Chapter Thirty: I Bet My Life

Author's Note: Oh my goodness, so many reviews in so little time! Thank you very much, I'm so grateful :'-) To the Guest, that has left this long essay of a review, who ever you are, you've inspired me to write further. Bless your heart. To the readers who have been with me since Day One when I wrote the first installment, I love you all! Thank you :) Muah!

After paying off Jim to find Ivy (whether it would have a positive result or not), Sylvia returned to the mansion with Demetri holding an umbrella over her head.

It had been beautiful outside: not a single cloud to be seen. However, in less than ten minutes, the sky became a dismal gray and opened its mouth to a downpour. As she quickly moved into the mansion, opening the door only long enough so that Demetri could run in after her, Sylvia sighed in disgust as she held out her arms.

Water droplets rolled off her fingertips; her hair was doused as though she'd just come out of a shower. Meanwhile, Demetri was chuckling to himself as he shook off his own raincoat, hanging it on the coat rack behind the door.

"That Gotham Weather Forecasting staff all need to be fired." Sylvia grumbled, peeling off her coat. Demetri took it from her, hanging it on the rack along with the his. "'Sunny skies all week', my ass."

"The weather's as unpredictable as the crime." Demetri tried to defend the newscast.

"If that's the case, it should be pretty fucking predictable."

"Well, Miss Sylvia, the good thing about being indoors is that you'll eventually dry off. If you want, I can help Miss Olga with dinner and…" Demetri began, but Sylvia strode past him, waving her hand.

"Don't worry about it. Dinner will be fine. Olga's proficient in the kitchen; she doesn't need help."

"If you want, I can prepare a bath for you."

"What I want, kid, is to get out of these clothes and into something dry. If you're smart, you'll change too," Sylvia told him, smiling appreciatively. "You'll catch your death if you don't."

"Yes, Ma'am."

As he left to his own quarters, Sylvia watched him leave before doing the same.

She closed the bedroom door, took out a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, and dressed down. For a moment, she considered just climbing into bed. The comforter itself seemed to remind her just how exhausting her day had been—what with Aubrey James and his lovely wife ('the fucking cunt', she thought), her public accusations of Sylvia and Oswald's alleged atrocities, and the visit to the obstetrician—the idea of just going to bed was more tempting than Sylvia cared to admit.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her bare bum on the sheets.

Feeling comfortable was starting to become a luxury, at this point. Suddenly remorseful for having such a bitter thought, Sylvia placed a hand on her belly, hoping that her daughter hadn't somehow telepathically heard her.

But it was true.

She still had at least another four or five months of this left and her discomfort was constant.

Sylvia's clothes didn't fit as snugly as they used to. Feeling sexy was a luxury, for sure. She'd bought other clothes—not necessarily 'maternity' ones but they were different.

Forget clothes.

She hadn't had caffeine, alcohol, or cigarettes in such a long time—damn, she missed it. Knowing she couldn't have it made her want it more.

To be most comfortable, she slipped on her sweatpants, pulling them up, first from the ankle then slowly shimmying them up to her hips. Fuck panties—who really needed them, you know. Fuck bras too—she'd go braless…her tits felt sore most of the time. What use was a bra? It wouldn't help.

Black sweats. Red tank top. She wouldn't wear her slippers.

'Fuck slippers, too,' She thought apathetically, '…Men and women were meant to walk barefoot anyway.'

There was a knock on the door.

"What?" Sylvia sighed, thinking it was Demetri or someone else asking if there was anything else they could do for her.

"It's me."

She could recognize his voice—no matter how loud or softly her love spoke.

"You know you don't have to knock every time the door is closed, right?" Sylvia asked as Oswald stepped in. "You've seen me naked hundreds of times."

"A gentleman knocks when a lady's door is shut." He said respectfully, minding the door itself before coming into the room completely, after shutting it with a soft 'click'.

Sylvia continued to sit on the edge of the bed. For once, her discomfort was no longer on the brain. Instead, she noticed him. And something more primal.

Oswald was in a suit (no surprise, there) but he looked more debonair. His hair looked feathery, more like it used to in its own 'disco vampire' sense. His suit had a menage of royal blue, a particular gold and navy blue pocket square neatly crested on his left side. He came strolling in with the ebony-glossed cane, the penguin-shaped handle held loosely in his right hand.

