[Oh, that's charming. A bar like this is an unorthodox place for gallantry, but Carmen's always been a particular connoisseur of the unexpected and delightfully dissonant. She lets him get out first, then uses the connection of their hands to help tug herself along toward the edge of the booth after him, and when she does finally ease her way up to her feet, she's quick to sneak smoothly beneath his arm and wrap it around her shoulders like a possessive, protective shawl.]
Your place or mine?
[She's tall for a woman, particularly in her heels, but Jason's still got enough height on her that she can look girlishly up at him through her lashes if she wants, which she does.]
[ But of course he has his moments, as she is sure to be the beneficiary. He grins a little when she slides out, never breaking the contact, and is all too happy to curl his arm around her, squeezing her into his side and making it clear that she is happy to be taken, this time. That all of his crime fighting bulk is here tonight to keep her safe from the outside.
It feels good, to play guard dog, really. ]
You know, I feel like I really just want to pick whatever option is the closest right now.
[ He leans in, nuzzling his lips against her ear a little as he steers her towards the door. ]
The sooner I can have those nylons wrapped around my hips? The better.
[Legitimately, of course — she's a thief of priceless historical artifacts, not luxury hotel room reservations. There's a certain pleasure to doing things the right way, anyway; little tastes and glimpses of a life she would never want to live full-time, but which is fun to vacation in every once in a while.
There are eyes on them as they make for the exit, naturally. It's only to be expected that the other guests would steal a lingering look at the woman who'd been the crux of an apparent altercation between two patrons, and which ended with her departure beneath the arm of the triumphant one. Carmen hardly minds that, either; it's certainly a brand of attention she'd be hard-pressed to mind when it comes accompanied by Jason's teasing and protective doting.
But he's got her in a mood, himself, and she can still feel the ghost of where his fingers had stroked her thighs as her stockings slip against each other with every step, and when they're back out into the night air, she only lasts about two breaths before she's catching him by the coat and tugging him around the corner of the bar's front into the shadows just off the street.]
But first, I want you to see just what you do to me. Call it...inspiration.
[She weaves their fingers together, just like he'd done before in the bar, and guides his hand back to her thigh where it'd been — only this time, standing, there's room enough to work up fully beneath her skirt where he couldn't before, and that's precisely where she's leading it to go.]
[ He's all too happy to be watched, here. If only because he knows the difference - there isn't a real threat here. No one that either of them need to be worried about. No, they just made a bit of a scene, and she's beautiful beyond words, and he's ruggedly intimidating, and so they draw attention in their wake like ripples behind a passing ship. It feels good, honestly. He could get used to showing her off a little.
Even if he really just wants to get her to himself. ]
Oh, we'll really have to make a mess of your suite, then.
[ But she's apparently not feeling too patient, which is quite flattering, coming from poised and polished Carmen. Instead she drags him in the shadows, and he just grins as she drags his hand down, guides it beneath her skirt. And he doesn't need to be told twice.
Instead he leans against her, pinning her up against the wall with the bulk of his body as his hand slips higher. His fingers skim, light, careful, across the front of her panties, feather light touches designed to tease her, rile her up, more than anything else. But there's a heat building there that's intoxicating, and he lets out a low growl, his lips brushing against her throat. ]
Babe, I'm going to fuck you until I can't even move if you keep this up.
[What was it he'd vowed earlier? To respect her as much or as little as she wants? Well, neither one of them is a model of the code of chivalry at the moment, but there's no denying that Carmen wants it that way as she melts into the way she's pinned without an ounce of resistance, reaching up to twine her arms around his shoulders as soon as he's telegraphed that he understands the assignment.
She'd kept a firm outward handle on her composure in the booth at the bar, but her panties tell a starkly different story, already wet to the touch and hot to match. And of course she knows how crazy that's going to make him, the juxtaposition of her poise against the realization of just how much of an effect his antics have had on her — the slow discovery that her lack of interest in waiting isn't just about teasing him, but about her own control slipping as well.]
Down, boy. Just take the edge off.
[Not that she'd necessarily stop him if he decided to ignore that mandate and make good on his threat. But she knows full well that the thing he's always liked best is being the instrument of her pleasure, almost even moreso than having his own. And oh, does he do a good job of it, the pressure of his fingers so light she can't help but fixate on them with wishing they'd do more, never quite where she wants them but more than enough to get her panting past parted lips and trembling in his hold.]
Nhh — it'll make the waiting more, mmn, fun...
[That, and she just wants what she couldn't have in the booth. Her hips cant up, just once, reflexive in search of more contact.]
[ It really is the blend that gets him going so much, she's got him dead to rights on that. That to the world, that on the outside, she's the polished, unflappable lady thief, Carmen Sandiego, always in control, always with that quietly satisfied smile curving her lips and driving him a little bit crazy. She's so good at spinning things out exactly how she wants them, making plans and executing them flawlessly.
And yet when he sets his mind to it, when he decides to work her up, to please her, to make her hot, she can melt for him. All for his efforts, all for his relentless desire to please her.
So he grins as he feels that wetness spreading across her panties so readily. That she's been boiling just as much as he has, worked up to a lather no matter how cool she played it in the bar. There's certainly a part of him that wants nothing more than to rip her panties off - and she knows he could do that quite literally if he felt like it - to hoist her up against the wall and fuck her here and then, without restraint, without control. ]
I've been waiting ever since you showed me those stockings, Carmen.
[ Her hips arch, press against him, and he rewards her with more deliberate pressure with his fingers. Feels the tacky wetness under his touch, the way her panties mold to her as he traces her lips, up and down. Slow, steady strokes. He's trying to hold it together, and teasing her in turn helps. ]
But you're right. I want to be able to unwrap my present properly. Spread you out across the bed and enjoy you like a fucking feast.
You know I bought them for you. Mmmm, and the parts you haven't seen yet. That too — ah...!
[She'll never know whether it was by serendipity or design that for one perfect moment, his fingers drew just high enough while she pushed back just firm enough that she'd finally gotten a delicious drag of pressure against her clit, but either way it's there and gone again like a bolt of lightning, and with about as much of an impact on her as well. In an instant she's gone from having her arms around his shoulders to clinging for stability, clawing at his back for support, and when she's come back down enough to retain even a semblance of presence of mind, she sinks those fingers into his hair instead, pulling until she's tugged his head to an angle where she can kiss him firm and desperate.
