Futile Resistance

"I may not own you now, but after tonight... You will be mine – lock, stock and barrel,"

Aidan had said just before dragging her the remaining few feet to the vestibule that led to the lobby of his building.

French was stunned, had no ready response to his words and thus let herself be pulled along by him.

What had he meant? What was he planning?

She knew that Aidan's temper could be formidable when fully aroused. She had heard him flay the skin off of his agent once and had offered thanks heavenward that she hadn't been the recipient of the sharp edge of his angry tongue. She didn't think she would be so lucky this time.

They were through the lobby door and inside the elevator before she knew it. They endured the elevator ride in silence, Aidan's fingers still wrapped around her arm. French's mind raced, wondering what he had meant by what he'd said.

...after tonight, you'll be mine lock, stock and barrel.

A shiver, an odd mixture of foreboding and excitement, ran up and down her spine when she replayed the words in her mind.

They reached his floor and stepped out into the hallway. When they reached the door to his apartment, she yanked experimentally on her arm. He let go of her, but only because he had to fit his key into the lock and he gave her a look to let her know just that. Now that they were on his floor, French knew that she was as good as trapped, because the elevator required a resident's key in order to be operated, and in any case, she couldn't go home because her house keys were locked in the trunk of Aidan's car. She had thought of hailing a taxi and fleeing to Fifi's house, but Fifi was out of town. Her purse was in Aidan's trunk, too; she didn't have so much as a nickel in her pockets to pay a taxi fare.

Having unlocked and opened the door, Aidan gestured her inside with a grand sweep of his hand that dripped sarcasm. French stalked in, took off her coat and draped it over the arm of the couch. Pacing back and forth furiously, she narrowed her eyes and said,

"What the

hell

do you think you're doing?"

In stony silence, Aidan removed his coat and hung it in the coat closet without answering her. He retrieved her coat from the arm of the couch and hung it in the coat closet, too.

"Take off your clothes."

"Have you lost your mind?" French shrilled.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes," the command was repeated softly and slowly as he moved to the chair facing her and sat down.

"No, Aidan, I will not 'take off my clothes'," she said hotly. In typical Gallic fashion, she was gesturing wildly as she spoke. Normally, she kept what she thought of as emotional excesses, which included wild gesticulations, under wraps. Now, however, her temper was inflamed and she continued, "I don't want to be naked around you! Hell, even dressed, I don't want to be around you! And – newsflash, Aidan – despite the opinion of your

friend

Patrick Hurst, I'm not some slave that you can command to do your will!"

"Take off your clothes or I will take them off myself." If she didn't believe the words, the threat was backed up by the look in his eyes. He wasn't joking; she could see that he wouldn't accept anything but her obedience to his command.

French shivered again, unsettled and not entirely sure she liked the predicament in which she suddenly found herself. Aidan had never behaved this way before. At least not with her. They'd had arguments before and she knew how to deal with him, knew what to expect when his eyes fired sparks at her. But this... This was different. The implacable set of his jaw was typical of Aidan when he was angry, but his eyes... They weren't shooting fire; they were cold and hard, shuttered against the probing of her own eyes as she tried to determine what he was thinking. His face was utterly immobile, no expression marking it whatsoever. He was just too

silent

and that unnerved her.

Should I be frightened of him? No... I don't think – no – I

know

he'd never hurt me,

she thought.

But take off her clothes? Why? What was he going to do?

Unbidden, she felt a quiver of arousal low in her stomach as her thoughts quickly flashed across all the possibilities if she complied with his command. Arousal notwithstanding, she didn't relish the idea of the vulnerability nudity would bring. Not when Aidan was in this frame of mind.

If he wanted a fight, he would damned sure get one

, French decided. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, bristling with anger and myriad other pent up emotions. Her mind was reeling after the meeting with her father and frankly, this situation with Aidan was the very last thing she wanted to deal with tonight.

"It's simple, babe," Aidan said, making the term of endearment sound like an epithet. "All you have to do is get naked and everything will be OK. Make this easy for us both, huh?"

