stranger-fucking-danger.

DARK  brown  eyes  grow  instantly  wary  and  her  guilty  gaze  falls  downcast  of  his  expression,  the  disappointment  loud  and  clear.  She  swallows  around  the  lump  forming  in  her  throat,  but  eventually  she  finds  words,  even  if  they're  not  the  most  eloquent.  "The  truth.  I  want  to  understand.  I  want...  I  want  these  stupid  fuckin'  games  we  play  to  stop..."  she  trails  off  softly,  burying  her  face  in  his  chest  as  she  moves  closer,  suddenly  entirely  too  needy  for  the  physical  affection  he  just  asked  for  from  her.  "Lex,  I'm  sorry  I  broke  your  faith  in  me,"  she  whispers,  waiting  to  see  if  he  believed  her  or  not.

VENETIA  gains  a  chuckle  from  the  chef,  and  instead  of  pushing  his  insistence  any  further,  he  takes  the  moment  in  hand  and  nods,  acknowledging  her  words  with  little  protest.  "Lesson  one,  then,"  he  smiles,  taking  a  half  step  back  from  the  stove  to  tug  her  by  the  hand  to  stand  in  front  of  him,  bringing  her  hand  up  to  the  stirring  spoon  and  holding  it  beneath  his  own,  making  big  circles  in  the  large  pot.  "Taste  it.  Tell  me  if  you  think  it  needs  anything,"  he  instructs  regarding  the  sauce.  She  might  not  know  exactly  how  it  should  taste,  but  he  wants  her  opinion  regardless.  He  ignores  the  fact  that  his  body  presses  lightly  up  to  her  back,  and  his  free  hand  strays  to  her  hip  to  keep  her  in  place  right  in  front  of  him.

FELIX draws her nearer, instantly softening. He pulls her firm against him, pressing kisses to the top of her head. "I don't want any games. Honest. I don't. I guess I was never very sure..." he pulls back so he can look at her once again, tip of his nose brushing against hers if only to draw her own gaze upward. "Don't be absurd. You haven't broken my faith in you." He insists, intonation set low and soothing, as though he's reading her a bedtime story, whilst his fingers gingerly traverse through her curls. "I was just taken aback. I assumed that you and I had an understanding. But you know what they say - when you assume you make an ass out of you and me..." such an idiom draws a light chuckle that vibrates from his chest and against her small form. "But," the 't' creates a firm click against his accent, "I've been so horrid. I've made a real faff out of this...out of us..." really, truly? He's scared to admit where his heart lies. He's terrified. He's not used to the discomfort of commitment. He's always had freedom to gallivant about, promiscuity be damned, he's enjoyed the ability to float from company to company, his choice, his control.

Losing control draws a great deal of malaise. He immediately recoils at the thought of not maintaining it. And yet, when it comes to Annabel, there's a sureness, another form of alleviation that he can depend on that is both loving and sacred as it is sexual. And though, the sex is amazing, it isn't the only thing on his mind. "I know that I have been an absolute headache to deal with, I am just asking for patience." he concludes in an even softer whisper.

She's simply captivated by Abel, his chuckle sending a warmth through her body and they're not even fully touching. Suddenly, she's drawn around to the front of him and it causes her to gasp. He guides her movements and she stirs along with his lead. He suggests she taste it and her forehead creases, she cannot very well just lick from the stirring spoon. That's when she gathers up an idea. She feels his hand against her hip, forcing her to swallow and steady her heart. He's lithely pressed to her back and she can smell his cologne.

Venetia gently removes the spoon from the pot, and elegantly turns about so she is facing him. She brings the spoon to her lips but drags her index finger across the sauce, before placing it against his lips. Playfully, she leans in, but at the last second, she tastes the substance from off the tip of her finger rather than his lips.

It takes her a split second later to lean in and remove the sauce from his mouth with her tongue. "Zesty..." she whispers.

THERE  is  great  consideration  given  to  ignoring  that  he  beckons  her  to  follow  him  from  the  library,  but  in  the  end  Annabel  finds  her  shoes  clicking  on  the  marble  floors,  echoing  through  the  house  until  they're  alone  in  his  room  and  she's  gently  swept  into  his  embrace.  She'd  admonish  him  for  being  so  hot  and  cold  towards  her  if  she  herself  weren't  feeling  the  same  way.  There's  nothing  more  frustrating  than  a  hypocrite  and  no  matter  that  it's  her  in  his  bed  each  evening,  the  sting  of  betrayal  still  aches  down  her  spine.  Her  hands  have  found  and  molded  to  the  curve  in  the  small  of  his  back,  much  without  her  permission,  and  though  she  has  to  crane  her  head  back  to  look  into  his  eyes  it  doesn't  mean  she  can't  see  the  sincerity  in  his  request.  With  a  small  nod,  she  gives  in,  circles  around  to  'her  side'  of  the  bed  and  climbs  up,  laying  on  her  side  to  face  him  as  he  mirrors  her  body.  Her  hair  fanned  on  his  pillow,  her  fingers  expertly  finding  his,  focusing  on  the  slightly  calloused  texture  on  the  tips.  She  makes  quite  the  vision,  among  the  clutter  and  chaos.  Her  mind  is  much  like  his  bedroom.  "I  was  stupid.  It  was...  it  didn't  mean  anything,"  she  sighs,  but  the  words  feel  like  venom  and  the  disappointment  weighs  heavy  on  her  shoulders.  In  herself.  In  the  situation.  Frustration  building  between  her  shoulder  blades,  seeping  like  acid  to  gnaw  a  hole  in  her  stomach.  "I  wanted  you  to  feel  how  I  felt."

