Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Ten

She had the worst feeling. Dizziness of a sort, as if the ground were moving and she were lying still. She sat up with a groan, rubbing at her head. She was disoriented. She could hear her breathing echoing, and knew she was in some large room. No, rooms didn't move and it was clear she was moving. This was a train car. She felt out in the inky blackness, trying to find a wall, and when she did, she crawled up it until she was on her feet. Her eyes could make out vents near the ceiling, and small spaces no bigger than her finger near the edge of the door. Suddenly she was blinded by a flash of light. Her hand covered her eyes until they adjusted. Now she could see the tell-tale stripes of fabric as well as the man who hung the lantern from the hook beside a door.

Colonel Peter Walter the third was quite happy she was awake now. He'd dined with his family, and when his brother and father had settled in for a game of cards with Spine, Rabbit and The Jon content to watch the scenery out of the window, he had excused himself, apologizing for his earlier behavior again, claimed a little time alone with his books and schematics was just the medicine he needed. He did so often, after all, and why would they question what was commonplace. He'd sat there, in the dark, watching her for half an hour at least, waiting with the patience a spider showed while waiting for its web to move.

He took a lean against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you not to keep me waiting. Didn't you expect there would be consequences for disobeying me?" He lifted his brows attempting to look merely inquiring. Inside his head, good sense was like Saint George, seeking to a slay a dragon. He could easily take her to the lounge, they'd stop the train, or send her in a rented car from the next town to her home and there would be little true harm done. He'd be disowned, probably, but she would be unhurt in all but pride. The beast inside his belly struck with lustful claws that left wounds bleeding, pouring out images like flames. Imaginings of her in his arms, molded against his body, beneath him, above him mingling with flashes of her face, twisted in a mask of disdain, curled lip derisive and judgmental, deeming him a fool to think she'd ever lower herself for someone like him. He knew his father's story, how he'd nearly lost everything because of his obsession with that Moreau woman. He'd made up his mind that he would never let love gain such a hold on him. Should he ever seek it, it would be on his own terms. Complete and utter conquest. Nothing given, and only taking what parts he found enjoyable, no tolerance for anything that he did not. He would be no woman's fool. His hands flexed where they rested with the sheer ache of wanting, not yet sure whether he wanted to kiss her or beat her.

She was, if possible, even more confused. Her thoughts felt like a train moving from a full stop. It lurched slowly forward, creeping toward recollection and consciousness with ever increasing speed, but at the moment, it felt sluggish and dull. She remembered he'd come to demand she apologize for tempting him, which was ridiculous. She'd felt so strange and she noted his smile when the train of thought reached full speed. She backed away, her hand shaking as it rose to her face, her eyes wide as a doe facing a ravenous wolf. "What have you done?" She scanned the car quickly, and felt the track beneath them, aware they were going far too fast for her to hope of jumping to safety, even if she could have opened the door. "This is not funny. Let me out of this room, or so help me, I will scream the roof down on us both!"

He shifted his weight, letting his arms fall to his sides as he pushed off of the door and stalked toward her, knowing the doors were both locked. She tried to feign, but he caught her by the arm, his other hand taking hold of her wrist when her hand rose to claw at him. Both arms tucked behind her, his chest pressed to hers, his knee pressing between her knees, his head bowed to brush the prickly skin of his chin along her neck, his breath hot upon her earlobe. "I wouldn't."

She twisted in the attempt to pry herself loose of his grip only to stop when the rough press of his arousal's proof dug into her hip, knowing her fighting was, if not the cause, certainly it was helpful. "Please..." She whimpered softly. "Please let me go." Her hips pulling as far back as possible to escape the grinding rub of his loins against her, but any ground she took, he followed and occupied a moment later.