Like a Horse Made of Air
Chapter Eleven: Poised At the LineThe routine is damn near automatic at this point.
Tommy comes in with the tray and she sets aside her work. He puts the bowl in her lap and grabs the kettle. In goes the hot water, followed by the dose of powder. The water turns milky and a sharp, bitter scent fills the air. He pulls a towel over her head and the bowl.
"Five minutes," he tells her.
She bends over the bowl and breathes as deeply as she can for five minutes. For the first time she doesn't feel more than humid air that leaves a bitter after taste on her tongue. He removes the towel and holds her, eyes questioning, and she grins at him.
"Not so much as a tickle," she inform him gleefully.
He grins too, his happiness obvious as he leans into press a kiss to her lips. Then they're scrambling to keep the bowl from spilling it's contents all over the bed and they laugh together. She's quick to scrub the taste from her mouth—for the last time!—and firmly declines the cornmeal porridge.
"I'm so glad to be done!" She exclaims once they've cleared away the hazards and settled down again.
"Just in time for John and Keeva's wedding," Tommy notes.
"You might even be willing to let me walk all by meself," she muses mock solemnly.
He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, "think again."
"Well," she sighs, "at least you're nice to look at."
"Is that why you've taken so many pictures of me?" Tommy smiles.
"It's not me fault you're inspiring," she sniffs. "Speaking of."
She tugs him over her and slants a kiss across his lips with purpose. For the first time in months she parts her lips to his tongue, and it doesn't take long for things to turn heated. They part but not far. She feels his hand come up and automatically curl around her neck, but then he pauses and pulls back. He shifts his grip to trail his thumb down the front of her throat before meeting her eyes seriously.
"I don't think I'll be able to do that anymore," he tells her.
She sees the shadow of too many nights listening to her struggle to breathe behind his eyes. Remembers too well herself the helplessness as she choked as more and more black sludge just kept coming up.
She offers him a rueful smile, "that's alright. I don't think I want that anymore either."
He nods and leans back down to her, hand shifting now to cup the back of her neck, as his lips meet hers again. She enjoys the kiss, hands gripping around the back of his head and dragging down behind his ears and around the back of his neck.
He moves, pulling her with him until he's on his back and she's above him. She grips him with her thighs and gives him a mock serious look.
"Are you saying I need riding lessons?" She teases.
His eyes flash hot, "they say practice makes perfect."
"I'll need a good mount to practice on," she muses out loud. "Someone patient and steady."
He runs his hands from just below her breasts to her hips, tugging her just a little until she's centered properly over the bulge in his trousers.
"I love you," he tells her openly as he flexes beneath her and pushes himself perfectly to tease at her.
"God," she moans as she braces her hands against his chest and then, "I love you too. But if you think a bit of petting is going to be enough, I'm afraid you're very much mistaken."
"If you want something," Tommy tells her with another slow grind, "you're going to have to tell me."
"Fuck," she keens, needy just that fast.
"That much I figured out," he smirks.
"You can be such an arse," she pants before she scrapes enough wits together to go for his buttons. "Clothes off, please and thank you."
"It's the middle of the day," he tells her even as he sets himself to helping.
"I don't rightly care," she informs him.
"Shops open," he says as more and more clothes find their way to the floor.
"Yeah?" She laughs, "let's see if you can make me scream loud enough they can make out your name."
His jaw flexes hard, then she's flipped again. Her back meets the mattress even as he forces her thighs apart and over his shoulders. He licks and sucks and nips down her body until he's face first in her mons. His tongue delving into her slit before he licks up to suck her clit.
She scrambles for purchase, one hand in his hair the other braced above her head.
Then he settles in for his meal and doesn't let up until she screams.
Challenge accepted and likely won; she thinks dazedly even as he sinks into her to find his own pleasure. She wraps herself around him the best she can in her high, feels him move inside her and savors the noises he makes as his control frays.
She's not the only one who's been pent up and he finds his release with a harsh cry as he pushes as deep into her as he can.
When they make it downstairs sometime later, John has no qualms about making a crude joke. Which gets the men going, though, no one's willing to push too far with Tommy present. She just smirks, refusing to be anything other than blissfully content.
