#lloyd hansen inagines fluff

[imaginedreamwrite]

Water Under The Bridge: Part 4

Hair on the back of your neck had stood on end, the instinctive and natural suspicion of something or someone looking at you had been carrying on for nearly an hour.

You were cautious and speculative, even being as lost as you were in the crowd of people mulling in the bar. The fact that there were so many other people in the college bar enjoying their Friday night and you were still being watched, had you naturally looking for an exit strategy.

Your friends that dragged you out tonight hadn’t once seemed to be affected by whatever had been studying you from somewhere in the bar, they were so transfixed by drinking overpriced cocktails or grinding on each other on the tightly packed dance floor.

No one had seemed to have their skin prick from the predatory nature of being studied, and none of your friends had been as cautious as you were.

Slowly and while trying to be nonchalant, you had set your drink on the table in front of you and then slipped the coaster out from one of your friends’ drinks, setting it on top of your glass. You set the coaster on top of the glass in a very distinct position knowing that if someone was trying to come and screw with your drink you would be able to tell by how the coaster had been moved.

With your drink taken care of, you started to stand and shuffle around your friends while they discussed dancing again, raising your voice to tell them you’d be heading to the bathroom.

You stepped away from the table and shivered, that same sensation of being watched becoming more intense now that you had stood and started to move away from the table.

With a careful look back at the table and your friends, you started to move in and out of the crowd of people to head toward the bathroom. You kept your pattern as random as possible, taking no straight path to the end of the bar as a means to see if you were being paranoid or if you were being watched.

The attempt to make it to the bathroom without being watched was fruitless, you had known with unwavering certainty that no matter where you went someone in the building was watching you. A chill ran down your spine and with goosebumps rising to your arms, you made the split decision to change your tactic and instead of heading to the bathroom, you headed to the emergency exit.

You knew that the alarm for the door never worked, information that came to you from one of the girls in your dorm building who had been banned from that bar by running a tab and slipping out the emergency exit. Even after being banned they still hadn’t fixed the alarm, they couldn’t have been bothered to.

You stepped outside into the cool air, shivering from the abnormal chill of the night and stood against the cement wall, resting one foot flat against the surface.

You drew in a sharp breath, your eyes searching the street and your heart pounding erratically when you noticed a black SUV parked down the street with its engine running though there were no lights. You fixated your attention on the vehicle as it was running, the exhaust pooling from the pipe a distinct sign that someone was or had been inside, although you couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat.

Again, you felt the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end although it wasn’t the feeling of being watched that made you apprehensive. Rather, it was the running and empty vehicle parked on the other side of the street facing you.

“Y/N?” The emergency exit door opened and your friend stepped halfway out of the bar, speaking your name with caution. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” You turned away from the vehicle, grabbing the frame of the door to hold it open wider as a means to go back inside. “I just needed air.”

His voice redirected you into mental consciousness, the droll of his arrogance trailing on the edge of his words as he seemed to quip and endear himself to antagonize you with every possible inch of his existence.

It was impossible to truly grasp the power of Lloyd Hansen and his ability to dig himself under your skin with micro-aggressive tactics and mannerisms that only he could grasp, and as your soulmate, only he could affect you this vigorously.

“Unimpressed?” He’s keeping himself behind you, fuelled by a certain need to try and calculate your next move before you make it, even on something as simple as a prison tour.

He was, in a way, treating you like you were on house arrest with a whole security team assigned to you and your penchant ability or wish to escape by any means necessary.

Not only had Lloyd Hansen assigned your security team to keep an eye on you, but he had also allocated a private car to take you anywhere you wished to go. Under his direction of himself, of course. It was both a reaction to your probable choice to be a flight risk and a reaction to you becoming his only well-known and public weakness.

Even if the man himself had projected himself as being a sadistic and arrogant man with the means to completely ruin someone’s life beyond the point of death, he had weaknesses that could not be hidden and obscured from view. And you as his soulmate who was found, and would go without the removal procedures to keep his mark off of you, were his greatest weakness.