"Fuck you, Aidan!" she blazed, jabbing her finger at him. "Just fuck off. You must be out of your mind to pull a stunt like this tonight. Tonight of all nights! How dare you defend that- that- creepy, jerk

asshole

Patrick Hurst!"

"French, don't push me. This has nothing to do with Paddy. What this is about is the fact that you want to run away just because we've had an argument. I'm not inclined to let you."

"Your inclinations don't give you the right to kidnap me!"

"I'm not

kid

napping anyone, never mind the fact that you're acting like a kid."

"I am not being childish. You're being blockheaded and stubborn; you refuse to even consider my point of view regarding Hurst! You'd defend the man until death without knowing all the facts!"

French broke off abruptly, realizing she had said too much. She didn't want Aidan to know that Hurst was her biological father. She knew she could never withstand the agony, the heartbreak, if Aidan knew about Hurst and chose him over her. In order to save herself, she was determined to end the relationship and go on with her life.

"What facts are you talking about? I am the only one in this room who does know the facts about Paddy – I grew up with the guy! You, on the other hand, know nothing about him and you've made up your mind to hate him after ninety seconds of conversation!" Aidan exclaimed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He'd gotten up from his chair and was pacing back and forth, crossing paths with French as she paced.

"I don't expect you to understand and I can't even tell you exactly what this is about."

It's easier to sprinkle in a little bit of truth,

French thought,

I truly can't tell Aidan the truth about why I have an aversion to Hurst, but it can't hurt to let him think that I'm at a loss for words to explain my reaction to him.

"If you can't figure out why you don't like him, don't you think you should give him a second chance?"

"No, Aidan! I can't do that. You have to trust my instincts on this one. My conscience is screaming at me 'stay away from Patrick Hurst'!"

"That's ridiculous. You never cease to amaze me! You're brilliant at producing cockamamie reasons to wall yourself off out of thin air!" Aidan said, snapping his fingers. He continued in a mocking, singsong voice, "Poor French has a fucking

feeling

– an

unfounded

feeling - about something, for Christ's sake, so now she has to protect herself!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about! You have no idea what I've been through in my life. You can't even begin to comprehend the burdens I carry, what it was like for me growing up! If I have to build a wall to protect myself from people like Patrick Hurst, you're damned right I'll do it!"

"You're right. I don't know about that stuff, because half the time you're guarding yourself from me! You withhold things from me – don't think I can't tell when you're doing it," he accused.

"I have a right to my privacy. You can't get inside my head, Aidan! My God, just give me some space!"

"You've got way too much space already, as far as I'm concerned, living in isolation like you do. When are you going to wake up and realize that commitment isn't the big bad wolf you've made it out to be? You're too scared commit to anything or anyone because you're afraid of being hurt! Who do you think you are to check out of life the way you do? What gives you the right? How is that fair to the people in your life?"

He came face to face with her, searched her face to judge her reaction. She was visibly upset, but he sensed that she had shut down and that she wasn't hearing what he said to her. He was more frustrated with her than angry, at this point. He needed to make her know that, no matter what they fought about or how explosive the fight, there was no need to run away from him. He hadn't told her he loved her yet, because he knew she would flee. Her preconceived notions about love and commitment were deeply ingrained and it would take a lot of slow, careful work to get through to her.

"When are you going to let go of the past?" he continued. "Can't you just live life day to day like the rest of us?! Learn how to cope with the shitty cards life deals like everybody else? We've talked about this a million times before, but you don't even try, French!"

"I do try!" she cried. "I do! I don't want to do this anymore, Aidan. I want to go home."

"Too bad. You're not going! You're going to stay here and finish this!"

"It is finished! I don't want to fight with you. I'm exhausted... this is too much for me right now," she said, her voice laden with weariness.

"Fine, but you're still not leaving. There's still the small matter of the clothes you're wearing."

"You're crazy! I already told you – I will not take off my clothes! What part of that can't you understand? How can you even think sex is a possibility for us tonight?"

"I asked you to take off your clothes; I didn't say anything about sex. This isn't about sex for me."

"Well then why do I need to undress?"

