I've finally found it in me to rewrite this chapter. It's slightly shorter than the original as I tried to finish it in one day. I'M EXHAUSTED BUT I FEEL SO ACCOMPLISHED. (I just finished it and it's now past 12am here.)
I cried really badly last night but after reading all your really kind comments and listening to some soothing Christian songs, I found a deep peace within. Love you all so much.
Hope you lovelies enjoy this chapter! <3
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By the way, I had a photoshoot on Friday and i love the pictures ahhhhhh.
Here's my favourite:
I THINK I LOOK COOL AS HELL. Excuse my hype about it XD.
Shameless advertisement: Go follow my Instagram account while you're at it teehee. It's @bethcosplays .
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When I said: He struck, he didn't do it with his hands, no, but with his lips.
His cursed lips that made me feel things I never wanted to ever feel in my entire life. They were just as I remembered ― soft, warm, demanding and utterly captivating. My body that was set on fire desired nothing more than to free itself from the trammels of precision and succumb to the temptation Mr Ambrose offered.
Feminist! You're a feminist!
I was a what?
Feminist! You idiot!
All sensible thoughts flew out of my head as his hands slid down the wall and came to rest on my waist.
Stick to your virtues! Stop kissing him! My inner being shrieked frantically. But the more Mr Ambrose's lips caressed mine, the more that voice faded into oblivion until the only words I could hear were: kiss him...kiss...kiss...
And kiss him back I did.
I had almost forgotten how ethereal yet sinful his touch was. It sent chilly shivers down my spine while simultaneously triggering hot shafts of molten amorousness to slither down to somewhere I suspected wasn't my stomach.
I felt like a dying fish out of water and his kiss was the only thing that could help me breathe, as silly as that sounded.
Get away from him!
I pulled back, but all I managed to do was take a gasp of air before crashing my mouth desperately against his again. A low growl emanated from his throat. I should have felt disgusted by the feral sound he had made and pushed him away, but all it did was make my back arch and body press firmly against his.
I must have been going mad!
Oh holy Mother Mary...he...he was...Oh good God! I gasped as his hands suddenly drifted downwards to my very, very private down below. Or should I call it my backdoor? Either way, it was a part that no man would dare touch unless they wanted to lose an arm, a leg, or their whole head.
If any other men were to feel me up in such a way, they'll find themselves six feet under within seconds. But this was Mr Ambrose we were talking about. He always seemed to get away with everything and anything.
His hand squeezed and I sucked in a deep breath.
A nasty thought popped up in my head. What if he doesn't like it? What if... Oh blast! There was nothing wrong with a generous derrière! Nothing at all!
Slap him! Where are your morals, woman?
To hell with morals! They always stopped people from doing what they wanted. After all, I wasn't one to reject anything that made me feel inordinately good. Take chocolate as an example. I loved it.
That annoying little voice in my head didn't give up. It whacked against the doors of my conscious mind, like how my Aunt would on the door to my room when trying to marry me off to some slimy suitor. Just that my conscience was trying to do the exact opposite – get me away from a man.
Unanticipatedly, I felt a pair of strong arms lift me by the waist. I squeaked in surprise but didn't fight back. With his white linen shirt so thin, I could see his lean muscles contract and move in an interesting way as he carried me, leaving me tempted to rip off his shirt and examine his biceps. However, 'examine' might have been too mild a word.
Even as I my feet were not touching the ground, our mouths never faltered but instead latched tighter than ever.
Never let me go.
And he didn't. As if he could read my thoughts, his hold on me tightened and I was pulled even closer to his warm body.
I felt him place me down on a cool, hard surface. I was on the table.
Why the table, you ask? I have no bloody idea either, but I wasn't about to go complaining as it elevated me to his height (it was a tall desk I must admit), making osculation much easier. It also allowed me to wrap my legs around his waist in a manner that would give my Aunt a heart attack. But upon seeing that I was snogging the richest man in England, she would probably revive and be very, very pleased with me.