The death of a soulmate was a terrible fate that no one could come back from, the death of your other half even if you reviled them, was an introduction to a dark and grim place.

It might have seemed a generosity to have your security team and driver, if it were anyone else you might have been thankful for the obvious care. However, it was Lloyd and Lloyd Hansen was the sadistic man who had taken you against your will to this historic yet overbearing residence.

“No iron maiden? No iron bull? I’m surprised by your lack of macabre torture devices.” The bedroom, even with your obvious disapproval of the man who was your soulmate, was gorgeous.

“Would you like me to tie you down, Pumpkin? Mhmm?” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips cocking while a certain edge had taken hold of his eyes.

“I’m not here for you to explore your kinks, asshole.” Despite your tone of voice, he looked at you like you were a kitten raising its hackles and hissing.

He looked at you as if you were something or someone that he wanted to bend to his will sexually as if he wanted to make you pliant against him in every imaginable and erotic faction.

“You are my soulmate and my wife,” his hand came to rest under your chin and jaw, holding your head still while he leaned into you, eyes overcome with a burning hunger that you weren’t able to escape from.”

“Not yet,” you smacked his hand away from you, retaliating the hold he had with your resentment and anger, biting back at him with your physical and verbal gestures, “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Pumpkin,” he chuckled under his breath, a sound that was shiver-inducing and had brought a rise of goosebumps to your flesh, “you think you’re untouchable?”

“I think,” you doubled down on your aggressive turn, biting back at him with a fit of new underhanded anger, “that if you’re expecting me to act like some tender little doll for you to play with…”

“Then what? Tell me, Mrs. Hansen-“

“You have another fucking thing coming. I am not your toy.” You ended your point by placing your hands against his chest and shoving him out of the room, every fabricated measure of your strength used to get him out of the room.

You furthered your anger, your resentment for the man by slamming the door in his face and turning the lock, holding it tightly in your hand as a kind of measure to keep him out even though you knew that he could’ve busted down the door to get to you.

“A car is arriving tomorrow at nine, if you’re not down there waiting for me then I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you down myself,” Lloyd called through the door, delivering some kind of order or expectation that he demanded you follow.

“Don’t you have errand boys to do these things for you?”

“We’re going shopping, sweetheart.” Even through the door, his voice pissed you off, striking a nerve within you.

“I wouldn’t need clothes if someone hadn’t burnt my clothing, you arrogant prick.”

“Dime store rags won’t cut it, Pumpkin. You’re a Hansen, you need to dress like it.” To the tune of his voice, you kicked the door harshly, momentarily wishing it was his dick you were kicking rather than the wood barrier between yourself and him.

Though it hadn’t sated your emotional state in the long run, it had been a temporary relief for your well-being. Kicking the door had been as close to being able to take your anger out on him as you could get, and with the expenditure, you’d turned away from the door to recluse yourself until you were called on again.

Sleep had been fitful, as you expected it would’ve been. There was no relief that came from your eventually sleep.

Rather when you had managed to fall asleep and eventually wake in the morning, you found a reasonable excuse to be miserable from the moment you opened your eyes and kicked the blanket off. You noticed the first pieces of ink that had started to appear on your forearm like a branding, his name starting to take hold on your skin after going without the removal procedure.

It was coming in clear, even if it was the beginning of your soulmate mark, and with its return had come a dull sense of pain that was more aggravating than hurtful.

It was as if you could feel an itch beneath your skin on your forearm, the irritating and palliated prickling trapped under the layers of your epidermis was untouchable. You couldn’t have relieved the feeling anymore than you could have realistically removed it before it completely took hold of you.

“You’re late.” Instead of being fixated on the mark appearing on your forearm, you had focused your attention on one of the handlers Lloyd had assigned you and their attempts to make you feel remorse for sleeping in.

Though they were standing on the cusp of the threshold, it felt like they were standing to the left of the bed. With his hands obscured from view, shoved deep into the pockets in his dark pinstriped Tom Ford suit, the man standing on the cusp of the door appeared ready for some grand event.

