A/N Liz and Reddington deal with the aftermath of her escape attempt. Tensions come to a head and their relationship takes a turn. Tension, violence and a smutty Reddington fantasy. Rated M, NSFW! As ever I don't own the Blacklist and I love reviews so much, they keep me writing :-)

The next morning she woke late, and sore. The memories of the previous night came flooding back horribly, and her eyes shot open when she stretched out and felt silk sliding along her limbs. She had slept in his robe. She could smell him all around her. Looking about her room she half expected him to be there, but she was alone; he'd cared for her, gently and thoroughly, and left her to sleep. If possible, she was even more confused and embarrassed today than she had been the night before. She rose from the bed and tried the door. She thought it would be locked, but it wasn't.

She washed and dressed quickly, and went to find him, reasoning that after the night's events she needed to establish where she stood. She ignored the tiny voice inside her that said she wanted to see him. That she had enjoyed sleeping in his robe. That would be utterly ridiculous, and definitely twisted under these circumstances. Under any circumstances.

She found him in the sitting room at the desk, thumbing through some papers. He looked up and smiled as she entered, but she noticed him casually place a file on top of the document he had been reading.

"Lizzie – I trust you caught up on lost sleep."

She cringed inwardly and watched as he stepped out from behind the desk and came to rest in front of it. He was immaculately dressed as ever in a dark suit and vest, and wore reading glasses which he removed and tossed lightly on the desk behind him. It was like being in the principal's office.

"Yes" she said, her tongue feeling heavy. "I…I expected…" She licked her lips while she tried to figure out the best way to say what she was thinking.

He looked at her questioningly, inclining his head. "What did you expect, Lizzie" he pressed.

"I guess I thought I'd be locked in or something. I didn't think you'd trust me to wonder about after yesterday."

Reddington smiled wolfishly. "Well let's see. I could always handcuff you to that bed of yours for the remainder of your stay… But I'm sure that won't be necessary."

Liz's cheeks burned scarlet and she tasted the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth as her teeth sunk into her lip. Was he joking? Or had he just threatened her?

"Although needless to say" he continued, "the roof garden is now out of bounds. You'll ask me if you want some fresh air and I'll be happy to escort you" he said breezily.

An acerbic response formulated in her head but she thought better of it. How she hated him for making her feel this way.

"You're angry with me" she stated plainly.

"Why should I be angry?" he responded rhetorically with a plastic smile. "Now if that's all, I have some paperwork that requires my attention. There's a tray for you in the breakfast room – I imagine you must be famished after your little adventure."

With that he turned back to the desk, dismissing her, and she crept from the room with anger and humiliation gnawing uncomfortably at her insides.

Reddington gripped the desk and exhaled as he heard the door close behind him. Over the years he had learned to bury any strong emotions, maintaining a finely-honed persona with a pre-designed range of feeling and behavior that served him well for interactions in his world. Yet in the past few days she had managed to disrupt that persona on multiple occasions, eliciting responses from him that were beyond his control…and that which was beyond his control was dangerous.

She was right – he was angry with her. Further, he disliked the facets of his character that she seemed to magnify, in particular the fact that the more she demonstrated fear and disdain for him, the more enjoyment he derived from intimidating her, from exploiting the power he had over her. You're a bastard Reddington, he thought bleakly.

He stared scornfully at the files on the desk, each one containing the resume of a highly gifted yet utterly innocuous-looking operative courtesy of the Major. He was supposed to choose a protector for her from amongst these psychopathic pretty-boys, although after last night it seemed that she would need protecting from herself as much as anyone else. It inexplicably needled him that whomever he selected would get to know the girl far better than he; this person would learn her habits, her interests, her hopes… her desires.

He recalled her telling him defiantly that he was the only person from whom she needed protecting. It stung, and more so after the events of last night. He knew that her fear of him was what made her try something so dangerous, and it unnerved him immensely that he hadn't predicted or prevented the action she had taken. It bothered him too that part of him wanted to punish her for being afraid of him, and conversely, for having frightened him with her daredevil stunt. How would he have faced Sam if something had happened? How would he have faced himself?