"You look beautiful," Oswald told her with a small smile, discreetly peering down at her toes, polished black, then resting his gaze upon her own.

"I'm wearing sweats," Sylvia pointed out flatly. "Not exactly 'glamorous' over here."

Ignoring her half-attempt of waving away his compliment, Oswald placed his left hand in his pocket, looking thoughtfully at the ground, then at her.

His behavior was curious, if not perplexing. Sylvia looked at him closely, eyes narrowing and her eyebrows, furrowed.

"What's going on?" She asked lightly.

"I've been doing some thinking." Oswald explained. He walked towards her, placing his cane alongside the bedpost so he could sit on her right side.

"You? Thinking? Shocking news."

Oswald smiled at her joke, but his grin sobered.

"It occurs to me," He continued, "that I never asked if you would be comfortable with my becoming Mayor of Gotham." He met her eyes, adding, "'Placing my name in the hat' as the phrase goes, becoming a candidate in the running election. It all just sort of…happened."

"And you wonder if I may disagree?" Sylvia questioned knowingly, "Or that I may think that I don't want that sort of pressure on our marriage? Or perhaps you feel that running Gotham's Underworld isn't enough responsibility, and that by taking on the role of Mayor and King of Gotham, I will initially be understanding of your new responsibilities but may eventually resent you for it, because you may no longer have time for me or your unborn daughter?"

Oswald blinked. He opened his mouth to quickly assuage whatever feelings she'd placed in the open, but Sylvia interrupted him: her lips pressed against his, and whatever guilt she may have laid on him was briefly pushed to the side.

The kiss was soft and tender, and the single one became many; he reciprocated each and every one of them. When it naturally broke, Oswald gazed at her, taken aback, but pleasantly surprised.

"You're going to be a very busy man," Sylvia told him gently. "You're going to be swamped by politician and gangster alike. And running Gotham as Mayor and running Gotham's Underworld…baby, it's going to be one chaotic mess. But I think you can do it."

"Do you?" Oswald asked.

Oh, boy. That self-doubt was creeping in, apparently.

"Aubrey James ran Gotham for almost ten years," Oswald said quietly, glancing from her to the floor in pressing thought. "People know what I've done—theoretically or otherwise."

"Sweetheart…"

"There are ten million people in the city. How can I convince all of them to—"

"Sweetie."

"What?" Oswald snapped impatiently.

She nuzzled his cheek with her nose, and whispered, "I believe in you."

Oswald asked, "So you're fine with this? All of it?"

"It'll take time getting used to," She said with a smile, "I don't particularly care for the idea that your attention will be divided among the rest of the rabble, but then again, you know me. I'm the jealous type."

Oswald smiled when she sent him a flirtatious wink, and he idly gazed at her as she reclined on the bed, eyes looking forward, up at the ceiling.

"I don't care much for politics, to be honest," Sylvia sighed. "I don't know how much help I'll be with your mayoral campaign, but I'll still be running the underworld right alongside of you, if that's what you're asking. Personally, I think it's best if I stay out of it. I don't know if you couldn't tell, but I fucking despise Mrs. James. That woman is a fucking cunt, and I'll be happy to see her get publicly humiliated when you win the election."

Oswald chuckled, "I think everyone could tell that you don't care for the woman."

"I'd chop her head off with a guillotine if the French would let us borrow one." Sylvia vowed, mimicking a slicing motion with her hand over her throat to indicate its brutality. "God, I couldn't stand her."

"That much was obvious."

"Was I that transparent?" She joked.

"Like a glass window, dear."

"Mm. I hope it didn't damage your chances."

"I think the odds are in my favor," Oswald said with a sly grin. "And you're very aware of what you've done."

"Oh, I'm very aware of what I did. He played games in the past, and his wife happily went along with it. That makes her complicit in every crooked game he has ever played. Before your past or mine gets flung up in our faces, I thought it was only fair that the James' have the same thing done to them. Granted, if the crowd didn't know before, I'm sure they know now."

"That James is a crooked politician?"

"What? Oh no, everyone knows that. I meant that Mrs. James is a fucking twat." Sylvia said happily. "Pretending like she's all pristine and fucking shiny—I don't have time for that. And neither does anyone else."

