Chapter Six: Just Under the Surface
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.
"I did," Tig raggedly agreed and pressed his lips in a hot line down the side of her neck.
Rosamund winced as Tig shifted back only enough so he could see her face, unable to keep the discomfort off her face as his cock remained seated deeply inside her.
She couldn't suppress a low painful hiss as Tig shifted again when his cock softened enough to slip out of her.
"Where ya going?" Tig demanded as Rosamund started to try and squirm out from under his bulk.
"I'd like to go clean up," she said in a rush, feeling her inner thighs grow wet from the combined spilling of their wet, near-viscous bodily fluids.
"Do you want company?" he rasped as he gave no indication he was going to allow her to move.
Rosamund paled as she shook her head, speaking hoarsely under her breath. "I need time to think too," she rambled.
"Depends on what you're gonna think about," Tig teased as he pressed his lips against her ears. His words were delivered on a hot exhale that caused her to involuntarily shiver.
Tig felt the tremble pass through her body before he shifted and allowed her more space to breathe and move, pausing before she could slide out of his arms.
"What's the problem?" Rosamund asked nervously. "You already searched for weapons," added with a chuckle when Tig remained silent, his eyes penetrating hers in a way that made her certain that he could see the inside of her skull.
"Maybe I didn't search you enough," Tig suggested in a choked tone.
"You most certainly did," Rosamund snapped before adding quickly. "Let me up."
Tig held her eyes until she blinked and wordlessly moved enough for her to pull her ripped clothes to cover the majority of her bare skin and marched with a purpose towards the perceived safety of the bathroom.
Time moved in slow-motion as Rosamund closed the bathroom door, not bothering to lock it because not much would stand in Tig's way if he truly wanted in.
She slowly approached the sink, almost afraid to see her reflection. She widened her tired eyes at her mess of tangled hair before she rooted around the contents of the sink for her plastic brush. Rosamund teased the bristles through the snarls until the strands glowed in their smooth silkiness. She tore her gaze away from her reflection and started the water running in the tub at full blast.
Rosamund dumped a handful of liquid body soap under the rush of water until bountiful bubbles began to fill the porcelain tub. She stared down at the lightly scented, iridescent bubbles as they popped while she stripped out of her clothes. She kept sneaking glances at the closed door and slipped into the water before the tub was even half-filled in case Tig barged in on her.
While Rosamund soaked and folded a washcloth, laying it over her eyes, on the other side of the bathroom door Tig remained in bed rubbing his face against the linen that was stained with their combined scents.
Tig looked over his shoulder at the closed door before he plucked the bottle of the remaining amber, potent booze and took a few fast sips. He sat up among the tangled linen before walking to the other side of the oak door. Tig nursed the bottle with his ear pressed to the shut door as he listened to the gentle splashing sounds that Rosamund made in the hot, soapy water.
As the alcohol burned a path down his throat and filled his chest and belly with warmth, inside the bathroom, Rosamund wrung out the washcloth and turned off the water when the tub was nearly filled.
Rosamund dragged the corner of the saturated cloth along the line of her brow, solitary drops of soap-touched water rolled into her eyes and made her squint as she tried to recall how her morning had started.
Rosamund squeezed her eyes shut and reclined against the curved edge of the tub, trying to remember the moment after she had hit the snooze button on her alarm and cut the crooning of the lead singer of the band with too many initials to remember and a lead singer that almost looked like women in dim lighting. Rosamund's brain walked her down memory lane as she recalled rising and having her rich espresso. Rosamund had done everything the same way as every other day until she realized that her uncle had sent his security team out on a secretive outing, allowing for a rare rear window in time and routine. She now knew in hindsight how sloppy her actions had been. She probably should've waited, planned, but she had happened to see her passport on her uncle's desk the previous day and snagged it without him realizing it.
Rosamund knew the wall safe's combination after trying to sneak glances over his shoulder for so long and had decided to leap without looking. She had no idea that Tig was going to be the one to catch her, break her fall and radically change her life.
Rosamund laughed as she soaked in the tub that Gemma had used as a young child with her water safe toys and soap formed in the shape of lipstick and rouge to encourage bathing at an early age. Rosamund remembered her uncle dropping off a gown from a high-end boutique the night before that she was to wear for his annual party at the country club. He had hinted that he wanted her to meet a particular billionaire who ran a groundskeeping company that would prove lucrative for the budget when it went under fiscal review.
From the other side of the door Tig heard her laughing and clenched his hands into fast fists as he forced himself to not throw open the door and find out what was making her chuckle. He wanted to see her lips curl up into a smile as the gleeful sound fell from between them. Tig longed to not see fear when she met his eyes, to scare away the dark shadows that clung to her.
As Tig continued to listen to Rosamund's chuckle taper away, he reflected on the start of his own day. Like hers, his day mirrored in its usual similarity. He had woken up, his cock flaccid and stuck to the inside of his thigh, still sticky from a combination of the random cunt it had been buried in the night before, dripping his spilled semen. He had pushed the bottle-blonde out of his bed and moved through his morning, nursing the hairs of many dogs in the form of various bottles, glasses, and plastic cups before Clay's phone had ended up ringing.