By the end of the week she's standing in the row of bride's maids as she watches Keeva move in dignified pace to meet John at the altar. She's always lovely, with her spiraling red curls and bright blue eyes, but she looks radiant all made up on her wedding day. She meets Tommy's eyes across the way as they listen to the couple exchange their vows. Then she joins in with the chaos as the crowd erupts into cheers as Keeva and John share their kiss.
The party that follows is loud and filled with laughter. It's very definitely late as she sits aside, watching people mill and dance. The ash is out of her lungs but she's still too easily winded to think about joining in the fervor. It's pleasant to spectate, though, and it isn't long before Tommy joins her. He lifts her out of the chair to take her place and settle her across his lap.
She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles up at him, "having fun?"
He leans in for a kiss and says, "it's good to see everyone so happy."
"It is," she agrees
There's a moment of quiet as they watch the party move around them.
"Think they'll notice us slipping away," Tommy whispers in her ear as his hands begin to wander.
Her breath hitches as he rubs circles high on her thigh, "think everyone's too drunk for anymore best man speeches anyway."
"If they need more speeches," Tommy muses between kisses along her neck, "I'm sure Arthur will be happy to fill in."
"Tommy," she mews as he presses down on her mons through the layer of her clothes.
She squirms and finds herself moving against the bulge in his trousers. His grip tightens, then he's getting up and dragging her off to bed.
Ada catches her eye and waves with a cheeky smirk. Wren can't do more then wave back with a smirk of her own.
"The fair today, is it?" She asks as she wanders into the garage where Tommy's readying the car.
"Aye," he agrees as he tosses aside the rag he'd been using.
"Are you going to speak to the Lees?" she asks him quietly.
"I am," he tells her. "No sense starting a feud I don't mean to last. I'll let the men with Johnny Dogs carry a message back to their Queen."
She reaches up and smooths the hair away from his face, "I have faith you can convince them to see things your way. You're very good at that."
He tucks his hand beneath her chin and tilts her face up for a kiss.
"Hey, now!" The familiar cheerful voice of John calls, "thought this was a man's day?"
She laughs as she pulls away, "what, seeing me before you go is too much woman for you?"
Arthur cackles as he slaps a hand on John's shoulder.
She turns her attention to the littlest of the Shelby's and opens her arms to Finn. Always eager to be noticed, Finn comes readily to her.
"You have fun now," she tells the boy. "Enjoy the fresh air."
He nods and boasts, "I'll bring back prizes from the games."
"I look forward to seeing what you get," she gives him a little squeeze then lets him go and straightens up.
"You boys play nice," she teases as she heads off. John boos, as Arthur says something she can't make out over the noise.
Then she's off to Birch House.
It's been far too long since she did any work other than what was necessary to keep her garden from collapsing. She's kept the bookkeeping in hand, and the other women had done a marvelous job keeping everything going but she's more than ready to get back to it. At the very least her stores are in desperate need of new stock.
Before she gets down to business she double checks the work she's had Rosie and Danny do for her. First she'd had them spread the warning to burn any information packets that came with a specific kind of tin—she'd put them in there for her customers safety, but now she regrets it.
She's rather sure they'll do it though, if only to cover their own arses. She's not fully sure why, but that something had also nudged her to have everything sensitive or valuable packed up in the attic. She'd even offered to store anything the Owens wanted to keep safe for them.
She goes through the rooms and finds they'd done an excellent job. The kitchen has long been repaired and even her room looks vacant. The whole of the upper floors somehow giving the impression the house is barely used.
The sad truth is she knows it wasn't a difficult impression to make, the house sees less use than she'd like altogether. Not for the first time, she considers just turning the whole house into her shop. She could turn the top floor into a little apartment and expand her work into the rest.
It's a possible project for another day.
She's elbow deep in dried leaves and powders when there's a sudden crash from her front door.
She startles, her hand automatically going to where she keeps her gun. Her hand grips nothing though, as she'd had the gun put in the attic too.
"Police!" A voice shouts as she comes through into the kitchen.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She asks incredulously as men in uniform begin pouring over her house as they open cupboards and throw things on the floor. She hears more than one dish break from the rough handling.
"Wren MacLeod," a man declares as she's grabbed and dragged out into the street, "you're wanted for questioning by order of Inspector Campbell."
