HKVerse 1, Mark Lutz/Miranda Otto; "First Night" (R)
Fandom: Actorslash, Alternate Universe "Hong Kong-verse"
Title: First Night
Pairing: Miranda Otto / Mark Lutz
Authors: msilverstar and zillah975
Rating: R (explicit sex, language)
Summary: Really AU: Miranda's a travel writer, Mark's a photographer, they meet in Hong Kong, and get along from the start.
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Warnings: none yet
Feedback: Please! And constructive criticism of all kinds. Anyone who knows Hong Kong and wants to correct us, we'd love that.
Archive: 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.
Series parts: 1, 1.5, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.
He sees her when she comes in, her hair shimmering like a live thing in the glow of the lights, and he can hear her heart beating in the low thump of the bass. She looks like one crystal clear thought in a sea of confusion as she makes her way across the crowded room.
When she gets close, he can see the sprinkle of freckles across her face, and he smiles.
Miranda's ready to rock. She loves the energy of Hong Kong, the frenetic pace and the sounds bouncing off the buildings. Mongolia was a great trek, three good articles and a third or so of her next book, but after a while, she was screaming with boredom. Hong Kong is about as different as you can get. She's still taller than most, but not a giant. And there are western men around, like the one smiling at her now. He looks nice, and her snap judgments are good, she's realistic and rarely conned these days.
She smiles back, bopping a little to the music and letting it carry her.
Her smile is all the encouragement he needs, and he threads his way through the few people between them and makes a space for himself beside her. "My name's Mark," he says.
"Miranda," she answers, flirting with her eyes. She likes the look of him up even more, up close. The music thrums through her, and the throb of the bass is alluring. "Care to dance?" If he's the kind of bloke who only likes the thrill of the chase, that'll be rid of him right away.
"That was my next question," Mark answers, his smile broadening. "I would love to dance with you." He takes her hand, and his eyes don't leave her face as they make their way onto the dance floor. It's crowded, and he's glad of it -- it lets him stay near her without seeming pushy. He hates the ones who think that if a woman says she'll dance with him, it's license to grope her on the dance floor, but the warmth and sway of Miranda's body draws him in, and he's glad to have an excuse to be close to her. He rests his hands lightly on her waist as they begin to dance, and hopes she doesn't move away.
It's warm here, but his hands are electric-hot and Miranda thrills to them. She keeps things light, and appreciate that he's doing the same -- nothing worse than a bloke drooling all over her. Then she leans back a little and lets his (big, hot, exciting) hands keep her up. It usually takes longer for her to get interested, but this Mark has something about him, a confidence that's not arrogance, that makes her shiver deliciously.
Leaning into the little dip, Mark tips Miranda back further with a grin, arms around her waist until her long hair hair brushes the floor and she almost has to cling to him, barely resisting the urge to taste the smooth, pale column of her throat. "Beautiful," he says, laughing, as he draws them upright again and gives her a little spin.
Miranda is startled by the deep dip, and by how much she likes it. She tilts back into it, wishing he'd lean over and kiss her, hard. Even when she's upright, the rest of the club is like a distant fuzz: she can't focus anywhere but him. It's terrifying but sexy to feel this intense with a bloke she doesn't know. When the song ends, she says, "Thirsty," and they head to the bar. She needs something ice-cold to bring her back to earth, a Fosters sounds good.
"What are you drinking?" Mark asks as they reach the bar, and he waves the bartender over, orders Miranda's Fosters and a mineral water for himself.
"You're a wonderful dancer," he says as they wait for their drinks. "Really graceful. What do you do? It must be something physical, you move so beautifully."
"I never thought of it that way, I'm a travel writer. I guess it's the least sedentary kind of writer there is." Miranda's laughing as she answers Mark. "But there were years of ballet lessons and other dance, back when I wanted to be an actress."
Oh god, that beer is fabulous. It's half down before Miranda can stop. Mark's drinking mineral water, he could be a health nut or a reformed alkie. "And you? Where are you from and what do you do?" It's the usual ritual of getting-to-know-you, but she does want to know him, very much.
"I'm a trust-fund baby," Mark says with a grin. "My passport says I'm Canadian. Mostly I travel without writing about it, but sometimes I work for whatever charity caught my eye this month, or if I'm home and it's an election year, I'll get involved in that." He takes a long swallow of his water, half-wishing it were bourbon, but he doesn't want to dull his senses with this gorgeous creature nearby. "I'm pretty good at getting people to give money to other people," he adds with a grin. "But the work they pay me for, when they pay me, is photography. I've got a few galleries here and there that like what I do."