What a comforting thought.
My hands acted on their own will, ripping off his shirt although I knew I'd have to pay for the damage later. I sucked in a deep breath as my eyes trailed down his well-built but not overly brawny chest. Lightly defined lines that ran down and across his abdomen did mysterious things to my body.
Damn. Even the staunch female suffragette within me could not argue that he looked no less magnificent than a Greek god. I really had to find out where that burning feeling between my legs originated from and why it only came about when I was with him.
As his fingers popped the buttons on my placket, he trailed a line of hot kisses from my mouth down to the hollow of my neck. I heard a breathy moan. Was that me? I never sounded so...feminine, unless of course, when I was performing defiling acts with my employer. Somehow, I didn't really mind.
How can you forget that he said you only have to do all that he asks for without questioning? How can you forget all that hateful things he said to you?
I tried to protest, convincing myself that I haven't forgotten.
Whatever you're doing now shows how you condone all that codswallop he told you!
I wanted to argue about that, but my mental tongue seemed to knot itself up. That voice did have a point.
I locked eyes with him. Shards of frost and undulating waves of blue swirled in his stormy orbs. His deep gaze would look similar as usual on first glance – cold and indifferent. However, the more I stared, the more I drowned in his gaze, I found something tepid in them. There was a strange force that they emitted, swallowing me and softening my resolve. I wanted to give in. I wanted to be hi—
Don't you dare give in to this chauvinistic bastard!
Why not?
He is not good for you! One moment he insults you and the next he tries to seduce you? That is unacceptable you hear me? Taking advantage of my hesitation, my intrinsic vociferation snatched the reins from my heart and with a mighty flick, propelled my arms to push Mr Ambrose away. All the while, my chest throbbed painfully.
He stumbled back, his eyes widening a fraction in disbelief.
"How can you kiss me after everything?" I accused.
"You enjoyed it."
"That doesn't mean I wanted it!"
His eyes flashed. "But you didn't stop me." The silent message: And you kissed me back, made me flush.
"I didn't give my consent so you had no rights to touch me! And you started it!"
"What's done is done. You can choose to believe that nothing happened." He replied curtly and turned sharply back to his desk. "Now, get back to work Mr Linton."
He was still calling me Mr after our intense lip-lock session? I was starting to suspect that he wasn't only into girls.
"Didn't you hear me? Get to work!"
A sense of panic welled up within me. I knew that he would just pretend that the fight and kiss never occurred and everything would return back to the way it was. He would keep on addressing me according to my male disguise and I'd have to listen to his every instruction.
Don't you want that?
No I didn't!
"You can't just act like that was nothing!"
"Yes I can and I shall. Nothing happened. Nil. Nada. Nought." He flipped open a file and started reading, as if all he had done before that was sip tea.
"You son of a bachelor! First of all, you were rude."
"So were you." He shot back.
"Secondly, you had a bloody nerve to kiss me without asking! Thirdly, you touched my butt! Number four, you—mmph grmph grr!" He had come round the table quicker than I could blink and slapped a hand over my mouth.
I kicked my legs out but he scooted away and pulled me towards him until my back was pressed against his chest. He breathed into my ear, sending a heated shiver down my spine. "You, Mr Linton, are an infernal nuisance."
Keep it together!
He was right. I was a nuisance and I planned to continue being one until the day I died.
I licked his palm.
That little act did the trick. His hand darted away from my face sooner than you could yell: "Jack Robinson!" He wiped it against his shirt in an unusually impulsive motion.
"That," He enunciated slowly. "Was disgusting."
"Like you." I shot back sweetly.
"Childish too. Haven't your parents ever taught you better?"
I grinned impishly at him despite the uneasy feeling roiling in my tummy after sighting his freezing glare. I knew that he wasn't going to let this go easily. "Nope."
"Pardon. I forgot. They're dead."
