Welcome To Synergy

[DarkWarrioress]

M~

His sharp teeth managed to latch onto her earlobe even though the loop there was still embedded. Damn him. She felt that familiar tingle slide down her spine and pool at the base of it, making her squirm in his embrace. Her nipples, hardened by now, pressed against the thin fabric of her bra, making them visible through the taut fabric of her shirt. His palm and fingers weren’t alleviating the matter either. If anything, they were making her nipples harder and that made her squirm even more, mashing and rubbing her thighs against each other.

At his words, her eyes flickered toward the panoramic window each of them had. It mirrored the view, though slightly different, of the conference room. A small sound, what could be interpreted as a whimper left her as her eyes came back to his. If her jeans weren’t soaked yet….

Instinct had her pressing her ass back against his groin as if seeking some sort of relieve from the sweet torment he was stirring inside her. Though some part of her mind knew, just as she knew her man, relief was not going to come soon.

What was that? It did it again. The sound. Phone. On the desk. Somewhere.

Go away. Not now.

She licked her lips, wetting them. Her throat was suddenly parched. The thought of being naked, pressed against the glass or the thought of him fucking her…. maybe both….. made her wetter. Made her moan softly as she clutched at him. All she could manage was a nod.

 

[Mav Unlimited]

Cait

He loved how she squirmed in his grip. He growled softly in her ear as her body pushed back against him eagerly, the curve of her ass fondling his groin, wanting to be taken. Her soft moans aroused him further. She would be so wet between those thighs by the time he had undressed her, she would be already begging him to fuck her. Either with his mouth, or his cock. Or both. Unless the Tigress somehow decided to come out in between somewhere and turn the tables. Only time would tell. At the moment, he had no intentions of entertaining the Lady. He needed his kitten purring for him.

His lips claimed her mouth hungrily the next instant, latching on to her sweet lips, his right arm shifting slightly, fingers moving up from her waist to stroke her other breast and twist the hard little bud between his fingers. The kiss was short this time. Her moan echoed inside his mouth just as her lips detached themselves from his. his hand dropped from her cheek and went to the waistband of her jeans, beginning to unbutton and unzip them. Strong fingers slid over her pelvic region and slipped inside the denim with ease while her jeans still remained fastened around her legs.

Even though he was horny, and his actions didn't suggest otherwise, there would be no rush when it came to her relief. They would travel towards their destination together. And he would make sure she was a whimpering, pleading, quivering puddle of a mess by the time they were done. His fingers moved from her right breast to her left, pinching each of her nipples in turn, through the fabric of her shirt. Then, with a quick flick of his fingers another button came undone, revealing a bit more of her cleavage.

His fingers sensed the obvious wetness as they slid against the damp material of her panties, but didn't remain there for long. His mouth moved from her lips to her neck once again and suckled softly on the flesh there, while his hand which was half buried in the front of her pants emerged and went straight towards her mouth, fingers hovering under her nose, brushing over rosy red lips. Nipping her earlobe with his mouth, he whispered in a low husky tone.

"I think your panties are soaked, darling."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

M~

It didn’t matter what they were doing, they worked in sync. Instinct. Pure and simple. Her head turned, his mouth found hers, she quivered as he claimed. They were volatile together. It was part of what made them so good together.

It may be apparent from the onset who was the Top and who was the Bottom. It sometimes stayed that way with them, sometimes not. There was a distinct difference between Top and Dominant and a Bottom and a submissive. A Top could be anyone who decided to take control, to be the deliverer for any given situation. A Dominant was always dominant. The same was true for a Bottom and a submissive. A Bottom was a receiver in any given play while a submissive was always submissive. Luckily for them, they each were both, a Top and a bottom. The one truly good thing about the community was that it catered to the needs of the couple. Couples defined their needs, their desires, not the community.

In any case, she adored M. Accepted him for who and what he was as he did for her. This had helped to forge the bonds between them, making them strong and enduring. There was trust between them along with the love.

His fingers tormented her, inducing a stronger, deeper ache deep inside her. She came up for air as they left off from her nipples and went to the fastening of her jeans. She felt a tug and heard the telltale sound of her zipper being lowered. The muscles in her lower abdomen tightened and sucked inward as she felt them slip inside the opening.

The fingers of his other hand were busy unbuttoning a button on her shirt. She was being distracted by each of his hands, the devious man. Not to be outdone, she leaned back against him, her hands going behind her. Her fingers seeking out his zipper with one hand while the other caressed the hardness that was intent on poking her in the ass.

 

[APassionateFlame]

Around him, shuffling, bodies moved and swayed. Some were dancing; caught up in the rhythm of the music and the infectious pulse of the subwoofers - others were simply caught in the crowd, swaying, pushed this way and that as they made their way around. They'd offered him a position and he'd taken it, accepted their conditions after making a few of his own. It was good to earn and get out of his room, on his feet again.

Of course, still, there was the matter of his walking boot. The dark-metal brace wrapped his right foot from mid-calf to toes and clumped heavily with his steps. In lieu of his crutches, unfitting given the nature of his work, he was now reliant on the walking cane in his hand. The length of it was solid, heavy, tungsten-carbide. A dark, hard metal that carried with it a meaty thud upon the floor. It's pommel was weighted, embossed with a lion's head on each surface, and polished to a lighter shine. It took his weight without protest and allowed him to stand comfortably beside the bar.

