#Day Two: A Fresh Start | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karatekels · 1 year ago

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TIGmas Day #6 – Wrapped in Red

Today’s TIGmas gift is technically for @argum3ntativ3dr3amgirl, but really it’s for me, because they asked for a prompt that takes place in the Fresh Start universe! I’ve missed this couple so much (and also Victor), and your request was so much fun to write! This might be my favourite CK Terry oneshot in awhile, but I’m looking forward to trying to top it!

TW: Victor meddling, public sluttiness and kinda sorta roleplay, semi-public sex, oral sex (male receiving) fingering (female receiving), ice play, taking dirty pictures of someone unawares (though if they knew they’d be willing), dom/sub dynamics, fucking with the propriety of high society for kicks

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Wrapped in Red

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Reader’s POV:

Karla wordlessly hands you a stack of mail, and you can tell by the thick, matte coating on the envelope who it’s from. You suspect Karla noticed too, which would explain why she had all put fled the room after passing it off to you.

You debate just throwing into the fireplace.

Without question, the missive was sent by Lucy Rogers, socialite and daughter of a billionaire that flitted around the elite social circles you were now somewhat acquainted with, fitting in far better into Terry’s world than you know you ever will. She’s a gorgeous platinum blonde close in age to you, and has made no secret about having her eyes on Terry Silver, and had from before you’d even met the man. At every event where she had been in attendance, she had flirted audaciously with him, not even trying to be subtle about it, nevermind the fact that you’d been with Terry going on three years now.

Unfortunately, her status amongst Terry’s associates means that she is around him a lot more than you would like, and you have to keep your temper in check, not wanting to embarrass the love of your life by announcing to his friends and business partners what a complete cow Lucy was, no matter how much she deserved it.

You’re still scowling at the letter, the rest of the mail forgotten when Terry comes downstairs in his red silk robe.

“Worried about letter bombs?” he jokes, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss your cheek.

“It wouldn’t be surprising, knowing who it’s from,” you snap back, not in the mood for teasing. You tear open the envelope with far more force than necessary, the champagne-coloured paper irritatingly reminding you of platinum blonde. Sure enough, it’s an invitation to a charity gala on Christmas Eve, just over a week away, and it makes you feel like a sad, slowly deflating balloon.

Terry, who was returned with coffee and set your mugs on the table, sits next to you on the couch, throwing your slippered feet onto his lap before snatching the invitation from your hands without a word. You poke him in the thigh with your toes, grumpy.

“It’s an event for charity, right before Christmas,” he comments helpfully as though you couldn’t read. “Those are two of your favourite things!”

“It’s at Lucy’s.”

Terry sighs, placing the invitation onto the table and moving to stroke your legs comfortingly.

“What did she do now?”

“It’s not what she’s doing now, it’s what she’s done every time I’ve had to see her!”

“Which is?”

You pull your legs off of his lap, curling up in an angry ball and glaring at him over the tops of your knees.

“Don’t be obtuse, Terrance,” you growl at him in warning, temper flaring as you see the corners of his lips turn up in an amused smile. Of course, the big jerk liked it when you got jealous. “I’m sick of watching her throw herself at you! She’s not even subtle about it!”

“A lot of people flirt with me,” he starts smuggling, but stops when you huffily start to get up to leave, catching your wrist and pulling you onto his lap while you half-heartedly try to get free. “What I mean is, why is it Lucy in particular that bothers you so much?”

You cross your arms defensively, knowing you’re acting like a petulant child, but you can’t help it; the woman positively infuriates you. After a long moment of you not responding, Terry’s finger comes under your chin, forcing your gaze upward to meet his.

“It’s not that I think you would cheat on me or anything,” you admit, wanting to make that perfectly clear. Terry had spent years of your relationship pushing past your insecurities and doubts and making sure you understood the depth of his devotion to you. His expression relaxes somewhat, and he seems relieved to hear that your trust in him hasn’t wavered, so you continue.

“It’s just, even though I know you’d never do anything… it’s awful, watching someone hitting on you when I’m right next to you. Especially since we’ve been together for so long now – it’s pretty obvious we’re not a quick fling to each other!”

“You know I only have eyes for you, love. You can stay with me the whole time, and I’ll make sure you’re the focus of my evening, just like you are anywhere else.”

His powers of persuasion are really laying it on thick this morning, but you’re just so tired of having to deal with this crap. It was one thing for people to not respect you – hell, you’re still wondering what Terry sees in you – but to have to sit there and just take it, to not be able to say anything back… for Terry to never say anything back… it’s really gotten to be too much for you.

“I really, really don’t want to go to this, Terry,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from shaking and giving away just how upset this situation makes you.

“Not even just for a few hours?” he asks, trying to compromise – after his initial reluctance towards the concept, he’s since become quite adept at making deals with you to get what he wants. “You know these philanthropic events are important for maintaining my image.”

“Can’t you just go without me?”

“Can’t you just ignore it?” he fires back.

