[She had, honestly, come over with a single purpose. She'd wanted to ask Adrian about a few things, feeling out his opinion and his thoughts-- and what better way to do that than over dinner? Or, well. Dinner for her, and some blood for him, but it amounts to the same thing in the end. But she'd poured some wine, and the discussion had naturally turned to art, to literature, to their mutual companions and their thoughts--
--and so she doesn't ask her questions, because once dinner ends they end up retiring to her bedroom. Which suits her just fine, frankly; she likes sleeping with him, she finds. Not just for the sex itself (although that, too, is very good), but for the casual intimacy they've cultivated. For the way they kiss, and spend a great deal of time doing nothing but kissing. The easiness of it all. It's not that they're that close, but there's something about sleeping with him that just feels relaxed.
Perhaps, she's considered, it's because he respects her so much. He's so clearly in awe and in deference to her mind, and so clearly adores women much like her in his life. There's little risk of losing face with him.
But so: they're in her bedroom, kissing eagerly, perched atop him, his hands skimming up her sides and her fingers knotting in his hair. His fingers are just starting to slide lower when someone's phone rings-- his, hers, she has no idea, and quite frankly she really doesn't care right now.]
[Quietly, he adores Rosalind. Not really in a romantic sense, but certainly in the way that he respects her and likes to make her feel worshiped, feel valued. She deserves every bit of it.
Then the phone rings. He does, honestly, think about leaving it, but he knows he shouldn't keep dodging this client.]
It shouldn't be long. I'm sorry.
[Gently as he can, he disengages with her, picking up the phone. And he sighs, knowing exactly which client it is.]
Really. You want it larger. This is the third change you've asked for.
[But no, he's just pushing her off him, gently squirming his way out from under her, moving so delicately it's a little hard to realize what's happening until it's already happened. She actually stares at him for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before her eyes narrow.
Well, then. Well, then.
She doesn't take well to being ignored at the best of times, never mind somewhere like this. When she was already hot for him, when her skirt is rucked up to her thighs, when she's slightly tipsy and eager, when she's been aching for his tongue on her cunt and his fingers groping at her ass, and oh good god but he's still talking about the fucking art piece.
Fine. If that's how he wants to play, fine. She can do more than enough on her own. She sits up, climbing off the bed, heading around with a deceptively light air. Perhaps he's too distracted to pay her much mind now, but she'll change that soon enough.
She kneels in front of him, her bare legs resting against the wooden floor. Her hands settle on his thighs, stroking once or twice before going to yank open his trouser fastenings. This isn't about a slow build-up, no, this is about--
Well. Sex. Since he's such a clever boy, surely he can handle two things at once.
There's a lazy sort of smirk on her lips as she wraps her fingers around his cock, stroking once or twice. And she keeps her eyes locked on him as she leans in, sliding the tip of her tongue from base to tip, utterly intent on earning at least a bit of squirming.]
[Honestly, he does feel a little bad, but he does end up quickly distracted by this client. He lets out a low growl, pinching the bridge of his nose.]
I'm going to-- no, listen. I'm going to have to charge you far more for this. It's getting ridiculous. And just why are the balloons so damned important anyway?
[He goes abruptly very still when he feels her fingers on his cock, his eyes widening and a flash of red in his eyes. Knowing that it'll rile him up in the best of ways, Adrian looks down, watching as Rosalind uses her tongue.
Fuck. The hand not holding the phone clenches over the arm of his chair, the wood creaking under his grip.]
What--? What was that? [His voice is strained, but he's deciding to go along instead of stopping her.] I can-- I can do that.
[Oh, good. She thinks that with no small sense of satisfaction as she leans in, exhaling hotly. Good, excellent, this is going exactly as planned, and she has the audacity to hum a little in pleasure, utterly delighted with herself.
Her tongue slides over him, circling once, twice around the tip before she wraps her lips around him. She's languid in how she moves down, taking him in-- she wants him to really watch as his cock sinks into her, forcing her mouth to open wide, her reddened lips a vivid contrast to his pale skin. Her tongue slides over the underside, teasing pointedly, until at last she feels the head nudge against the back of her throat.
She stills, then. Just lets him sit there for a few seconds. He'd liked that last time, hadn't he? He'd wanted time to savor. Well, he's getting that time now, isn't he?]
[Hell, her mouth feels sinful right now. The slight vibration from her hum makes him grit his teeth, his eyes unable to tear away from watching her. With hand, he reaches out and brushes her hair back from her eyes, but makes no physical demands.]
And-- more detail on the claws. I see. Mm.
[Slowly, she takes more of him, and it takes everything in him to just stay still and watch, her lips wrapped tight around him. Inch by inch, and then finally he feels the back of her throat.
This is how he dies. Rosalind giving him sweet torture.]