THICK  eyebrows  raise  at  the  order  given  by  the  young  Catton  master,  and  if  he  were  anyone  else,  Abel  might  take  heed  at  the  warning  in  his  tone  and  dial  back  the  stars  in  his  eyes  that  seemed  to  trickle  in  when  Venetia  Catton  invaded  his  space  with  her  carefree  attitude  and  smart  mouth,  her  perfect  and  expertly  chosen  clothes  and  her  infectious  smile.  He  doesn't.  He's  a  grown  man  and  he's  done  nothing  wrong.  Hasn't  really  even  thought  anything  all  that  bad.  He's  allowed  to  enjoy  her  company,  whether  she's  the  daughter  of  his  employers  or  not.  He  stops  stirring  and  looks  down  at  her,  gives  a  slight  smirk  and  a  nod  of  his  head  and  even  leans  a  little  so  she  doesn't  strain  to  kiss  his  cheek.  "Better  get  outta  here  before  your  brother  goes  all  scorched  earth  and  I  don't  even  have  to  bake  the  bread,"  he  jokes,  going  back  to  his  sauce  again,  but  not  without  a  long  look  at  her  first.

FELIX expects her to be stubborn, he expects her to be frustrated. But, he also knows the proper moves to melt her heart. He's good at that. He sighs, contentedly as she agrees, and he guides her to the bed. She speaks first, and he listens intently, not as expressive as he usually would be, though his brows do crinkle downward. He's gathered everything but a 'sorry' from her, and his frustration lingers. 'I wanted you to feel how I felt.' she concludes causing him to pull back. His eyes flicker, darting about, partly with rage, partly with confusion. "And what is it that you want now?" he challenges, he yearns to sit up, but he doesn't, he stares directly into her eyes, brows raising. He truly, deeply, wants to know.

Vennie adores his smile - just as his food, it's like magic. Dare she admit, it makes her a bit weak in the knees. She notices his lean and she peers up at him, eyes sparkling. She giggles at his statement but shakes her head. "No. No Sir." she states with great insistence. She remains where she is, close at his side. He provides his stare down and she swallows, sharing the moment with him. Lashes flutter, eyes glide from his to Abel's lips.

FELIX draws his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He hadn't felt a headache coming on, until now. Of course Venetia is going to shamelessly flirt. Of course! The annoyance is clear upon his princess features, how can it not be? His cocoa-coloured irises narrow as he gawks between the pair, from Vennie to the chef, then return upon his younger sibling. He takes up the sandwich, but merely plays with it in his large hand while witnessing Venetia's outrageous behavior. Suddenly, he isn't hungry at all. Is everyone out to kill him today?! Does everyone have some sort of vendetta? Geezes. His stomach churns and he sets the sandwich aside, merely glaring at Venetia in disapproval. Especially over her comment regarding recreational powder of choice. At Abel's speech, Felix takes a step back and shakes his head. He clears his throat and provides a fiery, warning gaze to the cook. "I trust you to be professional about this." he insists, however cross his sister may become. In other words, take care of her, but don't fuck her. - Speaking of tact. Felix provides one last incredulous frown to Venetia before making his exit with a large stride.

SWIFTLY, Felix returns to the library, where right away his attention is upon one person... Annabel. He full on ignores Oliver, whose azure eyes perk at his statuesque presence. But there is no one else, only her. He doesn't have to speak. He knows she will follow. Before he leaves, he gives a gentle nod to his parents and a ginger wave to Pamela, then begins his descent down the hallway to his bedroom. Once he's sure she's in stride and has entered his confines, he shuts the door behind her, and pulls her in to an apologetic embrace. He just holds her, resting his chin atop her head and stroking his fingertips through her gorgeous raven locks. "Would you lay with me?" he asks, pulling back to cup her face, thumbs stroking along her chiseled jaw. He's not looking for a quickie. He genuinely wants to hold her, and be held. He craves it. His expression reading like a kicked pup.

Venetia's too enamored with the moment to truly be perturbed by her brother's interference. She watches his expression float about from one to the next like a little living moodboard, a painting of sorts. She could never capture his expressions well enough, though she's tried. He's exceptionally expressive and in this moment, there's no exception. When Abel speaks directly to her, offering to keep things prepared for her, she's honestly touched, and surprised. No one's ever cared to learn anything about her. Not a single thing. Save for her brother and Farleigh. But everyone else just runs her over, having her pegged for some rich bitch blonde bimbo. There are many things that she is but, bimbo is not one of them and she resents society for painting her in such a terrible image. Society being her own mother, of course. She's heard Elspeth a time or two muttering about to the staff over Venetia's eating habits, or lack thereof. Her weight seemed to be a great discussion, she'd resigned long ago that her appearance would never be good enough, posh enough, thin enough. Felix practically throws a tantrum, speaking directly to Abel with a coldness that Venetia simply will not abide by. She scoffs and shakes her head, but cannot help but follow it up with a bit of laughter as Felix truly leaves. Her eyes return to Abel, and appear a bit brighter. She pauses a moment before moving to stand beside him, her hand resting atop the one he has wrapped around the spoon to stir his sauce. "Thank you." Vennie whispers. "your'e sweet." she concludes, standing on tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek.