Chapter Sixteen: Hurricane Sylvia
A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: Sylvia experiences some strong emotions that can be triggering for some people. Love you all, and again, thanks for the reviews! 😊
NARCO DETECTIVE VINDICATED: Murder Charges Dropped.
I dropped the titled Gotham Gazette down on the coffee table, and reclined back against the couch, nestling comfortably in my living room.
Had Jim and I not ended things badly at the hospital, I would have called him up and asked to see if he was okay— Flass getting released even after having the murder weapon, I knew that had to get him steamed.
I wouldn't call him though. I was still seething from the argument. I felt guilty for yelling at him, calling him a dirty cop, but was I wrong?
Nope, you're absolutely right…
He was hurt by my words, I could tell. I wanted to call him, tell him I was sorry, but I doubted he would reciprocate.
Oswald had yet to make me choose between Jim and him, but I felt like I was in the middle of a tug of war. I wanted to be there for Jim, to be the good sister, and help him when he needed it. But it seemed to backfire on me. At some point, Jim would have to stop nagging me about my love life, my criminal background, and just learn to accept what would never change.
I stared a hole into the television, blinking back to reality when the news anchor reported that a witness had stepped forth and stated that the evidence planted on Flass had been falsified.
Tomas, dressed in his usual gray Armani suit, stepped forward in my peripheral vision. His hands were clasped in front of him, eyes forward as he digested the same information, watching the news. He nervously observed me as though I might spontaneously combust.
But I didn't.
After all, it didn't upset my plans that Flass had been vindicated. Did it demonstrate just how corrupt the legal system was—oh definitely, but I had known this would happen. Flass was protected. I was surprised that it had even gotten this far.
For the better part of the day, I felt off. The argument with Jim in general had set me off in a way I couldn't understand. When I woke up this morning, I felt as though there was an angry rabid dog inside, trying to burrow through my emotions. Release the hellhound, as they say. Because of my inexplicable irritability, I said little to Oswald or Tomas.
The television offered bad news, but nothing I didn't already expect.
"You're not yelling…" Tomas noted.
I turned my attention to him: "Should I be?"
"Detective Flass was let go."
"So he was. I expected as much."
"Have you heard from your brother?"
"No."
Tomas scoffed, "You're not going to call him—make sure he's okay?"
"No," I said icily. "I am not."
He muttered under his breath, "What an icy bitch."
I glanced at the television and then back at Tomas, who was watching me with a look of judgment. Did he mean that in the way I felt he did? And if he did, how could he know what I was feeling, what I was thinking, and the arguments that happened between my brother and me? Evidently, he was having a bit of an irritable moment himself.
Whatever his curiosity, I didn't much care for the standoffish tone. I lifted my legs off the coffee table, tucking them underneath me.
"Have a seat, Tomas." I offered, patting the cushion beside me on the couch.
Hesitantly, he did as I asked. I handed him the remote.
"Now switch it to something you enjoy."
"Is there a point you're trying to make?"
"No point. Just do as I ask. Please."
He grunted a small cough inside his throat cautiously, then turned his head to the television. While sitting on the edge of his seat, he flipped through the channels, glancing at me occasionally as I watched him like a hawk. His forehead began to glisten with perspiration; he kept his legs together rather than apart as he would normally do when he was relaxed. His thumb lifted off the remote, and he'd stopped flipping through the TV guide—on the TV was a cooking channel with a morbidly obese chef explaining how to tenderize a steak.
"Will this do?" Tomas asked, looking sideways at me.
"Why are you asking me? I told you to find something you want to watch."
"Well, I don't want to sound rude but I still feel like you're trying to prove a point." Tomas insisted, placing the remote stiffly on the coffee table.
"Am I making you nervous?"
He admitted, "You're just really, really calm. It's a little unsettling."
I folded my arms on my lap, and shifted so my bare feet now touched the carpet. He blinked faster than usual; even swallowing seemed difficult for him.
"That's not what I asked."
"Yes. You're making me nervous," Tomas said finally.
