Chapter Five: Wet Regrets
"Are ya going to try and take off?" Tig asked in a strained voice, trying to appear calm while inside he was full of conflicting emotions, an explosive battle of primal needs and wet wants.
Rosamund shook her head and released the breath she'd been holding when Tig reluctantly stopped teasing the edge of her panties and smoothed his hand up the front of her body until he could smooth an errant lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering to trace the smooth cartilage of her ear lobe.
"Yeah?" Tig asked as his lips pulled into a small smile.
"Yes," Rosamund said, trying in vain to keep from returning his smile.
Tig grumbled and shifted until he could lay alongside Rosamund, leaving their legs still intertwined. He propped himself up on one elbow and let his remaining hand stay flat against her lower belly, his fingers splayed wide like a lust-driven octopus.
Tig was distracted from memorizing every part of her when the velvet jewelry box bit into his elbow.
A fire was lit inside Rosamund as she watched Tig pluck the squeaky-hinged box from the scattered papers and rubber-banded stacks of cash. She tried to pull the simple square from his hands.
A small smile pulled at Tig's lips at her futile attempts to stop him. "What's this?" Tig asked as he picked up the delicate ring from its cotton bedding.
"It was my mother's," Rosamund answered on a vague murmur as she watched Tig twirl the ring around the tip of his pinkie finger, his ragged cuticles in diametric opposition of the smooth metal.
Tig watched Rosamund's inky black pupils follow the small revolutions of the ring before he capitalized on her distraction and snaked his hand out to capture her left wrist. A surprised squeal fell from her lips and quickly died into a breathless gasp as he tugged his oversized heavy ring from her finger and replaced it with her mother's simple diamond band.
Rosamund watched in slow-motion as Tig kissed the newly placed ring on her finger, his lips pressing against the cool metal before his exhale teased her skin as he spoke. "That looks good on you," he whispered before he forced himself to let go of her wrist and get off the bed, his gut twisted in a molten knot with how hotly he wanted to rip her clothes free and find out what she sounded like as he fucked her.
Tig froze, rooted in place as he fought the urge to go back on his word and take advantage of the secluded house and the sheer capacity of strength he possessed over her.
Rosamund herself froze as Tig clenched his hands in and out of loose fists.
She swallowed hard and let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding when Tig walked in a stilted rhythm towards the door. He paused and spoke quickly as he drummed his fingertips on the inside of the door jamb. "Why'd you pick today to take the money?"
Rosamund was quick to answer the easy question. "My uncle sent the security detail to run some kind of impromptu errand and for a few hours there were no extra eyes on me."
Tig nodded, keeping his expression neutral as he refrained from telling her he planned on never letting her out of his sight.
As Tig managed to keep his hands to himself and eventually follow Rosamund out to the spacious kitchen, back in Charming at the Club House, Gemma massaged Clay's tense shoulders. "Come on baby, let's get out of here for a while."
Clay grumbled and stared down at his phone which taunted him with its silence. Gemma could practically hear the gears in Clay's brain grinding away as he debated calling Tig and demanding to know what the fuck was happening.
"Baby, give Tig a few days to figure this out on his own," Gemma murmured as she pressed her lips to the smooth cartilage of Clay's ear.
Clay grumbled incoherently and let himself focus on the touch of Gemma's hands. As he let himself get lost in the warmth of her exhale against his skin and the press of her body, further north at the house Gemma had called home as a child, Tig watched Rosamund search the empty cupboards and fridge. Gemma had kept the utilities current for some recent plumbing work but the only remaining edible item was a half-filled ice cube tray in the freezer.
Tig scrolled through his text messaging conversation thread with Gemma and committed the phone number for the nearest grocery store and their delivery service to his temporary memory.
Rosamund stopped searching the cabinets and watched Tig place an order for a cartful of groceries, half of it various bottles of booze.
She quickly looked away when Tig ended the call after telling them to leave the stuff on the front porch as he looked over and caught her staring. Rosamund cleared her throat nervously and continued to search for food she wouldn't find. She would've given serious consideration to shanking an altar boy for a cup of tepid coffee.
"Aren't you in trouble, like AWOL or something?" Rosamund asked, walking around the kitchen island, eager to have something sturdy between them.
