fiction, when we're not together [thaddea]

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

Tom spent his days a the hardass Calculus professor that he was at least ninety-five percent sure no one liked. His students, that is. He at least hoped he had a good reputation with the faculty, especially since he had quite a few friends in his co-workers. Where else would he be finding his friendships, after all? He didn't set out to make his students like him, and that was obvious by the way that he didn't suffer fools or slackers. Also obvious in that he was more than willing to get pissed at them than he was his co-workers. The only people in the faculty he believed he was enemies with were his sister and his ex. More so his sister at that, considering today she just lied to one of their supervisors and said that he was drawing penises on his whiteboard. And that was what he had to deal with that day, though he was pretty sure he got her back by gluing all of the supplies she had to her desk.

Home, he felt much more relaxed. A better human being, really. He knew a lot of that was because of who he lived with and how he felt about her. He had come to accept it. There was some strong feelings going on. And who could blame him? She was attractive and smart and mysterious and who was he expected not to grow attached living with her like he did. Now he was utterly convinced that it was impossible to remain completely platonic with someone when living in the same household and learning about them. Unless they turned out to be slovenly and annoying, then there was no helping it.

That being noted, he wanted to spend time with her. Of course he did, and now that it was the weekend he was pretty sure the both of them would have the time. He didn't have any plans. He might have if he returned his friends' calls, but alas, going out to a bar didn't appeal to him right then. And evening with Thaddea sounded a lot better right then, a more enjoyable experience for sure.

And that's why when she returned home, he present the idea of a night in to her. "I've got a ton of movies, kind of need to relax after this week." He was already in sweatpants and a warm thermal, not ashamed to dress-down in front of her. It wasn't like he was being exceptionally sloppy. That would have probably garnered her judgment, and he did not want to be under the scrutiny of the woman he was into.

When she agreed, he grinned and started on popping popcorn. The wrap-around couch in the living room was perfect for movie-watching, because he made it so. At the ends there was even a recliner. "You can have the pick this time. I'll be nice," he told Thaddea as he shook out the popcorn into a bowl. He had seen most of them (sometimes he bought movies and never watched them). "They should all be on the rack by the entertainment center." By now she'd have gone through and alphabetized them. Or organized them however she deemed DVD's should be organized. Tom had never really be worried about that. What he was worried about was acting cool around her now. Calm. Suave. The same-old Thomas Roth she'd come to know. It was going to be difficult, indeed.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

She would never admit that she’d been waiting for him to get home. Such a thing, well it was shameful, pathetic even. But she’d been sitting on her bed, cross-legged, reading a novel. But she couldn’t really even call it reading. She’d been flipping the pages, scanning the words. But she couldn’t remember a single sentence, the smallest ideas of what had passed during those lost pages. She found herself starting, her head snapping up, every time she imagined the sound of a key twisting in the lock. She had to console herself that perhaps tonight would be a night when he didn’t return, when he stayed out till the morning was new, with some friends Thaddea had never met.

She wouldn’t admit that she would be bothered, disappointed even, if he didn’t return home. She’d planned on making dinner, some pasta with a variety of clams and such she’d bought at the store. She liked those quiet evenings, when she cooked and he sat on that old stool watching her, chopping vegetables, but being mostly useless. There was a quiet camaraderie. And as she had recently decided was appropriate to admit to – he made her feel safe. And for a woman who had been beaten more times than she remembered, who lived in terror imagining the man that stalked her in the shadows – safety was a rare beautiful thing indeed.

She jerked out of her thoughts as she heard the tell-tale swish of wood on carpet as the door swung open. She could hear his footsteps, the thud as he set down his bags. She closed her book, putting it precisely back in place on her bedside desk. She stood up, smoothing her own clothing. She was dressed relatively casually – as casually as she ever dressed. She wandered into the room, just as he began to speak. He’d gotten in that habit, speaking even if he couldn’t see her. He knew she listened. Despite herself, something in her face lit up. Screw her fancy pasta, something about popcorn and the couch sounded better. She moved quietly to his rack of movies, smiling to herself.

“If you’re going to force me to eat nothing but heated corn kernals, then I shall make you do all of the chopping for tomorrow night’s seafood pasta.” Her voice still had that cold professional undertone to it, that careful formality, but there was a warmth to it too, a quiet relaxation reserved almost exclusively for him. She knelt before the movie suggestions, scanning them. She’d actually just recently reorganized the rack – complete with new labels. She used to have them in alphabetical order. Then, to her dismay, she’d realized just how imbecilic that was. They should have been by genre, alphabetical, the alphabetized within each genre. She only prayed Thomas had never noticed her stupidity, the moment of slovenliness.