It's messy and rushed, that kiss — a far cry from the elegance she'd maintained in the bar, firm enough to finally smudge her perfect lipstick and leave traces of its ruin against his mouth. But it serves as much as a grounding line for her arousal as anything else: it gives her something to focus on, a place for it all to go, smothering the sounds that want to escape and making her feel like a livewire herself, a conduit to feed the pleasure he's putting her through right back into him in any way she can.
It's somewhat less successful than she might've hoped. Mostly because his fingers don't stop moving and she keeps needing more air than her heaving chest can seem to pull into her lungs. Calling her a feast is an apt description; she certainly feels like he's out to devour her.]
Well — if this is, mmh, your amuse-bouche, then how do you find the taste, monsieur?
[ Really, she's not making it any easier on him. It was accident as much as anything, the way his fingertips skim against her clit, causing her to tense arch against his body, to cling to him like a rock at sea. But he does love the reaction, the way she lunges in for him, kisses him like she's on the verge of collapse, and once again he has to fight the urge to just keep pushing harder. To drive her more and more wild until they cross the line into real public obscenity, assuming they still haven't crossed it yet.
Luckily, there's something to be said for the rush of ego, for the way that he feels just a little smug about how much she's losing control compared to normal. Gone is the polished perfection, and as much as he likes her glistening and confident and strong-willed, oh, he likes this side of her, too, and all the more because almost no one has gotten to see it.
Which is another note. If he fucks her up against this alley wall, some passers by might get to enjoy the show. And he's not sure they deserve it.
So instead he smirks against her lips. His fingers dig in against her a little more, hook her panties aside even to run against her bare lips, slick and molten hot. Before he draws back entirely, lifting his hand so that she can watch him lick her wetness from his fingers with a reverent hunger. ]
Delicious as always. But I want the whole thing, so how about you show me to your suite?
[She doesn't take her eyes off him for even a second as he brings his hand up to his lips; he'd never have pulled away to begin with if he hadn't been up to something of the sort, and she's pleased to see she wasn't mistaken about his intentions. The fact that she's not often as overtly filthy as Jason doesn't mean it doesn't still do something to her to witness it firsthand; if there's one thing she's constantly been pleasantly surprised about of late, it's the way their kinks have aligned in a kaleidoscope of charged, thrilling outcomes.
And that does go in both directions. For all that her lips part and her pupils dilate as she takes in the sight of him dragging his tongue over his fingers in a frankly obscene implication of what he'll surely do to her later, she's aware of what it's going to do to him in return when she has to collect herself enough to step back into public after their little interlude.]
If we don't now, I doubt we'll make it at all.
[But still she slumps against the brick wall a moment, her fingers absently coming up to touch her mouth like she's already missing the pressure of his lips; a little thereafter, they drift up to her hair as if to assess the damage they've assuredly done. With no mirror at hand, she has no way of knowing just how rumpled he's gotten her, but his expression will serve as a good enough gauge as she starts to put herself back together.
And she does so, still shaky and keyed up but methodical enough: tugging her panties back into order and smoothing her skirt down, straightening the drape of her coat before belting it back around her waist, tracing the edges of her lips with her thumb and checking it for how much red lipstick the pad might've collected. And she watches him, eyes dark, her own hunger equally evident. See what you did, her actions telegraph without words. You're the one who unraveled me like this.
Finally, breathless, she's gotten herself presentable enough to risk standing properly, and to let the outside world see her, for that matter.]
Follow me. It's not far — at least, not as the robin flies.
[Which is to say, he'll be following her up to the rooftops, where she'd earlier secured her grapple and kit before descending to the bar on the street. Evidently, they're returning to the Ritz by the balcony, not the lobby.]
[ No, he trusts he has her locked in, ready to focus on just what a show he wants to give to her. Clearly, it works, paints exactly the kind of pictures in her head that he wants. The idea of his tongue playing over her, how he's going to take his time savoring her, and taking her to pieces, at least as much as she'll allow. Given the way her eyes bloom, he knows that in the moment, at least, he has her.
Then again, she's always good at turning tables.
Even the way she composes herself - as no doubt anticipated and intended - works him up a little. The sight of her getting composed, showing off just what a mess he made of her composure already. The only one who can. The only one who gets to. He watches her with hungry eyes, trying to fight the urge to take more, to strip her bare, because she's right. If they don't put the brakes on and relocate now, they might never manage to again, and that would be a bit of a shame.
But his gaze makes it perfectly clear: his words are empty threats. He is going to ravage her. ]
You know, Carmen, one of my favorite things about you is that you are absolutely never boring.
[ It's an easy climb. He knows the city like the back of his hand by now, and while normally he'd be masked up while traveling by rooftop, well, he can make an exception just the once for a little - dare we say romantic? - moonlit chase over to the Ritz. ]
[Some people would call it crazy, hurling oneself into daring feats of aerial athleticism in the state that she's in, wearing high heels and a minidress and exactly nothing that comes close to resembling protective gear. For Carmen, on the other hand, that simply makes it a day ending in Y; though it may not have been a sensible personal choice to learn how to go about her activities in outfits more suited to a runway than a rooftop, having invested the time into doing so does come with certain advantages.
Case in point: a night like tonight. And really, a chase does feel like the icing on the figurative cake, or possibly just an extension of their existing foreplay. She never feels more alive than when she's weightless in freefall, never more herself than when she's amid the thrill of the chase. In a way, running the rooftops isn't so dissimilar from sex — not just because both get her heart racing, but because they're the times when she's most inclined to believe she is as beautiful as Jason always tells her she is.]
You have to admit, it's better than trying to catch a cab!
[She laughs, delighted, and then in two fast steps that don't seem to even consider the height of the heels she's wearing, she throws herself off the side of the roof and basks in the feeling of falling just long enough to fire her grapple and let it catch her back up into an arc. She doesn't know the city as well as Jason does — who could? — but she does at least know the best course back to the balcony at the Ritz, and she's got enough of a head start that she thinks she can get there first even if he does find a shortcut to try to head her off at the pass.
It feels perfect. Her body hot with the memory of his fingers on her, her senses alight with the adrenaline of exertion. And of course, the thrill of anticipation of what Jason is going to do to her when he catches her, because he will, because she wants him to, because he wants her so much he's crazy for it.
She's crazy for it, too. It feels good to be. And that's why, before she's even through the sliding door that connects her suite with the balcony once she's landed, she's already unbelting her coat and abandoning it on one of the outdoor lounge chairs in her haste to make ready for the moment her time runs out.]
Especially when she's on the mood, gliding through the air, electric and alive. She looks so deliciously delighted, and while he doesn't exactly want to go too deep down this psychological rabbit hole, as he's following her atop the rooftops, Jason realizes that he can understand a lot better why Bruce fell in love with his free-spirited cat burglar. It's easy to see the reason behind it.
