Chapter 14
“You’ve been everywhere tonight…” came the familiar voice from beside you.
Pulled from the darkness of your thoughts as you picked at your salad, a quick flash of a smile was all you would give your ex-boyfriend, David. “I’ve been sitting right here with you.” You played coy, but knew exactly what he meant.
“Hm,” was all he gave you at first, a little nod to go along with the one word answer. He sat beside you in the booth, as he always did when the two of you went out to dinner together. The irony was that he never sat beside you when you were together all that time ago. Now, it was routine. He allowed you to choose the side and he would slide in beside you.
“How’s Christie?” you asked with an overt cheerfulness. Mentioning David’s current girlfriend was never your favorite topic of conversation. You always managed to bring her up though, mostly out of painful curiosity.
“She’s good. She’s out with a friend of her own right now. Told me to tell you hi,” he replied, picking at his own plate.
“Oh,” your shoulders tensing slightly. His dynamic with his girlfriend was his business. They had been together far larger than you had ever been with David—and maybe this was their key to success? To see other people? It was your impenetrable jealousy that had been one of the many reasons your relationship with the man to your side failed.
“Y/N,” punctuated by his fork being set down at the plate’s side. His now free hand found home on your thigh. The warmth, the familiarity of the gesture, of his touch—both calmed you and made you sick at your stomach as you tried with all of your might to not think about a certain actor. “It’s been months without even a text. Something’s going on.” The gentle back and forth motions of his hand bring you to actually look him in the eye.
Gray eyes gazed back at you. They were blue first thing in the morning, but over the course of the work day, they always managed to lose some of their vibrance. His neatly trimmed beard had smatterings of gray, more so than when you had last seen him. When was that again? At least half a year ago now. Your gaze lingered on his beard, far less intimidating than eyes that could always see right through you.
Your silence was his cue to offer your answer choices. “Is the summer getting to you? Without your students?” There was a gentleness to his words, searching, studying—you had always been so tight-lipped with how you felt around him. Another reason the relationship didn’t work out—he had to guess at where you stood, when you thought you had always made it quite clear that you adored him.
You assumed he wasn’t going to be able to guess about your current predicament. Wouldn’t it be something if he guessed that you had been speaking with a famous actor, who seemed to fancy you quite a bit, yet you were too afraid to let him in, and now at the very slightest first sign of him not being interested–you pushed him away with such an intense force and ran right back to your ex?
Yeah. Not likely that he was going to guess that.
“Did you need me to take your mind off of things?” giving your thigh a little squeeze with the promise of more to come. You let out a nervous giggle, reaching for your ridiculously large margarita (the only reason you preferred this restaurant time and time again).
Upon not getting any response from you, David added onto his previous offer. “Nothing else has to happen, Y/N. It can be dinner. That’s it.” And he was being honest. There had been times when the two of them shared a meal and simply caught up on life. One or both of them would agree they weren’t feeling up to anything else and would leave it at that. Judging by the way David kept his hand on your leg and the way his eyes always managed to find their way to your cleavage, he likely wouldn’t be the one to turn down more this evening.
Maybe that’s why you messaged David. He knew you. Knew what you looked like. Knew how to touch you. Knew all of your little secrets that can only be found out through extensive time together in the same room. There was a comfort that came with him that you didn’t know if you could ever acquire with Tom.
Tom. As if he wasn’t some famous movie star. You had convinced yourself that he was just like any other guy you had met. That was so far from the truth though, especially when you allowed yourself to watch the newly released interviews he had given today. He was Tom Hiddleston. All charm, elegance, sophistication—you spent the majority of your time covered in marker or reminding small people to stop flipping water bottles. He quoted Shakespeare. You quoted Dr. Seuss. He dressed-up for world premieres. You had to wear an inflatable shark costume to work once. Your lives were nothing alike.
Why would he ever choose to start a relationship with you?
Suddenly, you were very much aware that David was still looking to you for an answer. Another flash of a smile, taking a large gulp of your drink. “Maybe I want there to be more.” It was your feeble attempt at flirting.
“Only if you’re sure, he hesitantly added, reaching for his wallet.
“I can pay for dinner. You always pay for it.”
