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The Art of Villainy

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The motor of the white Jaguar F-Type Coupe roars when Tom accelerates. We are almost home and I am running out of time. If I don’t convince Tom before we get out of this car my chances are getting slimmer by the minute. Looking in his face makes me all but defenseless.

 “Don’t you love me anymore?”

Tom’s hand covers his mouth and the blue eyes I had gotten lost in many times over, were fixed on the street ahead of us. An eternity seems to pass until Tom finally lets the hand fall down to the gear stick. His mouth opens ever so slightly, his tongue wets his lower lip and he inhales deeply.

“You know I do. With all my heart.”

 “Then why won’t you sign the damn papers? I know it’s not what you want, but I want it, need it, and if you love me as much as you claim shouldn't you try to do all in your powers to make me happy?”

 My voice sounds wretched even in my own ears. Damn. Get your act together. 

 “Don’t dwell on the past, love, all this negativity, these feelings you have right now they are like clouds that pass across the sun. They will pass and then…”

 “It is not a fucking feeling, Thomas!” In the confined space of the car my outcry is shrill and too loud. “I am going to divorce you, whether you like it or not. That’s a fact. And it’s NOT GOING TO PASS.”

 I bury my face in my hands inhaling through my nose and blowing the air slowly out of my mouth I try to calm myself down again. Tears sting behind my eyelids. ‘Don’t cry. You cried enough tears over this man. If Tom senses just a spark of hope you’ll never hear the end of it.’ I suck my cheeks in and bite hard on them.

 “Darling, don’t rush into this. It’s not uncommon to feel insecure when one loses one’s job. God knows I had times when I felt ready to quit, but eventually it got better and I promise you, darling, things will get better for you again as well.”

“Don’t you dare make this about me when you know full well that’s not it at all. You are suffocating me, Thomas. And these last couple of days while you were gone,” I close my eyes and the faintest smile appears around my mouth. “For the first time in months I was able to breath. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off me.”

I turn in my seat. Stern faced Tom steers the Jaguar through the maze that are the streets of London. His eyes dance in and out of the shadows the street lamps cast and with it the traitorous glint of tears in them. My hand bridges the gap between us and rests on the sleeve of his black jacket. The fabric should be cool from the stream of cold air Tom has aimed directly at his upper body, yet I can feel the heat he radiates from within. 

“Please, Tom, I beg you. Don’t make me live like that anymore.”

Tom’s head shoots around. His words are barely more than a whisper but the snarl cuts deep into my heart.

“Tell me, love, what makes me the villain in this marriage?” 

“Just because you’re perfect doesn't mean you don’t have any faults.”

“Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You…”

How can I explain to him what took me months to realize myself? Whenever I try to put it into words, it sounds childish and stupid.

Spoiled. A brat. That’s what one would call a kid who has it all and complains about not being happy.

What does one call a married woman who feels the same?

“I…?”

“You’re just too much, too cheery, too helpful, too romantic, too considerate. You apologize all the damn time.”

“I’m sorry I make your life so miserable, dear.”

“There! You just did it again!”

The word “Sorry” is lurking behind his lips, his tongue barely hanging on to the fringes of it.

 “I used to love sleeping in or wasting a rainy day by reading a book. These things make me feel so guilty now. By the time I get up you already ran 10 miles, took a shower, made breakfast, read the Times and the Guardian and dusted half of the study while memorizing a Shakespeare play.”

 “It’s easier for me to commit the words to memory when I move. I can’t run around London as incognito as I used to. Dusting is the kind of mundane work where my mind can be someplace else.”

 “But it’s MY mundane work. I already don’t have a job outside our home, if you start taking away the work I can do inside, what is there left for me to contribute to this relationship?”

 “Are you mad at me because I help you with the housework?”

 “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!” 

I sigh. Tom slows the car down once we arrive in our street. By the push of a button the gate securing our home glides open. 

Our home. Not for much longer. I really need to get used to calling it Tom’s place again.

Back when we were happy Tom and I would have spent the 20 seconds wait kissing. Today my future ex-husband doesn't even look in my direction.