She takes off just ahead of him, and she's clearly mapped out her route perfectly. He knows the city better than her, but they're not on a long journey, so there aren't too many opportunities to slip ahead, to try to cut her off at the pass. Which is fine. In this moment, he kind of just enjoys chasing her, almost hunting her, knowing that he'll get his hands on her sooner or later.
She beats him to the balcony, then. Dives through it like a beautiful red shadow, and he lands shortly after, already shedding his leather jacket as he comes through the sliding door. He can see her tossing her coat aside and this time he pounces. Uses his long legs, the sheer advantage of size, to close in on her. Coil his arms around her waist, lift her up, and just carry her into the bedroom, to toss her bodily onto the bed. ]
Now? [ he tells her, reaching down to peel off his shirt, lift it up and over his head and let her appreciate the view of shifting muscle. When he lets it drop, his eyes are hot on her, hungry, ravenous. ] Your ass is mine, Miss Sandiego.
[She'd known it was coming, of course, but the manner in which Jason catches her still takes Carmen pleasantly by surprise; she'd thought he might corner her against a wall again, trap her there and kiss her breathless and pick up right where they'd left off outside the bar. It's a thrilling surprise, then, when he just grabs her and lifts her like it's nothing. No wonder she finds herself making a noise that might charitably be called a squeak as one moment her feet are on the ground and the next she's dangling in midair.
It's a high-end suite she'd taken, not that she expects either of them to bother with any of its amenities until they've gone more than a few rounds in bed, but with enough fixtures of note that there'll be plenty to keep a pair of minds as creative as theirs occupied. A full-length mirror taking up an expanse of the wall near the closet, for example. The chocolate-covered cherries and chilled champagne in the minifridge. The deep, sunken bath and walk-in shower to match. To say nothing, of course, of the California king bed, with a mattress and pillows soft and plush enough that it feels like landing in a cloud when he tosses her there.
He's so strong. It almost makes her want to get back to her feet just to tempt him to toss her back down again.]
Was that ever in doubt, Mr. Wolf? What big eyes you have.
[Of course, if she doesn't get her dress off on her own, he's going to tear right through it. While he's momentarily distracted with his own shirt, she reaches behind her to get the fastenings and zipper loose, the better to shimmy out of it when she's done appreciating the view.]
And what big teeth you have.
[She brings a thumb to her mouth, biting the tip between her teeth in a gesture that looks halfway to filthy from how coy it pretends to be, as she looks him up and down and up, and finally settles her gaze on down.]
[ There's definitely an appeal to catching her off guard. To having her so off balance that she really does eep, tossed around like she's weightless, thrown onto the bed. Unsurprisingly, she looks pleased, because she always looks pleased when he manhandles her, just as much as she looks pleased when she snaps her fingers and brings him to heel, knowing that - most times, at least, unless he's really playing feisty - he'll obey. He likes listening to her. And he likes taking charge of her in ways that few else could manage, or pull off, besides.
Today feels like a day for the latter. At least for now.
His detective's mind is still sharp, and he takes in the surroundings. The mirror. The hint of a luxurious bathroom. Balcony. There are definitely options, things they can do to defile every room of this suite and a variety of flat surfaces, and less flat surfaces, as needed. For now, though, he has her right where he wants her. And that gaze in his eyes - Mr. Wolf is right this time, predatory and dark - that promises she's not going anywhere.
He does smirk more at how she drinks him in. At her sly teasing, her provocation, the way she bites her thumb. He's hard, very hard for her already, tenting out his jeans, and he reaches his hands down to slowly open his jeans, next, clearly taking his time just to make her sweat. ]
Do I? Maybe I want to hear you say it.
[ Two can play around. ]
Be a good girl for me, Little Red. Tell me what you want. [ He pauses, watching the way she squirms a little as she unzips her dress. ] And you might want to take that off. It looks expensive, and I'm not feeling polite.
[She grins, watching him brazenly for a moment before getting her dress the rest of the way open and writhing elegantly to get it out from under her before she pulls it over her head and tosses it in the direction of the coffee table for...well, relative safekeeping. She always makes him work for it when he tries to bait her to talk dirty. He always succeeds, of course, but making him work for it is half the fun.]
Tu as une grosse bitte. Baise-moi avec ça.
[Truly, the dangers of falling for a polyglot. Once free of the dress, she shakes her hair out and leans back on her hands, letting him take in the full picture of her evening's choice of lingerie: a front-fastening bra and panty set with matching garter belt over, its thin straps clipped neatly to her thigh-high stockings. There's no chance it's not deliberate how even with her dress discarded, she still matches her shoes — the set is in black lace with subtle red accents, just like her black heels with their red soles. Just like the black hair cascading over her shoulders and the red lips turned up in a playful smile. It makes the blue of her eyes much more distinct, or at least what little of it remains from around her blown pupils.]
What happens if I'm not good, Mr. Wolf? Aren't you going to gobble me up either way?
[But she's not nearly as unaffected as she's pretending. Not the way her fingers are flexing in the comforter, her eyes locked on the zipper of his jeans. A moment passes, during which it's apparent she's doing some very rapid thinking, and then she decides to press her luck — sliding back off the bed and stepping rapidly to press her body up against his, her hand making a move for his open fly with as much grace as she'd pick a pocket.
And she knows she won't get away with it. She knows he'll catch her in the act. But if she can get away with her lips on his jawline and her breasts against his chest in the window of opportunity she has before he gets his hands on her again, well, it's more than worth it to try.]
[ He can't help but roll his eyes a little. Of all the languages she has to choose to tease him in, it had to be French. Naturally. ]
Finché i tuoi occhi non ruotano all'indietro.
[ He is at least a little distracted by watching her undress, though. The way she slithers out of her dress, and jiggles pleasantly along with it, lithe grace and sumptuous femininity in equal measure. It's mouth watering, of course, and he does his own job of drinking her in, the curves of her body, the faint way the garter belt dimples her thighs, the always intoxicating curve of her lips. She really is perfect. So perfect he wants to drown in her.
But then, he's the predator, this time, they've both decided. His belt slides open, the buckle clinking loudly, as she draws herself to her feet, leaning up against him all over again. Reaching down between their bodies, as her lips brush his jaw, and her perfume fills his nose for a moment. He sighs, draws her in.
Then picks her up with two broad hands encircling her waist, squeezing her gently as he lifts her off her feet, and tosses her back down onto the bed. As she planned, no doubt. ]
Greedy. I really am going to have to fuck you into submission, aren't I?
