Thank you guys for the amazing feedback!
This is a section of the next snippet told from Harley's perspective, since I thought that the events leading up to this scene and what occurs afterwards would be more interesting if told from someone else's. (Not going to tell you who - it'll ruin the fun.) So, technically it happens after the second one - but there's a lot of missing information that will be brought to light in the next one. Wonder if you can find any hints to what those missing events were...;)
Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Taste
White-hot fury was pumping through the Queen of Gotham's veins as she pushed the young man against the wall, making sure to dig her nails into the soft flesh of his wrists so that she drew blood. With her body pressed to his she can feel very beat his heart makes - every breath he takes -
He should be reacting with lust with the way her curves push against his chest - should be in awe that she, a fucking Queen, was giving him so much attention -
He doesn't even spare her a smile.
The thought makes her blood boil hotter; makes it just that much more difficult to stay in control of her expression as she is reminded of the fact that a simple, ordinary bitch had managed to take from him what she couldn't with nothing but a few words.
"If you ever try to escape again - I will demolish whoever you are around." She hisses fervently, her grip tightening on his wrists to make sure the threat - no, promise sinks in as he stiffens beneath her, pretty, pretty eyes narrowing. "You're mine." She tells him, the fact making some of the fire go away - a gleeful smile pulling up her lips...
He leans forward, eyes like Greek fire as he growls: "You wish."
Harley feels the muscles that kept up her smile freeze, feels the little bit of rage that had been swept away return ten-fold as they stare each other down, breaths mingling.
She feel's his heart beat: once, twice. She smells the light scent of whiskey on his breath. She sees the depths of his green eyes; all the emotions that linger there - the anger, the disbelief, the defiance...
She wanted to bottle it up. She wanted to keep it locked up and safe.
It was hers. He was hers. He was hers to bend - to shatter into jagged shards -
Briefly, she wonders if she's becoming obsessed with someone who would only be tossed away in the end only to shake the feeling off.
He's hers.
She can smell him - the hearty spice mixed with the strange thing that she felt underneath his skin the first time they touched. She feels it now, beneath her fingers - in the air; a slight warning of power and danger...
She breathes it in at the same moment that he does - and her gaze falls on his neck.
Hers...
Her lips touch his skin determinedly - smirking as she feels his pulse stutter. She hears him draw in a ragged breath and it urges her on - moving her lips up against the smooth skin of his neck and jaw to reach his ear which she tugs on lightly with her teeth. Releasing it, she pushes herself against him - a heated, breathless promise escaping her lips: "I will have you begging for me when I'm through with you."
She retraces her path back down to his jugular, finding his pulse easy as is hummed beneath his skin. Her lips brush over it - reveling in feeling the hash beats -
She wants it for her own.
Her teeth sink in, and she tastes blood as she sucks hard - smirking at the way he spasms under her - his breath heavy and pulse racing. She moves along his skin - feeling more of that strangeness that seemed to live within the young man's very skin. She can't resist to slid her tongue over her newest mark - unable to stop the soft moan that escaped her at the taste. Smugness radiates off him at that - and to remedy it she makes another mark - viciously biting into the skin to feel his pulse quicken again.
Once that is done she pulls away to inspect her work - smirking at the lovely array of forming red and purple bruises on his neck - feeling that if for nothing else, at least her Puddin's absence allowed for this. Her satisfaction grows at seeing the blush to the boy's cheeks and his dazed eyes; running a finger over the bruises happily, even as she pouts: "These will only last a little over a week..." An idea comes to her then; one that would ensure that other people would know who this pretty, defiant thing belonged to even if he continued to deny it. Giddy, she giggles: "But by then you'll have a more permanent collar."
The haze clears from his eyes - his body stiffening as he growls: "I'm not your toy..."
Not interested in hearing him after her victory, she simply delivers a sharp right hook to his face. As he slumps over her shoulder, she whispers one last thing: "You're also my prize."
Poor Harry, he just keeps getting knocked out and felt up in a power-play...
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