quidquid agas, prudenter agas, et respice finem
That had been…
Interesting.
(the black lace dress is draped over her bedroom chair - dry cleaners for that - and underwear tossed over to the basket and - ouch, damnit - bottom earrings changed back to her normal hoops. Then, thankful for the thick and mostly-soundproof walls, she turns on the shower)
She had not expected the sex - if any was going to happen tonight - to be in his office. On the desk. That it did (and her body is aching enough to prove it) proves one thing:
Dominic Greene is unpredictable.
(she washes the smell of sex and him from her skin, and as she tilts her head back under the water, she mentally reviews)
It isn’t the truth under the persona - for all that it is disquieting, she’s used to that. It’s common and, dare she say it, normal. That in Greene’s case he comes from class and money is unusual, but it merely makes the persona all the more pervasive. Every detail correct...Well, she would have expected a wife somewhere, but maybe that would have been too much work (there are few people who can act every hour of every day with slipping, and good as Dominic is, she doesn’t think he is one of them) and too much risk (live with someone, know someone but no one ever truly knows anyone, so who is to say what the hypothetical she would do?).
Dominic Greene, the likable, almost eager-to-please, business savvy gentleman with impeccable manners and control, had asked her out. Another Dominic Greene entirely had fucked (only word for it) her on the desk, wanting nothing but possession.
Possession of her.
(she remembers the way he kissed her, held her, fingers digging in, and as she washes her neck she makes a mental note to wear a high collar tomorrow)
It wasn’t that-that greediness that makes her-
Okay, that is a lie.
That possessiveness makes her feel uneasy as all hell, but she can live with that (better than die with it) and has done so in the past.
But that unpredictability…
She had expected something under the veneer - she didn’t expect that. Not that sheer level of contrast, not the sharpness of the change. A kiss is all that it took, a deep kiss, yes, but she had felt the change; from desire-and-polite-and-leisurely to mineminemine and that was lust.
She really does not want to see what anger looks like.
Dominic Greene scares her, but she can’t think that, and tonight has reinforced why. Dominic Greene has access to Medrano (and sex is a way for her to get close, get that access for herself), but she can’t think that, either. Not in daylight, not in company, and certainly not with him. She has to believe something else, anything else, because the only way to fake and lie is to be genuine. Because if she gets caught out anymore, she is - without the slightest hint of dramatics - dead.
(at least, she thinks as she blow-dries her hair for bed, he is not hard to like. She remembers his manners, his hands, the fact that he has a face that you would never get tired of looking at, and her expression turns a tad rueful)
(it's easier when she likes them; she doesn't have to lie so much)
Their first kiss had been a promise. Not in the typical sense, but a I have what you want promise, a and I can give it to you promise. It had been a promise that the first one to step over the line will regret it, and that’s the point, isn’t it?
(she falls asleep deliberately not thinking about the morning’s changed dynamics, one hand near her pillow and the 9mm gun under it)
If she is going to get what she wants and be around long enough to use it, she is going to have to find that line.
Fast.
Interesting.
(the black lace dress is draped over her bedroom chair - dry cleaners for that - and underwear tossed over to the basket and - ouch, damnit - bottom earrings changed back to her normal hoops. Then, thankful for the thick and mostly-soundproof walls, she turns on the shower)
She had not expected the sex - if any was going to happen tonight - to be in his office. On the desk. That it did (and her body is aching enough to prove it) proves one thing:
Dominic Greene is unpredictable.
(she washes the smell of sex and him from her skin, and as she tilts her head back under the water, she mentally reviews)
It isn’t the truth under the persona - for all that it is disquieting, she’s used to that. It’s common and, dare she say it, normal. That in Greene’s case he comes from class and money is unusual, but it merely makes the persona all the more pervasive. Every detail correct...Well, she would have expected a wife somewhere, but maybe that would have been too much work (there are few people who can act every hour of every day with slipping, and good as Dominic is, she doesn’t think he is one of them) and too much risk (live with someone, know someone but no one ever truly knows anyone, so who is to say what the hypothetical she would do?).
Dominic Greene, the likable, almost eager-to-please, business savvy gentleman with impeccable manners and control, had asked her out. Another Dominic Greene entirely had fucked (only word for it) her on the desk, wanting nothing but possession.
Possession of her.
(she remembers the way he kissed her, held her, fingers digging in, and as she washes her neck she makes a mental note to wear a high collar tomorrow)
It wasn’t that-that greediness that makes her-
Okay, that is a lie.
That possessiveness makes her feel uneasy as all hell, but she can live with that (better than die with it) and has done so in the past.
But that unpredictability…
She had expected something under the veneer - she didn’t expect that. Not that sheer level of contrast, not the sharpness of the change. A kiss is all that it took, a deep kiss, yes, but she had felt the change; from desire-and-polite-and-leisurely to mineminemine and that was lust.
She really does not want to see what anger looks like.
Dominic Greene scares her, but she can’t think that, and tonight has reinforced why. Dominic Greene has access to Medrano (and sex is a way for her to get close, get that access for herself), but she can’t think that, either. Not in daylight, not in company, and certainly not with him. She has to believe something else, anything else, because the only way to fake and lie is to be genuine. Because if she gets caught out anymore, she is - without the slightest hint of dramatics - dead.
(at least, she thinks as she blow-dries her hair for bed, he is not hard to like. She remembers his manners, his hands, the fact that he has a face that you would never get tired of looking at, and her expression turns a tad rueful)
(it's easier when she likes them; she doesn't have to lie so much)
Their first kiss had been a promise. Not in the typical sense, but a I have what you want promise, a and I can give it to you promise. It had been a promise that the first one to step over the line will regret it, and that’s the point, isn’t it?
(she falls asleep deliberately not thinking about the morning’s changed dynamics, one hand near her pillow and the 9mm gun under it)
If she is going to get what she wants and be around long enough to use it, she is going to have to find that line.
Fast.