Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.
He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.
He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.
“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”
Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot – next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.
He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.
“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”
Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.
“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.
“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”
Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.
“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing usto keep you around, do you realize that?”
Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.
“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.
“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.
“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.
Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.
When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.
“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”
“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.
“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.
Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”
Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.
“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”
Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”
“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”
Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”
He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.
“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.
He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.
Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.
He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.
He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.
He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.
He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.
He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.
It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.
Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.
Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you.Got this. Got here first.
The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.
He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.
→a/n: i know dean isn’t exactly a kpop idol, but i really love him and his music, he is one of my favourite artists at the moment. me and my friend were both loving the idea of gangsta! dean or mobster! dean and it got my creative juices flowing (soz that’s kinda gross).
“oi, baby, get you’re hot ass over here,” dom calls over to you, “my lap’s feelin’ a little lonely.”
you sighed to yourself and made your way over to him, his harsh hands cuffing onto your waist, like you’d dare escaping such a man.
“my boys were saying how you were having a little chat with the delivery guy yesterday.”
his grip immediately tightened painfully as you look at his lackeys all hanging their heads sheepishly. you got along well with his guys, so the fact that they got you into trouble like this made you feel betrayed.
“baby,” you put on a fake voice to cover up your fear, “it was nothing like that, he was just being polite.”
he gave you a twisted smile, “well maybe he should know next time to stay away from what’s not his.”
his hand clutches onto your wrist instead and he drags you off of his lap and down the corridor to his room. you knew what this meant.
“i’m gonna make sure that everyone in this whole building knows who you belong to.”
dom’s party had just kicked off downstairs in the club, the bass of the music coming up from under your feet.
after what happened earlier with dom and you, you’d rather die than sit on his lap all night like his little pet.
it was a few years ago when you became dom’s ‘pet’ after you courageously stepped in for your ex boyfriend and told dom to take you instead of him. but the minute your ex got out, he had moved on immediately. it was a foolish idea, to think that your boyfriend would save you. but you were so young and naive then. so you were stuck as dom’s and there was no escape. you were trapped and labelled as “his” forever.
you look over to you’re shared bed with dom and see a note with a box laying there.
because you should always look like a princess.
in the box laid a silk dusty rose cami style dress. as beautiful as it was, you didn’t want it. it was just a way to try and win your affection, but there was no real love or kindness intended by it.
but you wore it anyway because if you didn’t, there’d be a repeat of earlier’s events.
in the elastic of your stockings, you slipped your pistol in case things tonight got ugly with any unwanted guests. dom may have been a nasty piece of work, but he would never leave you vulnerable.
your put on a pair of daps with it and a fur coat over the top, you knew it would please dom if you looked “classy”. a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts and dom walked in his signature suit.
“wow baby,” he looked you up and down perversely, “you look fucking hot.”
you tried not to scoff at his words, so instead just kept your face emotionless, looking down at your daps. he grabbed your hips and pulls you out the door with him, down towards the party.
the music was getting louder and louder as you walked down the corridor. the entrance to the club was taunting freedom. as dom opened the door to the club, the guests all roared with whistles and hollers at the big man himself making his big entrance.
“ladies n gents,” he puts on a triumphant smile, “welcome!”
he walked over to where he sat for every event, his guys following closey behind, and pushed you down onto his thigh, your chair for the night.
as the night dragged on, people came over to dom, giving him a firm handshake. of course, everyone knew it was better to be pals with dom, then to make him your enemy. or you we’re fucked. last time someone came to his club looking for a fight, he got one. but it didn’t look so pretty for him afterwards.
but by 11:30, a dark face came to pay dom a visit.
“dom, how’s it been?”
it was the first time you’d ever seen dom looked shocked. his lips parted slightly as his eyes stayed frozen on the figure before the two of you. his face paled in the poorly lit club.
“uh johnny, long time no see, what are you doing at my place?” dom put emphasis on my place, trying to act like he had the upper hand here. the man seemed unphased by dom’s attempt at intimidation. by this point you’d managed to figure out that this johnny guy was not a pleasant surprise for dom.