Oswald smiled, watching Sylvia wriggle to get more comfortable on her back. His gaze hovered over her comfy black sweats, then up to her noticeable braless tank top before meeting her gaze. Thoughtfully, he stood, taking off his dress jacket and laying it down neatly on the bed before lying down on his back right beside her.

"Blue looks good on you," Sylvia commented, glancing at the azure vest he wore over his usual long-sleeved white-collared shirt. "Brings out your eyes."

"That, and brocade."

"No argument there." She agreed.

"Where's Demetri?"

"Downstairs," Sylvia answered nonchalantly.

"Doing what exactly?"

"Trying to help Olga with dinner."

"He won't succeed."

"I tried telling him that," Sylvia laughed. "All she'll do is kick him out of the kitchen and mumble something Russian under her breath."

"She never needs help."

"I told him that too," She sighed, "But Demetri's determined to help anyone he can." She smirked, glancing sideways at Oswald, adding, "He'd probably help you with your errands if you allowed him to."

"I already told you…"

"You don't trust him." Sylvia recalled. "I know."

"I still can't understand why you keep him around."

"He's helpful."

"So is Butch."

"Butch thinks himself above being an errand boy." Sylvia told him. "Besides, Butch seems more than content to be your sidekick. So do you."

Oswald heard her passive tone, and turned his head to look at her pointedly, asking, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sylvia smiled in spite of his defensive reaction, saying, "Gabe."

"What about him?"

"You pushed him to the wayside."

"I did not—"

Sylvia sent him a look, to which Oswald couldn't properly respond and he turned his head so he could mindfully peer up at the ceiling.

"Perhaps I did," Oswald admitted. "You can see why I don't need him much anymore, though, can't you? Butch is more competent. He doesn't think often, but he does at least think occasionally."

"So he's not a moron. That's what you're saying."

"Sure," Oswald scoffed.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear that."

"What's your point?"

"You play 'favorites'," Sylvia told him. "Your flavor of the month is the person who is most useful to you, depending on whatever time or day you need them, and whatever purpose you need them for. Butch seems to take precedence. Meanwhile, Gabe is feeling a little…well, I guess, 'unappreciated'. He needs something to do."

"I treat my men the same."

"Do you?"

"I do," Oswald insisted.

"If Galavan hadn't dropped him like yesterday's 'Good Housekeeping' magazine, Butch wouldn't be in your employ. You'd still be asking Gabe to crack skulls instead of His-One-Mallet-Wonder." Sylvia stated, and she looked at him, adding, "To be frank: Your men are getting bored, therefore, getting impatient and litigious."

Oswald said incredulously (as well as with some annoyance), "How do you know any of this? Do my men talk to you?"

"Everyone talks to me." Sylvia responded easily. "See, my people hang out with your people. Your people tell my people they're getting bored, that they want more to do. When your people talk to my people, my people talk to me where, thereafter, I talk to you—just as we are doing now. That's how the Chain of Command works."

She sat up a little so she could lie on her side, supported by an elbow. She looked down at him, some of her hair falling over a shoulder; the rest, behind her back.

"I leave it to the king," Sylvia uttered softly, "to decide what to do next."

"I have no use for Gabe." Oswald told her plainly.

"I can have him work for my club," She offered. "I get enough rowdy customers for one evening, it's usually a day-event. He can be happy there. Unless, you want to swap."

"This isn't a trade, Pigeon." Oswald told her.

Then he paused.

"Who did you have in mind?" He asked.

"You know who."

"Absolutely not."

"You won't even give him a chance?" Sylvia asked. "It's been weeks since I had Delilah killed, and literally, in that time, Demetri has been nothing but remorseful and loyal. He's living in the house for Christ's sake. He's with me everywhere I go—and you still don't trust him?"

"You're right, I don't trust him." Oswald told her. "You have legitimate and tangible proof—evidence that at one point or another, he was going to turn against you. Yet, you still let him live. That's illogical. It doesn't make any sense."

"You've spoken to him."

"I have."

"And didn't he seem to understand your threat?"

"I think he took it to heart, yes," Oswald returned.

"And yet, you still think he'll turn traitor."

"I think he is a traitor, and he's just buying time until your guard is down." He said with forced calm. "Both Brittany and Delilah did the same. After buying the act a second time, I'd hope you'd see your error before it happens a third time."