"Good. I am glad I can still make you nervous. And for what it is worth, I lied: I was making a point. Your being nervous around me is precisely my point. The relationship with my brother is my business alone—if I want to call him, I will do so without anyone's suggestion or approval, including yours."
"I was only offering—"
"I appreciate the candor," I stated curtly. "But you're forgetting your place."
"My place?"
"You may live under my roof, and we may have candid discussions about your life and mine but we are not friends."
"Never said we were."
I continued as if he hadn't said anything: "So, when you speak to me, you will do so with respect and without judgment."
"Ma'am, I think you have some misgivings about my intentions…"
"And what were your intentions?"
"Your brother—"
"You asked whether or not I heard from Detective Gordon. I said 'no'—"
"No offense, Ma'am, but you're acting a little rude—"
"Me, acting rude? Oh…So, what if I am?" I questioned, standing to my feet. "Am I being an 'icy bitch' again?"
His jaw quirked a little, and he looked at me, dumb-founded. As if I hadn't heard him.
"That's right. I'm not deaf," I said curtly. "But by all means, if you think I'm rude—"
He rose to his feet as well, standing a good foot taller than myself. If he had known what was good for him, he would have remained seated. His height difference only made me want to put him down on his knees.
"You're looking to pick a fight," I challenged. "Sit your ass back down, or so help me."
He remained standing, staring me down.
"I've had a long week, Tomas. Think this through." I said coldly.
He glanced at the couch, like he might submit. Instead, he defiantly raised his chin so it appeared as though he was standing taller.
"Okay," I said, smirking. "You think I'm being rude? Think I'm being a bitch. Fine. I want you to punch the rudeness out of me."
"You're five feet tall and 130 pounds." Tomas dared to point out. "I'm six-foot and I weigh twice as much as you do."
"You're so ignorant if you think that matters."
"I don't know what you're trying to prove but you're not going to win if we fight. I mean, I have a gun—"
"Fight me anyway!" I ordered.
"It'd be unfair—"
"I said do it!"
He balled his fist like he might. A knee-jerk reaction, probably, but goddamn it. I felt it inside coming out so I popped him in the mouth. He rubbed his jaw, almost like he'd been slapped instead of being punched, and he gave me a look.
"I don't want to fight you," Tomas resigned quickly.
I popped him again, and he came right back with a smack. If it'd been any harder, I might've gone down.
"Okay. Now we're even!"
"Oh, we are way beyond that. You and I are going to settle a disagreement the Gordon way." I told him, grinning. "Now, put your hands up, and hit me back."
"I've already hit you twice."
"I don't care."
"Penguin might."
"Come on!" I goaded.
"Penguin wouldn't allow this—"
"Penguin isn't here. I said 'fight me' goddamn it!"
Irritation had turned quickly to rage. The rabid dog had been released, and it was hard to pull it back. If I had not been so angry, I would have laughed if I stood outside the box: I was wearing nothing more than a pair of black booty shorts and a gray nightshirt, holding up my hands to a man who easily saw over my head.
"Ma'am, I beg of you…" Tomas insisted, holding back.
"That's right," I taunted. "Beg. That's even better."
Tomas dodged out of the way when I tried to hit him. He hopped onto the couch, and lifted a leg over the back so as to leap away from my swing.
"Okay, so you've had some disagreements with your brother—I'm sorry to hear that, but there must be a better" (He dodged my blow) "way of handling your anger issues than attacking your subordinates. We can talk about this, Miss Gordon, but you gotta stop—"
I struck the ball of my foot against his shin. He grunted.
"You know what's really infuriating?" I questioned as I strode to the kitchen. "It's when your brother and your boyfriend don't get along" (I grabbed a pan from the cabinet, and came back to him in the living room) "And they're both in competition with each other and I"(I hit Tomas' shoulder with the frying pan) "AM STUCK" (I struck the back of his neck) "IN THE MIDDLE OF IT!"
"Miss Gordon, stop!"
"Get the fuck up—you're supposed to be my fucking guard and you're getting your ass beat!" I snarled, nudging my foot against his ribs.