She's led and shoved into a car where the man she'd seen in the vision as standing by a freshly opened grave sits waiting for her.
She makes a show of looking him over and says, "you must be our new Inspector."
He speaks in a heavy Irish accent as he says, "I am. And you're Wren MacLeod."
"You're misinformed," she tells him. "I'm Wren Ashby."
"No record of you getting married, Ms. MacLeod," Campbell puffs on his pipe. "And if there were I'd expect a different last name altogether. Shelby, maybe?"
"I took me mother's maiden name more than a year ago," she tells him flatly.
"You mean after the man your father chose as your husband was conveniently murdered?" He presses. "Let's set aside the pretenses, shall we? You were complicit to murder the night your lover shot your would-be husband."
Campbell points with his pipe as he says, "Now, you sell illegal substances under a false business. I have more than enough grounds to see you in prison for a long time, Ms. MacLeod. But, I'm a reasonable man. I can offer you a deal that would see you walk free."
"Again, Inspector, you're misinformed," Wren scoffs. "You're not very good at your job are you? Langley might have been me father's drinking buddy, but he was also a violent drunk who'd murdered two wives. It was Langley who started the rumors of marriage to try to pressure me father into agreeing. You should ask better questions and you'd know that already."
Wren pointedly lifts her chin as she says, "As to the disagreement between me father and I? Well that has to do with him trying to keep me inheritance when me grandfather had already put everything in me name, which—as you'll see when you look them up under public record—allows me to legally operate under the name Wren Ashby."
And here she lifts her brow at him, "And how exactly caffeine free herbal infusions—which is what a tisane is, in case you didn't know—count as illegal substances, I'm afraid you'll have to tell me. Unless you meant the mints? Or the cleaning powders? Have those become illegal in your short interim in Birmingham?"
"You sell contraceptives," He tells her shortly, "no matter what name you try to hide them under."
"I sell tablets you put in hot water to make a drink, that you can sweeten or add milk to as the drinker prefers," she tells him blandly. "Would you like me to write this down, so as to help avoid further confusion?"
He grabs her roughly by the neck and pushes her back in the seat with one hand while he grabs her face with the other.
"This is what's going to happen, Ms. MacLeod," he starts, and she laughs in his face.
"Are you going to beat me, Inspector?" She pants out. "You think that's going to endear me to your cause? Make me compliant? Obedient?"
She lets the moment hang before she fires off, "have you paid your whores so well and often you forget that's not how men should act?"
She can see the fury in him, feel it in his grip, before he shoves her bodily out the car.
"When I come down on your lover, Ms. MacLeod," he tells her, "there will be no mercy for you. You will hang in the noose right beside him."
She stands tall outside her house amidst her things they'd dragged out and scattered like garbage as the car pulls away. She makes a point of looking each officer in the face, making a show of studying them. She can see the unease catch and trickle through the ranks.
More than one man avoids her eyes as she moves down the street and begins offering support to her neighbors.
Cleaning up takes no small amount of time, not in the least because she helps as many people as she can. Many of them fuss at her though, reminding her of her recent illness and asking if she needs help instead. She hears the rumor going around that the raid is Shelby sanctioned, and scoffs.
She sets to work unraveling that bit of nastiness. They tut at her about "that brute" and how Tommy will make him pay for it. She smiles and thanks them, before carrying on.
She's tired but has finished cleaning up everything off the floors when Tommy comes through the door. He's out of breath like he'd run the whole way, and when he's close enough to pull her close as he looks her over she suspects he very well might have.
"I'm alright," she tells him as he frowns, his fingers grazing the bruising around her neck.
"He fucking choked you?" Tommy grits out.
"He was careless and rough," she tells him, "grabbed me by the neck to hold me in place. But no he never cut off me air."
She watches the muscles in his jaw work, even as his touch stays gentle, "I'm going to kill him."
"Aye, you will," she tells him, the day has been long and offered her a great deal of time to think. "Just not yet."
His gaze rises to meet hers, fury meeting fury, and he smirks.
"New plan?" He asks lowly.
"New plan," she agrees. "He's going to give us what we want. Then we're going to strip him of everything he has. And once he's down in the mud, you're going to take him out back and put him down like a mad dog."