Miranda smiles at that, "The dream life, you lucky bastard" she toasts him, hoping he knows she doesn't resent him. "I'd like to see your pictures." She groans internally at that, it's like etchings, for goodness sakes. "What do you think of Hong Kong?"
"Oh, I love this city," Mark says. "It's one of my favorite places -- so alive, and you can find almost anything here if you know where to look." Thank god Vincent's out of town, he thinks to himself, the image of his lover flashing through his mind, all muscle and sleek feline grace. Wonder whether I should mention him sooner or later....
"And you know," he goes on, almost conspiratorially, "I've just done some new prints, no one's seen them yet. If you wanted to have a look, you'd be the first person to lay eyes on them besides me."
Mouth dry, Miranda takes a hasty swig of Fosters. She wants to so much, and he's got none of the signs of a nutcase. One dance and you're gagging for it, she scolds herself. Forcing a light laugh and a little banter, "Oh I love it here too, especially after Mongolia. There's only so much desert and sheep a girl can stand." Another swallow finishes the drink. No more alcohol for a while. "Let's dance some more?"
"Mongolia?" Mark says with a grin, taking Miranda's hand and leading her towards the dance floor. "Now that's a gorgeous landscape, at least for a little while. Did you cross into China at all while you were there?" He's a little disappointed that she didn't leap at the chance to leave, now, with him, but she also didn't look at him like she suspected him of being a serial killer, and that's promising. Cautious, but not afraid. He likes that. He thinks he likes that better than if she'd incautiously leapt at the chance to leave.
"Oh yes, part of the book will be about the two Mongolias, the independent state and the Chinese area." It's odd to be talking geopolitics when she'd rather be kissing, but also nice. The music isn't as nice this time, which is a shame, but it's easier to keep her wits, too. She's content to to watch him: he's got a good rhythm and he looks at home in his body.
When the DJ changes and the horrid pop music comes on, she excuses herself. In the loo, she tries to talk herself out of going home with him, but her body is stronger than her sense and she can't do it, so she finds her girlfriend and says goodbye.
Returning, she automatically goes through her checklist: enabling the GPS on her mobile, getting his last name, (and, unobtrusively, his picture), and sending everything to her best friend in Sydney. They've done this for each other before, and she's had to rescue Philippa once, from a drunken yachter who couldn't control his boat. The US Coast Guard had gone from skeptical to admiring, and she'd gotten a great article out of it. Better safe than sorry, she thinks.
Once on the street, it's quick work to hail one of the ubiquitous taxis, and Mark opens the door for Miranda, sketching a little bow and grinning as he slides in beside her. "Buckle up for safety," he quips before giving his address to the driver, and then he turns back to Miranda. "So a travel writer," he says. "I'll bet you've seen some really amazing places. Do you mostly write for the real-world traveller, like, someone who's actually going to go there, or more armchair kind of things?"
Laughing, Miranda says "For both, for anyone, for whoever will pay me!" Though she is memorizing his address. "I don't write hotel guides, so the books are more for a general audience. I try to write about what a place feels like at a certain time, and my readers -- all ten of them -- seem to enjoy that. Jan Morris is my goddess, of course."
Mark laughs. "Well, you've got at least eleven readers now," he says. "And Jan Morris... seems to me I've read something of hers, but if you admire her so much I'll be sure to."
They make a bit of small-talk on the short ride, Mark pointing out the Peninsula hotel and admitting that yes, he's stayed there, but it's pricey even for him, however gorgeous it is. Soon enough they're at Mark's building, and he escorts her through the lobby, which looks startlingly like a hotel lobby itself, and to the bank of elevators. "We've got a suite on the top floor," he says as the elevator doors open. "It's a gorgeous view of the harbour."
And if she asks who the "we" is, he'll tell her. But he sort of hopes she doesn't ask.
Miranda heard the "we" and wonders if she should ask, frets about it a moment. As they get into the elevator, she opens her mouth, but decides to do something better with it than talk.
Leaning forward, she puts her lips to his, and starts to kiss him. He kisses back, taking complete control and pulling her close to him with those big hands. Oh yes, she's trembling, trying to keep herself contained, running her hands down his arms and kneading his strong muscles there. The longer the kiss continues, the more he plunders her mouth, and all she can do is take it, moan and start to rub herself on his body. She's such a cheap slut and she doesn't care, just wants to touch and be touched.