"Because, Legs, if you're naked, you have to trust me. If you're naked, you can't go anywhere. And, if you're naked, I can see all of my favorite parts of you," he finished with a quirk of his lips and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

French groaned in frustration. "Stop it. I'm being serious, Aidan. I really need to go home."

"And I told you that you're not leaving. Quit being so stubborn."

"You can't make me do anything I choose not to do!" French was getting angry again. "I am my own person – I, and only I, decide what happens to me!"

"You're right. You can decide to take your clothes off on your own. Or... You can decide that you'd rather me do it for you. As you said, the choice is yours..."

"What kind of choices are those?" a note of despair crept into her voice. Hardening her tone, she said, "And you forgot the third choice, by the way. It's the one where I put on my coat, get my things from the trunk of your car and go home. Alone."

"Not gonna happen."

"Why are you doing this? It makes no sense, " French tried to reason with him. "If I take off my clothes, you have to know that it would be against my will. What would be the point? What would you get out of it other than proving to yourself that you're physically stronger than me?"

Aidan walked toward her, signaling that her arguments, her resistance to complying with his request, had taken more time than he was willing to allow. He was done listening. In an attempt to forestall him, French held a hand up.

"Wait," she said, backing away from him. "You can't do this, Aidan!"

"I can," his eyes were hot with determination as he prowled toward her. She continued to back away from him, not realizing that he was pursuing her further into his lair. He angled his body so that she would be backed into a corner; at a certain point, her only chance of escape would be up the stairs. To his loft bedroom.

"Y-you're the one who's blowing things out of proportion, now. You accused me of the same thing earlier, but now you're the one overreacting!"

He didn't reply, but continued to prowl.

Ok, so reason hadn't worked,

she thought,

time to attack.

"What are you going to do, Aidan? Rape me? Because that's what it will be!"

"No, French, rape will have nothing to do with what will happen when you get upstairs."

Calm and deliberation marked his tone. A

frisson

of alarm skittered through her when she darted a glance over her shoulder and saw that she had no place to go but up the stairs. She made a desperate attempt to duck past him, but he stuck his arm out and hooked her around her waist.

She resisted, made her body a dead weight and dropped to the ground, planning to slip under his arm so she could scramble away from him. He held her easily. He dragged her to him, caught hold of her wrists and pinned both of them behind her with one of his hands. The other hand came up to her face, cupped her chin firmly and looked into her eyes.

"You can walk up those stairs, or I'll carry you," he said softly.

French's chest was heaving as though she had run a marathon. He looked into her eyes and saw a flicker of fright and uncertainty. Then came anger.

That's good,

Aidan thought, preferring that she be angry rather than afraid of him. She kicked out at him, hitting him in the shins. He bent and scooped her over his shoulder in a firefighter's hold. She kicked and pounded his back, cursing, threatening, trying anything and everything to be free of him. He headed up the staircase as though he carried an inanimate object, instead of a furious, struggling woman.

He reached the top of the stairs, went directly to his wide cushy bed and dumped her in the center of it. As she slid from his shoulder, he gripped the bottom of her sweater and peeled it off of her, using the downward motion of her body as she fell to the bed to aid him. When she realized what had happened, she flew at him like a wildcat.

He was ready for her attack and pushed her back on the bed. He climbed on top of her, straddling her thighs so she couldn't kick him. He managed to capture her hands where they pummeled ineffectually at his body, dragged them above her head and held them there. Her green eyes flashed as she twisted and bucked, trying to throw him off of her. She spewed venomous, hateful words at him, words that, had he stopped to listen, would have shocked him to hear her say.

He ignored her. Still holding her arms above her head, he trailed his free hand down the middle of her chest, traced the inner curve of each breast. Goose bumps rose on her body and her nipples peaked. He cupped one breast, lowered his head to take the nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving, grazing it with his teeth through the thin material of her bra.

French fell abruptly silent, closed her eyes, fighting against the sensations that rioted through her. Out of nowhere, arousal slammed into her. With unbelievable suddenness, she wanted him with all the fury, sadness, bitterness and love that roiled inside her. She yanked at her wrists, twisting them in his grip to free them. She needed to touch him.

