Work Text:
“ARE YOU READY to order yet, ma’am?”
Your jaw twitched as your lips forced themselves into a dazzling smile.
“Just a couple of more minutes. My guest will be here shortly.” You purred. “I’d love another glass of Merlot though. Thank you, honey.”
The poor boy was a stutter riddled mess as he scampered back into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet like a newborn foal. You laughed softly to yourself before your expression fell. You didn’t need to check the time to know that Lloyd was extremely late. The notification center of your phone was barren; no text, call, nothing. Nothing to notify you of a possible delay. No, you sat in the middle of one of the finest French restaurants clad in one hundred percent silk all by your lonesome. Rummaging through your purse, you fished out your tube of lipstick and compact mirror for a touch up. Your boyish waiter was right back at your side, topping off your glass with a shy grin and flush cheeks at the sight of your plump puckered lips.
Just as your body picked up the minuscule shift in energy, you shut your compact. There in front of you sat Lloyd fucking Hansen with that stupid grin on his face.
“Hi, baby doll.” He spoke charmingly. “You look absolutely stunning, is that the dress I bought you?”
Narrowing your eyes with contempt, you crossed your arms across your chest.
“You’re late.”
Chuckling, he rose from his place in front of you and dragged the chair he once sat in with him and positioned it right next to you before seating himself once again. His muscled frame shuffled closer to yours until his chest was pressed against your side. Refusing to acknowledge him and still filled with simmering rage, you kept your gaze forward. Endeared at your behavior, your fiancé took your hand in his and began to dote on you.
“Oh baby, daddy’s sorry.” Lloyd cooed. “Some of these fuck knuckles really don’t wanna go down. I made them pay extra for keeping me from my woman.”
Excuses and buttery comments continued to spill from the man’s mouth. Rolling your eyes, you reached for your glass of wine and took a generous gulp.
“But on the bright side, we have this private dining area all to ourselves. How about I make it up to you before the main course gets here, pretty girl?” He whispered, that damn mustache tickling your skin as he began to press feverish kisses to your neck.
Lloyd stopped his ministrations when he glanced down at your hand in his, his lips turning down into a frown.
“Who made my woman chip her nails—”
Growing tired of hearing his voice, you snatched your hand back. Before Lloyd could protest, your hand darted in between his legs.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. The frown that grazed his face was replaced with a mischievous smirk.
“Princess,” He hummed. “If you missed me that much, all you had to do was say s— Jesus, fuck!”
With his balls literally in a vice grip, you finally turned to face him. Your deathly stare rivaled Medusa’s. It was only when he was caught in it that Lloyd Hansen felt fear. Pure, unfiltered fear.
“I hope you at least have progress for me to make up for your inability to follow through with simple tasks such as showing up on time.”
Lloyd hissed sharply; his eyes squeezed shut as your grip tightened.
“We got him to talk,” He panted. “We know where the drive is.”
“And where is it exactly, Lloyd?” You interrogated lowly, looming over him dangerously.
Sputters of nonsense fell from his lips, prompting you to constrict around him more.
“Did I hire an incompetent man, Lloyd?” You taunted, slithering a bare leg around one of his sensually. “Hmm?”
“N-No, ma’am,”
“Then answer my question or so help me God, Lloyd Hansen. Where is that drive?”
“London! It’s in a warehouse in London! The boys are extracting it as we speak!”
You exhaled deeply, shooting your man your best smile.
“Good boy.” You praised. “Get me that drive, Lloyd.”
“It’ll be on your desk by tomorrow morning.” He swore, his heart rate slowing down.
It was his turn to sigh with relief when his balls were released from your death trap. Your palm traveled from in between his legs to his broad chest. Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you hummed with contentment at his answer.
“This shirt makes you look so sexy,” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his face, leaving a lipstick mark behind.
Lloyd, still too stunned to reciprocate your affection, released a satisfied grunt. Boy were you insane, but that’s exactly why he loved you so dearly. Upon first meeting you, Lloyd Hansen was equally as aroused as he was intimidated. You had heard everything about your subordinate. After all, word travels fast when you’re a sociopathic government weapon. There was nothing you loved more than a man who could get things done. Lloyd Hansen was all about getting things done. He was your prized possession, your secret weapon. He too knew this and lived for it.
Never in his life had he ever liked following orders. The man knew from the second he left his mother’s womb that he was destined to devour every weak, measly being in his way and dominate. It was natural instinct for Lloyd. He was an alpha — the monster in your closet that kept you in line. No one had ever challenged his primality without ending up in pieces buried six feet underground. That was, until you. You knew how to get him where you wanted him, how to grab his reigns and take over. Serving you came as naturally as killing.
And that was dangerous. You were dangerous.
He had found someone more demented, deranged, and crazed than him, of course, he was bound to worship you with no limits. To prove his fealty in bloodshed. You were his Goddess.
“You’re paying for my manicure.” You murmured, scarlet lips traveling from his cheek to his neck.
“Who else was going to?” He teased.
“You did leave me waiting here,” You challenged. “Step it up, Lloyd or someone else will.”
His thick brows furrowed, darkening his hard gaze at the threat.
“Like who, huh princess?”
You shrugged nonchalantly.
“The waiter is cute.”
Over the date night shenanigans, you unhitched your leg from around his and stood up. Finally getting a chance to look you over, Lloyd felt his groin stir in his designer slacks. The silk dress he had purchased looked just as heavenly wrapped around your body as he imagined it to look. The slope of your exposed back tempted him. He wanted to maul you, to leave his mark. You were his. No one else’s.
Before you could turn around to beckon him, the waiter entered your private room once more. And before he could take another step, two gunshots were fired at his chest. Spinning around on your Jimmy Choos, you met your lover’s intense gaze with pure adoration in yours.
“And they say chivalry is dead.”