“I know you can pay for it,” still making all the motions to grab his credit card from the wallet you bought him when you first started dating. Seven years ago? You had barely been together a year before he broke up with you. It was the shortest relationship either of you had been a part of and by far the most demanding, yet the two of you stayed in contact.
“Will you let me pay for it?” a little huff to your words.
“Not a chance,” he added quickly, thanking the waiter as he came by and plucked the card. “You look good tonight.” It was a simple compliment. Quick. Painless. Yet, you still had a difficult time believing him. Years of trying to give you compliments, he didn’t put much effort into them anymore. You weren’t going to believe him anyway.
“I should hope so with how long I spent getting ready, but you know that’s my favorite part. Getting ready. The excitement of it all. Some of my best memories of us were when you were in the shower singing and I was curling my hair or putting on my make-up. It always felt so intimate.”
David gave a small hum of satisfaction at the memory, agreeing that it had been nice. However, his head dropped so lips lingered against the shell of your ear. “Should I be offended that getting ready was your best memory?”His voice had a power over you that you’d never be able to deny. Thoughts of actors, interviews, everything was thrown out the window.
Before you knew it, the bill had been paid, you drove back to his place, and David was letting you in the front door. The house was older, having been purchased nearly a decade prior. Bits of old wallpaper hung from the walls, the man never really caring enough to get it removed. Despite the odds and ends left at the house by his girlfriend, the environment felt distinctly like David.
You had only been in the house for a moment, dropping your purse by the door before the games began. In one fluid motion, large hands gathered your long dark hair, yanking you down the hallway to the living room. Your tiny shrieks were not enough for the act to stop. He kept tugging you along until you were tossed against the oversized ottoman.
And God, you were already wet for him. It was an instinct by this point. Your short relationship had opened up a world of new physical experiences. Were they interests for you before David? No. Did you partake in the power dynamics purely because David enjoyed them? Initially.
Once gray eyes stormed over as he hovered above you, assessing your body like a predator getting ready to pounce. You hoped he would ponce. Each passing second he wasn’t doing something to you, your mind would begin to wander. The modern clock face mounted on the wall only made you want to calculate what time it was in London. The Iron Man bobble head on the mantle just to David’s left reminded you of the—
“This position will do,” David commented, noticing that your legs naturally splayed open for him, even if you were still fully clothed in jeans and a flowy blouse.
“Really? Seems–,” pausing, grateful for the distraction, and looking for trouble. “---sort of lazy to just throw me on the first surface you find.” Bratty tendencies were out in full force.
“What did you say?” He was obviously amused, but no outsider would have noticed that. Only you.
“Nothing,” you lied, grinning from ear to ear as you bit down on your bottom lip. Large brown orbs dared him to do something about how you spoke to him. You liked to give the illusion of an independent woman, however, years of your body succumbing to the man before you made you both aware of how much that wasn’t true when it came to David.
Without a word, he pulled you up by the belt loop on your pants. That was one aspect you really enjoyed from David. The way he moved you around as though you were weightless. The next thing you knew, you were pinned to the wall–hand against your throat. Your eyes flashed a warning look to the man which he knew to mean that you still were not alright with his hand anywhere near your throat. Immediately, he let go and allowed hands to roam your body.
He picked-up on every little squirm, shriek. Every tell tale sign, he knew how to read. You had never met anyone who knew you to such a degree. Physically, that is. There was one man that was beginning to learn you… No. This wasn’t about Tom.
This was about—-what was this about? Revenge?
As you contemplated why you were here, David’s mouth explored any exposed skin along your neckline. Teeth slid across your skin, his grip on you intensifying. The mixture of pleasure and pain was a distracting aphrodisiac which was precisely what you wanted. Anything to take your mind off of Tom.
He was probably enjoying the after effects of his evening. Even as you had watched the interviews and the small clips of him on the set—he was indescribably charming. There was no way he was alone right now. No way that his terse replies to you earlier would not translate to some goddess-like creature in his bed. I grant I never saw a Goddess go…
Nipples were clamped between thumb and forefinger, to such an extent that you found yourself rising to your tiptoes, crying out for some relief. The pain was a welcomed companion. It pushed away the thoughts of what Tom may have been doing right this very moment. His teeth dragging along delicate skin. His mouth placing soft kisses against an earlobe. The gentle murmurs of Shakespeare recited between rounds of love making…
Then, your phone gave a ding in the next room to alert you to either a text or a voicemail. For whatever reason, you found yourself untangling from your ex, apologizing profusely and making up excuses for why you needed to check it. Upon finding your phone, it was indeed a missed call with a voicemail.