Suit clad, as ever, he looked out over the shifting crowd.

A small condition of his employment had been the gaming area. Cait had openly expressed an interest in hiring Cherry, and it'd pleased him, but it'd also made him curious as to just where he would fit. The girl, sultry as could be, was also tremendous with music and hosting. She'd have the entire club in tow before long. He'd have been a figurehead. A security man, maybe. It simply didn't suit him.

So, he'd insisted on the gaming area. A room in the back with card and craps tables. Nothing as disgraceful as slots, mind, but the steady easy kind of gambling that had been typical of Vegas in the Golden Years. Cocktail waitresses slipped by with trays, complimenting the rollers with drinks and smiles. Their legs flashed beneath tasteful, but short, skirts. Pretty faces.

They'd make money hand over fist. It'd just opened and it was already producing. His security, his dealers, and him. A complicated system of overwatch and an intense attention to detail - trademarks. He was built for this.

But where was Cherry?

This job wasn't nearly as much fun without her.

She'd come with somebody, to check out the new club. He was young and handsome - and far more interested in beelining his way for the gaming area once his eyes had zeroed in on it. There was a particular cocktail waitress he was flirting it up with, completely forgetting about the date that he'd come with.

Not that it bothered her, not really. She'd had an alterior motive, coming to this place. And looking out across the crowd, she spots exactly what, or rather who, she came looking for. The date had been a ruse, to give her an excuse, a reason to dress up and come out and see him. Green-gold eyes lock on him from across the room, and she takes her time appreciating the way he looks in a suit before he spots her. She starts her way across the room, heading toward the bar and toward him. And despite the casual way she walks, despite the easy way she moves through the crowd - she can feel her pulse hammering in her throat, and she can feel the pit of her stomach warm with anticipation.

The dress is black, and cinches just beneath her breasts. It's strapless, leaving her red-brown hair to fall around her otherwise bare shoulders, and it has an A-line cut to it - which means that it vees out after hitting the waist. The skirt about a quarter of the way down her thighs, leaving a lot of long leg revealed beneath it, and she's wearing strappy black heels to top it all off. It's sexy, but it's classy. It's flirty, but it's not showy or gaudy. It's just right for her.

Casually, she comes to a stop beside him at the bar. Her little clasp-purse, a splash of silvery color against the black of her dress, is tucked under her elbow as she leans a little in his direction.

"I heard a rumor that you were working here now."

A beat of music. Then another.

"My date abandoned me for the game tables, and some pretty little slip of a thing over there." She motions in the direction he'd gone off, and then tips her head to glance at the man beside her. Her tone is light because she doesn't really care that her date left her. If he hadn't left her first, she would have abandoned him for greener pastures and a better man anyways.

For this man.

"Are you here with anyone?"

 

[Light Ice]

The lights were low, purposefully, and lent themselves to the smoky makeup and sharp accents women made point to use as they sashayed themselves across the gaming floor. It was a typical scene. Men, suit-clad, laying out money at the tables with practiced ease. Women, young and opportunistic, flocking towards them. The less-practiced eye would see the men as predatory. It was the sentiment of the age. He knew better. The game was rigged, from the start, and like the house the women always won in the end. It was that certainty that had turned him away from the girls tonight. No gem amongst them.

He'd found no need to search one out.

And then she was there, auburn-haired, gathered. He'd know the sound of her measured strides anywhere. Heels clicking. The timing of scissored strides as perfect legs cut out long and certain beneath her. That shape had always took his eyes. When they were younger he'd been tall. Reedy. She'd always had that shape. Girlish. Gorgeous. Even the dim lights here wouldn't hide the cut of his eyes as he admired her, beyond the point of helping himself, shameless and without the desire to manage an attempt. She said something to him.

Something.

He missed it amidst the noise. The rumble of the crowd, the natural and gentle lilt of her voice conspired to keep him fro hearing her. It didn't matter. She was here and his hand found her, spread his big and battered fingers across the delicate small of her back. He pulled gently at her, using his strength to provoke her lean until it brought her gently against him. They'd always been such a contrast to one another. Her soft curves. Petite form. His strength, abruptly, melding together in the lazy half-embrace that allowed him the warmth of her along his suit.

She asked if he was with someone. He shook his head. Watched her, felt the movement of the crowd and paid it no mind. Aware, suddenly, that his entire night had started with her arrival and sorry that he had missed it. Those scissored strides. Long legs cutting beneath her dress. The turn of heads she never saw. The kind of girl that had never known just how gorgeous she was.

"I'm with you." He said. "Have you ever played craps?"

And already he was walking her towards the table.

 

[APassionateFlame]

She'd come to the club with the intention of seeing him. The date had simply been a cover-up. When the warmth of his fingers pressed against the small of her back, she leaned into him and fit against him like she belonged there. It felt right. They'd been like that since as long as she could remember, though, fitting together like a couple of puzzle pieces that always got seperated from the bigger picture but fit together perfectly.

"You look great." That was an understatement, a subtle compliment punctuated by a press of her lips against the line of his jaw. Light, affectionate.

