Chapter title from "Andante Andante" by ABBA
The hotel bar was set back from the lobby in what was little more than a narrow corridor, dimly lit, with a few booths situated against windows overlooking the busy street. A small tv hanging over the bar played a football game, and a lone bartender busied himself polishing glasses, as Jim and an older married couple were the only patrons. Jim claimed the corner booth, resting his chin in hand and watching the drizzling rain cling in prismatic sickles to the window. He always rather liked the rain. Less trouble happened on the streets when the weather was bad. And the sounds of it would drown out his inner noise and soothe him to sleep. His mind wandered to that plush king bed in his room and how nice it would be to sprawl naked in those crisp white sheets, Claire snuggled at his side, stroking her to sleep as they listened to the rain beating the hotel roof. The picture was so damn perfect it was almost enough to make him dart back to the lobby and catch her, routing her right back upstairs.
But he was too late, for she was already making her way toward him in a short, tight dress with a keyhole neck. The dark gray-green offered a dramatic contrast to her vibrant blonde hair and the petal pink of her lips. He hadn't expected her to change; Jim himself was still in his plaid button-up from earlier but had splashed his face and sprayed some fresh cologne. God, she was a knockout.
Sometimes he still felt foolish, fantasizing about her like he just did. He knew he was bug-eyed and opened-mouthed and probably looked like an idiot to her, but Claire didn't seem to care, those perfect pink lips spreading into a grin as she slid into the booth beside him. Her perfume drifted under his nose in a lethal vapor that turned his brain to mush. He shook a little bit as he slid over reflexively to make room. Another idiot move. He should have held his ground and just let her shimmy onto his lap. His slack-jawed countenance continued to take her in, lowering to her generous hips in that sinfully tight dress and how they splayed so deliciously atop the black leather booth. The words "please fuck me" literally ran through his head in his own desperate voice, so loudly he was scared for a moment that he'd actually uttered them.
"Do you like what you see, baby boy?" Claire ran her finger around the keyhole rim where her breasts peeked though her dress. She pulled his head to her and sealed her lips to his, kissing him hungrily. Mistress had come to play, clearly— hence the costume change. Jim let her attack his mouth, helpless to resist, even though the woman he wanted to be kissing was once again hidden somewhere inside this femme fatale.
"Ahem, drink?" The bartender tossed two cocktail napkins on the table and looked to the couple expectantly. It was obviously a slow night for tips.
"Two Washington Apples— the cocktail, not the shot," Mistress replied.
Jim cleared his throat. "Make that an Old Fashioned for me." He lowered his gaze to gauge her reaction, feeling her bristle a bit beneath the arm he'd casually flung around her shoulders.
"Careful, Toy," she cautioned once the bartender was out of earshot.
Jim smirked. "If we're gonna play games, I'm going to need whiskey."
"There's whiskey in a Washington Apple, smart ass."
Jim made a face. "Yeah but you can't taste it with all that froo-froo stuff." The hand that barely grazed her shoulder now massaged it, his palm moving over to dig into a particularly tense knot in the back of her neck. Claire closed her eyes and let her head drop forward, in one of her rare moments of surrender. That's all it took? Jim realized he needed to man up and challenge her more often. His other hand came to push her hair gently to the side before massaging her other shoulder, eliciting a small moan from her that made his cock twitch instantly.
"You're so tense, kiddo. You should let me spoil you more often. Help you relax like you help me."
"It's a dominant's job to— "
"Shhh..." Jim gave her shoulders a squeeze and nuzzled her ear. "Let Mistress have the night off. That's an order from your Commissioner." His erection grew exponentially with pride when she didn't argue and even tilted her head to the side in an invitation for him to nip at her neck. He was starting to feel confused about his body's responses. That first night at the Asylum, he'd thought he would die with pleasure while laying at the mercy of a dominatrix, turning every shred of control over to her. And now he felt a thrill at watching her bend to him. What did they call that at the club? A Switch? Was that what he was? Seemed appropriate— because both feelings were electric as hell.
