He'd dozed. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. The safehouse was quiet. The lamp was still on, casting warm orange across the bed and the scattered cash they'd been too wrecked to pick up.
She was beside him, on her stomach, tracing the bite mark on his shoulder with her fingertip. The crescent was dark, swollen, crusted at the edges where the skin had broken. Her nail followed the curve of it, slow, circling.
"Sorry about that."
She didn't sound sorry. She sounded like she was admiring her work.
"It's fine."
"It's going to bruise."
"Good."
Her finger stopped. She looked at him. Green eyes in the lamplight, hair a wreck on the pillow, mascara smudged, and she looked like a woman who'd robbed a Maggia club and fucked on stolen money and had no regrets about either. Her mouth curved.
She slid under the sheet.
He felt her mouth on his stomach first. Open, warm, her tongue dragging a line down the center of his abs. Then lower. The crease of his hip. Her teeth on the bone there, gentle, scraping. His cock was soft and she found it with her mouth and he felt her lips close around him and the heat was sudden and lazy and his body started responding before his head caught up.
Slow. She wasn't in a hurry. Her tongue worked the underside, circling the head while her lips held him, and he hardened in her mouth and she took each new inch as it came. Her hand cupped his balls, light pressure, rolling, and her mouth worked the shaft with long slow pulls.
He watched the shape of her under the sheet. The rise and fall of her head, the movement of her shoulders. He pulled the sheet back because he wanted to see and she looked up at him, his cock between her lips, her eyes half-closed, and she sucked harder when she saw him watching.
"Mm."
Her eyes on his. Her lips stretched around him. She pulled back until just the head was in her mouth and her tongue pressed into the slit and circled and he grabbed a fistful of sheet. She took him deep, her throat opening, and held him there, swallowing around the head, and the suction and the heat made his abs contract and his hips lift off the mattress.
She pulled off. Kissed the head. Licked a stripe from the base to the tip and sucked him back in and her rhythm was patient, thorough. No rush. Her cheeks hollowed on the upstroke. Her hand twisted where her mouth couldn't reach. Wet sounds, loud under the sheet, her spit running down his shaft.
He was fully hard now, straining, and she gave him one last long pull, tongue flat on the underside, and let him go with a pop.
She climbed up.
Reverse. Her back to him, straddling his hips, and she reached behind her and found his cock and positioned him and sank down facing away from him.
Her back. The line of her spine, the flex of muscle on either side of it. Her ass, full, settling against his hips. The spread of her thighs on either side of his body. And the point where they connected, his cock disappearing into her, her lips stretched around him, wet and glistening.
She leaned back. Hands on his thighs behind her for balance, arms braced, and she started riding him. Slow at first. Her hips lifting and dropping, each stroke pulling him almost out and then taking him back. The angle was different, tighter on the top side, and he could feel the head dragging along the front wall of her.
She picked up speed. Her back arched, her hair falling down her spine, and he could see her stomach flexing with every rise and fall. Her breasts bounced. Her ass slapped against his hips on every drop and the sound was wet and loud and she heard it and she didn't slow down.
She was putting on a show and she wasn't hiding it. She rolled her hips in a slow circle, grinding with him deep, and looked over her shoulder at him. Green eyes. The smirk.
"Enjoying the view?" Find the original chapter at g.com.
He sat up.
His arms went around her waist. He pulled her back against his chest, upright, and the position changed. She was in his lap, her back against his chest, his cock buried deep, and his arms around her and his mouth on the back of her neck.
She gasped. The depth was different sitting upright, gravity pulling her down onto him, and she squirmed adjusting and each squirm made her clench and he could feel every movement in his cock.
He pulled her tighter. One arm around her waist, one hand sliding down between her legs. His fingers found her clit, swollen, slick. She was wet enough that his fingers slid without friction and she flinched at the contact and pressed back against his chest.
"Ah- nn-"
He ground up into her. Slow. Deep. His hips rolling under her, his cock buried to the base, and his fingers circling her clit in time with the grind. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Her mouth opened. Her hand came up and grabbed the back of his neck, fingers in his hair.