“Don’t you think you’re acting like just a bit of a hypocrite?” you snap, not even wanting to think about what would happen to someone if they were stupid enough to be as brazen towards you as Lucy was towards Terry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands, his voice dropping to that soft, dangerous tone that has the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. You push past the tension, needing to get all this out in the open.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you sic Victor on some poor unsuspecting man who happened to look at me for a second too long!” you growl, flailing until he lets you off his lap to stand in front of him, your hands on your hips. “Or what you’ve said and done yourself! And those people weren’t anywhere near as forward as Lucy!”

“Those people were nobodies,” he retorts, as if that excuses anything.

“I’m a nobody, Terry!” you yell, backing away and out of his reach. “And she never lets me forget it! So go to this stupid party if you have to, but you’re going to have to go without me.”

“Fine,” he hisses, getting to his feet in one swift motion and brushing past you. “Do what you want.”

He leaves the living room without another word, heading back to your shared bedroom. You feel both hollow and completely overwhelmed with sadness, the way you always did on the rare occasions that you and Terry argued. You could both be so headstrong…

You quietly tiptoe to the bottom of the stairs, hearing the shower running in the master bathroom. Creeping up the stairs, you find the bathroom door closed and, upon closer inspection, locked. You bite your bottom lip, knowing that it means Terry wants to be left alone for awhile. Feeling dejected, you make your way to the closet and get dressed before heading back downstairs. Perhaps walking through the gardens would help lift your spirits, or at least distract you until you and Terry cooled off.

“Freeze.”

You spin around to face Victor, your arms crossed. “You know, that stopped being funny within the first week of me moving in here. Can’t you start a conversation by saying anything else?”

“You’re in fine form this morning,” Victor comments, completely unperturbed by your bad mood.

“I’m going to get a lot worse if you don’t get to the point,” you snap. Your relationship with Victor is complicated; you genuinely like and appreciate the man, but he could piss you off like nobody else. You tap your foot impatiently, but when he doesn’t say anything you roll your eyes, starting to walk past him on your way to the garden.

“You know, instead of hiding away or watching the bimbo try to seduce him, you could one-up her.”

How much of your conversation with Terry had he heard?

You stop in your tracks, turning in place to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about giving her a taste of her own medicine, showing her that you’re not fucking around.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” you ask, not completely opposed to the idea. He walks the short distance to the front door, opening it and revealing one of Terry’s Porsche’s parked right out front.

“Get in the car.”

---

Victor is being needlessly cryptic, ignoring all your questions as he drives you from Malibu all the way into Pasadena. At least he’s well-versed in how to manage a brooding Terry, helping you craft a text message letting him know that you need some space and that Victor is with you.

“It’ll keep him from hunting you down,” he explains knowingly and with a degree of pride, as though he approved of Terry’s possessive (not to mention obsessive) side.

He turns into a quieter, nicer suburb on the north side of the city, driving up to a simple, pretty home.

“So, where are we? Who are we meeting? Why are we here?” you ask, insisting on having at least some information before willingly walking into a strange home, even if you fully believe that Victor would never let you walk into a situation that could cause you harm.

“Her name is Charlotte,” he says, pausing in his explanation to get out of the car, walking over to your door and holding it open until you grumpily agree to get out of the passenger seat. “She’s a seamstress, and the granddaughter of Terry’s favourite old secretary. She’ll be able to help you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at him incredulously. “Victor, do you mean to tell me that you drove me all the way to Pasadena to get me a dress?!”

He gives you a cold look. “Guess Lucy’s gonna get a shot at the boss after all…”

A cold pit of dread and nausea settles in your stomach at the thought. “Wait, wait! I’m sorry, please help me!”

Victor briefly flashes you a wide smile before proceeding up the driveway to the front door, knocking on it. You let out a breath, relieved you hadn’t pushed away your only ally, and resolve to be more polite to him, at least for the time being.

A middle aged woman answers the door, her brown hair up in an elegant, if old-fashioned, bun. She takes note of your half-concealed form behind Victor, but her eyes light up at the sight of the man.

“Victor!” she exclaims delightedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Morning, Char’. I need a favour.”

Victor��s POV: (HOLY HECK IT’S VICTOR’S POV)

Once he gets you inside Charlotte’s house, the real challenge is getting you to strip down to your underwear in front of a stranger. Eventually, he ends up yelling at you through the bathroom door to “grow a pair”, which got you to silently grumble but ultimately agree to let Charlotte have a look at you and take your measurements. The two of you emerge sometime later, you wearing a robe and glaring at him as though daring him to comment on it. He rolls his eyes; you really are a brat.

“I’ll make you something from scratch, of course,” Charlotte informs you, digging through the mountains of fabric surrounding her desk as she searches for her sketch pad. “But being able to try some of these on can help us figure out what will look best on you for the occasion.”

