By the time he's finished with you, the tea is stone cold and you are very well acquainted with his dinner table. He had frantically bent you face down against the cool mahogany and fucked you hard and deep, until you couldn't hold back from screaming his name.
Afterwards, he had collapsed next to you. Both of you breathing hard, still moaning with pleasure.
"Wow."
Your eyes open at his breathless mutter.
"Understatement of the year..." you groan out.
His eyes crinkle closed and he laughs, still breathing hard.
"Well, yes, quite!" he grins and turns to look into your eyes.
"But given the fact I've just had the most extraordinary sex with such a staggeringly beautiful woman, you'll have to forgive my ineloquence."
"Christ, if that's you being ineloquent, I must sound like a Neanderthal!"
"Hardly," he smiles, "you're absolutely adorable."
For a moment you're stunned that this gorgeous, and extremely famous man, is actually saying such things to you. Your eyes lock and he licks his lips as though he's about to say something.
Your phone beeps in your bag and the moment is broken, both of you flinching at the sound. You reluctantly start to move apart. The table creaks beneath you and he helps you sit up, kissing you on the nose.
"I'll go and finish that tea." he grins at you.
You sigh happily, rising onto your aching legs. Pulling his t-shirt back over your head from where he flung it to the ground, you pad into the living room to retrieve your phone.
34 Missed Calls?
26 Unread Text Messages?
Even before the instant message flashes up, you already know you're in big, big trouble.
He absent-mindedly stirred the milk into the dark tea, humming to himself.
You lucky bastard. That was unbelievable. UNBELIEVABLE.
She had absolutely blown him away. She was only in the next room and he felt her loss like a tightness in his chest. Just thinking about her made him throb again, even though minutes before, he had been rammed into her to the hilt.
He turned and caught sight of her in the doorway, his smile fading as he instantly knew something was wrong.
She stood, stock still, phone in hand, something almost resembling fear on her beautiful face. In a moment, he was in front of her, cupping her face and searching her eyes.
"Darling, whatever's the matter?"
"Tom... is your phone on?"
The question puzzled him.
"Uh, no... actually it isn't. I turned it off last night to make sure we got a bit of privacy. Why?"
She gulped. Tears had begun to shine in the corners of her eyes, making his chest constrict.
"I think you need to go and switch it on. Your PR people will be trying to get hold of you."
Hand shaking, she held the phone out to him.
"I'm sorry..."
It was a FaceBook message from someone called 'Alex' simply stating;
'What the actual FUCK dude.'
And then there was the link...
'Hiddleston's Lady in Red! Who is Loki's Mystery Lady?'
The picture was a full on shot of her leaning into his car window outside her home. Red dress blowing in the breeze. Their faces were both clear as day. There was no denying their identities.
He drew in a breath as he opened the article.
Oh Jesus...
He knew what the next pictures would be.
And there they were, photograph after photograph of them kissing, their passion embarrassingly obvious. The article itself was disgustingly crude, obsessing over her looks and speculating as to her identity. The final flourish was that it was known she hadn't left his house yet, punctuated with the obvious innuendo of what that probably meant.
"Ah fuck."
"I'm so sorry." She finally let out a sob.
His eyes shot up from the screen and his heart strained at the sight of her so distressed. Tears were beginning to course down her cheeks.
"No, no, no darling!" he gasped, "This is nowhere near your fault! This is some scumbag pap desperate for cash, selling to some scumbag rag-site, desperate for scandal!"
Her eyes tilted up to him.
"If anything," he continued, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, "I should be apologizing for not paying attention to the fact I was being followed. I should have protected you against this."
She visibly relaxed into his arms and he kissed the top of her head.
"Right." he said firmly, walking her into the living room.
"I am going to do some damage control. You, my darling girl, are going to curl up right here on this sofa and watch whichever film you desire until I return."
He smiled down at her, hoping it was reassuring enough, and kissed her deeply.
"I'll be back soon. Please, try not to worry. This is not even slightly your fault."
Stroking her hair and meeting her lips a final time, he strode of purposefully towards his bedroom.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. How could I have been so stupid?
He carefully peeked through a crack in the curtains and, sure enough, as he had expected, a small crowd of photographers peppered the pavement outside. Waiting for her to leave.
As soon as the iPhone flickered into life, the screen morphed into a Incoming Call.
Luke is going to fucking kill me.