Drin’s got Emma at his apartment, supposedly to look at the furniture so they can decide on what comes to the house and what should be sent off to auction. But he wants to see her on that leather sofa, just once, in this space that he’s giving up.
“Christ Drin– these lamps are vintage aren’t they, the real thing. Not the replicas that came out in the nineties.” Her shoes tap quickly along the hardwood floor. “We have room for them, but if you want to sell, now would be a good time. And the paintings– are these important to you?”
“Not too terribly,” Drin says. “If you or Dance want to live with any of them for awhile, you are welcome to choose anything you like. I’ve had my time with them.”
“And the bed?”
“Where would we put it? I’ve thought about turning the living room into one big bedroom, and turning the bedrooms into little living roooms, but other than that…”
“it’s a damn good idea, we could make a parlor out of my room, and Dance can keep his to practice in,” Emma says. “And this living room furniture… ”
“That sofa,” Drin says, “Would never fit anywhere except the living room. And we’ll never fit both it and the bed in there.” He comes over to his girl, who tilts her maple-sugar head towards him as he gets closer. Her big poofy lips are opening into that irresistible smirk. He stops her with his tongue, just before she says something horrible, runs his hands all over that body, the tight little ribcage, the muscle in her legs under the smooth layer of woman. Drin gets his hand under her waistband, sliding over glorious peachy skin to get his fingers well into her crack, and pulls her hard against him, her pubic bone against his hardness.
Emma chuckles, winds her arms over his shoulders. “That the best you got big boy?” She pulls her mouth away to ask him. Well, fine. He’s tired of bending down to her anyway, so he gets himself deeper, pushing till his hand cups her labia, and stand up bringing her right up off the floor. That impresses her. She’s gasping, holding onto him for balance, rolling her hips to force her clitoris onto his fingertips, and cursing a blue streak when he stops kissing her.
Drin turns and walks the half of the length of the room to the sofa, leans her back, and half-falls onto it with her, his hand trapped in her slacks like that. But it keeps her in place pretty well, so that he can use his other hand to tug at her teeshirt and then pull her bra straps off of her shoulders, flipping the cups upside down and letting those tits of hers take a deep breath of fresh air. Emma is speaking grumbling endearments– he hopes– in German while he pays proper attention to the heavy soft flesh, tonguing a line straight across her chest under the both of them– tasting salt, and the aromatic that only registers on the back of his tongue when he breaths out. Emma’s fingers rake through his hair, trying to pull his head up. Drin wants to get her nipples hard first. He wants to bite at them, watch them shiver and rise, and then he wants to suckle at them until she groans and they’ve gone from rosy to outright red. So he does. While he’s doing that, his hand keeps busy in her pants.
“Ah Christ, you bastard!” she says at last. “You better not break the waistband, just let me unbutton–”
Drin waits untill her hands are busy together, before he grabs them both– Emma’s little hands, so strong for their size– in his one free. He gently lifts them both up over her head. “Keep them there,” he tells her.
“Oh, you’re going to make me?” her eyes are smiling the way a cat’s do, simply by an infinitesimal change in shape.
“I think so, yes.” Drin slides his hand free, and Emma breaths a sigh of relief from the tight stricture at her waist. When he brings both hands to her zipper, she does lay there, relaxed and easy. She arches up a little so that he can free her from her brastrap, and then he peels the white jeans away from her pale skin– so very pale against the smoky brown leather. She’s wearing silk of the palest possible aqua underneath, and Drin takes a moment to mouth that soft stuff and the delicious flesh it hides before he slides the panties down her legs and tosses them to the side. The little wisp of silk is well past damp at the crotch. God, she’s easy. He pushes her down against the leather upholstery.
Her eyes go wide; Emma loves the Cabretta seats in the Jag, and here is a huge expanse of the same stuff, enough for her to roll and revel in. She starts to bring her hand down to stroke it, and Drin, with an exaggerated, pompous gentleness, captures it and puts it back up. “No hands, my darling, you can feel it with anything else you like, but you leave your hands up here.” For illustration, he puts one hand on her hip bone, pushes to slide her sideways a little. Her eyes go wider yet.
“My God– you wouldn’t happen to have a kink or two hidden in that nice businessman disguise?” Emma chuckles and slowly moves one leg wide. Then she slides it back. “Oh, am I doing it wrong?” She’s all innocent blue eyes. Aggravating woman.
Drin shrugs; “Only you know the answer to that,” he comments. “But I have a vision… I’m seeing a Librarian on her belly, humping the sheets with a pillow clutched between her legs–” He chuckles.
Emma has her mouth wide open in outrage. “You didn’t!”
“Your door was open, darling.”
“Like hell it was!”
“I opened it, you’re right.” Drin admits, “I opened your door because I heard something that sounded like something I wanted to see. Leave your hands up over your head.”
“Oh, fuck off, you big, handsome, rich, self-satisfied bastard.” Emma pronounces every word of her favorite epithet with great precision. Drin makes a grab for her as she starts to slither off the sofa, blocking her with his knees, and she squirms vigorously against him. “You damned man you!” She’s laughing, of course.
Drin unbuckles his belt, pulls it free.
“You don’t get to make up the rules, love, it’s my sofa,” he tells her and wraps the belt around each wrist in a figure-eight, tucks the long end to go between, and he’s fashioned a tether that will hold her for a while. “Now doesn’t this feel good against your bottom?” he croons. Of course it does, and Emma is not shy about enjoying it. She arches her back, lifting her middle in order to get the flesh of her arse into contact, lets her thighs loll open. Drin, kneeling above her with the tongue of his belt in one hand, watches her cunt gape open in a flash of carmine between the caramel curls. He’s torturing himself here, he thinks to himself with grim amusement. But he waits, and watches.