Claire turned around in his arms and sought his mouth again, her eyes half closed as if she were already drunk. "Jim, I—" The words came out in a heated breath on his face, her mouth talking against his. He loved when she did that, like that night he'd cradled her at the club— like she couldn't even separate her mouth from his long enough to put a sentence together.
"Ahem— your drinks."
Claire straightened herself and promptly turned around. Jim sighed and threw about half the drink back in one gulp.
"Go ahead and bring me another," he told the man in a rather annoyed tone. Couldn't the guy see they were a bit preoccupied and just slide the glasses onto the table? Claire now sipped her drink quietly, staring dreamily at the raindrops illuminated by street lamps and passing cars.
"So tell me how you do it, kiddo," Jim began, shifting a little in the booth and as discreetly as possible in his pants. As much as he wanted her, he also wanted to make the most of their time away together and get to know her on a deeper level.
"Do what, Jim?"
"What you did in the lobby earlier. Checking into a hotel and getting the clerk to start in on his life story. Whatever it is that allows you to be Mistress to us lucky fellas. Knowing what we need."
Claire shrugged. "Reading people. Just comes naturally to me, I guess. That guy in the lobby says the same spiel multiple times a day, like a robot. I knew it would make his day to share something about what makes him human, what gets him excited, what makes him proud. And he was dying to get it out there. You saw. It was adorable."
Jim huffed and finished the last swig just as his second drink was delivered. "He's adorable?"
Claire gave him a smile and ran her thumb along his bottom lip, which apparently had formed into a pout of its own accord. "Now don't get jealous, Pet. He's about ten years younger than me. You know I have daddy issues."
Jim had to force his lips closed to stop his drink from escaping with his laugh. "I see. Tell me about those."
"Just that when I read people, I'd prefer to read a man with stories to tell... a past... someone who has built some walls that need breaking down. Boys like him barely have their first brick, let alone a wall. Everyone needs to feel important though, so yeah— I do the small talk thing, if someone seems like they need it. But to be turned on, I need something deeper."
Her pink mouth opened wide before closing tightly on the straw floating in her cranberry drink. Those twisting orbs of chestnut and olive peered up at him beneath long lashes, and Jim's hand moved to cup that vixen face like he was in a trance. Oh, he'd give her something deeper. So deep she couldn't walk properly around the amusement park tomorrow. But he knew that wasn't what she meant, even if she did like to play with innuendo.
"So how did you learn to read people?" he asked. "You learn that in school?"
"Kind of. Psych major."
"Nice. Well, we sort of have that in common, except my skill set seems to be only with the bad guys. In fact, with a talent like that, why are you still doing spreadsheets and supply orders? Why not go to Academy, try for a field job? Or law school? The DA?"
Claire shook her head quickly. "No way. I like to lay low. Do my own thing. Get in, get out. Besides, I'd be terrified to put myself on the line like you do. I'm a total scaredy cat."
Jim grinned. "No way, little girl. Not with those canes and whips."
Claire swirled her straw around in the ruby liquid, sucking some up into it with one finger over the end, then raising it and letting it go, watching it swirl back in. A waft of artificial apple pucker hit Jim's nose. It wouldn't be too terrible, if licked from the inside of her mouth.
"Why do you think I started with the whips and canes?" she asked him, her eyes skirting over to him with a seriousness he wasn't used to seeing on her beautiful face.
"To keep from being scared?"
She nodded.
"Scared of what, kiddo?"
Claire gave a dry laugh. "Everything. When I was ten all my friends were so excited to see this fantasy movie, so one of the moms took us all to the theater for her kids' birthday. I was so scared of this brown hairy wolf thing with bright green eyes that jumped out at you, and the creepy talking dog, and these weird metal faces that shot daggers out of their eyes. I didn't sleep for weeks. And I was ten. I should have known better, but I didn't."
"When I was younger than that and we'd go to crowded places, I would cry if one of my parents got too far away," she continued. "Even if the other was right there. I just needed the security of them both. They weren't all that secure themselves though, even though they were both cops. They were small town... everything outside their little world was big and scary and evil. The "city" to them was like the seventh pit of hell. They'd watch the news at night and shake their heads and wring their hands and tell me I better be careful out there. My mom used to answer the door with a billy club in her hand. Seriously! Because they'd heard the new neighbors might be 'shady.' So that's how I grew up. When Grace and I started venturing out on our own, meeting new people, having new experiences... I decided instead of being held back by my fear, I'd learn to master things that could hurt me. Being a Mistress lets you do that. If you control a man's pleasure, you control him. And that goes for nearly every man— even the scary ones."
