~30~ sweet surrender

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I gawp at him. Mr Zeepler’s eyes are hypnotic. A soft smile plays on his lips.

The cat starts to purr deeply on my lap. His vibrations feel like a steam engine. He’s getting restless. My hands sink into Mishka’s blotchy fur, trying to keep him from abandoning me. I need some sort of barrier between me and Mr Z. The sly cat just leaps off and gloats at me. I’ll leave you two alone, shall I? I wish I could strangle that fat cat—

Distracted, I fail to notice that Mr Zeepler has stood up. Fascinated, he slowly—almost achingly—swoops in. It’s like he thinks he’s a horse whisperer or something. He knows that he’s the one in control. A firm hand wraps around my back while the other somehow manages to bunch up the overcoat’s hem and touch my bare knee. His palm contentedly curves around the joint. My breath hitches as his lips press against mine. The soft flesh of his mouth is like a plush cushion against mine. The pace is tentative at first — strangely cautious for him —  as though he’s wary of my reaction. Yet, he doesn’t want to pull away from me. His hand slides upwards to clasp the back of my neck — the softness of his fingers against such a sensitive, vulnerable spot makes my spine tingle with gratification. 

For reasons unknown to me, my hands reach out to skim over his broad shoulders and, finally, caress the velvety downy hairs at the nape of his neck. 

Mr Zeepler stiffens. His sharp little teeth bite down on my bottom lip and I gasp as his slick tongue forcefully slides into my mouth. The pace quickens like lazy ripples on a lake in summer.

A delicious, sticky heat fills my soul. I can’t breathe. Tendrils of hazy pleasure drift over my body. His teasing wetness glides over my teeth and explores my mouth with all the graceful precision of a dancer. My tongue willingly partners with his. From his sensuous flower of a mouth, he moans into mine and my heart skips.

He tastes of coffee, chocolate and… sin

I won’t lie. I’m in total rapture. I want him to fvck my mouth. He can do whatever he likes to me…

I’m in love with my debauchery.

I don’t realise that his warm hand has travelled up my thigh surreptitiously. He’s pushed up the hem little by little, displaying the soft curves of my slim, creamy thigh. He strokes the skin. His fingers dip into the satiny inner side — mere inches away from my secret l!ps — and  the thumb traces the crease of my pelvis.  

Breathless, he withdraws away from my lips slightly. I’m surprised at the adoration in his sparkling eyes.

“You win — I’m yours. Upst—” He murmurs.

My head feels dizzy and I open my mouth—

The clock chimes insistently. It breaks the spell. I blink for a few seconds and gasp at the situation I’m in. I turn my head to the side just as his lips are about to fall on mine again. Instead they brush against my cheek. My palms land on his chest and I take advantage of his unbridled lust to make my escape. I shove him away from me.

The cat pauses from his grooming session. Amusement lies in his green eyes as I stumble out of the kitchen. Mr Zeepler’s eyes widen as I fumble over the garden door handle. I’m not really thinking. My sore feet nearly trip on a garden deck chair. I climb ineptly over a rose bush, petals shed like red blood. The sting of thorns doesn't do much to detract my determination. 

The crunch of gravel tells me that he’s observing me. I slump in a messy heap into my garden. Traitorous tears prick at my eyes. I run to the garden door — no luck. Locked. There’s one other option. I look up into the sky for a moment. It’s been years since I last climbed the tree in our garden but I don’t have much of a choice. I don't exactly relish the prospect of a furious, crazy Dad discovering me.

Anger and frustration drive me on. I toss off the wellingtons and hitch up the coat. I make my ascent.

Shrivelled leaves tickle against my face. Hard, rough bark scrapes my ankles and feet. The trellis adjoining the wall is so close. I can easily swing on to the balcony. My bedroom window is open. I thank my lucky stars that I forgot to shut it this morning.

Mr Zeepler smokes a Davidoff cigarette. The only indication of his displeasure is the hardness in his gaze. That evil cat has wrapped itself around his leg. They casually watch me. Worry flits across his eyes. Just as I’m about to reach out towards the trellis and ivy, his voice stops me.

“I will have you, Amelie. Sooner or later.” 

Warning drips off his words. I stick my middle finger at him. He pulls out the silver key from his pocket — the light bounces of it, taunting me. Mr Zeepler kisses it. A chill runs down me.

He stalks off back inside the kitchen.

The cat gives me one last glance — one of pity — before going inside.

I don’t need any pity.

A/N: Please VOTE, COMMENT and SHARE! Thanks! :) So... are you Team Armand or Team Erik?? :D

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