"I'm not going to fight you—"
"Well, you better call your lawyer and draw up your will, because I'm sure as shit not going to stop until you put" (I kicked his ribs once) "ME" (twice) "DOWN!"
Tomas groaned, and moved to all fours, trying to crawl away.
"What is this—amateur hour?"
"If I hurt you, Penguin will kill me!" Tomas cried.
"If you don't fight back, I will kill you!" I shouted furiously.
"You're crazy!"
"Where the hell are you crawling off to!" I demanded.
I twisted the pan handle in my hand, gripping it tightly as I stormed after the crawling guard.
"A minute ago, you were ready to square off! Don't have the muscle to support your chops? You're going to act like a girl, let's hear you scream like one."
He screamed when I grabbed his mess of gelled hair; I kicked my foot between his legs, striking him square in the balls, and he squealed like a pig—goddamn, did that feel good! —When he was down, I just threw all my strength into hitting any body part I could reach. He thrashed underneath, screaming and crying.
All I saw was red. My vision blurred, and it wasn't until I felt my cheeks burn that I realized I was crying.
I knew and understood why, but at the same time, I wasn't sure. Objectivity and reading people were skills I'd acquired from being raised by my father, and just prowling Gotham's streets. But it was difficult when I tried aiming it at myself. And maybe, I didn't want to!
I wanted to be there for Jim, just as I was always there by Oswald's side. It pissed me off that Jim would just use Oswald like he did, and then pretend that he was better than me. Or Oswald.
"You're not better than me." Hearing myself say it just pissed me off more. "You're not better than me!"
"I'm not saying anything!" Tomas screamed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry—please!"
"FIGHT BACK!" I bellowed. "FUCKING HIT ME!"
I shoved his face into the carpet, and stood to my feet. My chest heaved up and down, my breathing, erratic. I rubbed my tear-stained face with the back of my hand, sniffling as I watched a giant like Tomas shrivel to the size of a fetus.
And I saw the damage I had done.
I'd broken his nose; it was bleeding profusely, the blood oozing into his open mouth as he sobbed; it drizzled onto the navy-blue carpet, staining it. His suit was disheveled, much like the untidy mess of hair; some of it fell into his face, matting to his forehead.
"A body guard," I scoffed, throwing the frying pan onto the kitchen table—it clattered with a 'clang'. "What good are you protecting anyone when you can't even protect yourself?"
Tomas unsteadily shifted to his knees as he looked at me.
"You're angry—I get it…with your brother—the treatment he's done to the both of you," He sobbed. "And with what happened with Maroni's men in the office…"
I glared at him: "How the hell would you know how I feel about any of that?"
"I don't, I don't—but please, hear me out," Tomas pleaded, holding his hands up in front of him. "You're f-fighting me to get some retribution for what happened with Maroni's men…you want to get that control back, even when you're not—"
"I am in fucking control!"
"That's why you're taking out your anger on me?" Tomas whispered. "I'm-I'm an easy target."
"An easy target? What makes you an 'easy target'? You're a foot taller than me and you weigh more than I do—you said so yourself."
"I'm your body guard, hired by Penguin. I can't hurt you even if I wanted to."
"'Even if you wanted to'?" I repeated darkly.
I approached him. He fearfully met my eyes.
"I just kicked your ass from the living room to the hallway with a fucking frying pan. You threw a few good punches, but didn't hurt me. You couldn't hurt me even if you tried. You're a waste of space, a pathetic loser. You're worthless, and you're nothing."
Tomas frowned and said quietly, "That's what you tell yourself, isn't it? You don't want to think that about yourself, but it's true, isn't it?"
"I should put a bullet between your eyes right now for saying that to me," I threatened.
He couldn't even stutter a response. He put his hands together and bowed in front of me. His hands touched my feet; he kissed the back of them for mercy, begging for my forgiveness.
Seeing him like this…
Fish made Oswald kiss her feet and beg for her forgiveness…
I was treating Tomas like Fish had treated Oswald.
I suddenly had this sudden need to throw up. My stomach tossed and turned unpleasantly, and I could feel it moving up to my throat.
He looked up at me.