"I like the sound of this new plan," he murmurs as he leans into kiss her.
"I thought you might," she tells him as she rises to meet him.
That night she stands with his arm around her waist as she watches the bonfire. The pictures and paintings add sparks of interesting colors as they burn.
"Under what authority," the reporter asks Tommy.
"None," Tommy lies easily, "I'm just a simple man. Fought in France and came home with two metals for gallantry. Me name is Thomas Shelby. Now go. Go on and put it in your paper."
When the man is gone she says, "By the command of the Peaky fucking Blinders would have made a good headline."
He huffs a laugh as he pulls her closer, "that'd distract from the point."
"I suppose you're right," she allows.
"Happens from time to time," he says as he presses a kiss to her temple.
They're going through their usual nighttime routine when Tommy reaches out and catches her by the waist.
Laughing easily she smiles up at him, "well, hello, sir."
"Almost forgot," he tells her with a small smile.
"Forgot what?"
"I've a gift for you," Tommy tells her as he presses kisses along her face.
"Mysterious," she hums. "What gift?"
"I'll show you tomorrow," he tells her as he pulls back.
She stands a moment with an eyebrow lifted.
"Did you literally just tell me, only to tell me you aren't going to tell me?" She huffs.
"I'm telling you," he says lightly, "not to make plans for tomorrow morning."
"What if I already had plans?" She asks just to be difficult.
"Now you have different ones," he says as he herds her back toward the bed.
She slips her hands just under the waistband of his sleep trousers as she sits on the edge of the bed in front of him while looking up at him under her lashes. She makes a show of licking her lips and leaning forward just enough the heat of her breath will warm him through the fabric.
"Are you sure," she purrs as she traces her nose up the thickening bulge and speaks with her lips against the fabric, "you don't want to tell me?"
"I'm sure you'll like the surprise," he grunts out as he winds his hands in her hair.
"Be difficult then," she allows as she tugs down his trousers to free his cock.
She licks him from base to tip before suckling the head and feels the aborted jerk of his hips as she teases his little slit with the tip of her tongue.
"You're making a—fuck," he moans as she sinks down on him. "You're making a convincing argument for being difficult."
She half shrugs an answer as she swallows around his length before hollowing her cheeks as she pulls back up with the flat of her tongue dragging along the thick vein.
"Yes," he grits out. "Just like that. Come on, Love. Come on."
His muscles strain and twitch while he holds himself against thrusting into her mouth. His hands knead the back of her head, gentle tugs as he flexes his fingers. She sets a rhythm that pulls curses and praise from her man in equal measure before pulling off to mouth down to lave attention to his balls and that little stretch of sensitive skin just behind them. Enjoys the flex and strain of his muscles as she nudges him ever closer to that edge.
She pulls off again and uses just a little pressure against his belly to get him to take a step back as she rises then drags her hands from his collarbones back down to his jutting cock as she turns and presses him down to trade places.
Then she pulls the clothes right back off him and uses them to cushion her knees as she kneels before him. He braces behind himself with one hand as he obligingly tilts his hips as she takes him back in her mouth.
He's flushed and panting a staccato mantra of, "Fuck, Wren, yes, yes, me good girl, me sweet girl, suck me, just like that, fuck yes."
She doesn't relent this time, using her hand to message and tug gently at his sack while a finger puts gentle pressure just behind them. Her other hand doing it's best to circle him at the base and hold him while her head bobs a steady rhythm.
He's so wet with her saliva the noise is getting obscene as she slurps and hums around his shaft. His hips give little hitching thrusts as his head falls back.
She has plenty of warning as she feels his balls pull up in her hand, and his cock twitch and swell on her tongue. She swallows him down right to the root as he comes with a shout; his hand slipping out from under him as he lands on his back and holds the back of her head with both hands.
She eases off him slowly, mindful of his sensitivity. He gives a half-hearted grunt and tug at her hair when she can't resist giving the head a little suckle. She cups his softening length and nuzzles kisses around the base of his cock, his hips, and his thighs.
He stirs after a moment and pulls her up on the bed with him.
"Don't know why I bother putting clothes on," he mutters between kisses.
