11-13-2022, 09:58 PM
She gave Adrian an easy out, but he didn’t take it. At first she thought he planned to make some irritating display of contemplation, but the way he thrust his hand so quickly away from his face and into his pocket suggested a moment of lapse instead. It was upon witness of such unlikely imperfection that Natalie decided to place her trust in allowing this connection to play itself out. It didn’t escape her that though he was blunt, he obfuscated any attempt at answering her question, of course. There was a chameleonic shine to him, and she had the sensation of being learned. While it suited him to do so, she suspected he would mould to whatever he thought she desired to see. She minded the ramifications of neither observation.
“You are tolerable,” she corrected. It was spoken with the cutting swipe of an insult, but the coyness of her attention softened the lie of it, probably because he was correct that she would prefer this arrogant charm over his bland niceties in the club. Adrian proved he had been listening at least; his accusations even hit upon some truths she was surprised he had understood. As he spoke Natalie gave him the stage, but beyond the slight curve of her lips she employed his own tactic against him, and committed to little. He could determine of her reaction what he wished.
He drew closer again, and she neither beckoned nor moved away. The desire she saw there was nothing new. It was why she’d never told Aaron who she was, and why when Jay had finally sought her out at the ball she had been disappointed to realise it was only to ask for her grandfather’s help securing his passage home. Her blood always amounted to more than her person; a fear that bit even when it turned out she was wrong. In Africa she’d shrugged the shackle of identity free for a time, and fought it off for longer since her return to Custody soil, but her situation now was vastly changed. And there were no illusions here.
She made Adrian close the entire distance, but he found reward when he did. Her kiss was not one of abeyance or capture, but neither did it taste of the sterility of a transaction. It tasted of want. His persistence unfurled something in her, but it was something she chose not to examine in the moment. The feeling pressed upon an old wound, but the flare of pain unburdened a release, like a breath she had not realised she’d been holding. Tumbling into bed with strangers was an old self-medicating vice; a connection she sought time and again when her world shattered upon rock bottom. Something relegated firmly to the past could not be broken or besmirched. She never looked back the morning after.
Some reckless part of her wanted to draw him back just to see if he’d follow; because he was crisp and clean and expensive, and the room around them cleaved in darkness and dust. Her touch traced the warm skin beneath his collar like a summons. But it was a restlessness that would burn before she was sure of his intentions. Or of her own.
It wasn’t demurity that ultimately kept her in check, though she’d certainly let him think it, but understanding of her own nature.
“Temptation’s half the battle won,” she teased. A hand softened the ruffled collar, and she did not move away from the embrace. Truth was there was a great depth of want in Natalie, and even she could not truly say to what end. But she was tired of the powerlessness of loss, and tired of being at the mercy of others. When her eyes met his again there was something harder there.
“This past year I have lost more than I care to recount. I don’t intend to be in a position to allow it to happen again.”
“You are tolerable,” she corrected. It was spoken with the cutting swipe of an insult, but the coyness of her attention softened the lie of it, probably because he was correct that she would prefer this arrogant charm over his bland niceties in the club. Adrian proved he had been listening at least; his accusations even hit upon some truths she was surprised he had understood. As he spoke Natalie gave him the stage, but beyond the slight curve of her lips she employed his own tactic against him, and committed to little. He could determine of her reaction what he wished.
He drew closer again, and she neither beckoned nor moved away. The desire she saw there was nothing new. It was why she’d never told Aaron who she was, and why when Jay had finally sought her out at the ball she had been disappointed to realise it was only to ask for her grandfather’s help securing his passage home. Her blood always amounted to more than her person; a fear that bit even when it turned out she was wrong. In Africa she’d shrugged the shackle of identity free for a time, and fought it off for longer since her return to Custody soil, but her situation now was vastly changed. And there were no illusions here.
She made Adrian close the entire distance, but he found reward when he did. Her kiss was not one of abeyance or capture, but neither did it taste of the sterility of a transaction. It tasted of want. His persistence unfurled something in her, but it was something she chose not to examine in the moment. The feeling pressed upon an old wound, but the flare of pain unburdened a release, like a breath she had not realised she’d been holding. Tumbling into bed with strangers was an old self-medicating vice; a connection she sought time and again when her world shattered upon rock bottom. Something relegated firmly to the past could not be broken or besmirched. She never looked back the morning after.
Some reckless part of her wanted to draw him back just to see if he’d follow; because he was crisp and clean and expensive, and the room around them cleaved in darkness and dust. Her touch traced the warm skin beneath his collar like a summons. But it was a restlessness that would burn before she was sure of his intentions. Or of her own.
It wasn’t demurity that ultimately kept her in check, though she’d certainly let him think it, but understanding of her own nature.
“Temptation’s half the battle won,” she teased. A hand softened the ruffled collar, and she did not move away from the embrace. Truth was there was a great depth of want in Natalie, and even she could not truly say to what end. But she was tired of the powerlessness of loss, and tired of being at the mercy of others. When her eyes met his again there was something harder there.
“This past year I have lost more than I care to recount. I don’t intend to be in a position to allow it to happen again.”