He does, too. The suit fits him amazingly well, and he looks so classy and professional. She feels like a classy, sexy woman beside him. His confidence in himself and the way he looks fuels her confidence in herself and the way she looks. They compliment one another.

His words brought a smile to her lips, and she found that inwardly she was extremely pleased that he hadn't come with anyone else. He was her's for at least tonight. She felt him leading her toward the craps table, felt her steps adjust to accommodate his walking with the cane - felt their seamless adaptation to one another like it was the easiest thing they'd ever done. She could feel the eyes of others in the club seeing them as they passed - women that wanted him and were instantly jealous - but she paid them no mind. Only he got her attention.

"No. Is that the game with the dice?"

That about summed up her knowledge of craps, or Vegas-style betting games in general. She wasn't the betting kind of girl, and the only thing she ever took a gamble with was her heart. When they reached the table, she turned her eyes from him and gave it a good once-over so that she could maybe get a feel for the game just from looking at the layout.

"Teach me." Its not a request, but it's not quite a demand either, her eyes on him. "Do I have to get betting tokens first?" She doesn't recall from looking at the table if there were chips. It makes her look again to see.

 

[Light Ice]

When they'd first met, years ago, she'd been effortlessly cute and that inherent sweetness had always been the first of her qualities to reveal itself. It'd always run hand in hand with a kind of innocence. She was, in so many of the ways that mattered, uncorrupted by the world and the people within it. She moved at the table, leaned across it, a collection of lean muscles flowing with silky feminine ease. He'd stayed close to her, let his hand drift, selfishly taken the arch of her beneath his fingers until they brushed the swell of he backside with discreet, masculine affection.

"Don't worry about that just now." He said. Guiding her, keeping her close, straying near so that when she straightened her back would arch up along his chest and she'd be embraced in the stretch of his body.

Heat coursed through him. Sharp and certain, unyielding as it tore along his system and forged itself into the rampant vestiges of desire. She'd feel it, pressed tight against her cheeks through his slacks and the fabric of her skirt, and he was content to let her.

The ache would not relent. It was tireless, ceaseless, as it surged through him and reminded him of just how long it'd been since they'd found time. He wondered if she knew what it was to want, and want badly enough that it became something of a hunger that he could not sate. The feeling of her against him tightened his belly, made his muscles bristle, forced him to fight suddenly and certainly to keep it from taking his control.

His hands worked quickly to lay down money, purchase chips from the dealer, arrange them. Craps was, to a beginner, a daunting game of squares and bets and beholding to it its own exciting language of calls and rolls. There was no attempt to befuddle her with the minutia. Instead, he passed dice into her hands, let their fingers touch. He indulged in the sparks that surged between them. The glint in her eyes. The beauty of her face, those auburn waves framing it.

Passing on the desire to kiss her, he spoke, words low against her ear.

"Just roll." He said. "And, not to add any pressure, but if we lose then I've nothing to buy you a drink with."

 

[APassionateFlame]

She loved the feel of him all stretched out against her. It brought illicit thoughts and imaginings to her head that sent heat spearing straight through the very center of her. Made her want more. There was more than just a little appeal at the prospect of her naked beneath him, stretched out under all the muscle. The thought of it flushed her cheeks, made her skin warm to the touch. She forced her eyes to the table, in an attempt to keep him from seeing that flush - from guessing her thoughts.

The table. Boy, was that confusing to look at.

It didn't look like anything she'd ever played, and she was already regretting her choice to have him teach her how to play. She's pretty sure she'll end up forgetting everything and looking like a fool. As usual, he's one step ahead of her. When those dice get passed into her hand, she peers at him and then at them. The little surge of electricity that sparks through her as his fingers brush against her's snap her green-gold gaze back to his face.

Just that little bit of a spark, just that tiny bit of electricity, sizzling against her hand and up her arm, has her wanting to kiss him. To get lost in the feel of his tongue on her's, the way his hands would settle on her body with that easy possessiveness of his. The strength of him. The desire was already there, lingering in the back of her mind for a long time now. Wanting. Waiting. It didn't take much to wake it, and now that it's there at the surface - it takes a lot of self control for her to tamp it back down again.

He might see it in her eyes for a minute. Might feel it in the way that her breath hitches as his lips move against her ear, a sensitive spot. Even when they were younger it was like this. Strong desire, hot and ready passion.

Rolling the dice around in her hand, she stares at the table in front of her. A few good shakes and then she tosses the dice at the table, letting them fall as they may. Watching them, she murmurs low so that only he can hear.

"What do I get if I win?"

Sure, there's money to be won. But there's a hell of a lot more than money that she wants. It's a little challenge. If she wins, does she get him?

 

[Light Ice]

Statistically, Craps offered the best odds for the player. The house's advantage was by far the smallest. Still, like anything, it didn't take much. Subtlety was a potent weapon. It lurked, in all things, with the certainty of stealth and mathematics behind it. The dice made their tumble along the felt, struck the wall, and rebounded to settle. A few shifting bodies at the table groaned in unison, expelled sighs, because the dice showed three. She'd lost.