"If he bothers you so much, why don't you just kill him?"

"Well, how can I do that, if you won't let me?" Oswald asked, sitting up.

"I'm not stopping you." Sylvia reminded. "He's downstairs, right now. No one to defend him, and I know—for a fact—he doesn't carry a gun or a blade, so have it. You want to put your paranoia to rest, then fucking kill him. Or trust my judgement. Either way, let's just be done with it so we can stop arguing about him."

Oswald stared at her, perhaps not having expected the discussion to take a turn for the worse. There was a long pause as he briefly considered heading downstairs to lay Demetri to waste, to silence that paranoid voice of his that he'd adopted through learning from Carmine Falcone after all those years serving under Fish. Perhaps that was the better call, wasn't it? Perhaps it was for the best to get rid of the traitor before Demetri had a chance to prove him right.

Oswald looked at Sylvia, uncertain.

"What is your attachment to him?" Oswald asked.

"Excuse me?"

Oswald said patiently, "You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, more perceptive about everyone else. You know what Demetri would have done if Delilah hadn't been exposed—you know the potential he has for becoming….well, whatever it is you think he's fit to become. What's your reason for keeping him around?"

It was Sylvia's turn to become defensive. She stood up, and said frankly, "I'm not secretly in love with him, if that's what you're implying."

"That's not what I was implying at all. Far from it, actually."

"It's not? That's what it sounded like to me!" Sylvia argued.

"Well, it's not."

"Because," she scoffed, "Let's be honest—it's not the first time you've been jealous of someone because I might like them."

She crossed her arms, and waited for Oswald's attack but it never came. Instead, oddly enough, he was patient.

Feeling as though she had overstepped a boundary, Sylvia uncrossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, saying, "Okay…I might have gotten ahead of myself for assuming that."

"Perceptive of everyone else, but yourself." Oswald enunciated, smiling in spite of the situation. "Dare I take a stab as to why you keep this stray of yours around, in spite of all the evidence and theories pointing to the fact that you should let him go?"

"Stab away, Genius."

"You see yourself in him." Oswald guessed.

Sylvia began to argue, but was he wrong?

Although he was soft-spoken, wasn't Demetri nearly a spitting reflection of herself? Smart, doting, honest…underappreciated in a sense that he could be so much more powerful and stronger if only given the chance to show his metal?

"Forget the intuitive implications," Sylvia muttered, embarrassed by her own blinded perception. "Forget all of it, Oswald. The man is homeless—he has no where to go. And when it comes down to it, he just wants to show how grateful he is for us taking him in, and making him feel useful. That's all anyone wants, isn't it? To feel useful? To feel appreciated? You, yourself, knows what it's like not to get credit when credit is due."

"So it's a charity thing?" Oswald questioned, although he wasn't too surprised by it.

"You can call it that." She relented. "He's sweet, and grateful. He followed Delilah because he saw a chance to get out of the rut he was in, to make a name for himself. Delilah was a dictating little shit—she controlled the roster and the schedule, and clearly, she was able to manipulate him. Loved her like a friend, up until the end."

"Are you certain he has no other connection to Delilah than being manipulated?" Oswald asked suspiciously.

"I'm certain of it. He's no longer under her spell."

"How certain?"

"I'd bet my life on it." Sylvia said bluntly.

And that seemed to do it. He held out his hands; she took them, stepping towards him, so she stood between his legs.

"Then that settles it." Oswald said lightly, looking up at her.

"I tell you that I trust Demetri enough that I'd bet my life on his loyalty, and suddenly you're peachy?" Sylvia asked curiously. "How does that even follow?"

"I trust him as far as I can throw him, and that's not far at all." Oswald told her unhappily. He kissed the inside of her wrist. His voice softened as he added, "But I trust you, Pigeon."

Sylvia smiled, grinning down at him. Quietly, she asked, "Are we okay now?"

He answered her by touching each side of her face with the palm of his hands, bringing her closer to him so he could kiss her. When he did, Sylvia returned it, lightly parting her lips so that he could gain entry, which he obliged whole-heartedly. Slowly, she moved forward so that he was prompted to lie on his back.

When she clumsily collapsed onto him, they both laughed; the sound silenced the moment their lips touched again. Sylvia's legs straddled his, and her arms framed either side of his shoulders, locking him in. Oswald was unable to move out from beneath her. (Not that he wanted to.)