Jim stared into his own blend of whiskey and bitters and chewed on this series of monumental revelations. He was terrified of possibly saying the wrong thing and sending her right back into her protective shell. But he also yearned to tell her he'd protect her forever so she'd never need that shell again. His heart wanted to tell her that; his ego needed to tell her that.
But his mind journeyed back to that day at the former commissioner's funeral— the commissioner he'd failed to protect. The man drank a madman's poison right in front of him, and he was powerless to stop it. In faking his own death to protect his family from being the next targets, Jim had hurt them irreparably. He could protect their safety, but not their hearts. He'd wounded them so deeply that day that they'd never get back those simple times they'd taken for granted before. And in letting Batman take the fall and putting Harvey Dent on a pedestal, for their safety and that of all Gotham, he'd dealt the final blow.
"No, Jim! Stop him!" Barbara sobbed, clinging to Barbie... Harvey struggled to hold onto a shaking and terrified Jimmy...
No. As much as he'd love to sweep an arm tightly around Claire and tell her she'd never have to fear anything again, he couldn't. But he could love her, if she'd let him. He could make sure to never stray too far from her side in crowds. He could let her cast the riding crop aside for the night and let Mistress rest while she enjoyed being cherished as Claire. And he could be there when she woke up from nightmares of shooting daggers.
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"Hey," Jim said softly, after a few embarrassing moments of silence. Claire was grateful; she felt like she'd word-vomited again and refused to be the first to speak. "Thanks for telling me all that."
"You're welcome," she said softly. "Now you know how silly I am, I guess. You owe me one. Tell me something completely mortifying about yourself."
Jim played with the ice in his glass thoughtfully, the corners of his mustache curling in amusement. She could tell he was trying to think of something funny, to make her laugh. But suddenly his face turned serious. "I cried on my first day of basic training."
Claire's hand flew to his leg and instinctively squeezed. "Aww, baby. I'm sure a lot of men and women do. It's a lot to handle, being away from your family, thrown into something so intense."
Jim shook his head. "Not the guys I was with. They were all bigger than me... confident... really put it all out there. I mean look at me— I don't exactly scream 'tough guy.'"
"You scream 'good guy,' and that's what matters," Claire reassured him. "Smart guy... capable guy. Look at you now... the big job. People trust you. I trust you."
"Do you?" His eyes called her on that immediately, smoky blue lie detectors reading her there in the dimly lit bar.
Claire's words stalled; that last sentence had slipped. She trusted him with her life, but not with her heart. She knew what it was like to lose someone and have it mess you up for years. And that was from an accident; she couldn't imagine how devastated she'd be if she lost Jim by fucking things up, or him losing interest, or him deciding he didn't really want her— just a Mistress. She didn't really trust him... not because he wasn't a good guy, but because he was too good— too good for her.
"I think you're one of the most trustworthy people I've ever known," she answered with a deep breath. She downed the rest of her second drink. The bartender, as abrupt and annoying as he was, made stiff drinks. The Crown was getting to her. She stood shakily.
"Whoa there, kiddo. Where you going so fast?"
"I'm pretty tired, from the flight. Going to run a bath and get to bed, take advantage of this whiskey haze to just check out. We have a big day tomorrow, after all." Claire gave him a taunting grin, sensing that even though he'd purported to have some thrill ride action sequence a few years ago, he was a little trepidatious about the coasters.
"Okay— wait for me to settle the tab." Jim stood too, wobbling adorably. Claire reached out a hand to steady him, instantly aware of his firmness, his heat. She pictured him on top of her like they were in a movie, her fingers in his feathery brown hair as his head roved over her body. She knew it was her lack of orgasms triggering such a fantasy, and she told her pulsating brain stem and those dreamy parts of her frontal cortex to shut the hell up and stop conspiring against her.