I rarely ever have the urge to murder someone and dump them in my stew. As a generally genial and kind young lady, I would not ever commit homicidal acts, though I would occasionally think of them. The only other time I experienced the insatiable to torture Mr Ambrose to death was when I found him whoring with that French hussy. He even dared to claim that he did it for my good! Absurdity!
I had never been close to my parents. After all, they died when I was five, thus I didn't get the chance to truly know them. In spite of that, the drop of scorn in his cool voice awoke a burning red monster in my belly. This beast reared its head and spat tongues of flames, intent on destroying any unfortunate soul that had disturbed its slumber.
"Don't talk about my parents!"
"Did I say something wrong?" He cocked his head,
"What do you think? Did you say something you oughtn't?"
"No I didn't. Your parents are dead. They perished in an accident, didn't they?"
He was technically sprouting the truth, but I didn't feel too inclined to see sense.
"I'm going to kill you! You good for nothing, disgusting maggot eaten, flea ridden slug!" I sent my fist flying at his chest. With a swift motion, he caught it.
"You chauvinistic, warty frog!" A string of my best insults were hurled mercilessly at him. I wanted to burn him on a stake. How dare he drag my familial relationships into our matters!
I was busy trying to murder him with my merciless onslaught of curses hence it took me a moment to realize that he wasn't exactly concentrated on my face but something lower on my body. What could he be looking at? Did I stain my clothes? Had my body magically transformed into a worm?
I looked down and immediately screamed.
How could I forget? He had unbuttoned my shirt and my skin was on show! I quickly made a grab for the cloth and pulled it together over my chest. Fortunately, I always wore a corset underneath so I wasn't showing too much of those feminine lumps on my torso.
They aren't even large. My brain reminded me. They're pretty small compared to other women's.
I politely asked my mind to shut the hell up.
As I rapidly tried to insert the buttons back into their respective holes, my eyes darted to Mr Ambrose's bare chest. Blood rushed to my cheeks. He didn't seem at all concerned about displaying his upper body's naked glory.
There isn't anything amazing about his body. It's just any other body.
Yet I couldn't convince myself that it wasn't anything special. Most men in our British society were either overweight and sporting a mighty pot-belly, or thin as a scarecrow. Seeing a well built man was like a breath of fresh air to many young, single women. Even married ladies couldn't help but take a peak whenever a strong, dashing man strolled past. Of course, I was the exception. I cared nothing for male bodies. Nothing at all!
"You sick bastard!" I eventually jabbed my finger at him after making myself decent. "I bet you were looking at my breas-boso-I mean chest the whole time!"
"I only looked at it three times since the beginning of your temper. Don't exaggerate."
I gasped. The nerve!
"There wasn't anything much to look at anyway." He added cooly.
My jaw clattered to the floor. This man was unbelievable!
"That was simply inappropriate! You shouldn't stare at a woman's chest, neither should you insult it!"
"It was out for everyone to see. It is inevitable that someone look at it. If you dislike people looking at it, then cover it up."
"It's my body! You have no right to degrade it with your stare. Neither do you have the right to tell me what to do. It's my body. I'll do what I want!"
"Who said that I was degrading or thinking ill of it? And these are my eyes so I'll look at what I want. Thus your argument is invalid."
"You...you!"
"We are straying from the original topic, Mr Linton."
"I don't care!" I exploded.
"Yes you do, as seen from your frenetic intonation and wild hand pantomime. Not caring is often portrayed by the lack of emotions and speech."
I tugged at my hair. "You're impossible!"
He opened his mouth to respond with another sophisticated speech when I cut him off. "Shut up!"
His mouth snapped shut.
"Now tell me honestly about that lock of hair, Miss Hamilton and every other thing you have been hiding from me!"
Silence.
"Tell me! Now!"
Silence.
I was ready to stab him with a letter opener when he turned and walked to the table, not speaking a word. He reached for a sheet of paper and pen. Torpidly, like a tortoise, he scrawled in a neat cursive and lifted it for me to read.
To shut up means to not speak. To not speak denotes that I cease pushing out auditory phrases from my oral cavity. Thus I will not be able to verbally tell you about those matters. Neither am I willing to write them out for you.
