She knows that because she does nothing, a smirk on her face, eyes full of love, until I lower my head, wondering if she’s waiting for my submission. That seems to be the trigger, because she gathers her skirts in her hands, the fabric not hiding any of the muscles of her legs from my view. Then one black-clad foot slinks forward and nudges my chin so I’m looking up at her again. She steps back at an angle untilshe’s against the wall, then lifts her skirt even higher. “Come closer,” she says.
Crawling to her should make me feel small, like I’m giving up something, but instead I feel like I’m flying. I don’t have to think, the ever-buzzing paths in my brain settling onto one single task—to do whatever she wants me to. To please her. To be the best I can be and earn her praise.
Some might think I’m messed up. But I know I’ve found the shortcut to mind-numbing pleasure, and it’s the woman I’m crawling toward. I stop in front of her again, and she shakes her head, raising the skirt up to her waist. “Closer.”
“Shit,” I whisper as I end up between her legs, the skirt dropping behind me, curtaining me in.
A dark patch on the fabric between her legs tells me I wasn’t the first to find her, but I can’t say I mind. This is going to be one hell of a win no matter what order I got here in. “You have permission to touch. Make me come, and if you’re a good boy, you might get to come, too,” she says.
“Can I take off my mask?” I ask, worried that I’ll scratch her as I grasp her ankles, the stripes of leather digging into my palms.
“Yes,” she breathes, and I unhook the thing quickly, eager. But I’m going to struggle with the way this dress is made and her rule about staying clothed.
“Can I…Do you trust me?”
There’s a pause. “Of course, but what are we talking about?”
“Your dress.”
“You know the rules.”
I do. But when I pull out my multi-tool that I always keep stashed in my pocket next to my lockpicks, and brush the cool metal against her inner thigh, she trembles. She stays still though, trusting me with the most intimate parts of her. And with careful movements, I slit the center of the fabric in two, the back of the tiny knife coated with her by the time I finish, goosebumps rushing down her legs.
I lick my knife clean, blood thrumming, then tuck the tool back into my pocket.
“Did you just give my dress crotchless panties, Jansen?”
I grin as I press my lips to her inner thigh. “Sure did.”
Then I dive in to feast on the delicious flavor of her pleasure, one I’ve been missing for months. And it’s everything I’ve been craving, everything that drives me crazy and brings me peace. It’s her soft whimpers and the way she tries to clutch my hair through her dress, both the fabric and my shorter strands keeping her from her goal. It’s the way her thighs clench around me as she comes with whispered curses, something about the public space keeping her quieter than she usually is. Or maybe that’s what happens when you’re locked in a silent mansion for months.
But I’m not worried. She’ll scream again. I’ll be working toward that goal for as long as it takes to reach it.
Once she’s recovered and I’ve licked my fingers clean, she lifts her skirt, and that intimidating as hell heel comes to my chest, pushing me back until I’m laying across the hallway, my dick pressed so hard against my zipper it probably has grooves in it. She stands over me, her gaze somewhat hazy but her face fierce as she looks down at me. And I feel a strange urge to preen, to somehow look like I’m worth thatintensity. But she drops to her knees before I can figure out what I should do, straddling my legs.
“Good job,” she whispers, undoing my pants with her skirt tossed over my dick for a hint of modesty. But when her hand wraps around me, she blinks at me in shock. I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face.
“What in the…” she asks.
“I figured while I was adding some metal to my face, I might as well get you a bit of a gift as well.” A whole line of bars on the underside of my dick, to be clear. It took forever to heal, but I had the time, and now that she’s back, it’s not like I’ll be forgoing for any real period from now until eternity.
An experimental pull has me lifting my hips to chase her touch. “Trouble, you just got yourself an upgrade.”
“An upgrade?”
“I was planning on a handjob, teasing you until you came. But now I’m curious.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “I’ll take your curiosity in exchange for a chance to feel you test it out.”
With one last, too-tight squeeze, she moves forward, her skirts a hazy screen as I watch her slowly sink onto me, the warmth of her giving me no choice but to groan. Her voice joins mine, and once she’s fully seated, she leans forward, her masked face beautifully scary. Her lips feel like a prayer, and I know she’s the only deity I’ll ever bow to. “Clara,” I whisper against her lips as she pulls back, her palms braced against my chest.
She doesn’t respond, just slowly lifts and lowers herself, her eyes fluttering closed as she uses me for her pleasure, her nails digging into my skin as she gains momentum, everymoment long, every breath short as I try to keep my own pleasure tamped. I don’t want to come until she’s done with me. And it’s almost impossible, watching her with her head thrown back, the crown glinting in the fluorescent light, the jewels we covered her with jingling as she grinds against me.
I hitch my hips up as she drops, and she gasps, slitted eyes skirting to me. Then we work together, my abs burning as I push her over the edge, until she lets out a ragged groan, clenching me so tight I bite my tongue trying to keep from coming. “Beautiful, can I?” I squeak out, not caring that I probably sound like a mouse.
“Come,” she says, and it’s like the permission is all my body needs, my orgasm surging through me at her command.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, everything turning white with pleasure.
