Chapter Text
“Sit.” I try to keep my voice calm, though I can feel nervous energy itching beneath my skin, eager, both to shake and steel my confidence.
Amelie teases, but I don’t process the words individually. It’s more of a distant sound that registers somewhere deep within me, a hum, the melodic lilt of her accent as distracting as the way she saunters to the chair and lingers rather than lowering herself leisurely into the plush material. I close the distance between us as she reaches up to the clip holding her beautiful indigo hair up in a mussed ponytail, turning her and pressing my fingers into pressure points in her shoulders, forcing her down. I won’t allow her to continue stalling.
I remove my hands, attempting to mask my eagerness with an impatient growl, “You’re late.”
Amelie works her jaw for a moment, swallowing a scathing response in favor of a silent, smug grin. She pulls her fingers through hair that tumbles down over her shoulders, sure to slowly trace the expanse of skin exposed by her tank top, an invitation she silently writes to me over her collarbone.
Her golden eyes scan me, and in other circumstances I’m sure I would feel the hairs on my neck standing straight up, alert for the danger of being completely and thoroughly assessed and analyzed by one of the most deadly people alive, but instead I find it
exhilarating.
I want nothing more than to feel her hands on me, to feel the echo of my racing heart against her fingertips, that intoxicating idea of the danger; however, I am also keen on my idea of how I plan to please her this evening. So when she reaches for me, it takes every bit of my will power to smack her hand away and resume my character.
“Did I say you could touch?”
I pace around the chair, to get away from those piercing, oh-so-tempting eyes, so I don’t drop to my knees right then. I want to draw this out, coil her like a spring, so that she is like a lioness when she pounces upon me. My huntress.
She hums, appreciative, as I drape my arms around her from above and behind, and tilts her neck just slightly.
I respond to her unspoken invitations, toying with the dip in the collar of her shirt and curling my other arm up to trace my fingers over her jaw, guiding her to turn towards me, teasing kisses along her cheek and at the corner of her lips. It takes another strong bout of will to stop myself ravishing her when she exhales the softest moan, goosebumps cascading over her chest as my hand ghosts over her neck.
“You don’t move until you have permission,” I breathe, lips teasing over her neck, grazing my teeth over her skin like a promise. “Understood?”
I take the slight nod of her head as an adequate answer, pressing a lingering kiss to her pulse before circling back around. Her lidded gaze and violet blush that spreads over her neck and chest are absolutely stunning, the way her chest heaves with each breath she tries to slow—it is intoxicating to be the one that can do this to her.
I snap my fingers and the system responds to my request by playing one of my playlists through the surround speakers. The heavy bass of the first track thrums pleasantly alongside my desire, and I briefly close my eyes to feel the way it syncs with my heart rate.
I toy with the buttons on my lab coat as I start to move with the music—beats specifically selected to drown out my infernal inner monologue—further motivated by the beautiful woman in front of me, gripping the armrests like her life depends on her following my instructions to not move.
Her nails press crescent moons into the fabric when I move forward, guiding her legs open with my knee as I finish with all the buttons. My fingertips trail over her jaw, and I tease my thumb along her lower lip, entranced by her, never breaking our eye contact. It impresses me that she manages not to lick her lips until my hands move lower.
I’m more impressed with my ability to keep up the act when she looks like she wants to eat me alive, the heat burning between my thighs begging me to let her do just that.
Amelie knows how to be patient, there’s no doubt about that, but I know how to test that patience.
The beat guides the way I gyrate my hips, lowering myself as I guide my hands over the inside of her thighs. My coat stays mostly closed do to the weight of the material, but she’s sure to get more than an eyeful of the lace that accentuates the curves of my breasts as I dip low between her legs.
When I stretch back up, I turn away from her, shrugging the coat off my shoulders, holding it against my chest as I wiggle my hips in her lap. I can see the way her forearms flex with restraint, and I make sure that she can feel my smile when I lean my head back to whisper in her ear, “would you like to take this off?”
Her frustrated half groan, half growl, is hot against my neck. “Go ahead then, but,” I reach my hands back to undo my own messy ponytail, knowing damn well that if she struggles not to grab my hips, it’s even harder to not grab my golden curls as they tickle her skin, “hands off once the coat is off, Kätzli .”
She traces her fingertips over my bare shoulders, easing the coat down my arms until it drops, pooling at my feet, and I hear her suck in a sharp breath through her teeth as I stand to kick it away. I tangle my fingers in my hair, showing off the lines of my shoulders and back when I feel her eyes all over me. She does well to force her hands back down, and I can’t help my wicked grin as I turn back around.
Her eyes don’t move from mine, even as I lean towards her, resting my hands on the back of the chair behind her head. Equally lost in my music as I am that adoring and hungry gaze, I keep moving, glancing down at myself as encouragement and permission for her to do the same.
Knowing that she would come home tonight, I had psyched myself up for this little surprise by wearing the outfit under my scrubs all day. One of her favorite ensembles, mostly for how confident it makes me feel: lacy thigh high stockings, garters, panties, and bra, all black, sheer enough to see shining silver piercings beneath. Covering it all with only my coat before she arrived had been an afterthought.
