Eleanor was hot and tired. She'd sweated right through the airy little blue summer dress she'd worn, not to mention stained it beyond all repair and ripped it in a few places. She'd agreed to take the twins blueberry picking without really remember what that entailed and had paid the price for it. She felt cranky and put upon as she trailed the two of them up to the manor again. But when she saw the car in the driveway, all her poisonous bad mood melted away as she broke into a run.
She took the steps two at a time and came running into the grand entrance room. She almost went to her knees when she saw him, coat off and standing with her mother on the back porch. He was smoking a cigarette as her mother poured them both tea. If she'd been coherent she might have thought better of greeting him as she was dressed, a thin country frock, torn on a bramble and stained with blueberry juice and moccasins, but, as it was, she couldn't help careening out onto the porch. "Tommy!"
She folded herself up into his arms, pressing her thin, lithe body against his hard lean one. His hand went around, and pulling her flush against him. She pressed onto her toes, reaching for a kiss but he held her back.
"Eh, I'm alright Eleanor. I'm alright." He told her as her hands slid down his chest, as if looking for damage. She could feel his heart beating beneath the fashionable suit. The familiar strong arms went about her waist pulling her into a tight embrace. He let the improper contact linger only for a moment and then broke it. She tried to regain his hold but he simply shifted her to his side, one hand still possessively clutched at her hip but at least some fig leave of decency preserved.
"Eleanor you look a fright! I'm sure you'll want to change to greet your guest properly for tea." Lady Arden said firmly, still pointedly not looking at the two of them. "I'll set out the tea in the garden and you can join us when you've bathed and changed into something decent."
"Mama I don't want..." she began but trailed off at the firm sudden pressure at her hip. "Alright." She relented.
They took tea and played a few games of pétanque in the garden. When dusk fell they retired to the main house for a rather elaborate dinner of three courses of a rather decadent meal taken at the large dinning table. Lord Arden joined them, back from his usual exploits, and then, at the rather pointed insistence of Lady Arden, the two men retired to the main parlor to take a sip of brandy together while Eleanor and her mother went to the drawing room.
Lord Arden poured him a rather excessive amount of brandy, took an equal measure for himself and then went to sit by the fire. Tommy joined him, sitting across a low table from the other man. "Patricia says you're to marry our Ellie then." He said bluntly.
"I intend to."
"Have you asked her then?"
"Not yet. I intend to ask with your permission sir."
The ruddy older man frowned. "My permission?"
"Yes."
"Her mother also says that you've taken the rather strange notion to pay us for it."
"Yes sir."
"I'm not to keen on being paid for my daughter. She isn't for sale after all."
"To my people, taking her without a price would be damaging to her virtue."
"And who are your people then? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Gypsies."
"Tinkerers you mean?"
"Yes."
"Like I said, I don't like it and I don't hold with it. Patricia has made up her mind of course and I won't pretend I have the will it would take to overrule her but neither will I pretend I feel otherwise."
Tommy took an envelope from his pocket and put it on the table between them. "I am not buying her from you sir, only paying respect to her virtue."
The older man made no move to reach for the envelope. "I don't think I have to tell you that it makes no difference what we say. If Ellie has made up her mind on something, neither Patricia nor I ever had any sway over her. She never was an obedient daughter, for all her other virtues."
"Me, she will obey."
"Patricia at least thinks that's true. But she's never been any good at guessing what our Eleanor is thinking, no more than I am. Gabriel was the only one who could see into that thicket clear enough to hit the mark. And yet knowing all that, I have reservations."
"What reservations."
"Her safety."
"Then we share a concern."
"You'll keep her safe then will you?" He said. "I don't have to tell you why I ask."
"At the cost of everything else, no harm will come to your daughter sir."
Her father tilted his drink back. "I suppose there's nothing left for me to say then."
"I have your permission then?"
Lord Arden took a sip of his whiskey. "If Ellie gives you her permission, you can assume you have mine. I'll not pretend that I'll stand in her way."
"Thank you sir."
They left the next morning after breakfast.