Tom.
Just Tom. Not Tom Hiddleston. Not God of Mischief. Tom. Just Tom.
Your heart stopped. Or perhaps your stomach flipped? Your body physically reacted to only seeing the man’s name—even more than the reactions your body had towards the man who had been pressed up against you for ten minutes. Hands trembled as you pressed button after button to listen to the voicemail.
“Um, yes. Hello. Right. Well. Honestly, I hadn’t a clue what I was going to say if you had answered. This is terribly rude of me. You’re likely still out to dinner,” a pause broke up the stiff message, one born from a laced anxiety that was evident to you. A long exhale before his voice returned, soft and vulnerable. “Darling.” You choked back the tears that wanted so desperately to escape. “I would rather savor a lifetime of fights with you than be condemned to an eternity with your silence. Please call me back. No matter the time.”
You stood there in the silence, finally dropping the phone down into your purse. He wasn’t tangled in sheets. He wasn’t talking about Shakespeare and music and breakfast and any other sort of random topic with someone else. He was at home. Thinking of you.
And you were… Suddenly, the warmth of lips meeting the nape of your neck brought your attention acutely to the presence. “Where are you?” David whispered against your ear, hands sliding along your hips. Slowly, he turned you around to face him and before you could form the words, his lips pressed against yours for the first time all evening.
They were warm and soft—full of history. There had been days when all you wished was to feel those lips against you once more. There were nights when you hoped beyond all hope that David would return to you in some form. Now, all you felt was the overwhelming guilt. It had only truly hit you once you realized that you no longer wanted David’s lips to touch yours.
You only wanted your Tom. You wanted the man that forgot to take out the trash because he was too involved in a book. You wanted the man that went for runs every morning and never once made you feel bad for declaring you’d only run if you were being chased. You wanted the man that was so full of talent and yet always yearned to do better.
Now, those lips that you once longed for were suffocating you. Taking every ounce of life from you with each passing second. “Mus–,” you choked out. Hands lifted to push against David’s chest. “Musk–,” you attempted again, but the tears were already spilling down your cheeks. “Muskrat. Muskrat. Muskrat!” escaping from David’s frozen stance at the use of the safe word, watching in horror as you backed up into the closet door.
“Alright—it’s okay. Hey—it’s okay,” he tried to calm you down, keeping his distance until he could assess the situation. This was not his strong suit. He didn’t know how to communicate with you when you were upset, or how to reach you when you spiraled so deeply in the dark. Perhaps it was because he knew that if he stepped into the darkness with you, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself.
Of all the things David knew about you—he didn’t know how to love you.
“I can’t have you kiss me. I want him to kiss me,” the tears were unable to stop by this point, as you admitted for the first time what you really wanted. “But I can’t have him kiss me. I’m not good enough for him. I’m not—I’m not enough. I couldn’t be enough for you. I won’t be—,” as you slid down the wall and sat in the foyer.
“Hey—that was never the reason it didn’t work out between us,” crouching down while still giving you space. The only thing was—you didn’t want space. You wanted to be held. You wanted to be loved. You wanted so much that you didn’t even know how to verbalize it.
“Then what was?” Your mind raced at the possibilities. Every possible reason you two ended things. You weren’t pretty enough being at the top of the list, of course. Too emotional? Too clingy? Too desperate for attention? Too–you were always too much.
David was at a loss when it came to seeing you emotional. It went beyond feeling uncomfortable at the sight of your tears. It was emotion in general. To have this conversation out of the blue was more than he thought he could handle. The words never came to him and he never could give you an answer. What he could do for you was sit there with you, placing a hand on your knee, until the cries stopped wracking your body.
As they calmed down, turning into small sniffles, David was able to give you one piece of advice. “Let him know how you feel. You deflected so many times, it wasn’t until after we were done that I knew you loved me.” It was perhaps the most honest sentiment he had ever shared with you.
Knowing what to do next didn’t make it any easier…