"Get up." I whispered—I placed my hand on my stomach to calm the queasy feeling— "Go to the bathroom, clean yourself up."
"You're not going to kill me?"
"No." I muttered, shaking my head slowly. "Please…go do as I ask."
Confused, he nodded and stumbled into the bathroom. I staggered into the kitchen, throwing my head over the sink as I started gagging.
You're worthless. The hateful thoughts were back again. Always, they were there, stirring, but now they were coming full force. You're nothing.
You hurt the people that swore to protect you. Tomas...
You're no better than your brother…Fucking hypocrite. No, I'm not—
Worthless. Nothing.
I grabbed the edge of the counter. Nothing was coming out. I just kept gagging. You're not in control. You never will be.
Fuck you, I am in control…
"I am in control," I chanted like it was a mantra, hoping the self-affirmations would take hold, but the gagging wouldn't stop. "I am in control…I am…"
You lost that control when Mack put his hands-
"Stop…" I whimpered. "Please stop…"
I could still feel his fingers inside of me, his moans leaving his fat lips. The grating sound of his voice: "I'm going to fuck you until you bleed…"
"Stop, please…"
I could smell his breath and sweat
When he said, "Then I'm going to shoot you…" Oh for fuck sake, please, make this stop.
I could still feel the fat head of his cock trying to make its way between my legs. His hands on my breasts, groping—his fat ass on my knees, keeping me pinned.
"Sylvia…"
A pair of hands touched my shoulders. I reeled back and elbowed whoever it was in their stomach. I quickly turned and saw Oswald groaning, holding his side. The front door was open until Butch, who had strolled inside shortly after checking both ends of the hall, closed it. I looked down at Oswald.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
Oswald straightened, and smiled (albeit in slighted pain).
"Don't worry about me," He quickly reassured. "Are you all right?"
"No," I weakly admitted, shaking my head.
My face was red; my eyes were blood shot from gagging into the sink, and my cheeks were stained with tears. He held my face in his hands, lifting it so I was urged to look into his eyes.
"Honey, look at me. Tell me what happened. Why…"
As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Tomas stepped out, a towel wrapped around his lower half. He was sporting a black eye, the cuts on his face, and bruises were already forming on his chest and arms. Oswald took one look at him and he pulled a switchblade from his inner jacket pocket.
"What did you do!" Oswald demanded furiously.
He started towards Tomas who fretfully started running in the opposite direction.
"Want me to shoot him?" Butch offered.
"Yes—"
"No!" I protested.
I stood in the middle of the hallway, potentially blocking either of them from harming Tomas. Oswald looked at me, confused, and it slowly became one of suspicion.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" Oswald asked calmly, however his bubbling anger was just beneath the surface.
"He didn't do anything to me!"
"Then why does he look like…that," Oswald said, gesturing to Tomas.
"I did it."
Butch lowered his gun and said impressively, "Damn. Girl's got skill."
"Shut up, Butch," Oswald snapped, glaring at him. He turned to me: "What do you mean you did this?"
"I hit him," I explained, glancing over my shoulder to see Tomas peeping through a crack in the door. "I tried to make him fight me. He wouldn't. So, I…"
"Kicked his ass from here to Timbuktu," Butch finished humorously.
"BUTCH!" Oswald shouted, glaring at him once more. "Go sit in the other room, please."
Butch shrugged, unaffected, and walked in the direction of Tomas. Probably wanted to get his side of the story. Oswald took my wrist and gently pulled me into the living room; he gestured to the couch; I followed the silent order and sat down. He joined me.
"Tell me what happened," Oswald said, holding his hand out to me.
I handed him the newspaper regarding the headline of Flass' release. Oswald gave it a once-over before putting it back on the table nonchalantly.
"Is this a problem for you?" He inquired.
"Not for me." I explained shakily. "I don't know what happened…I was just so pissed off. Jim and I had an argument at the hospital…"
"When you went to see Ms. Rubberdale?"
"Yes. Jim was there, visiting a friend too."
"What was the argument about, if you don't mind me asking."
I said nothing at first, only looking at him like he wasn't really there. He took my hands into his, stroking the back of mine with his thumb.