She could tell he was hard even as they pulled out of the driveway. She could see the outline of him through his pants. Even in the rather loose cut of the fashionable trousers he couldn't be fully concealed when he was erect. She was already wet beneath the light cotton summer dress. She'd picked this one for the drive in anticipation for just this moment as the skirt was short, almost scandalously so, and loose. There were no petticoats or extra fabric, just a single airy layer of material between her and the outside world as she'd worn no bloomers. The rumbling of the engine wasn't doing her any favors either. She was practically writing in her seat from anticipating, nipples straining against her brassiere.
They drove for a while in silence, through the village and then a little farther on until they were well into the countryside again. Without remark Tommy turned down a deserted little country lane and then pulled the car to a stop. He turned and considered her for a long moment before he slid one hand into the loose top to caress her breast. She arched against him invitingly though he didn't roll the tips between his fingers or press them as he did when he was trying to arouse her. He knew she was already aroused enough.
"You're hoping that I'll pull you across the seat and let you straddle me, is that it Eleanor?" He asked, pushing down the sleeves of her dress until her breasts were exposed.
"Yes, Tommy"
"I'd wager all the money I've ever won on a horse race you've got nothing beneath that skirt but your garter."
She said nothing.
"Well you needn't have bothered, not on my account."
He opened his trousers and pulled himself out. He slid one hand around her neck and thrilled at the way her body relaxed, letting him guide her. God it had been too long since he'd felt that, the way she just went soft and pliable under his hand, ready to be guided and controlled. He pulled her down to his cock and groaned as she enveloped him with her soft lips. He released her neck and let her move under her own speed. "Make it good for me sweetheart, but not to fast. I want to take my time enjoying you."
She had missed him. She was desperate to please him. She softened her mouth on him, sweeping his tongue around the head and then slowly sinking down to envelop him. She worked to push past the muscles of her throat, swallowing down until she had that pert little nose right up against the wiry hair at the base of his abdomen. She didn't go too fast though, letting him stretch out his pleasure though soon her mouth and jaw were aching.
He could see she was pressing her legs together, desperate for some friction just where she needed it. Her ankles crossed, little patent leather shoes writhing on her feet as she tried to press her thighs together tight enough to give her relief. He flipped up the little joke of a skirt and was pleased to see that he wouldn't have lost a dime betting on her that day. He cracked her a smart slap across the ass.
"None of that sweetheart, legs apart."
She made a little mewling noise of protest. He cracked her another slap across the ass. "I'm serious Eleanor, don't make me take off my belt."
She parted her legs and tilted her hips up, clearly hopeful that he might favor her with a caress or maybe another swat but she was to be disappointed. Her talented lips he had trained just how he liked it and he let her work. "God but you have a pleasing mouth." He told her, stroking her hair with one hand. "Such a pleasing fucking mouth."
Her head bobbed dutifully, the tongue never stopping. Eventually it was too much however and the slow stroke of her tongue pushed him over the edge. He gripped her hair and began to speed up her pace, pumping into her at an increasing rate until finally with a roar, he spilled over into her mouth, flooding her with the taste of him. She didn't need to be told to swallow, nor to keep her mouth on him until he tapped her cheek once to indicate he was ready for her to come off. He could see her wetness almost drooling down onto the leather seat where her ass was tilted up.
He looked into her face, pupils nearly black and lips red and raw and gave her a soft, gentle kiss. He pulled up her dress to cover her breasts and then settled her back into her seat. He tucked himself back into his trousers, turned on the engine of the car and put his arm around the back of her seat, twisting in his own so he could see behind him as he backed the car out of the little country lane and back onto the main road.
She said nothing as they bounced along the lane but he noticed that her thighs were pressed together again. "None of that Eleanor." He said, parting her knees with the hand off the gear shift. "Don't think I can't find a way of spanking you without making you cum."
She let her head fall back in frustration. "Someone should fucking take care of this road." She moaned. "I don't remember it being so bouncy on the way here."
He laughed. "Best to take it up with the local magistrate I think."
He took his time on the drive back. He stopped for lunch at a cafe in one of the villages they passed where he ordered them oysters, endive salad and a steak for her, bangers and mash for him. She looked a little bit desperate when he ordered her sorbet and coffee from them both. He took her hand and led her up the street to the village square where the waiter had told them there was a lovely church and fountain that people often stopped to see.