She plucked one from the shelf, smiling down at it. The cover read, The Illusionist. She’d loved the movie since she was a teenager. At first she had loved the romantic aspect, the beauty and purity of Sophie and what she was willing to give up for her poor magician boy. And then, in years more recent, she’d identified with Sophie – how she fled the Crown Prince, her bravery, the new life she had built. She moved over to Thomas, presenting him with her choice for the night. She glanced at his bowl of popcorn, then at the fridge. “Will you make lemonade too?” It was incredibly rare of her to ask him for anything, she often saw it as a sign of weakness. But for the moment, well she and Alisander always used to drink lemonade with popcorn. Perhaps she could include Thomas in her little traditions, maybe he deserved it.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

Tom was glad to see her well when she came down from her room. Admittedly, for a while after Christmas, he felt some concern about her. Now that had passed, seeing as she acted like her normal self the past few months. They were oddly domesticated, in a way that felt more intimate than he had intended to get. When they'd first moved in with each other, he had gotten the comments and he'd dealt with them in stride because he hadn't expected that to happen. He could be close with women without falling for them. He'd been friends with Rin for years. And he could never see himself falling for her, maybe because they have been friends so long.

Thaddea was different, and as she spoke, he knew why. Right after he wanted to tease her about her words. In the way that boy's teased the girls they liked, good-naturedly. And he was that kind of guy. He hoped that could help be an excuse, that if she caught on he could say that he was only being his usual self. Would he deny it, though? If she ever noticed, would he admit his feelings, say the truth, or would he use ignorance as a shield? When would he be ready, if ever, to come clean? He'd never been in a situation like this, but then again he'd never been one to play the coy crush. He was upfront. But Thaddea, as usual, was different. She was different in more ways than he knew how.

And so, he was quick to grin and respond to her words. "Come on, live a little Thad," he told her. He even did a little shimmy with his hips as if to demonstrate what that meant. Eating junk food all the time? Why not. Life was too short not to do that. "If you get too hungry, I'll make something for you. Wanna stay up late?" He tried not to acknowledge the connotations of that in his head, but he couldn't stop. Just like he couldn't help the way he looked at her when he knew she wasn't watching him. Even before he knew his feelings, he had understood that she was sexy. She had to know it herself. The difference now, though, was that he got jealous if other people looked. It wasn't right. They were friends, just friends, he kept repeating to himself. Friends, friends, friends... And usually he would ask himself 'why not more' but in this situation he understood.

He got the popcorn ready as she chose the movie, trying to make it so none of it would burn. The man found himself doing many things to please her. He was whipped without even being in a relationship. "Oh yeah, haven't watched that one yet," he told her as Thaddea showed him the movie. He told her he'd make the lemonade, not even questioning how strange it was with something like popcorn. Who didn't like lemonade? And after he was done, he brought it out to the living room and sat down, taking a blanket and asking her, "You want to share?" Maybe that was going too far, but it was purely innocent. He wouldn't try anything with her.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

She considered helping him with the food, the popcorn and the lemonade. But she felt brave, even cheeky, if only for a moment. Instead she sat herself on the couch. She was precisely on the middle of the three cushions. She only felt right if there was evenness on both sides of her. Though of course that meant that wherever Thomas sat, he would be quite near her, possibly close enough to touch. She pushed this thought away, tucking her legs underneath her. She reclined, turning her face so she could see Thomas working on the kitchen. Her hair was down and loose, curling slightly against her face. She smiled at his dancing, pursing her lips slightly. He wasn’t a very good dancer. He could use some lessons. She could teach him, she’d taught herself to dance well enough. She shook her head slightly, shrugging – which was highly unusual for her. Perhaps she was high on something. Had he drugged her? Had spoiled food given her some hallucinogenic unpredictable effects? She couldn’t say for certain. But she couldn’t bring herself to care either. “I’ll stay on this couch until breakfast sizzles on the stove.” She furrowed her brows slightly, straightening. She shouldn’t behave in such an inappropriate informal manner. It was despicable, slovenly.