They moved together. Slow, deep grinding, chest to back, his mouth open on her neck, tasting sweat. He could feel her heartbeat through her spine. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, faster now, and her nipples were hard and his free hand found one and rolled it between his fingers and she made a sound against his shoulder that vibrated through both of them.
Forehead to forehead. She turned her head, cheek against his, and he turned into it until their foreheads were pressed together, breathing each other's air. Her eyes were open, close enough to blur. His hips kept the rhythm, slow and deep, and his fingers on her clit kept the circles, and she was clenching around him on every inward push, her walls gripping and releasing.
"You're getting better at this."
"Motivated learner."
The same line from her apartment.
She didn't laugh.
Her eyes stayed on his. Her hand on the back of his neck tightened. She kissed him. Slow. Deep. Her tongue found his and her mouth was soft and her breathing was ragged and her hips were grinding down onto him in small circles and her walls were squeezing him in slow pulses and the kiss didn't break.
He could feel her getting close. The squeeze tightening. Her breathing going shorter. Her lip. She bit it, teeth sinking in, and her eyes closed and her forehead pressed harder against his.
"Nn- mm- right- there-"
Quiet. Against his mouth. Her body was taut, every muscle pulled tight, and he kept the rhythm, kept his fingers on her clit, and she came with her forehead against his and her mouth open against his mouth and the sound she made was small and broke halfway through and her walls clenched around him in long slow contractions that pulled along his full length.
He followed her. The slow squeeze pulled him over and he came inside her with his arms around her waist and his face against her neck and the pulsing warmth of it made her gasp and her body clenched again, drawing him deeper, and she reached back and pressed his hip against her and held him there.
He held still.
She stayed. His cock softening inside her. His arms around her waist. Her back against his chest. They breathed.
The lamp buzzed. The cash was still on the floor. A siren somewhere, far away, and then quiet.
She turned in his arms. Sat sideways in his lap, her legs draped over his thigh, and put her face against his neck. Her breathing was slow and warm on his skin.
"Silvermane reports to someone."
Her voice was quiet. Unguarded. She was talking with her eyes closed, her mouth against his collarbone.
"The Hellfire Club."
The name landed in his stomach. He knew that name. Not from this world, not from anything he'd learned in the five weeks since waking up in an alley. From before. The Hellfire Club. Emma Frost. Sebastian Shaw. An Inner Circle of mutants and power brokers who played chess with governments and corporations and came out ahead.
"They're connected to everything in this city," she said. "Every major deal in the last two decades. Every political shift. Silvermane isn't independent. He's a franchise. And the Hellfire Club doesn't lose."
She said it flat. Factual. The way she'd described Silvermane's security layout over napkins at the diner.
Troy looked at the ceiling. Felicia was warm in his lap, her breathing slowing toward sleep, and the documents in his jacket were sitting on the chair across the room and the name Hellfire Club was louder than anything else in his head.
Emma Frost. Telepath. Omega-level. A woman who could crack open his skull from across a room and read every thought he'd ever had. Sebastian Shaw. Energy absorption. A man who got stronger when you hit him.
Way above his weight class. Above anyone he'd met in this world so far. People who shaped the board and let everyone else play on it.
He was a level-two enhanced human with a sex-powered stat system and a stolen folder of Maggia documents and a thief asleep in his lap.
"Troy."
"Mm."
"Stop thinking."
"I'm not thinking."
"You're thinking so loud I can feel it in your chest."
He looked down. Her eyes were still closed. Her hand on his chest, fingers spread over his heartbeat.
"It's fine," he said.
"It's not fine. But it can be not fine tomorrow."
She pulled his arm tighter around her. Settled in. Her breathing went slow and deep and she was asleep in thirty seconds. She did that. Always. Out like she'd found a switch.
He sat in the dark with a sleeping thief in his lap and the Hellfire Club in his head and his system pulsing quietly behind his eyes.
FELICIA HARDY - AFFECTION TRACKER PREVIOUS: INTRIGUED CURRENT: ATTRACTED
He closed the notification. Looked at the window. The curtains were thin. City light bled through, amber and gray.
She was attracted to him. The system said so. She hadn't said so. She'd bitten his shoulder hard enough to draw blood and traced the mark with her finger and not apologized and then gone down on him and then told him about the people who ran the city and then fallen asleep in his lap.
He figured that counted.