HKVerse 5, Mark Lutz/Miranda Otto; "Not Here" (NC-17)
Fandom: Actorslash, Alternate Universe (Hong Kong-verse)
Pairing: Mark Lutz / Miranda Otto
Authors: zillah975 and msilverstar
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Series: (Hong Kong -verse, really AU) Miranda's a travel writer, Mark's a photographer, they meet in Hong Kong, and get along from the start.
Feedback: Please! And constructive criticism of all kinds. Anyone who knows Hong Kong and wants to correct us, we'd love that.
Archive: Generally OK, but notification required - send email to archive at msilverstar dot com.
Notes: We wanted to collaborate on writing kinky sex. So we decided to start with two characters from an RPG and send them off into an AU. We're enjoying it so far.
Mark had called on Wednesday morning after he'd gotten Mei Ying's invitation, asking Mir if she'd like to come to the gallery opening with him on Friday. He'd been pleased she'd said yes -- he'd thought it might be too short notice -- and it's turned out to be a good evening. Mir looks stunning, of course, and Mei Ying has largely behaved herself, keeping her flirting so subtle that Mark isn't sure Mir's even noticed.
The wine and canapes are excellent as well, and since Mark's hired a driver, he's not too worried about over-indulging. He rarely gets drunk unless it's just himself and Vin at home, but it's nice to be able to have a few glasses as he and Miranda work the room.
He has an ulterior motive here -- more than one, actually. He's already accomplished the first, in charming a young widow made rich by her husband's death into contributing a fairly sizable amount of money to a fund for AIDS orphans that Mark works with occasionally. His second is somewhat less philanthropic, and he watches Miranda thoughtfully as she laughs at something an elderly patron has said, wondering if she'd like to see the part of the gallery that's closed off to the guests.
Miranda's pleased that Mark is inviting her to meet his friends, and some of the art is stunning. One of the paintings juxtaposes traditional Chinese style with modern elements in a way that draws her back over and over -- she wishes she were rich and could buy it for herself. Ah, but where would she put it? She's always moving around. Maybe something for a book jacket illo? Miranda will talk to Mei Ying and find out if the artist has some time, because it's a tempting thought.
This must be her third glass of wine, and she decides to just relax and enjoy it. Around Mark, she doesn't feel like she has to stay wary, though he's clearly an inveterate flirt. But then, so are all his friends, and it's fun. Mr. Rosenshild is polite enough to talk to her face rather than her chest, and he has some contacts in the Inner Mongolian government, so Miranda can feel pleased that she's even doing some networking for the book. But it's a bloody good thing they're not trying to sit down, because she's still slightly tender from the other night.
Mei Ying sidles up next to Mark, slipping her arm around his waist. "So, tell me about your new girl," she murmurs with a smile, and Mark laughs.
"She's not my new girl," he says, giving her a nudge and gently extricating himself from the small embrace. "She's a girl, and she's new, but she's not mine, not like you mean."
Mei Ying puts on her best pout and lets him go. "She's lovely, though," she says, "and I know you, sweet boy. I know you've no interest if she's not a little twisted." She smirks, glancing across the room at Miranda. "Or if you don't think you can twist her a bit."
Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head, but he doesn't deny it.
It's like a little dance, Mark comes back to Miranda, courteously making sure she has enough to eat, then away again, then back again, chatting and introducing her to new people. He's a charmer, that one, and seems to appreciate the couture dress that she found in the jumble sale, which makes her want to strut and pose like a model.
The party is still in high gear when Mark notices Miranda by herself for a moment, admiring one of the paintings. He comes up beside her and slides his arm around her waist, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek.
"How you doing?" he asks. "Still having fun?"
"Sure," Miranda echos his movement, slinging her arm around Mark's back and snuggling into his side. "I was a bit worried that it would be 'conceptual art' or something too obscure for me, but this is great stuff."
"Not a big fan of conceptual art?" Mark asks with a grin.
"I had a flatmate who took an art class, and we tried, quite hard, to understand that stuff, and I never really did. D'you like it, yourself?"
"Some of it I do," Mark says. "It depends on my mood, and on the mood the artist was in at the time, I guess. I like things that make me think."
Miranda likes that about him, "I try to be open-minded, but with all the travel, I tend to like native art more than the modern kind."
Mark nods. "I can understand that. I've got a thing for Maori art, myself -- and pretty much any aboriginal art, really." He nods towards another piece, on the far side of the room -- a sculpture in dark wood and silver -- and steers her towards it. "This piece puts me in mind of a lot of the Maori work I've seen, with the spirals and these stylized faces," he says as they approach. "There's more by this same guy in another wing, but Mei's got that one closed off to the public for another week or so."
It is nice, intriguing shapes and, and she'd like to see more. "I'll have to come back and see them, I like that very much." It's only afterwards that she realizes she might have been ungracious by assuming he wouldn't want to come, but she's in the habit of giving blokes a lot of room. So many of them seem to run screaming if a woman assumes a single thing about the future.
"I can show you now, if you want," Mark says. "Mei Ying gave me keys to the whole place ages ago, and they'll never even know we've slipped out." He nods down a short hallway. "It's just back there."
"Sure, I like adventures," Miranda smiles and moves the way Mark directs, wondering what he's up to.
Mark follows Miranda, one hand on the small of her back as he gets his keys out, and he glances once over his shoulder to be sure no one's taking note. "Here then," he says, fitting the key to the lock and opening the door with a soft snick. He ushers her through into darkness, closing the door behind them before he flicks a switch and low, soft lights come up to reveal a vast expanse of polished wood floors dotted with sculpture, some on pedestals, some taller than Mark, all with a sinuous grace that manages to be primal and elegant at once.
"There you go," he says. "She's still working out quite how she wants the displays, but they're all here."
Miranda leans forward eagerly, looking around at the pieces but not wanting to let go of Mark. "They're glorious," she says, and turns to to the closest one, wishing she could run her hands over it.
"Well, let's get a closer look at them then," Mark says, amused at Miranda's reticent eagerness. Hands on her waist, he walks her over to the near one, leaning down to murmur against her neck, "This is one of his older pieces. He says it represents a spiritual reawakening that led him further into his art, and into communion with the divine."
"I'm not sure about all that," Miranda always bristles a bit at people taking themselves so seriously, "but it's a lovely piece." She snuggles into Mark, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers.
He slides his arms around her, kissing her hair. "Yeah, it was really amazing hearing him talk about it," he says. "He's this tiny, wizened little guy, you could just put him in your pocket, but he's got so much energy, and still seems so centered. This one," he goes on, nodding to the next piece, which is larger, a series of lush curves and smooth angles, "he says he did after he met his wife. He just got married about a year ago, for the first time, and he's got to be, like, nearly eighty."
It's a fabulous story and Miranda says so, turning towards Mark. It's also a very sexy sculpture, reminding her that they've barely touched tonight and it's been a couple of days since they were in bed together. She pulls him down for a kiss, wanting to taste him again.
That's my girl, Mark thinks as he returns the kiss, deepens it, one hand curving into the small of her back as he slides his other up, fingers scraping the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair to tug her head back gently.
Miranda loves his hands on her, the size and warmth of them; she wants them on her all the time. Her head follows his direction, and she finds herself arching into him, pliant and soft. Is it always going to be like this? She finds herself not minding the idea a bit.
"Sweet pet," Mark murmurs, trailing kisses over her jaw and throat, and he slides his hands down to cup her ass, bunching the thin material of her dress in his fingers as he pulls her close.
"Mark," Miranda turns a little away from the kiss, slides out from under his hands. She likes the way he touches her, but this space is full of almost sacred sculptures. "No hurry, right?"
Mark shakes his head, disappointed and vaguely annoyed. "No, no hurry," he says, stroking her hair back from her face and nodding towards the room. "Take your time. It'll be ages before anyone notices we're missing, and Mei won't care even if she does figure out where we are."
A part of Miranda is distressed at denying him anything, but she's never been one for sex in strange places or risking exposure. She stays close, trying to make him happy, "Thanks, erm, I'm, I guess you could say, a bit shy."
"You've nothing to be shy about," Mark says with a smile. "You're gorgeous, for one thing, and it's not as though I've not seen you, touched you," and he dips his head, ghosts a kiss over her cheek. "There's no one here but us, pet. Nothing to be shy about."
Miranda knows she's blushing hard, but she can't help it. "The sculptures are too... serious, solemn, I don't know, something like that."
"Serious?" Mark says, amused, looking around the room. They've never struck him as serious, the curves and angles reaching upward, embracing. They've always seemed like sex to him, but then, everything seems like sex to him, he thinks, and laughs. "Come on, pet," he says with a grin. "C'mere. Kiss me."
Kissing is good, kissing Mark is very very good. Miranda does the best she can because oh, what a lovely mouth. She can feel her heart beating fast and and her nerves are shooting pleasure all through her. She wants so much: she wants to melt into his arms and let him ravish her right here and now. She ventures a suggestion, "Would Mei Ying mind if we scarpered off?" Just the thought of Mark's elevator and Mark's flat and Mark's big bed makes her blush again.
"No," Mark says quietly, teasing his fingers under the strap of her dress as he slides his arm around her waist. "But I'm not quite ready to leave yet."
"Mmmm?" Her happy hum turns into a question, and she shivers as his hand touches her shoulder. "What do you need to do first?"
"'Need' is putting it strongly," he says, easing the strap down and still holding her close. "Instead," he murmurs, watching her eyes, "ask me what I want."
Oh, god, Miranda's knees go a little wobbly, "What, what do you want?"
Mark smiles. "You," he says. "Here. Shy, and reluctant, and doing it anyway."
It takes a moment before his words sink in. Here. Now. Why does he have to push her so fast? She has to breathe consciously, resisting the fight or flight instinct. "Please?" she's hoping he'll tell her it was just a joke.
He cocks his head to the side. "Please what, pet?" he asks.
"Your flat? Mine, if it's closer? Just not... here. Please?" She does want him, and the things he does to her, but it's so exposed right here. She shivers again, the sculptures seem to be looking at them.
Mark gives a little sigh. "It's too bad," he says. "I really like this space. Like the idea of having you here, and no one but you and me knowing." And Vin, of course, since Mark does very little that Vin doesn't know about, but he doesn't see any need to mention that just now.
He glances at his watch. "But okay, you know. If you don't want to. You'll make it up to me when we get to your place?"
She will, she'll make him feel so good. She gives him a full-body kiss, surging up against him and practically climbing into his arms. "Oh yes," though she's not sure what she's getting into. In some ways, knowing that she's already consented makes it easier to think about what he might do to her. He probably won't stop with tying her up or spanking her, but she's no real idea of what he will want. And she doesn't mind, looks forward to it even, whatever it is, resolves to cooperate with him instead of fighting.
"Good girl," Mark says, smiling against her mouth patting her ass affectionately. "Come on, then -- we'll make our goodbyes and get out of here."
The little knot of tension in Miranda's throat melts and she realizes, again, how much she wants to please him. Then she jumps a bit, as her arse is still quite tender. "Let's hurry," she says, in her best throaty chanteuse voice. But she doesn't rush him as they stroll out, chatting politely to his friends. The pause gives her a chance to calm down a bit. Around Mark, she's always off-balance and breathing too fast.
Mark's driver knows the way back to the flat she's staying in, and she's fairly sure that there's no terribly embarrassing clutter, so she just holds his hand and tries not to squirm too much on the car's seat.
*~*~*
The building is drab and the flat small, but cozy, and Miranda pulls Mark in and kisses him hard as the door closes behind them. Mark lets her take the kiss, his arms around her waist, but after a moment he pulls back and touches her lips with his fingers. "Where's your bedroom?" he asks.
Miranda drops a kiss on his fingertips and then turns to lead him back. "Through here, it's a little small and, erm, frilly," Miranda is house-sitting for a friend who's taste is a bit girlier than her own.
"That's all right," Mark says with a grin. "I'm not looking at the decor."
He lets go of her hand as they enter the room, and he gives her a quick kiss and turns to drop back onto the bed, pushing up the pillows against the headboard and leaning back, long legs draped over the side so as not to muddy the sheets. "Comfy," he says, and then, "Take my shoes off for me, gorgeous."
That's easy, she crouches down to unlace them and pull them off, then looks up inquiringly.
"Good girl," Mark says, stretching out full-length on the bed. "Now, out of the dress, please," curious to see whether she's wearing anything under it.
It isn't until she's reaching around to unzip her dress that Miranda realizes he's ordering and she's obeying. She's shocked, more at how easy and right it feels than anything else. Blushing, she wishes her hair were down so she could hide behind it, and decides to take it down as part of the show. Because if she's going to strip for him, she'll make it good.
Mark enjoys the blush, enjoys more the fact that she's not fighting him. "So lovely," he murmurs, watching her eyes as she strips for him. "God, so perfect."
Miranda likes the way he's looking at her, his smile and his words. "For you," she answers, as she undoes the last clip and lets her hair down across her shoulders, "I want to be sexy for you."
"You are," Mark says, smiling. "You don't have to undress to be sexy for me -- that's just a bonus. It's in how you look at me, and the way you move." His smile broadens and he makes a little gesture with his hand. "That thing you do," he says, "when you've got a stray hair that's tickling your neck? God, do you know how sexy that is?"
It's awfully nice of him to say that, whatever he means by it. She pulls down one strap of her dress and flirts with him over her shoulder as she slowly draws it down her arm. He makes everything sexualized, makes her wish she had a soundtrack, makes her hot and proud at the same time.
Mark watches the slow striptease appreciatively, and when the dress finally slips to the floor, he licks his lips, then tsks faintly. "Gorgeous, pet," he murmurs. "Stop there, and come over here."
A little self-conscious in her undies, Miranda hurries the two steps to the bed, deciding that jumping on him is probably not on.
He'd like to cut them off her, but it's early days for that, he thinks. Instead he begins rolling the waistband of her pantyhose down, kissing her stomach as he does. He continues until they're at mid-thigh, then leans in to nip at the bit of lace covering her pussy and says, "Take the hose off for me, pet. Then climb up here between my legs."
Pulling her pantyhose off as seductively as she can, Miranda looks up through her hair and clambers onto the bed, kneeling between his legs and placing her hands outside his hips. "Here I am," she says and wonders what will happen next.
"Here you are indeed," Mark says with a little chuckle, and he leans forward to steal a kiss, running his hand through her hair. "And a tasty treat you are, too," he adds as he settles back again. "But I'm feeling selfish tonight, pet," he goes on thoughtfully. "I want you do all the work, if you're all right with that. You can start by undressing me."
She said she'd do what he wanted, and it's kind of fun to be setting the pace. Miranda takes her time, slipping off Mark's jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, kissing her way down his chest.
And Mark's content to let Miranda take her time. One of the nice things about being in control, he thinks, is getting to let someone else look after you from time to time. He wouldn't give up taking care of Vin for anything in the world, except Vin himself, but this is so good, Miranda's lips warm on his skin, her hair falling forward to brush over his chest.
Miranda nuzzles and licks and kisses her way across Mark's chest, loving the taste of him. She pauses at his nipples, first one, then the other, trying to tease them without tickling. She's not stable, kneeling like that, so she straddles his thigh and leans forward to ease the shirt off his shoulder, nibbling a little at the smooth skin there.
Mark smiles a little, pressing his thigh against her, and he reaches up to slip one strap of her lace bra down over her shoulder. "That's good, pet," he murmurs, brushing her hair back again.
"Mmmmmmmmm," his hand in her hair, his thigh between her legs, even feeling the heat rising from his body turns her on. Miranda stops after a bit of nuzzling his lovely muscles, and reaches down to unbutton his shirt-cuff, then laughs a little when she discovers the cufflink. It takes two hands to undo those, and she's intensely aware of her body curving over his, yearning for his hands on her.
But Mark doesn't want to rush this -- he's enjoying it too much, this lovely woman in nothing but a few scraps of silk and lace carefully unfastening his cufflinks. He leans up when she's done so that she can slip his shirt off his shoulders, and he steals a quick kiss and tosses the shirt aside before settling himself against the pillows again.
Oh the kiss is good, and Miranda follows it down, leans over him, not touching because this is all about teasing, as far as she can tell. But kissing, maybe she's allowed to do that, plant her hands above his shoulders and kiss him within an inch of his life, until she can't breathe and can't see, and her body feels like it's steaming.
Mark slips his arms around her, stroking the hot skin of her back as she kisses him and sucking her tongue into his mouth, biting gently. When she breaks the kiss at last he smiles. "Greedy girl," he murmurs. "Don't stop now, or we'll be at appetizers all night."
Bloody lovely Miranda gasps for breath, pushing into his hands. His prompt reminds her that he's not naked yet, so she twists around to reach his trousers, unbuckling and unzipping and pushing them down with the accompaniment of little kisses.
Mark shifts a little so she can get them off, his cock already hard and eager. "You look so good like that," he says, watching her between his thighs, "almost naked, and your hair falling around your shoulders. C'mon, pet -- I want to see those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock."
This is so different from the first night. Miranda doesn't mind this time; she feels like a courtesan or a harem girl. She's pretty confident that Mark will let her come, and make her like it. His cock is largish but not too scary, so she slides down the bed and starts licking the tender parts of his thighs, alert to his reactions and noises, hoping she's doing well.
Following Mark's murmured directions, his large hands in her hair, Miranda works her way fairly quickly towards his cock. Every time she comes close to balking, he soothes her and makes it easy. It's not natural for her, and it's nothing she's done before -- obeying orders like this -- but his voice and hands are compelling. She closes her eyes and takes his cock in, licking the little slit at the end and wrapping her lips around the head.
"Oh, that's good, Miranda," Mark says in a little groaning purr. He wants to bury his hands in her hair and thrust into her, wants to take that hot mouth, but he doesn't. Instead his hands stay gentle, encouraging her to take him deeper. "Love the way your mouth feels," he murmurs, "love the way you respond, and do what I ask. It's so gorgeous when you give me that, when you give yourself to me that way."
Miranda moans as best she can and pushes her mouth a bit deeper down onto his cock, lapping at the underside as she goes. She wants to give him everything, even though it's terrifying on many levels. Mark is holding her and touching her and that makes all the difference: she can do it only because he tells her to. She's a slut for him and that's the end of the story.
"A little faster, babe," Mark purrs, stroking her hair. "A little harder. Your mouth is so hot, such a tease -- I want more of it."
Obeying, she moves up and down, sucking and licking as though she knows what she's doing. Pleasing Mark, she's pleasing him and just the thought makes her moan again, rub her body against his legs, ignore her fear of gagging and suck him even more.
Mark's not trying to hold back the little sounds she's drawing from him, wanting to encourage her more than keep her off balance, but he does wonder whether she's done this very often. She's good, and the way she's writhing against him makes his cock twitch in her mouth, drawing another gasp from him, but there's a hesitance there as well. The idea that this isn't something she's given many men -- this thing that Mark's taken so for granted, both the giving and receiving -- he thinks may be the hottest thing this side of if she were a virgin, and he's groaning softly now, pushing up into her mouth and imagining himself her first.
It is something she's giving him, Miranda suddenly realizes. A gift of herself, and that thought lets her welcome his pressure and even take him in further. He's fucking her mouth and she wants it, she realizes with a little thrill of surprise. She tries to breathe and suck and get ready for him to come in her mouth, moaning at the thought.
"God, your mouth's so good. I wish I could fuck you while you do this," Mark purrs, tangling his fingers in her hair and holding her as he thrusts into her mouth, working hard to stay gentle, to not just take her. "You don't watch out, you'll make me come -- you want me to fuck you tonight?" he asks with a breathless grin. "Up to you, gorgeous."
His question makes Miranda rear back and whimper, before she bends down to suck the just the head of his cock in again. If he's going to give her the choice, then, she'd rather not, this time. Next time he might make me swallow it -- and that drags a groan out as well. "Please," she looks up at him, breathless, "fuck me?"
Mark grins. "Oh, yes, pet, I'll fuck you," he says, and nods to the little heap his trousers make. "Condoms in the pocket," he says. "Get one out and put it on me."
Miranda's body feels all awkward and gangly as she rushes to get the condom. She blushes all over, knowing he's watching her, knowing he's controlling her and that all she wants to do is please him. She opens the package and rolls the slick plastic latex onto his cock, giving it a little kiss as she finishes. Then she kneels between his legs and waits for him to tell her what to do next.
"Good girl," Mark says, hands smoothing up her thighs. "Now, get those panties off and get up here. I want to watch you fucking yourself on me so hard it hurts."
'Hard' sounds good, that's what Miranda wants too. 'Hurts' is confusing, because it seems so unlikely, but she decides he'll tell her if she does it wrong. So she wiggles out of her pants, plants her knees outside his hips, and slides her pussy up his cock until she's kneeling up high. She has to adjust a bit, make sure his cockhead is in the right place, then hold the shaft while she pushes herself down onto him as fast as she can, fucking herself on his cock.
"Aww, hell yes," Mark growls, the heat and clench of her wrapping around him and his hands are tight on her hips now as he rocks up into her. "Fuck yes," he says, "c'mon babe -- do it for me, show me how hot you are for it."
Miranda can't stop looking at him, at them together, bodies grappling like animals. She pushes herself up and down, leans forward on her arms to get a better angle, feels his hips come up to meet hers. "Oh fuck, oh god, Mark!" His name comes out of her in a yell as she twists and pushes and tries to get just the right pressure on her clit.
"C'mere, come on, that's it," and Mark wraps his fist in her hair and drags her down for a hungry kiss, driving up into her as she slams down on his aching cock. "Such a slut for it," he growls into her mouth, "so fucking hot like this, so fucking perfect, sweet little slut, so tight, so good," a littany of strange endearments purred and growled against her skin, scrape of teeth and his other hand sliding around to cup the swell of her lace-covered breast, pinching her nipple hard.
It's blowing Miranda's mind: his hands on her make her body flare and his kiss is messy and perfect. She is a slut for this, for him, though it's scary to hear him say it out loud. She's got no more words, just moans and cries as the intensity of it brings her to the edge.
"Do it for me, Miranda," Mark says raggedly. "Come for me, come for me, I want to feel you twitching around my cock," one hand still on her breast and his other in her hair, tugging her head back as he lunges forward to bite at her throat.
Being pulled and pushed and ordered overwhelms Miranda, overcomes her sense of self and brain -- everything but her body. She's coming: grunting and crying on top of him, rocking convulsively, anchored only by his hands and cock.
It's so good, the way she's bucking and writhing, and he gasps, pulling her to him and driving in hard. Only a few brutal thrusts and then he's spilling himself into the tight heat of her body.
Mark is so strong under her, his face is so intense when he comes in her that it makes her pulse again, wanting to plaster herself against him.
"That's it," Mark purrs, "c'mere, pet," and he wraps his arms around her and draws her down to his chest, stroking her hair. "Beautiful," he murmurs, her heart beating fast against his.
"Oh, god," Miranda is a complete wreck, collapsing on Mark. She feels like a wave has crashed over her, rolling her and taking away all sense of up and down. All she can think of is Mark, she's bloody obsessed with him. She's never fallen for a bloke like this before; now she's desperate to be with him and always eager to please him. It's just too much.
Pairing: Mark Lutz / Miranda Otto
Authors: zillah975 and msilverstar
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Series: (Hong Kong -verse, really AU) Miranda's a travel writer, Mark's a photographer, they meet in Hong Kong, and get along from the start.
Feedback: Please! And constructive criticism of all kinds. Anyone who knows Hong Kong and wants to correct us, we'd love that.
Archive: Generally OK, but notification required - send email to archive at msilverstar dot com.
Notes: We wanted to collaborate on writing kinky sex. So we decided to start with two characters from an RPG and send them off into an AU. We're enjoying it so far.
Mark had called on Wednesday morning after he'd gotten Mei Ying's invitation, asking Mir if she'd like to come to the gallery opening with him on Friday. He'd been pleased she'd said yes -- he'd thought it might be too short notice -- and it's turned out to be a good evening. Mir looks stunning, of course, and Mei Ying has largely behaved herself, keeping her flirting so subtle that Mark isn't sure Mir's even noticed.
The wine and canapes are excellent as well, and since Mark's hired a driver, he's not too worried about over-indulging. He rarely gets drunk unless it's just himself and Vin at home, but it's nice to be able to have a few glasses as he and Miranda work the room.
He has an ulterior motive here -- more than one, actually. He's already accomplished the first, in charming a young widow made rich by her husband's death into contributing a fairly sizable amount of money to a fund for AIDS orphans that Mark works with occasionally. His second is somewhat less philanthropic, and he watches Miranda thoughtfully as she laughs at something an elderly patron has said, wondering if she'd like to see the part of the gallery that's closed off to the guests.
Miranda's pleased that Mark is inviting her to meet his friends, and some of the art is stunning. One of the paintings juxtaposes traditional Chinese style with modern elements in a way that draws her back over and over -- she wishes she were rich and could buy it for herself. Ah, but where would she put it? She's always moving around. Maybe something for a book jacket illo? Miranda will talk to Mei Ying and find out if the artist has some time, because it's a tempting thought.
This must be her third glass of wine, and she decides to just relax and enjoy it. Around Mark, she doesn't feel like she has to stay wary, though he's clearly an inveterate flirt. But then, so are all his friends, and it's fun. Mr. Rosenshild is polite enough to talk to her face rather than her chest, and he has some contacts in the Inner Mongolian government, so Miranda can feel pleased that she's even doing some networking for the book. But it's a bloody good thing they're not trying to sit down, because she's still slightly tender from the other night.
Mei Ying sidles up next to Mark, slipping her arm around his waist. "So, tell me about your new girl," she murmurs with a smile, and Mark laughs.
"She's not my new girl," he says, giving her a nudge and gently extricating himself from the small embrace. "She's a girl, and she's new, but she's not mine, not like you mean."
Mei Ying puts on her best pout and lets him go. "She's lovely, though," she says, "and I know you, sweet boy. I know you've no interest if she's not a little twisted." She smirks, glancing across the room at Miranda. "Or if you don't think you can twist her a bit."
Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head, but he doesn't deny it.
It's like a little dance, Mark comes back to Miranda, courteously making sure she has enough to eat, then away again, then back again, chatting and introducing her to new people. He's a charmer, that one, and seems to appreciate the couture dress that she found in the jumble sale, which makes her want to strut and pose like a model.
The party is still in high gear when Mark notices Miranda by herself for a moment, admiring one of the paintings. He comes up beside her and slides his arm around her waist, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek.
"How you doing?" he asks. "Still having fun?"
"Sure," Miranda echos his movement, slinging her arm around Mark's back and snuggling into his side. "I was a bit worried that it would be 'conceptual art' or something too obscure for me, but this is great stuff."
"Not a big fan of conceptual art?" Mark asks with a grin.
"I had a flatmate who took an art class, and we tried, quite hard, to understand that stuff, and I never really did. D'you like it, yourself?"
"Some of it I do," Mark says. "It depends on my mood, and on the mood the artist was in at the time, I guess. I like things that make me think."
Miranda likes that about him, "I try to be open-minded, but with all the travel, I tend to like native art more than the modern kind."
Mark nods. "I can understand that. I've got a thing for Maori art, myself -- and pretty much any aboriginal art, really." He nods towards another piece, on the far side of the room -- a sculpture in dark wood and silver -- and steers her towards it. "This piece puts me in mind of a lot of the Maori work I've seen, with the spirals and these stylized faces," he says as they approach. "There's more by this same guy in another wing, but Mei's got that one closed off to the public for another week or so."
It is nice, intriguing shapes and, and she'd like to see more. "I'll have to come back and see them, I like that very much." It's only afterwards that she realizes she might have been ungracious by assuming he wouldn't want to come, but she's in the habit of giving blokes a lot of room. So many of them seem to run screaming if a woman assumes a single thing about the future.
"I can show you now, if you want," Mark says. "Mei Ying gave me keys to the whole place ages ago, and they'll never even know we've slipped out." He nods down a short hallway. "It's just back there."
"Sure, I like adventures," Miranda smiles and moves the way Mark directs, wondering what he's up to.
Mark follows Miranda, one hand on the small of her back as he gets his keys out, and he glances once over his shoulder to be sure no one's taking note. "Here then," he says, fitting the key to the lock and opening the door with a soft snick. He ushers her through into darkness, closing the door behind them before he flicks a switch and low, soft lights come up to reveal a vast expanse of polished wood floors dotted with sculpture, some on pedestals, some taller than Mark, all with a sinuous grace that manages to be primal and elegant at once.
"There you go," he says. "She's still working out quite how she wants the displays, but they're all here."
Miranda leans forward eagerly, looking around at the pieces but not wanting to let go of Mark. "They're glorious," she says, and turns to to the closest one, wishing she could run her hands over it.
"Well, let's get a closer look at them then," Mark says, amused at Miranda's reticent eagerness. Hands on her waist, he walks her over to the near one, leaning down to murmur against her neck, "This is one of his older pieces. He says it represents a spiritual reawakening that led him further into his art, and into communion with the divine."
"I'm not sure about all that," Miranda always bristles a bit at people taking themselves so seriously, "but it's a lovely piece." She snuggles into Mark, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers.
He slides his arms around her, kissing her hair. "Yeah, it was really amazing hearing him talk about it," he says. "He's this tiny, wizened little guy, you could just put him in your pocket, but he's got so much energy, and still seems so centered. This one," he goes on, nodding to the next piece, which is larger, a series of lush curves and smooth angles, "he says he did after he met his wife. He just got married about a year ago, for the first time, and he's got to be, like, nearly eighty."
It's a fabulous story and Miranda says so, turning towards Mark. It's also a very sexy sculpture, reminding her that they've barely touched tonight and it's been a couple of days since they were in bed together. She pulls him down for a kiss, wanting to taste him again.
That's my girl, Mark thinks as he returns the kiss, deepens it, one hand curving into the small of her back as he slides his other up, fingers scraping the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair to tug her head back gently.
Miranda loves his hands on her, the size and warmth of them; she wants them on her all the time. Her head follows his direction, and she finds herself arching into him, pliant and soft. Is it always going to be like this? She finds herself not minding the idea a bit.
"Sweet pet," Mark murmurs, trailing kisses over her jaw and throat, and he slides his hands down to cup her ass, bunching the thin material of her dress in his fingers as he pulls her close.
"Mark," Miranda turns a little away from the kiss, slides out from under his hands. She likes the way he touches her, but this space is full of almost sacred sculptures. "No hurry, right?"
Mark shakes his head, disappointed and vaguely annoyed. "No, no hurry," he says, stroking her hair back from her face and nodding towards the room. "Take your time. It'll be ages before anyone notices we're missing, and Mei won't care even if she does figure out where we are."
A part of Miranda is distressed at denying him anything, but she's never been one for sex in strange places or risking exposure. She stays close, trying to make him happy, "Thanks, erm, I'm, I guess you could say, a bit shy."
"You've nothing to be shy about," Mark says with a smile. "You're gorgeous, for one thing, and it's not as though I've not seen you, touched you," and he dips his head, ghosts a kiss over her cheek. "There's no one here but us, pet. Nothing to be shy about."
Miranda knows she's blushing hard, but she can't help it. "The sculptures are too... serious, solemn, I don't know, something like that."
"Serious?" Mark says, amused, looking around the room. They've never struck him as serious, the curves and angles reaching upward, embracing. They've always seemed like sex to him, but then, everything seems like sex to him, he thinks, and laughs. "Come on, pet," he says with a grin. "C'mere. Kiss me."
Kissing is good, kissing Mark is very very good. Miranda does the best she can because oh, what a lovely mouth. She can feel her heart beating fast and and her nerves are shooting pleasure all through her. She wants so much: she wants to melt into his arms and let him ravish her right here and now. She ventures a suggestion, "Would Mei Ying mind if we scarpered off?" Just the thought of Mark's elevator and Mark's flat and Mark's big bed makes her blush again.
"No," Mark says quietly, teasing his fingers under the strap of her dress as he slides his arm around her waist. "But I'm not quite ready to leave yet."
"Mmmm?" Her happy hum turns into a question, and she shivers as his hand touches her shoulder. "What do you need to do first?"
"'Need' is putting it strongly," he says, easing the strap down and still holding her close. "Instead," he murmurs, watching her eyes, "ask me what I want."
Oh, god, Miranda's knees go a little wobbly, "What, what do you want?"
Mark smiles. "You," he says. "Here. Shy, and reluctant, and doing it anyway."
It takes a moment before his words sink in. Here. Now. Why does he have to push her so fast? She has to breathe consciously, resisting the fight or flight instinct. "Please?" she's hoping he'll tell her it was just a joke.
He cocks his head to the side. "Please what, pet?" he asks.
"Your flat? Mine, if it's closer? Just not... here. Please?" She does want him, and the things he does to her, but it's so exposed right here. She shivers again, the sculptures seem to be looking at them.
Mark gives a little sigh. "It's too bad," he says. "I really like this space. Like the idea of having you here, and no one but you and me knowing." And Vin, of course, since Mark does very little that Vin doesn't know about, but he doesn't see any need to mention that just now.
He glances at his watch. "But okay, you know. If you don't want to. You'll make it up to me when we get to your place?"
She will, she'll make him feel so good. She gives him a full-body kiss, surging up against him and practically climbing into his arms. "Oh yes," though she's not sure what she's getting into. In some ways, knowing that she's already consented makes it easier to think about what he might do to her. He probably won't stop with tying her up or spanking her, but she's no real idea of what he will want. And she doesn't mind, looks forward to it even, whatever it is, resolves to cooperate with him instead of fighting.
"Good girl," Mark says, smiling against her mouth patting her ass affectionately. "Come on, then -- we'll make our goodbyes and get out of here."
The little knot of tension in Miranda's throat melts and she realizes, again, how much she wants to please him. Then she jumps a bit, as her arse is still quite tender. "Let's hurry," she says, in her best throaty chanteuse voice. But she doesn't rush him as they stroll out, chatting politely to his friends. The pause gives her a chance to calm down a bit. Around Mark, she's always off-balance and breathing too fast.
Mark's driver knows the way back to the flat she's staying in, and she's fairly sure that there's no terribly embarrassing clutter, so she just holds his hand and tries not to squirm too much on the car's seat.
*~*~*
The building is drab and the flat small, but cozy, and Miranda pulls Mark in and kisses him hard as the door closes behind them. Mark lets her take the kiss, his arms around her waist, but after a moment he pulls back and touches her lips with his fingers. "Where's your bedroom?" he asks.
Miranda drops a kiss on his fingertips and then turns to lead him back. "Through here, it's a little small and, erm, frilly," Miranda is house-sitting for a friend who's taste is a bit girlier than her own.
"That's all right," Mark says with a grin. "I'm not looking at the decor."
He lets go of her hand as they enter the room, and he gives her a quick kiss and turns to drop back onto the bed, pushing up the pillows against the headboard and leaning back, long legs draped over the side so as not to muddy the sheets. "Comfy," he says, and then, "Take my shoes off for me, gorgeous."
That's easy, she crouches down to unlace them and pull them off, then looks up inquiringly.
"Good girl," Mark says, stretching out full-length on the bed. "Now, out of the dress, please," curious to see whether she's wearing anything under it.
It isn't until she's reaching around to unzip her dress that Miranda realizes he's ordering and she's obeying. She's shocked, more at how easy and right it feels than anything else. Blushing, she wishes her hair were down so she could hide behind it, and decides to take it down as part of the show. Because if she's going to strip for him, she'll make it good.
Mark enjoys the blush, enjoys more the fact that she's not fighting him. "So lovely," he murmurs, watching her eyes as she strips for him. "God, so perfect."
Miranda likes the way he's looking at her, his smile and his words. "For you," she answers, as she undoes the last clip and lets her hair down across her shoulders, "I want to be sexy for you."
"You are," Mark says, smiling. "You don't have to undress to be sexy for me -- that's just a bonus. It's in how you look at me, and the way you move." His smile broadens and he makes a little gesture with his hand. "That thing you do," he says, "when you've got a stray hair that's tickling your neck? God, do you know how sexy that is?"
It's awfully nice of him to say that, whatever he means by it. She pulls down one strap of her dress and flirts with him over her shoulder as she slowly draws it down her arm. He makes everything sexualized, makes her wish she had a soundtrack, makes her hot and proud at the same time.
Mark watches the slow striptease appreciatively, and when the dress finally slips to the floor, he licks his lips, then tsks faintly. "Gorgeous, pet," he murmurs. "Stop there, and come over here."
A little self-conscious in her undies, Miranda hurries the two steps to the bed, deciding that jumping on him is probably not on.
He'd like to cut them off her, but it's early days for that, he thinks. Instead he begins rolling the waistband of her pantyhose down, kissing her stomach as he does. He continues until they're at mid-thigh, then leans in to nip at the bit of lace covering her pussy and says, "Take the hose off for me, pet. Then climb up here between my legs."
Pulling her pantyhose off as seductively as she can, Miranda looks up through her hair and clambers onto the bed, kneeling between his legs and placing her hands outside his hips. "Here I am," she says and wonders what will happen next.
"Here you are indeed," Mark says with a little chuckle, and he leans forward to steal a kiss, running his hand through her hair. "And a tasty treat you are, too," he adds as he settles back again. "But I'm feeling selfish tonight, pet," he goes on thoughtfully. "I want you do all the work, if you're all right with that. You can start by undressing me."
She said she'd do what he wanted, and it's kind of fun to be setting the pace. Miranda takes her time, slipping off Mark's jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, kissing her way down his chest.
And Mark's content to let Miranda take her time. One of the nice things about being in control, he thinks, is getting to let someone else look after you from time to time. He wouldn't give up taking care of Vin for anything in the world, except Vin himself, but this is so good, Miranda's lips warm on his skin, her hair falling forward to brush over his chest.
Miranda nuzzles and licks and kisses her way across Mark's chest, loving the taste of him. She pauses at his nipples, first one, then the other, trying to tease them without tickling. She's not stable, kneeling like that, so she straddles his thigh and leans forward to ease the shirt off his shoulder, nibbling a little at the smooth skin there.
Mark smiles a little, pressing his thigh against her, and he reaches up to slip one strap of her lace bra down over her shoulder. "That's good, pet," he murmurs, brushing her hair back again.
"Mmmmmmmmm," his hand in her hair, his thigh between her legs, even feeling the heat rising from his body turns her on. Miranda stops after a bit of nuzzling his lovely muscles, and reaches down to unbutton his shirt-cuff, then laughs a little when she discovers the cufflink. It takes two hands to undo those, and she's intensely aware of her body curving over his, yearning for his hands on her.
But Mark doesn't want to rush this -- he's enjoying it too much, this lovely woman in nothing but a few scraps of silk and lace carefully unfastening his cufflinks. He leans up when she's done so that she can slip his shirt off his shoulders, and he steals a quick kiss and tosses the shirt aside before settling himself against the pillows again.
Oh the kiss is good, and Miranda follows it down, leans over him, not touching because this is all about teasing, as far as she can tell. But kissing, maybe she's allowed to do that, plant her hands above his shoulders and kiss him within an inch of his life, until she can't breathe and can't see, and her body feels like it's steaming.
Mark slips his arms around her, stroking the hot skin of her back as she kisses him and sucking her tongue into his mouth, biting gently. When she breaks the kiss at last he smiles. "Greedy girl," he murmurs. "Don't stop now, or we'll be at appetizers all night."
Bloody lovely Miranda gasps for breath, pushing into his hands. His prompt reminds her that he's not naked yet, so she twists around to reach his trousers, unbuckling and unzipping and pushing them down with the accompaniment of little kisses.
Mark shifts a little so she can get them off, his cock already hard and eager. "You look so good like that," he says, watching her between his thighs, "almost naked, and your hair falling around your shoulders. C'mon, pet -- I want to see those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock."
This is so different from the first night. Miranda doesn't mind this time; she feels like a courtesan or a harem girl. She's pretty confident that Mark will let her come, and make her like it. His cock is largish but not too scary, so she slides down the bed and starts licking the tender parts of his thighs, alert to his reactions and noises, hoping she's doing well.
Following Mark's murmured directions, his large hands in her hair, Miranda works her way fairly quickly towards his cock. Every time she comes close to balking, he soothes her and makes it easy. It's not natural for her, and it's nothing she's done before -- obeying orders like this -- but his voice and hands are compelling. She closes her eyes and takes his cock in, licking the little slit at the end and wrapping her lips around the head.
"Oh, that's good, Miranda," Mark says in a little groaning purr. He wants to bury his hands in her hair and thrust into her, wants to take that hot mouth, but he doesn't. Instead his hands stay gentle, encouraging her to take him deeper. "Love the way your mouth feels," he murmurs, "love the way you respond, and do what I ask. It's so gorgeous when you give me that, when you give yourself to me that way."
Miranda moans as best she can and pushes her mouth a bit deeper down onto his cock, lapping at the underside as she goes. She wants to give him everything, even though it's terrifying on many levels. Mark is holding her and touching her and that makes all the difference: she can do it only because he tells her to. She's a slut for him and that's the end of the story.
"A little faster, babe," Mark purrs, stroking her hair. "A little harder. Your mouth is so hot, such a tease -- I want more of it."
Obeying, she moves up and down, sucking and licking as though she knows what she's doing. Pleasing Mark, she's pleasing him and just the thought makes her moan again, rub her body against his legs, ignore her fear of gagging and suck him even more.
Mark's not trying to hold back the little sounds she's drawing from him, wanting to encourage her more than keep her off balance, but he does wonder whether she's done this very often. She's good, and the way she's writhing against him makes his cock twitch in her mouth, drawing another gasp from him, but there's a hesitance there as well. The idea that this isn't something she's given many men -- this thing that Mark's taken so for granted, both the giving and receiving -- he thinks may be the hottest thing this side of if she were a virgin, and he's groaning softly now, pushing up into her mouth and imagining himself her first.
It is something she's giving him, Miranda suddenly realizes. A gift of herself, and that thought lets her welcome his pressure and even take him in further. He's fucking her mouth and she wants it, she realizes with a little thrill of surprise. She tries to breathe and suck and get ready for him to come in her mouth, moaning at the thought.
"God, your mouth's so good. I wish I could fuck you while you do this," Mark purrs, tangling his fingers in her hair and holding her as he thrusts into her mouth, working hard to stay gentle, to not just take her. "You don't watch out, you'll make me come -- you want me to fuck you tonight?" he asks with a breathless grin. "Up to you, gorgeous."
His question makes Miranda rear back and whimper, before she bends down to suck the just the head of his cock in again. If he's going to give her the choice, then, she'd rather not, this time. Next time he might make me swallow it -- and that drags a groan out as well. "Please," she looks up at him, breathless, "fuck me?"
Mark grins. "Oh, yes, pet, I'll fuck you," he says, and nods to the little heap his trousers make. "Condoms in the pocket," he says. "Get one out and put it on me."
Miranda's body feels all awkward and gangly as she rushes to get the condom. She blushes all over, knowing he's watching her, knowing he's controlling her and that all she wants to do is please him. She opens the package and rolls the slick plastic latex onto his cock, giving it a little kiss as she finishes. Then she kneels between his legs and waits for him to tell her what to do next.
"Good girl," Mark says, hands smoothing up her thighs. "Now, get those panties off and get up here. I want to watch you fucking yourself on me so hard it hurts."
'Hard' sounds good, that's what Miranda wants too. 'Hurts' is confusing, because it seems so unlikely, but she decides he'll tell her if she does it wrong. So she wiggles out of her pants, plants her knees outside his hips, and slides her pussy up his cock until she's kneeling up high. She has to adjust a bit, make sure his cockhead is in the right place, then hold the shaft while she pushes herself down onto him as fast as she can, fucking herself on his cock.
"Aww, hell yes," Mark growls, the heat and clench of her wrapping around him and his hands are tight on her hips now as he rocks up into her. "Fuck yes," he says, "c'mon babe -- do it for me, show me how hot you are for it."
Miranda can't stop looking at him, at them together, bodies grappling like animals. She pushes herself up and down, leans forward on her arms to get a better angle, feels his hips come up to meet hers. "Oh fuck, oh god, Mark!" His name comes out of her in a yell as she twists and pushes and tries to get just the right pressure on her clit.
"C'mere, come on, that's it," and Mark wraps his fist in her hair and drags her down for a hungry kiss, driving up into her as she slams down on his aching cock. "Such a slut for it," he growls into her mouth, "so fucking hot like this, so fucking perfect, sweet little slut, so tight, so good," a littany of strange endearments purred and growled against her skin, scrape of teeth and his other hand sliding around to cup the swell of her lace-covered breast, pinching her nipple hard.
It's blowing Miranda's mind: his hands on her make her body flare and his kiss is messy and perfect. She is a slut for this, for him, though it's scary to hear him say it out loud. She's got no more words, just moans and cries as the intensity of it brings her to the edge.
"Do it for me, Miranda," Mark says raggedly. "Come for me, come for me, I want to feel you twitching around my cock," one hand still on her breast and his other in her hair, tugging her head back as he lunges forward to bite at her throat.
Being pulled and pushed and ordered overwhelms Miranda, overcomes her sense of self and brain -- everything but her body. She's coming: grunting and crying on top of him, rocking convulsively, anchored only by his hands and cock.
It's so good, the way she's bucking and writhing, and he gasps, pulling her to him and driving in hard. Only a few brutal thrusts and then he's spilling himself into the tight heat of her body.
Mark is so strong under her, his face is so intense when he comes in her that it makes her pulse again, wanting to plaster herself against him.
"That's it," Mark purrs, "c'mere, pet," and he wraps his arms around her and draws her down to his chest, stroking her hair. "Beautiful," he murmurs, her heart beating fast against his.
"Oh, god," Miranda is a complete wreck, collapsing on Mark. She feels like a wave has crashed over her, rolling her and taking away all sense of up and down. All she can think of is Mark, she's bloody obsessed with him. She's never fallen for a bloke like this before; now she's desperate to be with him and always eager to please him. It's just too much.