruciating climax. Sylvia nearly screamed; he muffled her cries with his palm. Whether he could admit it or not, hearing her need him (and his dick) to satisfy her sent an unprecedented tingling jolt down his spine and was just what he needed to push him over the edge.
Sylvia smirked when he pulled out of her, watching him stroke his cock. With shaky legs, Sylvia sat up quickly and enclosed him inside her mouth, sucking. He groaned, his body shaking when he felt her hand slap his away so she could drive.
She looked up at him; he met her gaze, and her soft and desperate moans that vibrated around his cock did the trick; he came inside her mouth, and she swallowed.
Spent, Oswald lied on his back, panting, eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. Sylvia glanced at him, smiling, breathless.
For a moment they were quiet.
"Just so you're aware," Sylvia said quietly, "I wasn't being completely honest."
"About?" Oswald asked, glancing at her.
"I can't say 'no' because of that dick of yours, but it's more than just that."
"I know."
"You know me in a way no one else does."
"True."
"In a way no one else could ever understand."
Oswald took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers and said assuredly, "Inside and out."
Sylvia murmured, smiling at him, "That's why it's hard for me to say 'no'."
"Or maybe, it is because you have never wanted to?"
"Or I just choose not to."
"Yes," He said sheepishly. "That does sound more like you."
Sylvia kissed him gently on the lips, steadily getting closer to him. He returned it. Passionately. Tenderly.
"Love you, Daddy Penguin." She cooed, licking his cheek.
"As I love you."