"You can tell me anything," Oswald reassured.
"It'll sound stupid, and I…"
"Tell me anyway."
I bit my lower lip, seeing his eyes just burrow into mine. I was certain he could read my mind.
"I told him how I felt about him refusing to take your invitation to the opening of your club," I explained softly. "We had a disagreement about hypocrisy. And I…just flew off the handle."
Oswald licked his lower lip in thought, glancing at the television. He took the remote and turned it off, then looked at me pointedly.
"There's more to it, isn't there?" He asked gently.
"Oz, I don't want to make you feel bad. I'd rather not…"
"Pigeon, look at me. Tell me what you need to tell me. We'll go from there."
I looked him in the eyes, and I felt my heart grow to the point of pain.
"Jim is mad because I went to you first after the incident in the office, with Maroni's men. He thinks that because he's my brother, I should have gone to him—but I felt more comfortable talking to you. I feel like I am trapped in the middle of some war, forced to choose sides. Jim won't accept us...but...when I talk to you, I don't feel guilty for what I have done, or judged by what I feel...especially when my ideas don't line themselves up with the legal system."
Oswald nodded slowly. He placed his hands on my own, looking down at them in thought as though he was trying to find the words to explain what he wanted to say. After a moment, he met my eyes.
"You know how I feel about you, Pet," Oswald said softly. "You know there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do in order to make sure you feel safe and protected. Detective Gordon is your brother...I suppose he would be entitled to your friendship, but..."
"No one is entitled to anything of mine," I interrupted more harshly than I had intended. "I choose my friends. I chose the path I've taken. I love Jim, but I love you too, Ozzie, and I'm trying to maintain some type of balance, but I feel like he's making me choose; it's like I am slowly being ripped apart in every fucking direction. And I am trying to be there for him…"
At first, Oswald was startled by the force of my comment—my sentences were running together, and I could feel the rage bubbling from my stomach, to my chest, and ringing in my ears.
"What good has it done me so far?" I asked. "I just give, and give, and give, and all he does in return is treat me like I'm nothing…"
"I doubt that those are his intentions," Oswald defended Jim.
"And the way he treats you," I continued, glaring at a freckle on my hand. "It just pisses me off and I want to hurt him—but I don't want to hurt him, but I kind of do—like I want to hurt everyone else that has ever hurt us: Falcone, Maroni, Fish! And I'm just—ugh!" I let out an exasperated, shrill snarl that sounded inhumane.
I stood suddenly, looking at the emptiness of the black television then turned to Oswald.
"Ever since the event with Maroni's men, I just feel angry all the time." I told him, my voice breaking. "I just want to hurt them—him—someone—anyone."
"Is that why you attacked Tomas?"
"I didn't expect him not to fight back," I responded defensively. "He's taller than me—he's stronger than I am. He was armed, he had a gun for crying out loud. He could have done anything he wanted to me!"
"I hired him to protect you," Oswald recited firmly, standing to his feet.
"He's more afraid of you than he was of me, that's for sure," I said resentfully. "For all my wares, he was."
Then my heart fluttered unexpectedly as I smiled a little at him: "You were ready to hurt him when you thought he did something to me."
"Of course."
"You didn't even hesitate."
"If he disrespects you," He said softly. "He's disrespecting me. And I will not allow—"
I moved towards him and I pushed my mouth against his. At first, he didn't react—or maybe he was just too surprised to react—but shortly after, he held my hips while I grabbed the lapels of his suit. Passion and ravenous hunger possessed me. I slipped my hand between us, and I started rubbing his cock through his pants.
"Sylvia—"
"Stop talking…"
"You're clearly not in the best emotional state right—"
"You can't talk me out of it this time," I growled.
I bit his bottom lip, and raked my free hand down his back as I continued groping him between his legs. He hissed as my nails dug into his spine, but unaffected; his tongue slipped into my mouth, rubbing against my own.
I brought my lips to his ear, licking him and whispered, "I can tell how horny you're getting, Ozzie—I can feel your cock growing in my hand."
Oswald inhaled sharply as I bit his earlobe. He grabbed my hair and threw me forward.