And the contrast between you laying in bed after a fitful night sleep in the shirt you wore yesterday and the only pair of wide legged jersey pants, was ambiguous at best.

His hair was blonde, almost similar to the colour of ripe wheat in the fall, neither a true bright blonde or near enough to being brunette. At first look his eyes may have appeared blue and ordinary as they were, but another look had been corrective to your initial thought. Instead of blue, you realized his eyes were actually grey and light enough to look iridescent in the right light.

He was deridingly boyish in his appearance, a baby face kind of look about him that was a direct and fire contrast to Lloyd Hansen. Despite your low opinions of your soulmate and what he was, you had to reasonably admit that this guard coming to retrieve you was not nearly as physically imposing or enthralling as Hansen was.

Even as sadistic as Lloyd was, he was a man who looked like he had experienced something in the world versus this baby faced guard.

“Hansen is waiting-” He gave you the warning as if it was enough to spur you from bed, and you immediately fell into a pattern of a sarcastic and scathing rebuttal.

“For what? A eulogy?” Your cocked an eyebrow, grabbing the blankets to throw them off of you. “What’s with the suit? Does Hansen have a uniform?”

“Get dressed, Mrs. Hansen. We have a schedule to keep-”

“Go fuck yourself and tell Lloyd that if he wants me to go shopping with him, he’d better get his ass up here and drag me down by my hair.” You turned away from him and raised your hand, flipping the guard off over your shoulder with little remorse.

“I don’t take orders from anyone under Lloyd Hansen’s foot.”

“That attitude will get you in trouble, Princess. That’s not a threat, it’s a warning.”

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[imaginedreamwrite]

Water Under The Bridge: Part 1

The news of your father’s death after a stint in the hospital wasn’t a surprise to you any more than the suspicion that someone had a hand in it. Your father’s affairs had made him a number of enemies and friends turned vile who could have ended him.

You had been across the country for school, tucked away in the back corner of a dive bar to focus on your schoolwork instead of in the library when you found out. You had received a call from your mother a week earlier informing you that your dad was sick, but it was Val finding you in that dive bar that confirmed it.

Val was a man who worked for your father, a longtime associate who had been around since you were born. He was tall and lithe but toned, with intense brown eyes that were infused with honey, drawing attention to his high cheekbones and firm jaw.

His thick silvering hair was always coiffed back out of his face and as far as you’d remembered he had a thick beard that was always well taken care of.

He was a man you’d known all your life and yet you had never heard him raise his voice in your presence, let alone inflict anger upon you. Val was meant to act as an uncle toward you, someone who’d kept you out of danger all your life.

Val was more of a father to you than your father was, he was highly dependable and trustworthy. He’d given you some of the best advice you’d ever needed, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

“You need to listen to me,” Val had warned you in that dive bar and again when you showed up to attend your father’s funeral, “there’s going to be a shift in power. Cade and your mother are in a place where they could inherit millions, but there are inhibitions in place.”

“Val,” you’d known what he was speaking about, you’d known that there was an inheritance set aside for you by your grandfather that your brother wanted, “my dad promised me I wouldn’t have to go back. He promised me that I could stay away-“

“He’s coming for you, Y/N.” Val had given you another warning, gripping your arm when you wanted to walk away. “The man whose name has to keep being removed from your arm, your father started this process because he didn’t want him to find you-“

“Lloyd Hansen.” You spoke his name, searching Val’s eyes for some glimmer of truth about the man who was meant to be your soulmate. “I’ve never even heard of him.”

“You wouldn’t have. He might as well have been a phantom to you. But he’s coming. He’s coming for you and he’s coming for the legacy your father left behind.” Val had given you a warning along with the obituary belonging to your father.

The card stock was a precursor to what would be handed out at the funeral. It contained a picture of your father, mother and brother on the front but not you. Your father was smiling while wearing a black and silk-lined suit with a blood-red tie that looked real enough to touch.

It had his name scrawled beneath the picture along with the date of his birth and death, the macabre fact was doctored. You didn’t need to open the obituary to know what was contained inside, the mantras printed on the thick card were as doctored as the man’s life. And your own.

