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Lies and Promises

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Lilah Morgan has never understood those who assume a desire for bedroom submission indicates a weakness of character, or worse, some essential truth of womanhood, some joke to accompany her lone female presence in a boardroom. That kind of dualistic thinking when it comes to power is worse than useless; Lilah didn’t slay the competition—not entirely metaphorically—for her corner office by thinking in binaries. No, grey zones of all types are kind of her specialty. Hence her latest sexual entanglement.

All of which is to say, tonight, Lilah really wants to be smacked around, and thankfully, it seems Wesley’s mood is aligning nicely with hers. She feels a wave of arousal as she remembers his instructions on the phone in the middle of her meeting this afternoon, the way she slowly maneuvered herself out of her panties as one of the demons from accounting described changes to the list of interdimensional hotel and flight partners. Climbing the stairs to Wesley’s apartment, she fingers the lacy fabric in her purse, remembering how she waited until everyone else had left her office before rising, in case some of her wetness had soaked through her skirt from an hour sitting with no underwear and imagining the things he might do to her.

She knocks loudly on his door. Wesley made a number of threats to her over the course of that phone conversation, and she is sincerely hoping he will follow through on all of them.

The door opens. “Lilah.” She smirks, entering without invitation. Lilah often thinks the worst thing about being a vampire would be the inability to enter a house uninvited. Plus she likes the sun. No, Lilah’s pretty happy sticking to a more human brand of evil.

No sooner has Lilah crossed the threshold than Wesley’s hands are covering her own, pushing her against a wall with her arms above her head. He grips both her wrists in one hand, pressing her roughly into the plaster, and runs his other hand along the hem of her skirt. Lilah spreads her legs for him as he works his fingers under and up, brushing her inner thighs, running a frustratingly light finger across her labia. She moves into his touch but he pulls away, shooting her that patronizing smile that Lilah knows he imagines makes him seem dominant. Well, she thinks, feeling her growing wetness, sometimes it works a little bit.

“Good girl,” says Wesley. “I hope you’ve had them off all afternoon? And I do hope no one noticed your little stunt during that meeting of yours. That would have been quite embarrassing for you.”

Lilah bites her lip. “In my purse.”

“Give them to me,” says Wesley, letting go of her wrists. Lilah retrieves her panties and drops them in Wesley’s outstretched hand. Really, as fun as it was feeling the breeze between her legs all afternoon, it would have been better if he’d ordered her to put them back on; then they would be wet when he shoved them in her mouth. The thought almost makes her turn the tables on him—he really doesn’t always know what he’s doing when he’s the one on top. But that isn’t what Lilah needs tonight, so she watches as he examines the black lace thong, chosen this morning because it’s thin enough not to create any lines under her pencil skirt. She wants to open her mouth in anticipation of the makeshift gag, but that would be granting altogether too much unearned power to Wesley. She shouldn’t make it that easy for him. Lilah grits her teeth and waits.

Wesley grips Lilah’s jaw with his hand and pushes her back against the wall with the force of his lips on hers. In return, she bites his bottom lip, hard. Tonight is a fight she is planning to lose, but it’s a fight nonetheless.

Wesley pulls back and lets his thumb move from her chin to her lips, pushing her mouth open. Lilah runs her tongue against the tip of the offered digit, and congratulates herself as she feels Wesley hardening against her leg. He raises his other hand and brushes her cheek with the thong, and Lilah begins to feel unsteady on her feet. He runs the fabric across her lips, but then moves his hand away, tossing her underwear to the living room floor.

“Last time I gagged you with your own panties you told me afterwards that it was cowardly,” says Wesley, his hand returning to grip Lilah’s chin. “You said it seemed as though I didn’t feel up to the challenge of trying to control you while you hurled insults my way.” Well, OK, Lilah does remember saying that. But surely Wesley knows she says a lot of things she doesn’t mean?

