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"Ready?" he asked, for the forth time, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you back against that familiar, solid wall of him.
Still primping, certain you'll never look as good as you want to for this event, you touch up your make up for the millionth time, pat back an invisible strand of not really out of place hair and look at the two of you in the mirror.
No one is going to believe that he's with you - even decked out like you are.
But he was with you - voluntarily, even - and he'd never once given you cause to doubt the sincerity of his words or actions, not even when you'd been months apart.
And now it was time to lord him over those people who had been most unpleasant to you in your life - those mean bitches from high school.
You couldn't believe that he even wanted to go to this. You'd thrown the invite into the trash as soon as you recognized what it was, but he'd fished it out, asking, "What's this?"
You looked over your shoulder at him, standing there looking completely delectable in running shorts and not much else. You looked him up and down, from his huge bare feet to that gorgeous ginger hair on his face and head, then back down again, closing your mouth quickly when you realized that the drool was about to run down the side of your chin.
"That? It's just my tenth year reunion." There was no way you were going to go back to spend any time with those assholes. You'd done your four years in purgatory. There were one or two friends you still kept in touch with from your class, but the rest of them were right out of the movie "Mean Girls", and you had absolutely no interest in given any of those bastards the chance to hurl their soul-destroying barbs at you one more time.
Hippo
Loser
Blimpy
And those were the nicer ones.
You could still hear them ringing in your head - the pain was still there, still fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
"You don't want to go?" he asked, catching you around the waist as you walked by him and hauling you up against him.
You snorted. "Fuck no. Why would I want to spend one more second with a group of people who hated my guts and took every opportunity to belittle and harass and bully me? The kids in my class are the reason I nearly flunked out in my senior year, because I was spending so much time either crying in the bathroom or playing hooky to avoid their hateful remarks." You hadn't intended to, but the memories of what had been said to you and how you had been treated, brought tears to your eyes, choking you up so badly that you could barely finish your sentence.
Tom hugged you close, rubbing his hand up and down your back soothingly. "I'm sorry, my darling. I didn't mean to stir up bad memories." Then he kissed away your tears, cajoling, "Please smile for me? I can't possibly go for my run when I've just made you miserable."
He could make you smile any time. When a man like that looked at you as if you made the sun rise and set, how could you possibly resist?
You gave him a somewhat tentative smile, and he kissed the tip of your nose. "There's my beautiful girl."
He turned away from you to pull his t-shirt over his head, and reach for his phone. Then he stopped dead a few feet from the door to turn back to you. "I don't mean to belabor the point, love, but consider this: you could, if you wanted to, and the decision is entirely up to you, of course, arrive at your reunion in - where was it?"
"East Bumfu -" you responded automatically, then corrected, "Springfield. It's in - ."
"I remember. Well, you could arrive in a stretch limo, dressed to kill in designer duds, dripping jewels, and on the arm of a gorgeous, internationally famous movie star who would dote on you every second you were there . . . "
You cocked your head to one side, teasing, "Oh, wow, you'd ask Robert Downey Junior to do that for me?"
He growled low in his throat, eyes darkening threateningly as you giggled and came to hug him, kissing him with exaggerated enthusiasm all over his face to soothe his bruised ego, surprised first of all that he'd made the offer, and secondly that he'd phrased it like that, knowing that - although everything he'd said was true - he didn't think of himself in that way at all.
But it was wonderfully touching of him to do so for your benefit - to offer to be there with you. You knew he would be completely true to his word - that he rarely took his eyes off you anyway, but that he'd make damned sure he never did that night in particular.
His arms crept around you as he pulled you to him. "We could make a little mini vacation of it, if you like. Go see your family?"
You'd been dying to introduce him to them . . . and it had been a while since you'd been on holiday together.
Giving you a loud smooch, Tom left to take his run, saying as he did so, "No pressure. Just think about it and let me know so I can make the arrangements."
"Thank you, Tom," you said sincerely.
He stopped just as he was ducking out the door, catching your eye to vow, "Anything for you, my love. Anything at all."
So here you were, in the small town you grew up in, going to the big resort inn that had the largest reception room in the area - which wasn't saying much - your limo having just pulled up to the door.
There were people milling about in front, and you would definitely be making an entrance.
Tom turned to you. "Ready to make some mean bitches jealous?" he asked with a truly feral grin. He'd heard all the stories of how you had been treated in high school, and was more than willing to play his part to the hilt.
After all, it wouldn't be that much different from how he always treated you. He was an amazing man - kind, considerate, attentive, a lusty, dominant lover who was just right jealous - although he had no need to be.
And he was more appreciative of your curves than you thought any man every would be - especially someone like him, who could have any woman he wanted.
As he said to you, repeatedly, patiently, at every opportunity and especially any time he heard you putting yourself down, he did have the woman he wanted.