“He promised me I didn’t have to come back, but would it be better to suffer my mother’s wrath for not coming back?” You spoke to the mirror, your eyes locking on Val’s eyes through the reflective surface.

“Even if you knew that he was trying to find you?” Val spoke of the phantom Lloyd Hansen in such a way that both elicited a shiver and made you more curious about the man who was a myth and legend.

“Was my father protecting me from him?” You lifted the sleeve of your black dress, the place where Lloyd Hansen’s name would have been and yet it was deridingly blank.

You had gone through painful treatment after treatment, over and over again to remove the man’s name. You had never even heard of him, just his name and his name alone.

“Or was he just trying to inflict more control?” Your father let you leave, he let you out of the legacy he had built.

You didn’t want any part of the world your father built, you didn’t care if you had to work two or three jobs to put yourself through university. You wanted no part in your father’s business and yet it had seemed as if you were going to be dragged back in again. Against your will and without merit, you were going to suffer, even momentarily, at the hands of your mother and brother.

You saw them standing near the front of the ballroom-turned-funeral parlour. Cade was standing next to your mother, her sleek black Dior dress was immaculate and not a single seam was out of place.

It was sleeveless and yet she wore gloves up to her elbows with a matching birdcage hat upon her head. Cade was dressed just as sharp in a black Tom Ford suit, neither one was shedding a tear for your father as his casket lay closed at the front of the room.

You stayed toward the back, your much simpler black dress wasn’t even a single percent of the cost of your mother’s and it wasn’t nearly as dramatic. Your dress was tea-length and only the bodice was fitted, it was an off-rack dress that you’d dug from the back of your closet and spruced up with a fresh wash.

You didn’t bother with anything extravagant, you were hoping to dash out before you had to see your mother.

And yet…

“Lloyd Hansen is here.” Val had stood between you and the man you had come to realize was your soulmate by name alone, and with the announcement had come to a steady hand on your upper back.

“I trust you, Val. You’re more of a father than my own.” You whispered to him quietly, slowly turning your head to get a look at the man who was here, apparently for you.

“He doesn’t look like much-“ you had admitted to yourself when you leaned toward and caught his gaze, your eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed.

He was tall, clearly even taller than Val, with the sides of his head shaved in a buzz cut and the only length coming from the top. His lips were plump and a thick moustache hung above his top lip.

“Lloyd Hansen is a sadistic and vengeful brute.” You wanted to laugh at the words Val used to describe the other man, but instead, a shiver run down your spine.

Val was one of the toughest men you’d ever known, he was a formidable figure in your life and if he was apprehensive of Lloyd Hansen then it had surely made you quake.

You took a second look at him, leaning forward to watch the man who was just as finely dressed as the rest. He wore no tux but a tight-fitting black shirt and a matching jacket that was snug around his broad shoulders. He wore well-fitting black slacks that accentuated his powerful and lengthy legs, that aesthetic continued to his Italian crafted shoes.

“He’s coming for you,” Val had warned again, speaking as you continued to look at Lloyd, “you can’t run.”

“Yes, I can.” You denied Val’s statement and as if Lloyd had heard you, he looked your way and cast his iridescent blue eyes upon you.

A smile that wasn’t at all friendly, or warm, had crossed his face and he raised his curled hand with only his index finger straightened, and pressed it against his lips. He was looking at you victoriously, almost as if he already owned your mind, body and soul.

“Not from Hansen,” Val spoke again, breaking the hold Lloyd had on you. “No one runs from Hansen.”

You noticed it then, the men that were stationed at the exits with their hands folded in front of them and their chins tipped. They were unrecognizable to you, and you had innately known that they worked for Lloyd. Val was truly giving you a warning, a heads up for the inevitable to pass.

Lloyd Hansen knew you would be here, he knew you would come back to spit on your father’s grave. But it had made you wonder…it made you question whether he was going to size you up or whether he was going to make a move?

Surely if he knew where you were and who you were, he would’ve waited until you were back on campus before he attempted to grab you.