“baby, why don’t you go have a little dance or something? i’ll catch up with you in a bit, eh?” he gave your butt a quick tap and scooted you away to the dancefloor. this was the first time dom let you out by yourself, and the thought excited you. but clearly something bad was about to happen.
you moved through all the people convulsing to the heavy-bassed music, caught up in the hot, rousing atmosphere. everyone dancing seemed to look so good, so alive on the dance floor. you found yourself joining in, swinging your hips to the beat, your eyes closed and your lips parted as you let yourself go for the first time in years. the dancer’s bodies were so close to yours, this was the most human contact you’d had with anyone except dom in so long.
it was your free spirit that caught his eye tonight. from a corner booth he was sharing with a couple of buddies, his eyes clearly settled on you. he was fascinated by how your hair swung as your head swayed with your hips, how each slight jump you did made your jacket raise, along with your dress, showing your smooth thighs and your hidden weapon. he noticed how you had a small smile on your lips, like this night was the best of your life. he noticed how your soft face looked completely out of place amongst all the mobsters.
you felt the need for a drink after so much dancing, so you made your way over to the bar. he seized this opportunity to go over and talk to you.
“one cranberry juice and vodka please,” you called out to the bartender.
“make that two,” a voice called from the other side.
your turned your head to the voice, and you were dumbstruck at the view facing you.
a lean figure in a pinstripe suit and creepers looks down on you, his hair quiffed up, but his fringe flicking round on his forehead. his hands were in his pockets, and he leaned against the bar with a poised gesture. he had a modest confidence about him, like he wasn’t confident in himself, but he was confident in life in general. like nothing could stop him. his style was slick, and it was enticing.
“i saw you dancing out there,” he pointed to the dancefloor, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen someone dance like that before.”
your brow creased in confusion, you weren’t sure if you should be offended or not.
“i mean you looked really good out there, you were quite mesmerizing”
you smiled bashfully at his words instead now, “oh, thank you.”
he flashed his teeth at you in an honest smile, eyes creasing at the sides.
“so uh.. you know dom?” he looked at you sheepishly. you gulped at his inquiry, scared at how he might act. you were so close to finally being free, but you still couldn’t escape it.
“i-uh- i work for him,” you look down at your feet.
“work? if that’s what you call it..” he trailed off.
you started getting angry now, what right does he have to judge you? did he think this was something you wanted?
“you think i like the way he touches me? you think i enjoy being treated like someone’s play thing?”
“no no wait that’s not what i meant, look i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to upset you. i just don’t think it’s right for him to get away with treating you how he does. you should never get touched so… cruelly. it makes me sick seeing the way he manhandles you.”
“you really think that? most guys just get jealous that he gets to have such an obedient little slut.”
you choked on your own words a little, but covered it up with a swig of your drink.
“i think you’re far from a ‘little slut’. you seem so much more than that.”
you were shocked. he barely knew you, yet he was disgusted by your treatment. and he saw you as more than an object. for once, you were human in someone’s eyes. your heart warmed at the thought.
“look, let’s not talk about dom,” you avert his attention instead, “why don’t we dance uh..?”
“dean, my name’s dean. and you are?”
you smiled slightly at his fitting name, “i’m y/n.”
you slipped your fur coat off and left it on the barstool, his eyes glancing over your bare arms and shoulders, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. you looked almost angelic in such a harsh environment, you’re subtle innocence becoming more obvious as time passed.
you grabbed onto his rough, callus hands and dragged him onto the dancefloor, and letting him guide your body instead. his hands stayed on your waist politely, but as the two of you got closer and closer to one another, they settled on your hips, one travelling up to your hair affectionately. as you danced, he stayed gentle with you, never getting grabby or inappropriate, but staying tender with his actions. it was refreshing to be treated with care for once, you craved it, you craved warmth and loving devotion.
quickly, the two of you got too caught up in each other to notice the number of dom’s men in the area.
“dean, we need to go.”
“what do you mean go?” he mumbled into your ear.
“i mean we need to leave right now,” your heart beat quickened as you worried about what could happen to dean if you got caught.
but he caught on and wasted no time leading you by your hand to the exit. as scared as you were of getting caught, your were excited at the thought of having freedom.
“y/n? we should run.”
“because they are.”
dean pulled you through the manic crowds, down the dimly lit hallway to the exit.
“dean look out!”
in front of you were too of dom’s men, taking up the whole corridor with their large builds. you lead the way and pulled him down a nearly black hallway, with people lingering the whole way though it.
“i’ve got an idea,” dean whispers. they were getting closer.
“what is it?”