[ His boots are toed off and kicked aside, and then his pants drop, sliding down to reveal impressive muscled thighs and black boxer briefs that leave vanishingly little to the imagination, when he's as visibly aroused as he is. Then it's his turn to climb on top of the bed, and on top of her, reaching up to knot his fingers in her glorious dark hair and hold her in place. He says nothing else as he crushes his lips to hers, raw and hungry and demanding.
[Oh, even better. French is all well and good, but there's nothing like Italian when it comes to passion.]
Lupo mio, che bello. Mi vizi troppo.
[He's always so warm. Or maybe it's just that she notices the radiant heat so much more when she's always been reluctant to let most people get close, but she's more than content to attribute it to him. No matter how many times they end up like this, it's always a pleasure to bask in, for whatever span of time she can get away with it.
This time, that interval isn't long. But the thrill of his hands on her isn't any less exciting than it had been the first, even though this time she's expecting it. This time it's giggling laughter that follows her back down onto the bed, and this time she sinks contentedly into the mattress, more willing to stay put now that she's pressed her luck at least a little.
And he doesn't make her wait long. She's certainly teased him enough to prompt him moving on her as rapidly as he does, and it's all the better for it as she ends up trapped between the plush of the bed and the plane of his body with nowhere to run as he gets his hands in her hair.]
Oh —
[That's all she manages to get out, just that fraction of a sound, before his mouth is on hers and he's already making good on his threat, her eyelids fluttering as her eyes go unfocused beneath them. He's not pinning her hands, at least not yet, and she takes that as tacit permission to touch, tilting her hips in search of an angle that might afford her some friction as her nails run up his sides and around to drag up and down what length of his spine she can reach.]
[ It's a closeness that he appreciates. That he's all but addicted to, especially knowing how difficult it is to catch hold of her. He's heard all the stories, of the infamous Carmen Sandiego. A mystery, a expert thief, that trying to catch hold of her is like trying to slip handcuffs on a ghost, like closing your fist around smoke.
So he always relishes when he has his hands around her. More and more, at every opportunity.
All the more fun to taste her, too. To tangle his fingers in her hair, to hold her close, drink her deep. He can feel the shifting of her hips, too, and grins against her mouth, moving for a moment to pin his leg between hers. To let her grind against the solid muscle of his thigh, there, some light relief. He knows that she's craving more, and he is, too, but for the moment at least he feels a little more in charge. Of her, of his own urges. So it's fun to tease her while he can. She'll always turn the tables, sooner or later.
But all the same, he doesn't want to tease too much. He draws back from her lips just a little, tugging gently at her bottom lip with his teeth, savoring the moment. He doesn't go far, though, just nuzzling into, nibbling on her ear, too. ]
You feel even more worked up than usual, gorgeous. You must really need me to take good care of you, huh? Is that right?
[ His leg pulls back, and his hand slides down her body, across the smoothness of her belly and then between her legs, to glide across her slightly sodden panties, enjoying how the material sticks to her even as he touches it. He can feel the heat radiating off of her, and his cock throbs from the very thought. ]
Because I want to make sure this whole suite smells like sex and sweat when we're done. I want you exhausted. That sound fair?
[Could she get free if she really wanted to? Without a doubt, and not just because of her own inestimable skills but because she knows Jason would never truly try to confine her somewhere that she didn't already want to be. That's the secret, selfish pleasure that runs in the undercurrent of all the games, for Carmen — the unspoken trust, the certainty of being able to let her guard down and just enjoy being touched by someone who wants her with abandon for reasons other than to bring her to justice.
To bring her to orgasm, certainly. To ruin, definitely. But justice? Thankfully, that can wait.
It's only when they're like this that she can really unravel — a state of herself that she refuses to grant to anyone but him. There's a decadence in not needing to do anything but react for a while, and know that she's in the hands of someone who wants to treat her well (even when he's so-called disrespectful). Who has ever cared so much about making sure she feels good, except Jason?]
I do. I do, I've needed you all night.
[Longer than just since the start of the night, even, but she'd known she'd wanted to see him even before she'd made her decision to dress up and go out. No matter how far she might go when she sets off on one of her escapades, she never likes being gone for long, lately. His gravity never fails to pull her back in, drawn like a magnet toward his arms and his bed. That's not such a bad thing, either — having a true north to navigate by.
His kisses leave her panting; his fingers in her hair apply a tension that's firm and pleasant and addicting. And it's so, so generous how he indulges her with the press of his thigh, muscular and thick and just right for mitigating a little bit of the wanting she'd baited him to kindle in her when she'd bade him touch her outside the bar. But then he does her one better, and brings his fingers there instead, and the breathy noise his touch elicits is almost pleading. Her expression, when she fixes her soft lust-drunk gaze on him, is, too.]
Jason. [It's "Jason" now. This isn't teasing. It's just honest, vulnerable desire.] Rip them. I don't mind. I knew you'd want to — I don't mind.
[ Luckily, Jason isn't the most justice motivated to begin with. Carmen isn't hurting anyone. Her schemes are flamboyant, and entertaining, and usually stealing from people who can afford to be stolen from, if not outright deserve it. He exists in the gray areas enough himself, has been fully a criminal for a while there before dragging him back into something approaching vigilantism, if not heroism. But either way, it means that she? Is safe from being slapped in cuffs.
Well. For more than just a night, anyway.
He grins a little at that urgent pleading. It certainly sounds like she means it, that she's been aching for him, and given how worked up she seems already, he has every reason to believe it. That it's not just playing to his ego - even if he suspects it's a little of that, too, just for spice, and he'll never mind when she does it.
His cock pulses again when she just calls him Jason, nothing else. Pleading, sweet, plaintive.
So he doesn't need to be told twice. He curls his fingers in her panties, in that sticky, soaked fabric, and with a quick jerk of his arm he tears through them like paper. They snap with a satisfying noise, the ruined fabric tossed beside, and he lunges in to kiss her again, deep and greedy, as his fingers move back between her legs. He presses two of them slowly but firmly into her, letting her appreciate the sensation of being filled, stretched out on those thick fingers of his, while he takes his time. Savors her. ]
How is your pussy always so perfect, Carmen? [ he rumbles against her lips. ] Like a fucking drug.
[She gasps a little, approving, at the easy show of strength that essentially destroys her panties — but it's not as though she'd bought any of this with longevity in mind, not with how familiar she is with Jason's kink of making a mess of her. It's not a coincidence that she'd color-coordinated down to the last thread in every layer she'd donned, so that no matter how dressed or undressed she became, she'd have the same pristine consistency throughout. By morning she'll have added the purpling hues of bruises and the pink of abraded skin, and it'll be just as perfect in an altogether different way.
