Boardwalk Empire S02E07

"I’ll just sew up my dress and go..."

Gretchen Mol caught another case of 'Thug Love' on "Boardwalk Empire" last night. There was a time when Paz de la Huerta was the foxiest femme fatale around, but the real badass babe of Atlantic City is Gretchen "Hasn't Aged A Day Since 25" Mol. She clearly has a thing for gangsters, and the gangsters evidently feel the same about her. I'm not saying Lucy Danziger is completely out of the running— she did make a surprise visit to Nucky this week, and we bet she still has a few tricks up her sleeve— but Gillian exercises a strange control over the men she sleeps with, even using her nurturing, motherly powers at times. Maybe things didn't work out with the Commodore, but that wasn't her fault, it was a stroke! Anyway, on a week when the sub-theme was seemingly cougar-boy love, what we learned from one particularly vigorous assignation is Gretchen clearly needs to be sleeping with gangsters her own age or preferably younger. Although I'm afraid this is only going to make things even creepier between Jimmy and mom, when he finds out.


What follows is essentially a redux of the scene last night where Lucky is a speedster and Gillian has pheromone manipulation...

A year ago, Gillian put her mouth on his, and for a few weeks he was gone.

It was like something pulled loose - not like he was used to, for all he let go in sex. It was different - like he needed her, where she could hold him still for more than a moment and kiss him, and all he tasted for days but for cigarettes was strawberries. She smelled like heat and something carnal under all the sweet scent and clean soap and it made him want to swallow her whole.

And of course, he realized too late (with a face full of scalding coffee he barely evaded even with his speed) that she’d used him, and with something not like his own gifts - hers, you could only see if you knew where to look.

(Like the way her hair glows red-gold in lights it shouldn’t and she looks at you all pink lips and bright eyes and doesn’t have to say a word for you to want her—)

So when she raps on his door in a tight floral dress, all tilted head and smiles and she smells just the same, all want me, want me, want me, he tells her-

“Fuck off.”

Her smile only falters for a second.

“Now, Charles. I don’t think you want that, really.”

Her hand reaches up to touch his cheek and the contact bolts through him like fire - but he bats her away.

“Fuckin’ quit it. I’m done with your shit.”

But she steps through the door anyway - too late to catch him around his waist like she wants to, because he’s across the room scrounging for cigarettes to block out the warm smell of strawberries and skin.

“Charles?”

She comes close, doe-eyed and seeming for a moment doubtful, and he’s all smoke and burning ember when he turns back.

“The fuck do you want? I’m on your kid’s side already, you don’t gotta spy on me for shit.”

She smiles again, like she’s glowing, reaching up to touch his arm - and yet he’s behind her, circling, letting the tension in his chest vibrate through the floor so she’s the one shaking.

“I’m not here for business, baby.” she tells him, twirling an orange curl lightly and watching him over her shoulder. And, quieter - “I missed you.”

He snorts. “You don’t even fuckin’ know me.”

And she catches him around his waist, so when he does try to move her heels skid on the floor - and her mouth close to his ear, from behind, want me want me want me.

“I didn’t say I missed you like that, dear.”

But his gun is at his hip and he will not do this again.

He spins her so she faces the mirror - her back to his chest and she’s wide eyed enough he knows she barely even felt them move.

“The fuck you miss me for, then?”

He says it knowing already, how she shivers when he puts hands on her hips - because he chooses to and nothing else, so out of range of her hands and mouth.

She watches him in the glass and says,

“I think you know what I want.”

He skates his hands up - slow enough for her to feel it, but once he hits her neckine he just finds a strap and tears.

I only know what I want.

“You think you’re fuckin’ cute with this crap?”

He pushes up against her back, digging nails into her exposed breast until she pushes back against him, moaning.

“Nn— cruelty is - ah - unbecoming on you, dear.”

He shoves her against the counter - drags his tongue up her spine, tastes the cloying sweet on his tongue and growls.

“You’re full a’ shit.”

She tries to turn - kiss him, press deceptive fingers into his mouth - but he pins her, hissing close in her ear.

“I’m gonna tan your hide so fuckin’ hard you ain’t gonna sit for days.”

And she doesn’t have time to respond, because he’s shoved the torn remains of her dress up around her waist and hits her.

“Ahh!” She’s all wide eyes and hands pushed to the mirror, legs shaking. “Charlie—”

And she’s pink skinned and shaking by the time he’s done - and he does let her turn, then, dripping damp down the insides of her open thighs and smiling.

“I really did miss you, Charles.”

He pushes her down - hand on her throat when she tries to kiss him, so he’s still just tasting tobacco and his own bitten tongue. Not yet.

“I can fuckin’ see that.”

A finger inside her that he throws the roll of his shoulder through - a pulse and speed of movement that makes her shake and claw at his back, keening.

“Oh fuck—baby—-”

He does let her take his mouth - once he pushes inside her, damp thighs hitched around his waist. He tastes fruit, milk, the wet heat of her cunt and breaks off snarling.

“You ever do a fella without doin’ that?”

He makes sure she’s trembling when he asks - in his hands and around his cock, his watch rattling against his wrist as he plants hands on either side of her. She whines, biting him in rough return before telling him, sharp and loud -

“Did you ever fuck a girl with - ahh- ah- without doing— this, Charlie?”

She manages to dig nails into his backside and hiss in his ear (saying with words instead of the heat she leaves in his throat), “fuck me baby, come on, come on come on oh God yes—” and breaking apart with a scream as he buries inside her.

She winds her way around him after they both come - a tangled mess of limbs and drawn loose strawberry hair, and she smells more like his tobacco and sweat than the warm sweetness she’s left under his tongue.

“You oughta go.” He huffs into her chest, though in straightening up he still carries her with him, not mindful of all the raw skin his handprints have left behind or the vicious red lines she’s left along his back.

“I know, dear.”

She straddles him on the bed - both of them too spent and sore to go again yet, but they will if she chooses to stay. She just knits fingers into his curls, making him growl low and smack at her thighs til she moves so he can grab for a smoke again.

She does manage though, to fill his mouth with her tongue before he lights it - and all he tastes is honey, miss me, baby?

And he does.


Television Series: Boardwalk Empire (S02E07- Peg Of Old)
Release Date: November 2011
Actress: Gretchen Mol
Video Clip Credit: Zorg & DeepAtSea










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