Other than his hard hold on her wrists, Aidan was gentle with her. His free hand floated over her body, followed, insomuch as his grip on her wrists allowed, by gentle, sipping kisses and flicks of his tongue. He raised his head from her breast, knew from her body's response, her heated skin, her tightly furled nipples and labored breathing, that she wanted him. He kissed her, delved his tongue into her mouth. Tasting her, pouring all of himself into the kiss.

French responded with reckless abandon, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, her hips bucking up against his as she tried to get closer. He released her wrists and she immediately fisted them in his hair, pulling him to her, crushing her mouth against his. She ground her pelvis up, rubbing against the ridge of his hard cock.

Aidan felt tortured, driven toward madness by the woman beneath him. He wanted to brand her as his, make an indelible imprint on her, body and soul. He was fed up with the way French pushed him away, the way her fears of intimacy and vulnerability constantly came between them. He could no longer tolerate the uncertainty, the instability, of their relationship. He wanted to cement it, make it permanent; it had become essential to him that she be in his life. She was necessary to his very well-being. He wanted her with him all the time; he wanted her to know that even when they were apart, she was still his, he was still hers.

The beast of passion reared up, consuming them both. French clawed his back, wishing she could get closer, wanting to draw him into herself, to make him a part of her. She pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants and slid her hands beneath it, plastered her palms against the smooth, hot skin of his back, insinuated her hands into the back of his pants, gripped his buttocks, pulled him closer to her.

Aidan broke away from the incendiary kiss. He looked down at her, noted her passion dilated eyes; her pupils were huge, ringed with the vivid green of her irises. Her lips were swollen and red, wet. His cock twitched when her tongue darted out and licked her full lower lip.

"I thought you said getting me naked wasn't about sex?" she panted.

"I lied. It's always about sex when I'm with you when you're naked." He lowered his head, sucked her lip into his mouth, ran his tongue along the slick, sensitive inner surface. French's pussy clenched, twisted with arousal, as though she felt the stroke of his tongue on her most intimate parts.

Aidan pulled away from her, knelt beside her legs. He unfastened her belt and pants, yanked them down and off, along with the red scrap of panties she wore, leaving her wearing only her bra. He knelt between her thighs and then, unceremoniously, bent and sucked her clit into his mouth. Her hips arched up; she was shocked, rocked, by the suddenness of the assault. He put his hands on the backs of her thighs, pushed her legs up and back so that she was fully open to him.

His tongue delved into the center of her, stabbing in to stroke the walls of her cunt. His hands gripped her ass, holding her in place as she struggled against the tide of arousal. She was so wet, her juices musky and succulent as they coated his tongue. He sucked the lips of her pussy into his mouth, first one then the other, teased her sensitive opening. He took his time, savoring, devouring, pushing her harder and higher.

French gasped and moaned, transported by pleasure. It swamped her senses, made her mind reel drunkenly. She twisted her fingers in his hair, pressed her hips up, wanted him to plunge his tongue into her, wanted to feel the smooth heat of it licking into her. She was ravenous; she wanted everything from him all at once, wanted to feel his cock plunging into her core, wanted to feel him pulsing in her mouth as she drove him over the edge into completion.

Aidan thrust two fingers into her, fucked her with them as he sucked her clit. She made an animalistic whimper deep in her throat, clenched his fingers in the tight grip of her pussy. French hovered on the edge of orgasm, grasped for it and was bereft when Aidan pulled his fingers out of her, leaving her suspended over the breach.

"No, please. Don't stop," she pleaded.

He flicked her clit lightly with the tip of his tongue, never giving her quite enough contact to satisfy her. His fingertips, wet with her juices, played over the lips of her pussy, dipped deeper between her thighs to slip around and around the sensitive skin of her anus. She gasped at the foreign sensation, couldn't immediately decide what she thought of him playing there. He took her clit between his lips and her mind blanked as he applied suction and played his tongue over it at the same time.

His fingertip, slicked with pussy juice, slid into her tight hole. She gasped and the ring of muscle tightened against the invading finger. He slid his thumb into her pussy, used the tip of it to stimulate her g-spot. Simultaneously, he slid his finger deeper into her ass and continued the rhythmic stimulation of her clit with his lips and tongue.