Storm and Silence(207)

‘What did I tell you?’

Blinking, I tried to dispel the layer of mist that seemed to cloud my vision. Sparkly lights danced in front of my eyes. When they slowly disappeared I looked up into the dark, sea-coloured eyes of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

‘What,’ he repeated very slowly and clearly, ‘did I tell you, Mr Linton?’

Once again his face was only inches away from mine, and suddenly my shoes and socks didn’t seem quite so important anymore.

I gulped. What was happening? ‘T-to be careful. You told me to be careful.’

‘Yes.’ His eyes darkened further, until they resembled the deepest abyss imaginable. ‘Too bad I don't ever listen to my own good advice.’

Then he plunged down.

For a moment, all my fuzzy mind could manage was the thought: What is he doing? Is he going to butt heads with me?

A second later that question was answered with a resounding negative, as his lips reached mine and enveloped them, soft as velvet and yet unyielding. They started to move, pushing my mouth apart and my conscious self out of my body.

What… wait, this couldn’t be right, could it? If somebody was touching his lips to mine, that would mean that they were… kissing me?

So he was.

Waves of heat raced through me as the realization hit my befuddled brain: Mr Ambrose was kissing me! His lips moving against my mouth, caressing, demanding. How… curious. For a moment, I was just numb.

Then, I remembered the world again, and I felt rage flood through me. How dare he? After treating me so abominably for the last few weeks, after humiliating me in public and insulting me again and again, after trying to rid himself of me a dozen times and wrecking my dreams, how dare he take such liberties with me? First he conspired with his office floor to trip me, and now he was kissing me!

And worse, far worse - he wasn’t just kissing me. He was making me like it! And he was somehow, by some nefarious chauvinistic manly trick, managing to make me kiss him back!

How dare he make me do this? How was he able to force me to respond to his kisses in a way I had never even imagined? I was sure it had to be his fault. Under no circumstances would I ever consent to let a man knead my lips like this, least of all him! The idea alone was abominable! Horrible! Horrific!

Though… now that I thought about it, the reality of it was actually… not… quite… so… horrific…

Somewhere along the line, the thought dissolved and vanished. The clarity of my mind was gone in the blink of an eye. Not drowned in alcohol this time, no. Drowned in the soft touch of his mouth.

His lips on mine felt so soft yet so strong, moulding themselves to the shape of mine, as if they had been meant to be there. As if on their own volition, my teeth opened and bit down on his lower lip, drawing it and him closer towards me. My hands grabbed his waistcoat lapel and pushed and pulled, venting my anger and frustration and… something else. Something I couldn’t name or define. I heard a strangled moan as if from a distance and realized, startled, that it came from my throat.

Suddenly, he broke away from me, leaving me gasping and weak-kneed. I was still in his arms, looking up into his chiselled face for the first time since our lips had touched. I could see something in his eyes, something dark and dangerous. They had widened, and I could see to their utmost, darkest depths.

‘Now do you believe me?’ His voice was still cold as ice, but rough now, as though covered with fresh frost. ‘You could never be like a man. Trust me, I would not have done that if you were one.’

Before I knew it, we were kissing again. My hands wandered from his lapels, over his rock-hard chest and onto his arms. My small hands weren’t large enough to fit around the muscles of his arm, so I grabbed hold of his shirt sleeves to… what? Push him away? Pull him closer? I seemed to be trying to do neither and both at the same time.

I was shaking him. That’s what it was. Shaking him like he had been shaking me, forcing all my anger onto him and into him. I wanted to punch him, to pay him back for all the ways in which he had hurt me, for all the times he had tried to get rid of me, again and again. And now he was kissing me, as if all he wanted was to possess me and never let go - and I was kissing the chauvinistic son of a bachelor back!

Why the heck was I kissing him back? And why was I bloody enjoying it? That wasn’t fair!

The world had stopped making sense.

His lips moved from my own then, to the side of my mouth. Another sound escaped me - not a groan this time, but a growl, like that of a feral beast.

‘Let… go… of… me!’ I managed with enormous effort.

My hands, though, seemed to have other plans: they grabbed him by the lapels again and pressed my lips forcibly to his. Traitors!