she can hear the warning in his voice – the low timber that tells her to watch it, if she knows what's good for her. problem is, cora's never really known what's good for her; if she had, she might not have ended up here with him – might have learned her lesson by now, might have realized that hotel rooms with men treading closer and closer to being old enough to be her father held just as much trouble as the boys closer to her in age. but she's never been very good at listening, either.
a deep inhale before she spins on her heels, turning ‘round to face him, dark eyes that linger on his face like a wild animal that’s been caught in a trap. “ she called you sweetheart seven times. ” jealousy's always been her sticking point; always been the nasty, lingering feeling that wells in her stomach each time someone so much as breathed in the direction of anything she'd deemed hers. he was no different. “ saw her put her hand on your shoulder three times, too. that's not hospitality. ”
jaw set, clenching as cora hears his words – hears the threat within them, and instead of slinking away, instead of allowing the moment to die down between them, crosses her arms over her chest. an expectant look settled onto her features, daring him to finish the statement – daring him to make a decision that'd leave them both upset for weeks to come.
“ you want someone who's quiet and demure, you're in the wrong fucking room. ”
this is the game they play , of late. this back - n - forth that adds grey to his beard and another set of wrinkles at the corners of dark eyes. it makes roman feel his age , quiet regard for her enough to silence most , most days. but cora isn't most. she's far from the norm , her lips taking on a pout he wonders the authenticity of. for a moment , at least. one just fleeting enough he fails to stifle the groan when it comes , shaken by frustration.
❝ i’m not jealous, who said i’m jealous? ❞
" never said you were , " is quick , a bite that warns her as sure as it does himself in its echo. insists he calm down. loosen the fists that formed , defensively , on instinct. because her fingers know how to coax his nerves. because he's made this mistake again and again.. wound up with her in one more hotel room , listening to a tirade that can't quite settle as it drops in his stomach. " said you showed your ass back there. " to a waitress who was doing her job. to the prying eyes of several onlookers who all whispered their quiet judgment as they left. " an' you wonder why i don't take you out more often. " advertise a relationship that wobbles day in , day out. what breathes shallow breaths and always feels one false move from capsizing. " got me fucked up , you think that's gonna fly. " | @petitmortes