When the elevator doors open, she starts to pull back but he keeps her close, walking her backwards, his mouth holding his hers and his hands roaming her body. She touches him too, stroking his arms, his back, what of his chest seems accessible, loving the hot skin under her hand.
It's electric, the way she feels in his arms, her body against him -- it makes him almost desperate to feel her squirming under him, feel those slender, strong legs wrapped around him. "Beautiful," he murmurs against her lips as he walks her down the hall, backs her up against the door to the suite, pinning her there as he unlocks it. Then he's got his arm around her waist, half carrying her into the darkened room and letting the door close behind them.
A lamp lights at the flick of a switch, pale golden glow across the room that shimmers through Miranda's hair, and he tugs her head back, claims another kiss.
She smells of spice and rainwater. He draws a soft breath and looks into her eyes, strokes his thumb over the sprinkle of freckles on her cheek. He wants to see her naked, on her knees, trembling. Wants to see her desperate and needy, wants to know what leather straps look like against that creamy skin, and how beautifully she'll beg for what she wants.
"Miranda," he murmurs. The taste of her is still on his lips, the surprise of her first kiss still tingling through his veins, and he wonders how far he can push her, and how fast.
His kisses and touches have left Miranda breathless, wobbly, hungry for more. She's glad he seems to know what he's doing because she's a bit out of control. It's exciting to be so uninhibited: he seems to encourage it, liberate her from her normal wariness. "Yes... " it's an answer to more than his words.
He slips one finger beneath the strap of her dress, slides it over the curve of her shoulder. His arm is tight around her waist, and he knows she can feel his arousal, the hard length of him pressing against her. He kisses her again, sucks her lower lip between gentle teeth as he wraps his other arm around her, glides his hand up her back and teases the other strap down as well, not far enough yet to bare more than her shoulders. A question. "Are you sure?" he asks softly, not enough space between them for her to move, but if she hesitates, he'll give her an inch, see how far away from him she lets it take her.
"Oh yes," it's easy to press further into him, to lean her head just a bit, so her neck and shoulder are bare to him, to open her mouth and taste his skin. "So good." He is breathing heavily too, and his body is taut under her questing hands as she slides under his shirt and finds the skin on his back.
Tangling his fingers in her hair, cool compared to the warmth of her skin, and fine as silk, he tugs her head back, arching her throat further and nuzzling close, little biting kisses against her racing pulse. He finds the zipper of her dress and lowers it halfway, traces the curve of her spine with his palm.
Miranda hisses as he pulls her back, she rarely lets a man control her like this. But this is so hot and good that she'll bend to follow his pull, and touch what of him she can reach. Her eyes are closed and sensations of his hands and mouth on her are exquisite. She moves her hip slowly against his, using her whole body to please and arouse him.
If it were Vin, he'd be smiling, murmuring whore, my gorgeous slut, the strange endearments they use with each other, but he's not so lost to good sense as to try that with a woman he's only just met. She feels amazing, writhing against him, and he claims her mouth with his own as he backs her towards the broad couch, eases her down onto it.
On her back, on the couch, half-undressed, Miranda looks up at Mark. She doesn't know quite where this is going, beyond sex, but there's something more here. And she wants it, needs it more than anything. "Please," she tries to think but her brain won't cooperate, "oh god, this is so bloody good."
"It gets better," Mark says with a grin, reaching down with one hand to tug her dress up over her knees. He parts her legs, sliding one finger along the nylon that sheathes the tender skin of her inner thigh, and he kneels between her legs, his eyes not leaving hers. Slowly, he moves the straps of her dress lower, the silky fabric clinging to her black bra, and he leans close and presses kisses to the swell of her breasts, his hands on her upper arms holding her still.
"Better... yeah." Miranda says, to have something to say. He's unwrapping her and it's incredibly arousing. She groans as he kisses her breasts, then he starts teasing her sensitive nipples, and she moans helplessly.
"Oh yeah," Mark purrs, tugging dress and bra both down now and trapping her arms, "much better." He sucks one tender nipple between his teeth now, sucking gently, biting at it as he cups her other breast in his hand, starts teasing that nub into a little peak. He pushes her skirt higher on her thighs, still alert for any sign that she's changing her mind, and gives her trapped nipple a cruel little twist, just to see how she reacts.