A wry smile twisted Tig's lips as he thought how one simple phone call led to where he was now, crouched down on the other side of the unlocked but firmly closed bathroom door.
There was so much more between them than the carved oak door and brushed gold doorknob. Tig knew she hadn't left his name on a guest list or extended the slightest of invitations.
Despite that, there was a palpable shift in the continents, Rosamund was at once the very ecliptic, and he was the planet Jupiter. Tig was unable to stop himself from knocking, hearing the sound of the water immediately cease. It was soon quiet enough to hear the veritable popping of the glycerin bubbles against her naked skin.
Despite being submerged in the hot, soapy water, Rosamund felt a chill at the sound of his sharp series of knocks.
"Yes?"
Tig could hear the caution dripping from her words. "You okay in there?"
"Yes."
"Can I come in?"
Rosamund held her breath at his question, pressing her lips together when his words once again poured through the sturdy door.
"Can I ….. Rose?"
"Does it matter what I say?" she asked quickly, proud her voice didn't shake much.
Rosamund looked over and briefly met Tig's eyes as he opened the door.
"No," Tig murmured as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away when he closed the door behind him.
"I really didn't plan on this happening," Tig finally muttered before taking another burning swallow of the barrel-aged liquor.
Rosamund blew out a low breath and looked over at him, trying to not focus on his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. "And now that 'this' has happened?"
"Got no fucking idea," he admitted and rubbed his face before they both lapsed into collective silence.
Rosamund settled back heavily against the porcelain tub and closed her eyes.
"You okay?" Tig lamely asked as he watched her pinch the bridge of her nose.
A laugh fell from Rosamund's lips at his question and for a moment in time she was able to think past his nudity. His softened cock glistened in the steam-filled room as her intimate center ached from his enthusiastic, plunging touch. "Will you share some of that?" she asked, ignoring his question as she held her hand out for the bottle, soap bubbles dripping from the webbing of her slim fingers.
Tig smiled easily as he walked over and handed her the bottle.
Rosamund nodded her thanks and took a few burning sips of the strong liquor. She nearly choked when Tig didn't move away but instead stepped inside the roomy tub, the water level rising to nearly overly the lip of the tub as he settled in the suds. She was immediately thankful the soap bubbles were so bountiful, keeping her disfigured skin hidden under the layer of opalescent glycerin spheres.
She took a couple more rapid sips and avoided his gaze as his hands dipped into the water and began to massage her foot with his strong hands. Rosamund longed for the alcohol's soothing touch as Tig traced his thumbs along the arch of her foot before one hand cradled her heel and the other slid up her lower leg. "Relax," Tig rasped as he let his palm rest against the back of her calf, kneading the supple flesh.
Tig tightened his grip on her calf when Rosamund tensed under his touch, "don't go anywhere doll."
She chuckled, "where would I even go?"
"Canada?"
"I could've thought that through better," Rosamund admitted and gave a startled gasp when he suddenly leaned towards her, the water sloshing and running over the lip of the tub to splash on the tiled floor.
Tig's touch was electric as he raised a hand to cup her jaw, tracing the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. Rosamund felt like she had been stung by a bee as he roughly pressed his lips to hers, his tongue darting against her mouth, fucking her full lips.
For a moment, Rosamund returned his kiss before pushing her hands against his chest, nowhere to actually escape. "I'm sorry, I can't do this," she murmured on a near-breathless tone.
"Why?" Tig asked on a growl as she shook her head, feeling his heartbeat steadily race under her palm. "How can you even ask that?" Rosamund couldn't help but ask on a scoff. "This is all a little abnormal isn't it?" she added when he remained silent and unblinking.
"Tell me why this couldn't be normal," Tig whispered hoarsely, his lips hovering over hers as he tentatively began to dance his fingertips down the front of her neck and dipping past her sternum before she seized his wrist with both hands.
"Stop," Rosamund frantically murmured before she dropped her tone too low for him to discern, leaving him staring at her until she repeated herself. "You've taken everything, let me keep something to myself."
As Tig hovered between ignoring or listening to Rosamund, back in Charming, Hale used a burner phone to make a furtive call. After three rings, the call was answered by the former leader of the Calaveras MC, Hector Salazar.
Hale could practically hear the eager smile form on Salazar's face at the job offer for lots of cash just for killing some thief and retrieving the memory card.
As Hale painted Rosamund out to be a disgruntled intern who robbed him, back in the spacious bathroom at Gemma's childhood home, Tig kept his hand still, fighting his base nature which wanted to see exactly what she was hiding.
Rosamund let out a low breath in concert with Tig's ragged exhale when he stopped trying to find her scarred flesh just under the surface of the water and made a frustrated sound before forcing himself to move back to the other end of the tub.
He rubbed at his eyes before trying to fake looking casual as he leaned back against the tub's slickness and rested his arms on the porcelain's smooth edges.
