Thread: The Manor (Mr. Quixotic & Malicious Lullaby)

Oh shit! Steve immediately knew he was in trouble, but his brain couldn't process exactly what for. They'd had their tiffs, as all couples did, but he'd never seen Harper truly angry, and wasn't certain if she were the type to yell and scream, kick and scratch, break down and cry, or give him the silent treatment however he couldn't miss that look in her eyes. The one every women possessed, and which sent shivers down every male's spine. That, along with the half-hearted return of his kiss told him that his girlfriend was pissed. Really, really, really pissed. As any half-intelligent man would, Steve kept his mouth shut when she pulled away, and allowed her to speak. Less chance of turning a disaster into a full on catastrophe. Any thoughts of fucking her, had gone out the window. All that Steve cared about now was getting out of there alive hopefully with scrotum still attached, and relationship intact. She was the sarcastic angry type, Steve Kirk decided, as he swallowed, dropped his arms to his side, lifted his gaze to the doorway to ensure the escape route wasn't blocked, then returned it to Harper, who stood with hands on hips. The direction to go home came almost as a relief. Not that Steve was frightened to stand up for himself, or to give back as good as he got, but he was experienced enough to know that in the heat of battle, nasty things could be said, which couldn't later be taken back. He'd hear Harper out, then call when the effects of the alcohol, or whatever else it was she'd taken, had worn off. If it was actually PMS, that could be a few days. As much as he instructed himself to remain calm, her words cut him to the core, and his eyes flared with anger. Steve's head shook, and he took a step forward, intending to place a hand on her arm to silence Harper, and allow him to respond. However by the time he acted, she'd already walked right past him, and opened her door. Steve wasn't about to chase his girlfriend around the apartment. His countenance tensed further, and fingers clenched into fists at his side as he forced himself to stop, and leaned against the wall. She just didn't understand. Finally, she ceased. He should have turned and walked out the door, rather than stoked the already burning fire. That would have been the smart move but she was wrong. Just because he didn't want to disrespect his girlfriend, treat her like a slut and abuse and degrade her, he was meant to feel guilty? Steve couldn't help but think of the High School boys he taught, and they way they spoke to the girls in their class. Not to mention the girls themselves who were always whining, bitching and complaining about how 'all men were pigs', 'treated them like shit', and 'only cared about getting their dick's wet'. How was a man supposed to win? Steve pushed himself off the wall, and his narrowed pupils bore into Harper. You phone in the middle of the damn night ask I come over, which I do, then demand to be fucked? No reason, no explanation for your behaviour, which is totally unlike you, or any way you've acted before. Steve's voice rose with each word. And I get into trouble for being concerned, and asking if you're okay? For caring? The man realised he shouted, and took a moment to breathe in and calm down. When he spoke again, his tone was one of exasperation, and something else. Harper wasn't the only one capable of sarcasm.But fine, baby. If that's what you want. Some guy to fuck you, and treat you like a slut, I'm sure you won't have any trouble at all finding them. Just as I'm certain they'll stay for breakfast and respect you in the morning. Excuse me for not thinking of my girlfriend as piece of meat. His mouth closed, and he stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then shrugged, You can't have everything, Harper, life is a compromise, and turned to the door, We'll discuss this when we're both calmer. The sound of the door slamming behind him was even louder than that of the voice with which he'd earlier screamed. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Why couldn't you have it all? Hawthorne Tische farewelled the last of his guests, then retired to his room. The night had been lucrative, over fifty thousand dollars cash. As he finally removed the masquerade mask in front of the mirror, and looked into his own piercing green eyes, Izabel re-entered his mind. In fact, she'd never really left it. What had become of the rest of her evening? Had the woman stopped by to visit a boyfriend, or lover, and, if so, had she thought of Hawthorne as he'd taken her? Or had the man been skilled enough to cause her to forget about their earlier arousing encounter. Would they meet again? He could have had her, that was a fact. She could be in his bed this very minute. However, where would the challenge, the pleasure, the adrenaline rush and anticipation be in that? Hawthorne had no idea of who she was, or of her appearance under the mask no way to locate her. The excitement was in seeing if Izabel, or whatever her real name may be, would dare return to the Manor of own volition. A soft smile remained on the man's features as he discarded the last of his clothing, slipped between cool satin sheets, and drifted off to sleep.