Tig chuckled, "I'm not in the military doll."
"This can't be what you were planning when you showed up at the hotel," she said as she stared down at the gleaming white grout line around the square tiles.
Tig shrugged. "It wasn't," he thought but didn't say as he watched her begin to trace the edge of her fingernail around the ceramic tile.
"What were you planning when you showed up?" Rosamund asked, her voice surprisingly strong.
Tig blew out a ragged breath, "I was just supposed to bring you back to Charming."
"And now?"
Tig shook his head, "now things look a little different," he answered vaguely, not sure himself of how to articulate an answer.
Rosamund squeezed her eyes shut as she pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke lowly, her voice broadcasting her fatigue. "Can you just spell out whatever the fuck you have planned? Please?" she added as she opened her eyes to find that he had moved closer in the small passage of time since she'd closed her eyes.
"I don't want to get into that right now doll," Tig grumbled and slid a modicum closer towards her.
"I want to," she flatly countered.
"I don't know, alright," he admitted. "I need to think," Tig added.
Rosamund crossed her arms as she considered his admission. "And what happens while you're doing this thinking?"
Tig gestured around the kitchen, "we'll spend some time here while I figure it out."
Rosamund knew she wasn't going to succeed in plying a clearer answer from him and went back to exploring the cabinets and drawers when the weight of his gaze and full attention began to grow suffocating.
Any sense of security Rosamund might've begun to feel was instantly decimated when despite instructions to leave the groceries on the porch, the delivery guy still knocked and rang the doorbell twice, hoping for a tip.
The harmonious chimes and sharp knock made Rosamund jump. Tig immediately anticipated her movement falsely as an attempt to rush to the door. He closed the remaining distance between them and covered her mouth, his palm crushed against her full lips as he pushed her into a roiling, frothing sea of fear and forced her to push, claw and kick at him.
Rosamund's struggling was a better stimulant than the powdered nose candy from Tijuana. A low groan fell from between Tig's lips as he tried to capture her flailing limbs, her shouts muffled under his large hand plastered against her face.
"Shhh," Tig rasped when another hard knock sounded at the front door from the tenacious delivery driver.
Tig patiently manipulated her swinging arms and was rewarded by eventually being able to restrain her until the driver finally lost his patience and pealed out of the driveway. He made the error of lowering his hand as his attention shifted to the warm press of her body against his.
As Tig's attention shifted to pushing her closer to the counter, the tile edge bit into her lower back at the same time Rosamund clamped her teeth into the soft webbing between his thumb and index finger.
"Goddammit," Tig shouted, the sharp pain of her teeth piercing his flesh caused him to dramatically lessen his hold, allowing Rosamund the chance to nearly slip free.
"Why am I always the one who gets bit?" he thought as blood rose to the surface and filled the indentations her teeth had left.
Rosamund's furious rabidity fueled his lust, turning him into a phoenix that never turned to ash.
Tig snatched at the empty air as she stumbled away from the counter. Rosamund slapped at his reaching hands, her impertinence got his frustration to reach a fever pitch level and he resorted to lunging forward, roughly wrapping her up, his hands everywhere at once. Tig quickly lost interest in trying to capture her swinging fists and grunted when she made impact. His basal emotions had decidedly taken over and he was laser-focused on finding her bare skin.
A choked sound fell from Rosamund's lips as Tig managed to slide a hand under her waistband, freezing when his fingertips made sudden contact with the stark roughness of the scar tissue under his seeking touch.
"What is that?" Tig asked on a husky whisper, pausing his hands against her supple flesh, the tips of his fingers just at the edge of a still healing laceration.
Rosamund capitalized on his stillness and shoved her palms against his chest, creating enough space to haul back her hand and slap him across the face, her palm left stinging with the impact. "Get away from me," she hissed and continued to move backwards.
"Goddammit, get back here," Tig growled as he tried to corral her with as much grace as he could muster.
"I just want to go take a shower," Rosamund spit as she tried to slap him again. Tig blocked her hand this time and captured her left wrist. He tightened his fingers until he threatened to add to her bracelet of oval bruises, "please."
"Alright," Tig murmured and shifted his grip from her wrist to her upper arm. Rosamund yanked her arm free and walked stiffly back to master bedroom with adjoining bathroom. Tig followed her, a silent shadow until she picked up her bag of toiletries and made a beeline for perceived privacy.