She's got just enough awareness to keep herself from grinding onto him, but she can't keep the desperate noises inside. God, she is putty in his mouth and his big, capable hands, on her nipples, oh god and her thighs. "Oh, oh, oh" she surges up into his touch, he's maddeningly good. Another time she might object to the pinch on her nipple, but now it's just another sensation, stronger and better than most. She can feel the moisture of her pussy soaking her underpants and gives herself over to him, "Oh fuck yes, please, oh, god, Mark."
"Beautiful," he whispers against her skin, pressing her legs apart and skimming his hands up her thighs, over her hips beneath the dress. He hates pantyhose, and with a quick, sharp bite to her nipple as if it were somehow responsible for them, he kisses her again, murmurs, "Raise up."
Miranda whimpers -- her nipples are sensitive -- but then kisses him back, and obediently lifts her hips, wanting her hose off as much as he does, or more.
"Good girl," Mark murmurs as he tugs the nylon down, getting it past her knees and around her ankles before he gives her a little tug forward, scooting her to the edge of the couch and pushing her knees apart. She looks gorgeously debauched, dress down around her waist and up around her hips, panties wet through with her arousal, and with a smile he begins nibbling a path up her thigh, little biting, sucking kisses towards her soaked pussy. He only wishes her hands were bound behind her, instead of only half trapped by her dress and the stretch of her bra.
She's all tangled in her clothes and still exposed to him. He doesn't seem to want a thing from her except her body, so she relaxes and enjoys the sensations as he's mouthing his way up her thigh.
The smell of her is intoxicating, and Mark nuzzles close, licking her through the soft fabric, closing his teeth on the tender flesh concealed there as he strokes her thighs. His cock is hard and aching, painfully tight in his jeans, begging to be inside her, and sliding one finger under the elastic, he teases into the folds of her pussy as he prowls up her body. Fingernails on the back of her neck he tips her head back, kisses her throat, the curve of her jaw. As he pushes two fingers into her pussy he murmurs, "I'm going to put you on your knees and fuck you, unless you tell me no right now."
"Oh god yes," Miranda blurts; someday she wants him going down on her for about an hour, but not now, now is for hard and fast. "Wanna fuck you now," she curls around to kiss him because she needs his mouth, his tongue, his lips. She tries to get untangled from the dress and hopes he has a condom handy.
Mark wastes no time in getting her bra unhooked and freeing her arms from the tangle of fabric, and he pulls her close, kissing her hard as he tugs her forward off the couch, arm tight around her waist. He strokes her hair back from her face, kissing her again, a quick, claiming kiss. "Hands and knees," he says, his voice ragged with desire, "now."
It's a little odd, why that way? but bloody hell, he's turned Miranda on so far she wouldn't object if he wanted her hanging upside-down from the ceiling. She turns and kneels, looking back over her shoulder to see what he's doing.
When she looks at him like that, questioning, lips parted slightly, hair disheveled, dress still half on and half off and her pantyhose around her ankles, Mark feels a rush of desire to have those lips stretched around his cock, and he laughs, shakes his head at himself. "Christ, you look gorgeous," he says, moving in front of her. He hasn't even unzipped his jeans yet, had gotten no further than digging a condom out of his pocket. "I want you to suck me first," he says softly. "Will you do that?
The fuck?, it's one thing if the bloke can't get it up, but Mark's got a stiffie the size of a surfboard in his jeans. Miranda's thinking hard as she kneels up, twists her hair to keep it under control, and she smiles at Mark, "I'll do you, if you do me." Sixty nine seems like a lot more fun than sucking him off.
"No," Mark says with a smile. "That's not how it works. You suck me, I fuck you so hard you have trouble walking tomorrow, and in the morning, if you're a good girl, I'll lick you 'til you've come a dozen times and you're begging me to stop."
Miranda can't believe her ears. She sits back on her heels, acutely conscious that she's practically naked, and he's not. And that his hands are a great deal more intuitive than his words. "What? You want me to suck you and fuck you, and I don't get to come until the morning? That's not how it works for me." She crosses her arms over her chest and waits to see what on earth is going on.
Mark almost laughs, shaking his head and dropping to his knees in front of her. "No, god no, that's not what I meant. It's not whether, it's how." His grin softens and he brushes her hair back from her face. "I want to feel you come while I'm buried inside you, pet," he murmurs. "Want to feel that, the way your body moves around mine when you go over. And when I'm going down on you, I don't want to be distracted by your gorgeous mouth on me. But Christ no, I may be a controlling son of a bitch, but I'm not that much of an asshole."
