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Oliver vaguely hears the word as Felicity runs the slinky red ribbon through her fingers, her voice soft and sultry. He’s already so far gone, just by seeing her when he walked in through the door, anxious and cranky.

He only has himself to blame. He’d barked one too many orders, and at his sister no less. Tonight, losing their lead on the drug traffickers pushing a new vertigo, he was pushed too far, desperate for control. He has been ever since they discovered how deep Darhk’s HIVE reached.

It appeared that Felicity wanted to take matters in to her own hands…literally.

Her blue eyes, striking against her dark make-up, pierced right through him as she slowly approached the chair she had forced him to sit in. For a moment he questions his life choices when he told her “if it’s you that’s asking.”

She moves slowly and methodically, her stilettos a steady staccato against the hardwood floors until she is right in front of him, her fishnet clad knees brushing against his.

He watches with rapt attention as she languidly twists the ribbon around her creamy, delicate wrist, the red a stark contrast against her alabaster skin.

Casually, she lets it unravel, the string dangling right in front of his face, making his eyes cross.

“You see this ribbon, Oliver? I’m going to take it, and I’m going to bind your hands to the back of this chair.”

Oliver gulps. Her voice was calm and steady, authoritative, leaving no room for negotiating.

Yet, she still asks, her voice sweet, too sweet, as she leans toward him, a single index finger gliding up his thigh.

“How does that sound to you?”

“I, um…okay?” was all he could manage to get out before she cuts him off.

“Great! Fantastic!” She responds, her hands coming together in little claps, her eyes full of glee and the slightest twinge of maliciousness.

“Now take off your clothes and sit back down…please.” She commands him, her head tilting to the side innocently.

He starts to object, but shakes his head and thinks better of it. He trusts her, implicitly. So, he slowly rises, and since she’s not backing up an inch, he uses his calves to shove the chair back a bit, so he has space to remove his clothing.

She’s still so close though, and she watches intently, her eyes absorbing every centimeter of exposed skin, constantly following the movement of his hands until he’s shaken off the last pant leg and boxer brief.

Her fingertips, soft and tentative, glide over the hard planes of his stomach and chest. 

Somehow, she invades more of his space, so much so that their breath dances across each other’s skin, and he can feel the barest of touches where the cool leather covering her stomach brushes the tip of his growing manhood.

She tilts her head up, stretching towards his ear, and with the push of a finger on his pectoral muscle, she speaks gravelly into his ear.

“Sit. Down.”

It’s bossy, harsh, and forceful. And he kind of likes it.

He does as she says, sitting slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

The wooden chair is cool against his bare skin, but when she plants one leg on either side of his thighs, leaning over him, her cleavage in his face, he can feel the heat from her skin she’s so close.

Her warm breath cascades across his throat as she gathers his hands behind his back and begins to tie him to the chair…surprisingly well.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit snug?” He asks when she’s pulling the last string taut and inspecting her own work by pulling on his hands.

“Can’t be too careful with the Green Arrow. Besides, it can’t be that easy to get out of or you won’t last one minute through what I have planned before you’re out of that chair and taking me up against the wall.”

All he could do was grunt in agreement because she was right. He was already straining against the bindings, and despite wanting the experience that she was offering him, he knew he would eventually snap.

His eyes closed and he breathed deeply in preparation, calming himself as best he can when she starts to brush her mouth against the column of his neck. Her lips are warm and soft at first as they graze his skin, her silky hair falling against his chest and shoulders as she marks her way around to the other side, her kisses becoming nips and hickeys. 

The muscles in his neck strain when she finally straddles his lap and her fingers chord through his hair, tugging softly so that she can have full access to that sensitive space above his collar bone.

She latches on and he lets out a stuttering breath. He can feel her hand, which seems cool against his fevered skin, move across his broad chest, tracing scars and patterns, gradually making its way down to his abs.

He sucks his stomach in, because her touch is light, almost ticklish, as she explores each ridge of his abdomen. She moans into his skin, her hips thrusting against him as she continues devouring him.

He wants to touch her. He wants to be the one devouring her. Instead, she’s brushing her center against his hardened manhood, making him ache with desire.

“Fe-li-ci-ty.” He manages to ground out in a warning when he starts to feel her wet tongue swirling around his nipples.

She stands up then, and despite his previous frustrations, he’s a little disappointed. Then she takes both of her hands and cups his face, looking into his tired eyes.

“I just want you to relax. Close your eyes, and just feel me.”

He sighs deeply, doing as he’s told.

The air shifts around him again, and he can feel pressure on his thighs, her small hands gripping them for support as she leans down. Her lips ghost over his stomach and this time her silky hair dangles over his member, making him throb.

Her hot breath rolls across his abdomen as she continues her way down. She takes her time kissing everywhere but his hard length until he feels a single swipe of her tongue across his slit. His hips thrust up on instinct, searching for friction, but she’s already gone.

He desperately wants to break free of the binding and pull her close, finally feel her skin against his, taste her lips against his own. He tugs against the tight red strings, feeling the material dig into his skin, but it holds. His struggle is interrupted by her voice cutting through his frustration.

“Open your eyes.” She requests.

He blinks slowly, readjusting to the light and finds her back turned to him. Her eyes meet his over her shoulder, and for a moment she looks as vulnerable as he feels.

And then her fingers hook into the sides of her black leather bottoms, gently tugging, pulling them down and over the flare of her hips, slowly revealing the fishnets covering her backside. She doesn’t look vulnerable anymore, biting her lip. She looks like a vixen.

Oliver squirms in his seat, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as he uses the strong muscles in his legs to scoot the chair closer. She picks up on his desire to be nearer and she steps back a few steps after kicking the leather bottoms to the side. He curses his own masochistic ways when her legs brush up against the chair, pushing his apart so she can stand between them.

Any strain of coherent thought leaves his mind when she bends forward, pushing her perfectly rounded ass cheeks in his face, her hands gripping each supple mound, spreading them to reveal her glistening center and her puckered nether lips through a cutout in the stockings.

A feral growl escapes him, seeing her sex on display, so close to him but unattainable. He wants to bury himself between those cheeks, taste that perfect dripping heat that’s just for him, use his tongue to make her wriggle and scream.

He goes completely still, watching her lick a finger before slipping it between her folds. She pumps in and out of herself a few times, dropping her head down, unable to keep it lifted. Breathy moans are filling the silence and he can see the juices of her excitement coating her finger.

He stares, entranced by the exotic sight of her pleasing herself, working herself into a frenzy, making herself vulnerable to his scrutiny.

She tosses her head back, arching her back before she stands up again, turning to face him. Her hair is wild and her skin is flushed. His mouth waters when she licks the finger that she had been touching herself with, watching as it disappears between her red lips. Closes her hooded eyes, humming in satisfaction.

He’s almost at his breaking point. Every muscle in his body is tense and Felicity looks at him like she’s got him right where she wants him. Her eyes glide over his naked form, taking in the clinched muscles of his abs, displaying each one perfectly. She lingers on his arms, watching the veins in his biceps bulge.

He’s on the verge of begging, but she takes pity on him, stepping on either side of the chair again, bringing her breasts into his line of sight again. She’s so close, and if he leans his head forward, he might just be able to sneak in a swipe of his tongue in the valley of her supple orbs.

But he doesn’t get the chance. She rakes her fingers through his hair again, pulling his head back, and he holds his breath in anticipation as her face gets closer to his. She is merciful and allows their lips to connect. He lets out a deep groan, opening his mouth wider, allowing her tongue to slip between his lips. He can taste the residual twang of her essence on her tongue, and he whimpers, yearning for more than just a tease.

His body relaxes just a bit, finding a momentary reprieve from his desperation to touch her. He can get lost in her kisses, and she is thoroughly kissing him now. The same hand is cradling his head tenderly while the other grips his neck possessively. She’s taking what’s hers in this kiss, and he’s happy to give it to her.

Lost in the way her tongue is gliding between his lips, he fails to notice that she has lowered herself to an almost sitting position, but the moment her delicate entrance skims across the head of his cock, he jerks to awareness. He tears his mouth from her and they’re both heaving, attempting to push oxygen back into their tired lungs.

They’re centimeters apart still, and she’s gazing down at him with the same hungry, frenzied look he’s sure is on his face. She licks her lip and removes her hand from his neck, seeking out his engorged member, holding it firmly in her grasp.

His momentary relaxation from their kiss evaporates and he becomes rigid once again when she uses the firm soft head of his length to caress her dripping slit. In her eyes he can see her need, unbridled and wild. He bucks against her, only wanting to satiate her, but she pulls up, shaking her head no.

He thinks now would be the time for her to get up, untie him, and let him love her, but he’s wrong. She lowers herself back down, looking at him pointedly, daring him to move. As he’s gritting his teeth in acceptance, it’s clear to see that she wants him to remain passive.

He can feel his head dip slightly into her entrance, gathering her juices, and when she rubs the apex of her mound where her bundle of nerves is nestled, he knows now that she is still taking from him what she needs, and he’s more than willing to let her use him if it means that look of bliss remains on her features.

Her slim stomach rolls as her pelvis thrusts down to meet his member, still held between her graceful fingers. He dips his head, his nostrils flaring, and eyebrows furrowed, unable to hold her intense gaze. He can’t handle the look in her eye, so he tries to focus on his breathing, maintaining his control so that she can keep using him.

He slips between her folds, his head disappearing into her heat, only to have her pull him back out, sliding him up to her clit and back down again. She repeats the process, and his heart pounds against his chest when he hears her strangled cries of pleasure.

She grips his chin, forcing him to look at her once more, forcing him to see the face he’s become so familiar with, the one that lets him know she’s on the precipice.

“Watch me.”

And he is incapable of denying her. Her head falls down, her hair falling forward, creating a curtain around her features as she continues to roll over him. Heat builds from the friction, and he can smell her sex wafting through the thick air between them, making him thirsty.

He can see it, the moment right before she falls over, her mouth hanging open as she takes in shallow breaths.

A sharp yell cuts through the moment as her eyes close and she comes undone above him. She slams down onto him, taking him to the hilt and he gasps, feeling the ripples of her orgasm squeeze him tight.

It’s in that moment, when her head is thrown back in ecstasy and his world narrows down to just her, that he realizes he’s forgotten everything but her and him and their bodies being used for pleasure.

There’s a loud crack and the splintering of wood as he reaches his breaking point, the moment he snaps. She looks at him in shock and trepidation, as she too comes back to reality.

“Oliver, what…” she begins to ask, watching him shake the fractured wood from the red binding, freeing himself to slide one hand out of them too.

“Pineapple,” he growls, just before his hand comes up to tangle in her hair, pulling her down for a kiss that he promptly takes control of, his tongue diving into the recesses of her mouth. The red string dangles from his wrist as one hand cups her face tenderly, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

He looks at her lovingly, no words needed to express his gratitude. His arm wraps around her back and one hand grips the underside of thigh, lifting her effortlessly from the abused chair.

He makes his way through their home, finding their bedroom where he intends to touch, kiss, taste, and love her all the ways he knows how.