He’s particularly fond of Charlotte, thinking about their decades-long history as she asks you some basic questions. She reminds him of Margaret: professional, maternal, and no-nonsense, though a good deal warmer than either her grandmother or himself. He’s protective of her, as he is of anyone affiliated with Terry Silver, but he counts their friendship among the strongest he has. Always good at reading people, Charlotte had been the one to help him figure out the complexities of their employer and how to handle him in different situations.

He hopes that their dynamic duo will be able to understand you in the same way.

“I want to look good, but not too slutty or anything,” he hears you explain to the woman, and he can’t keep from rolling his eyes.

“She dresses on the modest side, Char’, but we need to get her a few steps past that. She’s trying to outshine Lucy Rogers.”

“Lucy Rogers?!” Charlotte repeats, looking over her eyeglasses at you with renewed interest.

“Oh, great, you know her too?” you grumble, brows furrowing. Victor thinks that you need to spend less time being intimidated by the bimbo, and more time working on your confidence.

“Victor is right, dear. If that woman is your competition, you’re going to need to step out of your comfort zone and be a bit more daring.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear she doesn’t seem to have any fans in this room,” you joke, picking up on the older woman’s tone, “but I won’t be any competition if I’m tripping over my own two feet with my boobs popping out.”

Victor can’t help the snort that escapes him, busying himself by flipping through magazines and avoiding eye contact with you. He’s come to really enjoy your dry brand of humour, not that he’d ever admit as much to you.

The discussion goes on for quite some time, with Victor chiming in to give his two cents when he felt it was warranted. You try on a few different dresses from Charlotte’s collection, and quite a few pages of her sketch book are filled out with a few ideas. Ultimately, you decide on a relatively modest dress in a deep green, cold shoulders and a midi skirt. He doesn’t comment on it, but he knows it’s not nearly enough to get the job done.

The moment you’ve disappeared behind the bathroom door to change back into your clothes, he’s approaching Charlotte, flipping through the other sketches quickly and finally choosing one.

“This one,” he says with confidence, keeping his voice low so that you don’t overhear. “Make her this one instead.”

You’d rejected it immediately, saying that it was “too Jessica Rabbit” for you, despite that being exactly the fucking point of this little outing. He’d seen the look on your face when Charlotte had shown it to you; you know that it’s perfect, you’re just lacking the confidence to wear it.

“Are you sure she’ll wear it?” Charlotte asks him quietly, though he can tell that she agrees with him.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he says firmly, knowing that he’s talked you into a lot worse when it came to Terry Silver. Charlotte marks the page, closing the book so that you don’t notice, then looks up at him with a smile.

“You really like this one, don’t you?” she asks him, and he huffs, playing it off cool.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“She’s the only one I’ve ever liked.”

---

Christmas Eve – Reader’s POV:

There’s a knock at your bedroom door, and you place the curling iron back in its stand, hurrying to answer it. Pulling it open, you find Victor standing there with a garment bag over his arm.

“You’re not ready yet?” he complains. “He left here two hours ago.”

“I just want everything perfect,” you reply, too nervous to even snap at him. He tosses the bag at you and you snatch it out of the air, moving to lay it on the bed.

“You’ve got thirty minutes, tops, and then I’m coming in here and dragging you to Lucy’s regardless of what state you’re in.”

You ignore him, shutting the door and returning to the bag to put the dress on; you could finish your hair and makeup once you were dressed. Pulling down the zipper, your eyes are greeted by a flash of red rather than the expected emerald green. Taking the dress out, you see that this is one of the rejected designs Charlotte had come up with for you. Had she given you the wrong dress by mistake? There’s no way you can wear this in public!

You hurry back to your bedroom door, throwing it open to find Victor leaning against a wall in the hallway, looking at his phone.

“Victor, this isn’t the right dress.”

“Yes it is,” he replies, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“You’re not even looking!” you snap, and he slowly lifts his head, looking at the silk garment in your hand.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Victor, you know I asked for the green one. I can’t go out wearing this, it’s way too revealing! I’m not –”

“Don’t be an idiot, Y/N,” he interrupts you, and your jaw snaps shut as you bristle at the insult. You hate when he talks to you like a child. “If you’re going to go to the trouble of doing this, you’re going to do it right. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t –”

“I’m going to say this once and once only, and then we’re nevergoing to speak of this again,” he hisses, glaring at you. “You are a beautiful woman, just as beautiful as Lucy fucking Rogers; far more beautiful if you account for personality. I have overheard far more of you and Terry together than I ever wanted to, and so I am sure when I tell youthat you are fully capable of outshining her when it comes to acting like a little succubus in front of everyone and showing them all that you’ve got Terry wrapped around your finger. Now go put the dress on, finish getting ready, and let’s get this over with.”

Your cheeks are flaming as he finishes his rant, and he spares you any further indignity by reaching over and closing the bedroom door. You exhale deeply, a sheepish grin spreading across your face as you strip and slip the dress on, hardly able to look at yourself – you’ll lose your nerve if you do.

