Chapter Text
I have a confession.
Some people love Summer – all that sun and warmth is a great excuse to show off skin. Sure, who doesn't love an adorable swimsuit, or enjoying a fruity umbrella drink while oogling manflesh at the beach? How could one admit that those collar-exposing, breezy linen shirts and dangerously low waistbands don't have their merits?
But I love Winter – not just for the fat, lazy snowflake days and shameless warming of cold feet against a lover's flesh. Not even for the twinkling lights in the trees and wrapped around lamp posts lining the streets and avenues. The unapologetic way the window displays try to top one another, or the Christmas music floating on the air wherever you go still fall down on the list. To me, Winter means parties. Christmas parties, office parties, charity events, engagement parties, New Years parties... Personally, playing dress up is fun and being surrounded by revelry has its own joys, but none of these common excitements are the main fascination for me.
I have a secret.
Parties mean men in suits. There is a search. A chase even. One must sift through the many suits that wear the men. Shoulders too boxy, sleeves too long, grandfather pleats, pant hems crushed under heels or flashing ankles with tacky socks, buttons on collars, terrible ties, creases...the offenses are many.
Boys, if you learn one thing about the seduction of women, it is this: a well-tailored suit on a groomed man has the equivalent effect on a woman as sexy lingerie has on a man. There is power in a man's silhouette; you may take in the curve of my breast and hips, the line of my neck, the gown clinging to thighs and backside – I raise you the dart of my eyes to the seemingly insignificant tapering from your underarms to waist. I will burn you with the gaze slipping down your chest, using that slim tie as a guide (how hard would you let me pull on it?) to the apex of your thighs, wondering what you answered when the tailor asked you which way you prefer to hang. Please, I would pray to any god who who would listen, let the sorcerers of thread and marking chalk make it so those trousers make my hands itch to touch. I want to trace the shadow of your spine from between the shoulders to the curve of your ass. Let me see the way a white shirt or black jacket and the right pair of trousers can meld with form so perfectly, and yet so subtly, that I know your body.
Take me. I'm yours. Such a simple thing.
Suit combinations are my porn. I'll put on the dress, the makeup, fight my hair into flattering shapes, and walk on stilts; these are my camouflage as I walk through the finely-attired crowds, eyes searching and hungry to take their pleasure. The excitement from the flick of fingers over a jacket button before a man takes his seat makes me squeeze my thighs together. All the small movements - throwing an ankle over a knee, slipping an index finger under a collar, the tiny rise and fall of a hip to adjust one's self – all fuel my voyeuristic fantasies.
The night these eyes found the Feast of All Feasts, Answerer of the Darkest Prayers, was brisk and wet. The rain storm had been short, but torrential. The season was in the early weeks yet; I hadn't expected much from the cocktail party at one of my favorite haunts and was quite disappointed. Still, as I walked home feeling the chill air fill the lungs and beat at my wine haze, there were quiet strains of Christmas music in the air to lift me up. I love that feeling. The mix of childhood nostalgia and beautiful music holds a sort of magic.
So as my heels clicked on the damp pavement, hands warm inside a long wool coat and heart bolstered by wine and Christmas, my eyes glossed over the world around me. Said eyes, trained as well as they are, locked on to a target, but the brain took a moment to know why they lingered over the tall man waiting patiently at the crosswalk. I believe in the power I mentioned before, the sort that lies in a man's silhouette, and this one was dripping in the stuff. His coat was a fine style, dark like his long, smoothed back hair. Buttoned, it looked like a lover hugging him around the waist with her dress wisping around his legs in the wind. If I were naked, would he promise to wear me so well?
The streetlight shone off the silk of the scarf peeking from between coat and shirt collar, bringing my sight to strong shoulders. He turned his head, checking the oncoming traffic, and gave me the view of his profile. The impatient furrow to the brow and purse of lips could not take away the appeal of a high-set cheekbone. A slight clench of the jaw brought an urge to trace the fluid line between them; the parts united was impossible to not stare at.
Something about the casual intensity coming from him was like a magnet. Maybe the added draw was the confident set to his shoulders and spine, or how the contrast between tamed dark hair and pale skin made the color of his eyes shine with clear purpose. The overall package gave him an air of regality.
My few seconds of indulgence had led me to adjust the trajectory of my path towards him; why shouldn't I try my luck, after all? I could admire and lust for another minute at the very least.