Emma does not like silence. She’s finished rubbing her shoulders and butt, and is shifting her legs. She pulls one knee up, humming in expectation, frowns when Drin doesn’t move right to her pussy. He watches the other knee come up, smiling.
“What!” Emma says.
“I beg your pardon?” Drin returns and she growls in her “don’t fuck with me” voice.
“Goddamn it, Drin, put your hand to me, or your mouth or your prick– I don’t fucking care what you use, but do it quick!”
“Well,” Drin says, “I would like to bite your nipples again.” and he nibbles first one then the other. He runs his tongue down her heaving midriff to her bellybutton, and lifts away before he reaches her nest.
“Ill-begotten swine,” she pants. “What do you want then?”
“I want to relive my vision,” Drin climbs over her. Her eyes are hazed and drugged with lust. “I want to see you on your belly, rubbing yourself on my leather sofa. ”
“Ahhh….” Emma loves the idea. He knew she would.
“Only there’s one problem, love, you don’t have your hands do you?” Drin lets his full weight down on her, still clothed. There hadn’t been time to get himself undressed, this game had sprung itself so suddenly. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, traps it with his teeth. Emma squirms, tries to spread her legs, tries to tilt her pelvis into him, and it’s all going to break his cock into little pieces– he’s sure of it.
“Fuck,” she gasps when he lets her speak again. “Damn– uh! — pervert. You millionaires are all alike,” which makes him laugh in delight. He can smell her, the heat of her skin, the onion-y scent of her juices, he wants them wetting the leather.
“You just let me know when you’re ready to turn ass up,” he tells her.
“All right, dammit, if you must have your fun luring poor innocent-”
“–Librarians to your lair, and forcing unnatural acts– get off of me you big ox, let me roll over.”
She’s so sinuous, twisting under him without her hands to aid her. He snatches kisses on her shoulders and neck, buries his face in her curls. He kneels up further, watching her hips swing over, shift and settle. Her shoulderblades are thrown into lovely smooth lines by her raised arms. Drin has had very little time alone with Emma; their shared obsession is so live a wire, so needy. Her hair tumbles away from her neck, like a child’s in its clean strong tendons. She’s shifting to get comfortable on those ta-tas of hers, grunting a little, and Drin has to tighten his grip on her leash.
“I need something–”
“You do, don’t you? Something you can grind against, fuck your clit into. You like to use a pillow, right? Or a fold of the blanket, held in your fist?” Drin can sympathise. “Something you can straddle.” He bends down and takes a long lick up her spine. “No.”
“No– Uh– What?” Emma gasps.
“No pillow, no hands.”
Emma groans, and looks around at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “You straddle something when you masturbate?”
“I’ll show you, on another day,” Drin promises. “Right now, you’re being set up, darling, for a bout of something special.” He slides a hand under her stomach, and down to cup her pubis. He holds her loosely, letting his hand move with her heaving, foiling her quest for pressure.
“That’s not– not nice.”
Drin pulls his hand away entirely. “Maybe you’ll have better luck now, the sofa is nicer than I am.”
Emma’s legs sprawl wide, and wider still. Her buttocks clench with the effort, and she rolls her spine in a desperate attempt to find purchase against the down-filled seat. “What’s so special about this?”
“You are,” Drin murmurs. “God Emma, you are simply gorgeous, and I’ve never had a chance to just stare at you.” Her spine undulates, the long muscles stretching and smoothing. Drin has to resist his need to touch her, cover her. Her thighs tense, fruitlessly.
“Come on, sweetheart, figure it out,” he whispers in response to her little whimper.
“Fucking– hell– easy for you to say–” Emma throws back her head to fix him with her grey-sky stare. She yanks at his hold on her wrists. “I’m spoiled, and your couch is not cooperating.”
“A little hard work is good for you.” Drin smirks. He gives up on one struggle anyway, and lets himself rub his free hand over her satiny ass, teasing her with sliding fingers between her cheeks, and her panting speeds up. She swings her outside leg wide, right off the edge of the sofa, and rides the rounded corner hard, groaning in relief. That’s what he’s been waiting for, her whole being focussed away from him or Dance– for all of Emma’s vaunted selfishness, Drin rarely sees her thinking about her own needs this way. He can smell her fluids coming. It’s enthralling, watching the way she shudders and jerks.
Drin looses the belt and frees her wrists, and Emma pulls both arms under her, fisting her hands together just under her pubic bone, and Drin wonders how she can avoid bruising herself she’s pressing so hard, her fingers have already gone white. For a moment she’s silent, unbreathing, in rapt concentration– and then a great shuddering sigh and her shoulders slump and everything about her is relaxed.
“My god,” she mumbles after a moment, face down in the upholstery. “Christ, I’d forgotten what that was like. Come here and let me suck your tongue right out of your mouth.”
“Promises, promises,” Drin says, and eases his aching cock into the valley of her ass. “That’ll have to wait. Right now, I want to just ride out your afterglow like this.” He brushes the curls away so that he can kiss the back of her neck and laughs softly at her little grumble of pleasure.
Drin and Emma one-on-one. Prompt– well that was tough, I’d meant it for “leather” but it seemed to me that “dominant” was the strongest element really, so that’s what I went with. Beta’d and cheerleadered by nagasvoice… with all that implies!