ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

She hooks him by his belt loops, walking him backwards toward her bed. This time, she catches his eyes and doesn't break contact the whole time they move.

"M'all right."

She starts working on his belt.

"I jus' don't wanna talk 'bout this anymore right now."

Slipping her cold fingers into his hair, she tugs him down to her level for a kiss. Her skin is chilled, taut, the rosy hue growing brighter the longer she's indoors.

"...'Kay."

Shutting up now.

Their lips meet and he exhales a warm breath against her skin. As he deepens the kiss, he lightly slides his hand up the side of her neck, his thumb sweeping over her cheek.

She shivers quite noticeably, pressing closer to him. She isn't clinging — not yet — but she isn't leaving much space between them either.

The touch on her skin is divine.

Without breaking the kiss, she fumbles with his fly. Zippers still baffle her on occasion, but tonight she manages all right, slackening the material enough to get her hand inside.

He inhales a sharp little gasp when she slips her hand down his pants. It surprises him, and not just because her fingers are cool on his skin. Despite their having been intimate before, she hasn't been that much of an initiator, usually following his lead and warming up as they go along. But her eagerness and confidence has increased lately, and that's definitely a turn-on.

His other hand slides low around her waist, brushing over the leather of her gun belt.

Her calves bump against her bed.

Hanging onto his neck, she lightens their kisses, dropping back just a touch. She watches him with heavily-lidded eyes while she strokes the growing bulge in his pants.

Without a word, she turns them so that he's the one backed against her bed. She pushes him down into a sitting position, pressing her body between his legs, her mouth resuming its quest to leave him breathless.

"Kick off yer boots."

It'll make ripping his pants off much easier.

His lips insist on clinging to hers amid soft grunts of arousal, eyelids fluttering as his head grows lighter. So it's fairly easy for her to maneuver him however she wants, and he finds himself sitting before her, subjecting himself to her kisses, his hands grasping at her hips.

Breathless indeed, and wordless, he does what he's told and toes off his boots, quickly yanking the left one off when it gets stuck and tossing it aside somewhere.

She's quick on the draw. With a deftness that stirs thoughts of an old tablecloth trick, she wrangles his jeans from his body, ridding him of his socks while she's at it, and in a blink she's straddling his lap.

She presses her hips against his, enjoying the moment for a few seconds more. She's beginning to warm. Slowly, sucking on his lip, she pulls back.

Arms around his neck, thighs firm around his hips; she looks like she has something to say, but the words don't come. She has a lot to say, point of fact. All she does, however, is sweep her gaze over his face, eyes the color of twilight. Underneath the bravado, the lust, is wild vulnerability.

She takes each of his wrists, guiding his hands up her body; brushing her breasts, her stomach — stopping at the four brass buttons on her vest. She holds them there, mutely asking him to do for her what she did for him.

Undress her.

Touch her.

Make her feel something good.

Holy shit.

He's never seen her this eager.

Running his hands up her thighs, he rakes his teeth over his lip, waiting for more as he tries to read her face, anticipating her next move, her next request, her next demand. His gaze flicks from her dusky eyes to her mouth and back again.

Instead of telling him what she wants, she shows him. And he's good with that.

He quickly flicks each vest button loose and immediately starts on the buttons of her blouse. Shoving both garments down her arms, he bends his head to plant heated kisses down the side of her throat and over her shoulder.

When he leans in it frees her from the pull of his gaze, giving her the liberty to close her eyes, tilt her head back, surrender to his attention.

Her chest begins to heave.

She rolls her shoulders, trying to free herself from her clothing without pulling away or opening her eyes. Her breathing is audible in the quiet of the room.

The cloth makes a fluttering sound as it hits the floor.

Her corset is trimmed in black lace. Nothing too showy but still fine, hand-stitched. She pulls off her hat herself, waiting until his affections have moved on to her shoulder before tugging the leather cord away from her neck. She, too, will take care of her gun belt.

She's far too tense tonight to let him touch that.

