karlena, playing footsie
Kara doesn’t think she’s ever been arm candy before.
She says as much to Lena who laughs and leans across the back seat of the car, laying her hand lightly on Kara’s thigh.
“You aren’t arm candy, Kara,” she says. “I invited you because I need your intrepid reporting skills and quick wit to get me through this dinner.”
She flits her eyes from Kara’s face to her high-heeled feet, gaze lingering at the slope of her cleavage, at the lean flex of her calves, before smiling, coy and red-lipped. “It doesn’t hurt that you are an absolutely gorgeous date.”
Kara grins, tilting sideways in her seat, ducking her head to reach Lena across the suddenly vast distance of vinyl upholstery between them. She nuzzles into Lena’s neck, finding the floral perfume dabbed lightly at her jaw, mouths kisses along the hard line of Lena’s throat.
Lena eyes the partition that separates them from the driver before sighing softly, a light exhale falling from her parted lips. She tilts her head back, fingers tangling loosely in the hairs at the nape of Kara’s neck, careful not to muss the intricate braids that curl along the crown of Kara’s head.
Kara, emboldened, nudges in harder, nipping teeth at Lena’s neck, one hand curling at her waist. Lena makes a small noise of surprise low in her throat, pulling back, fingers moving to splay at Kara’s jaw.
“No marks,” Lena says, tone controlled, even. But her eyes, dark-lashed and half-lidded, fix at Kara’s mouth. The quick tempo of her heartbeats, dampened by cloth and the distracting rush of city traffic, promise later, later, later.