She held herself rigidly once more, her hands folded in her lap. He approached, popcorn and lemonade in hand. She took the proffered cup, flourishing a handkerchief from somewhere in her many pockets. A moment ago, perhaps she would have daringly sipped from where his lips had touched. Two sides of her were battling – the side that seemed high on drugs and willing to let herself float away, and the side that bitterly fought against it. She wiped the rim of the glass lightly with her handkerchief and took a sip. Despite her rigidness, she smiled. She had always loved lemonade, the tartness as it slid over her tongue. She stroked a finger over the cover of the film. It was one of her favorites, perhaps an all-time favorite. She watched as he approached, slipping the disk. She waited for the opening music to play, those first few notes that signified the start of something she could lose herself in – something innocent. She rested back against the couch cushions slowly, allowing herself to sink into the softness. Her eyes closed for a moment. That lazy side, the drugged stupor, was gaining an upper hand. It whispered in her ear, suggested she might be comfortable under a blanket – that perhaps she could put her handkerchief away.

She reached over, plucking a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl. The lights were dim, only darkness outside. The only light came from the television, a quiet glow. She took in a deep breath, letting it out quietly. She rolled her face towards Thomas, her eyes searching his face. She watched him, a slow smile twitching on the edges of her lips. A question sat on the very tip of her lips, waiting to spill out. But it didn’t. She shifted slightly, returning her gaze to the screen. She could still only allow herself to stare for so long, to lose herself in that moment. She reached over, taking a deliberate sip of the lemonade, her handkerchief discarded on her knee.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

Even in normal conversation, Thaddea always sounded prim and proper like she just stepped out of a Jane Austen book. It was something he would never get over, he didn't think, even though it was something he had become used to over the months they'd spent with each other. Yes, he was definitely growing more and more domesticated considering the things that had changed in recent times in just his habits. He actually made a point not to be a complete and total slob, though he had never been in the first place. He just made sure not to leave things laying around. Tom smiled at her words. "I guess that's gonna be me cooking, huh," he said, though he didn't mind. Though he wasn't an extraordinary chef, he had gotten used to cooking for himself. And after a few (hundred) mishaps, he'd figured out things that worked and what things didn't. Luckily, popcorn didn't require that much skill, just enough to realize when you started to smell something burn.

Another feeling of domestication was just sitting there with Thaddea under a blanket, bowl on his lap and the lemonade on the table, sitting between them. She bought the packets, he figured, since he couldn't recall getting them himself. Then again, he rarely shopped until he was down to top ramen. Another thing that changed, including his diet habits. Not that he intentionally changed. He'd never really changed for anyone, even his ex, the big ex, the one that would take the trophy for the worst ex of all time. They had moved in together, gotten engaged, and what happened next would have been better suited for a daytime television drama. Definitely not his life, which had always been relatively calm and normal. In a way, he supposed he'd always been domesticated, at least in his adult years. There wasn't really much to change. And if there was, it caused arguments. But he found himself changing just to better suit Thaddea, just so she wouldn't have to deal with more mess than she had to. He wanted to make her life as easy as possible.

Which was why he still wondered about her, even if he didn't ask. She was a private person and he respected that. But in the dark light as people moved on screen, these thoughts came to surface. He tried his best to stay focused on the movie, but it proved increasingly difficult the more aware he became of Thaddea next to him, warm and intent on the movie herself. Sometimes he focused on eating the popcorn and taking sips of the lemonade, but for the first twenty minutes he thought of her. He stretched an arm around the back of the couch, around her. It was subtle and even he hadn't realized it at first. But when he did, he had no desire to move it away or scoot further. "Good movie, huh?" he asked, leaning in close, his face close to hers. A smile pulled up the corner of his lips, though he wasn't smiling his usual smile. And yes, he did acknowledge that he was quite possibly being a major nuisance.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

She cast a glance at Thomas, a smile playing on her lips. She couldn’t really imagine him cooking. She’d sort of taken on that job. She hadn’t been asked to, but it felt right. She liked cooking, and those moments with him perched on the kitchen stools talking about his day, well it all felt rather domestic. And while some women had this obsession with empowerment, with breaking free of domestic ideals, she did not. Thaddea was, after all, from a traditional Greek family. A domestic life, well it was natural to her. She liked to think she would have made her mother proud. She shook her head slightly, returning her eyes to the screen. “I’m not sure I would trust you to cook.” She was teasing, despite the prim tone to her voice. And she didn’t often tease. In fact, it was something she was only recently learning to do. And she still made a mess of it at times. But she was learning, mostly from Thomas. And he was patient with her, more patient than anyone else had been with her in years. She started thinking of pancake batter, bacon and fried eggs. It would be all American, hopefully exactly what he wanted.