She can feel her lipstick smudge between them as their lips meet and move together; what a highball glass couldn't budge, Jason's fiercely possessive kisses are more than capable of unmaking. But she's not above messing him up a little, too, and he's not keeping her from using her hands. It shouldn't come as any surprise that her nails find their way into the muscle of his back as the chain of greedy kisses leave her lightheaded, to say nothing of how the blissful pressure of penetration steals all the air in her lungs fast away.]
Because it's you — [Her eyes fall closed as she pants through parted lips that still just barely brush against his with every breath. Every time Jason's inside her, it's like she rediscovers all over again something that's been missing from all that perfection she portrays.] You're so — mmhhh...
[There's not a lot of leverage, pinned under him as she is. But there's enough that she can cant her hips up to try to take his fingers deeper, knowing that sooner or later they'll land on the angle that makes her see stars.]
Nothing ever feels as good as when...hh, aah, as when you're inside...
[ She's right, of course. He is more than a little wild, and when she's so polished and poised and careful about her appearance, well, how could he not delight in being the one person allowed - and more than that, eagerly encouraged - to leave her in delicious ruins? To make sure her hair is wild, her make up smeared, her body glistening with sweat and cum and dotted with all sorts of marks and bruises. Maybe if she was more fussy about it he'd hold himself back, let her be the elegant and untouchable goddess of thieves that she is with everyone else, but she's not going to stop him.
No, she's just going to encourage him, isn't she? ]
Flirt. [ He grins a little as she melts back, her hair falling in a dark halo around her head and her face awash in bliss and tension both. Her hips roll, twitch up against him, seeking more, and he presses in a little deeper, knowing what she's hunting for. What she craves so badly.
As he does, he trails a few kisses down her throat. There, he's more careful. He could sink his teeth down, bite until she's left with an angry red mark to remember him by, but he'd rather save that for softer, more supple skin. Places where she can hide it more easily - and where she can think about him every time they throb, every time she brushes them against her clothes, or with her fingers, and know that she was taken so thoroughly. ]
But you're right. Because you're mine, and I'm going to fuck you like it, pretty lady. Until you can't take it any more.
[There — between their combined efforts, his fingers finally brush just right and a low, keening moan spills from her lips as the pleasure of it rocks through her. It's a different sort of satisfaction than attention to her clit would be, less electric and more of a full, all-encompassing burn; it leaves her shivering with arousal that she wouldn't suppress even if she could, continuing to move with his fingers until she's as much fucking herself on them as he is toying with her.
Once she finds a rhythm — and while he's distracted enough with kissing her not to withhold it, hopefully — she sneaks a nimble hand between them and finds the hooks of her front-fastening bra, thumbing them open until the lace goes slack from the lack of tension. An invitation, for when he inevitably decides to move further down than her throat. Until then, she rakes that same hand through his hair, alternating between petting affection and holding on for dear life, depending on whether her pleasure is cresting or ebbing at the moment.]
Filthy. [She murmurs, in the exact same tone and inflection he'd used to call her a flirt, like they're just trading endearments one for one.] Better hurry, before I flip you over and take it myself —
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runstheworld) wrote2026-05-08 11:55 pm
no subject
Your place or mine?
[She's tall for a woman, particularly in her heels, but Jason's still got enough height on her that she can look girlishly up at him through her lashes if she wants, which she does.]
I imagine either could have its advantages.
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It feels good, to play guard dog, really. ]
You know, I feel like I really just want to pick whatever option is the closest right now.
[ He leans in, nuzzling his lips against her ear a little as he steers her towards the door. ]
The sooner I can have those nylons wrapped around my hips? The better.
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[Legitimately, of course — she's a thief of priceless historical artifacts, not luxury hotel room reservations. There's a certain pleasure to doing things the right way, anyway; little tastes and glimpses of a life she would never want to live full-time, but which is fun to vacation in every once in a while.
There are eyes on them as they make for the exit, naturally. It's only to be expected that the other guests would steal a lingering look at the woman who'd been the crux of an apparent altercation between two patrons, and which ended with her departure beneath the arm of the triumphant one. Carmen hardly minds that, either; it's certainly a brand of attention she'd be hard-pressed to mind when it comes accompanied by Jason's teasing and protective doting.
But he's got her in a mood, himself, and she can still feel the ghost of where his fingers had stroked her thighs as her stockings slip against each other with every step, and when they're back out into the night air, she only lasts about two breaths before she's catching him by the coat and tugging him around the corner of the bar's front into the shadows just off the street.]
But first, I want you to see just what you do to me. Call it...inspiration.
[She weaves their fingers together, just like he'd done before in the bar, and guides his hand back to her thigh where it'd been — only this time, standing, there's room enough to work up fully beneath her skirt where he couldn't before, and that's precisely where she's leading it to go.]
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Even if he really just wants to get her to himself. ]
Oh, we'll really have to make a mess of your suite, then.
[ But she's apparently not feeling too patient, which is quite flattering, coming from poised and polished Carmen. Instead she drags him in the shadows, and he just grins as she drags his hand down, guides it beneath her skirt. And he doesn't need to be told twice.
Instead he leans against her, pinning her up against the wall with the bulk of his body as his hand slips higher. His fingers skim, light, careful, across the front of her panties, feather light touches designed to tease her, rile her up, more than anything else. But there's a heat building there that's intoxicating, and he lets out a low growl, his lips brushing against her throat. ]
Babe, I'm going to fuck you until I can't even move if you keep this up.
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She'd kept a firm outward handle on her composure in the booth at the bar, but her panties tell a starkly different story, already wet to the touch and hot to match. And of course she knows how crazy that's going to make him, the juxtaposition of her poise against the realization of just how much of an effect his antics have had on her — the slow discovery that her lack of interest in waiting isn't just about teasing him, but about her own control slipping as well.]
Down, boy. Just take the edge off.
[Not that she'd necessarily stop him if he decided to ignore that mandate and make good on his threat. But she knows full well that the thing he's always liked best is being the instrument of her pleasure, almost even moreso than having his own. And oh, does he do a good job of it, the pressure of his fingers so light she can't help but fixate on them with wishing they'd do more, never quite where she wants them but more than enough to get her panting past parted lips and trembling in his hold.]
Nhh — it'll make the waiting more, mmn, fun...
[That, and she just wants what she couldn't have in the booth. Her hips cant up, just once, reflexive in search of more contact.]