Luck, he'd come to understand without question, was a perception of the human mind. Patterns could emerge, could settle, but often changed based on condition or circumstance. The Casino operated on the principle certainty of mathematics and the inherent probables and it always, always won. It had become strange to him that gamblers did not adhere to the same principles. They ran on streaks. Insisted on the existence of "heaters" and other notions to which so many gambling "bibles" explored.

His hand drew up to take her own, feel the softness of her touch and the way her much smaller fingers fit into his. She rocked down from pretty, painted toes onto her heels, settled disappointed as the certainty of the other players reaction told her she'd lost.

"So much for a drink." His words against her ear again, a hot rush that betrayed an inherent pleasure in the consequence. It was his means to lift her hand so that his lips could brush the back of it before settling it into the crook of his arm.

"We're busted." Gambling lingo. "Time for us to retire."

And so the trap sprung as he turned her from the table and said his goodnights to those he knew, thrilled to be the man with her gorgeous little self swaying at his side under the dim lights as they moved to the private elevator at the room's rear. Up, above them, the private offices and apartments of the building lurked. Darkened corridors at this time, empty halls, and the promise echoed in the certainty of his eyes as they met the bold green of her own.

 

[APassionateFlame]

She was minorly disappointed when she heard the groan of the collective mass gathered around the table. It was a game of chance. Luck. The dice fell and they determined winner or loser. She hadn't expected to win on her first try. That sort of blind optimism and unrealistic odds was reserved for the movies. Sure, she'd lost this time. She could tell herself there were going to be other times. And there might well be. She might have lost the game of craps.

But she won ultimately.

The slide of his fingers against her's, the way his palm fit against her smaller one proved that. The words against her ear thrilled, the brush of his lips against her knuckles sent a one-two punch of desire flaring straight through her.

"Wasn't really thirsty anyways." She murmured it, flashing a friendly smile to the people he waved to. She was a friendly girl by nature - always ready to lend a hand or a smile to anyone. This wasn't any different. The smile was genuine, the sentiment behind it really. She wasn't faking the friendly, not like some other girls might for appearances sake.

She is aware, peripherally, of her former date watching her. He is ignoring his cocktail waitress and her tastefully short skirt, instead watching her. There's jealousy in his eyes, regret at having missed his chance. And for just the briefest of moments she feels the smallest bit of victory. It's a heady feeling, knowing that he wants what he can't have. What was never really his anyways.

The click-click of her heels fades into the noise of the crowd and then disappears as they fall on the carpeted interior of the elevator. She watches the doors of the elevator close, sees the crowd turn to a sliver and then wink out of existence behind the silver reflected doors.

And then she's alone with him, and butterflies start to fluttering in her stomach. The promise in his eyes is mirrored in her own, and it's all she can do to keep from leaning into him - offering her lips for tasting. Their reflections show in the doors in front of them, on their short ride upstairs, and she marvels at how good they look together. Wonders, briefly, why they don't do this more often. She'd like if they did.

Before she can turn to him to convey that sentiment, the doors are opening to reveal darkened corridors and empty halls. She can see a few doors on either side of the hallway, and she wonders which one he'll lead her into. Which one belongs to him. Turning her gaze from the hallway, she settles her eyes on his face and slides her hand from the crook of his elbow so that she can lace their fingers together. Once her hold is secure, she tugs a little and pulls toward the open elevator doors.

"Which room is yours?"

She imagines the interior as being masculine, but artfully and tastefully decorated. She imagines the bed is lavish and decadent. He'd want that - something to sink into and get lost in. She imagines what it would be like to be lost in that bed with him, a tangled mass of limbs and lust. Her eyes darken some, with the desire, and she peers at him through her lashes as she seeks to pull him out of the elevator and into the dark privacy of the hallway. She might not make it to the apartment before they kiss, but if the anticipation doesn't kill her - it will make the outcome all that much sweeter.

 

[Light Ice]

He denies her that anticipation. That anxiety. In that moment when the doors slide open and they are belched with nervous certainty into the dark of the hallway he is aware only of her nearness and his desire. She had always been a sport. A lady. Her class extended in generous smiles and the softness of her heart. It was something he'd come to count on, in all situations, good or otherwise. They'd been through so much and he'd only ever seen her in public with that smile - not because it was forced but because she'd always been able to see the very best in people. In a moment.

And give herself to it.

He gave himself to her now. Swept her up, his hand sliding behind her once more to claim the familiar softness of her hip and wrap her along the sinuous muscle of his arm. The great strength of him met her, gathered her, brought her up onto pretty painted toes in those perfect heels so that his head could bow and his mouth could claim the sultry pout of her lips amidst the dark.

Kissing her.

Deeply.

Swept up in the feeling, familiar and foreign, sudden and certain. All at once the hints of sensation swelling up to a tidal outpour of feelings, her mouth against his. The sweetness. How long had it been since he'd kissed her like this? Really kissed her? How long had it been since he'd felt the shape of her lips and the softness of her tongue? They tangled together, her lissome form abruptly wrapped in the circle of his arms, timeless as he pressed her little body back into the wall and trapped her there.

There was a place, and a bed, and a hall in which they'd find themselves. In the dark he'd kiss her like this, more, and work that gorgeous dress from her little body if she'd let him. But for now, against the wall, he took from her what he needed. The girlish perfection of her melding into him.