“Hey Victor?” you call out to him as you finish getting ready. He makes an unintelligible grunt in response. “When you say you’ve overheard –”

“Is that never talking about this again?” he interrupts you, and you giggle, swapping out your black heels for red pumps that make you feel like a pin-up girl. You suppose that’s exactly what you look like.

“Sorry, sorry!” you say hastily, not wanting him to stop helping you now that you’ve decided to do this. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, making sure that everything is in place, and notice that your underwear is slightly visible through the dress. Glad you caught your mistake before someone else did, you shimmy the underwear down your legs, and move to head towards your dresser to find a pair that won’t show panty lines through the tight red fabric.

You pause about halfway to the closet, biting your lip. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to the front door. Victor was right; if you were going to do this, you’re going to do it right.

You throw on a coat, covering up before throwing the door open, wanting to spare both you and Victor the awkward situation. But seriously, how much as he heard over the years?

He nods at you, and the two of you descend the stairs and head towards the car, settling into the passenger seat and trying not to feel too nervous. Fortunately, it’s just a quick drive over to the party, so you don’t have too long to dwell on what you’re about to do.

“So why do you hate Lucy so much, anyway?” you ask as you approach the long, winding driveway. Victor keeps his eyes forward, lips twitching as he bites back a smile.

“She makes you seem like a mature, reasonable woman,” he finally gets out with a snicker. “I’ve settled for the lesser of two evils.”

Coming from Victor, the snide comment is practically a dedication of his support, and you grin at him.

“You’re turning into a real sap in your old age, Victor,” you tease, quickly darting forward to kiss his cheek before he can dodge you. “Thanks for everything!”

You climb out of the car before he can cuss you out, and you make your way into the imposing manor, your eyes on the prize.

Terry’s POV:

He hates these ostentatious events normally, having spent enough time peacocking around the rich and famous during his life time, but being here without you adds a new level of torture to the evening. But, he didn’t do so much damage control on his image over the past few decades just to throw it away now, no matter how much he wants to.

He’s been avoiding Lucy as much as courtesy would allow, but everywhere he turns her lithe, blonde form slinks up on him, trying to make conversation. He’s been able to deftly avoid all her attempts to touch him, having used similar tactics (far more successfully) himself in his attempts to ingratiate himself to someone for one reason or another over the years.

She is relentless in her pursuit, sending him another dazzling smile, practically thrusting her ample cleavage into his line of sight at every opportunity. He’s sure any other man would be counting his blessings at such overt seduction by a beautiful, wealthy heiress nearly forty years his junior.

Every other man didn’t have you.

It’s astonishing, really, how little interest he has in other women. It’s been this way from the very minute he met you, like he had tunnel vision that blinded him to any other woman, not that he minds. He has impeccable taste; he found the best and made it his own, and had no need to look elsewhere.

He wishes you could understand that.

Still, he supposes he can’t be too offended by your unwillingness to come here tonight. Lucy was determined to make her advances, and he let her get a lot further than he had any of the men that had thought approaching you was wise, albeit only for propriety’s sake.

Half the time he hadn’t even needed to step in when you were approached by an interested party; you had been more than happy to put them in their place with some snarky comment or outright indignation before scanning your surroundings, looking for him to tuck yourself by his side where you belonged.

He hadn’t needed to get involved, but he made sure to wordlessly convey his displeasure, even if it was only after you’d turned your back on them and started to walk away, staring down at them smugly, eyes flashing a warning in case they needed a reminder of just exactly who they were fucking with.

As you had pointed out during your fight last week, any man stupid enough to try anything more than look at you had been dealt with more violently, either by his hand or Victor’s. It was important to send a message to others who thought that they could touch what was his.

“Such a shame that Y/N couldn’t be here tonight, Terrence,” Lucy says with mock disappointment, appearing by his side once again and standing far closer than was socially acceptable.

He agrees with conviction, his eyes looking right past her as he tries to calculate who else he needs to speak to before he can get out of here. What he really wants is a quiet Christmas Eve at home with you before he spends the next day spoiling you rotten; he loves the shy smile and the snarky comment that he gets every time he gives you a present, something that takes him back to his early attempts to win you over. The appreciative sex afterwards is just a nice bonus.

Lucy is chattering about something, but he isn’t paying attention, having seen a flash of something in the crowd. If his eyes weren’t so accustomed to finding you in a crowd, admiring you, they may have passed you by. He blinks, confirming that you are here tonight, after all.

Ordinarily his mind would be racing with questions – How did you get here? Why didn’t you come with him tonight, or at least tell him? – but your choice of outfit for the evening has his mind going strangely blank.

Contrary to your typical modest attire, you’re here in a cherry red, knee-length silk dress with a daring slit up one thigh, the bodice tight around the curves of your waist and breasts. Your hair frames your face in tousled curls, your makeup dramatic and eye-catching, and your gait is confident as you strut towards them both in a pair of red pumps.

You look like sin personified.