"I'd say I don't either," she muses. "But the day you go to bed naked is the day you have to answer the door naked."
"Too likely," he grumbles before he grabs a pillow and arranges her on the bed to his liking.
Then he rucks up her nightshift and puts his head between her thighs.
She watches with wide-eyes as Tommy leads the white horse out of its stall, her hands pressed over her mouth.
"He's lovely," she says and moves her hands to smile at the man. "You got him at the fair?"
"Got him off of Johnny Dogs," he says as he pulls from his cigarette. "He had a spare horse he said, and I did promise you would have one of your own."
"He's for me?" She reaches out and pets down the stallions pink nose.
"Aye, he's yours," Tommy affirms.
Mindful not to spook the horse, she grabs her man and pulls him into a fierce kiss.
He puts the smoke between his lips and wraps his unoccupied arm around her waist and grins down at her, clearly pleased with himself.
"I'll ride him a bit and see how he handles," Tommy tells her. "Then we'll get you on him."
"Thank you," she says as she pets the horse's neck. "Really, Tommy, thank you."
He gives her a little squeeze as he says, "of course. It's me privilege to make you happy."
Then he turns and calls out, "can you grab me down a Spanish saddle, Curly?"
"Yes, yes," Curly nods as he immediately changes direction. "Sp-p-panish saddle for the white."
Then Charlie comes up to them with a piece of paper in hand.
Tommy takes it and glances it over.
"From the Lees," Charlie clarifies. "She's agreed to meet with you in three days."
"Best polish your silver tongue, love," she tells him when he looks to her. "You're going to need to be in top form to meet a Queen."
Charlie snorts and Tommy quirks a smirk.
"This one's never had much difficulty talking folk into trouble," Charlie laughs.
"Don't I know it," she agrees as she taps a finger against his bottom lip.
She notes the shifting light and steals Tommy's watch to check the time, "I best be off though, I've appointments to keep."
"Appointments?" Tommy calls after her.
"I'm hiring again," she calls back.
She walks beside Tommy as they follow Johnny Dogs into the gypsy camp. Technically she comes from Romani blood too, her grandparents had made sure she knew the language even. But she's never really lived as a gypsy even in the haphazard way the Shelby's have. Truthfully she hadn't expected to be brought along, considering that fact.
Yet here she is.
"You're lucky I got you in, you know," Johnny Dogs is saying as they walk. "She's harder to see than the Pope these days."
When Tommy doesn't answer, Johnny makes a noise and seems to pout as he says, "a thank you would be nice."
They're led to a fire in the center of the camp that has a woman set up as the focal point. When they're waved to take the seats clearly left empty for them, Tommy reaches out and claps a hand on Johnny's shoulder and the other man grins.
Wren studies the pretty woman—Zilpha Lee, Tommy told her on the way here—and can't help but be a bit impressed. The woman has presence, she'll give her that.
"You wanted a meeting," Zilpha says mildly. "Now here we are."
"You know who I am," Tommy begins. "We are kin, through me mother's side. Next to me is Wren Ashby, granddaughter of Owen and Isla Ashby."
"I remember the Ashby's," Zilpha says thoughtfully. "They were good people."
"They're missed," Wren says simply.
The woman nods before turning back to Tommy, "And what does Tommy Shelby and his Queen want with the Lees?"
"A deal," Tommy states.
Zilpha waves a hand for him to continue.
"We know your kin have been hitting up the racetracks," he tells her. "Running chalk on the bookies and paying off the Birmingham Boys to do it. How would you like to make better profit, for less work?"
Zilpha weighs his words a moment before tilting her head, "I'm listening."
"I have a plan," he tells her, "that will see Billy Kimber set up for the taking. The Peaky Blinders will became a legal betting syndicate and for their help the Lees will get a cut. You're people will need to do very little, until the time comes to topple him."
"You want to pay us to do very little?" She looks unconvinced.
"What you will be doing is the key," Tommy spreads his hands. "Quality over quantity, in this instance."
"And are you going to tell me the quality of the work you'd be expecting?" Zilpha returns.
"Are you interested enough to ally in order to hear it?" Tommy counters easily.