“So today I’m not going to put anything in your mouth. Well,” he raises his eyebrows, “maybe one thing. I’m not going to tie you down, either. You’re going to be totally free to struggle, to fight back, and you’re still going to let me bend you over my knee. Aren’t you, Lilah?”

Oh, he’s getting better at this. The throbbing in her clit from Wesley’s latest speech almost overrides her annoyance that the evening isn’t turning out quite the way she expected. Lilah hates surprises, but in her line of work she’s gotten used to them. Thankfully, this turn of events is doing nothing to quell her growing arousal.

“But Wesley,” she teases, “I was hoping tonight you would finally lock me in that cage of yours.”

“Lilah.” There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Oh Wesley, still good enough to hate reminders of past transgressions. How adorable.

“You sure you don’t want to reconsider the no gag rule?”

“If you really want something to gag on,” says Wesley, moving his hands to her shoulders and pushing down hard, “I think we could work something out.” He gestures to his fly, but Lilah just stares up at him, raising her eyebrows.

Wesley sighs and undoes his pants. Lilah can feel herself grinning. She reaches out and licks lightly at the head of Wesley’s cock, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

“I do hope you have a longer skirt than this to wear tomorrow,” says Wesley, entangling his hand in her hair. “I’d hate for anyone to see bruises on your knees and wonder where they came from.”

“You know what I’ve never understood?” says Lilah conversationally, her lips almost brushing against his flesh. “Guys always seem to think they’re in charge of a blowjob, when really, they’re putting a vulnerable part of themselves inside a mouth full of sharp teeth.” She pauses, then continues, “I’ve been told—by you, I believe—that I have very sharp teeth.”

Wesley tightens his grip in her hair. “And I’ve been told by you that a surefire way to really make you suffer is to get you all hot and bothered like this and then not to let you come.”

When she and Wesley first started seeing each other, Lilah imagined that each time she sucked him off she corrupted him further, that she drew his darkness to the surface whenever she felt his orgasm fill her mouth. She knows it’s not that simple, but she still lets herself indulge in the fantasy. It adds an intriguing narrative arc to the way he always begins still and steady above her but soon thrusts more and more wildly, ramming his cock against the back of her throat. Lilah is almost positive that she is the first to cultivate a love of rough, messy blowjobs in Wesley, and she loves that thought, that she has made him crave something he previously never really thought about.

The trick is to give in to the push and pull of his cock and hands, relax her throat and let saliva fill her mouth and dribble down her chin, while keeping her teeth and French manicure at the ready in case he asks too much of her airways. Lilah lets him guide her head by a fistful of her hair, keeping her eyes on him even as he closes his in pleasure. She feels her desire to please him growing inside her, almost eclipsing her need to get off herself. She definitely loves him; she’s certain of that now, and while she may lie to everyone else, Lilah Morgan has not gotten to where she is today by lying to herself. It’s not what she would have chosen, only it is. But still. Love can be so damn inconvenient.

She can feel the way she’s bringing him closer and closer to the edge, and pulls her lips tighter around him, licking at his shaft with each of his thrusts. Abruptly, however, he pulls himself out of her, spilling saliva and pre-cum on her dry-clean-only blouse. Lilah doesn’t really mind—rough sex has always been one of her many expensive habits.

“You look so good on your knees, Lilah, I have half a mind to make you stay there.” Wesley rubs her chin with his fingers, spreading her spit and his juices over the bottom half of her face. Lilah remembers doing the same thing to him last week and smirks. Perhaps her corruption fantasies aren’t entirely too simplistic.

“But you made certain promises I’m expecting you to keep, didn’t you?” says Lilah. “I seem to recall the main one involved my inability to sit down in my ‘fancy ergonomic desk chair’ for a week.” She smiles sweetly up at him. “You know, when you’re involving my office in your fantasies to the extent that you feel the need to describe individual pieces of furniture, it makes me think—you don’t by any chance need a job?”