"How did the appointment go?" Oswald asked in between kisses.

"It went as well as could be expected. But we can talk about that later." Sylvia returned, and she slowly moved her hips downward and into him, putting into motion a slow, teasing grind between them.

"You don't want to talk about it n—"

"Later, baby."

Sylvia pulled off her tank top, starting the succession of taking off her clothes. Oswald watched her, slightly magnetized by how quickly she got off the bed so she could rip her sweatpants down to her ankles. He smirked when he saw just how eager she was to get him to match her, her fingers like lightning as they undid his belt. Figuring he might as well help her out, Oswald stood and while she undressed his lower half, he did away with his vest, and unbuttoned his shirt, laughing quietly when Sylvia pushed him back down on the bed once he was just as naked as she.

"Pigeon, you need to slow down." Oswald cautioned, his hands moved to her stomach.

"The baby's fine, Ozzie. Me, on the other hand: I'm not."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I'm fucking horny over here, and you're concerned that my jumping around is bad for the baby." Sylvia told him. "She's fine."

Sylvia moved onto him, and he looked uncomfortable. That was a first.

"What's wrong?" Sylvia asked, startled.

Oswald said uncertainly, "What if…"

"You won't hurt her." She reassured.

"This doesn't feel weird to you?" Oswald asked, perplexed.

Sylvia chuckled, "Why would it be weird?"

"Full disclosure, pet: It feels like we're having sex in front of our own daughter."

"She can't see anything."

"She can hear though!".

Sylvia recognized that tone. He was not only worried about the safety of their unborn child, but the very idea that the first memory of her new parents would be of hearing them have sex outside the womb. Oswald could really overthink things, couldn't he?

"Is it because she's facing you?" Sylvia asked, poking her stomach as she slowly moved off him so she no longer straddled him.

"I feel like she's looking at me."

"She can't see anything outside of my womb, Oswald. It's not like I've drawn a face on my stomach and called it 'Wilson'."

Oswald stared at her.

She explained, "It's a reference to 'Castaway'."

He still stared at her.

"You know," Sylvia said, waving her hand. "The movie? Tom Hanks is in it."

"Pigeon—"

Sylvia sighed, crawling further up the bed. Oswald watched her curiously, not sure if she was appalled or entertained by his lack of movie trivia…or the entire situation as a whole.

"Turn off the lights," Sylvia said, motioning him. "Then come to bed."

Oswald did as he was instructed, and in the darkness, he voiced, "What is this supposed to accomplish?"

"Well, not to sound selfish or anything, but I'm still horny, and we're going to have sex one way or another so we're going to find a way around this." Sylvia's said from the darkness.

Oswald sat on the bed, his movement on the sheets rustling as he announced his approach. As he crawled to her, Sylvia reached out, touching his shoulders, guiding him so he lied on his side, realizing—after Sylvia had finished moving around—that she was also lying on her side. Oswald nuzzled the back of her neck affectionately, smiling when she pressed her back against his chest.

"How do you feel now?" Sylvia asked curiously.

"Admittedly, a lot better."

"Good."

Oswald snickered when her leg moved so he could anchor himself to close what little distance was between them; her eagerness, after all this time of being together, still amused him. Under the covers, with her naked body pressed so closely against him, he could feel himself getting hot and bothered.

"I feel you breathing on my neck," Sylvia murmured.

"Do you?"

"Mm-hmm…"

He took a handful of her long, ginger hair, moving it to her shoulder so he had all the access to her neck, finding her nape, kissing her there. Ever so softly, he blew into her ear and she shuddered against him.

"You like that, don't you," Oswald murmured, and hearing him so close to her, Sylvia shuddered in positive response.

He reached around, ghosting his fingertips over her sides; she responded in the same manner. Her quiet gasp that came after he cupped one of her breasts, gently teasing a nipple between his fingers made him smile. Her entire body seemed wholly sensitive, more keen to everything around her, including him.

"It's been a little while, hasn't it…?" Oswald said gently, only really realizing that was true the moment the words were spoken. A few weeks, at least.

"Mmmm…" Sylvia sighed. "It has…"

She turned her head; he felt the movement, and he met her lips with his. Soft, but deep kisses…it silenced whatever remorse Oswald felt for having waited this long to initiate anything for fear of hurting his unborn daughter. It seemed like such a petty fear now, compared to everything else that they'd encountered together.