“Well well,” you purr as you approach, completely ignoring Lucy standing to his side. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” you tease, playing with his tie as you pointedly step into his personal space, your nose wrinkling as you look at the spectacular décor in Lucy’s extravagant ballroom with disdain. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stare up at him with a playful expression, his cock twitching against his thigh. It’s been ages since you two did any sort of sexual roleplay, especially in public. He’s honestly a little flustered by your sudden appearance and your attitude, stammering as he asks what you’re doing here.

“What, a girl can’t surprise her man on Christmas Eve?” you reply with a coy smile, batting your eyes up at him.

“A girl can, if she’d bothered to RSVP,” Lucy seethes bitterly as she glares at the miniscule amount of space between Terry’s body and your own. Neither of you so much as blink, let alone break eye contact with one another to acknowledge the other woman.

“Oh relax, Lucy. I’m not here for the food and parting gifts,” you reply with a roll of your eyes, pointedly looking him up and down with a wicked grin that has him slipping his hands into his pockets to keep from snatching you up and having his way with you, propriety be damned.

“I would’ve hoped you’d taught Y/N better manners by now, Terry. She’s clearly still not used to behaving properly in our circles,” Lucy cuts in icily, and this gets his hackles up. Overzealous attempts to seduce him were easy to ignore, but insulting you in front of him was absolutely unacceptable.

“Actually, I RSVP’d for her in the hopes that she would be able to join me this evening after all,” Terry cuts in, trying to diffuse the situation before it became an all-out catfight. “Go and check the invitations, and then you can come back and apologize to Y/N.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, and after a moment of speechlessness Lucy storms off. You watch her leave with a small, pleased smile, before looking up at him.

“Did you really RSVP for me?” you ask hopefully, your femme fatale routine slipping a bit as you bite your lip nervously.

“It is always my plan to have you by my side, my dear," he croons, and the smile you give him is dazzling.

“Well now I feel extra silly for coming here tonight!”

“Why is that?”

“You clearly don’t have the reservations about stopping Lucy in her tracks the way I thought you did.”

He frowns at you, disappointed. “Did you really think I would tolerate her speaking about you like that?”

“No, I guess not,” you admit with a sigh, avoiding his eyes. “I’m just tired of people questioning my place in your life, Terry.”

He casually wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you off to one side of the ballroom for a bit more privacy.

“How long have you felt this way, Y/N?” he asks, gently but firmly.

“I don’t know, a couple of days after we met?” Your tone is teasing, but your eyes reflect insecurities.

He sighs, brow furrowing in frustration. “What more can I do to dispel that ridiculous notion?”

“Nothing. You can’t control other people, Terry, no matter how much I know you’d like to. Especially since you have to maintain a decent relationship with these people. It’s just something I’ll have to work on accepting.”

“I’ll walk out on these people and never look back if you ask me to.” It’s a fairly empty promise, as he knows you would never request such a thing of him, but he hopes it conveys his devotion to you.

“I’ll make up an opportunity to speak to her privately and try to patch things up or something; I don’t want to give her any ammunition,” you offer instead, and he’d give away every cent he has before letting you defer to Lucy Rogers – or anyone other than him, for that matter.

"Or, if that goes South, I’ll just yell at her then!” you say with a shrug, your grin slightly wicked at the thought of telling off your rival; not that she posed any competition in his eyes. “I just want to put the issue to bed.”

“I’ll put you to bed,” Terry purrs, gripping your hips possessively. He’s always loved when you turn that temper towards someone else, and the thought of it being in regards to your claim on him gives it an extra edge that he likes very much. His hands drift lower and lower, subtly tracing the curve of your ass several times as he’s unable to detect a panty line.

“I was in such a rush to get to you that I may have forgotten to put some things on,” you inform him while looking like the epitome of innocence, confirming his theory that you were going commando. The flirty little pout you give him makes him want to put you on your knees, running the head of his cock along that full lower lip.

He hisses, eyes scanning the room for his options, before taking you by the hand and tugging you out of the ballroom and into a hallway. Spotting serving trays laden with spare bottles of champagne on ice, he impulsively grabs one of the ice buckets in his free hand as he leads you to an empty powder room, missing the smirk you throw over your shoulder. It was time to make the depth of his devotion to you clear to everyone present, yourself included.

The minute the door closes behind you he’s got you pressed up against it, kissing you fiercely as he fumbles for the lock next to you. He wants no interruptions, just unfettered access to you. How you managed to make yourself more and more desirable over the course of your time together baffles him, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought, his hands running up your legs and under your dress, confirming that you are in fact bare beneath it. He growls into your mouth, one hand coming up to fist in your curls as he ravishes you.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, parading around in public looking like a high-class escort? When everyone knows you already belong to me?” he demands, speaking in a timbre that echoes his desire.

“Do they?” you ask breathlessly, squirming back against the wood of the door and baring your neck to him. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone knew.”

You give him a pointed look, your tone thick with implications.

He peels you off the door and into his arms, leveling you with a stern look.

“Are you suggesting that I don’t appreciate what I’ve got?”