Her eyes strayed back to the screen. Edward Norton was watching Jessica Biel, an infinite sadness in his eyes. She’d always found this movie beautiful. There was something darkly mournful about Edward Norton, everything from the way he moved to his style of facial hair. And the scene where he brought her ghost, lifted his hand as if he would stroke her cheek, well it always brought tears to her eyes. He was a man, true and sensual and honest. He was more honest than many women could be, more honest than she herself had ever been able to be. There was great courage in him, great love and passion. She wondered if perhaps, Edward Norton – or even better, Eisenheim – existed in this world. If he was true and feasible, hiding behind a mask of anonymity and casual interaction. She liked to think he did, and that he’d grow her an orange tree and whisk her to the countryside. For after all, she couldn’t help but identify with poor Jessica Biel and her violent abusive fiancé. After all, hadn’t Zachary been a mirror of that same man, her nightmare? He’d left his mark, his jagged scar, along her back to prove it.

She found herself leaning slightly towards Thomas, a reflex to his arm around the back of the couch. He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t even near enough to feel her heat. Yet there was a certain intimacy. She felt, though he didn’t touch her, like he was holding her. She pushed this thought away quickly, attempting to quell this feeling. It was incredibly inappropriate, and likely held no truth. She had been swayed by the feeling, the emotion of the movie. It was infantile, childish, pathetic really. She straightened, though she couldn’t force herself to move away from him. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, to Eisenheim and his magic mournful gaze. She replied quietly, only half-replying to Thomas. . “It’s beautiful.” But her mind wandered, swept away with the music of the moment and images of orange trees.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

Tom didn't look very much into movies in terms of their meanings and any hidden agenda. He watched for enjoyment, and he never tended to relate to any of the characters. He supposed he simply wasn't creative enough for that kind of thing, the vicarious feeling of watching a movie. All he knew was that he liked to stay planted in reality. Sure, he could get lost in a work of fiction, but he always knew that he was watching a movie or reading a book or looking at a piece of art. And as he observed, he went over things in his head, how it had been created, what had gone into it, the finer points of a critical viewer. He could be labeled just as that, a critical viewer.

Of course, he wasn't doing much viewing at this point. Thad answered her question, but it seemed she was far away. Distance. She must have been the type of person to get lost in a movie, and he cataloged that as something new that he learned about her. Or well, an inference that he could later wonder if it held true. There was a lot to discover about Thaddea, and yet he had a feeling that he would never learn everything about this woman. And the distance only helping that. And in his mind, he wondered if he could pull her back, if he could get her to the present. It was a stupid thought to have, really. But even so, it pushed him to lean for and angle his head so he could press his lips against hers. It lasted for only a moment, before he pulled away and didn't know whether or not he should smile, even though he felt like it. Because his first thought: he'd just done it out of fun.

But then he realized all too quickly how this gesture was not innocent a all. It wasn't something that occurred between friends, not even close friends. It wasn't chaste, even though he hadn't deepened it whatsoever. The feelings behind it were there. His feelings were there. The reality of it all made his heart pound in his chest with a quickened pace. If he hadn't been transparent before -- which he was pretty sure he wasn't -- then he certainly was now. Or maybe she wouldn't think that way? Maybe she would think he was joking? Not knowing what to do, whether he wanted her to take it as a joke or not, he decided to speak up. "Eh, sorry." He didn't sound sorry. And of course, he wasn't. It was just to diffuse tension, in case...goddamn, he shouldn't have done that, should he?

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

Even without touching, without cuddling or crossing that careful space between them, there was a certain intimacy. Despite her desire to ignore it, to pretend that things were professional, as carefully detached as she had meant them to be, she couldn’t really pretend. Something had changed, somewhere along the line. She wasn’t sure where. Perhaps at that Christmas party, or at some point before. She couldn’t bring herself to pinpoint where her plan had fallen apart. She had been so structured, so careful. But yet again she had failed. And now she sat upon the couch, watching a movie, feeling far too safe and secure with a man who was supposed to be a mere acquaintance of convenience.

Now she could feel the tension between them, as if that space she had built had evaporated. She had to consciously keep herself from leaning towards him, from shifting, from noticing his subtle scent as it wrapped around her. He was so close, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she couldn’t understand it, she couldn’t put words to it. But she didn’t want him to move away. She couldn’t imagine him not like this, not coming home and seeing him smile. A part of her panicked.

