Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

18: billie darling, a dream, a decision

Last, there is the way he keeps saying my name. Over and over. Soft, louder, growls and then sweet whispers.

"Billie. Billie."

I feel myself shiver all over, reacting without any control over it. I have never been with a man who called me by my name. It has always been 'Baby'. Baby, baby, baby. Me, and also any generic pretty face and warm, willing body. But I am not just "Baby" to Tom. I'm Billie. And it's like he doesn't want me to forget that.

"Tom, please. Bed." I gasp softly, as Tom grabs me by the hips, and hoists me up. I want to be in his bed, surrounded by the smell of him, tangled in sheets and wrapped up in him. He carries me through the house, down the short hallway and into his room. There's a lamp lit on his nightstand, but other than that, it is dark. Grinning, he drops me onto his bed with a soft laugh.

I bounce for a second, falling back with a giggle. I slide backwards, across his already messy bed, leaning back on my arms and slowly sliding my legs open, inviting him in. Tom stands before me, his eyes dark, his expression heavy and somehow hungry. I can see how turned on he is, obvious by the front of his boxer briefs. He is all tall, lean muscle and strong, sinewy lines. He stands there, still, watching me for a few seconds, until I am practically humming, impatient and wiggling under her steady gaze. I reach behind me, slowly, and unclasp my bra. I let the straps slide down my arms, and then I slowly sit up straight, letting it fall from me. Tom licks his lips, and I see his hands move at his sides, fingers spread and then clench into tight balls at his sides.

"You are bloody gorgeous." He blinks, and a slow smile starts at the corners of his mouth. I blush, despite myself.

"You must hear that all the time." He adds, suddenly sounding a bit disappointed. As if he wishes he could say more. I sit up, scoot back toward him, up to the edge of the bed and I reach forward, taking his hands. My thighs bump his legs, and he steps forward, so he's right in front of me. I press my face into his stomach, kissing his flat abs, the soft skin of his lean hips.

"Not like that, I don't." I say softly. Tom leans down, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me, deeply and gently. My hands go to his waist, then to the front of his boxers, wrapping my hands around him through the thin fabric. He groans against my mouth and then pushes me back onto the bed as he climbs over me.

Tom covers my body with his, coming down on me soft and hard at the same time, heavy and strong. I wrap my legs around him, tangling my legs with his, trying to touch as much of him at once as I can. He cradles me in his arms, slipping his hands under my head, burying his face in my neck as he kisses and licks me, wildly and then slow and softly. I strain underneath him. The pleasure is almost painful. I both want to push him far, far away, and closer, closer, closer than anyone else has ever been.

I arch underneath him, pressing myself against his chest. His hand covers one of my breasts, cupping it as his fingers gently pull against my nipple. His head dips down, and I feel his mouth close over me, his tongue wet and teasing. His teeth scrape against my skin and I gasp and close my eyes, squeezing my legs around him. He stills after a moment, leaving both of us panting.

"I don't normally go over to Rosie's until 8 or 9 in the morning to make breakfast." He says, and a slow, calculating smile forms on his lips. I stare at his mouth for a second, wanting badly to kiss him, to bite his slightly fuller lower lip.

"Oh?" I reply, reaching between us as I try to push his boxers down and out of the way.

"That means..." He grabs my hands suddenly, and pushes them above my head, pinning me against the bed. I smile, squirming under his grasp.