"Fine! Speak then! Tell me everything!" I picked up a paper weight and flung it angrily at him. Sadly, he ducked in time. I was looking forward to his head getting bashed in by the heavy item.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're a woman!" He snapped, a hint of frustration leaking into his voice.
"That is a horrible reason you idiot!"
"No it's not. Woman are not meant for such work. They are meant to be Angels of the house, to be submissive and obedient."
"That's what men want women to be! But we are not your pets that you can domesticate, you infinitely stupid male creature! We are strong, independent beings who can work and think for ourselves. We can be as great as men, if not better! Get that through your thick skull!"
How blind and foolish could men get? Actually, I wasn't surprised. Men were known to develop the intelligence of donkeys. Thinking about it, that was a treacherous insult to those kind animals. Comparing men's brains to kitchen soap would be more apt.
"Women will never be capable enough to compete in this ever changing world."
"How do you know when you have never given women rights and chances to prove themselves?"
"I know, because of you."
That was the moment my heart stopped short. What did he mean by that? He couldn't be saying...
Seeing some warmth within the immeasurable depths of his gaze before that must have been a trick of the light. Right then, his stare was not coated in frost. It was made and hewn from the coldest of glaciers and sharpest of knives. Any form of sentiment in them was absolutely unimaginable.
"You, Mr Linton, or should I call you, Miss Linton? You have been of little help throughout your working life under me."
I wanted to fight back, to tell him that he was wrong, but my mouth refused to move. I was frozen in disbelief.
"I had to save you when that ship sank. I had to pay for your expenses. I had to save you multiple times. You are a liability Mr Linton."
Say something!
I finally managed to find my tongue. "You can't say that I was of no help! What about the time I helped you find Simmons, find the file, kill bandits and pretend to be your wife? You can't call that nothing!"
"Yes I can, because I could have achieved all that on my own." He growled.
"Sure." I laughed humourlessly. "You could have created a fake wife out of thin air. Wait, no. You could have gotten Karim to shave his beard and put on a dress! I'm sure that would have been incredibly convincing."
His jaw tightened. "I didn't need a marriage pretence. We were discovered either way. And considering your terrible acting, Karim could have done a better job."
I gasped. That was a low blow.
"So as you can see, I do not need you. You are replaceable, Mr Linton. You always were and always will be."
Something lodged itself in my throat. I couldn't breathe or think straight. This man that I had dedicated my energy and time to was here telling me that I had been useless to him. He was telling me that I was worthless.
See? What did I tell you?
I tried to lock that sneer out.
You work so hard for nothing. He can't even appreciate your effort! So what's the point, you tell me?
There was still a point! I wanted the money! Actually no, I needed it for the sake of my independence. No one else would offer me a job. I needed money to be free from the evil clutches of men.
But you'll still be under a man...Mr Ambrose.
Blast! I hated hearing that fact. But either way, working would be better than marriage.
Is marrying that bad? Some men can actually be decent.
The image of Captain Carter's cheeky grin immediately popped up in my head. My heart instantly warmed at the thought of a familiar face. I then hurriedly suppressed that emotion upon realising how dangerous such a feeling could be.
Captain Carter makes you smile and laugh. Isn't that better?
No it wasn't! I would just end up wasting away in a dreary home with only the scars of my meaningless duties around the house to keep me company until my deathbed. He was nicer than other men, but there wasn't a single man in England who actually believed in women rights! He definitely wouldn't approve of me working once we were married, would he?
He could accept it. After all, he once called his own gender the 'shallow sex'. Either way, you're better off attending protests and feminist rallies which will help the mass majority of women. When you work, you're only aiding yourself. Isn't that selfish?
"Thus I suggest you quit, Mr Linton."
"I..." My voice cracked.
He stared at me expectantly, finger performing a staccato tap on his thigh. He was vexed. Did he hate me that much as to want to get rid of me?