"Struth! The both of us really missed that one, didn't we?" She makes her face a comic grimace. "Lost the mood a bit," she mutters, reaching shyly, to touch him.
"Oh, we'll get it back soon enough," Mark says, his smile not fading as he slides his arms around her waist, draws her close. He nuzzles in, kissing her cheek, then her lips, gently at first, his tongue teasing inside, just barely, fingers threading through her hair.
Humming, Miranda kisses him back, letting him set the pace. This is more like it, more of those lovely hands. She pulls her pantyhose off her ankles, sighing with relief as the air touches her skin. "Time to get you naked," she murmurs after a bit, reaches for his shirt to unbutton him.
It wasn't what Mark had had in mind, but he's not interested in pissing her off again, and this is nice too, the soft warmth of her hands, silky skin. He shifts a little to give her better access, shrugs the shirt off his shoulders when it's undone.
While he's doing that. Miranda slithers out of the tangles of her dress and leans in to taste Mark's chest. His skin, warm and a little salty, helps ground her, piques her senses. "Do you like this?" she murmurs, trying to get back in the mood. "Do you like me?"
"Do I like you," Mark says, still smiling, and he wraps his arms around her. "Yeah, I like you," he murmurs. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't like you." He twines his fingers through her hair and pulls her into a kiss, twists them around and presses her down, onto her back on the soft carpet, skims his hand soft as a feather down her torso.
Oh, when he does that, when he pulls and pushes, she goes all silky. Pathetic really, to be so needy, in this modern day, when she should be his equal in giving pleasure. She strokes her hands across chest and runs down the lovely curve of his back, arching into the kiss and trying to give as good as she's getting. But the way he moves her down makes her mouth dry and a hot thrill run through her body. "Oh," she whispers, and then "oh?" at his teasing touch. As she lifts up to kiss him again and feels his fingers pinning her hair to the floor, she can't help but moan, it's incredibly hot to be held like this.
Smiling at the way she responds, Mark presses his advantage, dipping down to claim another kiss and swallowing the little sounds she makes. "Beautiful," he says with a smile, tightening his fist in her hair and trailing his fingers back up her body to cup her breast, his thumb teasing over her nipple.
The heat rushes back into her, and she just rides it like a wave, letting herself surge against his body. Oh god, it's good, every one of his touches sends a little shock through her and she loves it.
Teasing her nipple between his thumb and finger, he trails kisses down her throat, nipping at her collarbone, sucking gently, to take the other in his mouth, gentle teeth closing on the little nub as he twines her hair around his hand, holding her in place.
"Oh yeah," Miranda whimpers a little, loving the feel of his mouth and hand on her breasts. she can feel his cock hard against her beneath his clothes. The way he's leaning, she can reach with one hand and undo his belt, then start to loosen his fly. Naked would be better, she thinks. Skin. Arse. Cock. Definitely better.
His impulse is to stop her, take her hand and slam it back to the floor, or else straddle her and let her free his aching erection, slide it between her lips and fuck her mouth, see her eyes go wide, feel her throat working around him.
He doesn't do either. There'll be time enough for that another night, if he doesn't either scare her away or piss her off again tonight.
"You gonna undress me?" he asks with a smile, gives her nipple another little bite.
She closes her eyes and makes a little moan, "Not if you keep doing that, oh god." Then a breath and she tackles his flies again.
"Oh," he says with a grin and a nod. "I'll stop doing that, then," and he shifts a little to give her better access, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh and skimming over her pussy, just brushing the soft curls that hide her from him.
By sheer force of will, Miranda gets Mark's jeans unbuttoned and eased down over his hips before she grinds into his hand. "Oh, oh, god, please," is all she can say, she needs his hand more than anything right now, she'd do anything for it, his hand and his cock right there.
Wanton little slut, Mark thinks with a smile, but doesn't -- of course -- say it. He knows how it'd sound, and has had more than one conversation with disbelieving friends and family who don't quite understand how he can think of the word as an endearment, a positive thing. "I love a woman who knows what she wants," he purrs instead, and it amounts to the same thing.
He rolls over on top of her then, pushing her back down and teasing into the folds of her pussy, hot and slick with her arousal. "God, you feel good," he whispers against her ear, sliding one finger inside her, then a second and third as he presses the heel of his hand against her clit, his hard length trapped between their bodies.