"Is this your idea of trying to be romantic then?" She asked as he stopped to buy apples that looked particularly good from a street vendor. He bought something as well from a little shops along the lane in a paper bag.
"Yes."
"Well I fucking hate it." She whispered.
He laughed and gave her a long kiss. "I have some idea of how you'll come to forgive me."
"I can't go into that church Tommy, not with the thoughts I have. I'll burst into flames." She pleaded, a little desperate and hysterical giggle flavoring her words.
"Shall I buy you some roses do you think?"
"Oh Jesus please God no."
But at least when they reached Birmingham he didn't take the streets to the convent, nor to Watery Lane but instead turned toward the betting parlor without remark. She was surprised to see how little it had changed. She wasn't sure what she had expected—bullet holes or a dead body—but it looked the same as it ever did, the familiar desk and bed just where she remembered them. The bedspread just as neat and tidy as it ever was.
He went to the desk and poured himself a whiskey that he set on the top. "Come here Eleanor and sit on the desk."
She obeyed, sitting where he indicated.
He kissed her slowly, stoking the fire that was already so close to the surface with care not to let it blaze too hot too quickly. He tilted back her head, parting her lips and sampling each thoroughly. Her head fell back and he kissed her throat, little nips and kisses that made her arch against him.
"Spread your legs."
He slid a hand up one thigh, the other still at the base of her neck, keeping her head tilted back. The muscles under his fingers trembled slightly as he raised his fingers to the crux of her and slide one long finger in. She arched against him beautifully. He nudged her legs apart with his own and then knelt before her. He pushed the skirt back, hands gripping her buttocks to spread her open farther.
Her head fell back, knuckles white on the edge of the desk.
"Jesus Tommy, please."
It was agonizingly slow going. She was so close, so responsive he could barely touch her but he nibbled and nipped, keeping her at the edge for almost a half hour. She was sweating, arching, wide eyes and dripping onto the desk by the time he finally let her orgasm crash over her life a wave. Her body jerked, almost as if in pain, arching up against him as she came on his tongue. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she had breath only for a single word, "Thomas!" Like a curse and a plea all at once.
He let her come back, taking one long lick for good measure when she was finished, making her gasp as he touched the overly sensitive flesh. He stood and kissed her lips again, slowly. "Satisfied sweetheart?"
She nodded dreamily.
Forgetting herself for a moment she reached for the whiskey glass beside her and was surprised when his hand closed over the top of hers, preventing her from picking it up. She glanced up, surprised that he would deny her, and her face froze. His expression was compressed but firm, brooking no argument. He didn't want her to drink hard alcohol.
She swallowed deep in her throat. He'd ordered her beer with lunch. It had paired with the food but still, he usually didn't drink the stuff, nor order it for her. "How long have you known then?" She asked, fighting not to let the strain of her voice crack.
He didn't try to pretend he didn't know what she meant. "Your mother told me, the night before I left Belton House to go back to Birmingham."
Almost before she'd known. Fuck.
She licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry. "I don't have any expectations Tommy, surely you know that."
He left her where she was, perched on the side of the desk with her skirt around her hips and went back to where his jacket was hanging by the door. He took something out of the pocket and returned a moment later, placing it carefully on the desk beside her. It was a jewelry box, the kind that held a ring.
She looked up at him, wide eyes. "I told you I didn't want to be married. I don't expect you to do this."
He shook his head. "You said you didn't want to be constrained. Not that you didn't want to belong to me." Her eyes widened still farther at that. Oh yes sweetheart, I do listen when you're talking, not just when you're fucking moaning beneath me. "I don't expect you to plan dinner parties or pick out my suits, give up your work or fix me a fucking drink at night or do anything at all, except exactly what I tell you to do. And that Eleanor? Well you already do that don't you?"
He could see the pulse racing at her throat.
To Eleanor it seemed as if the world had turned into a confusing kaleidoscope the moment Tommy had taken the ring box from his coat pocket. Marry her? Of all the possibilities she'd considered over the last weeks why had she never considered this one? It was impossible, absurd. And then, for a moment, she let herself imagine it.