His hand ran up the soft line of her hip, glided upward until he felt the swell of her breast beneath his fingers, its curve, the subtle weight. His prick ferociously hard against her, trapped along her smooth belly, pulsing each time his thumb lifted to brush against her nipple.

 

[APassionateFlame]

All at once the world felt right. As if there were one last little piece out of place and he slipped it right where it belonged. His arm around her waist, her body pulled up against his where it was meant to be. The melding of their mouths is passion and sweetness and the ebb and flow of their relationship. It's been too long, far too long to have gone between kisses like this and the underlying promise they brought with them.

One hand glides up over his shoulder and around his neck to bury itself in the edges of his hair, nails raking gently against his scalp as a breathy moan reverberates at the back of her throat. Her other hand loses hold of her purse, letting it fall forgotten to the floor as her fingers clench in the jacket of his suit.

She feels a wave of desire and lust wash over her hot and heavy as his hand wraps around the roundness of her breast. Each stroke of his thumb over her nipple earns him a little hitch in her breath, a little whimper in the back of her throat. He's so very good at knowing just how to play her body like a fine-tuned instrument. She's missed this, the way his hands glide over her with ease and confidence, the way that his mouth marks hers with territorial claim. The way that he surrounds her with every inch of him.

They'd always had a knack for getting hot and heavy fast. The chemistry was undeniable, and now was certainly no different. They'd gone from playful banter and the promise of what was to come, to here and now.

And even now wasn't fast enough for her. Not with the way that his tongue tangled with hers, filling her with his taste. Not with the way his thumb strummed at her nipple, causing heat to pool in the pit of her stomach. She was wet for him, because of him. Wanting him. The bed could wait. She didn't think she could.

Her hand traveled the line of his suit jacket, brushing against his muscled abdomen and across the lean muscle of his hip until she found where his pants fastened. She was impatient for him - it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He made her desperate for him, panting with her need as she pulled her lips from his and fumbled his belt open with one hand. Her gaze follows the line of her hand as she moves for the button of the pants after the belt is open and out of the way.

"Can't wait. Now?"

It's a question, a statement. Loaded. This would be a first for her - here in the hall where anybody could see. And for once, she doesn't give a damn. She wants him, and she wants him now. Here. She wants him to lose that careful control he always tries to keep a handle on. Wants him to press her against the wall and take her right there. Her hand slips into his pants, reaching for the length of his cock, long fingers wrapping around the length of him.

"Please." He's never denied her, not ever.

 

[Light Ice]

Now.

But it's too soon. Too much. She's too close, too gorgeous, too fast. All at once her words are a heat across his lips, a breath of sweetness, an intoxicating whimper that he misses as his hand traces the shape of her breast and works to map each inch of her to memory. He'd intended to take her by her little hand and drag her through the hall, through the dark, to the door beyond them where they'd kiss against it as he fumbled for the key. He'd meant for them to burn slow in the shadow of his apartment, clothes shed with deliberate movements and her beauty displayed to him. He'd dreamed of it.

Her fingers brush down his belly, across rippled muscle, and slip into the waist of his boxers. For a moment his lips leave her own, abandon her as her fingers stretch down and curl around his massive length. Her grip is light. Tentative, almost, as he aches against her touch and the fire of her grip surges through him. His hips rolling. Primal. Wanton.

"Please." She whispers.

His prick leaps at the sound, the sweetness of the plea. It flexes hard against her touch and wets her little fingers as precum runs from the plump, swollen crown and dribbles across her delicate digits. All at once his lips bury themselves in her throat, attack the soft column with hard teeth and the soothing pass of his tongue. Please, she had said.

"Soon." He answers.

And his hands lift, stretch up to gather the neckline of her dress in each of his big mitts.

-RIP-

The jerk of his hands sharp. Sudden. Fabric tearing as he opens her to the world, bares her breasts to the hall's cool air. The ruin of her dress begins to slip in places, fall away, left to shreds by his hands as he gathers her flesh in his grip and sinks his fingers down on them.

He aches. Fiercely. His lips track a line down her collar, follow its elegant arch. The last of his words a low, intent whisper as his teeth sink on the tight bud of her nipple, tormenting it in a sharper, harsher means to which her fingers torment him.

"On your knees, girl."

 

[APassionateFlame]

Slow could wait. Tender intimacies and gentle foreplay were for another time. Another place. Not now. Now was for this. Fast.

Her heart hammered against her chest as her fingers wrapped around the length of him. Tentative at first, though more sure of herself with each roll of his hips against her small hand. Each glide of her palm down to the base of his cock and back up again so that her thumb could brush along the top, was answered by a roll of his hips. And with each stroke she became more sure of herself and her ability to arouse him. To make him want the way that she does.

Soon isn't soon enough! The thought flashes, briefly. Her head is thrown back to allow his teeth and tongue better access as they trek along her neck, fire heating her blood wherever his tongue strokes along her flesh. The sudden rip of her dress has her hand stilling, just for a second, on his prick. The material is tattered and falling away. She's left wearing a slip of lacy pink panties - a splash of color underneath the black dress she'd been wearing - and her strappy black heels.