"Get in the bedroom," Oswald ordered.
I stuck out my tongue: "Pfffft!"
I turned on my heel and ran into the bedroom. I was fired up, breathing hard already. The thought of having angry sex was already making me soaking wet; I could feel the excitement boiling within, flushing my neck, chest, and face with red heat. My back faced the doorway; I heard him come in, slamming the door. I began to turn my head.
"Eyes front, Pet."
The lights turned off suddenly. I turned around but Oswald grabbed a handful of my hair like he'd done so before and forced my head forward.
"I said 'eyes front'!"
He pulled me to him, my back against his chest.
"I've been waiting to do this since you told me about it," Oswald said huskily. "It was just a matter of finding the right time."
The darkness of the room made me feel unbalanced, like I had a glass of wine, tipsy, and dazed.
"To do what—ah!"
Oswald yanked my hair, my neck craned back, and my eyes darted up at the ceiling. Cold steel prodded my carotid, the point digging enough for me to gasp but not feel pain. It made me stand on my toes, instinctively trying to move away.
It was his switchblade that he held against my neck.
"Do you feel that?" Oswald asked softly.
"Yes..." I breathed.
My insides burned with sudden need. My anger receded, and the feeling of being helpless returned but not in such a way that left me feeling scared. It was almost freeing.
"Do you feel this…?"
He pressed his erection between the back of my thighs, rolling his hips into my own.
"Yes."
I wished, right then, that I had been naked to feel the contrasting texture of his suit against my bare skin.
The knife slid carefully from the carotid artery of my neck down to my collar bone; his hand dipped inside my shirt, and I felt the cold blade lightly graze my right nipple, circling the hardened peak.
Oswald roughly removed his hand out of my hair (pulling strands with it) and he placed it over my throat, forcing me to keep my eyes on the ceiling. My hands moved behind me, stiffly grasping the hem of his shirt, noticing almost immediately he'd taken off his jacket prior to coming inside the bedroom.
"You like that, don't you," Oswald drawled, his breath tickled my ear, his lips flush with the bottom length of my jaw.
"No…"
"'No'?" Oswald repeated knowingly. He smirked against my ear. "I think you are lying to me, Pet."
He placed the blade just underneath the spaghetti straps of my nightshirt, his fingers growing taut over the handle. I felt the straps fall down my shoulders and dangle in shreds as he cut them; He did the same with the other strap, and my shirt fell to the floor, exposing my bare breasts and stomach to the open air.
"Don't forget to breathe." Oswald reminded, kissing my shoulder.
I suddenly exhaled sharply. I'd been so caught up in the moment, I'd done just that. I rubbed my thighs together, hoping to assuage the mild affliction between them, but it was of little help.
"Turn and look at me," He said, gesticulating with the knife.
His hand left my neck and I turned to do as he said.
"Undress me."
The only light in the room flooded through the window, the moonlight creeping through the blinds. In its glow, I could see Oswald's eyes brightly shining at me, daring me to disobey, daring me to say 'no'. When I did nothing, he took it as a turn of defiance.
He uttered dangerously, "Do you really want to know what happens if you don't?"
I bit my bottom lip. Admittedly, yes, I did want to know. But I cleared my throat and submissively started unbuttoning his vest, and then his shirt. I placed them neatly at the end of the bed. Then I unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers. He watched me, his lips parted, eyes glinting with dark pools of adoration.
"Good girl," Oswald praised. "Now, kneel down and face the bed. Away from me."
I stepped towards him. I wanted to see what he would do if I didn't obey him immediately, so I touched his lips with the pad of my thumb and then I kissed him gently. He reciprocated. I felt his hand touch my breasts, guiding from one to other, then ghosting over my stomach and between my legs. He dipped his fingers inside the front of my booty shorts, his fingers inside my underwear, rubbing my clit with two of them in slow, teasing circles.
He placed soft kisses along the crook of my neck, setting fire to my flesh as he rubbed my swollen nub between his fingers, pulling a moan from my lips. When he suddenly stopped, it left me wanting more.