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And yet when he sets his mind to it, when he decides to work her up, to please her, to make her hot, she can melt for him. All for his efforts, all for his relentless desire to please her.
So he grins as he feels that wetness spreading across her panties so readily. That she's been boiling just as much as he has, worked up to a lather no matter how cool she played it in the bar. There's certainly a part of him that wants nothing more than to rip her panties off - and she knows he could do that quite literally if he felt like it - to hoist her up against the wall and fuck her here and then, without restraint, without control. ]
I've been waiting ever since you showed me those stockings, Carmen.
[ Her hips arch, press against him, and he rewards her with more deliberate pressure with his fingers. Feels the tacky wetness under his touch, the way her panties mold to her as he traces her lips, up and down. Slow, steady strokes. He's trying to hold it together, and teasing her in turn helps. ]
But you're right. I want to be able to unwrap my present properly. Spread you out across the bed and enjoy you like a fucking feast.
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[She'll never know whether it was by serendipity or design that for one perfect moment, his fingers drew just high enough while she pushed back just firm enough that she'd finally gotten a delicious drag of pressure against her clit, but either way it's there and gone again like a bolt of lightning, and with about as much of an impact on her as well. In an instant she's gone from having her arms around his shoulders to clinging for stability, clawing at his back for support, and when she's come back down enough to retain even a semblance of presence of mind, she sinks those fingers into his hair instead, pulling until she's tugged his head to an angle where she can kiss him firm and desperate.
It's messy and rushed, that kiss — a far cry from the elegance she'd maintained in the bar, firm enough to finally smudge her perfect lipstick and leave traces of its ruin against his mouth. But it serves as much as a grounding line for her arousal as anything else: it gives her something to focus on, a place for it all to go, smothering the sounds that want to escape and making her feel like a livewire herself, a conduit to feed the pleasure he's putting her through right back into him in any way she can.
It's somewhat less successful than she might've hoped. Mostly because his fingers don't stop moving and she keeps needing more air than her heaving chest can seem to pull into her lungs. Calling her a feast is an apt description; she certainly feels like he's out to devour her.]
Well — if this is, mmh, your amuse-bouche, then how do you find the taste, monsieur?
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Luckily, there's something to be said for the rush of ego, for the way that he feels just a little smug about how much she's losing control compared to normal. Gone is the polished perfection, and as much as he likes her glistening and confident and strong-willed, oh, he likes this side of her, too, and all the more because almost no one has gotten to see it.
Which is another note. If he fucks her up against this alley wall, some passers by might get to enjoy the show. And he's not sure they deserve it.
So instead he smirks against her lips. His fingers dig in against her a little more, hook her panties aside even to run against her bare lips, slick and molten hot. Before he draws back entirely, lifting his hand so that she can watch him lick her wetness from his fingers with a reverent hunger. ]
Delicious as always. But I want the whole thing, so how about you show me to your suite?
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And that does go in both directions. For all that her lips part and her pupils dilate as she takes in the sight of him dragging his tongue over his fingers in a frankly obscene implication of what he'll surely do to her later, she's aware of what it's going to do to him in return when she has to collect herself enough to step back into public after their little interlude.]
If we don't now, I doubt we'll make it at all.
[But still she slumps against the brick wall a moment, her fingers absently coming up to touch her mouth like she's already missing the pressure of his lips; a little thereafter, they drift up to her hair as if to assess the damage they've assuredly done. With no mirror at hand, she has no way of knowing just how rumpled he's gotten her, but his expression will serve as a good enough gauge as she starts to put herself back together.
And she does so, still shaky and keyed up but methodical enough: tugging her panties back into order and smoothing her skirt down, straightening the drape of her coat before belting it back around her waist, tracing the edges of her lips with her thumb and checking it for how much red lipstick the pad might've collected. And she watches him, eyes dark, her own hunger equally evident. See what you did, her actions telegraph without words. You're the one who unraveled me like this.
Finally, breathless, she's gotten herself presentable enough to risk standing properly, and to let the outside world see her, for that matter.]
Follow me. It's not far — at least, not as the robin flies.
[Which is to say, he'll be following her up to the rooftops, where she'd earlier secured her grapple and kit before descending to the bar on the street. Evidently, they're returning to the Ritz by the balcony, not the lobby.]
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Then again, she's always good at turning tables.
Even the way she composes herself - as no doubt anticipated and intended - works him up a little. The sight of her getting composed, showing off just what a mess he made of her composure already. The only one who can. The only one who gets to. He watches her with hungry eyes, trying to fight the urge to take more, to strip her bare, because she's right. If they don't put the brakes on and relocate now, they might never manage to again, and that would be a bit of a shame.
But his gaze makes it perfectly clear: his words are empty threats. He is going to ravage her. ]
You know, Carmen, one of my favorite things about you is that you are absolutely never boring.
[ It's an easy climb. He knows the city like the back of his hand by now, and while normally he'd be masked up while traveling by rooftop, well, he can make an exception just the once for a little - dare we say romantic? - moonlit chase over to the Ritz. ]
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Case in point: a night like tonight. And really, a chase does feel like the icing on the figurative cake, or possibly just an extension of their existing foreplay. She never feels more alive than when she's weightless in freefall, never more herself than when she's amid the thrill of the chase. In a way, running the rooftops isn't so dissimilar from sex — not just because both get her heart racing, but because they're the times when she's most inclined to believe she is as beautiful as Jason always tells her she is.]
You have to admit, it's better than trying to catch a cab!
[She laughs, delighted, and then in two fast steps that don't seem to even consider the height of the heels she's wearing, she throws herself off the side of the roof and basks in the feeling of falling just long enough to fire her grapple and let it catch her back up into an arc. She doesn't know the city as well as Jason does — who could? — but she does at least know the best course back to the balcony at the Ritz, and she's got enough of a head start that she thinks she can get there first even if he does find a shortcut to try to head her off at the pass.
It feels perfect. Her body hot with the memory of his fingers on her, her senses alight with the adrenaline of exertion. And of course, the thrill of anticipation of what Jason is going to do to her when he catches her, because he will, because she wants him to, because he wants her so much he's crazy for it.
She's crazy for it, too. It feels good to be. And that's why, before she's even through the sliding door that connects her suite with the balcony once she's landed, she's already unbelting her coat and abandoning it on one of the outdoor lounge chairs in her haste to make ready for the moment her time runs out.]
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Especially when she's on the mood, gliding through the air, electric and alive. She looks so deliciously delighted, and while he doesn't exactly want to go too deep down this psychological rabbit hole, as he's following her atop the rooftops, Jason realizes that he can understand a lot better why Bruce fell in love with his free-spirited cat burglar. It's easy to see the reason behind it.