“No, I’m suggesting that other people don’t appreciate it,” you grumble, glaring at the floor.

He lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look up at him.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Madam?” he murmurs, the cheeky pet name making a fond smile cross your features as you think back to the first week you’d met, when he’d played along with your little game of treating him like an escort to teach nosy restaurant patrons a lesson about judging the two of you.

“I didn’t think much further past surprising you and dragging you away from Lucy,” you admit, embarrassed. He smiles, amused at your antics; you never thought things through until you were right in the thick of it, when it was too late.

“I can do you one better,” he purrs, his hands running down to your hips, giving them a possessive squeeze that has you biting back a whimper. He lifts you up to sit you on the counter in front of him, your dress too tight for him to spread your legs enough to stand between them. “How about I make you come for me right here, right now, so that anyone who comes by to eavesdrop knows exactly who I belong to?”

He knows he owns every single inch of you, mind, body and soul, and that you know that as well, but he gets the sense that you still doubt the degree to which you possess him. This seems as good a time as any to prove it to you. He slips a hand between your thighs, slowly working his way up under your skirt and distracting you while his other hand reaches into the ice bucket, retrieving an ice cube.

“Terry!” you moan softly, throwing your head back as you spread your legs as wide as you can, straining the fabric. Feeling devious, he leans forward into the crook of your neck, nudging your hair out of the way with his nose before laying hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of your neck, feeling you turn your head to give him better access. Perfect.

Slowly, so as not to alert you to his scheme, he brings his hand up to your shoulder, reluctantly pulling his lips away from you so he can watch your face as he runs the ice cube over the same spot. You make an audible gasp, your eyes going wide as they open in surprise.

“F-Fuck!” you whimper, squirming for him on the counter and biting your lip as you try to keep quiet. He can’t have that.

He trails the ice cube down your collarbone to your cleavage, leaving it right over your heart.

“I don’t want you keeping quiet, my dear,” he purrs, running his thumb along your lower lip and pulling it out of your mouth. “I want Lucy and every other person who so much as thinks about coming between us to hear what I do to you.”

He slowly bends down, bracing himself with hands to either side of you on the counter, using his lips to pull the ice cube from between your breasts and into his mouth, his tongue snaking out to warm your skin. You sigh, clutching his head to you, as though he’d plan on going anywhere.

You, however, have other plans, shoving him away from you with a gleam in your eye as you slip off the counter, grabbing his belt as you sink to your knees.

“After all our time together, you think I still don’t know how to read you, Terry Silver?” you ask coyly, quickly pulling his cock out of his pants. “I saw what you wanted from the minute you laid eyes on me here tonight.”

You open your mouth, giving the head of his dick a kittenish lick while staring up at him. He bites his tongue, fighting the urge to take control and choke you with his cock down your throat until your pretty makeup runs down your face along with your tears. His cock twitches against your tongue at the thought. He can have you like that when he gets you home.

“Christ, Y/N,” he groans, grabbing a fistful of your hair even as he tries to let you keep control. “I brought you back here to get you off,” he says with amusement.

“Funny, I thought you brought me back here so that everyone would know we belong to each other,” you retort, slowly tugging your spaghetti straps down your arms – one easy tug at the fabric would have your chest bared and ready for him.

“Use me, love,” you beg him in a husky, breathy voice that sends fire through his veins. “I want them to hear what only I can give you.”

His vision blacks out for a moment, a product of the sheer intensity of his desire.

“Are you sure, darling?” he asks, his restraint hanging on by a thread.

“Please, Sir,” you whine, looking up at him like the desperate little slut you’ve become for him, and he gives in with a snarl, his free hand joining the other in your hair as he slips his cock into your mouth.

“Get to work, baby girl,” he orders in a rough voice, and you eagerly obey, hands reaching around him to the backs of his thighs to pull him closer as you take his length, swallowing him as instructed. “Oh fuck, that’s it.”

You moan deeply, your tongue teasing the underside of his cock, making his eyes roll into the back of his head. Christ, you were perfect.

“Pull your dress down,” he growls, and your hands immediately pull the cups of your bodice down, freeing your breasts. “Play with them.”

Whimpering as you choke on his cock, you reach up to your breasts, kneading them and pressing him together, your eyes still focused on his face, looking up to him for approval.

“Play with them the way you need,” he specifies, watching you with a hungry expression as you play roughly with your nipples, pinching and flicking and slapping them as you plead with your eyes. He wants them sensitive and sore before he even gets started with them.

“There’s my good girl,” he hisses approvingly, hips thrusting harder and faster as he uses your mouth. “Don’t stop.”

By the time he comes down your throat with a roar of your name, you’re a squirming, weepy mess, grinding against your heels wantonly as you try to stimulate your clit. Still, you swallow every drop of him and lick him clean for good measure, his perfect little fucktoy.

“Thank you, Sir,” you chirp up at him with a silly grin, well on your way to looking like the mess he adores. He reaches down, offering you his hand and gently but firmly pulling you to your feet and up against him, kissing you deeply, his hands moving down the curve of your spine to your plump ass, squeezing it firmly so that you moan against him.