"Baby, please…Don't…"
"That was a small taste of what is to come for not doing what you are told the first time. Kneel down, Pigeon. And don't make me say it again."
My legs shook as I turned from him and knelt down; I faced the bed just as he asked for me to do the first time. He moved past me and sat on the edge, naked, looking down at me, like an emperor on a throne. He leaned forward, and gestured with the knife for me to come forward, clicking his tongue.
I felt my face burn with humiliation, but oh my god, was my body eating it up. I started to stand.
"No. Don't walk." Oswald said sternly.
"How the fuck am I—"
"I don't want you to walk towards me." He said, smirking. "I want you to crawl."
I let out an irritable sigh but I did as I was told. I crawled to him, then stood on my knees as I met him between his legs. He pressed the knife underneath my neck, just along my throat.
"You know what to do," Oswald said mischievously.
While I had been looking forward to it more than ever, I still protested weakly: "I am not…"
He grabbed my hair roughly. When I winced, opening my mouth in pain, he took the opportunity, and forced my mouth onto his cock. I held onto the edge of the bed as he controlled the speed and rhythm, lifting his hips while also pushing my head down. I moaned, humming so he could feel the vibrations.
"Fuck..." Oswald mumbled.
I dug my nails into his bare thighs and he let out a gasp of pain which then turned into a pleasurable groan. He forced his cock deeper into my throat; I almost gagged.
"Come on, Pigeon," Oswald taunted. "I know you can take more than that."
He brushed his hands through my hair and out of my face. I glanced up at him, saw that smug little smile. I took the bait, and rose to the challenge. I hollowed my cheeks, relaxed my throat, and swallowed him inch by inch.
"That's it. Yes, just like that...my good little whore…"
I was getting off on it: his profanity, his moans, his praise, and the way his voice just strained with the increase of his appetite. He shoved his cock inside my mouth one more time before pulling out, shoving me away from him.
"Strip," Oswald commanded.
I shakily stood to my feet, and yanked my shorts and panties off in a single go. He grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him.
He kissed me hard; I kissed him harder. He pulled on my hair; I pulled on his. He wrapped his hand around my throat, and pinned me on the bed. Seeing him above me, for all his pale complexion and the brightness of his eyes…so fucking forceful, so dominating—I wanted him—here and now.
But not without a fight.
I started thrashing against him, trying to escape.
"Stop."
Oswald chuckled, "Is that all you got?"
"You want me to scream?" I asked, momentarily breaking the fourth wall.
"I've seen you fight, Pet. I know you can do so much better."
I felt the knife against my hip, and his cock between my legs, fully erect. To play it up, I shoved him away; he came right back. I kicked my legs, but he pushed them apart, rubbing his cockhead between the slit of my sex, teasing me. I let out a needy whine.
"Get off me," I panted.
Oswald seemed pleased at my acting.
"You want this just as much as I do."
"I don't—"
It was so hard to pretend I didn't; he shoved his mouth onto mine; no invitation to be given, no permission to be granted. He was taking what was his. He rubbed my clit vigorously, then slipped two fingers just along the entrance of my wet, swollen sex. I still 'tried' escaping, moving my arms and legs—it wasn't hard; I was hungry, and I needed him!
He licked my earlobe: "Is Sylvia ready?"
"N-no..."
I practically heard him purr: "I think she is."
He curled his fingers inside of me and I damn near blacked out just from the sudden surge of ecstasy that accompanied it. My back arched, my toes curled, and I whimpered when he withdrew his fingers.
I needed him—fucking Christ, I needed him! He stood on his knees, putting a small amount of distance between us, knowing what it would do to me when he did.
I grinned mischievously, wrapping my fingers around his pulsing member, and stroking him. He sharply inhaled—I thought I had caught him in a weak moment, but it was a trap. He rolled me onto my stomach, and I gasped in surprise.
His hand firmly clamped over my mouth: my eyes looked straight at the headboard in front of me. The sharp edge of the knife slid slowly up my back then settled against the side of my neck. I 'struggled', and he let out a dangerous, dark chuckle that nearly froze me in place.
"Fucking cock tease."
