𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 | 𝟏𝟖+

20 | Thomas

We've weaved our way into each other's lives in a way I've never thought was possible. We're two flames colliding, igniting at the touch.

On those frigid midnights when I find myself alone, I run to him. His heartbeat becomes a refuge to a life I've been attempting to escape from for years. He can be the remedy, the cure—as if my reputation were tainted by this uncurable disease.

In the days and weeks that pass by, we learn so much about each other:

His favourite colour is yellow, because his mother used to love the colour so much.

His guilty pleasure is listening to classical country music on nights he can't sleep, but hasn't done that so much since I came into his world.

He's ambidextrous.

He hums to himself when he drinks his morning cup of coffee on the balcony.

He sometimes drives out of the city just to get away from his life.

He thrives on secret afternoon naps because his nightmares keep him awake at night—nightmares that sometimes awaken me, but he fears to confess and keeps them at the tip of his tongue.

Soon, I forget that he hired me for a purpose: to be a seductress. Instead, we morph our worlds in a different way. I run to him at night, in the day, every hour and breath. And he reciprocates every action with open arms. Every waking moment seems to be away from the Leveque's estate and rather, spent in Thomas' apartment.

The door to his apartment closes behind him. The latching of the door causes me to shut my eyes, because even I know what's to come. Thomas' palm settles on my lower back as he ushers me up against his apartment door, lips pressed against mine. His kiss stains me, leaves me with a lingering need for another.

I ruffle up his dirty blonde locks. They may be in need of trimming, and tied back in a small knot, but there's a wave to them and softness to the touch.

"Daffodil?" his low voice whispers.

I hum in response.

"Wanna fuck?"

I snort a little at the question. How could such an unromantic and blunt question suddenly turn on every nerve in my body? He certainly wants to skip all the sweet talk.

I tap his chest, my fingers dancing over a crease in his shirt. "You certainly have a way with words."

His lips curve upward. "I'm sorry, let me try this again. I'm gonna fuck you. Right here. Right now."

"Against this door?"

"Would you like that, daffodil?" he takes a side glance towards the balcony, his playful tease winding me up. "What if I took you over the edge of the balcony? Head and hair spilling down over the edge? Screams echoing through the street?"

"People would see."

He lifts me up, and I straddle my legs around his waist. My fingers graze the gun beneath his shirt. His covert weaponry still remains a dilemma I need to come to terms with. If I have learned something about danger these past few weeks, it's that danger tastes like Thomas. Sweet. Tempting. Addicting. I want more, even if the consequences of it leave me with deep cuts in my heart.

He frees his wide beaming grin, and it nearly sends me over the edge. "Then they'll know how well I treat you."

"Thomas, we are not—Thomas!" I giggle as he rushes over to the balcony. I close my eyes and cling onto him to prevent giving the entire street a scandalous show.

His laughter bellows from his chest. Instead, he lays me down on his bed. I settle my lips up against his own in the most tender of kisses, to which he rolls his strong figure over me to commence his pleasures.