He roared against her, repeating the gesture again, and again, and again, pummeling her. She would be bruised in the morning—if therewasa morning—and she didn’t care. This was perfect. This was exactly what she needed.
It was wrong.
And shelovedit.
Twice more, he drove her over the edge like that until she was certain she was going to lose her mind from it. But he couldn’t go forever. His thrusts quickened, though they didn’t lessen in force as his breaths became shallow and urgent.
Seeking her lips again, he kissed her just as harshly as he made love to her—if that’s even what she could call what they were doing—snarling as he somehow seemed to find a way to core himself a deeper place inside her body. He pressed himself there, body going rigid as he tensed and surged, a shuddering wave passing through him as he finished in turn.
She clung to him as they both came down from their respective highs. Slowly, he let her down from the wall, but not before kissing her with a shocking amount of tenderness. It wasn’t love. He wasn’t capable of such a thing. But tenderness? Fondness?Kindness?Who was to say that wasn’t in the cards for Irene Adler?
The whole world at her feet. It would be what the character would want. Freedom to be who she wanted to be. And all it would mean would be a painless death the moment she became aliabilityto Moriarty. “Ten years.”
“Hm?” He seemed half lost in the bliss of it still.
“A guarantee of a minimum ten years before I am dead at your hands.” She let her chemise fall back down to her ankles. At least he hadn’t tried to take her corset off. That would’ve been a pain in the ass to get back on. “I would hate to say yes and find myself dead in the morning.”
He paused in redoing his pants. “Six.”
“Eight.”
“Granted.” He held out his hand to her. “Forgive me for not having a ring prepared. This was all quite unexpected.”
She shook his hand. “Forgiven, if you will also promise me one other thing.”
“And what is that?”
“You will look at me as a partner, not merely a wife, when you can.” Reaching out, she smoothed his clothes for him. “I understand that it will not always be suitable to do so.”
He stepped forward and kissed her unexpectedly, drawing her into an embrace. When he released her, he was smiling, just a little. “I see why you perplex him so. Granted. Now. Let us redress you. The evening’s entertainment is about to begin.”
I’m sorry, Sidney. For more things than one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sidney decided the only thing worse than trudging through a cold, misty, dark London—was trudging through a cold, misty, dark London with a limp.
No. It was trudging through a cold, misty, dark London with a limp, after a man who was in a rush and was very,verycertain he was a genius.
Sidney was starting to really not care whether or not she lived through the end of this story. Just as long as it ended. Hopefully it’d be a quick death. Justlights out,right?
The End. Exit stage right. If she got a fade-to-black sex scene she certainly was going to get a fade-to-black death scene. That was only fair.
Sherlock pressed his back to the wall of one of the construction outbuildings in the train yard as he peered around the corner before waving at her to follow him. She had a gun and he didn’t, but she was also slower than him. It balanced out.
The train yard was guarded. And by people that didn’t look like they had any right being there.
Sherlock lifted a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be silent.
Two men walked by, not seeing them hiding in the darkness.
“Dunno why we’ve got prisoners,” one of them said to the other. “Seems stupid.”
“We don’t get paid to ask questions. So shut up,” replied his buddy.
Fuck, that was cliche.Sidney tried not to laugh. They were probably told to walk by and literally say that. Or was she the one who made them say that? Was she that bad of a writer?It’s not my fault, I didn’t ask to be in this stupid mess!
But whoever was to blame for the bad dialogue, it didn’t matter. It didn’t deter Sherlock. In fact, it did anything but.