"After all I have done and slaved hours a day for you, you really don't see me as worth your time?"
His finger twitched, faster this time.
"Yes."
"But why? Didn't I do enough to gain your respect?" I stomped a feet agitatedly.
"There is no use slaving for me and then asking to be cared for. Who cares for a slave?"
My vision blurred over. "You really don't care for me, do you?"
"Why would I? You're my secretary and I'm your employer. This is strictly a professional relationship."
"And the kisses?"
"Accidents."
Look at that. Why subject yourself to such torture? You deserve better than that Lil. The whisper sounded suspiciously like Ella.
"Fine." I didn't yell it nor speak it. It came out as a soft, shaky sigh like how one would give on their death bed. It was a breath of acceptance and sorrow at what could have been but never was and never would be. "I'm done."
"Pardon?"
"You heard me, Mr Ambrose, sir."
Something in his eyes stopped me from making it official. I didn't want to leave, but something deep down kept driving me forward to do things I would never have dreamt of doing.
I tried to frame up my last argument, maybe to convince myself to keep working for him or maybe to give the situation a form of closure.
Leaving would be a sign of submission. I would be doing exactly what Mr Ambrose wanted me to do which will be interpreted as an act of weakness. Such an act would just worsen his impression of women.
However if I stayed on, I might change his mind about the female gender and make him see that we were stronger than men thought. The money I earned from sticking around could go into funding rallies. Wouldn't that further the feminist movement? I wasn't just fighting for my own freedom. I was fighting for all the other oppressed female lives.
Stop thinking about others for a while and care for your own mental and emotional wellbeing. It's time that you do more for yourself. In addition, resigning is not an act of weakness! If nothing, it shows that you are stronger than ever! Mr Ambrose knows how much this job matters to you. Leaving this place and stepping back into the world you were trying to originally escape proves that you are courageous enough to push aside what you want and pick up what you really need. That is strength in itself. And maybe then he will realise what he truly lost out on.
I finally picked up the courage to look at him straight in the eyes — those eyes that would forever remain cold and emotionless.
I opened my mouth, words I never thought I could ever say finally leaving my lips like a curse, "I quit."
He didn't reply. He didn't move. He stood still like a granite statue that couldn't care less about measly mortals like myself. There really wasn't anything normal or humane about him, was there? He took 'a heart of stone' to a whole new level.
I took one last look at the office, trying to savour my last moments within it. Then, I whirled around and made my way to the exit. The moment I turned, the walls I had fought so hard to build slowly collapsed as if it were all merely made of paper.
A naive, hopeful sector of my heart waited expectantly for him to call out, "Wait! Don't leave!" while I flung open the door, but life never went the way I wanted. He didn't make a sound.
I marched away, tilting my head as high as possible as a sign of arrogance. A few traitorous tears slipped out from the corners of my eyes and tumbled down my cheeks like glossy pearls of a snapped necklace.
I felt pathetic. I felt beastly. I felt stupid for even taking up the wicked job. Why couldn't I have just stuck my nose somewhere else instead? Why must it be that out of all the people who might have hired me, it had to be him?
He turned my world upside down with his cold exterior, hot kisses and silence. And I was done.
I grabbed the door handle on the opposite side of the door with all my might, as if trying to channel all my fury into the tiny object. I wanted to crush it. I wanted to crush everything like how he crushed me.
My hand tugged hard, slamming the door viciously behind me. The impact of it crashing against the frame and the deafening bang that exploded from it acted like the final catalyst ― shattering the remnants of my heart into smithereens.
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I have posted the prologue of my new book. If you enjoy mystery and action packed books, please check it out!
This is an original idea I had since 12 (of course my writing is much better now) and it was inspired by books such as Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. *wink wink* But it's inspired so it will vary greatly from those amazing series.
It can be found on my profile.
I will update it every monday (Might skip the upcoming monday because this chapter killed me.)
This is the cover I made:
It will be amazing if you all could go vote on it and also leave feedback <3
Beth.