"Want more, harder --- oh god, so good," Miranda's sinking onto his fingers, pushing against his hand, rubbing his cock with the inside of her hip. She is so fucking close she can taste it, clutching and cawing at his back as she spreads her legs for him.
God, Mark loves this part. He loves all the parts, really, but having a woman spread out beneath him, writhing into his touch like this, it's intoxicating, and he pushes deep into her, thrusting harshly as he teases her towards climax. "Come on, pet -- I wanna feel you come for me, just like this."
Miranda twists and turns on his hand, gets the heel of it at just the right angle against her clit and comes hard, sobbing a little as she feels the intensity roll through her, "Oh yes, fuck, yes, yes, yes.!" As soon as she comes down, she looks at him -- really looks -- seeing his pleasure in her orgasm, liking even his smug smirk. "Want you in me, " she whispers, "do you have a condom?"
Glancing around, Mark spots the little foil packet where he'd dropped it earlier, and grabs it. "How do you want it, pet?" he asks. "I wanted you on your knees 'cause it's easier for me to make you come that way -- can you come again for me, do you think?" and he nuzzles close, nipping at her lips. "I want to feel you twitching around me."
"I don't come, usually, but it feels so good I don't care." Miranda languidly runs her hands along his body and rubs against him, still hyper-aware but less desperate now. "Want you in me."
"I want it," Mark says, kissing her again. "Don't you know how amazing it feels?" he asks, his voice almost awed. "The way your body moves, holds tight, like -- like it wants, so much, is just eager." He kisses her throat, glides his hands over her as he kneels up and slicks the condom on. "Hands and knees for me, pet?" he asks.
His words and images mesmerize her and she turns for him without really meaning to, arching to show him the line of her back, looking back at him as he prepares.
He strokes his hand down the curve of her spine, his breath catching at the way the light plays across her skin. She looks so perfect like this, and he kneels behind her, presses the head of his cock to slick, hot folds of her pussy. Gripping her hips, he drives into her with one slow thrust, growling softly in the back of his throat at the way her body seems to cling him, drawing him deeper.
"Oh, yeah," it feels so good, so right to be here, rocking back and forth to his rhythm, melting a little at his growl. "Oh, Mark..."
Leaning low over her back, he reaches beneath to tease his fingers over the soft brush of hair that hides her pussy, then slips in to seek out the tender spot just behind her clit, pressing gently into the thrust of him inside her. "So fucking gorgeous like this," he says with another soft growl, his hand hard on her hip as he drives into her.
She feels like a mindless animal, rutting in pleasure, and she could get entirely too addicted to it, god, could go on for hours or do it five times a day. "God, it's good," she says as she rocks her hips back onto him. She wishes he had more hands, like those Indian gods, could touch her mouth and breasts and hold her at the same time.
"So good," Mark purrs, leaning low over her to wrap his arm around her waist, slide up her body to her breast and tease her nipple between finger and thumb. "So fucking gorgeous on your knees," his voice so soft, and he pulls them both upright in one quick motion, driving into her now and searching for the spot that'll make her cry out, pressing little sucking kisses to her throat.
"Oh that's so good," his fingers, she wants to bloody worship his fingers. "Just a little further down..." and he's got it, oh fuck yeah, she feels herself shiver and tense, whimpering, "yes, ohgod please yes."
"Christ you feel amazing," Mark gasps, holding her tight, his teeth almost too hard on her throat as he teases her towards climax. His own is coiled tight, begging for release, but he wants to feel her, wants her body spasming around him when he comes.
It's different this time -- more of a sigh than a scream -- as she arches and clutches against him, "God, fuck, yes, oh god yes."
Her slick, tight heat pulses around him, leaves him breathless, and he drives into her for a handful of hard, deep thrusts and then comes with a growling shout, spilling inside her while she shudders through the last her climax.
The sound of him, his cock inside her, it all does something to Miranda, makes her want to scream or cry. All she can do is desperately push closer to him, and feel his skin on hers, his body covering her back.
Mark holds her close for a long moment, then finally, carefully, draws out of her body, one arm still around her as he strips off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket. He pulls her down to the floor with him then, turning so she can sprawl across his chest, and he cradles her close, his fingers tangled in her sweat-damp hair.
