#gemmerton

One

When she entered the American Ambassador’s Gala at Versailles, Aaron knew he’d never recover. He watched her greet people, laughing at small jokes and offering replies that set others laughing. He watched people around her shine brighter, trying to impress. He was jealous of every person she leaned in to speak a private word to. He found out her name; being attached to the ambassador could be useful.  he danced a few dances with partners that would further his career or the ambassador’s; he smiled at the correct times, paid the right compliments, flirted lightly. but he kept his eye on the woman, and the moment he was freed from diplomatic obligations, he moved through the crowd to her.

“Mademoiselle Carrigan,” He greeted her, bowing low over her hand. “It would be my honor, and an unspeakable pleasure, to have this dance.” he offered her a dazzling smile, and was rewarded with an amused smile of her own. She inclined her head, handing her glass of wine to someone and followed him to the dance floor. 

“I’ll agree that it’s an honor, but unspeakable pleasure?” she teased as he swept her into his arms, holding her closer than was strictly necessary. They began to glide around the dance floor, moving together as thought they were old dance partners. “If this is your idea of unspeakable pleasure, then I honestly pity American girls.”

“you’re right, it’s a poor a choice of words,” he conceded. “An honor and privilege, then. We’ll wait to see what defines unspeakable pleasure.” The corners of her mouth turn up at that, her dark eyes flashing at him.

He left the gala early and spent the next three days defining unspeakable pleasure. 

Two

It’s been about two years, this standing tryst of theirs. months of  drought, of forgettable one nights with dull lovers, and then the world bursting into color. Versailles, New York, London.

She’s passionate here in Chicago. in London she was different; subdued somehow. But in Chicago she finds her fire again and it’s a whirlwind. They go out for drinks and almost don’t make it back to the hotel room. He presses her back to the side of the elevator and she slides on leg over his hip. One hand slides under her skirt, the other undoing her blouse. she loosens his tie and pushes his jacket from his shoulders; even in her passion, mindful of his Saville Row tailoring.

his mouth is on hers, desperate. He wants to leave an impression deep enough that she won’t be able to get him out of her head; that whoever touches her next won’t be able to hold a candle for him. He wants to get under her skin like she’s gotten under his.  He’s never sure he has, though; she’s usually so cool and collected.

But in this elevator, she’s hot. She’s burning for him, and he doesn’t care if she reduces him to ash.

Three

St. Petersburg. There is a kind of glamour to this place that dazzles him, so of course this is where she finds him. She slides onto astool next to him in a bar and gives him a dark smile and speaks to him in French-accented Russian. he replies in French, using his Parisian accent. They pretend they are strangers.

When they’re back in his hotel room, still carrying on the charade, she cries out in English, French, Russian. Her fingers pull his curly hair, demanding. His teeth graze her thigh and he can feel her quivering under his lips. He wants to make her completely undone; he wants her ruined by him, a mess of need. he dips his head to her, her scent driving him mad, and he tastes her again, making an obscene sound in the back of his throat.

Four

He’s seen her two more times since St. Petersburg, Milan and Vienna. Two weekends of dizzying passion. And now they are in Prague, the ancient streets a perfect background for what Aaron now knows is love. He’s suspected it as far back as New york, but he’d finally admitted it to himself in Milan. 

There’s been nobody else since Vienna. he loves her. 

He’s working up to telling her, but first this wild night in Prague. She’s desperate, insatiable, and he lets her take her pleasure from him as much as she wants. He’s under her, trying to match her pace, but she puts a hand on his chest and leans down to kiss him. His hand goes to her hair. She moves against him, and the pleasure of it is excruciating.

The words are on his lips, but he fights them back. He’s scared she’ll run if he says them, so he swallows them, and instead kisses her for all he’s worth.

“Gemma, please,” he whispers, and she smiles at him,closing her eyes and sighing as she rides a crest of pleasure.

Five

It’s been three years. Three years, and his whole world turning upside down. He’s given his loyalty to the Queen of Hell, he’s sworn to destroy or kill those he thinks of as his friends and family.

But she’s chosen this moment to walk back into his life. She says “I love you” and there’s a reason to fight. to live.

He can’t get enough of her. his hands and mouth are everywhere; it’s been three long years of starvation. Since he woke up alone in Prague-she’d run, even though he hadn’t said I love you- there hasn’t been anyone significant. He’s tried to put her from his mind and his heart but the moment he’d heard from her he knew he was finished. Gemma is everything.

Shefeels the same; he’s going to go mad with the feel of her against him, her mouth on him, her hands touching everywhere. He’s consecrated and defiled; he’s adored and debased. He loves her.

“Gemma, fuck,” he breathes, and she lets out a breath laugh.