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Kissing the Wilderness

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Thomas ‘Tommy’ Shelby gave the mirror a sidelong glance. He was sitting on a plush leather chair by the fire, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a glass of scotch in one hand. He looked up when he heard the soft click of the dressing room door, and set the glass down.

He gave you an appraising look, and you twirled twice so he could admire the back as well as the front. With a slow, measured movement he put the cigarette out. You advanced as his arms opened slightly in invitation. The store had been full of patrons, but all of them had hurried out when they’d seen Tommy. That was not something you liked to encourage, but there were times in which the deferential treatment came in handy.

Times such as this one. Tommy’s strong hands squeezed your hips as you straddled him. You could see a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Is this not elegant enough for you?” You asked in a teasing voice. The dress was velvet, the fabric of such high quality it caressed your skin with every touch. But behind those words there was truth as well. If he could, Tommy would keep you covered in the most exquisite furs all the time. He’d cover you in pearls and diamonds.

“You’re perfect,” he said. And that was one thing he always said which made your smile rival the sun in its intensity.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” you replied with a smile, and leaned down to kiss him. You could see the remnants of some deep anguish, and longed to soothe them away. Loving Thomas Shelby was never an easy task. No, perhaps that was not the correct way of putting it. Loving Thomas Shelby was easy, but not being able to soothe away the pain made your heart ache with a deep need to set fire to the city every night and watch it burn, hoping the ashes would be the salve needed to heal his tortured soul. Back when he’d first gone you’d been scared he would be killed. Wars took everything and everyone and didn’t stop until all that remained was absence. The joy of his return had been tinged with bitterness when you realized the man who had come back would never again be the same one who’d waved at you from the train all those years ago. He was here, and he was alive, but his soul had been twisted and tortured in ways that would have killed any lesser man. Luckily for the both of you, Tommy was not that sort of man.

At first it had been the screaming which had sent you into a blind panic, reaching for your gun at the bedside table to fend off the monsters in the darkness. But when it became painfully obvious that Tommy’s demons were hiding under his skin, you had learned to take a different approach. Every night you locked the door, and you waited for Tommy to finish his cigarette before you undressed him. It had become a sort of ritual. Every night you tore away the layers of humanity and allowed Tommy to unleash the wild animal inside him. You’d lost more than five exquisite silk pairs of stockings in those encounters, and more buttons had been ripped off clothing than you could count. But those were all small prices to pay to heal his soul.

It wasn’t always enough, though. And that was when you had to get creative. That was when empty shops and fearful glances from passersby came in handy. Tommy’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and you could see the strain in the muscles of his neck, how they coiled like ropes, the tension choking him. With deliberate movements you pressed down against his lap, feeling another type of tension making itself known against your silky underwear.

“Tommy,” you whispered, your lips touching his ear ever so slightly.

He needed no more encouragement. His fingers were rough, and you could feel the callouses on his palms as he pushed your dress up and out of the way. His lips latched onto your neck, and you moaned softly, pressing down against him, seeking more. Tommy knew your body like he knew his, and he pushed the fabric of your underwear aside, making you moan when he touched your dripping sex. He was muttering something, words tumbling from his lips without regards to their meaning, all that truly mattered to Tommy was to please you, to touch you and feel you and never let you go. With a loud moan, you lowered yourself down on him and felt him filling you up. You cried out, and arched your back, holding onto his shoulders for balance.

Tommy fucked like a dying man. You could feel one of his hands on your back, the other guiding your hips. He kissed you, snapping his hips as hard and fast as he could. And not for the first time you found yourself surprised by the sheer strength of this man. He was a hurricane turned flesh, and you were at his mercy. In those moments all you could think of was how much you loved him. How you wanted this, all of him, forever. You wanted his rumbling moans. You wanted his strong hands upon you. You wanted to be the place where he could unleash the wild beast. You wanted to be the place where he could lay his weary soul to rest.

When the squeaking noise stopped, you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes. It was always quiet after the storm. Tommy was looking at you when you opened your eyes again. But the terrible emptiness that had been lurking at the edges of those beautiful eyes was gone.

You kissed him, and it was like kissing the wilderness.