[ 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
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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 —