“Such a good girl,” he croons approvingly. “Bend over the counter for me.”

You hasten to obey, yelping as your tender, abused nipples press against the cold marble countertop. Your ass looks delicious poured into the red silk fabric, straining against it, and he can see your thighs quivering with anticipation.

He quickly pulls his phone out of his inner coat pocket, taking a series of pictures without you being any the wiser. He wants to capture this moment. Then he reaches into the ice bucket, intentionally jostling the remaining ice cubes with his hand to watch you squirm, your fingernails digging into your palms as you clench your hands into fists, forcing yourself to stay still. Your patience has come a long way since he first got his hands on you. Selecting a larger cube, he comes to stand behind you, hips pressed against your ass in a way that has his cock twitching again. The things you did for an old man’s libido…

Reaching down with his free hand, he grips your chin, pulling you back to arch upward until you can see yourself, flushed and trembling, in the mirror’s reflection. Wordlessly, he brings the ice cube to your lips, teasing them.

“I want you to keep this between those sinful lips of yours for me,” he requests, and you shiver before opening your mouth and taking the ice from him. “That’s it, now watch yourself in the mirror. I want you to see what I do to you.”

Taking another cube from the bucket, he immediately sets about teasing you, running it from the nape of your neck down your spine to your waist before repeating the path in reverse, watching you whine around the ice and shake as you try to keep still. He continues his torment as he contemplates his next move, eyes roaming your body’s erogenous zones as he decides how to make you come apart from him.

“Turn over,” he commands, and you straighten up and flip over to lean back against the counter, the ice still in place between your lips. Reaching between your legs, he places his ice cube between your thighs, which immediately clench around the ice to keep it in place. It still drove him wild whenever you, his little spitfire, became submissive and obedient to him, his ego and need for control both more than appeased.

Practically purring, he bends to your mouth, taking the ice cube from between your lips and tucking it into his cheek before kissing you, his tongue seeking to thaw your chilled lips as you melt against him faster than any ice, kissing him back with the fierce passion of yours that he’s come to be addicted to.

“I love when you look like this,” he purrs, gripping your waist tightly, his thumbs to either side of your bellybutton. “Like a gorgeous little angel that I’ve taken and defiled.”

“Terry!” you cry desperately, and he can tell that you’re fighting the urge to either beg him for more or get yourself off. As much as he loves watching you play with yourself – his eyes flit down to your breasts, still red and clearly sore from your previous attentions – he wants to be in complete control of your pleasure from here on out.

Instead of replying, he lowers his face to your chest, moving the ice to the tip of his tongue as he teases your breasts with the ice, hearing the slap of your hand over your mouth to muffle your shrieks. He slaps your hip sternly, not letting up from his ministrations; you know better than that by now.

He continues his torment until the ice shrinks down substantially before sucking it back into his mouth, straightening up enough to kiss you and slip it back onto your tongue.

“Swallow it.”

You don’t even hesitate, right on the edge of orgasm, and gulp down the remaining ice in a depraved move that makes you both shudder.

“Such an obedient little thing,” he moans appreciatively as he watches, his hand sneaking between your legs to confirm that the second ice cube has completely melted, trails of cold water running down your legs. He yearns to get on his knees and lap his way up your thighs, drinking up the water like he was dying of thirst, but he’s had his fair share of pleasure so far this evening.

“How do you want me to make you come, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“However you want Terry, just please!” you whimper needily. Always so generous, even when it came to your own pleasure…

“I want you to decide, Y/N.”

“Your fingers or your cock,” you request breathlessly. “I want you to be able to talk to me…”

He makes a pleased, rumbling noise in his chest, feeling a wave of pride wash over him. He knows how much you love his dirty talk, how often it’s made you come, and how hard.

His fingers run up your thigh and under your tight skirt, and you spread your legs as much as the fabric will allow.

“My fingers then, since this dirty little dress is so tight I can’t fuck you without ripping it off of you,” he decides, easily slipping two fingers inside of you. You’re soaking wet, your arousal starting to stick to your upper thighs, and Terry seriously considers whether or not to ruin your pretty dress now, if only to bury his face between your legs to taste your sweet nectar.

Sticking to the plan, if only because he wants to shred this dress in the privacy of your own bedroom where he doesn’t have to worry about leaving evidence behind or finding a way to get you out of here naked, he pumps his fingers in and out of you, relishing in the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him as he strokes your g-spot. Your cries take on a higher and higher pitch as you moan shamelessly, and he knows that you’ve forgotten where you are, letting out a quiet chuckle. You’d be getting your wish then; everyone outside would know he was making you shriek like a wanton little harlot. His possessive side purrs at the thought of all the stuck-up snobs in the ballroom being made aware of the fact that Terry Silver was in a backroom with a woman more than thirty years his junior, making her scream in ecstasy.