She feels empowered, nearly naked there in the darkened hallway. She wanted him to lose his grip on his self-control and she's gotten what she wanted. Her hand is moving again, smooth and confident with her new found feminine empowerment. The cool air is sudden, against her breasts, and her nipples are hard little buds against his palms, aching for attention.

And he doesn't disappoint. His mouth is pure sin. He alternates between biting at her nipple with just the right amount of delicious pressure, and gliding the flat of his tongue along it to soothe the bite away. She pants for him, moans for him, whimpers for him to keep going. His words reach her ears belatedly, and a shiver tracks down her spine at the low, growl of a whisper.

A request. A primal demand.

The hand that was in his hair moves to push his pants down his hips, boxers following suit. She fumbles through it, because she doesn't want to let go of his cock with her other hand, and because his mouth on her breast is distracting enough that her movements are jerky at best.

Hand still wrapped around his thick cock, she glides her back down the length of the wall until she is on her knees, heeled feet behind her. Her eyes settle on his massive length, at first, trekking over every detail of him before she acquiesces entirely to his order. Her hand frames the base of him, holding him still so that her tongue can dart out to lick the tip of him first. And when her mouth closes around him, her eyes roll up to watch his face. Her other hand grasps at his hip, anchoring herself as she starts to glide her mouth and tongue down toward the base of him.

The action is repeated, slow and deliberate for the first few strokes. Like with her hand, she is tentative at first. It's familiar, and yet new. But with each groan he elicits, or each roll of his hips, with the clasp of his hands in her hair to guide her - she'll get more confident, more sure of herself. The imagery of the two of them in the dark hall like this, flashes through her mind. His pants down around his ankles, hands fisted in her hair. Her naked on her knees, mouth wrapped around the length of him. She moans around him, wanting more.

 

[Light Ice]

Electricity. White hot. It arced through them, invisible and bold, until his entire body came to the ragged edge of a sudden, powerful climax. She'd wanted him to abandon restraint - he didn't. His fingers fisted in her dark hair, tangled in pure silk and rode the velvet glide of her lips as they sank down on him. He met the bob of her gorgeous face with the arch of his hips, the rugged stretch of corded muscle pushing himself deeper until he claimed the constricting column of her throat. Her eyes shining, brilliant and green, merciless in the intensity of her desire. The siren's call made between them as she whimpered around his cock, begged for him.

He wondered if she knew the power she held over him and if she felt the tremor of want surging through his rugged body. In the dark she rode his prick with her perfect lips, tore at his restraint. Within the corridors of his mind it became hard to find his thoughts, hard to string them together, as she hung the vision of her on those little knees with his prick buried in the wet sheath of her mouth in their place. Tension surged through him, tightened every muscle until he bristled above her.

But he couldn't let her coax him beyond the brink just now. Couldn't.

It was greedy to hold to that last restraint, that last vestige of his control. In the dark of the hall his fingers wound through her hair, fisted it in his grasp, before he lifted her from her knees. Heels. Soft skin. The gentle line of her curves and the swell of her breasts, young and proud, with their tightened nipples. His mouth covered hers. Kissed away her complaints, left his prick in her delicate hand slick from her mouth and the thick beads of precum that ran steadily from his plump crown.

His shirt pants were dragged up, bunched in one strong hand. Her dress a tatter left behind at her heel-clad feet on the floor as he lead her to the door, through it, and into the dark of the office/apartment that was his. Spartan, cold and modern decor, pristinely clean. A statement. Evidence she'd suspected as to what kind of man he was. And in the room above them, the loft bedroom that was his, was the four-post monster of bed.

 

[APassionateFlame]

Every thread of his control was winding tight and then snapping when brought too taught. With each bob of her head, each deliberate swipe of her tongue, she was plucking the strings until there were only the tiniest handful left. She could feel him shake beneath her hand, around her mouth. Could feel those last few strains of control try to slip away from him. She wanted to surround him, consume him, make him think of nothing but her. And them. It was a greedy, selfish desire, and she wanted it like she'd never wanted anything before.

There was a whisper of a complaint ready on her lips as he pulled her from his cock before she could finish what she'd started, but he kissed away her words before she could say them. A feminine surge of satisfaction laced through her as he pulled her through the hall and to his apartment door, where he pressed her against it and took another kiss while he worked the lock and handle one-handed. Inside, she had a moment to glance around while he slammed the door behind them. The far wall was tall windows, the light from the moon illuminating the interior. It's exactly as she imagined. So much like him that it resonates deep within her. This place was a blend of the boy she once knew, and the man he became.

The stairs are metal, and wind up toward the lofted bedroom overhead and even before she's there she can imagine what it looks like. She'd wager it was black, or a dark wood. And the blankets and pillows would be thick and plush, something to burrow down into. It's his indulgence, the bed, and he would want it to indulge him every time he was in it.

Forget the bed. She wanted him to indulge in her right now.