“just go along with it, okay?”
before you even had the opportunity to respond, his lips landed on yours. his arms locked on either side of the wall, blocking you in and hiding you. his lips continued kissing you as you still tried to get over the shock of somebody else being so intimate with you. it felt better than you’d imagined kissing someone else, so much more caring and light compared to dom’s painful, hard kisses that bruised your lips.
the two of dom’s men went straight past you, barely even noticing your attempt at blending in.
dean’s lips slowly detached from yours, his head resting against yours still, one arm sweeping hair off your face.
“sorry if that stepped over any lines, i thought it would help disguise us,” he whispered.
“it’s okay, it worked anyway. they’re gone now.”
“if they’re gone then why are we still whispering?”
you chuckle at his light-hearted humour, grabbing both of his hands and intertwining them with your comparably small ones.
“do you wanna come stay at my place tonight? you’ll have a bed and food and someone there to keep you safe from the baddies,” he joked.
“oh and who would that be?” you playfully replied.
“the guy who just saved your cute ass.”
the paced walk to his apartment was filled with trivial conversation, the two of you just enjoying the peaceful aftermath of the club.
finally you arrived outside of his flat. dean lived in a big city apartment on the top story with 5 other guys, all tall, muscly, tattooed. it was obvious that they were the gangsta sort too. they all dressed smart and in their jacket’s lining pocket you could make out the shape of pistols.
but you were used to these kinds of men, and they didn’t scare you one bit.
“fellas,” dean announces, “this is y/n, shes dom’s girl.”
they all looked at him with shock.
“what, and dom just gave her to you?” the first one spoke up, “if he find’s her here, you’re dead, we’re all dead.”
“we’ll be fine, vin, i’m gonna make sure nothing happens to her.”
you looked up at him, but he only sternly looked vin in the eye.
“if you can promise that none of us get our asses kicked, then she’s more than welcome to stay.”
dean showed you to his room, and let you in. the room was more open than you’d imagined, the whole of one wall was a window overlooking the lit up city. his bed was up against the glass, low to the ground and unmade with a laptop lying on it. but it still looked inviting. in the corner was a laundry pile, blood stained t-shirts lying on top. he had a record player in the corner and stacks of vinyl, and a wardrobe. but that was it. no more possessions and no more furniture.
“it’s very..” you tried to find the right words.
“empty? i’m aware,” he looked out the window.
“i was gonna say simple but yeah, that works too. but i like it, it feels.. right.”
“yeah, like, i feel comfortable in here, which is surprising for me,”
you slipped his jacket he’d given you earlier off and dropped it onto the floor.
you stood there lit up by the city and moon’s lights in nothing but a small dress, and he swore to himself he had never seen anything more beautiful before in his life.
“y/n, i,” dean didn’t know how to get out the right words, “i don’t want you to think that i expect you to, ya know, do stuff.”
“i know,” you replied softly, “thank you for everything. you didn’t have to give up so much just to save someone like me.”
“someone like you? y/n, you deserve so much more than what i can give you, but for now this is all i have.”
you lean up and leave a small kiss on the tip of his nose. his eyes shut and he leans his head into the crook of your neck.
“nothing whatsoever is gonna happen to you, no one else is gonna lay a hand on you with out your consent. and i’m gonna make sure of it.”
dean may have been a face from only a few hours ago, but nothing about him was going to cause you harm. he made you feel safe for the first time in so long.
fatigue hit you as you exhaled, sinking into dean’s stature. his arms snuck around your waist and he lifted you up and carried you over to his bed, your legs wrapping around his waist.
he softly placed you down, pulling the covers over you. he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, showing you his toned, slightly scarred upper body, along with his trousers, and changed into a pair of sweatpants.
“you have tattoos?” you question, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down to you. he crouches at the side of the bed next to your head.
“i have a few,” he turns round shows the back of his neck,
r e b e l
and then along the side of his neck and down his left bicep was a plum tree with inky branches spiralling off the side, blossoms coming around the sides.
your hands trace along his shoulder and down the side of his bicep, moving down to grip his waist. you’re exhaustion had somewhat disappeared and was replaced with a desperate, desire to have more of dean. but this time, you didn’t want to please because you had to, but because you wanted to. you were free to make whatever decision you wanted to make, and your decision was to have dean.
much to his surprise, you pulled him onto you on the bed and covered his lips with hungry kisses, his hands gripping your hips in shock. but he reacted quickly and picked up your hands from his bare waist and pinned them above your head. if dom had done that, you would have been disgusted, but when dean held your wrists so delicately, it felt blissful.
wrapping your legs around his naked torso, you kissed down his jaw along to his neck and ear. playfully, you nipped and tugged at his earlobe, his groans filling the air and your head.