I stood slightly behind and to the side; heels and wet cement do not mix, and I was not about to risk my neck tottering close to the curb. Not to mention there was a rather large puddle in the gutter, and no doubt some idiot in a hurry would just love to barrel through it—
“NO!”
Perhaps my brain had registered said idiot further up the street. All I recall is how slow time seemed to go in those few fateful seconds, my gut-wrenching horror just feet before the car's front tire barreled through the puddle. The prospect of such a beautiful suit and man being ruined by the filthy street water was unthinkable. Abhorrent. A tragedy too great for my heart to bear that I managed to throw my body in front of his and shove him away from the street enough to let the freezing wave splash against my back instead.
My hands where clenched fists on his lapels, crumpling silk and another expensive fabric blend. The initial shock of the water, and my own bold action, left no air in my lungs. I don't believe I breathed for a full minute. That may have also been partially his fault - the unexpected closeness we shared, and the way his eyes stripped me bare after the surprise left them had me rooted to the concrete. This was unusual. I was no stranger to sharing personal space with a man, even unexpectedly. Why did I feel like he was staring into my soul and squeezing it?
A fat drip of cold water fell against my neck and slid down my back, effectively jump starting the brain.
“Are you all right?” I asked, and turned my gaze from those damn eyes to scowl at the long gone car. “I can't believe that...guh!”
I wanted to murder the driver for my own sake at that point. My body shivered as the water seeping into my coat started reaching skin. The backs of my legs were drenched. But his hands radiated warmth, my god his hands were on my hips! We must have made quite the tawdry romantic book cover together, me clinging and he holding.
“You prove to be a fair shield, it seems.”
Why? The question was woven between the words and amusement.
“Good. No need for the both of us be soaking wet.” I grinned. As if my intentions could be pure! “I'd hate to see such a nice suit ruined.”
By water, at least. I could certainly stomach popping buttons while clawing the ensemble off. The traffic lights and head lamps of the cars passing made the night dance over his face; there was a wickedness in his smirk that echoed my thoughts. The way he slid one of those hands up my back had me wishing the dress had buttons to pop, but I could settle for whatever sorcery he used to dry my clothes.
I didn't know what he was then. I thought it was the wine taking advantage of my distraction for a second wind. I thought it was the undiluted want in me for those blue-green eyes working out the equation of my existence relative to my actions to equal more than twenty seconds of our bodies touching.
The crosswalk light changed. The through traffic eased to a stop. He let go. His chest pressed against my thumbnails for a brief moment and my fingers eased off as I moved aside. Something caught on the cocktail ring I wore and tangled in my hand the more distance was put between us. His scarf! I managed to save the free end before it fluttered to the ground.
“Wait!” I called to him and held out the silk. “Your scarf! It must have snagged on my ring.”
The man half turned, his steps taking him into the street. His gaze was uninterested in the scarf and settled on me with a cheeky grin.
“Keep it.”
Like it was a token for one's champion. I could deal with that. It was a rather fine scarf.
“What's your name?” I called out to him again, louder to cover the increasing distance. I heard him laugh, saw his teeth flash in the green GO light.
“You will know my name soon enough.”
It sounded like a promise, like a dirty promise to be made in the dark, and once I could no longer see his back that promise saw me to the single room apartment I called home.
The mundane actions of slipping from my curiously dry coat and kicking off my heels did nothing to take my mind off of him. The sweet relief my foot muscles took in being free only accentuated the new ache. Everything did; my cool hands peeling the stockings off in long, slow sweeps, unzipping the cocktail dress and feeling the edges graze my skin as it was shed, the glorious release of pressure after unhooking and discarding my bra. I kept the scarf on through all of this, the lingering smell of him surrounding me. The silk was cold and brushed deliciously sharp over my nipples and breasts.
I sighed, stretched my back and neck to feel my vertebrae pop and make the scarf rub against me. My hand brought the watery material between breasts, over neck, chin, and cheek to crumple against my nose. I breathed deep. He smelled like the first frost of the season, man, leather, and metal.
Trying to sleep would have been a fools errand with the state I was in. Without hesitation, I thumbed off my panties and dropped into bed. Sleep could wait, and oh what a sleep it would be after satisfying myself to exhaustion.