His lips and tongue sweep along her clavicle, then to the tops of her breasts, heaving against the constraints of her corset -- which he's suddenly gained a newfound appreciation for. He slides his hands up her sides then around to her front, fingertips dipping into her cleavage to undo that first hook, then the second and third, all the while his breath growing hotter on her exposed skin.

Her fingernails play a chord up his spine, like strumming a harp. As he gets her corset substantially loose, she exhales a soft moan.

She places kisses in the bed of his hair — and anywhere else she can reach. She's begun to fidget, hips grinding against him, impatience mixing in with her eagerness.

The last couple hooks are tight as he undoes them, and the backs of his fingers rub against the smooth, warm skin of her belly, just as her hips begin to move. Finally the corset falls away from her body, and with a hot sigh against her bared breast, he wishes he had another pair of hands to simultaneously caress her while unfastening the buttons on her trousers. As it is, he gets those buttons unfastened really quickly.

She chokes back a whimper, forcing herself to stay still until the last button is undone. However, once he has it loosed, she quickly gets him on his back with a shove.

She steadies herself, arms braced on either side of his head, hovering close enough to brush his naked flesh with the silk of her camisole. Her eyes are dark, exhalations hot on his lips. She doesn't linger, however. Sliding down his body, she hits the floor long enough to toe her own boots off. She grunts impatiently as her trousers come off first, followed by her camisole, both ending up in a rumpled pile on the floor. She stretches across his legs to move her gun belt off the bed, laying it out on the chest at the foot.

And then she's back, hovering, spread out over his body like a warm blanket. Hair spilling over her shoulders; a golden corona. She indulges in the inticement of being so close to his lips, brushing her nose against his, leaving wet trails along his skin from her panting, like breadcrumbs connecting all her favorite paths. And, just when it looks like she's moving in to end the foreplay, she pulls back.

Eyes on his, she carefully climbs off his body and crawls back up the bed, laying herself out before him. Her chest is bare, save for a small silver charm hanging against her breastbone. Her lower half is covered by her silk knickers and stockings to her knees, held in place with lacy garters. The gold serpent anklet rests on the outside of her right stocking.

It's not an outfit soon to be seen in a dirty magazine, but Kate manages her own allure. Especially when, keeping eye contact, her hand skates over her belly to pointedly tug the satin bow on her knickers free.

Edited 2012-09-16 18:23 (UTC)

He hits the bed with a breathless grunt. And she teases him, repeatedly, hovering over him, his mouth desperate to make contact with hers, allowing his hands to skim up her sides before she pulls away.

But she reels him in with her eyes. Keeps his gaze, his focus, his everything on her where she wants it. When she lays herself out like that, his breath leaves him again, and he swallows as his throat goes dry.

He's never seen her like this before. As he slowly sits up at her feet, he wonders vaguely if she's been holding back or if it's something new. Either way, he can't take his eyes off her -- from her hair spilled out over the pillow, to her full breasts as they rise and fall with each breath she takes, to her legs, those legs that drive him crazy when they wrap around him.

His attention becomes fixed on her hand resting low on her stomach, the satin ribbon between her fingers. He's torn between watching and helping.

He can only watch so long.

The fabric hushes as the knot comes free. She tugs, loosening the waist, face warm as she watches him watch her. It's terrifying and sensual in the same breath.

She nudges the silk down as far as halfway past her hips, and then stills, stretching out her hand to bid him closer to help.

Reaching for the waistband of her knickers, he slides the silk all the way over her hips, his palms sweeping over her skin. He tugs them down her legs, caressing her stocking-clad shins and calves at the same time, before flinging the garment over the side of the bed among their other clothes.

Parting her legs with a sure touch, he kneels between her thighs, and leans over her on his hands on either side of her shoulders. She's in his shadow, under his heated gaze, under his hot, heavy breath that singes her cheeks and lips.

Every muscle, every nerve ending thrums, seems to say to her, Show me what you want.

As unflinching as ever, she lies in his shadow and peers up at him as innocently as a newborn kitten. Lifting her head off the pillow, she scatters kisses over his mouth. Little pecks and teasing flicks of her tongue, eyes open to him the whole time.