Jim's hand latched securely over hers as he walked briskly to the elevator, almost dragging her behind him. Every once in awhile he swayed a bit with the whiskey's effects, but he certainly wasn't walking like a submissive any longer. Claire noticed through slightly hazy vision that several women were watching him move so confidently through the lobby. His jaw was set, his dark brown wingtip oxfords leaving a strident echo in their wake. One of the women was the beautiful Lila with her soft brown hair, slinging a thin purse strap over her shoulder as she prepared to leave for the evening.
Claire tightened her grip a bit on his hand, and it dawned on her that it was his left hand, and that something was different. She sucked in a breath, her fingers attempting a series of subtle grasps for confirmation. Jim was a true bachelor now— the wedding ring definitely gone. Was every vagina in the freakin' room suddenly aware of that fact? He wasn't a typical alpha male of course, or he wouldn't be such an adorably perfect sub. He was a more dangerous kind— the kind that tempered his capability and sex appeal with integrity, sensitivity, and vulnerability. The kind that would make women fall and fall hard, once they got to know him.
Claire, you've got to get it together and get your head out of your ass, she scolded herself. Jim won't wait around for you forever.
She watched him as the elevator rose to the fifth floor. He meticulously folded his bar receipt then slid it into his wallet— an inconsequential act, but she smiled nonetheless. Years of working together proved how organized and careful he was. He had to be; you didn't put mobsters away for life by skipping steps or making mistakes. It was sexy, and the damn whiskey was pumping through her veins and making her hot.
"After you, kiddo." Jim held the elevator door open as she crossed, and she resumed her Mistress walk down the hallway with him now following behind. It wasn't all that intentional, aside from it giving her a few moments to collect herself without her face betraying her. She fumbled in her clutch for her key card once she reached her room, hearing him approach behind her.
Jim stopped impossibly close, and in a blur of movements he whirled her around and pressed her backside to the door, coming in for one gentle nip to her lower lip. He backed away for a second to gauge her reaction, letting out a drunk little laugh before lifting her up around the waist, pinning her to the door. Claire let out her own giggle in return, feeling her eyes widen as he dived forward for more. She squeezed his neck and kissed him back, their head movements hungry and uncoordinated but sexy as hell.
Her sweet apple taste mixed with his bitter orange, and he let a husky breath release into her mouth as he gently lowered her back down. A tender hand caressed her hair, and his head tilted with a lazy smile. He planted a new series of wet, noisy nips on her mouth, those blue eyes on fire as he briefly backed away to gaze on her after each one. Her hands ran wildly over his chest and biceps, her head falling backward in the ecstasy his kisses built within her. He nipped at her chin next, his mouth closing around its upturned point, running along her jaw. The man was eating her face, right there in the hotel hallway, devouring her like she was his favorite flavor of ice cream. His open mouthed kisses trailed down her neck, pausing when he reached her chest.
"Your heart's racing," Jim murmured, then he ravenously attacked the palpitating spot, his lips sealing to her skin like a vacuum suction. Her fingernails raked his scalp, and she tugged at his silky brown hair. Her center was a roaring fire, weeks of frustrating agony begging to be released. She felt herself straddle his thigh, her body undulating into him until it was met by a strange vibration, accompanied by a familiar sound.
"Fuck," Jim muttered.
"It's okay, Jim," Claire panted. "I told you I was sleepy anyway, and I— "
"No," he said sternly, and he whipped around to stalk down the hall as he uttered an abrupt greeting into the phone. "What is it, Lieutenant?" Jim paused for a minute then rested his head on the wall with a huge sigh, obviously stressed. Claire knew if Lieutenant Black was calling when Jim was about to be on PTO, it must be big.
"Mmm-hmm. Yeah. That's probably your best bet, but you need to have backup, and then backup for them. Surround 'em all sides. These new characters running around out there can't be trusted. They don't fit the profiles. You have to be ready for whatever they throw at you, Lieutenant."
Jim finally looked up and gave Claire an apologetic look. She just smiled and blew him a kiss, saved once again from temptation, it seemed like. But she was aching so much at this point she felt like a cat in heat. Surely she could get herself off tonight. Be normal again tomorrow. Surely...