But she didn’t have long to dwell on it, to let herself dissolve into panic. She sensed him move, turned her face to glance. And his lips pressed to hers. She could feel it, light and gentle, like an accidental brush. But there was nothing accidental about it. She knew there wasn’t. Of their own accord, her eyes flitted shut. She leaned into him. But all too soon he was gone, pulling back. Her eyes opened, a breath escaping her lip in a whoosh of sound. It was something between a gasp and a relief, she couldn’t quite give a name to it.

She barely heard his words. Something came over her, some desperate need. It was the pent up feelings – feelings of loss and fear and grief. It was all the time spent pretending she didn’t care, isolating herself in safety and professionalism. She was moving forward, shifting. Her arms came up around his neck, pulling him close. She kissed him, deeper than he had kissed her. And she didn’t pull back. If only for a moment, for a single minute. She needed this. She needed this intimacy. Because as she touched him, as she felt him against her, she felt absolutely safe. For the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t imagine Zachary walking in, his fury when he found her. She felt like she could live forever here, safe. Or perhaps she could live for only a minute, with her arms around him.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

It was much different with other women. Of course it was different, it didn't start off with getting close in a platonic way. For Tom, it had always started with an intention of romance. He made no secret of his feelings, otherwise what would be the point of having them? It had been simple. Man and woman, feelings and lust, something that could be boiled down to a science. That's all he had known. And then there was the time he had been in love, something he did not believe anymore because how could he have fallen in love with someone like her? And that had been the last time, the last real time, he allowed his feelings to be known. From then on there hadn't been any feelings, only physicality, only the simple things that he could understand.

It never happened like this. It never happened with the incentive to just remain a friend, to be able to listen to someone and not read deeper into her words. Thaddea's word. He had been determined not to let any of this happen, because he knew that it could happen, the chance of it occurring heightened because of close proximity. Tom wanted to prove that he wasn't a regular guy who would look at her with eyes hat meant foul intent. He was professional, and friendly, and that was that. He didn't count on this, he didn't want this. But now...now it was all he wanted, and he couldn't deny it. He looked at Thaddea and he knew that he wanted her, or maybe needed her, but he wouldn't explore his feelings that much. Not now, not when there was still so much to lose. Like her friendship; if anything, he needed to keep that. That was the most important thing, in his mind, no matter how he felt, he wanted that.

So he slowly began to regret it, looking at her and her beautiful face, eyes, skin, still imagining her taste like he was still kissing her. And because of this, he was going to lose her, her respect and companionship and-- He blinked when she kissed him again, fierce and yearning. Only a second and he was closing his eyes. He felt his heart race again, in a good way this time, when she kissed him again. Tom brought his hand to her hip, other hand moving the popcorn bowl beside him so that it didn't tip over. That was barely on his mind as he moved her, took her closer to make it more comfortable. The movie had long since disappeared to the back of his mind, now he was only focused on Thaddea and the fact that he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

She needed him. It was painful, beating in her veins. She’d spent three years running. In three years she hadn’t been touched – she hadn’t been hugged, kissed, had barely allowed her hand to be shaken. And now here she was. It was an overload, a sudden rush. And she couldn’t control it. She couldn’t quash it down. She couldn’t keep it from coming. She had thirty-six months of fear and loneliness, of grief and yearning. And here was Thomas. His arms had closed around her, were pressing her close. Her clothing was bunching. She could all but feel the sinew in his muscles.

She gave a little gasp. But a half second later her fingers were twining in his hair. She had reached up, grasping him, pulling him close. He was willing, he gave to her, he gave her what she so desperately needed. She could feel his hand resting on her hip. She wanted his fingers to brush her skin. She wanted to be tangled in him, to forget what it was to be Thaddea. She didn’t want to be Phillipa. She wanted to be the woman Thomas wanted. She wanted to be him and no one. An anonymous woman, a night of passion and fearlessness.

She moved forward, pressing against him. She was no longer thinking, no longer allowing herself to be conscious. If she was conscious, if she thought, she would stop herself. She would pull back and have to face the consequences. And she couldn’t do that, not now. So she took it farther, she lost herself in oblivion, in him. She surged forward, shifting. She straddled him. She was fierce without being hard, without being demanding or assertive. She wanted him, and he would know it. But she wouldn’t be that woman – that seductress, that whore.

