Octavia Blake (
okteiviakom) wrote2022-02-13 11:31 pm
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Lucifer's Mansion, Sunday Night
It was Sunday night. There had been dinner: some nice takeout from some place on the mainland, followed by an even nicer dessert from some other place on the mainland. Panna cotta with fresh fruit was getting up there on Octavia's list of favorites.
But she had other favorite things, too.
And that was probably why they were already halfway up the stairs.
"Was that passionfruit on purpose?"
[ooc: For the Devil, and SP. NSFW bound, most likely.]
But she had other favorite things, too.
And that was probably why they were already halfway up the stairs.
"Was that passionfruit on purpose?"
[ooc: For the Devil, and SP. NSFW bound, most likely.]
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But there was a sense of reward in feeling him begin to harden underneath her, against her. She didn't stop.
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He did nothing else.
It was her work to do.
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And one she seemed to be dedicated to. The movements were smaller, now. A lot more... rubbing, kind of. Pressure.
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He didn't sound like he expected backtalk.
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They were getting to the point of having a collection.
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And up.
"And your thighs."
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But lingered in the touch. The softest possible way of going against orders.
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The word was soft. The intent behind it clearly wasn't.
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Then finally moved to get up.
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Slowly, he reached to pull off his jacket, and left it carelessly by the bed. He made no effort to hide the tent in his trousers.
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She peeled off her sweater. Unhooked her bra and let it fall, and then went to search the drawer for three separate harness pieces. Pulled out one for her thighs, one for her arms, one for her chest.
She handled them like they were precious.
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He paid her no heed as he stripped methodically out of the rest of his clothes.
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Then the chest piece that framed each of her breasts in leather.
She tightened each of the clasps carefully. Not too loose, tight enough to feel the edges of herself, to feel contained.
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Last but not least, the arm pieces slid on, held together by a strap across the top of her chest, another across her back, criss-crossing with the chest harness underneath it.
There was something particularly practised about the way she fixed the clasps around her arms.
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Hard enough to yank her inward, though not so hard - he hoped - it would actually hurt.
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Didn't entirely even surprise her, although the way she moved with the yank was a little stumbly.
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Lucifer pulled it back, up over her head. And reached aside, for the night stand.
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"What are you doing?"
Oh, that felt like a misstep, somehow. Speaking.
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He wound the scarf around her hair, working it into a ponytail. "Or I'll make sure you are."
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It wasn't bad if it was soft, right?
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Making sure she knew he thought she was his to do with as he wanted.
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Anticipation pooled like a jittery weight in the pit of her stomach.
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His hand slid down, and wrapped around his length.
(Payback. A bit.)
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But that wasn't exactly something she would focus on when her gaze was drawn down to his hand, was it?
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