"Lemme see that," Tig said in a tone just shy of demanding as he blocked her path.
"Let me guess, you're looking for a weapon?" Rosamund asked sharply, scoffing when he nodded.
Rosamund watched with rapidly waning patience as Tig carried the small-zippered case into the spacious bathroom and dumped the contents into the porcelain sink. She continued to watch Tig perform a cursory search of every cabinet, drawer, and contents of the medicine cabinet before gallantly half-bowing, "it's all yours doll."
Rosamund locked the door behind her, knowing it wasn't real protection if he wanted in. She rubbed her eyes and plucked her shampoo, conditioner and body wash from the sink and cranked the faucet on, thankful to whoever owned the house that they kept the water and power on.
As Rosamund stripped out of her sweat-stained, disheveled clothes, Tig carried in the multiple plastic bags of groceries into the house and haphazardly put the cold stuff in the fridge, anxious to get his hand on the first bottle of alcohol he could find among the crisp, red apples, and leafy green lettuce.
As Tig took fast swallows of the potent, amber, barrel-aged liquor and listened to the sound of water, closing his eyes as he pictured the spray of water against her naked skin.
On the other side of the locked bathroom door, Rosamund scrubbed at her hairline, creating copious suds with the hibiscus and blood-orange scented shampoo. She rinsed her long fall of silken strands as she squeezed a pink cast body wash gel into her palm and smoothed her soapy hands over her naked skin, feeling tears sting the backs of her eyes as she traced the multiple areas of raised scar tissue crisscrossing her lower belly and inner thighs.
Rosamund stood under the spray of water until it ran cold, lost in a memory of the first time she had opened her flesh.
Her parents hadn't even been dead for a month the first time Hale had snuck into her room late at night, never able to fuck her from complications of surgery to remove a tumor at the base of his testicles a decade before. Hale had never violated her with his forever flaccid cock but had still managed to hurt her with the rough touch of his fingers and hands. He fucked her with his tongue for the first time that night.
The night that she became afraid of the dark.
The night that she became afraid of sleep.
The night that she became afraid of men.
Rosamund felt a fresh wave of shame as she recalled the constant thought that if she disfigured herself, Hale would be disgusted.
He never did stop visiting her room.
Rosamund kept her tears at bay as she dried off and slipped into a long-sleeved thermal top and snugger than she would've like pants. She couldn't help but chuckle as she looked at her frazzled reflection, thinking she hadn't anticipated this kind of variable when she'd been packing clothes to sleep in.
Tig observed her from his secreted vantage point. He was a hungry, curious voyeur as he watched Rosamund emerge from the bathroom on a billowing cloud of floral-scented steam. She gathered up the cash and paper that was strewn messily on top of the floral bedspread before tossing the decorative throw pillows to land on the padded window seat.
Tig held his breath as she pulled back the heavy linen, turning her mother's wedding band around her slim finger.
"Don't take it off," he thought.
In the small space before Rosamund kept the ring on her finger and slid under the covers, Tig redeemed all three wishes to a genie, sacrificed a baby and sold his soul to the highest bidder.
Tig remained in the hall and continued nursing the strong bottle of booze after she extinguished the small bedside lamp. He rubbed a hand against the front of his pants and suppressed a groan as a shudder passed through his body. He waited until she fell into an exhausted sleep before he slipped quietly into the room.
Rosamund was laying on her side, facing away from him as he tugged at the floral bed linen, exposing the bare skin of the side of her neck. Tig reached out a hand to touch her and paused when his eyes could easily discern his filthy fingernails even in the dim room.
He could see his ragged cuticles and gunk collected in the scarred, creases of his hands and pulled the linen back over her shoulder as she continued to sleep deeply.
Tig left the bathroom door ajar as he quickly scrubbed himself clean with the same body wash Rosamund had used earlier. He expediated with the lukewarm, closer to cold spray of water after her extended shower.
He dried off with the same towels that had wicked moisture away from her naked skin before wrapping the absorbent fabric around his waist.
Tig exited the bathroom and found her still soundly asleep. He dropped the towel just about as quickly as he'd covered himself with it before he slipped under the covers and settled onto his back. Tig listened to Rosamund's deep and even breathing, fighting his primal urge to capitalize on her vulnerability and shove his cock inside her before she could fully wake up, but knew somewhere that he should let her sleep.