You realize. [He swallows.] With that due date, you can't ask for further changes.
[She does like doing this, it's true, but that's still no excuse for the way she moans as she pulls her head back, a soft, eager thing that vibrates down the length of him as she returns to sucking at the tip. Nor is it any excuse for the sheer amount of attention she's focusing on him: the pads of her fingers caressing the underside of his cock, teasing what she can't easily reach as she draws back and ducks her head down, a slow, hungry rhythm.
She's tormenting him, it's true, but that doesn't mean she isn't enjoying it. She moans again, her eyes closing, savoring it for a few precious seconds. The heat of him on her tongue, heavy and thick; the way he's throbbing against her lips, the taste of him filling her mouth-- even the messiness of it all has taken a pleasing shape, as saliva and precome spill over her lips, leaving her looking more than a little debased.
But don't worry: she won't be loud. She won't give him away at all, no, because he has such important things to talk about on the phone. She wouldn't dare interrupt him. He ought to take all the time that he needs, important artist that he is; she'll just be here, helping him along. Driving him up the bloody wall with it, because she's pissed.
And she'll do all the right up until it looks as though he's enjoying. Not until he thinks he'll come, no, but just as he's really getting into it. Right up until he looks as though a moan might burst past his lips--
--she pulls back, deliberately and with a little gasp. Her fingers wrap tight around the base of his cock, a sharp vise that stops him from thrusting forward, making sure he doesn't ruin this call with something so inelegant as a groan.
The build up is so immense and he's barely listening to his client now. He could hang up and get away with it, but there's something so enrapturing how Rosalind is leading him along, teasing him so horribly by building him up and then just withdrawing, grabbing him to keep him from getting close to finishing.
His hand squeezes, the phone creaking. God he almost breaks it, and that would be fitting for how much he has to restrain himself.]
Enough. I'll have it finished. I'll call you tomorrow. [Adrian finally just ends it, because he's had enough from both sides by now. The phone is tossed away, and he'll find it later, wherever it ends up.]
Rosalind. [Adrian breathes in deep, his jaw tense.] Please.
[She says it silkily as she releases him. Getting to her feet, she slides into his lap, one hand pressing against his chest, surging up so she's looking down at him. She isn't angry, not in the sense that she'll be annoyed once they stop fucking, but in terms of this game they're playing? Oh, yes. She's fully prepared to push and push until he either snaps or submits.
Two fingers slip beneath his chin, and she tips his head up.]
Not after you clearly prioritized someone else over me. Why should I prioritize you, hm?
He could do hundreds of things. He could take her forcefully with all of his strength, but he'd never do that unless given permission. Though Adrian can indeed overpower her, it feels like right now he needs to please her. To gain her forgiveness, and that brings a shudder of something up his spine all right.
Adrian turns his head to nuzzle her fingers, kissing at them.]
[She hums softly, pleased, and curls her fingers, pressing lightly against his mouth.]
And how do you plan on doing that, hm?
[As a reward (or, maybe, because she's wet and wanting and just a little needy to be tended to) she rocks her hips down, grinding against him. He's so hard, impossibly so, hard and hot and fuck, but it would be easy to demand he just fuck up into her. She'd enjoy it, god knows. Even the thought makes her flush in pleasure, but no-- it'll be better if they wait.]
[It's so tempting to just fuck her right now, especially when she teases him -- but he grits his teeth, holds back, and just shudders instead. He opens his mouth, his tongue sliding against her fingers before kissing them again.]
[She purrs it out, smugness clear on her expression. It's almost insufferable, honestly, and she echos it by pulling back, climbing out of the chair. Idly she tugs at her skirt, letting it drop down; her shirt follows, her bra--
--and then, because she's still annoyed, she doesn't go to the bed. She bends over, reaching for her clothes, folding her skirt carefully. Going to hang up her blouse, put away her bra, because he can wait.]
[There's a strained groan, and he doesn't want to, but he wants to please her more than any of his other desires. Bracing himself, he stands up and goes to sit on the bed, waiting obediently.
And he makes sure not to do anything else, not even touch himself. Her approval feels... honestly that important right now.]
You put yourself into this position, Adrian, I don't know why you're whining.
[She says it archly over her shoulder, and deliberately spends a few more seconds at her closet, just because she can. But she's impatient too, and soon enough she's returning, sitting on the bed, spreading her legs.]
Come here. You know what to do, I think.
[Though she pushes her fingers through his hair the moment he's close enough, sweeping it back from his face.]
[He can't even argue; he's the one who had done this, after all, and he owes it to her. So, at her beck and call, Adrian comes closer on his hands and knees, leaning into her hands as his hair is brushed back.
Dipping his head down, he gives her a slow swipe with his tongue, wet and with the full flat of hit against her clit. He won't rush it, and full intends to make the most of this. To treat her well, spoil her best as he can.