“i wanna see more of you,” he started to slide the strap to your cami down your shoulder, leaving tender kisses along your burning skin as he went.
underneath your dress was nothing except panties and your stocking-hidden pistol. he slipped it off of the top half of your body, your breasts completely on display to him. he swallowed audibly and licked his lips slightly at you. but he only saw you as beautiful. not “hot”. or “sexy”. just beautiful.
his hands softly cupped around both your breasts, kneading them slightly. you let a moan past your lips, but he shushed you and motioned to the door, meaning he didn’t want the guys to hear them.
you gulped and nodded, and he continued to rub your breasts, his lips coming down on one and grazing your nipple. you gasp at the feel of his cool breath on your hot skin. nobody had ever touched your body with so much delicacy before in your life and you were basking in it.
his hands slipped the dress the whole way down you body, all that remaining were the matching pink panties and stockings, which he took the pistol out of and placed at the side of his bed. his fingers dusted over the lace of your underwear, fingers hooking round and pulling down, and off.
he grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your torso, giving him a clear view of your aroused, glistening heat. he exhaled loudly at the magnificent sight before him. you looked so stunning like that, completely content yet so flustered by his small movements on your thighs.
his fingers finally made there way to your damp core, and he wasted no time in giving your clit a firm press and rub from his thumb. you released a suppressed moan at his actions, your hands gripping the bed sheets with such force, your knuckle turned white. his thumb was suddenly removed and replaced with his wet tongue. he licked from the base up to the top of your clit, making you’re already damp core wetter.
“dean, more,” you whimper, “i need more.”
he instantly pushed a finger inside you at your request, slowly pumping at first. normally, you would have an felt uncomfortable stinging every time dom fingered you. but dean took care of you properly, making you feel like you were in ecstasy.
with each pump you grunted with a slight whimper, your breathes becoming shallower and unstable. dean took out his finger and left you feeling empty, as he pulled down his sweatpants and boxers together. he sat back on his heels and kneeled down on the bed, grabbing you by the hips and sitting you on his lap.
“are you ready?” he whispered, “we can wait if you want.”
“no,” you wanted this, “please go on.”
he took no time at all as he lifted your hips and settled them on top of his length, his width taking you by surprise. you arched your back against his chest, your breasts pushing against him flushed.
“dean keep going,” you breathed.
he started to push into slowly, starting a rhythm and a pace for the two of you. you rolled your hips onto him, eliciting a hiss from dean’s bitten lips.
the two of you had no struggle reaching your climaxes easily, both so desperate to make the other come undone. you were finally going to experience your first orgasm. no matter how many times dom had fucked you, you never got any enjoyment out of it. and your ex before that always came before you. so you were stuck in a cycle of almosts.
dean sucked along your neck and left dark marks all across the smooth expanse of skin and his thrusts became hard and rough, the sound of your skin hitting his.
“dean i’m gonna,” you yelped in surprise of the feeling that had exploded in your lower body. dean made one lay thrust and came with you, his breathes loud in your ear.
the two of you clutched each other as you caught your breath, all of your body touching the others. the city and star light lit up your glistening bodies, the glow off your incandescent skin.
“how was that?” dean mumbles into your neck, your hair muffling his words.
“it was..” you didn’t know how to describe how incredible that felt. you were overwhelmed with intense feelings, “amazing.”
he smiled at your eyes twinkling in the city light. dean got up to grab you a clean shirt to sleep in for the night, and some underwear for himself. you pulled the cosy shirt over your head, sighing contently as you looked over the city view.
he climbed in next to you and wrapped his sturdy arms around your waist, snuggling into your neck and back tightly. you giggled at his cuteness, surprised to see such a light hearted side to a mobster.
dean was unlike any other, he had a heart of gold that had been stolen and exploited. and your heart aches for him, and how misunderstood he must be.
“how did you get into this job then?” you were beating around the bush a little, you knew mobsters didn’t like their label. you turned around and rested your head in the crook of his shoulder.