You were just having a hard time accepting the fact that that was you.
But not here, not now.
He exited the limo first, rebuttoning the jacket of his exquisitely tailored black tux, then reaching a hand in to you to help you out. You were in a beautiful velvet and tulle number - black with hints of silver - that hugged all every lovely bit of you.
There were big, drippy diamonds at your ears and a pretty, more demure necklace of them around your neck, and then, of course, there was the Gibraltar sized engagement ring Tom had given you last Christmas.
He looked down at you and winked slowly, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" he whispered sexily in a way that melted the panties right off you.
Taking a deep breath and squeezing his arm, you whispered, "Yes, please."
The room was crowded and noisy, decorated with balloons and lights and gorgeous white roses, but everything seemed to come to a halt when you entered. Tom fussed a bit around you as if everyone wasn't staring at the two of you, asking if you were chilly before taking your wrap, then reappearing immediately at your side.
People seemed to swarm around you, only it wasn't you they were interested in, and, of course, your first impulse was to try to slink away from him, out of the limelight. But Tom held you tight against him, deftly turning every inquiry made to him back to you, quickly and politely establishing that the only way to him was through you.
Suddenly, everyone was your friend, asking after you and obviously looking for an introduction to Tom, who guided you gracefully through the crowd.
"Are you peckish, darling?" he asked, bending down a bit. "Would you like me to get you a plate or punch or something?"
"Yes, please."
He took you in his arms and gave you a lingering kiss as everyone stared, mouths open, after which he growled, loudly enough for them to hear, "I'll be right back. Don't move."
All the women - even the ones you recognized as having been obnoxious to you - immediately crowded around you wanting to know how you met him. Well, not all of the women. You could see that he was being surrounded by them at the buffet, too, but you were completely, surprisingly relaxed, even when you saw that bombshell Lisa Spencer, who had had been the leader of your band of tormenters, as well as the most popular girl in school who had her choice of any guy she wanted - and was still a complete knockout - sidled up to him, practically throwing herself at him. But Tom very obviously only had eyes for you.
You could see him being his usual gentlemanly self as he talked to her, but his eyes constantly darted to you and before long, he excused himself to fetch what he wanted and return to your side with a small plate of foods he knew you liked and a cup of punch. "Shall we find a table and sit down, love?"
You did, and the crowd followed you. You hadn't accompanied Tom to many functions yet, and you weren't quite used to it, although he handled it with his usual aplomb, keeping his arm draped over your shoulders and your hand on his lap when you weren't rising to hug the few people who had attended that you considered to be friends and the occasional teacher, who were promptly and warmly introduced to Tom.
Soon there were a slew of occupied tables surrounding you, but then the DJ began to play a slow, romantic song from your senior year, and Tom stood, extending his hand, palm up, to you.
With a little bow, he asked, "May I have this dance, my lady?"
Although dancing wasn't your thing, you trusted Tom with your life, and went into his arms without hesitation, letting him glide you around the room. "Well, are you enjoying yourself so far, my beautiful girl?"
You never knew what to do when he called you things like that - saying something in kind back to him would ring false, somehow. But you bit your lip and looked up at him with a huge self-satisfied grin, saying, "Fuck yes!"
Tom threw back his head and laughed at your audacity. "Good. That is exactly as I intended." Then his demeanor changed to a more serious one. "Is there anyone here you need me to beat the crap out of?"
You smile up at him. "No, Thomas, my wonderful man, there isn't. But thank you for the offer."
"I would, you know," he pressed gallantly.
"I wouldn't let you. Can you just see the tweets?" Blushing, you sigh as you lay your head on his shoulder.
Drawing you even closer, he kissed the top of your head. "I cannot bear the thought of how miserable these people made you, or how they hurt you." He stopped you in the middle of the dance floor, people still swirling around you, to kiss you in a manner that no one would take for platonic.
When he leaned back to break off the kiss, he tipped your chin up, looking surprisingly serious. "I'm sorry. I think it was a mistake to bring you here. These people don't deserve another moment of your attention or your life." Then he winked outrageously down at you. "But let's give them something to talk about when we leave."
Suddenly he grabbed your hand, tugged you to the table to gather your things, then headed for the door. Lisa and her crew tried to stop you near the door, but Tom, in his oh so proper accent, so much as said outright that he was having a hard time keeping his hands off you, and that you had to leave, leaving stunned expressions in his wake as he hustled you out the door and towards the waiting limo.
"Tom!" you hissed as you made your way to the door that was being held open for you by the driver while Tom was pushing at you from behind, his hands on your hips. "All of those people think that we're going back to our hotel room to have sex!"
"And they'd be right!" he growled back at you, practically chasing you into the backseat of the limo.