“My father promised I didn’t have to come back here.” You repeated yourself as the crowd sat for the funeral, you taking your place next to Val.

You wiped your hands down the front of your dress and reminded yourself to breathe even and deeply. You reminded yourself to keep a cool head and not think about the man you had been cursed to, the man who you had been avoiding since your father made you start removing his name from your flesh.

“Your father made you get rid of Hansen’s name on your arm for selfish reasons. He made you rid yourself of it because your father was not only afraid of Lloyd but because he wanted to use you.” Val whispered, giving you as much of a rundown as he possibly could.

“Am I going to die?” You asked Val, casting your eyes upon him with wavering emotion and a real brush of fear. “Val, be honest-“

“If anyone were to kill you,” in a fatherly gesture he had brushed your hair behind your ear to calm you, “it would be your brother or your mother.”

“With my father gone, and granddaddy-“ you felt eyes on you, Lloyd’s penetrating gaze fixated on you and Val.

“Cade is set to inherit it all if he gets rid of you. Your grandfather stipulated that it goes to your father, as long as your father gives it to you.” Val shifted in his seat, rising to his full height and angling himself between you and Lloyd.

“Hansen is a sadistic fucker, but between him and Cade-“ Val was trying to protect you, he was attempting to shield you from the harshness of the world around you.

He knew you wanted to go to university, he knew you wanted to make a name for yourself away from the clutch of your family and he knew that to make sure you had a leg up on your future, you knew what to expect.

“Val tell me the truth.” You begged him, pleaded with him.

“Your mother is going to take you back to the house. She’s going to make you believe she wants to mend bridges and then she is going to give you up to Hansen.” Val had spoken under his breath, paying no mind to the empty words of your father’s funeral and rather taking the opportunity to prepare you.

“I can’t run, but he’ll let me go?” You hummed, curious about the path Lloyd Hansen was going to take.

“He is going to destroy everything your mother and brother have. He is going to make them pay for fucking with him and his soulmate. Your mother seems to think Lloyd will leave her alone if she gives you up. She seems to think you’re too stupid to suspect anything.”

“She’s selling me? She’s selling me to him?” You had always known your mother hated you, you’d always known that her relationship with you was nothing more than a ruse to make herself look better in others’ eyes, but to be so low?

“You are going to survive this. You are going to come out of this stronger and more capable of functioning in this world than your entire family ever could.”

“Will he kill me?”

“Hansen won’t kill you. He’ll kill for you.”

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[imaginedreamwrite]

Water Under The Bridge: Part 3

Condensation rolled down the side of the glass to the cheap cardboard coaster below the bottom, the dampening and darkening colour was hardly out of place with the overall aesthetic of the bar.

It was your hideout, your hideaway from the inevitable and the weight of what was about to come crashing down on you was as avoidable as your family. If you were given the choice to hide your head in the sand and avoid whatever hell your family was inflicting upon themselves at the moment, you would always choose to ignore their squabbles.

Your mother and your brother who were innately just as power-hungry as your father, and your father who had tried to inflate his ego with the countless brown-nosing assholes he surrounded himself with had finally hit a roadblock.

Your brother Cade, who was eager to flaunt the money your father had from his illicit affairs, the party had come to a screeching halt when it was announced that your father had died. Cade’s use of cocaine and the circle of escorts he and his friends shared, would come to an end.

The will of your grandfather had been linked to your father’s and with the announcement that he was dead, the will your father was forced to make under the direction of executors of your grandfather’s will, would come into play.

Cade and your mother, their future depended on what your grandfather and father had willed. Both were holding out hope that everything would go to them, the money and the assets and the power.

You never wanted to return home, and your father had promised that you would never have to come back.

He had promised that you would never be called back if you had kept up the appointments to have your soulmate mark removed like it was since you were younger. Your father wouldn’t call or come for you as long as you removed the mark that bound you to your perfectly matched other half.

As if removing the mark would remove the bond. As if it was that easy.

“My father promised I wouldn’t have to go back.” Your glass remained untouched, the foaming head was far more deflated now that it had sat.