She takes off just ahead of him, and she's clearly mapped out her route perfectly. He knows the city better than her, but they're not on a long journey, so there aren't too many opportunities to slip ahead, to try to cut her off at the pass. Which is fine. In this moment, he kind of just enjoys chasing her, almost hunting her, knowing that he'll get his hands on her sooner or later.
She beats him to the balcony, then. Dives through it like a beautiful red shadow, and he lands shortly after, already shedding his leather jacket as he comes through the sliding door. He can see her tossing her coat aside and this time he pounces. Uses his long legs, the sheer advantage of size, to close in on her. Coil his arms around her waist, lift her up, and just carry her into the bedroom, to toss her bodily onto the bed. ]
Now? [ he tells her, reaching down to peel off his shirt, lift it up and over his head and let her appreciate the view of shifting muscle. When he lets it drop, his eyes are hot on her, hungry, ravenous. ] Your ass is mine, Miss Sandiego.
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[She'd known it was coming, of course, but the manner in which Jason catches her still takes Carmen pleasantly by surprise; she'd thought he might corner her against a wall again, trap her there and kiss her breathless and pick up right where they'd left off outside the bar. It's a thrilling surprise, then, when he just grabs her and lifts her like it's nothing. No wonder she finds herself making a noise that might charitably be called a squeak as one moment her feet are on the ground and the next she's dangling in midair.
It's a high-end suite she'd taken, not that she expects either of them to bother with any of its amenities until they've gone more than a few rounds in bed, but with enough fixtures of note that there'll be plenty to keep a pair of minds as creative as theirs occupied. A full-length mirror taking up an expanse of the wall near the closet, for example. The chocolate-covered cherries and chilled champagne in the minifridge. The deep, sunken bath and walk-in shower to match. To say nothing, of course, of the California king bed, with a mattress and pillows soft and plush enough that it feels like landing in a cloud when he tosses her there.
He's so strong. It almost makes her want to get back to her feet just to tempt him to toss her back down again.]
Was that ever in doubt, Mr. Wolf? What big eyes you have.
[Of course, if she doesn't get her dress off on her own, he's going to tear right through it. While he's momentarily distracted with his own shirt, she reaches behind her to get the fastenings and zipper loose, the better to shimmy out of it when she's done appreciating the view.]
And what big teeth you have.
[She brings a thumb to her mouth, biting the tip between her teeth in a gesture that looks halfway to filthy from how coy it pretends to be, as she looks him up and down and up, and finally settles her gaze on down.]
And what a big...well. You know the rest.
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Today feels like a day for the latter. At least for now.
His detective's mind is still sharp, and he takes in the surroundings. The mirror. The hint of a luxurious bathroom. Balcony. There are definitely options, things they can do to defile every room of this suite and a variety of flat surfaces, and less flat surfaces, as needed. For now, though, he has her right where he wants her. And that gaze in his eyes - Mr. Wolf is right this time, predatory and dark - that promises she's not going anywhere.
He does smirk more at how she drinks him in. At her sly teasing, her provocation, the way she bites her thumb. He's hard, very hard for her already, tenting out his jeans, and he reaches his hands down to slowly open his jeans, next, clearly taking his time just to make her sweat. ]
Do I? Maybe I want to hear you say it.
[ Two can play around. ]
Be a good girl for me, Little Red. Tell me what you want. [ He pauses, watching the way she squirms a little as she unzips her dress. ] And you might want to take that off. It looks expensive, and I'm not feeling polite.
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Tu as une grosse bitte. Baise-moi avec ça.
[Truly, the dangers of falling for a polyglot. Once free of the dress, she shakes her hair out and leans back on her hands, letting him take in the full picture of her evening's choice of lingerie: a front-fastening bra and panty set with matching garter belt over, its thin straps clipped neatly to her thigh-high stockings. There's no chance it's not deliberate how even with her dress discarded, she still matches her shoes — the set is in black lace with subtle red accents, just like her black heels with their red soles. Just like the black hair cascading over her shoulders and the red lips turned up in a playful smile. It makes the blue of her eyes much more distinct, or at least what little of it remains from around her blown pupils.]
What happens if I'm not good, Mr. Wolf? Aren't you going to gobble me up either way?
[But she's not nearly as unaffected as she's pretending. Not the way her fingers are flexing in the comforter, her eyes locked on the zipper of his jeans. A moment passes, during which it's apparent she's doing some very rapid thinking, and then she decides to press her luck — sliding back off the bed and stepping rapidly to press her body up against his, her hand making a move for his open fly with as much grace as she'd pick a pocket.
And she knows she won't get away with it. She knows he'll catch her in the act. But if she can get away with her lips on his jawline and her breasts against his chest in the window of opportunity she has before he gets his hands on her again, well, it's more than worth it to try.]
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Finché i tuoi occhi non ruotano all'indietro.
[ He is at least a little distracted by watching her undress, though. The way she slithers out of her dress, and jiggles pleasantly along with it, lithe grace and sumptuous femininity in equal measure. It's mouth watering, of course, and he does his own job of drinking her in, the curves of her body, the faint way the garter belt dimples her thighs, the always intoxicating curve of her lips. She really is perfect. So perfect he wants to drown in her.
But then, he's the predator, this time, they've both decided. His belt slides open, the buckle clinking loudly, as she draws herself to her feet, leaning up against him all over again. Reaching down between their bodies, as her lips brush his jaw, and her perfume fills his nose for a moment. He sighs, draws her in.
Then picks her up with two broad hands encircling her waist, squeezing her gently as he lifts her off her feet, and tosses her back down onto the bed. As she planned, no doubt. ]
Greedy. I really am going to have to fuck you into submission, aren't I?
[ His boots are toed off and kicked aside, and then his pants drop, sliding down to reveal impressive muscled thighs and black boxer briefs that leave vanishingly little to the imagination, when he's as visibly aroused as he is. Then it's his turn to climb on top of the bed, and on top of her, reaching up to knot his fingers in her glorious dark hair and hold her in place. He says nothing else as he crushes his lips to hers, raw and hungry and demanding.
A wolf indeed. ]
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Lupo mio, che bello. Mi vizi troppo.
[He's always so warm. Or maybe it's just that she notices the radiant heat so much more when she's always been reluctant to let most people get close, but she's more than content to attribute it to him. No matter how many times they end up like this, it's always a pleasure to bask in, for whatever span of time she can get away with it.