Tig rolled to his side and inched closer to Rosamund's sleeping form, causing the mattress to dip as he settled behind her, gently pulling her back against the front of his body.
As he eventually fell into an alcohol-induced slumber, back in Charming, Hale stewed behind his desk as he angrily tapped out Clay's phone number. He swore under his breath when he immediately reached the voicemail for the third time in a row.
Hale yanked open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a bright green notebook, almost garish in its unpleasant shade as he flipped through the lined pages that were filled with the feminine, curved lettering of his printing. "Fuck you and your club Clay morrow," Hale muttered under his breath as he located the number of another motorcycle club that he knew he could sway with the appeal of a gym bag filled with cash for the contents of the stolen envelope.
Hours passed until Tig was stirred awake by his full bladder that drove him from the bed to the bathroom.
Tig paused in the doorway as he exited the bathroom when he found Rosamund sitting up, covering a yawn.
She froze when her eyes landed on his naked body as he stood still in the doorway. Rosamund left her hand covering her mouth and sat up further in the bed, stopped when her back met the sturdy oak headboard.
"Sorry I woke you," Tig murmured as Rosamund pulled the blankets tighter around herself, a linen shield from his powerfully naked form.
"I actually slept better than usual," she was surprised to hear herself say. One of the first nights in years that she didn't have to be afraid about the bedroom door creaking open when her uncle would visit her under the veil of night.
Tig rubbed at his eyes as he pushed away from the doorway and returned to the side of bed.
"What are you doing?" Rosamund asked quickly, any lingering sleepiness evaporating in an instant.
"Just gonna get some more sleep," Tig said easily.
Rosamund slapped her hand to the top of the mattress, "you can't sleep here too."
A wicked headache from the rapid overindulgence of the potent liquor was beginning to present itself. Tig would always be an apex predator and his teeth gleamed in homage to fanged carnivorous animals stalking prey as he murmured lowly.
"Are ya going to stop me?"
Rosamund blinked up at him in the dim room, at a continued loss for words when Tig began to settle on the mattress. She was forced to return to trying to become part of the headboard or end up touching him.
"Are ya Rose?" Tig asked again as he pulled the bed linen over his nudity.
Rosamund was instantly torn between anger and fighting back tears. "I'm used to being a fucking pawn, a plaything for the highest bidder," she spit before she tersely added. "I know in the end that I can't stop you from doing whatever you want," she said heavily as her shoulders sagged in resignation, her tone full of defeat.
Tig rose up further and forced a startled cry from her slim throat as he pulled her into his arms and crushed her against the front of his body with such enthusiasm that her breath was roughly shoved out of her lungs.
"Oh," Rosamund managed as Tig shifted them around until she was staring up at him, his strong hands slid to rest on her hips before he pulled her thighs tight to either side of his waist.
"Is that what ya think I want, to just use you?"
"Isn't it?" she asked as she tried to catch her breath, unable to stop herself from reflexively raising her hands and pushing against his chest, his heartbeat was strong under her palm.
"Wouldn't I have already fucked you if that was the case?" Tig rasped and couldn't help but enjoy the sound of her breathlessness and hitch in her breath as she felt his cock start to grow hard against her clothed, intimate center.
"Maybe it's all part of your brand of fun," Rosamund whispered, turning her head to the side as Tig dropped his head to the warm curve of where her neck and shoulder met. His central nervous system was buzzing as he began to grow overwhelmed when he pressed his lips to the racing pulse of her neck.
"I'm not going to use you as a 'plaything'," Tig whispered against her neck, his exhale hot against her skin.
Rosamund squeezed her eyes shut and remained wordless until Tig raised up and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I'm not," Tig reiterated.
Rosamund chuckled, "let me guess, you're going to make everything better? Take away my fears? Give me a bunch of empty promises?" she scoffed in the imitated tone of white-collar CEO's who promised the moon and babbled platitudes, meaning nothing they said, everything a transaction that could be determined null and void, subject to a plummeting exchange rate.
"No," Tig murmured on a low groan, adding as a frown pulled at Rosamund's forehead.