It was ordered for you and yet you hadn’t touched it other than to wipe some of the condensations off the smooth edge. Your fingertips had been made wet from the cool beads and the pattern you drew on the dark countertop had dried soon enough, yet you still hadn’t taken a drink.

“Things changed. You need to come home.” Val had come to find you, he had tracked you to this cheap and dingy bar, your hiding place uprooted by people around campus who knew you and your hiding spots.

He had come for you, Valandro, to give you what insight he had into the sudden change of plans.

He hadn’t appeared in one of his typical well-crafted Italian-made suits, he appeared to you wearing something unsuspecting.

Still, despite not looking as put together as your father made him appear many times before, he didn’t look any less imposing or intimidating in a pair of jeans and a worn leather jacket.

His silvered hair was still coiffed out of his face, his bright hazel eyes were studious as he watched you. His beard was just as you remembered, thick but well taken care of and it wasn’t hard to see why so many of Cade’s hookups, that weren’t escorts, had been so devoutly attracted to Val.

To them, he was an older man who was still well within his prime.

To you, Val was like your father.

Your father might have declared him your uncle Val, but truly he felt more like your father and you were closer to a daughter than a non-blood-related niece.

To you, Val was the man your father trusted to watch over you and keep you out of trouble, or out of your father’s place.

Val was the man who took you to our dance classes, gymnastics, soccer and baseball. Val had shown up to every game you had, every recital or competition ready to cheer you on when your father, mother and brother didn’t care.

Val threatened to cut off your first boyfriend’s nuts and broil them when he broke your heart, the threat less idle than it should have been especially when Val had rendered a set of knives he had specifically to do ill-will. It was a promise of protection going forward, it was a vow that he would always do whatever he could to keep you safe.

And he had.

He had been your dad without being biologically related to you. Val had every kind of support you needed, and he is the only one you cried for when he dropped you off at university. He was the only family member that you missed, the only one you had tried to call once a day.

“Will you be there?” You finally broke the silence, looking at your father figure with apprehension.

“I’ll hold your hand every step of the way.”

Your stomach had twisted and churned anxiously before the blacked-out SUVs had even pulled up to the roundabout driveway. You were steadily biting the inside of your cheek as you descended upon the stately mansion, or castle rather, that Lloyd called home.

And now you, too, would be confined behind walls of stone and the guardsmen’s keeps that towered above the cement pathway. You would be held prisoner by a man who had already called you his and had inflicted more damage upon your mother and brother than you had imagined.

Lloyd Hansen had been known to you less than six hours and already he had caused and created hell for your brother and mother.

It hadn’t been enough that he had likely broken multiple bones in your brother’s body, but then he had burned down your family home without a second thought. It was a natural response to wish them destruction but it was another avenue of will and strength to start the fire that destroyed them.

And he was sitting next to you like completely unbothered.

Your warden; your captor.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Hansen.” He only spoke when the vehicle came to a stop and his hand shot out to take yours, to drag you from the vehicle. “A castle for the princess-“

“Someone’s got an ego.” You ripped your hand from his hold, our eyes burning holes into the man whose name had been stripped from your arm time and time again. “And I’m not a princess. Call me a princess again and I’ll shove a hot poker through your eye.”

Lloyd’s laughter came at the ire of others.

No one had known what to do when their boss, the sadistic monster who had so easily torn nails from fingers, laughed almost boastfully at you.

The man who had killed people for less, who had maimed and torn appendages from each other, was laughing at an insult while the people that worked for him looked on in mild horror. Eyes on you and eyes on him, watching and waiting for Lloyd Hansen to strike you down as he had done for so many others.

“Mrs. Hansen,” Lloyd’s voice dripped like thickened honey yet there was something hidden beneath the golden hue that spelled trouble, “let’s go see your new home.”

Silence struck and Lloyd reached out with his left hand, the middle of his palm pressing against the nape of your neck. His fingers curled around you in a pressing but not constricting grip. The cool metal of his rings caressed your flesh as he yanked you closer to him, angling your head back.

