Pins and needles. I felt like the rest of the week was the most nerve wracking week of my life. Between telling Mallory that we technically found the headburster extraordinar, BUT that Vought had lost her whereabouts, so we knew she existed just not where she existed. Add to that the rest of the team feeling like they weren't being utilized with a healthy dose of Billy reminding me daily of that fire between us, while also reminding me that I had a 'date' on Friday night and I felt like I was going to implode without our mystery supe's help.
Mallory, Billy, and I worked out a way for the team to feel useful and BE useful. Compiling the missing supe's information with their last known locations, we sent them off to see if they'd trip over the one we were looking for, while also updating the files. MM manned the database from a laptop, while helping Frenchie and Kimiko locate and approach if the conditions were safe.
One nerve relaxed, Billy grew intent on turning up the heat between us, following me home almost every night, and filling in any downtime we could manage with trying to get us fucking caught by one of the underlings in our office. Honestly, he seemed to relish having a knock come to the door when I was at least partially undone, or one time actually in the midst of thrusting. He'd tuck himself away, grin at me as he reminded me of which parts of my work clothes were currently out of sorts, and almost fucking whistle as he got the door.
And, contrary to what most of my body would try to tell you, I did NOT start wearing skirts to make it easier to fix myself or to make myself more accessible. There were plenty of times in the past that I'd switch up my look, and pull out the pencil skirts and thigh high stockings. It had NOTHING to do with hearing Billy's breath leave him when he looked down and my toes were hidden, or the gasp that came when his fingers slid up my leg and met the elastic lace that held them up. Why would that matter?
By the time Friday arrived, I was a bundle of nerves, randy as hell, and about to crawl out of my own skin. We finished the final files in the last boxes, and I noticed that we did it right on time for me to leave to get ready for my 'date'.
"Let's go get you ready for John, Veronica." Billy stood first, holding my chair as I got to my feet, bare today since the skirt I chose would have shown the outline of my stockings. It's also why I wasn't wearing panties. Clean lines are a must, and I definitely didn't do it in case Billy decided to try to distract me again. Which he didn't, by the way.
He walked me to my car, like he'd done since the first time he helped me with the files. He held my door. He told me he'd see me soon, and I almost thought that I was off the hook and he'd changed his mind about whatever diabolical fucking plan he had cooked up, but I saw him in my rear view mirror and knew that I had no such luck. So why did I feel a stirring of butterflies in my stomach and instead of feeling worried? I felt happy that he was behind me and a growing curiosity about what was coming.
He parked behind my SUV and followed me into the house. As soon as the door was shut behind us, he had me locked in his arms and his mouth was hot on mine. Tugging my shirt up and over my head, he tossed it behind him toward my living room and then my bra met the same fate. The skirt was gone in a beat. His hands met bare skin, and he stilled against me. I was still in my heels, and when I started to slip out of them, he pulled his mouth away from mine and shook his head. When he took in my lack of panties, I swore his fucking nostrils flared so hard that I thought he sucked all the oxygen from the room.
"Heels on, Veronica," and then he scooped me into his arms and took me to my bedroom.
For an hour and a half, Billy Butcher showed me that the two of us hadn't gotten close to how fucking hot we could get. Sweat glistened, breaths were labored, and I knew that my skin was covered in beard burn, some bite marks, and there were probably bruises from where he'd held me so tight that I thought we'd meld together. My hair was a mess. Makeup? I was terrified to even think about that.
"Now," he sighed, turning on his side so we were face to face. "Now we get you ready for your 'date', Ronnie."
I laughed. "If I can stand up in the shower, you mean." His hand cupped my cheek and I found myself leaning into his touch.
"Who said you were getting a shower?" His lips were curling into a smirk and my eyes widened. "Johnny Boy gets a date, and it will be one he'll not soon forget." He stood up, energetic and bouncy. "Let me grab you a little something-" And as I lay on my bed, wrapping my head around the fact that I reeked of sex, he popped off into my closet like he was one of the fucking Queer Eye guys.
A surge of fear, real fear came when I considered what Billy Fucking Butcher would pick for me to wear when I went out with the winning bid. Shit.
He didn't pick something too risky. It covered all my pertinent parts. He didn't pick out a bra or panties, which made sense, at least where the bra was concerned. Strapless, form-fitting, with a built in support system the bra was unnecessary. The lack of panties might be concerning though, since the dress had a slit from knee to, well let's just say I'd be using every ounce of the training my mother gave me on sitting like a lady.
I fixed my hair, even after he tried to convince me that it was a sexy mess. Sure, I thought, it looked like he'd pulled it while he pounded into me, which I can neither confirm nor deny that he did. Makeup was straightened and made evening appropriate, and just as I was considering what heels to wear, he held them up by the straps. Shit.
My toenails were still painted in the shifting colors polish, and since the dress he chose was dark blue they worked. Coupled with the strappy heels he'd chosen, I had to admit, I looked amazing. For a date with someone else. Weird.
"No perfume," he said, when I reached for the bottle.
"Can I reapply my deodorant, oh wondrous one?" I asked, making his smirk grow to a full blown grin. A nod was my answer, and I dramatically put more on. "I swear I can still-"
He came up behind me, staring at the vision of the two of us in my mirror. "Smell me? Smell US?" He asked, hands sliding up my bare arms, causing goosebumps to erupt in their wake. "That's the point, Veronica." He dipped his head, letting his nose brush along my bare shoulder and up my neck, inhaling lightly. "I want the lucky sod who gets to have dinner with you tonight to know, without either of us saying a fucking word, that you aren't for sale. That you aren't up for grabs. That." a light kiss on my pulse, feeling it quicken. "I." a tiny flick of his tongue, tasting my still sweat salty skin. "Don't." teeth grazing lightly as he moved back down along the curve where my neck met my shoulder. "Share." finishing with a bite hard enough to cause the skin to turn pink from the pressure.
I felt like I was running a marathon that I didn't sign up for, practice for, or realize I was in the middle of until I was surrounded by other runners. Practically panting, thinking that I might not be able to stay upright, I felt thankful that he'd wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me in place.
"Look at you, Ronnie," his voice quiet, our eyes meeting in the mirror. "What fucking man wouldn't want you?" I shut my eyes and he turned me so I was facing him. "Open your eyes." Powerless to NOT look at him, I complied. I saw his Adam's apple bob from him swallowing and felt a tiny shred of happiness that he looked as shocked by this entire thing between us as I was. Then he kissed me lightly so my lipstick didn't smudge, and pulled away. "Let's get you to dinner." And after I grabbed my clutch to toss my necessities in, he took my hand and walked me to his car. I could almost swear I heard him mutter that he couldn't fucking wait for dessert.