Oneshots by worldoftom [t.h. x female]

Bedroom Shoes *

Summary: "There's no way I'm letting you wear that in public."

Words: 1,830

Warnings: despite the summary, nobody is a possessive asshole; fingering

*

"Nuh uh," Tom says from the bedroom door.

You're in his walk-in closet right now checking your outfit in the big wall mirror he has here. It's a warm night out, thanks to the lovely, strangely warm early autumn weather this year, so you were going out for dinner and drinks with a bunch of friends. The usual gang, really, so you're not sure what Tom means right now, so you turn to him and ask, "What?"

"There's no way I'm letting you wear that in public."

"Excuse me?" You're totally not going to take this attitude.

Looking down at yourself, it's nothing really out of your usual outfits. Black satin dress, mid thigh length, spaghetti straps, a feel-good cleavage, with a little jacket to match that's still sitting on the chair next to you. You're not even wearing too much makeup, which is the type of look that Tom really likes, so maybe... maybe that's the problem.

"Those," Tom clarifies, pointing at your feet. You're wearing high-heel shoes, ones that Tom likes as well and that have been through some mature content no shoes below 18 years old would be legal to witness.

"You're not wearing those outside," he adds. "I mean, no way. Those are your bedroom shoes, and that's exactly where they belong."

You look at him extremely confused, feeling your brows all squished together. "What are bedroom shoes?"

"You know damn well what I mean, stop playing the fool."

Tom is walking into the closet now, hands by his sides with his fingers twitching and reaching out for you as soon as you're within his arm's length.

"Don't look at me like that, Tommy," you say, also knowing what the nickname and your purring tone does to his head and his gut and his groin.

Needless to say, Tom presses his whole body into you, from head to toe, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into him as far as you can go. You can smell the strong cologne on his neck, your favorite one that smells like sparkling wine and, just like it, goes straight into your head. You can also see the veins on the thin skin connecting to his shoulders, pulsing to the rhythm of his racehorsing heart.

"What do you want?" you ask into his ear, flicking the lobe with your front teeth.

"You vixen," Tom moans into your neck, arms clinging to you as his hands rub up your back and tug at the slider of your zipper on the top of your dress. "I want to show you what your bedroom shoes are for."

And just like that, his mouth is on yours, his tongue fighting yours, and his hands are on your thighs pulling you up until you settle on his hips, legs around him. All in the same second, right before he carries you to the elegant dressing table you once convinced him to buy.

He sits you on it, hands rubbing your thighs and pulling your dress up as far as it goes since you're sitting on top of it. Groaning at this, Tom opens his eager mouth over yours again and lifts you expertly with one hand, the other and both of yours patting at the dress until it's pooled up around your waist.

"This isn't the bedroom, though," you point out with a nervous giggle. Laughing is something you're not thinking about right now, but it always escapes from you in moments like this. When you're so wrapped up in Tom's scent that you can't help but feel extremely giddy.