A petty fear, especially when all he wanted to do now was show Sylvia just how much he was still attracted to her. The heat radiating from her body engulfed his own…the way she reacted to his every touch, every gesture…

"Turn towards me," Oswald told her.

"I thought you felt like she was watching you," Sylvia giggled.

"I'm far from caring about that now, Pet."

She shifted onto her other side, only realizing what he meant when she felt his erection between her legs, the head of his stiff cock standing at attention below her baby bump.

"Didn't take long," She teased quietly, nipping his bottom lip.

Oswald silenced her prolonged poking fun with a poke of his own. He slowly rubbed the head of his cock up and down between the slit of her sex, pleased to feel that she was just as hot and wet as he hoped. He lowered his left hand between them, just as slowly rubbing circles around her clit, feeling it become swollen as he did.

"Fuck..." She whimpered.

Oswald snickered, "Well, that's what I had in mind."

"You don't say, you cocky little—"

She let out a squeak when he pinched her clit; a shot of tingling, numbing electricity later, and Sylvia was breathless.

He kissed her neck, and murmured into her ear, "Now's not the time to decide to be a smart ass."

Sylvia nodded, and she moaned in appreciation when he continued to tease her clit with his thumb, his two other fingers slowly moved between the lips of her pussy, spreading her open, feeling just how wet she really was. She let out a slew of whimpers, her pelvis moving in rhythm as he gently moved his fingers in and out.

Sex with Sylvia was always an invigorating experience. It never was the same experience each time. And while the entirety was memorable, what Oswald enjoyed most were the reactions he pulled from her. Every soft, submissive moan he pulled out of that dominant, petulant mouth as she willingly gave herself to him.

A man could lose himself inside her, lost in that feeling.

"What do you want, Sylvia?" He asked knowingly; she was actively humping his hand at this point; her own hands either on his hip or in his hair, trying to persuade him to do what she wanted without having to speak the words themselves.

"Oswald, please…Mm!"

Her moan became a gasp when he curled his fingers and found the spot that caused her to whine desperately for him. Just a taste, though, as he didn't linger there too long. He pulled his hand from her, feeling smug as she pushed her body against his, wanting more, needing more.

"It's a helpless feeling, isn't it," Oswald uttered as Sylvia ran her hands all over him, her body aching for any part of him to touch her again. "I know exactly what strings to pull" (He took a handful of her hair in his hand and gently tugged; she moaned in response.) "And what buttons to press…"—He teased her clit with feather-like touches—"and, in minutes, you fall apart in front of me. You know it'll happen. You let it happen, time and time again…"

Sylvia was a wanton, breathless mess. Her hand dove down to his cock, stroking him in a desperate attempt to bait him into fucking her sooner, and Oswald couldn't help but smile.

"Helplessness is terrifying, isn't it?" Oswald asked her. Victorious.

"Yes, it is…" Sylvia moaned. "Fuck…"

Just as he was feeling pretty proud of himself, that feeling left. It was his fault, really—he'd forgotten how fast Sylvia could really move: pregnancy or no pregnancy. In less than ten seconds, she'd pulled out of his hypnotic touches, pushed him on his back, and pinned both of his hands above his head.

"You know what buttons and strings I have," Sylvia told him, her own desire caught in her voice. "But you forget, my King, I also know yours."

Sylvia straddled him and, pressing her sex against his stiff cock, she heard him attempt to stifle an involuntary moan when he felt her wet heat.

Oswald felt her tongue lick his ear, her lips kiss that sweet spot along between his jaw and neckline. An intense feeling of need and his own helplessness attacked him as his arousal rivaled her own.

"You can tell me to stop anytime." Sylvia said, taking hold of his cock in her palm and rubbing the head of it between her legs so he could get a taste of what was to come. "But you won't. You like this…being at my mercy. Just as I like being at yours. Helplessness isn't terrifying…" (She licked his ear again) "If you enjoy it."

"Pigeon…"

"Feeling 'weird' again?"

"No…I'm way past that." Oswald admitted, his voice catching.