This time, that interval isn't long. But the thrill of his hands on her isn't any less exciting than it had been the first, even though this time she's expecting it. This time it's giggling laughter that follows her back down onto the bed, and this time she sinks contentedly into the mattress, more willing to stay put now that she's pressed her luck at least a little.
And he doesn't make her wait long. She's certainly teased him enough to prompt him moving on her as rapidly as he does, and it's all the better for it as she ends up trapped between the plush of the bed and the plane of his body with nowhere to run as he gets his hands in her hair.]
Oh —
[That's all she manages to get out, just that fraction of a sound, before his mouth is on hers and he's already making good on his threat, her eyelids fluttering as her eyes go unfocused beneath them. He's not pinning her hands, at least not yet, and she takes that as tacit permission to touch, tilting her hips in search of an angle that might afford her some friction as her nails run up his sides and around to drag up and down what length of his spine she can reach.]
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So he always relishes when he has his hands around her. More and more, at every opportunity.
All the more fun to taste her, too. To tangle his fingers in her hair, to hold her close, drink her deep. He can feel the shifting of her hips, too, and grins against her mouth, moving for a moment to pin his leg between hers. To let her grind against the solid muscle of his thigh, there, some light relief. He knows that she's craving more, and he is, too, but for the moment at least he feels a little more in charge. Of her, of his own urges. So it's fun to tease her while he can. She'll always turn the tables, sooner or later.
But all the same, he doesn't want to tease too much. He draws back from her lips just a little, tugging gently at her bottom lip with his teeth, savoring the moment. He doesn't go far, though, just nuzzling into, nibbling on her ear, too. ]
You feel even more worked up than usual, gorgeous. You must really need me to take good care of you, huh? Is that right?
[ His leg pulls back, and his hand slides down her body, across the smoothness of her belly and then between her legs, to glide across her slightly sodden panties, enjoying how the material sticks to her even as he touches it. He can feel the heat radiating off of her, and his cock throbs from the very thought. ]
Because I want to make sure this whole suite smells like sex and sweat when we're done. I want you exhausted. That sound fair?
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To bring her to orgasm, certainly. To ruin, definitely. But justice? Thankfully, that can wait.
It's only when they're like this that she can really unravel — a state of herself that she refuses to grant to anyone but him. There's a decadence in not needing to do anything but react for a while, and know that she's in the hands of someone who wants to treat her well (even when he's so-called disrespectful). Who has ever cared so much about making sure she feels good, except Jason?]
I do. I do, I've needed you all night.
[Longer than just since the start of the night, even, but she'd known she'd wanted to see him even before she'd made her decision to dress up and go out. No matter how far she might go when she sets off on one of her escapades, she never likes being gone for long, lately. His gravity never fails to pull her back in, drawn like a magnet toward his arms and his bed. That's not such a bad thing, either — having a true north to navigate by.
His kisses leave her panting; his fingers in her hair apply a tension that's firm and pleasant and addicting. And it's so, so generous how he indulges her with the press of his thigh, muscular and thick and just right for mitigating a little bit of the wanting she'd baited him to kindle in her when she'd bade him touch her outside the bar. But then he does her one better, and brings his fingers there instead, and the breathy noise his touch elicits is almost pleading. Her expression, when she fixes her soft lust-drunk gaze on him, is, too.]
Jason. [It's "Jason" now. This isn't teasing. It's just honest, vulnerable desire.] Rip them. I don't mind. I knew you'd want to — I don't mind.
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Well. For more than just a night, anyway.
He grins a little at that urgent pleading. It certainly sounds like she means it, that she's been aching for him, and given how worked up she seems already, he has every reason to believe it. That it's not just playing to his ego - even if he suspects it's a little of that, too, just for spice, and he'll never mind when she does it.
His cock pulses again when she just calls him Jason, nothing else. Pleading, sweet, plaintive.
So he doesn't need to be told twice. He curls his fingers in her panties, in that sticky, soaked fabric, and with a quick jerk of his arm he tears through them like paper. They snap with a satisfying noise, the ruined fabric tossed beside, and he lunges in to kiss her again, deep and greedy, as his fingers move back between her legs. He presses two of them slowly but firmly into her, letting her appreciate the sensation of being filled, stretched out on those thick fingers of his, while he takes his time. Savors her. ]
How is your pussy always so perfect, Carmen? [ he rumbles against her lips. ] Like a fucking drug.
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She can feel her lipstick smudge between them as their lips meet and move together; what a highball glass couldn't budge, Jason's fiercely possessive kisses are more than capable of unmaking. But she's not above messing him up a little, too, and he's not keeping her from using her hands. It shouldn't come as any surprise that her nails find their way into the muscle of his back as the chain of greedy kisses leave her lightheaded, to say nothing of how the blissful pressure of penetration steals all the air in her lungs fast away.]
Because it's you — [Her eyes fall closed as she pants through parted lips that still just barely brush against his with every breath. Every time Jason's inside her, it's like she rediscovers all over again something that's been missing from all that perfection she portrays.] You're so — mmhhh...
[There's not a lot of leverage, pinned under him as she is. But there's enough that she can cant her hips up to try to take his fingers deeper, knowing that sooner or later they'll land on the angle that makes her see stars.]
Nothing ever feels as good as when...hh, aah, as when you're inside...
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No, she's just going to encourage him, isn't she? ]
Flirt. [ He grins a little as she melts back, her hair falling in a dark halo around her head and her face awash in bliss and tension both. Her hips roll, twitch up against him, seeking more, and he presses in a little deeper, knowing what she's hunting for. What she craves so badly.
As he does, he trails a few kisses down her throat. There, he's more careful. He could sink his teeth down, bite until she's left with an angry red mark to remember him by, but he'd rather save that for softer, more supple skin. Places where she can hide it more easily - and where she can think about him every time they throb, every time she brushes them against her clothes, or with her fingers, and know that she was taken so thoroughly. ]
But you're right. Because you're mine, and I'm going to fuck you like it, pretty lady. Until you can't take it any more.
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Once she finds a rhythm — and while he's distracted enough with kissing her not to withhold it, hopefully — she sneaks a nimble hand between them and finds the hooks of her front-fastening bra, thumbing them open until the lace goes slack from the lack of tension. An invitation, for when he inevitably decides to move further down than her throat. Until then, she rakes that same hand through his hair, alternating between petting affection and holding on for dear life, depending on whether her pleasure is cresting or ebbing at the moment.]
Filthy. [She murmurs, in the exact same tone and inflection he'd used to call her a flirt, like they're just trading endearments one for one.] Better hurry, before I flip you over and take it myself —