"You say we're kin," Zilpha muses. "And I know it to be true, for all that that truth is very distant. We sit here and talk about setting up a man for betrayal—I've discerned that much—what's to say you won't turn on me and mine when the time comes?"
"I come in good faith," Tommy says as he reaches over and takes Wren's hand.
"And what does the silent Queen think of this?" Zilpha asks her pointedly.
"Tommy will take Kimber, with or without the Lees," Wren says plainly. "I don't think that, I know it. But, allying with the Lees opens the door for a near bloodless takeover. With the Boys on the take, and the Lees in the wings, only Kimber himself need die to make way for Tommy to take his place. It's the most efficient route. But if the Lees aren't amenable, there's always war."
Wren doesn't waver as she holds the older woman's gaze and the woman smiles.
"Ruthless," Zilpha says approvingly. "But practical. The Lees will accept their role if the Shelby's will marry into the family. For the sake of good faith, of course."
She blinks slowly before flicking a glance at Tommy.
"John's marred as of earlier this month," Tommy says slowly. "And I'm bound to me Queen. Which leaves Arthur, the oldest of us brothers, yet unattached."
"Will he marry?" Zilpha asks bluntly.
"Might do," Tommy allows. "Though that is as much to do with the bride you intend to offer."
"Me daughter," Zilpha answers. "Esme."
"Even if we agree to it, which I think shouldn't be a problem," Wren joins slowly, "the marriage couldn't happen right away. The first part of the plan involves convincing Kimber your kin and Tommy are at odds. A wedding—especially a recent one—will put lie to that before it could get off the ground."
Zilpha's expression turns thoughtful before she looks to Tommy, "the enemy of me enemy?"
"Makes for strange friends," Tommy allows. "I intend to leverage his troubles with your kin into getting him to make a deal. Security provided by the Peaky Blinders in return for a legal betting pitch."
"Then when his guard is down," Zilpha follows through, "you'll have your people in place to open the way to take him out."
Tommy tips his head in a nod.
"After Kimber takes the deal," Zilpha declares, "Your Arthur will marry me Esme, here. And if the wedding does not happen, then the Lees will be your enemies for true and take what we're owed. That amenable to you?"
Tommy meets her eyes, and she subtly squeezes his hand in support. Whatever he decides, she's with him.
He looks back to Zilpha and gives a curt nod, "we've a deal."
"Good," the woman nods crisply back. "You might as well meet Esme while you're here. Take back good word to your brother about his intended."
Then she calls her daughter to the fire while food and drink seems to appear from nowhere and they spend a good while amongst the Lees.
There's a fervor to the air as people push forward. She watches from the stairs, feeling no particular desire to be mobbed, as it seems like near the entirety of Birmingham tries to fit on the shop floor. She has four saleswomen now, and two pairs of runners to supply them, after the last bit of hiring. She's not needed anywhere in a hurry.
It's Monaghan Boy's third race, and everyone is eager to bet on the magic horse.
Moneys coming in faster than hands can count it, the men's hands flying over their pages as they track bet after bet. At one point a tower of coins gives way and a Peaky man shoves people out the way with a broom and sweeps the coins all together for easier pick up. He'd called it a "thousand quid bet".
She thinks they might have already surpassed that lofty goal.
She watches Tommy where he is right in the thick of it, his hands deft as he conducts his business. Quick, but steady. A cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth and smoke curls round his head, the halo of a bad man. She smiles a little smile to herself, humming a tune under her breath.
It's later that night and the shop is closed. Monaghan has lost, his racing career over, while she and Tommy count their winnings. They've already sent people out to buy back good faith and keep the locals happy. Everything left is the families.
"How many pubs did you want to buy Arthur again?" She asks teasingly.
He drops his cigarette in a tray before he grabs her and pulls her into his lap, his face a picture of such smug contentment it's feline.
"He'll have his pub," Tommy agrees. "And you'll have your shop."
"Was thinking of renovating Birch House into me shop actually," she admits as she leans into him. "Turn the top floor into an apartment and use the rest for business."
"You sure?" He asks as he pulls back to look into her face.
"I don't want to give up the house, not even to rent it out," she admits. "But we hardly spend time there except for when we want a night without interruptions or for me business as it is. Might as well make it official. It suits me business which is doing very well under the structure I've going."