A thousand images of what their life together could be filled her mind: sleeping next to him every night at the Watery Lane house instead of him dropping her off at the convent, waiting for him with a book in the parlor or naked in his bed, helping Ada with Karl and Poll with dinner. As his wife could bring him lunch in the middle of the day whenever she wanted, shut the door and take off her coat and press her lips together hopefully. She could buy belts for him, lingerie for her, soft cords or scarves that she could leave for him to find in the bedside table, his glovebox, the pocket of his suit. They could spend weekends at her parents house, a place he'd made tolerable again for her. She could introduce him to her friends, take him out riding. He was a Birmingham boy but a gypsy too wasn't he? He might like to explore the fields and forests of her youth with her again. He was right that it didn't feel like constraint, didn't feel at all like what she'd felt when David Smythe had asked her, like two shackles closing about her wrists.
And then there was the baby. Eleanor could already imagine it so vividly: perfect blue eyes, just like his father's, tiny fingers and soft skin. A little piece of Thomas Shelby that she could love without reservation, without trying to hide it or hold back from showing her feelings too fully.
That thought brought her up short.
It was one thing to want all those things but it was another to want them at the cost of having trapped him. He'd given her enough hadn't he? Risked his life for her, twice really, embroiled his family and business in a dispute that had started with her kidnapping, given her a baby. She couldn't take more.
"Whatever my mother said to you, this isn't... that is to say there will be no repercussions for you. I'll make sure of it." She was speaking quickly now, desperate for him to understand this hadn't been her intention. "You can be as much in the baby's life as you wish but I'll not insist on anything."
"I'll not have a bastard by you Eleanor. All your babes will have my name and my protection."
"You don't have to do this. Not for my sake."
"I'm not doing it for your sake sweetheart."
"You're under no obligation."
"Obligation is not the issue." It's ownership.
She shook her head. "I wouldn't do that to you. We can go on, just as we are. We can go on as before... I know... I know you don't love me and I wouldn't force you into this. The baby doesn't have to change anything."
This close his eyes seemed to fill her vision, blue and endless depths that made her dizzy. Her heart was beating a tattoo against her chest and she couldn't think. The soft lips were perfectly still, long lashes unblinking. "The baby changes everything Eleanor." He said, voice like some great stone rolling down a hill. "But I loved you long before I knew you were pregnant, if that is your question."
Whatever she had been expecting him to say it clearly wasn't that for her own eyes widened at that pronouncement. His eyes flicked down to her lips as she swallowed. "You love me?"
"Yes, sweetheart, I love you."
"For how long?"
His smile was that rare warm, genuine one, amused and pleased. "'How long?' 'How much would I make as a whore?' 'What do you see in my palm?' 'Will you not command me?'" He let out a small laugh. "You have the most unusual questions of any woman I've ever known."
He stepped back and fished his cigarettes out of his vest pocket, fighting not to let his hands tremble with relief. Whatever bent this conversation could take that he'd most feared- the nightmare he'd lived over and over in the past few weeks of what she might say when he told her he intended to keep her for good-at least this did not seem to be going down that path. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply to give himself time to think. She hadn't said no, not yet. She hadn't said she was taking the baby back to the countryside, that once it was born she didn't want to see him anymore or any of the thousand other things he'd thought about in the nights they'd spend apart when the nightmares came back full force without her.
"Since the Lee brothers took you at least, before that probably. I noticed it more once you were gone." He said, surprising himself with his own honesty.
Her frown deepened. "You like that... that I submit to you, that I do what you tell me to."
"I do."
"That's not the same as love."
"No, it's not." He paused. "Does it surprise you that much eh? That I love you in addition to that." Surprise you that I'm capable of it.
"How will I know though? How will I know that you're telling the truth?" Her expression was one of somber inquisition.
"Telling the truth about what?"
"How can I tell that you aren't just saying...what you think I want to hear so I'll agree to marry you."
Of all the things he might have expected she might say in this conversation this was not one of them. Sometime he forgot how incredibly young she was. Not just in years but in experience. At her age he'd been a sapper, digging in the bloody mud of France. He wasn't sure if he'd ever had hands as soft as hers. Those wide blue eyes, talking to him about the truth made him feel tired and ever so jaded. Prove to her that he loved her? Had it not all been proof? The way he touched her, looked at her, caressed her, took her. Hell the way he beat her. It all gave him away, hadn't it? So often in the past months he'd felt the words rise up in his throat when he took her, mouth pressed against her throat, teeth clenched to keep them back.