I use the grip I have on the chair for leverage, straddling Amelie’s hips and grinding down against her in time with the music.
She watches me with that dangerous look, knuckles white, almost daring me to let her loose on me. It’s tempting, but I have to remind myself that the wait is worth it.
I move my hands back to my chest, fingers drawing circles over my piercings until my nipples strain against the fabric.
I wonder if the music muffles my pleased huffs as I rock my hips into her, but the way I feel more than hear Amelie’s breath hitch makes me think that’s not the case. Her hips barely twitch beneath me, but I ignore it, throwing my head back and moving my hands further down my abdomen, tracing the lines of taut muscle straining to keep me upright at this angle, curving around the inside of my thighs before moving back up again to rest on my hip bones peeking above the lace.
She watches my hand tease beneath the lace, bites her lip hard as my fingers move through my curls and flick against the barbell in my clit. I grip desperately at her shoulder as my back arches, pleading with my quiet whine and lidded eyes, and I could swear her teeth are about to go through her lip for how hard she bites it.
Another swipe across my sensitive slit makes me shudder. I hunch forward, trying to maintain the movement and rhythm of my hips as I move my fingers between my legs, breathing a pleased but shaking sigh against her ear, “ Ame—”
“Angela,” Amelie breathes, a quiet whisper as she tilts her head back, chest shining with a fine layer of sweat, “ please.”
My bravado crumbles. I want her. She’s been gone on this mission for too long, my hours at the clinic have been chaotic as usual, I have missed her, she is absolutely stunning—my internal list goes on and on—the reality is that I need her.
“ Touch me, Schätzli.”
She captures my hand as I move it away from myself, adjusting her desperate grip to a lighter one as she brings my fingers to her lips. Her eyes are nearly black as she takes them slowly into her mouth, tongue rolling slowly over and in between.
She removes my fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop, licking her lips. “Only if you continue.”
She knows that I want to be successful in what I want to do with her, for her, even if she would also like to rush a bit more. She assures me that she’s enjoying this too, encouraging me to fight the insecurity always threatening to make me question my confidence in everything aside from medicine.
I tangle my fingers in her hair when I lower my head, grazing my teeth along her lower lip as I sigh through soft kisses, “For you, of course.”
My groan when her hands grip my hips is loud in the silence between songs, and I can taste her grin as we kiss. I move my hands to splay across her chest, pushing her back before I become distracted with how delightful her lips feel against mine.
The next track has a much more visceral bassline, thick, heavy, with muted aggressive waves that feel like energy rippling over my bared skin.
I arch my back again until our apartment swims upside down for a moment, the blood rush feeling like an echo of the music through me. I delight in the way Amelie’s grip tightens around my hips protectively, as though I might fall backwards.
My smile must look sinister when I straighten back up, rolling my hips and moving her hands to the insides of my thighs, because she swallows thickly, enough for me to notice.
I love watching the way desire plays across her face, the way those golden eyes flicker down to watch my fingers move back up my stomach to loop around to unhook my bra, the slight tilt of her head to watch me dramatically toss the offending garment to the side, the devilish smirk that curls her lips as she appreciates my breasts, dusky peaks hard under her gaze and the movement of her fingers against my legs.
I tease the cool metal beneath the skin, rolling my nipples between my fingers and squeezing, practically purring as Amelie’s hands move gently up and over my ribs.
The pleasant growl in the back of her throat when her hands gently cup my breasts is something that further ignites my desire. Her hands are blessedly cool against my skin, chasing away the heat from my dancing and leaving the warmth of the blush creeping down my neck to meet her eager hands kneading my chest.
“
Angela
,” she breathes, looking up from beneath her lashes as she gently rolls her thumbs over my barbells, favoring my eyes when I can barely keep mine open for her ministrations, “
tu es si belle.”
I kiss a trail from the space between her shoulder and neck and whisper against her ear, “Merci.”
I’m thankful for an opportunity to hide the stupid grin on my face, but I know she can feel it when I press a kiss beneath her ear.
Her hair smells like gunpowder and looks like the ocean in moonlight, I love the way it drapes like silk between my fingers when I trail them up the back of her neck and into waves cascading over her shoulders, scratching my nails against her scalp in the way that makes her groan against my collarbone.
My legs are shaking as I try to keep up my rhythm in her lap, eyes closing when she pinches my nipples between thumb and forefinger, shuddering when her breath stutters cool against my sweat-slicked skin.
Her delightful laugh while her hands dip back to my hips is the only warning I have before her tongue replaces her fingers, making me jerk unexpectedly and whine in her ear as her lips close around metal and flesh.
She now determines my pace, my hips finding a new rhythm in the way her clever tongue swirls circles over my aching skin, pulling it gently between her teeth. I can feel her smiling at the way I’m trembling for her, gasps mingled with incoherent strings of german praise.
My fingers tangle in her hair as I pull her against me, lips teasing the shell of her ear, “ Bitte, Ame.”