She pulled back, for just a moment. Her chest was heaving. Her hair fell around her face in a thick curtain, tumbling around her shoulders. She was shaking slightly, her breath hesitant. Her skin tingled everywhere he touched her. With a quivering slowness, she moved her fingers to the collar of his shirt. She kept eye-contact, slowly, deliberately undoing the top button. Just that single button. That was all. He could still push her away, he could still flee. For that matter, so could she. She could make this all disappear as if nothing had happened. But she didn’t. She leaned forward, her forehead against his. Her lips hovered a mere breath from his. One hand still rested on his chest, her legs still straddling his lap. Her lips throbbed slightly. And in that single moment she knew a new truth. For a moment – a precious moment. She didn’t care. Perhaps she would never care again.

[THOMAS LULA ROTH]

you're more than i can believe would ever come my way

The fervor with which Thaddea kissed him surprised the professor, not realizing this woman was capable of such passion. And that only enticed him more, the realization that there was so much to her and he had her in his arms. He wanted to pull her closer, but more than that he wanted to touch her. The skin he knew was underneath these clothes, and he couldn't spare a thought to be ashamed of these feelings. Not anymore. Now that she was here, lips working against his, hand on his chest, he didn't allow thoughts. Especially not when she moved against him, straddling his legs. There went any inhibitions he might have had, as he held her hips to keep her in place, right where he wanted her, lips still moving against hers.

He allowed himself to breathe when she pulled away from him, but already missed the feeling of her lips. His chest rose and fell, noticing how flustered she was as well. How beautiful she looked with the flush on her cheeks. He couldn't even tear his eyes away as she lifted her hand to unbutton his shirt and it was all he could do not to clutch her to him again, to shift and push her down against the couch. But he responded by brushing a hand under her shirt, running the back of his fingers against her bare skin. Tom closed his eyes for a moment as Thaddea rested her forehead against his. A deep breath, and he tried to relax. But he couldn't. His veins thrummed with the rush of blood, skin prickling as he held her hips, grip firm and gentle all at once.

He slipped his hands under her shirt, pressing his fingertips against her skin There was no hiding now, no uncertainty, no hesitance. With an easy movement, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her neck, biting lightly, sucking on the skin. He pulled away for one second to look her in the eye and ask, "Here?" he asked her, the only hesitance he allowed. For all he cared, he could take her there on the couch, but he wanted to make sure. Even so, he moved his hands further up her shirt, his mouth on her neck again. Tom didn't know how he lasted this long without touching her, kissing her, being with her. It was almost painful.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

i'll walk with you, my dear

She felt his hands on her hips, holding her in place. She sucked in a breath, pressing close to him. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, lock them. She wanted to be too tangled, to the point where there wasn’t Thomas and Thaddea. In a way she wanted to, literally, lose herself. Thaddea was a creation of her imagination. Phillipa had been buried years ago. And right here, with Thomas’ hands on her hips and his lips eager on hers, she was creating yet a new persona. She was creating whom she would be from tomorrow forward, for a year, maybe two. She couldn’t possibly know. And she couldn’t possibly care.

He felt his hand move, his fingers brush her skin. She gave a gasp, a high-pitched sigh of a breath. She wanted his fingers to dig into her, to press her to him. That desperation, the feeling of his needs and desires, drove her crazy. Her fingers moved down, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He was egging her on, giving her permission. She took his fingers under her shirt, their light wanderings, as permission. She fumbled, yanking open the buttons on his shirt. They popped, one breaking, but she couldn’t pause to care. She’d sew it back on in the morning. His chest was bare, just as he moved his lips to her neck. She groaned, her fingers brushing over his chest. Her hands travelled back, pushing his shirt back from his shoulders, off and away.

Her hands moved to his back, her fingers digging into his skin and pulling him closer. She arched her back, her eyes closed. She couldn’t open them, couldn’t look at him. She feared if she did, she’d see no one, she’d wake up and realize nothing had ever happened. She heard his question, on a desperate breath. And she didn’t care. She replied quickly, her voice high and desperate. “Anywhere.” She pressed yet closer to him, pressing her lips to him. She reached up, her hands in his hair, and pulled him down over her. She wanted him to pin her, to hold her down and cover her. She wanted nothing but skin. Her legs came up, wrapping around them. They were long, lean, almost perfectly shaped to lock around his waist. She was all but begging him. She needed just a moment, just his decision, and she could be created anew.