"If you don't know by now sweetheart, there's nothing I can say to you that will convince you."
She frowned. "I suppose you did risk your life for me. Before you knew about the baby."
"That thing with the Lees you mean?"
"Yes."
"That was not the measure of my love for you."
"No?"
"If that... if that is how you want to fucking measure my love..." He met her gaze levelly for a moment, fighting the impulse to take her by the shoulders and shake. "You don't know the half of what I'm capable of Eleanor, nor a quarter measure of what I would do to protect you, to protect that baby. You're surprised I'd walk across some fucking field without a gun to get you back from the Lees?" He took a deep ragged breath that he disguised with the cigarette. "You told me once that when you kneel at my feet you don't have to think, that you only have to focus on pleasing me. That it's peaceful. When I'm buried in you, when you're in my arms or over my desk or at my feet I don't have to fucking think either. I don't have to worry or try to persuade you. I don't have to strategize or think what comes next. I take what I like and you give it to me.
"And that, Eleanor, that is fucking peace. Or as near to it as a man like me can come."
Her eyes were wide as he came forward and stood between her legs but she tipped her head up to him, already parting her lips to accept his kiss. He brushed only a very light one across her lips. "Do you have any idea what that's worth to me? What I would do to keep you?"
She raised her hand to his chest and for a sickening moment he thought she was going to push him away but instead her fingers curled over his vest, just where the tattoo was beneath the expensive cloth. "You want to keep me?" Her voice was very soft, unsure.
"I want much more than that Eleanor: on your knees in my study, legs spread on the desk, bent over and fucked on the vanity. I want you to give me children, sleep beside me, make a Shelby of you, buy you dresses and the biggest fucking diamond you've ever seen. I want to be the only man to ever know how beautiful you are when you come, when you wrap your lips around my cock or take a blow from my hand."
She shivered at his words but he kept going, needing her to hear them. "I want to take everything that you'll give me. Until you ask me to stop. I'll love you. Until you ask me to stop."
He picked her up from the desk and carried her bridal style to the bed. She let him unbutton her dress and push it off her shoulders. He stripped her to the core and then started on his own clothes, not rushing as he did. He spread her legs and climbed between then, pushing her knees apart and slipping into her. He covered her body with hers and took her in slow, powerful thrusts until they both shuddered over the edge together.
He looked down at her for a long moment when she had come back, his expression unreadable before he slid off the bed and fetched the ring from the desk. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her through hooded eyes. He opened the case and took it out, a clearly costly but tasteful diamond with sapphires on either side. He rolled the ring in his fingers for a moment as if it were a cigarette, as if he were considering how likely it was that she would accept it.
"Give me your hand Eleanor."
She didn't hesitate, holding out her left hand. He took the slender fingers in his own, feeling something unexpectedly warm swell in his chest. He slid the ring onto her finger. He felt suddenly as if he could breathe freely for the first time in... God how long had it been? Since he'd found out she was pregnant, since she'd been taken, since before the war? He couldn't remember.
He swung his legs back into bed and pulled her into her usual attitude: one arm across his chest and half sprawled across his chest. He lit a cigarette and then cupped her ass with his free hand. The ring looked good. It was big enough to make her fingers look small, ostentatious enough to impress her friends, but not gaudy, not too nouveau riche. Lady Arden would approve. And he liked the way the sapphires looked with her eyes, making them look even bluer and brighter by comparison. Tomorrow Poll would need to take her take her to London. He wondered if it were better to wait for the Banns to be read or if they should skip it for the sake she not be showing on the day...
"You never asked me, you know." She said quietly.
He smiled indulgently, feeling that nothing could spoil his good mood. If she wanted him to get down on one knee in front of Ada or her family or a restaurant full of strangers he was happy to do it. "How would you like me to? Genuflecting before your convent sisters I suppose."
