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There were a lot of things about Damon that Lana was not supposed to find attractive.
She was supposed to be working, not watching with rapt attention as he spoke to Detective Gumshoe. And if she were going to watch, she should be paying attention to his line of reasoning, his discussion of evidence- not his hands.
It was preposterous- she shouldn't be sitting here in her office in broad daylight thinking about leather- she was distracted by seams, for Christ's sake.
She couldn't stop thinking about how they would feel pressed into her skin.
Damon dismissed the detective, perusing the paper he'd been given. Lana snapped out of her reverie, determined to complete her work with no further interruptions.
He slapped the evidence list down on her desk with one gloved hand, leaving it there and leaning slightly over her.
"Lanny," he chided gently, "you look so tense."
He knew she was watching- he must have known- didn't he? Wasn't he just teasing her?
"I'm fine, Damon," she said, as firmly as she could, looking at her paperwork, out the window, anywhere not to look at his hands.
That was obviously ineffective, because it only made him take her chin in his other hand, lifting it up so that she had to look him in the eyes. She hated herself for not stopping the sigh that escaped her lips at the feeling of the leather on her face. He didn't say anything, just gave her an odd smile.
Lana stood up suddenly, clutching her papers to her chest. "I'm late," she snapped, stepping around her desk.
"For what?" he asked levelly, standing very close to her.
She stuttered, grasping for any easy lie, but her brain failed her. He walked slowly towards her, backing her up against his desk, trapping her there.
"You're so anxious," he said, his voice full of mock concern, as he reached up to unwind her scarf from her neck. "You need to relax." He rested his hand against her collarbone, his fingers pressing into her neck only enough to make her uncomfortable.
She struggled against him, suddenly desperate to get away. She was already in so deep with him- if she added just this one extra thing, she'd never get out again.
But then he was leaning down to her neck, catching her earlobe between his teeth, his free hand yanking her jacket open and scattering her buttons across the floor, and goddammit, she was not supposed to like this. She was supposed to be frightened and fighting, not grinding herself against his leg as he stepped even closer, not gasping as the smooth, warm leather of his gloves glanced over her nipple.
He chuckled at that, the sound of it reverberating through her, low and dangerous. She tried to hide her disappointment as he pulled his hand away, but then he was pushing two fingers into her mouth. "Suck," he ordered, but she was already complying. It bothered her immensely that she was enjoying the taste, that she missed it when he pulled his hand away.
He didn't bother ripping her skirt- that would have been too fast and too easy by far. He pushed it up ridiculously slowly, his fingers dancing up over the tops of her stockings, snapping her garter straps against her thighs. She hadn't even realized that she'd spread her legs for him until his damp fingers found her. Without prelude, Damon pushed into her roughly; it didn't feel like she was expecting- not that she had any clue what to expect. Dulled by the leather, his fingers felt smooth and blunt, thicker than they should have.
There was something comfortingly impersonal about it, as if the thin leather was actually separating them, as if she could actually come out of this intact.
But then he kissed her, and that shattered her last defense.
"You want this," he said, his face only centimeters from hers. It wasn't a question, and Lana could only nod.
The room was too hot and too bright all of a sudden, and oh god, this was really happening. His fingers didn't stop moving inside her, stretching her, filling her up. She turned her face away, suddenly embarrassed by how wet this was making her.
"Look at me," he told her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He obviously didn't care too much for that, as it only made him grip her neck tighter, pulling her closer by her throat.
"You don't understand," he said, but still she kept her eyes averted. "I own you." His grip tightened again. "Look at me."
Lana's eyes snapped up to meet his. He smiled, a predatory expression rather than one of mirth. As if rewarding her compliance, his fingers moved faster and faster inside of her, the pad of his thumb finding her clit.
She wasn't supposed to be finding this arousing, not the way his gloves slid inside her, not his hand around her throat. She wasn't supposed to be coming, either, panting out his name and collapsing onto him, insensate.
She was aware of being carried, his massive arms cradling her as if her weight were nothing. He must have settled into his chair- she was suddenly surrounded by the scent of its leather upholstery. There was something in that, now, that made her burst into tears, holding onto Damon for dear life, as if she were a small child.
"Don't worry, Lanny, darling," he said, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "You'll find a way to repay me."