“Love is supposed to make us into better people. To bring out the best person we can be. When I am with you, Tom, I realize how flawed I am. It makes me want to scream and shout and throw things at you.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“Because you’d buy flowers or chocolate or jewelry along with a new set of dinnerware and apologize for upsetting me.”

When Tom gets out of the car he heads straight for the elevator, closing the button on his slim cut black suit. Never once has he not opened the car door for me since we started dating. 

'Well, you wanted him to be an asshole. There you have it.'

I slam the door shut, immediately followed by the clicking sound of the doors being locked via the remote control. 

Tom stares intently onto his watch when I catch up with him. Seconds later the bell announces the arrival of the elevator. Tom gestures toward the open doors.

"After you, darling." He clenches his jaw when he realizes that his innate chivalry trumped over him being mad at me.

In the quiet stillness of the elevator car I can hear the nervous beating of my heart.

"You can't be a villain without a hero."

"What?"

"If you didn't put me on such a high pedestal, you wouldn't feel so bad about yourself, love."

"You're not my hero, Thomas, if anything, you're my heroin. Like any self-disrespecting addict I love my vice, but by loving you, I lose myself. A little bit more every day, and soon nothing worth saving will be left."

Tom runs his hands through his hair.

"Me being in control is just a mask behind which is worrying. I thought the trick was to make it look easy; I realize now I shouldn't have tried so hard to always be a step ahead," Tom looks at me with sad puppy eyes. "But divorce? It changes everything."

On our floor we get off and Tom unlocks the front door. I head straight for the bedroom where I start taking my clothes off. I've stripped down to my underwear when Tom enters the room.

"Is there no other solution to our issues, darling?"

"If only you had been a bigger dick every now and then, maybe we could’ve worked it out."

"I never had anyone complain about the size of my dick before."

My back is turned on him yet I can feel the grin covering his face. Some other day I would've laughed too, but today I cannot allow myself to forget what I want.

"Be a dick, Tom, not have one, and neither needs to be massive to satisfy me."

Tom walks up behind me, placing his hands on my bare midriff.

"As far as I recall I don’t need a dick at all to satisfy you."

His right hand glides down my front, his index finger wandering along the seam of my panty. 

His left hand sneaks inside my underwear, cupping one of my butt cheeks. 

I know where he is going with this, yet I am unable to tell him no.

Tom slides his hand down my panty, his finger stroking through my curls. A moan escapes me before I can hold it back. Tom interprets it as the invitation my traitorous body intends it to be.

Both of his hands dive into me at once. Warm wetness welcomes the finger entering me from behind. My clit stretches toward his index finger, eager to be touched.

Tom circles his two fingers at different speeds, unnervingly slow in the front, hard and fast from the back. A second finger joins the one my body tightens around, both of them moving in and out of my slick folds.

My knees go weak and give in, Tom’s palm under my butt cheeks being the only thing keeping me standing up. His thumb nail digs into the flesh of my buttock. 

His teasing made my nerves hypersensitive and this little discomfort snaps my brain out of the lust induces trance.

"Take your hands off me. Now," I snarl.

Deliberately slow he withdraws his fingers from my body, dragging them over my tender, swollen flesh and along my buttock, leaving a moist trail on my skin.

There is no doubt in my mind that he'll lick the remainder of my wetness off his finger. 

When Tom and I first got intimate with each other I wouldn't allow him to look at me "down there", let alone to lick or suck me. It took him weeks of persuading and gentle probing to convince me that my private parts were neither disgusting nor repugnant. Once I had grown confidant enough to let myself go while his tongue slid through my lips, there was no holding him back. It didn't take him long then to convince me that mine was the sweetest taste of them all. And always, always, would he lick his fingers while my body was still shaking and convulsing, smiling like a cat who'd gotten into the cream jug.

And now I was going to take that symbol of our intimacy away from him. 

Grabbing a tissue from the vanity in front of me I spin around. His other hand is still in my panty and when my movement jerks it away, a nail rakes over my clit. I wince. Serves me right for letting down my guard.