She laughed. "No I don't mean you never asked me to marry you. Of course I'll marry you. You never... you never asked me if I love you."
The cigarette paused on the way to his lips. She'd turned her head to look up at him, chin on his chest. He cleared his throat, then spoke. "And do you?"
"Yes."
He fought the urge to grip her harder against him for fear she would slip away, an insane, strange need to press her close. Something about that piece of information made him feel as if a dark cloud had passed over him, the elation and joy of the moment draining away to a pit of fear in his stomach. Wasn't it enough that she was in his arms, carrying his child and agreeing to be his wife. Whatever her reasons for saying yes to him he would accept them. It didn't have to be perfect. He didn't expect it to be. He was a dead man after all, a gangster, a fighting man, a gypsy. This was not the ending he was intended for.
She let out a little tinkling laugh. "Does that make you nervous Thomas?"
"Eh?"
"You tensed when I said it. I can feel it in your arms and under my hand on your chest, like you're getting ready for a fight when I said that I love you." She reached up, very hesitantly to trail a finger over his lips. "Are you not pleased that I love you?"
"I am pleased." He took a long drag on his cigarette. She said nothing but her look told him she expected a further explanation. He took a moment before organizing his thoughts then said. "I've done nothing to deserve you Eleanor, nothing in my past makes me think I'm destined to be happy. If we were in the kind of story that my mother used to tell me in the kitchen to amuse me this would be about the moment where the earth opened up to swallow you down to hell or worse."
What a fucking thing to tell a woman with his baby within her, his ring on her finger. But she'd asked and she usually didn't ask for unpleasant truths. He wouldn't deny her such an unusual request.
She considered that for a moment. Then smiled. "Perhaps you're only wrong about the kind of story that we're in. Maybe we're in the kind of story that my mother used to tell me instead. They always end just like this, a handsome prince and a wedding."
He didn't take the bait. She knew well enough what kind of fucking prince he was.
She pressed a soft kiss to his chest. "What makes you think that the story is about you eh? Maybe it's my luck Thomas." She said softly between kisses. She began to slide lower, shifting onto her knees above him so she could press soft kisses in line down his chest, the flat planes of his abdomen, then lower. "Maybe I'm the one destined to be happy." She murmured.
He could feel the world sliding away, the familiar silence of their intimacy enclosing around them. Her obedience, submission, the simplicity of the bond that held them to each other washed over him as powerful as any drug. Her eager mouth closed around him and he groaned, canting his hips up into her throat and she stroked him with her tongue.
But then she looked up, wide blue eyes meeting his, lips stretched around his cock and the halo of her hair warm about her face. He slid a fond hair through the curls and she slid back down, sliding her tongue along the base of him. Are you not pleased that I love you? He could read the question in her eyes.
"Yes Eleanor, I'm pleased."
She was going to take her time, he could tell. The slow stroking pace she'd set would drag his pleasure out for an hour or more if he could only master himself not to be impatient, not take her by the hair and guide her faster. Her throat would be raw by the end of it, lips puffy and bruised, but he had no doubt that she intended to endure it for him. He took the cigarettes from the bedside table and lit one, hoping to occupy his hands with that, hoping the nicotine might bring him a little control back from the brink. He inhaled deeply, tilting his head back and closing his eyes against the image of her though it seemed to be seared into his brain. With his free hand he couldn't help but run his fingers through her soft hair, the measure of the bobbing motion of it almost soothing. He could feel her hands on him, one splayed up his abdomen, running gentle fingers over his ribs, the other gripping his hip to steady herself. He could feel the ring on her finger skimming over the surface of his skin. His wife and she loved him. Maybe we're in a different kind of story, the kind that ends with a kiss and a wedding.
But for a moment, he could almost believe her.
AN: Well there it is folks, the sweet simple, 105,369 word story about how two people fucked each other until they loved each other. Catch you on the flipside. I've already written 50 pages of some truly decadent Tommy/OC alpha/omega smut for my next foray into this fandom so let me know if you want to see that published. 100% trash, guaranteed. Also, an epilogue if you want it? Please drop me a line to let me know what you think/thought. I particularly like it when people tell me what specific moments got a reaction from them. Praise is my #1 kink if you can believe it. :) Twinelove