Dinner that evening was an awkward affair. Having approached him so tentatively that morning, she now seemed determined to aggravate him, apparently antagonized by the cool reception with which he had greeted her that morning. So the games begin, he thought, and quashed the treacherous voice in his head which suggested that he enjoyed the challenge she presented.

She began by being half an hour late to the dining room. He had made his feelings on the importance of punctuality perfectly clear to her from the outset, and yet she purposefully flouted his instructions. She had appeared just as he was concluding that she didn't intend to join him at all, and had offered no apology. She wore a fetching sheer white silk blouse, and, if he wasn't mistaken, a slick of a soft pink lipstick and perhaps even a hint of mascara. That was new. He was well aware that a selection of cosmetics had been provided along with the toiletries in her suite, but this was the first time she had worn make-up in front of him, however subtle it was. It felt like a victory.

Despite her tardiness he remained courteous, although his attempts at conversation were met with sullen silence for the best part of the meal. Finally, he sat back and smiled smugly at her.

"I must say your icy temperament has been especially bracing this evening. Is it at all possible that your sour mood has something to do with the fact that you're angry with yourself for having attempted such a monumentally foolish escape? Or are you merely disappointed by the failure of your mission" he smirked.

He watched, charmed as her cheeks flushed pink, a unique hue of rage and humiliation.

"This isn't a game" she spat "this is my life!"

"Of course it's a game" he drawled smoothly. "Here you are now, testing boundaries, assessing risk…planning your next move."

She shoved her chair back and stood up angrily. "You're pathetic" she hissed.

He looked at her impassively, although when he spoke his lazy tone had hardened a little. "I'm an extraordinarily patient man. There are very few people who have the capacity to rile me Lizzie - I wouldn't advise you to join their ranks."

"You talk to me as though I'm a child!"

"Could that be because you're acting-out like a child? Because that's what you are, isn't it Lizzie" he said softly "- a frightened little girl full of bravado to conceal the fact that she's terrified."

"If I'm so difficult to be around then why don't you just get rid of me?" she shot back belligerently.

His face darkened and he rose from his seat abruptly, a vein throbbing noticeably at his temple. "Is that honestly what you would say to someone you consider to be dangerous? How am I supposed to let you go back out there knowing that you exercise such poor judgement? That you haven't the first idea how to defend yourself?"

She stormed away from the dining table towards the desk on the other side of the room, leaning on it and facing away from him in a show of catching her breath. He followed, but when he reached her she spun round and he felt the prick of a blade at his carotid as she held a letter opener to his neck, a defiant look on her face.

"Put it down Elizabeth" he said quietly. "I won't ask again." Other than his eyes growing sharper, he barely flinched in response to the blade at his throat, his breathing and tone calm and even.

She hated that it hadn't rattled him. "Still think I can't defend myself?" she said confidently, increasing the pressure on his neck a little.

His hand came out of nowhere, and in a second he had twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her down onto the desk, one hand thrust firmly between her shoulder blades and the other gripping her wrist.

"I think if you were serious about defending yourself you would have done it" he growled. "If I'm as dangerous as you say I am you shouldn't have hesitated Lizzie - never make threats you're not willing make good on" he said gruffly, pressing her twisted arm down further in an attempt to get her to drop the blade.

"You're hurting me!" It came out as more of a whine than she intended and she rolled her eyes at herself.

She heard the soft rustle of his vest as he leant down, and then his voice, low and calm in her ear. "I'm not hurting you Lizzie, you're perfectly fine. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd know about it."

A rush of anger surged through her and she tried with everything she had to twist her body round, bracing her foot against the floor for leverage. She thoroughly intended to spin round and knee him in the crotch, but as she struggled he pushed more of his weight down on her and used his knee to separate her legs to immobilize her, his hand firm on her wrist.

"That's enough!" he breathed. He didn't exactly shout, but there was something in his tone that shocked her into submission.

He felt her grow still under him and he suddenly became very aware of the position in which he held her, bent over the desk, her ass now pressed up against his groin. He couldn't help but momentarily entertain the unlikely notion that she might desire him as he did her. He imagined reaching around and undoing her pants, peeling her underwear down and taking her right there, his hand planted between her shoulder blades, angling her on the desk for perfect access.