My hands glided over the silk scarf, palms were tickled by the raised nubs of my nipples, and I felt the coolness fought off by the rising heat of my body. The fringe of the scarf teased the apex of my thighs. I raised one knee, making the fringe slip down and touch me intimately. I cupped myself through the material, sliding fingers back and forth, and exhaled, sharp and needy.
There would be no fooling around, no more teasing. I reached for the nightstand drawer, flicked my favorite toy on, and pressed it against my mons. The quivering pleasure pulled the air from my lungs in a short hiss. I turned onto my stomach, hand and toy clutched between my thighs, rocking against them, spreading the excess slickness. The sheets underneath my lips moistened with my breath. Inch by inch, I filled myself. Slow and steady until the pace built up naturally. An easy, fluid motion allowed a perfect foundation for soothing the ache he had infused; when was the last encounter that had left me so wet?
You will know my name soon enough.
I swear I could hear his voice whispering in my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my forehead to the mattress and scraped at the bedspread, hips grinding against my hand in search of more. What was it about him that had me wanting to curl up in the manic edge to his words and destroy the bed frame? Remembering the mans smirk, that dark promise ringing in my ears, my imagination may or may not have spun out of my control.
Look how desperately you touch yourself. Is this buffet of lust all for me? Such a feast for the senses...
His salacious voice controlled my hand, touching thighs and abdomen, the valley between breasts and over the stiff summits.
I must admit the view is spectacular from all angles. But how well can you really hope to enthrall me?
The ache held on, and no matter how deep or hard I plundered, it merely became stronger.
“Please...” My begging was strained. I bit at the sheets, spread my legs wide, and rutted against the heel of my hand while fingers pressed and pulled at the toy inside me.
Please what?
Touch me. Take me. Give me the release I so desperately needed.
Not just yet. You make such a pretty picture with your face pressed into the bed and ass high, the most beautiful offering there ever was.
I burned with need, strained every muscle, and was so close. Every thrust brought me to a swell, but ebbed just the slightest, keeping me from a glorious finish. What would he feel like against me, in me? I itched to grip that hair between my fingers, lose my breath in his mouth, to ride him hard enough to milk everything he could give me.
I could slip inside you so easily, could I not? You weep at the mere though of my hands tight on your hips as mine punish you with every thrust. Or perhaps you need me to claim your throat, make you wait while I take my pleasure at leisure? Oh yes, the depravity of your mind is a titillating marvel.
“I want it. I want it!”
Want what?
“I want to be filled, fucked, ruined.” I couldn't take it anymore. Whatever he wanted, he could have.
“I want you.”
Your King, your god?
“Yes!”
He ruled me, owned me completely. I gave myself up to him in those moments. I used my body to pray for his favor. Seemed like an excellent idea at the time. Sometimes a girl just needs to be torn apart. Who better than a god?
Show me.
The scent of him, that frost and tang of metal, invaded me. I could see him in my minds eye, almost feel his hand covering mine – true or not, I shifted to my knees, felt him fuck me hard and raw with the toy, using all the strength in his arm. The lick of a tongue collecting the sweat from the small of my back left a hot streak; teeth bit deep into the meat of my shoulder. My throat was sore from the pitch of my keening.
Ah – yes, that's it! Come for me. Your King commands you.
Red and white streaked and crackled behind my eyelids as I came, and I sobbed with the overwhelming release of pleasure and gratitude. I rode my hand until the waves ebbed away and I could finally breathe free of the crushing need. Carefully, I slipped the toy out, switched it off, and gave it a boneless toss to the end of the bed.
Rolling onto my back took more energy than anticipated, and I then stared into the shadows haunting the ceiling for some time. The sweat on my skin kept the scarf stuck to me, and slowly cooled. Sleep overtook me quickly.
Of course the want never left me completely. It clung to me like the scarf: light, barely felt, but definitely there. I cursed myself for not pushing harder to know his name, where he was from, where I might see him again. Had I imagined everything? Was my mind slipping into dangerous territory?
The doubts stopped when I found the mark during my morning shower. No amount of scrubbing dulled or cleaned the dark green rune from the inside of my left thigh. There were no raised ridges or pain; this was not the result of a spontaneous tattoo session during a drunken black out.
His voice came back one last time, full of self-satisfaction and the surety of power:
Every caress, every sigh, every shiver that courses through you will not go unnoticed. Play as you wish, but know that you do so in my name only. Please me well, mortal.
I smirked and stroked the mark thinking, As my King commands.