“Nice try, Lilah.” Wesley yanks on her hair and Lilah scrambles to her feet. Bringing his face close enough to hers that she can feel his stubble on her cheek, he whispers in her ear, “My bedroom. Now. I expect you naked and kneeling by the time I come find you.”

Oh, this is exactly what Lilah needs tonight. There’s something to be said for the cliché of the businessman and his dominatrix; yes, it is nice to spend an evening taking orders from someone after another day of political maneuvering at the office. Lilah isn’t so naïve as to think Wesley loves her back, but really, that just means they’re each using the other in different ways, and Lilah’s used to using and being used. Could be worse.

She strips quickly, leaving her clothes in a messy pile and half hoping he’ll punish her for it. She kneels but does not bow her head; instead, she greets him with a slight smile as he enters, shirtless but with his pants done up once again, and sits on the side of the bed.

“Over my lap,” says Wesley, and Lilah wonders, not for the first time, how kinky he was with ex-lovers; how much of this is from actual practice, how much from private, shameful fantasy, and how much has she herself planted in him? She walks towards him confidently, chin raised and hips swaying as though she’s about to shake hands with one of her more important clients, and drapes herself over his lap, feeling his still-erect cock digging into her belly.

Wesley’s hand reaches between her legs and parts her labia. He runs a finger through her wetness, then wipes it against her inner thigh.

“Lilah, Lilah, Lilah, what would your colleagues say if they knew you spent your evenings like this?”

Lilah rolls her eyes. Here we are, back to that fundamental misunderstanding of power. She expects better from Wesley, of all people.

“If you think my kinks are the strangest in my office, I can’t in all good—well, evil—conscience keep recommending you come work at Wolfram and Hart. And if you think all this talk is going to make me remember you when I sit down tomorrow, I might just spank you instead. Sticks and stones, Wes.”

She’s barely finished speaking when she feels his palm strike her ass, hard enough to sting. Good. She hates it when he spends too long on buildup. No, she wants it just like this, a fast string of blows on alternating cheeks, building in intensity so quickly that she feels the ghost of tears forming behind her eyes.

“I want to look at you when I hurt you,” Wesley says gruffly, and Lilah feels a surge of warmth in her chest that she’s quick to talk herself down from. The last thing she should be doing is ruining this perfectly good arrangement by reading love and sweetness into his half-pretend cruelty. Wesley grips her hair, pulling her head to the side so that, with some straining on her part, he can look into her slightly damp eyes. Lilah winks at him, then cries out as he unleashes another string of blows.

She knows how this goes—unlike Lilah, who can really commit to a beating, Wesley will hit her only until the throbbing in his cock grows so great that he can’t stand not pushing it inside her. Sure enough, it’s been barely ten minutes, judging by his alarm clock, before he pushes her roughly to her knees on the bed and enters her in one quick thrust.

“I’m going to let you come tonight,” pants Wesley, and Lilah thinks, soft. Actually, though, she might have drawn blood if he’d left her wanting after all their games, so she supposes this is the better strategy on his part. Wesley’s fingers find her clit as he continues to fill her, and she moves more purposefully underneath him, pushing against his cock and his fingers all at once.

Lilah comes first, letting her orgasm overtake her, pleased when she feels the spasms in her cunt pushing Wesley over the edge as well. He bites her shoulder as he comes, hard enough to leave a mark, and Lilah growls and grips the mattress with white-knuckled hands.

Wesley rolls off her and Lilah moves to straddle him, kissing him more gently than she has so far this evening. She’s hoping tonight he’ll let her stay—hoping she’ll let herself stay—and they can order Chinese and maybe later he can give her a few more bite marks. Maybe she’ll give him some in return as well. Lilah smiles and curls up around Wesley, laying her head on his chest. She closes her eyes and kisses Wesley’s skin, his fingers lightly combing her mussed hair, and in that moment she knows that if she still had a free soul to sell, she’d sell it in a heartbeat for a guarantee that whatever the two of them have going on will work out somehow. It doesn’t mean much, but then, she supposes, neither does this.