“I am very much thinking.” She bit the side of the calf, and the gasp became a moan.
“I really can’t see how?—”
Deryn placed a lick where she had bitten, then licked every inch of skin within reach. That took care of words for a long moment. When she lifted her head, the woman’s eyes were glazed over. Deryn gently moved the legs off her lap and stood up. She was wearing only her jeans—unbuttoned, hanging open off of her hips—and her boots. She took the time to bend and untie the laces before shrugging everything off. When she turned around, she could see that her every move was being watched, assessed, and found very appealing if the blush and smirk were anything to go by.
In the twilight, the grand piano looked even more majestic. Ready to become an altar. The lid was open, but the fallboard was closed, instantly giving Deryn so many ideas. Even the bench was the perfect height for her to brace herself on…
“You will need a strap for all those very loud thoughts of yours.” The woman was up too, entirely naked bar the smudged, dark red lipstick. Deryn imagined a lot of said lipstick was on her own face, hands and breasts. They looked at each other, then back at the piano. Deryn hummed her agreement.
“Hmm, yes, a strap would be perfect. I mean, I can also improvise…” She made a come-hither gesture, and pouty lips moved closer, within inches of her own. “I can satisfy all needs, remember?”
One corner of the full mouth lifted.
“I don’t have to remember. I can still feel you inside me.”
It was Deryn’s turn to let out a low moan. This woman was a dream.
“However, you won’t have to improvise. I just had a brand-new strap delivered.”
Deryn allowed herself a low whistle. “You must’ve been a Girl Scout. So well prepared.”
The woman’s thumb caressed Deryn’s lower lip before pulling it slightly downwards, opening her mouth wider, then giving her a long and deep kiss. Deryn felt her entire soul being rewired by a wet, sinful, breathless pressure of lips and tongue, the thumb never letting go or falling away, holding her mouth open to the onslaught.
“No, I was never a scout, Ms. Crowhart. But I do know what I want. And right now, despite how well you fucked me just minutes ago, I very much want you to take me from behind on this piano.” The woman’s other hand traveled from Deryn’s hair to her breast, pinching a nipple before gliding lower and suddenly cupping her, pressing the heel of the palm upward, making her clit immediately yearn for more direct pressure. “I want you to fuck me hard and fast and finger my clit as you do it. Can you do that for me? To me? Can you, Deryn Crowhart?”
Deryn blinked, and instead of the bright, wide amber eyes staring at her with desire and mischief, she found herself looking at the closed door of 1326. She shook her head and cleared her throat, trying to push away the sensation of the lingering thumb on her lip or the palm cupping her pussy, mimicking how the strap would sit right there, held by a leather harness and iron rings.
She counted to ten and exhaled. Then did it again because her jeans suddenly were remarkably uncomfortable. She stuck her hands in her pockets and took a few steps around the smallhallway in front of the door, then leaned against the wall and breathed deeply several times. That didn’t help to erase the images of Paloma kneeling in front of her, helping her fix the strap on her hips and again pressing it just so, making Deryn see stars before they even began. Then, taking the silicone shaft in her mouth, licking the tip, down all the way to the base before lifting it slightly and sucking on the tip of Deryn’s clit…
Deryn all but slammed her fist against the doorframe, desperate for a distraction. Too bad this was exactly the wrong door to knock on to seek a diversion. No, this time when the door opened, the woman was no longer naked. She wore a suit. And a blouse. And her hair was down, looking like she had run her fingers through it a few times, the day leaving marks on the otherwise pristine look. But this was very much the woman who had fingered herself as she’d given Deryn a blow job before turning provocatively and bending over the grand piano, lifting a knee to the bench, even opening herself up with one hand to Deryn’s gaze and strap. And when she’d said “Fuck me now!”, the command had been razor-sharp, cutting through Deryn’s haze like a blade.
So did this current look. Eyes like icicles watched her from under raven-black hair, seeing her every thought. Every fantasy. Every memory. Paloma knew exactly what Deryn had been thinking. What Deryn had been remembering.
And Deryn had been lost in the memory of the sensation of sliding into the wet, tight, oh-so-ready for her pussy, drawing out each stroke, not hurrying despite demands to do just that, to fuck, fuck, fuck…
No, Deryn took her time, angling the shaft, making sure she was exactly where each thrust needed to be, and then she reached around and flicked the clit, already sensitive after so many rounds. Paloma moaned and ground her ass back into her?—
Deryn blinked and watched the current-day Paloma’s eyes darken. She said nothing, however, just stood in the doorway for a second longer than was necessary before moving aside and wordlessly letting Deryn in.
There was paperwork on the coffee table in front of the couch. Deryn had another particularly vivid flashback of that very couch and Paloma spread on it, Deryn on her knees in front of it, having pushed the useless coffee table to the side. Looked like they might be getting some use out of it tonight, though.
“I assume the NDA?” She motioned with her chin toward the documents.
“Should I send them to your agent? Attorney?”
Deryn shook her head.
“I’ve signed enough of those to know what they are and what they do.”
“Well, you have been on a lot of TV shows, so that stands to reason.” Paloma handed her a fountain pen. It weighed heavily and was luxurious in Deryn’s fingers. Three signatures and a date later, she returned it.
“So…” Deryn chose to sit on the couch, just shy of the spot that she was certain needed deep cleaning or maybe a change of cushions altogether.
“So.” Paloma did not elongate the word; it had more finality to it, if not more conviction.
“About that question of mine?” Deryn propped her chin on her hand and watched as Paloma paced the room. There was a restless energy about her, the conversation clearly making her uncomfortable, yet her grace and authority in every movement were bewitching. She was also flexing her fingers, periodically bringing them to her mouth, occasionally wrapping her arms around herself.
Deryn’s Fire flared inside her, her palms warming. She bit her lip to quiet herself down. She didn’t need a reminder of whatthis woman was or might become. And she really didn’t need her power to act as that reminder.