"Not empty promises," he groaned in a thickened tone as he could barely suppress himself from thrusting his hips and pressing his hardening cock against her.
Rosamund shook her head, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that," she admitted.
"Tell me you want me to fuck you," Tig crassly growled.
A hot blush filled her face, "no one's ever asked my permission to touch me," she chuckled dryly.
Tig shifted, jabbing his painfully hard cock against her inner thigh as he smoothed a hand through her hair, his ragged cuticles snagging the silken strands. "I'm asking you," Tig murmured mostly truthfully as he trailed his fingers from the fall of her hair, down the center of her chest and toyed with the bottom of her shirt.
"Don't," Rosamund gasped and pushed frantically at his hand as he started to lift her shirt, threatening to expose her bare skin.
Tig easily shook her hands free of his wrist and let more of his weight compress her against the mattress, hobbling her movement as he yanked at her shirt, nearly ripping it.
"Tell me what happened," he demanded as he smoothed his large hand on the flat, scarred plain of her lower belly, tracing his fingers over the different length scars, each holding its own unique texture.
Rosamund shook her head as Tig molested each ridge of scar tissue, fondling her self-inflicted wounds in various stages of healing. "Just a lot of bad days," she answered benignly as he tugged apart the drawstring bow of her cotton pants.
"I won't let you have another day like that baby," he said on a ragged husk as he began to slide down the front of her body. "Show me what happened," Tig groaned as he fumbled at the pants functioning as her pajama bottoms.
"You can't look," Rosamund stammered and pushed at Tig's shoulders as she struggled to move away from him.
"Why won't you show me?" Tig asked, his voice strained as he tried to still his hands and listen.
Rosamund pulled her shirt down, "it's ugly," she barely managed before her voice threatened to break.
Tig yanked her back underneath him as he fought against the vulnerability he felt rising within him as he thought about saying words to her that he'd never spoken to another living being. He felt exposed like a turtle on its back, its belly a tantalizing treat to approaching predators. "I don't think anything could be ugly about your body," Tig rebutted as he resumed roughly pulling at her clothes.
"Are you just going to do whatever you want?" Rosamund spit as struggling against him was useless on a long enough timeline.
Tig blew out a ragged breath, feeling a cataclysmic divide between his primal nature versus nurture. "I don't want to," he admitted, feeling helpless against his sheer strength and capacity to harm.
"But you're going to?" Rosamund asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
The bitter taste of regret filled Tig's mouth as he slowly nodded.
A billion thoughts flung themselves at Rosamund as she lay under Tig, his cock so hard and eager that it pulsed in time with his heart against the inside of her thigh.
"Don't look at my body," she said lowly and flinched when Tig's eyes never left hers as he ripped her pants apart enough that he could slide a hand to cup her bare femininity. Rosamund held her breath as Tig began teasing his fingertips against her soft, shell pink lips, eager to find her tight, wet center.
Rosamund couldn't still her thoughts as Tig shifted and rested most of his weight on his elbow as he gripped his cock and moved the soft, sensitive head up and down her slit, bobbing urgently against her tight, wet opening. Rosamund let her thighs open further as he held her gaze when he thrust his thick rigidity inside her and pounded erratically until he could corral his overexuberance.
Tig watched Rosamund's beautiful face crease with unspoken discomfort as he roughly plunged into her as though there was a clock counting down to the end of his life and he wanted to be buried inside her when death found him.
Rosamund gasped at the end of each of his deep thrusts as he seated himself as far as he could until he was stopped by their intimate flesh kissing. Her tight center was forced to accommodate the abrupt stabbing of his hard length.
Tig couldn't help but chuckle, the sound comforting as Rosamund couldn't look away as he stole her breath at the end of each plunge of his cock. "This isn't going to last long," he murmured self-deprecatingly.
Rosamund felt tears roll down her flushed face, but Tig was quicker to brush the crystalline droplets from her cheeks as his balls pulled up tight to his body before his cock spasmed and filled her with a few hot spurts of his sticky cum.
Tig dropped his face to the curve of her neck. "I didn't mean to do that," Tig groaned, his exhale hot against the side of her throat.
"Yes you did," Rosamund murmured on a ragged exhale. Her tone wasn't accusatory, only factual and didn't invite his disagreement.