Not just any woman, he amends to himself, his thumb moving to your clit and stroking it almost apologetically. His woman. The love of his life, the only woman he would have like this for the rest of his days.

He debates moving up the proposal he has planned for New Year’s Eve, wanting to stake his claim here and now so that there would be no doubt that you belonged to each other. But he’s had that planned for ages now, and you deserve something far more special, so he refocuses on his efforts to have you screaming his name.

“I can see I’m going to have to expand your wardrobe again,” he coos in your ear as he fingers you, adding a third finger and speeding up his thumb’s movement against your clit until you are bucking your hips desperately against him. “If you’re going to act like a needy whore then you’ll need to look the part, and this dress isn’t going to last the evening.”

“Take me home now and I’ll be the neediest whore you’ve ever seen.”

His fingers fuck you harder-faster-deeper at your words, making you chant his name like a mantra, and there’s never been a sweeter sound.

“Not until you come apart for me right here, right now, my dear. Let everyone hear what I do to you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, punctuating every word with a thrust of his fingers. His free hand grips your chin tightly, squeezing as he holds your gaze.

“Terry!” you pant, writhing against him as you gasp for breath. “I’m so close!”

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commands, his eyes bright as he stares at your face. “Come now!”

Your cry of “OH FUCK, TERRY YEEESSS!” echoes throughout the room spectacularly, and he’s sure everyone on the premises can hear you as you come, his fingers continuing to pump in and our of your tight pussy and tease your clit, drawing out your orgasm.

You start to slump down the bathroom cabinet onto the floor, your knees going weak, but he grabs you by the waist and lifts your boneless form up to sit on the counter before withdrawing his other hand from between your legs. Sinfully licking your juices from his fingers, he watches you catch your breath, chest heaving and face flushed. He’ll never get over the way you taste.

Having given you enough time to recover, he pulls you to the edge of the counter to kiss you breathless. When he eventually lets you up for air, he gently cradles your face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he looks down at you with adoration that borders on reverence.

“I love you so much, my princess,” he croons, feeling you lean into his touch. “You are what I cherish most in this world; you are my everything.” He’ll remind you of how much you mean to him all day, every day, if that’s what he needs to do to get the concept to stick in that stubborn head of yours.

“I love you, Terry; you’re my whole world,” you coo up at him sweetly, twining your arms around his neck and pulling him down so that your foreheads touch. “And I think we’ve proved our point to everyone!” you add with a giggle, your eyes darting over to the door nervously. He pulls you off the counter and to your feet, holding you close to him.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he starts, immediately feeling the tension in your shoulders relax; you haven’t gotten any better at making your own decisions, and he’s just given into your natural inclination to follow his lead at this point. He releases you, tugging off his suit jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, before reaching back to the champagne bucket, retrieving the bottle.

“Hide this under my jacket,” he instructs, and you take the bottle, using the other hand to hold the jacket shut. “We’re getting out of here, and I’m going to get you home and into our tub with that bottle. If Lucy or any other airhead is stupid enough to look at you the wrong way, remember that they’re jealous of you for having what they never will.”

You nod with determination, tucking yourself under his arm, and he kisses you on the temple as he pulls open the door, guiding you back into the party and towards the exit. He notices your hips swaying intentionally, your posture projecting more confidence, and smiles softly, pleased you finally seem to be accepting your role in his life.

Lucy hovers by the doorway, glaring at you with obvious distaste, and you look past her to the exit, trying not to start anything. He appreciates the effort; he desperately wants you out of here and into the bath. Champagne tasted best when licked off a lover, especially so when it was stolen from an enemy.

“Leaving so soon?” the blonde snaps at the two of you, and he feels you tense up under his arm. Giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he moves to speak on your behalf.

“Yes, unfortunately Y/N seems to be a little under the weather. Just look how flushed she is!” he teases, grinning as you smack him in the stomach. “I have to get her home to bed right away. Apologies for our early departure, Laura,” he manages to keep his voice steady despite desperately wanting to laugh at the woman’s face as he calls her the wrong name.

“Great party – I’m already looking forward to the next one!” you add cheekily, both of you stalking past her without looking back. He reaches into his phone as you stroll through the property’s extensive front gardens, making a call to Larry to meet you out front with the limo.

“Do you have any enemies that we can take down together? That was fun!”

You duck out from under his arm, and he watches you with amusement as you skip down the stone path, heels in your hands and swimming in his suit jacket. He’ll do anything if he can do it with you.

Nevermind making it to the bathtub; you’re naked before you’re halfway home, foam from the stolen bottle of champagne spattered across your naked body as you lay spread across the backseat of his limo.

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UGH, I love these versions of Terry and Reader so much it hurts! Hope you all enjoyed! I’m off from now through the first week of January, so hopefully the rest of the TIGmas posts will be along shortly. As always, thanks for reading!

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Terry Silver #Terry Silver x Reader #Cobra Kai #Fresh Start #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Romance #Christmas Fic #The Return of Victor #I Love These Two So Much

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