"Alright then, will renovate Birch House into Wren's Respite," he agrees as he leans back into her.
They're quiet a moment.
The he sighs and admits, "I've paid the spy to come to the races at Cheltenham."
"Had to pay her did you?" She asks mildly amused.
"Money for a dress apparently," he shrugs. "And three quid for the event."
"She's ballsy, I'll give her that," Wren shakes her head.
"Made a deal to allow singing at the Garrison on Saturdays," He scoffs.
"Music soothes the soul," Wren quotes. "Suppose a spy might need a fair amount of soothing."
This pulls a reluctant noise of amusement from him.
"You're oddly tense for a man who's plans are falling into place," she says as she rubs circles into his nape.
"Don't want to go to Cheltenham with a fucking blonde spy," Tommy sighs, "and have to leave me Queen waiting for me at home."
There wasn't much she could do about his plan to distract Kimber, so she focuses on the other part of his statement instead.
"I've been hearing that more and more lately," Wren tells him thoughtfully. "People calling me your Queen."
"Because it's true," he tells her as he pulls her tighter into the curve of his body. "I'm the King of Birmingham and your me Queen."
"You know? I like the sound of that," she replies before she leans into kiss him
It's fairly obvious when Tommy takes Arthur aside to tell him about the deal with the Lees. For a week Arthur is in a proper tantrum. Then oddly enough he does a complete turn and becomes excitable as a schoolboy when he talks about having a wife and kids—a proper family of his own. She's in turns amused and baffled by it, patiently offering her opinions on Esme every time he comes back around to ask the same questions.
She's fairly busy herself managing her women and producing stock while going through the house to prepare it for renovation. Ada, Rosie, and oddly enough Finn have been wonderful help and she's made proper headway. She's half a mind to steal Finn for her business, the boy is so eager to feel a part of everything.
She makes a mental note to talk to Tommy about it.
She has some of her Grandpa's figurines and an open trunk beside her when Tommy finds her. She looks up from the blown glass horse and smiles when she sees him leaning in the doorway.
"You look like you've something on your mind, love." She tells him when he comes closer to her.
"Met with Campbell," he offers.
"Ah," she nods, "and how is our Inspector today?"
"He was feeling agreeable when I left him," Tommy tells her.
"Games on?" she asks.
"Games on," he agrees.
"Just waiting on Kimber now," she muses.
"He'll make his move soon," he says as he settles on the floor with her, grabbing a cloth and a glass horse to polish.
"Suppose he has to, doesn't he?" Wren agrees.
"If he wants to maintain what hold he has left."
"You know, I think there are more than a hundred of these things," she tells him as she holds up a wooden horse this time, "but, I can't make meself let go of even one."
"Can decorate your shop with 'em," Tommy offers without judgment. "Or even the betting shop, if you'd like."
"Suppose I could do," she agrees.
"Want to stay here tonight?"
"Mm, well. Someone did say practice makes perfect," Wren replies mock thoughtfully. "I really ought to get more riding in."
"Sounds like something I can help with," Tommy says as he looks at her through his lashes.
"Couldn't do it without you," she reassures as she leans over to steal a kiss.
It's not but a handful of days later that Tommy comes up to their bedroom at Watery Lane with a savage smile.
"I used to admire Kimber," he tells her. "A self-made man from a place not unlike Small Heath. Turns out he's a fucking disappointment. The only reason Roberts is the advisor and not the boss is because Roberts is no good at exuding any sort of presence."
"Well, that's good then isn't it?"
"Aye. The ploy with the blonde will be more effective than I thought. Once Kimber's out of the way, Roberts seems an eminently practical man."
"And so you'll be off to the races," she tells him.
"The next race I go to," he tells her as he climbs over her and removes her nightshift, "it'll be with me queen on me arm, and me ring on her finger."
She whimpers as he pushes his fingers into her, setting an unforgiving rhythm right off.
"Tommy," she gasps as he trades his fingers for his cock.
The feeling of his trousers against her bare thighs is oddly titillating; the contrast of her complete nakedness against he's fully clothed form.
He's always intense in his pleasure, but tonight he is fierce as he fucks her like he means to go through her. She can do little more than grab him with both hands and hold on.