Yes. Oh, yes. If he meant what she thought he meant... and how could he not, with that voice, which she fancied was raspy with desire, and that quickened breath giving his game away?
It occurred to Laverna, briefly, that it was possible Thrynn was still around. Or someone else. Any Guild member could walk in at any time and see her thrown over the desk, torn and disheveled and spread open like some inconsequential plaything. And they would see – and hear – how every inch of her was burning for it.
But the fact was, she needed it too much to care. So much that she found herself mewling, begging in small nonverbal sounds; and when she heard the shuffle and clink of leather, cloth and opened buckles, she knew it was truly happening, and her hips lifted lewdly, urging him on.
Mercer's palms landed on her backside, and she flinched from the feel of them, the burn of the slaps still fresh in the memory of her skin. Callused thumbs parted her and exposed her core, and wetness welled up both there and in her eyes.
”Please”, she managed to voice, uncaring who heard. ”Please.”
He stilled for a few heartbeats, and she heard him draw a deep breath. Then, fast and decisive, he grasped her hips hard and pulled her into an advantageous angle, and then, in one thrust, buried himself in her to the hilt.
She knew from the hum of blood in her ears and the painfully sweet pressure in the pit of her belly that it would happen this time. She would climax. There was no stopping it. She had though it wasn't even possible, to gain much pleasure from a man filling her up and working in monotonous rhythm until he spilled his seed. She had endured it because she'd hoped, each time (until she'd given up hope), that the magic would happen if she only tried a different man.
A different nice man.
Mercer was not a nice man.
He was dangerous and rough, he'd treated her like she was good for nothing but stripping and ravishing, and he'd thrown her down and was fucking her to the darkest and brightest and maddest Oblivion.
She came undone with a cry, writhing and contracting around the thick organ still relentlessly moving inside her. Her nails scored the surface of the desk, hair clung to her face and got in her mouth and eyes. And it went on and on, wrung every drop of sweat and every scream from her, until she was nothing but an exhausted receptacle for him to use until his own climax.
*
”Turn around. Turn around and look at me.”
She did, slowly and reluctantly. How much easier it would have been to slink away, get washed, get dressed and curl up on her bunk, think of ways to act as if nothing had happened.
Her gaze moved up from his knees to the open breeches, the tool of her undoing which, even softening, made her shudder all over again, the wide chest, the scar-scored chin. Lips twisted into a half-smirk. Finally, eyes that had seen her for what she was, secretly, inside.
”From now on, Laverna”, and how could he speak so evenly so soon after, ”I trust you'll know who's leading and who's following around here. Who gives the instructions, and who does as told.”
Re: Simple Instructions, 5/5
Date: 2012-09-02 11:32 am (UTC)It occurred to Laverna, briefly, that it was possible Thrynn was still around. Or someone else. Any Guild member could walk in at any time and see her thrown over the desk, torn and disheveled and spread open like some inconsequential plaything. And they would see – and hear – how every inch of her was burning for it.
But the fact was, she needed it too much to care. So much that she found herself mewling, begging in small nonverbal sounds; and when she heard the shuffle and clink of leather, cloth and opened buckles, she knew it was truly happening, and her hips lifted lewdly, urging him on.
Mercer's palms landed on her backside, and she flinched from the feel of them, the burn of the slaps still fresh in the memory of her skin. Callused thumbs parted her and exposed her core, and wetness welled up both there and in her eyes.
”Please”, she managed to voice, uncaring who heard. ”Please.”
He stilled for a few heartbeats, and she heard him draw a deep breath. Then, fast and decisive, he grasped her hips hard and pulled her into an advantageous angle, and then, in one thrust, buried himself in her to the hilt.
She knew from the hum of blood in her ears and the painfully sweet pressure in the pit of her belly that it would happen this time. She would climax. There was no stopping it. She had though it wasn't even possible, to gain much pleasure from a man filling her up and working in monotonous rhythm until he spilled his seed. She had endured it because she'd hoped, each time (until she'd given up hope), that the magic would happen if she only tried a different man.
A different nice man.
Mercer was not a nice man.
He was dangerous and rough, he'd treated her like she was good for nothing but stripping and ravishing, and he'd thrown her down and was fucking her to the darkest and brightest and maddest Oblivion.
She came undone with a cry, writhing and contracting around the thick organ still relentlessly moving inside her. Her nails scored the surface of the desk, hair clung to her face and got in her mouth and eyes. And it went on and on, wrung every drop of sweat and every scream from her, until she was nothing but an exhausted receptacle for him to use until his own climax.
*
”Turn around. Turn around and look at me.”
She did, slowly and reluctantly. How much easier it would have been to slink away, get washed, get dressed and curl up on her bunk, think of ways to act as if nothing had happened.
Her gaze moved up from his knees to the open breeches, the tool of her undoing which, even softening, made her shudder all over again, the wide chest, the scar-scored chin. Lips twisted into a half-smirk. Finally, eyes that had seen her for what she was, secretly, inside.
”From now on, Laverna”, and how could he speak so evenly so soon after, ”I trust you'll know who's leading and who's following around here. Who gives the instructions, and who does as told.”
There was really only one answer to that.