Turning back to him, she reaches for his tie and tugs him closer to her. She's naked, save for the slip of lacy pink panties that she wears, and she determines that he is wearing entirely too many clothes. There is not enough skin-on-skin contact for her liking. Both hands work to loosen his tie, lifting it over his head and pulling it off altogether. Their height difference forces him to bend his head to let her get the tie off, and she drops it to the floor. A discarded slip of silk left behind. Then she's sliding his jacket down his arms before deft little fingers flick at the buttons of his shirt with ease. Her eyes drop to watch the reveal of flesh, the muscled line of his abdomen. When the buttons are all open, she pushes at his shirt impatiently, gliding her fingers across the smooth plane of his chest and across the sinewy muscle of his shoulders. Down the corded length of his arms until it's left to flutter onto the floor, forgotten like that slip of a dress she'd come in.

Lips, teeth, tongue all find his shoulder and then his collarbone beyond. Her mouth leaves a wet trail in it's wake as it travels across his chest, and she reaches for his hand to tug him toward the stairs if he isn't already leading her there. She wants to lay out in the bed underneath him, writhing in pleasure. She wants him to lose the last threads of his self-control and say her name when he does. It is a potent thing, wanting, and she trembles with her want, now.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

He stretched out his legs, feeling in the mood to dance. He had finished his drink and been seated for a while, enjoying the nice atmosphere in the club and the music, and the sight of shapely legs walking past occasionally. He'd actually had his drink refilled once, just letting his eyes feast. He had even watched as an attractive pair he had recognized had tried their hand at craps, before beating a hasty retreat to the elevator, their urgency and the wicked thoughts behind their eyes betraying their true purpose. He had chuckled, and remained seated.

Now, though, he rose up, stretching his legs again, and he found a hot young thing in a startling blue dress with sequins apparently alone at the moment. He brushed up against her, asking a question with just a nonverbal invitation, a questioning look, and inviting posture. She accompanied him onto the dance floor as the music picked up again, and he let her grind up against him for at least the length of one song as he rested his his hands on her hips.

 

[Light Ice]

She lead him. He let her.

The indulgent scissor of her strides hooked his eyes, stole them from the light of her own amidst the dark as her little fingers tugged at his own and they took the stairs. It'd always struck him how long those lean little legs were. How perfect their shape. With every little step she threw a gentle sway into the round of her hips, a heaving bounce to the perfect curve of her shapely little ass. It was impossible to let her trail him as she moved, almost nude, into the darkened confines of his chambers.

Amidst them, swirling, tension loomed. The thud of his strides on cold metal steps a bold contrast to the silence of her bare feet padding onto the floor just beyond him. He breasted the crest to watch her, sauntering, as she put space between them with cat-like cunning. Seductive. Sweet. It was everything not to rush to her, gather her up and crush her to the bed until they were tangled together amidst the sheets.

Here, like below, everything had a place. Meticulously kept. Spartan, neat, and crisply arranged. His closet was open and arranged with fresh suits, spaced on hangers by both color and cut. The bed was a massive, high-set four poster of ebonwood with burgundy canopy, white jersey silk sheets and ebon coverlet. Beyond the size of a King, looming large and imposing amidst the room's otherwise utilitarian furnishings. Their destination. As inevitable as time, lurking there just beyond her.

Behind her, he lingered to strip free his slacks. The cotton of his boxer briefs. Socks, shoes. They were abandoned without thought to leave him naked in the room's air. Cool, crisp, but unable to wrest from him the potency of his erection. She was there. Ten feet away, maybe, but there. More than close enough for him to feel her, feel the way she lit him up and made every muscle bristle. The massive length of his cock swayed with his strides, slick with her mouth's attentions as the dribbles of creamy precum that ran from the head's slit. Lewd. Angry looking. Demanding.

His hands were more patient as they circled her rounded hips and ran up the lean stretch of her narrow waist to the full swell of her breasts. Despite every callous, every scar, they were tender as they turned her to face the bed she'd sought. Bent her, pressing between her lean little shoulders until her cheek touched the soft coverlet and her hands splayed against it. He bowed her spine until her gorgeous stems spread and pressed her rounded ass up towards him, her breasts hung young and beautiful in the space between.

"Gorgeous." He said. "And mine."

It was his desire to thrust deeply, swift and sure. He'd wanted to bury himself to the hilt in the slick silk of her petals and bring her up on those painted little toes, crying out for him, as he found home for his length within her. But from the moment the plump, wide crown of his cock butted against the folds of her flower he knew that she was too tight for force. Too delicate for his rough hands from this start.

THe pressure of his hips came steadily then, met the resistance of her impossibly tight kitty and won out as it opened around him. Inch by inch began the slow sink into her impossibly snug grasp, ripples of silken heat trembling around the length of his prick as he settled it into her. Joined them. Bound them in the dark as she remained, bent and posed, his strong hands rooted on her hips to steady her against the weight of him and the force of being slowly impaled along his ferociously hard cock.

 

[APassionateFlame]

It was exactly the way that she'd expected. From the neatly arranged closet to the meticulous way things laid out on his end table. He liked the neatness of his life, the way that he could arrange things into categories. There was nothing wrong with order or organization, and it was a trait of his that she has always admired.

And the bed. Oh, the bed.

It is massive and lush and looks like it would be absolutely divine to sink into. The wood is black, like she'd expected, offset by the burgundy canopy overhead. It dominates the room, making everything else look small in comparison. Less important than this magnificent centerpiece. It is easy to imagine herself in this bed. In his bed. His arm tucked over her middle, possessively locked against her hip as they got lost between the coverlet and the sheets.