But no, he thought then. He wouldn't rush the moment, and he certainly wouldn't be rough. She was too inexperienced and delicate for that. He'd undress her slowly; work her up until she was quivering. He'd have her sit naked on his lap as he caressed her, her youthful excitement soaking through his pants as his cock strained to be released, aching to satisfy her.

He only entertained these thoughts for a few seconds - a momentary lapse - but it was long enough. He was now sporting a throbbing and unmistakable erection which was currently pressed against her ass. He felt her whole body tense in his grip, the air around them crackling with tension that had nothing to do with the fact that she'd held a blade to his neck moments earlier.

Clearing his throat, he tightened his grip on her wrist just-so, and her fingers finally slackened on the blade. Removing it from her hand, he released her and stepped back several good paces, schooling his features as one completely in control of himself and the situation. She turned slowly to face him, her cheeks pink and eyes glittering. He held up the letter opener, gripping the blade between his forefinger and thumb. "I hope you won't be making a habit of coming at me with sharp objects" he said evenly.

"I could say the same thing to you" she breathed, and he let out an abrupt laugh as the implications of her riposte hit him.

He felt beads of sweat gather on the back of his neck, but he recovered quickly, rolling his tongue in his mouth as a wry smile formed on his lips. "In that case might I suggest a truce. We agree to leave each other… unmolested."

She scanned his face for any sign of deceit and, finding none, nodded slowly in agreement.

"Splendid" he responded, smiling beatifically. "Now, when I reach an accord I like to seal the arrangement with a drink," he said, moving to the liquor cabinet.

"I think I know the real reason you're keeping me here" she said quietly.

"Do you" he responded guardedly.

"I may not know much about your business, but I've read about you – you walked out on your family years ago, and I can't imagine you have friends. You're lonely." Her tone was more one of pity than of spite. He didn't like it.

"I have you though, don't I" he said cryptically, allowing the comment to hang there for a moment before smiling. "And let's not forget Dembe. He is family."

"Your bodyguard?" she asked incredulously.

Reddington chuckled softly. "Ahhh, Dembe is much more than a bodyguard to me." He motioned for her to sit and she reluctantly obliged. He poured them both a drink and handed a glass to her before settling in an armchair opposite her. "You know, I found Dembe many years ago in a cell not dissimilar to the one in which I found you. He'd survived for eight years in a squalid brothel in Nairobi, beaten, abused and angry. He'd been left to die. So I took him. Made him well. He is very dear to me."

"You rescued him, like you did me…and he's still with you" she said slowly, panic flitting across her features.

Reddington laughed gently. "No no, don't worry. I saw to his education. Sent him out into the world – it was his choice to come back to me."

He was pleased and relieved to see her relax after that, and more so when her curiosity piqued as he began to tell her more about Dembe and their travels in Africa. He dared to hope that perhaps their truce would hold - that she was beginning to understand that she had no reason to fear him.

As their conversation continued, he pondered a strange thought in the back of his mind. Unlike many men his age he was not generally drawn to younger women, especially not those unfortunate girls he often met in his line of work. It wasn't uncommon for criminal king-pins and gangsters to have a young female entourage, coked-up baby dolls frightened out of their wits, or so damaged that they enjoyed being used and hurt.

At the conclusion of some of his more unsavory business dealings he was occasionally offered the company of a young girl or two, some of them barely out of training bras, dressed in provocative lingerie that looked like costumes on them, their advances fumbling and inept. He almost always politely refused this, and on the rare occasions on which it wouldn't be prudent to decline, he would pay the girl handsomely not to reveal that the formidable concierge of crime had sat quietly in a chair and played solitaire on his burner phone, watching over her while she had gotten some much needed sleep for an hour.

But the girl who sat before him unconsciously stroking her scarred palm was nothing like those poor wretches who smelled like fake strawberry and fear. She had fire, and wit. She was mistrustful, sharp, unpredictable and unmanageable… and he was captivated by her. His thoughts about her shot straight to his groin uncontrollably, as though he were a teenage boy again.

The sooner he could get a protective detail set up and get her out of here, the better. Yet that was what concerned him the most. It was then for the first time that he acknowledged the truth that had been creeping at the edges of his consciousness: he didn't want her to leave.

TBC