"Mm-mm!"
He taunted me: "How do you want it, Pigeon?"
He separated my legs with his knees then pressed his weight down on top of me, pinning my arms beneath my own body. I was unable to move, unable to escape—but with him, I had never felt freer. He didn't wait for an answer; that was the point.
He slid his cock slowly into my aching sex, wedging tightly inside. The both of us moaned loudly.
"Nice and slow…" Oswald uttered lowly into my ear. "Don't fight it."
"Mmm…mmm…"
He thrust slowly inside, triggering every tender muscle, every sore, aching pressure point. My eyes grew heavy, closing as I just listened to his shallow breaths, his wanton echoes. He lowered his hand from my mouth to my neck and I was free to moan as loud as I pleased.
"Fuck, Oz…"
"You like that?" Oswald whispered. "Do you like my cock inside you..."
"Mm-hmm."
"I know I do," He groaned.
I pushed my hips against him, and he snickered at my impatience. He kissed, nibbling, and licking where he bit. I let out a sharp, frustrated keen.
"Harder," I begged.
"What was that?"
"Fuck me harder."
"Is that what you really want?"
"I need it, baby, please," I whined. "Make it hurt."
Oswald said roughly, "You have no idea what you're asking me to do."
"I do!" I snapped, feeling the familiar sudden rage rise to the surface. "Now fuck me like you hate me,goddamn it!"
I wiggled my arms out from beneath my body, and flung my hands up behind my head; one slapped his face. I even felt the sting within my palm. I thought I might have crossed a boundary there, but I was surprised when he shoved my face into the mattress, forced my wrists behind my back, and kept them there, restraining me.
"Scream for me," He demanded before he rammed himself deep inside of me; I cried out.
He fucked me hard and fast; My knuckles clenched, turning white. Pain mixed with pleasure, shooting through every finger, every toe, and festering deep inside my stomach. He grabbed a handful of my hair, keeping my head down on the mattress as he rolled his hips into mine, plunging deeper—the knife was forgotten in the sheets. He released my arms in favor of digging his fingers into my hip, holding me firmly against him.
The bed creaked with the movement, the headboard ricocheting and slamming against the wall.
"Yes! Oh my god, yes…! Fuck!" My high-pitched scream became lost in my gasp, my desperation for release, and need for more pain.
He raked his nails down my front, clawing my breasts and stomach, then my back; and I moaned aloud in delight. Oswald wrapped one hand around my neck, and pressed down on my carotids, avoiding my airway. My breaths became short and hallow, the blood pounding inside my forehead; my ears were ringing, but I could still hear Oswald's unrestrained grunts and groans as he thrust in and out of me.
He let go of my wrists as he pressed his weight onto my own body to keep me pinned; his arms braced on either side of me; I clenched the bed sheets desperately, smiling a little when his hands lied on the back of my hands; his fingers interlaced between mine. This subtle loving gesture in amidst this animalistic scourge.
My insides burst, throwing my body into a titillating convulsion. Oswald pulled out of me, and moved me on my back. He separated my legs with an effort as they were trying to close on their own accord. He pinned my arms down and above my head, just as he shoved his cock inside my pussy, feeling every vibration, every seizing muscle holding desperately onto him.
He kissed my collar bone, right above where Fish had left her mark. And then he replaced it with his.
Oswald bit me, his teeth broke the skin. I let out a painful moan, but I barely could feel it for save the sharp pain before it all dulled into one tantalizing pleasurable wave. My response was what finally tilted him over the edge, and he stopped moving for only a few seconds, releasing himself inside of me.
Panting, hot, and sweaty, he lied on top of me for a few minutes as our breathing slowly returned to normal. He kissed my forehead, and I beamed up at him.
He groaned sorely as he moved on his back, mirroring me, sighing in content: "You're something else."
"Am I now?" I said, smirking at him. "I'm your partner-in-crime, literally…your lover and fiancée…What else could I be?"
"You are the human embodiment of a hurricane," Oswald said, smirking at me.
I kissed him tenderly on the lips; he returned it. As he did, I whispered, "And don't you forget it."