The only coherent thought Miranda can hold onto is "Tomorrow. I'll think about this tomorrow." She burrows into Mark's arms, and closes her eyes.
Title: First Night
Pairing: Miranda Otto / Mark Lutz
Authors: msilverstar and zillah975
Rating: R (explicit sex, language)
Summary: Really AU: Miranda's a travel writer, Mark's a photographer, they meet in Hong Kong, and get along from the start.
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Warnings: none yet
Feedback: Please! And constructive criticism of all kinds. Anyone who knows Hong Kong and wants to correct us, we'd love that.
Archive: 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.
Series parts: 1, 1.5, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.
He sees her when she comes in, her hair shimmering like a live thing in the glow of the lights, and he can hear her heart beating in the low thump of the bass. She looks like one crystal clear thought in a sea of confusion as she makes her way across the crowded room.
When she gets close, he can see the sprinkle of freckles across her face, and he smiles.
Miranda's ready to rock. She loves the energy of Hong Kong, the frenetic pace and the sounds bouncing off the buildings. Mongolia was a great trek, three good articles and a third or so of her next book, but after a while, she was screaming with boredom. Hong Kong is about as different as you can get. She's still taller than most, but not a giant. And there are western men around, like the one smiling at her now. He looks nice, and her snap judgments are good, she's realistic and rarely conned these days.
She smiles back, bopping a little to the music and letting it carry her.
Her smile is all the encouragement he needs, and he threads his way through the few people between them and makes a space for himself beside her. "My name's Mark," he says.
"Miranda," she answers, flirting with her eyes. She likes the look of him up even more, up close. The music thrums through her, and the throb of the bass is alluring. "Care to dance?" If he's the kind of bloke who only likes the thrill of the chase, that'll be rid of him right away.
"That was my next question," Mark answers, his smile broadening. "I would love to dance with you." He takes her hand, and his eyes don't leave her face as they make their way onto the dance floor. It's crowded, and he's glad of it -- it lets him stay near her without seeming pushy. He hates the ones who think that if a woman says she'll dance with him, it's license to grope her on the dance floor, but the warmth and sway of Miranda's body draws him in, and he's glad to have an excuse to be close to her. He rests his hands lightly on her waist as they begin to dance, and hopes she doesn't move away.
It's warm here, but his hands are electric-hot and Miranda thrills to them. She keeps things light, and appreciate that he's doing the same -- nothing worse than a bloke drooling all over her. Then she leans back a little and lets his (big, hot, exciting) hands keep her up. It usually takes longer for her to get interested, but this Mark has something about him, a confidence that's not arrogance, that makes her shiver deliciously.
Leaning into the little dip, Mark tips Miranda back further with a grin, arms around her waist until her long hair hair brushes the floor and she almost has to cling to him, barely resisting the urge to taste the smooth, pale column of her throat. "Beautiful," he says, laughing, as he draws them upright again and gives her a little spin.
Miranda is startled by the deep dip, and by how much she likes it. She tilts back into it, wishing he'd lean over and kiss her, hard. Even when she's upright, the rest of the club is like a distant fuzz: she can't focus anywhere but him. It's terrifying but sexy to feel this intense with a bloke she doesn't know. When the song ends, she says, "Thirsty," and they head to the bar. She needs something ice-cold to bring her back to earth, a Fosters sounds good.
"What are you drinking?" Mark asks as they reach the bar, and he waves the bartender over, orders Miranda's Fosters and a mineral water for himself.
"You're a wonderful dancer," he says as they wait for their drinks. "Really graceful. What do you do? It must be something physical, you move so beautifully."
"I never thought of it that way, I'm a travel writer. I guess it's the least sedentary kind of writer there is." Miranda's laughing as she answers Mark. "But there were years of ballet lessons and other dance, back when I wanted to be an actress."
Oh god, that beer is fabulous. It's half down before Miranda can stop. Mark's drinking mineral water, he could be a health nut or a reformed alkie. "And you? Where are you from and what do you do?" It's the usual ritual of getting-to-know-you, but she does want to know him, very much.
"I'm a trust-fund baby," Mark says with a grin. "My passport says I'm Canadian. Mostly I travel without writing about it, but sometimes I work for whatever charity caught my eye this month, or if I'm home and it's an election year, I'll get involved in that." He takes a long swallow of his water, half-wishing it were bourbon, but he doesn't want to dull his senses with this gorgeous creature nearby. "I'm pretty good at getting people to give money to other people," he adds with a grin. "But the work they pay me for, when they pay me, is photography. I've got a few galleries here and there that like what I do."