I snatch Tom's hand inches away from his lips, wrapping the tissue around the two fingers glistening with my lust for him.

In a spur of the moment decision I bring his hand up to my own lips. Looking Tom dead in the eye I cover his fingertips with my lips, sucking my own taste off his skin.

"I don't belong to you anymore."

Tom turns his head to the left, sucking in his cheeks. His right eyebrow is raised just a tad, like it always is when the anger boils inside him and he is trying his hardest to keep it hidden.

He exhales, looks back at me and licks his lips. Have I ever seen him this furious with me? The rage is almost palpable.

"I am going to take a shower. A cold one."

He rips his clothes off on the way to the bathroom, dropping them onto the floor carelessly. He slams the door so hard that the lock fails to close and it bounces back wide open. If he notices, he obviously doesn't care. He opens the tap and, without waiting for the hot water to be transported through the old pipes and into our bathroom, climbs in.

The shower massager is set to a hard stream yet Tom lets the water splash over his face. He pants at the shock of the coldness gasping for air, grunting loudly. The water fills his mouth and he spits. Then he bends over, the water hammering onto the skin on his back. 

Obviously he is really taking a cold shower as I can still see his chiseled body through the glass screen unobstructed by any steam.

Tom grabs a bottle of shower gel and pours a generous amount into his hand. He spreads the slick gel over his stomach, into his curls and along his hard length. I cannot take my eyes of him stroking up and down his huge dick, the veins throbbing along its length.

I walk backwards until my knees hit the bed and I sink down. Without looking I grab two large pillows and prop myself up against them. A primal need is taking over my body. I free myself of the little fabric left. My hand cups a breast and I pinch my hard, swollen nipple, sending a jolt of fire down to my clit. I pull and twist them harder and feel a throbbing sensation between my legs.

Tom must have felt my intense stare. His head jolts up, eyes fixed on my body. With my knees drawn up and thighs slightly parted nothing shields my swollen, pulsating sex, glistening with need, from his devouring gaze.

I rub my palm over my vulva, spreading my wetness into my curls. My fingers sink into my warm flesh, gliding up and down on either side of my sweet spot. I moan and thrust my hips into the air. With a sweep of my thumb I part myself and slid a finger inside, moving in and out, feeling my body tighten around it. I add a second finger knowing full well they are only a poor substitute for Tom’s thick cock.

His huge hand wraps around his dick even tighter, stroking up and down, pausing every so often to swirl his thumb around the plump, swollen head.

Tom’s rhythm is echoing in my own fingers, mimicking his thrusts. I roll my hips, arch my back. We may be several feet apart but our bodies remember each other too well, synchronizing our labored breathing, panting moans.

The first wave of my orgasm is washing ashore and I long for Tom’s touch;

For his skilled tongue to suck on my clit which I re-enact by adding my spare hand, thumb and index finger rubbing and pulling on my throbbing clit;

For his cock to fill me to the brink, making my muscles stretch to take him in.

A tight tension builds deep within my core. My head falls back and I close my eyes. The fingers thrusting in and out harder, faster, I beg for release, crying out Tom’s name. My thumb rubs over my clit frantically, the muscles inside me contracting and pulling at my fingers. I let out a harsh cry as an intense spasm rolls over my body. My legs shake uncontrollable and collapse onto the mattress.

Panting and dizzy I lay there when drops of ice cold water land on my heated breasts.

I try to open my eyes and see the blurry outline of Tom’s head towering over me. His breathing is just as ragged as mine as he takes my limp hand to his mouth.

“You win.”

His lips close around my middle finger, his tongue licking it clean, and then slowly withdrawing it from his mouth.

“I will sign those damn papers.”

He takes in my ring finger, his teeth scraping along its skin while he pulls off my wedding band, tossing it onto the duvet. 

“But don’t think for a second that I will stop fighting for you.”

He kisses my mouth, “These lips,” then my breast, “These breast,” showering my belly with kisses. “This body, it’s all mine. Brace yourself.”