"Why do men suck so bad?"
It took everything inside of him not to roll his eyes as he leans against the doorframe of the attatched bathroom to your room, listening to your rambling words of how you went on the worst date you've ever been on last night, as you're getting ready to go on another. His arms flex a little harder as he crosses them, eyes falling to the way you're half way bent over the sink, finger running along the lipstick on your lower lip as you admire yourself.
He thought becoming roommates with you would be better than the small, cramped rooms the base offered, but what he wasn't prepared for was absolutely falling head over heels for you. The brewing envy when he saw you slipping out of the front door in a tight, little dress only to come back home in the early hours of the morning and it be completely disheveled was impossible to quash, slow building feelings of obsession and possesion staking their claim in his chest.
It was a battle for his attention, casting his eyes in a dark navy hue, a clenched jaw aching as he meets your gaze in the mirror, his sigh drawled out as he stands up a little straighter.
"That's because you're not going on dates with men, Schatz. You're going out with boys," he says, watching as your fingers run through your perfectly curled hair, his eyes traveling down the dip in your spine exposed by the backless style of your dress, even in heels still being a foot shorter than him.
You looked like the epitome of feminine allure, the type of girl to make men's heads turn at just a simple pass by, captivating those who hadn't even gotten the pleasure of speaking to you yet. You were powerful without even knowing it, and the feelings of wanton need relentlessly clawed inside of him, ripping shreds of his own masculine dignity at the thought of having you just once.
"What's the difference? They're all clueless in the bedroom and even worse at planning dates," you huff, eyes flickering to his in the mirror as he stands off to the side, calculating eyes hiding his thoughts, only a simple purse of his lips to let you know he was listening to you.
"You just haven't met the right one yet," he says quieter, dropping the space between the both of you to a more intimate level, watching those insatiably pretty eyes of yours flicker in confusion, before your eyes roll, setting aside the lipstick tube that was in your hand.
"You know how cliche that sounds?" You ask fending off a giggle, watching the corners of his lips twitch as he pushes off the door frame, coming to stand behind you. The size difference in the mirror has your eyes fluttering, his broad stature a contrast to your own, his bicep nearly the size of your head. Suddenly your heart is racing a little more, the warmth emitting from him against your back making you keep his eye contact through the mirror.
"I like cliche," he murmurs, hand gently rising to brush a strand of hair off your shoulder, feeling the shiver it gives you, motivating him to keep talking. "Tension between two people that don't know what they want is actually right in front of them. I've seen your book collection, Schatz. I'm sure you know all about cliches."
Your heart picks up at the touch of his hand trailing from your shoulder down to the flesh of your tricep, feather light touches of the pads of his digits making your throat suddenly feel parched. Your lips part slightly as his fingers continue to run down your forearm, curling around your wrist slightly as he raises your arm.
The brush of his lips against your manicured fingertips has your head turning over your shoulder slightly, panting now as breaths struggle to expel through your lips evenly.
"I'd never leave you unsatisfied. Gott, the way I'd worship every inch of you has plagued my sleep for...forever now. Figuring out every little spot on your body that would drive you crazy, every touch, every caress a paradoxical sensation of teasing and giving you what you need."