“I’m a patient man, Mrs. Hansen.” His eyes were overcoming and his lips were pressed tight together.

Pulses of silence or strained whispers had come from the eyes watching the two of you. Beats and half-beats of strained breaths and inescapable tension had surged as you were held by his hand.

“I’m not a toy you can possess. I’m not your doll or your plaything.” You were trapped between his chest and the vehicle, his hand holding you in place while he drew his eyes over your body to commit every detail to memory.

“You’re my soulmate and you’ll be my wife.” He spoke with possession and demand, turning you in a sharp motion to face the double front doors of his castle-like mansion.

His hand held you still, even as you felt rage burning beneath your skin.

“Let me give you the tour, Mrs. Hansen.” Lloyd pushed you forward, directing you toward the steps and even further beyond the doors that opened on your approach.

The scattering of men and women as he stepped inside his own home was startling in its own right, but no more than the picturesque design of the interior foyer that looked as if it was ripped from a fairytale.

It was hard not to be taken back by the crystal chandelier but the grand staircase set across from the front door on an angle, made of pure marble with a deep oak railing, had been what stole and held your attention. It was wide and expansive, a sturdy set that led from one immaculate floor to the next, a beacon of bright designs that seemed out of place for a man like him.

A man like Lloyd Hansen…you half expected him to live in a cave.

“Lloyd-“ Double doors opened to the left and a woman had come traipsing out of the room with the click of her heels and a scowl on her face, huffing his name while blowing hair out of her face.

She stopped dead when she came across you, her brown eyes narrowing as she looked you over with an air of speculation that lingered heavily. She was no more impressed with you than she was with Lloyd, and had made her vexation known with a scoff. No manner of appreciation befell upon you or Lloyd although as quickly as she had spoken his name, she had turned on her heel and stalked back into the closed room.

“You piss off everyone you meet, don’t you?” You deridingly scathed, elbowing him as sharply as you could to create distance between you two, sidestepping one of his men who had encroached upon you.

“So what’s next? You got me here, now what? Are you gonna throw me in your torture chamber? Feed me to the fishes?” Truly you were making a mockery of him, and still, he had chuckled under his breath and brushed his fingers across his moustache.

“Rules, Princess.” His lips quirked into a smirk and he nodded his head in the direction of a few goons standing around waiting for instructions, the direction given and the resounding thud of the door slamming shut and the lock sealing your fate.

“I told you not to call me princess.” You ground your teeth and inched closer to him, approaching him with the intent to cause harm and your captor looking entirely unbothered.

Closer and closer you had drawn yourself toward him, your hands balled into fists while he continued to stare at you unflinchingly.

There was no indication that he had ever feared you reaching out and striking him. He stared you down with his intense blue eyes and the firm smirk that was playing on his lips, all while the eyes of his employees or goons watched the scene.

“Princess, princess-“ you swung at him, your hand flying toward his face and with instincts, you didn’t think possible, Lloyd had caught your wrist and spun you in a moment’s notice pinning you against him.

Your back was held tightly against his chest, his lips and the graze of his moustache felt against your ear. His breath was warm and his voice husky as he addressed you with firm and stately possession.

“Don’t like princess, Mrs. Hansen?” You struggled and he held you with strength that shouldn’t have been possible for a man like him.

“I’m not your wife.” You jerked against Lloyd, every attempt to free your hands or yourself from his grip and his holding embrace was met with strong resistance.

He was overpowering you, and getting a sense of arousal from every grind or pull.

“Not yet…” Lloyd’s lips stretched into a grin, maniacal and proud. “…pumpkin.”

His grin widened when you froze, your body almost entirely going lax when he crooned a pet name that affected you like a bolt of lightning to your nervous system.

“You like Pumpkin,” he uses your moment of weakness to corral you into a new embrace, carrying you bridal style and locking you in with his unkempt strength, “how…adorable.”

As if all your strength had been sucked out of you, you remained pliant. You remained unable to fight as he carried and carted you up the grand staircase, even further into the house to your supposed bedroom.

“Welcome home…Pumpkin.”

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