Intro | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
In a dimly lit restaurant in New York City, you sat in a secluded
corner with Thomas, his hand resting on your thigh. It was late – probably close
to 11pm – and everyone else had left. You’d mentioned a craving for chocolate
cheesecake when Thomas said he knew of a place that had the absolute best in
the city, and insisted on taking you immediately. The two of you sat
side-by-side, candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls.
“More champagne, Miss?”
“Please,” you say with a nod, unable to look away from Thomas. His
shining smile has you captivated. Sitting together, hand in hand, you can’t
quite put your finger on this feeling you have – something you’ve never felt
before. But you feel it every time you look at him. Every time you look into those sparkling
blue eyes.
It’s been two weeks since your surprise date at the skating rink,
and you’ve never been happier. You’ve seen Thomas just about every day since – brunch
at the Plaza, carriage rides through Central Park, evenings at the finest
restaurants. Of course, you’d accept nothing less from a man, but this time
feels different. He isn’t doing it out of obligation, but out of love. And you
wanted nothing more than to make him as happy as he makes you.
The waiter walks away as Thomas leans closer to you. Even as he
sat next to you, just inches away, it didn’t feel close enough. The fact that
you’ve yet to consummate the relationship surely wasn’t helping. Every brush of
his skin left you electrified, desperate for more.
“You look enchanting this evening, my love.” He pulls your hand up
to his face, kissing it gently.
“I think red must be your favorite color, Mr. Hiddleston,” you
said, batting your eyelashes at his flattery. There was never a lack of
affection with Thomas, but wearing a sparkly red dress with a plunging neckline
never hurt.
“You know, it might be. It looks so striking against that
porcelain skin of yours,” he said, softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He
leans in, holding your face so carefully as his lips press against yours. No
matter how many times he kisses you, it never fails to make your heart race.
“Oh!” He pulls back in an instant, your lips still poised for
more. “I keep forgetting to tell you, darling. I’ve got us tickets for Broadway
tomorrow night. Would you like to go?”
“Of course. Are they very good seats?” you ask, taking another sip
of champagne.
“Our own private box. Nothing but the best for my love.” He kissed
your cheek as he pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the table to settle the
bill. “Now let’s get you home.”
You spend most of the next day getting ready for your date. Your
dress, a flowing lavender halter that cinched at the waist, was one of your
favorites – and one Thomas has yet to see. You even bought new strappy heels to
wear with it. Your phone buzzed just as you put the finishing touches on your
makeup. It was from Thomas.
{Be there in 5. No panties tonight.}
You smirked.
Why do I
love when he does that?
With a shrug, you pull up your flowing skirt, sliding your panties
down your leg. You toss them into the laundry and head for the elevator. You reached
the lobby just as he pulled up outside. The doorman opens the door for you as
you slide into the shiny Jag, careful not to give the old man a show. Thomas
must have noticed, because he was grinning as you turned to greet him.
“That’s my girl.”
You arrived at the theater just moments before the show started. The
two of you were escorted to your box, which was nestled in at the back of the
theater, two levels up. You had the perfect view of the stage, and if you got
bored, everyone below you.
“Perfect, we can spy on everyone,” you chuckled, tossing your
Prada bag onto the lush carpeted floor.
“Ah, yes, but no one can spy on us,” Thomas said with a wink.
“Why do I get the feeling that has something to do with the text
message I received this evening?” You straighten his tie before sitting down
together on a luxurious padded loveseat. The curtain draws up and the lights go
down.
“Shh. The show is starting.”
You settle in next to Thomas, his arm around you and his hand
resting on your hip. The show is lovely – the acting is believable; the music
is moving. Your attention almost always goes to the costumes first, and they’re
fabulous. You haven’t seen one yet that you wouldn’t wear yourself.
It must be getting close to intermission, but glancing down at
your watch, you find it’s too dark to read.
“Are you alright?” asked Thomas.
“Oh, yes. Just checking the time.”
He nuzzles up to you, pulling you close as he kisses just under
your ear. He maneuvers himself behind you a bit, letting you rest against his
chest and shoulder. His hand, still resting on your hip, gives it a firm squeeze.
You look back at him, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He nods
toward the stage, not wanting you to miss anything.
Taking full advantage of your private suite, he slides his hand
beneath the pleats of your chiffon dress. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as
he gently massages your leg, creeping ever slowly north.
Is he
really going to do this here?
You look around, checking for the hundredth time that no one can
see. He inches ever closer to your crease, moving as slow as honey, leaving you
aching for his sweet touch. He finally reaches the very top of your thighs,
rubbing your outer lips gently. You gasp softly as he slides a finger between them.
He suddenly stops, turning his head towards you, brushing his lips
against your ears.
“Shh… Don’t you make a sound.” He waits for you to nod before
continuing.
His finger works slowly; it moves in long lines, exploring you
from top to bottom. Just when you think you can contain yourself, he pauses
over your pearl, drawing lazy circles around her. You squirm as he picks up the
pace, biting your lip to try to regain some control. Your breath is unsteady;
you skin is flush all over. You can feel
his circles slowing; he presses all four fingers tight against your body. You
can feel his hand trembling as your hips press against him, desperate for more.
Unsure of when you closed your eyes, you open them at the sound of
footsteps and chatter. The lights are on and the curtain is falling as people make
their way out of the theater. Intermission. You both sit up a little
straighter, and Thomas casually brings his arm out from under your dress, letting
it rest behind you on the loveseat. His other hand is covering a growing
tightness in his pants.
You turn to face him, still trying to regain composure. But your
heart is still racing, and the lust in his eyes is making you far too weak.
“Can we leave?” It falls out of your mouth before you even
consider what you’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. The time for thinking is
over.
“Oh, please, my love. Where? Where do you want to go?” He’s
already standing as you reach for your purse.
“My apartment is closest.”
Thomas leads you through the crowd, never letting go of your hand
as you make your way back to the car. Your thoughts are running wild; the night
is finally here, and you can hardly wait. You feel a little queasy in the Jag,
but it must just be the car swerving in and out of traffic.
Not the
best night to forget dinner.
He glides into a parking space, throwing the car into park as you’re
both already opening your doors. Still holding your hand every step of the way,
you make it into the elevator at last. The doors close, and you’re up against the
wall, his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere as he fuses his
lips to your own. You’re blindly undoing his tie when the elevator chimed, signaling
the arrival of other tenants.
You quickly fix your dress, trying to seem as calm as Thomas, who
simply stood in the corner, undone tie be damned. He greeted them as you still try
to catch your breath, another wave of nausea coming over you. You break out
into a cold sweat as the doors open at your front door.
I can’t do
this. I’m not ready.
You take a moment, fidgeting with your keys as you try to think of
something to say. You slide the key into the lock, looking at Thomas before you
open the door. He reaches down to brush the hair away from your face, kissing
you on the forehead.
“I love you, darling.” His gentle smile tears through your heart,
your eyes filling with tears as you try to speak.
“You have to go,” you said in a whisper.
His eyes narrowed, lost in confusion. “What did you say?”
“I can’t let you in.” Gathering what little strength you have, you
say more loudly, “You need to leave.” You rush through the door, shutting it
before Thomas could protest. You stand on the other side of the door, tears
streaming down your face. He tries to open the door, but you’ve already locked
it. He calls out to you, unsure if you can even hear him.
“What did I do, my love? Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.
Please…” he trails off. His pleas are met with silence. Defeated, he turns to
walk away. You hear him stop for a moment, speaking so softly you could barely
hear him.
Painfully Thick Imagines 