"Then what is it?" Sylvia asked innocently. "Honestly, I doubt I can hold out much longer, so if the next words out of your mouth aren't 'please fuck me', I don't want to hear—"

He grabbed her hips, and thrusted upward.

Sylvia sharply inhaled, biting her bottom lip when she felt his cock impale her—as wet as she was, he went in full force, and caught her g-spot.

Taking advantage of her surprise, Oswald seized his opportunity.

He pulled out, and shoved her off him. Sylvia was about to object; that was until he crawled onto her, grabbing her knees to spread them apart, and moving himself between them.

Sylvia raised her hands to him; he caught them, pinning her wrists just above her shoulders. Oswald expected Sylvia to use her physical strength against him, but as soon as he thrusted his cock inside of her, she was as submissive as before. Weak with desire and need.

Once he was sure she was down, his rhythm of quick thrusts slowed so he could feel every inch of her clamp onto his cock, every muscle, every fiber of her being. Listening to her whimpers and moans. Feeling her wrists offer little resistance as he held them loosely, pinning them down.

Her back arched, her neck craning back as her eyes closed in deep and longing satisfaction.

"That's it…" Oswald murmured. "Give yourself to me…fuck."

Sylvia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside. He hesitated to lie on her, being vaguely aware that her baby bump was just beneath him.

"It's okay…" She whispered as though having felt his hesitation.

Gently, and as delicately as he could muster, Oswald slowly lowered his body onto hers so he could worry less about trying to brace himself above her, and more about feeling her around him.

But soon, slow steady thrusts became quick, forceful. She was close—he was closer. The climax so close that the threat of it fleeting felt more life-threatening at the moment than anything else that was comparable. Sylvia met hers, a slew of moans leaving her lips; he powered through her tight clenching (it felt amazing) and she met every thrust.

"I'm so close…" Oswald whimpered desperately. "Sylvia…"

She grabbed his hair, and yanked it back so his neck became exposed to her; she bit down on his throat and the surge of pain became numbed by the surge of tingles and electricity that quickly followed.

He lost control and when he did, Sylvia pushed him on his back, and crawled down quickly to his waist. She put her mouth around his cock, and began sucking.

Oswald could feel everything; as though the bones in his body liquidated and the only thing he could comprehend was that Sylvia was moaning around his cock, creating vibrations as she sucked every little ounce of him that was spent. For a moment, his mind blurred, and, for a longer moment, he had trouble catching his breath.

Once the combination of dopamine and endorphins had slowly started losing its strength, Oswald blinked and smiled widely in relief as Sylvia stood on her knees, crawling back up to the headboard. She licked her lips, looking more or less proud of herself.

"I thought I'd have to beg for that…" Oswald panted.

"I could tell what it was you needed," Sylvia said gently. Slyly, she added, "It's a good thing I knew what buttons to press."

Oswald smiled sheepishly, watching her as she settled beside him, lying on her side so she could snuggle close to him.

"How did you know?" Oswald asked.

"How did I know that in order to reach your climax that I needed to bite you?" Sylvia responded.

"Well, yes."

Sylvia smirked, saying, "You forget this quite frequently, Ozzie, but it's simple: I know you. Inside, and out. I know what pisses you off, what makes you happy, what turns you on and off, and what it takes for you to get off. Just as I'm sure, you know all that stuff about me."

Oswald was thoughtful for a silent moment, and then asked, "Would you call that 'helplessness' as well?"

"I'd call it 'love', but to each his own, I suppose." Sylvia returned. "It's been a few years, you know. If we don't know each other by now, what the fuck are we doing, then."

"Point taken. Quick question…?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I bleeding?"

Sylvia left his side and Oswald was about to inquire as to why until the bedroom light turned on and he had to squint in order for his eyes to adjust. Sylvia sat on the bed, placed two fingers under his chin and lifted so he was forced to look up at the ceiling while she observed.

"No." She said lightly. "You're not bleeding. Might leave a mark, but only for a few days. Hard enough that I made you see stars, but not hard enough to draw blood. What'd I tell you, baby…I know you."

"Well, thank goodness for that." Oswald said, gently rubbing his neck where she'd bitten him. "I guess you know me pretty well, then."

"Yep. More than you know yourself."

"You sound pretty certain of that."

"Oh, I'd bet on it." Sylvia said, smirking at him.

"Your life, I'm guessing?"

"You guessed right, baby."