Rosamund's stomach chose that moment of shared silence to loudly state its ravenous hunger. Neither could maintain a terrible level of seriousness and that was just enough time for Tig to corral his frenzied lust that threatened to boil over and consume him and abruptly rise and get out of the sudsy water.
She watched him pull a towel from the wrought-iron rack and cover his naked, wet flesh.
"I'll be out in the kitchen," Tig mumbled as he looked back over his shoulder before he reluctantly pulled the bathroom door shut.
He stalked to the master bedroom to roughly towel dry and get back into most of his clothes before heading to the kitchen. Every part of closing the door and not insisting on more was discordant with his very cellular bone matrix.
Tig found himself relieved when he heard his phone ringing from the depths of his haphazardly folded jacket, the shrill tone muffled by the thick fabric.
His relief mirrored itself when he saw 'Gem,' reflected on the screen from the caller ID.
"Gem."
"Are you okay Tigger?"
Tig looked down the hall and at the closed bathroom door, nodding before answering. "I will be."
"Tig, Hale isn't interested in getting his niece back anymore, she stole something else besides his money."
"I know," Tig said, "Hale's been blackmailing people, there's leverage on some kind of memory card."
"Hale stopped by again, he might get someone else to find that 'leverage.'"
Tig looked down the hall as Rosamund emerged from the bathroom and disappeared into the bedroom to find her clothes as Gemma continued in a hurried, concerned tone.
"Clay wants to send some of the guys up for reinforcement if Hale starts outsourcing."
"Are you coming up too Gem?"
"That alright with you Tigger?"
"Yes, I need you to bring a couple things with ya, that's all."
"What do you need?"
Tig asked her to fetch some extra clothes for Rosamund and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper before he continued. "There's something in my footlocker I need."
Back in Charming, Gemma smiled as Tig told her what she was looking for in his USMC issued footlocker. It had become his in the time between major wars and conflicts, in the space of time after Vietnam but before the Persian Gulf. Tig described what he needed Gemma to bring, adding quickly before he ended the call as Rosamund appeared at the end of the hall and made her way towards him.
"Bring Chuckie too, there's a lot of numbers to sort."
"We'll head out in the morning, be good Tigger."
Tig mumbled an incoherent goodbye as Rosamund walked to the fridge, teetering on being hungry to the point of nausea, pushed there with the potent booze on an empty stomach couple with the sheer anxiety from the moment she made her escape.
Tig leaned against the sturdy kitchen island as he watched Rosamund pull a bunch of food from the fridge and pile it on the smooth tiled top.
"What is it?" Tig asked as Rosamund paused, dropping her head, and swearing under her breath.
"There's no utensils or even a frying pan."
"There's a toaster and a microwave," he answered as he pointed to the stainless-steel appliances on the countertop.
Rosamund looked through the bag of shelf-stable random foods he had selected and smirked as she pulled out a box of birthday cake flavored toaster pastries.
"You don't like those?" Tig asked as Rosamund tore open the box and cradled one of the silver wrapped set of sugar-laden pastries in her palm, a deep frown pulling her eyebrows together.
"No, it's something else," Rosamund stumbled over as she tried to formulate a better answer. She wasn't sure how to begin describing the foreign feeling of eating food that was not conducive to keeping a slender, husband-worthy, 1950's perfection, over-medicated wife and near-indentured servant that she was being groomed for.
Tig closed the small distance between them and plucked the silver pouch from her hand, tearing open the plastic before dropping the duo of artificially flavored pastries in the toaster.
"What is it?" he asked lowly as he leaned closer and invaded every bit of her personal space, becoming a hulking, intimidating shadow, blocking out the light.
Rosamund shrugged, desperately needing air as his sudden closeness made her feel suffocated. "I can't remember the last time I had one of those, I'm on a strict, um, eating plan."
"What, your food's made by a personal fucking chef?" Tig teased and dropped his hands to rest on the countertop on either side of her, effectively trapping her in place within the circle of his arms.
Rosamund stared up at Tig and nodded, "yes, Pierre."
"Pierre?" Tig asked, stretching out the syllables.
Rosamund nodded, "chef and culinary teacher."
"And what all did Pierre teach you?"
Rosamund shook her head, "nothing like you're implying. Besides preparing my food for me, he taught me how to cook, ensuring I'd have a well-rounded education."
"You had a chef come to your house to teach you?"
Rosamund shook her head, "no, I was home-schooled, my uncle wanted me in a controlled environment."
"Is that why I've never seen you around before?" Tig asked, dipping his head closer, stopping just before their lips touched. He kept his expression neutral even though inside he was electric that she hadn't flinched or tried to move away.
Rosamund nodded and jumped when the toaster pastries popped up, the metal springs squeaked as they presented the sugary snacks, more partially hydrogenated fat and preservatives than actual food.
Tig held her eyes as he spoke, his exhale hot against her lips. "I'm glad you escaped your turret," he whispered, unable to keep the naked look of want painting itself across his face before he brushed his lips against hers.
As Tig longed for Rosamund to return the press of his lips, back in Charming, the disgraced Hector Salazar was already planning on how he was going to spend the obscene payday for tracking down a runaway bitch.