[She breathes it out. She's getting spoiled here, she knows she is. There's so many people who are so eager to eat her out, but honestly? What a brilliant problem to have. Especially when it comes from someone like him, so arrogant and so sweet in turn. Rosalind's head tips back, her fingers tightening in his hair as she feels him tease her open.
It's a slow-rising heat, but that's all right. She'll grow impatient soon, but not just yet. Her eyes close, her thighs spreading wider as he lavishes attention on her. Like that, and he'll know the moment he hits home, because her breath suddenly goes harsh, her fingers tightening in his hair pointedly.]
Harder.
[It's a command, not a request. Her eyes are darker as she glances down, her other hand coming up to slide over her breast. Two fingers pinch at one nipple, the movement firm enough to leave her whining, her hips bucking up needily.]
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--and so she doesn't ask her questions, because once dinner ends they end up retiring to her bedroom. Which suits her just fine, frankly; she likes sleeping with him, she finds. Not just for the sex itself (although that, too, is very good), but for the casual intimacy they've cultivated. For the way they kiss, and spend a great deal of time doing nothing but kissing. The easiness of it all. It's not that they're that close, but there's something about sleeping with him that just feels relaxed.
Perhaps, she's considered, it's because he respects her so much. He's so clearly in awe and in deference to her mind, and so clearly adores women much like her in his life. There's little risk of losing face with him.
But so: they're in her bedroom, kissing eagerly, perched atop him, his hands skimming up her sides and her fingers knotting in his hair. His fingers are just starting to slide lower when someone's phone rings-- his, hers, she has no idea, and quite frankly she really doesn't care right now.]
Leave it--
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Then the phone rings. He does, honestly, think about leaving it, but he knows he shouldn't keep dodging this client.]
It shouldn't be long. I'm sorry.
[Gently as he can, he disengages with her, picking up the phone. And he sighs, knowing exactly which client it is.]
Really. You want it larger. This is the third change you've asked for.
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[But no, he's just pushing her off him, gently squirming his way out from under her, moving so delicately it's a little hard to realize what's happening until it's already happened. She actually stares at him for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before her eyes narrow.
Well, then. Well, then.
She doesn't take well to being ignored at the best of times, never mind somewhere like this. When she was already hot for him, when her skirt is rucked up to her thighs, when she's slightly tipsy and eager, when she's been aching for his tongue on her cunt and his fingers groping at her ass, and oh good god but he's still talking about the fucking art piece.
Fine. If that's how he wants to play, fine. She can do more than enough on her own. She sits up, climbing off the bed, heading around with a deceptively light air. Perhaps he's too distracted to pay her much mind now, but she'll change that soon enough.
She kneels in front of him, her bare legs resting against the wooden floor. Her hands settle on his thighs, stroking once or twice before going to yank open his trouser fastenings. This isn't about a slow build-up, no, this is about--
Well. Sex. Since he's such a clever boy, surely he can handle two things at once.
There's a lazy sort of smirk on her lips as she wraps her fingers around his cock, stroking once or twice. And she keeps her eyes locked on him as she leans in, sliding the tip of her tongue from base to tip, utterly intent on earning at least a bit of squirming.]
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I'm going to-- no, listen. I'm going to have to charge you far more for this. It's getting ridiculous. And just why are the balloons so damned important anyway?
[He goes abruptly very still when he feels her fingers on his cock, his eyes widening and a flash of red in his eyes. Knowing that it'll rile him up in the best of ways, Adrian looks down, watching as Rosalind uses her tongue.
Fuck. The hand not holding the phone clenches over the arm of his chair, the wood creaking under his grip.]
What--? What was that? [His voice is strained, but he's deciding to go along instead of stopping her.] I can-- I can do that.
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Her tongue slides over him, circling once, twice around the tip before she wraps her lips around him. She's languid in how she moves down, taking him in-- she wants him to really watch as his cock sinks into her, forcing her mouth to open wide, her reddened lips a vivid contrast to his pale skin. Her tongue slides over the underside, teasing pointedly, until at last she feels the head nudge against the back of her throat.
She stills, then. Just lets him sit there for a few seconds. He'd liked that last time, hadn't he? He'd wanted time to savor. Well, he's getting that time now, isn't he?]
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And-- more detail on the claws. I see. Mm.
[Slowly, she takes more of him, and it takes everything in him to just stay still and watch, her lips wrapped tight around him. Inch by inch, and then finally he feels the back of her throat.
This is how he dies. Rosalind giving him sweet torture.]
You realize. [He swallows.] With that due date, you can't ask for further changes.
