She didn't come the next morning. She didn't come that afternoon. She didn't answer the two texts he sent, one checking in and one that was just her name with a question mark. The cat emoji stayed silent.
He went to the gym. Worked the bag until his knuckles opened over the scabs from the dumpster. Came home. Cleaned the apartment. Read the Silvermane documents again and didn't find anything new. Made dinner. Ate half. Left the rest on the counter.
At ten PM he heard the lock turn.
She came through the door in the catsuit.
Black Cat. The full suit, zipped to the collar, the white fur trim bright against the black. Her hair was loose, platinum falling past her shoulders, brushed out, deliberate. Her makeup was done. Eyeliner. Lips darker than her natural color. She'd gotten ready for this.
She walked straight to him. He was at the kitchen table with a folder open and a coffee going cold and she pushed the folder off the table with one hand and grabbed his collar with the other and pulled him to his feet.
She kissed him.
Teeth. Her mouth hard on his, biting his lower lip, and her hands were on his chest, nails through his t-shirt, raking down. She kissed like she was settling a debt. Her tongue in his mouth, aggressive, taking, and one hand went to the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his head back and she bit his neck.
"Ow-"
"Shut up."
Her hand found the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and off and her eyes went to the bandage on his ribs. She stopped. Looked at it. The gauze was clean now, fresh, the wound underneath closing. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the bandage. Gentle. The only gentle thing she'd done since she walked in.
Then she bit the skin next to it. Hard. Her teeth sinking into the flesh beside the wound, close enough that the sting overlapped with the cut, and he hissed and grabbed her shoulders and she looked up at him with her teeth still in his skin and her green eyes dared him to stop her.
She pushed him toward the bedroom, both hands on his chest, walking him backward until his knees hit the mattress and he sat. She stood over him. Unzipped the catsuit to her navel, slow, watching his face. The suit parted. Bare underneath. She left it hanging open, her breasts exposed, the black fabric framing them.
She pushed him flat on his back. Climbed on top. Straddled his hips, the catsuit rough against his bare stomach. She pinned his wrists beside his head.
"Don't move."
She ground down against him. His cock was hard, straining against his jeans, and she rolled her hips and the friction of the catsuit fabric against his bare skin was rough and deliberate and she watched his face while she did it. Her jaw tight. Her eyes bright.
She peeled the catsuit down her shoulders, worked it past her waist, and she was bare from the hips up and her breasts hung over his face and she dragged them across his mouth, slow, the nipples catching on his lips. He turned his head and tried to suck one into his mouth and she pulled back.
"I said don't move." This chapter is updated first at g.com.
She slid down his body. Unbuttoned his jeans, yanked them down with his boxers, and his cock came free and she wrapped her hand around the base and took him in her mouth.
Aggressive, deep bobs, her lips tight around the shaft, her hand squeezing the base in rhythm with her mouth. Her free hand pinned his hip to the mattress when he tried to thrust and her eyes were on his and they were hard and bright and angry and her cheeks hollowed on every upstroke and the suction was punishing.
He grabbed the sheets. His abs were cramping from trying not to buck into her mouth. She took him deeper, her throat opening, and held him there and swallowed and the pressure made his vision blur.
She pulled off. Spit connecting her lips to his cock, stretching, breaking. She climbed up his body, fast, and positioned herself over him. She was still wearing the catsuit from the waist down. She reached between her legs and he heard fabric tear. She'd ripped the crotch of the catsuit with her fingers.
She hovered. His cock at her entrance, the head pressing against her, and she was wet, soaking, and the heat of her was immediate.
"Say you're mine."
Her voice was low. Rough. Her hands on his chest, fingers spread, pressing him into the mattress. Her hair falling around their faces. Her pupils blown wide.
He grinned.
"You're mine."
Her face opened. Her mouth. Her eyes. Her hands on his chest went from pressing to gripping and her fingers curled into his skin.
She dropped onto him.
Hard. All the way, no warm-up, and the stretch of her around his cock was tight and wet and she gasped at the depth and her head fell back and her nails scored his chest. She didn't ease into it. She rode him from the first stroke, hips slamming down, taking him full-length on every drop, and the anger was in her rhythm. Fast. Hard. The bed frame hitting the wall.
The wet slap of her ass against his hips on every drop. The sound of her around him, slick, loud, getting louder. Her breasts bouncing with the impact. Her face flushed red, mouth open, sweat forming on her stomach. She was riding him like she was trying to break him and her breathing was ragged and her moans were punched out of her on every impact.
"Ah- ah- AH-"
Getting louder. The bed hammering the wall. Her thighs burning, he could see the muscles shaking, but she didn't slow down. The catsuit bunched at her waist, torn at the crotch, and the contrast between the suit and the skin made everything hotter. Black fabric and bare flesh and her platinum hair swinging and the squelch between their bodies filling the room.
He broke her rule.
His hands grabbed her hips. She tried to pin them back. "I said-" He held on. His grip was stronger than hers now and the realization crossed her face and he pulled her down and thrust up from below and her eyes rolled.
"Oh- fuck- Troy-"
He thrust up again. Hard. Pulling her hips down while driving up into her and the depth made her choke. He kept the pace, his hips driving off the mattress, and she couldn't control the rhythm anymore. She was on top but he was fucking her and the distinction mattered. Her hands went from his wrists to his chest to the headboard, grabbing for purchase, and her body was moving with his thrusts, rocking forward on every drive.
She came shouting.
Full-throated. His name and a sound that had no words in it, her head thrown back, and her body locked around him and squeezed. Her walls clenched in hard rhythmic pulses, gripping his cock from base to tip, and her hips ground down in short jerks and her thighs clamped against his sides and the bed frame cracked against the wall one last time.
He rolled them.
On her back, him between her legs, and she was still clenching in aftershocks and he pushed in deep and she flinched, oversensitive. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her arms around his neck. She pulled him down, face against her neck, and she was still shaking.
He moved. Long grinding strokes, slow, deep, and every re-entry made her twitch. She was swollen, her walls gripping him tighter than before, and the friction was intense, wet, the sounds between them obscene.
She whimpered. Small sounds against his ear, sounds she'd never make if she could hear herself. Her hands on his back, fingers digging in. Her heels pressed into his lower back, pulling him deeper.
"Don't stop," she said. Her voice cracked. "Please."
He didn't stop. He kept the rhythm, slow and deep, his forehead against her neck, and she was clenching around him on every stroke, involuntary, her body pulling him deeper.
"Nn- ah- there- right- please-"
Quieter this time. Her voice small, muffled against his shoulder. She came with a held breath and a shudder that rolled through her entire body and her walls squeezed him in long slow contractions and her legs locked tighter and her face pressed into his neck and her teeth found his shoulder and she made a sound he'd never heard from her. Broken. Stripped down.
He came inside her. Deep. His hips flush, his face against her hair, and she felt the warmth and her body clenched around him and her legs pulled him in and held him there.
She didn't let go.
Her legs stayed locked around his waist. Her arms around his neck. Her face against his shoulder. She was holding him inside her, keeping him close, and her breathing was ragged against his skin and her fingers were gripping the back of his shirt hard enough to stretch the fabric.
He stayed. His weight on her. Her heartbeat under his chest, fast, slowing.
She turned her head. Her mouth against his ear. Her voice was raw, quiet, so close he felt her lips move.
"Mine."
She fell asleep holding him.