The sound of his pants hitting the floor draws her bright eyes back to him. He's magnificent to look at, every single muscled inch of him, and she can feel her mouth go simultaneously dry and start watering at the sight of him. Her eyes travel, desire open and heavy in them as she takes in the sight of him stalking toward her. His gentleness brings with it a sense of security. She trusts him, trusts his judgement and his treatment of her. Always has.

She goes willingly into that sweet night, bending as his hands coax. Her auburn hair fans out along the ebon blanket, her skin contrasting pale against the dark fabric. His words send a thrill through her, and she can't help but smile. Because it's a compliment. Because it's possessive. Because it's true, and so utterly him. On the strappy heels of her shoes, she stands bent before him like some kind of erotic offering.

Wet for him already, it takes all her self-control - and the strength of his hands on her hips - to keep her from moving back against him, coaxing him to fill her faster, harder. He moves impossibly slow, every inch of her aching for more and yet he continues to torment her until every last inch of him is seated within her. It has been too long since they were last together, too long since his cock was last buried within her warmth. It takes her body just the slightest adjustment to remember. But once it adjusts and remembers, it's like everything clicks into place right where it belongs. It's a very distinct 'There you are' feeling.

She wants him to move within her, wants to move around him, wants to feel the familiar slow build of lightning-hot electricity race through her as her orgasm builds and builds to a crescendo before toppling her entirely over the edge. But his hands hold her still, keep her in place, stop her from being able to move. She loves the feel of his hands, big and strong and commanding. Like him. So, instead of trying to move, she tries to appeal to the side of him that seems always willing to give into her pleading.

Lifting up on her elbows just a little, she lifts her head and tosses her long auburn hair over one shoulder, looking over the shoulder to see him. And when it voice comes, it's breathy with anticipation and want. There is raw need in her voice, and in her eyes, and she pleads with him. Again.

"Please."

A simple word, a single word. Everything she wants to say.

 

[Light Ice]

It is not a matter of taking her. She is taken. Posed by his strong hands, bent there at the edge of his massive bed. A tiny thing. A slip of a girl. He called her Peanut. Ode to her size, petite. And also, though he'd never told her, to her shape. A trim waist with generously rounded hips. A full, gorgeous bust-line. She was a classic beauty. Exotic. A sweet heart born into a body capable of the most delicious sins. And now she was here, looking over a slender shoulder at him with bright green eyes hooded with heavy dark lashes and need, pleading for him to give what he'd always denied her.

Here in the dark she was still more than a sensuous shape. The hands against her hips sank strong fingers into creamy soft skin, felt the tremble ripping through her as his prick began the slow escape from the clenching softness of her sheath. It was as though the entire room had been heated, bathed in the want radiating from them. It stuck to the walls and ceiling, trapped them, forged a delicious sheen of sweat across the hollowed arch of her spine. She asked. And he looked into her eyes. Waited, needed to be certain.

And still she asked.

Please...

The impact struck her up on those painted toes. A sudden, absolute collision of his hips into the round of her ass that carried with it enough force to rip a tremble through her entire body. The massive length of his prick surged to reclaim all that was abandoned, fill her greedy walls until they ached around the size of him and his massive crown bottomed out roughly inside her. She cried out. Her nails digging suddenly into the ebon of the coverlet, bracing her with those lean arms as her tits swayed prettily in the dark.

And another.

And another.

And another.

A sudden explosion of want as restraints snapped in the last remaining vestiges of his thinking mind. He became, in an instant, naught but the passions and desires she inspired in him. Stripped of higher function, bestial and unrestrained. He pounded her. Smacking his hips against hers with brutal, carnal efficiency.

SMACK!

As his balls struck her clit and her ass clapped against the rugged stretch of his hips.

SMACK!

As he split her open with the thick meat of his length and left her aching, trembling from the force of their fuck.

SMACK!

As her honeyed walls rippled around him in the instant he was buried to the hilt inside her, reacting to the hot flex and pulse of his prick as it twitched under the pleasures arcing through him.

His growl was a feral thing as his fingers tangled in her auburn mane. Silken tresses, swaying, suddenly captured in the unyielding vice-grip of his fist as he pulled roughly back on her, riding her onto his pummeling stroke. He pounded her ceaselessly, felt sweat build on the rugged angles of his muscles, and the delicious burn of pleasure and fatigue melding. Still, he didn't tire to slow. He didn't come close to giving rest.

There was not but the brutal cadence, the crushing rhythm as his massive length took what she'd so desperately wanted to give him. Release. Escape. A chance to be the dark, primitive creature he'd been born and escape the expectations and polish of the world. A chance to unwind - to trust, enough to pour everything that he had into this one cauterizing instant.

His prick was soaked in the honey of her pussy, bathed in the wet that he drove from her and the precum that bubbled copiously from his length. It was not enough. Not yet. And he fucked her, back arched from the rough tug of his fingers in her hair, tits swaying erotically under the tremors of strength he sent rippling through her lissome frame.

In the dark her cries echoed off nearly bare walls.

In the dark the lewd sounds of their fuck forged the cadence to which her melody was sung.