11-25-2018, 06:21 PM
The Opening Act
He was so damn cool.
Look at how he tapped the bar and the bartender just jumped to do his bidding. He must get that a lot; everyone jumping to please him. She almost couldn't blame them, but even beat down as she typically seemed, she felt the familiar flare of defiance press against the inside of her breast. She wasn't much of anything, but she was more than doing anyone's bidding. Not that she thought he'd ever ask anything of her.
The conversation was easy as she listened to him explain why he couldn't just create what he wanted. He'd already know how it worked.
"But you on the other hand."
Her heart caught in her throat and her gaze flew to his face again, suddenly feeling a little like prey. Or something beneath his expert lens, trying to find what she was made of, how to tear it down and build it back up. If he chose to.
"You are something I haven't been able to figure out just yet—and isn’t that a frustrating problem to have?”
She thought she'd had everything in control, but she was so wrong as his hand shot out to grasp her wrist. He held it, a look in his eyes that was so intense and confusing. He couldn't be looking at her that way. That was crazy. But she could see the reflection of her wide eyes in them, nearly fearful as her gaze fell to her hand in his strong grip. He turned it in his, so slowly she could feel each beat of her pulse push against his fingers.
Heat overwhelmed her, rushing to her face, in her eyes, and through her veins as his lips brushed lightly over her skin, his teeth firing all kinds of wild nerves in passing. Her lips were parted and she couldn't breathe. This was a game, just a game to him. He shouldn't have any effect on her. Don't let him in.
"I feel pretty alive right now," he whispered, and she bit the inside edge of her bottom lip to keep silent, just barely a sliver of white showing. Don't gasp, don't groan, don't give anything away. He was such a rough man, so hard, and yet capable of all this gentleness and it was too much. He was perfect. He was too much. He did this on purpose. Why did he want to make her struggle this way? What did he gain from any of this?
He kept his trophy, lowered their hands to rest over his thigh. He ignored the fresh drink beside him, seemingly too interested in her but that was impossible.
"What about you, Wallace? Do you feel alive?"
No. She was probably dying. She would have a heart-attack for how it clamored in her chest so desperately, more frantic than a hummingbird's wings. This glass in her hand should become a weapon splashed in his face as she ran for cover and made her escape, but she was paralyzed.
"Woolf." It was barely a breath, almost a plea. But she would NOT beg. He was killing her with this game. This wasn't a fun game for her at all, not anymore. Not when he held all the cards and she was helpless. She was not helpless. She would not be helpless again, like before. Her jaw tensed and her eyes flashed sharper. The curve of his sharp jaw was in her free hand as she turned this around, stared him down with a delicate hand on his face. She would hold onto her goddamn cards, no matter how worthless they were.
It was a wild bluff, and she didn't care. She leaned in regardless, resting her lips so lightly at the cornered half of his and speaking against them in a low murmur, her eyes on his.
"I don't know anymore what alive is."
Look at how he tapped the bar and the bartender just jumped to do his bidding. He must get that a lot; everyone jumping to please him. She almost couldn't blame them, but even beat down as she typically seemed, she felt the familiar flare of defiance press against the inside of her breast. She wasn't much of anything, but she was more than doing anyone's bidding. Not that she thought he'd ever ask anything of her.
The conversation was easy as she listened to him explain why he couldn't just create what he wanted. He'd already know how it worked.
"But you on the other hand."
Her heart caught in her throat and her gaze flew to his face again, suddenly feeling a little like prey. Or something beneath his expert lens, trying to find what she was made of, how to tear it down and build it back up. If he chose to.
"You are something I haven't been able to figure out just yet—and isn’t that a frustrating problem to have?”
She thought she'd had everything in control, but she was so wrong as his hand shot out to grasp her wrist. He held it, a look in his eyes that was so intense and confusing. He couldn't be looking at her that way. That was crazy. But she could see the reflection of her wide eyes in them, nearly fearful as her gaze fell to her hand in his strong grip. He turned it in his, so slowly she could feel each beat of her pulse push against his fingers.
Heat overwhelmed her, rushing to her face, in her eyes, and through her veins as his lips brushed lightly over her skin, his teeth firing all kinds of wild nerves in passing. Her lips were parted and she couldn't breathe. This was a game, just a game to him. He shouldn't have any effect on her. Don't let him in.
"I feel pretty alive right now," he whispered, and she bit the inside edge of her bottom lip to keep silent, just barely a sliver of white showing. Don't gasp, don't groan, don't give anything away. He was such a rough man, so hard, and yet capable of all this gentleness and it was too much. He was perfect. He was too much. He did this on purpose. Why did he want to make her struggle this way? What did he gain from any of this?
He kept his trophy, lowered their hands to rest over his thigh. He ignored the fresh drink beside him, seemingly too interested in her but that was impossible.
"What about you, Wallace? Do you feel alive?"
No. She was probably dying. She would have a heart-attack for how it clamored in her chest so desperately, more frantic than a hummingbird's wings. This glass in her hand should become a weapon splashed in his face as she ran for cover and made her escape, but she was paralyzed.
"Woolf." It was barely a breath, almost a plea. But she would NOT beg. He was killing her with this game. This wasn't a fun game for her at all, not anymore. Not when he held all the cards and she was helpless. She was not helpless. She would not be helpless again, like before. Her jaw tensed and her eyes flashed sharper. The curve of his sharp jaw was in her free hand as she turned this around, stared him down with a delicate hand on his face. She would hold onto her goddamn cards, no matter how worthless they were.
It was a wild bluff, and she didn't care. She leaned in regardless, resting her lips so lightly at the cornered half of his and speaking against them in a low murmur, her eyes on his.
"I don't know anymore what alive is."