“i was born into it, my dad used to be the head of our mob. but during a debt collection, he was surprise attacked and shot in the head. so i started working for them too, hoping to find my dad’s killer. i started off on routine deals and then started getting better with a gun and my fists. the new mob leader liked my dedication to the cause and so he started taking me out on collections like my dad did. i’ve been doing it ever since. but i’ve never killed. i mean i’ve fucked up a few faces here and there, but that’s it. i can’t put others through what i went through myself.”
you stayed silent and placed a kiss on his bare chest, showing your comfort in your actions. you wanted to show him how much you cared, so you snuggled even further into his side.
who knows what you were gonna do now. dean was a face from a few hours ago and he had already seen so much of you. he was your hero, whether or not he’d done his fair share of damage in the past. he may not see himself as a good guy, but you saw him as the best.
Hi my name is Stanisław
Antoni August Poniatowski and I have a beautiful powdered wig with gold streaks
and grey tips that reaches my mid-back and warm brown eyes like molten lava
cake and a lot of people tell me I look like Jean-Jacques Rousseau (AN: if
u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Catherine
II but I wish I was because she’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a gourmet but my
teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin as I’m not a fuckin
peasant. I’m also a king, and I rule Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth where I’ve lived since I had to
strategically retreat from Russia (I’m 34 and thank God that Peter III is dead). I’m
an aristocrat (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly pastels. I love to
dress a la mode and I have all my
clothes perfectly tailored. For example today I was wearing a pale blue suit
with matching lace around cuffs and a silk cravat, white stockings and yellow
shoes. I was wearing white foundation and a bit of
blush. I was walking outside my
residence near Warsaw. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I
was very happy about. A lot of patriotic nobility stared at me. I put up my
middle finger at them.
His hand, obscured by her dinner napkin which was draped over her lap, reached beneath the hem of her black cocktail dress under the table.
In the dimly lit chophouse, their dinner companions were oblivious. The two older couples were busy discussing their recent Alaskan cruise. Both of the males, His bosses, were gentlemanly fellows and were happy to mentor their new protégé. It was the first time the young couple had been invited to socialize with the partners. She knew that she had best make a good impression. Smiling often, but adding little to the dialogue, she felt like His butterfly under a glass dome.
His hand ran along her thigh high silk stocking, until finding soft, bare flesh. She could distinctly feel His fingers and the warmth and strength of His palm. She fought back the reflexive shuddering tendencies that His tactile stimulation caused. She opened her legs slightly, allowing Him access. Her heart quickened and she wondered if the tale-tell signs of her desire showed prominently on her face; the display of her aching nipples evidenced the rage of sensations under the bodice of her dress.
The subject of the table banter among the males was the impending settlement of a large case. He managed to interject His thoughts, all the while His index finger made its way to the crotch of her juice soaked panties.
She took a sip of Merlot, scanning the faces of her dinner companions as she replaced the wine glass on the table.
Meandering under the fabric, He found her opening, which was hot and flooded with her passion. Using discreet force, He penetrated her with one finger. With all fortitude she resisted her cunt’s demand that she open her legs and ride His hand.
Attempting to distract herself, she individually fingered each of the exquisitely matched pearls which comprised the simple choker-length strand, resting in the pit between her clavicles.
He never missed a verbal cue from the partners. It was though His hands conducted a symphony below the table, while He had the presence of mind to proffer inventive legal theories to those whom He needed to impress.
She felt another finger enter her, stretching her pleasantly. He removed a coated finger and located her clitoris. He expertly began to unpeel her micro-heart which was swollen and throbbing. Delicately, He began to finger stroke the hard bead. She wanted desperately to thrust her pelvis forward, meeting His digits which were the immediate source of all gratification. However, He needed no assistance from her, as He strummed her body with greatest of familiarity.
The forbidden nature of their play, the urgency and the risk caused sensations which she had never experienced. The slightest grimace of ecstasy or groan of elation would be cause for His wrath, which she had already awoke the previous evening. She prayed for the ability to be stoic and endure the impending orgasmic wave…
Like watching television with no sound, she smiled at the strange faces and watched their lips move, but heard nothing. Breathless, she grabbed the table for support, as she struggled to repress the involuntary convulsions as the orgasm overtook her.
She caught a glimpse of Him in her periphery. He smiled and filled her glass with the dark burgundy liquid.