Her leg hooks around his.

Her hands slip between his legs, stroking, rubbing, hunting for the tie to his drawers—

She finds elastic instead.

What.

He'll be able to sense her confidence shift as she fumbles with getting inside, breaking eye contact at last in order to maneuver the stretchy material.

Honestly, what.

The waistband snaps back against his belly by accident.

He catches at her lips with his own, indulging her playful, teasing touch, the fringe of his hair brushing her brow. Exhaling a deep purr as her hands slip down to his crotch, the corners of his mouth twitch as her fingers seemingly find all the right spots to get him worked up--

Uh.

What is she doing?

It never occurred to him that they've both learned something tonight. How to unhook a corset, and how to get inside a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

"Ow," he breathes through a startled chuckle at the light sting of the elastic.

A minor distraction. He reaches between them to push his shorts down around his thighs and down to his knees, quickly working them off and tossing them away. Leaning over her again, he drops a kiss to her lips and presses one of her hands to his belly, guiding it lower.

"M'sorry."

She'd be laughing too if she wasn't so focused on the ball of nerves sitting low in her belly. Honestly, what is he wearing?

Just wait until he has to untie a corset. Kate would put money on him breaking the cord in frustration.

She waits until he's tossed away the offending britches, stirred back to focus by his kiss. She catches his eyes again, holding his gaze as she slips her fingers around him and begins to stroke. Light at first, gently experimental; firmer when he doesn't complain. Her free hand sweeps through his bangs, clearing his line of sight. She deepens the kiss.

Nipping at his bottom lip, her thumb brushes his head and she arches against him.

He utters throaty grunts into her mouth, sighs against her cheek.

She's more of a novice than a nun, and he has to give her that. Her touch is careful, yet eager and attentive, and just the fact that she wants to do this pleases him to no end. And she'll feel it, obviously enough.

A moan escapes his throat when she moves underneath him, and he caresses the swell of her breast as she presses up against his body.

Humming, she arches into his touch. Sparks are going off inside her, but it's still too little, too slow — she wants more.

She kisses him hard, the fingers that were gently combing through his hair curling against his scalp. Every time he moves she arches against him, trying to speak without words.

Touch me.

God dammit, ravish me.

She draws him closer to her, squeezing tight.

His groan is muffled against her lips, and he returns the kiss just as hard, as his hand sweeps underneath her to follow the the taut arc of her back.

At this point all her cues are clear.

He reaches between them and grasps her wrist, pulling her hand away to pin it to the bed beside her head. Wrenching his mouth from hers, he meets her eyes with a fierce and lusty gaze, and presses his hips firmly against hers.

She grunts when he pins her down, half-heartedly resisting. She feels in no way threatened by him, she just doesn't like relinquishing control sometimes.

She's built to roam free.

Her gaze hones in on his, dark — almost angry — full of desire. The intimacy is ferocious, in stark contrast to the last time they laid together.

Breathing hard, her hips rock against his. She drowns in the friction, steadily working herself up as she tries to position him at her center.

He knows she bucks against being restrained in any way. This certainly isn't as far as he could push her -- right now it's just his way of playing with fire.

With their faces just inches from one another, her breath is hot on his parted lips; her cheeks are flushed and damp from his own breath, the close space between them rapidly heating up.

Pressing the palm of his free hand flat against the small of her back, he angles his hips forward, the head of his shaft meeting her wet flesh just as she rocks downward. With a growl through clenched teeth, he curls his fingers tighter around her wrist at the sensation, his raspy breathing quick and shallow, his eyes burning.

Her struggle is forgotten the instant she feels the press of his flesh. She's thrown into open space for one delicious second, breath caught in her throat, heart skipping a beat, weightless and thrilled. She tosses her head back as he slides inside her, letting out a sharp cry of pleasure.

Jesus. The fit is still tight; she barely notices the way his grip tightens on her wrist.

(Or the way her grip tightens in his hair.)

She hooks her leg over his hip, pressing him in deeper. Little by little, inch by inch, thighs trembling around him. God, she almost hates this, and all she can think is more.

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