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She's tormenting him, it's true, but that doesn't mean she isn't enjoying it. She moans again, her eyes closing, savoring it for a few precious seconds. The heat of him on her tongue, heavy and thick; the way he's throbbing against her lips, the taste of him filling her mouth-- even the messiness of it all has taken a pleasing shape, as saliva and precome spill over her lips, leaving her looking more than a little debased.
But don't worry: she won't be loud. She won't give him away at all, no, because he has such important things to talk about on the phone. She wouldn't dare interrupt him. He ought to take all the time that he needs, important artist that he is; she'll just be here, helping him along. Driving him up the bloody wall with it, because she's pissed.
And she'll do all the right up until it looks as though he's enjoying. Not until he thinks he'll come, no, but just as he's really getting into it. Right up until he looks as though a moan might burst past his lips--
--she pulls back, deliberately and with a little gasp. Her fingers wrap tight around the base of his cock, a sharp vise that stops him from thrusting forward, making sure he doesn't ruin this call with something so inelegant as a groan.
Because she's thoughtful, see?]
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The build up is so immense and he's barely listening to his client now. He could hang up and get away with it, but there's something so enrapturing how Rosalind is leading him along, teasing him so horribly by building him up and then just withdrawing, grabbing him to keep him from getting close to finishing.
His hand squeezes, the phone creaking. God he almost breaks it, and that would be fitting for how much he has to restrain himself.]
Enough. I'll have it finished. I'll call you tomorrow. [Adrian finally just ends it, because he's had enough from both sides by now. The phone is tossed away, and he'll find it later, wherever it ends up.]
Rosalind. [Adrian breathes in deep, his jaw tense.] Please.
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[She says it silkily as she releases him. Getting to her feet, she slides into his lap, one hand pressing against his chest, surging up so she's looking down at him. She isn't angry, not in the sense that she'll be annoyed once they stop fucking, but in terms of this game they're playing? Oh, yes. She's fully prepared to push and push until he either snaps or submits.
Two fingers slip beneath his chin, and she tips his head up.]
Not after you clearly prioritized someone else over me. Why should I prioritize you, hm?
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He could do hundreds of things. He could take her forcefully with all of his strength, but he'd never do that unless given permission. Though Adrian can indeed overpower her, it feels like right now he needs to please her. To gain her forgiveness, and that brings a shudder of something up his spine all right.
Adrian turns his head to nuzzle her fingers, kissing at them.]
Please. Let me make it up to you.
[He'll wait if he must.]
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[She hums softly, pleased, and curls her fingers, pressing lightly against his mouth.]
And how do you plan on doing that, hm?
[As a reward (or, maybe, because she's wet and wanting and just a little needy to be tended to) she rocks her hips down, grinding against him. He's so hard, impossibly so, hard and hot and fuck, but it would be easy to demand he just fuck up into her. She'd enjoy it, god knows. Even the thought makes her flush in pleasure, but no-- it'll be better if they wait.]
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Let me return the favor to you.
Let me use my mouth. I'll be careful, I swear it.
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[She purrs it out, smugness clear on her expression. It's almost insufferable, honestly, and she echos it by pulling back, climbing out of the chair. Idly she tugs at her skirt, letting it drop down; her shirt follows, her bra--
--and then, because she's still annoyed, she doesn't go to the bed. She bends over, reaching for her clothes, folding her skirt carefully. Going to hang up her blouse, put away her bra, because he can wait.]
Go wait on the bed.
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And he makes sure not to do anything else, not even touch himself. Her approval feels... honestly that important right now.]
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[She says it archly over her shoulder, and deliberately spends a few more seconds at her closet, just because she can. But she's impatient too, and soon enough she's returning, sitting on the bed, spreading her legs.]
Come here. You know what to do, I think.
[Though she pushes her fingers through his hair the moment he's close enough, sweeping it back from his face.]
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Dipping his head down, he gives her a slow swipe with his tongue, wet and with the full flat of hit against her clit. He won't rush it, and full intends to make the most of this. To treat her well, spoil her best as he can.
He wants so badly for her approval right now.]
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[She breathes it out. She's getting spoiled here, she knows she is. There's so many people who are so eager to eat her out, but honestly? What a brilliant problem to have. Especially when it comes from someone like him, so arrogant and so sweet in turn. Rosalind's head tips back, her fingers tightening in his hair as she feels him tease her open.
It's a slow-rising heat, but that's all right. She'll grow impatient soon, but not just yet. Her eyes close, her thighs spreading wider as he lavishes attention on her. Like that, and he'll know the moment he hits home, because her breath suddenly goes harsh, her fingers tightening in his hair pointedly.]
Harder.
[It's a command, not a request. Her eyes are darker as she glances down, her other hand coming up to slide over her breast. Two fingers pinch at one nipple, the movement firm enough to leave her whining, her hips bucking up needily.]
Adrian--