Miranda smiles at that, "The dream life, you lucky bastard" she toasts him, hoping he knows she doesn't resent him. "I'd like to see your pictures." She groans internally at that, it's like etchings, for goodness sakes. "What do you think of Hong Kong?"
"Oh, I love this city," Mark says. "It's one of my favorite places -- so alive, and you can find almost anything here if you know where to look." Thank god Vincent's out of town, he thinks to himself, the image of his lover flashing through his mind, all muscle and sleek feline grace. Wonder whether I should mention him sooner or later....
"And you know," he goes on, almost conspiratorially, "I've just done some new prints, no one's seen them yet. If you wanted to have a look, you'd be the first person to lay eyes on them besides me."
Mouth dry, Miranda takes a hasty swig of Fosters. She wants to so much, and he's got none of the signs of a nutcase. One dance and you're gagging for it, she scolds herself. Forcing a light laugh and a little banter, "Oh I love it here too, especially after Mongolia. There's only so much desert and sheep a girl can stand." Another swallow finishes the drink. No more alcohol for a while. "Let's dance some more?"
"Mongolia?" Mark says with a grin, taking Miranda's hand and leading her towards the dance floor. "Now that's a gorgeous landscape, at least for a little while. Did you cross into China at all while you were there?" He's a little disappointed that she didn't leap at the chance to leave, now, with him, but she also didn't look at him like she suspected him of being a serial killer, and that's promising. Cautious, but not afraid. He likes that. He thinks he likes that better than if she'd incautiously leapt at the chance to leave.
"Oh yes, part of the book will be about the two Mongolias, the independent state and the Chinese area." It's odd to be talking geopolitics when she'd rather be kissing, but also nice. The music isn't as nice this time, which is a shame, but it's easier to keep her wits, too. She's content to to watch him: he's got a good rhythm and he looks at home in his body.
When the DJ changes and the horrid pop music comes on, she excuses herself. In the loo, she tries to talk herself out of going home with him, but her body is stronger than her sense and she can't do it, so she finds her girlfriend and says goodbye.
Returning, she automatically goes through her checklist: enabling the GPS on her mobile, getting his last name, (and, unobtrusively, his picture), and sending everything to her best friend in Sydney. They've done this for each other before, and she's had to rescue Philippa once, from a drunken yachter who couldn't control his boat. The US Coast Guard had gone from skeptical to admiring, and she'd gotten a great article out of it. Better safe than sorry, she thinks.
Once on the street, it's quick work to hail one of the ubiquitous taxis, and Mark opens the door for Miranda, sketching a little bow and grinning as he slides in beside her. "Buckle up for safety," he quips before giving his address to the driver, and then he turns back to Miranda. "So a travel writer," he says. "I'll bet you've seen some really amazing places. Do you mostly write for the real-world traveller, like, someone who's actually going to go there, or more armchair kind of things?"
Laughing, Miranda says "For both, for anyone, for whoever will pay me!" Though she is memorizing his address. "I don't write hotel guides, so the books are more for a general audience. I try to write about what a place feels like at a certain time, and my readers -- all ten of them -- seem to enjoy that. Jan Morris is my goddess, of course."
Mark laughs. "Well, you've got at least eleven readers now," he says. "And Jan Morris... seems to me I've read something of hers, but if you admire her so much I'll be sure to."
They make a bit of small-talk on the short ride, Mark pointing out the Peninsula hotel and admitting that yes, he's stayed there, but it's pricey even for him, however gorgeous it is. Soon enough they're at Mark's building, and he escorts her through the lobby, which looks startlingly like a hotel lobby itself, and to the bank of elevators. "We've got a suite on the top floor," he says as the elevator doors open. "It's a gorgeous view of the harbour."
And if she asks who the "we" is, he'll tell her. But he sort of hopes she doesn't ask.
Miranda heard the "we" and wonders if she should ask, frets about it a moment. As they get into the elevator, she opens her mouth, but decides to do something better with it than talk.
Leaning forward, she puts her lips to his, and starts to kiss him. He kisses back, taking complete control and pulling her close to him with those big hands. Oh yes, she's trembling, trying to keep herself contained, running her hands down his arms and kneading his strong muscles there. The longer the kiss continues, the more he plunders her mouth, and all she can do is take it, moan and start to rub herself on his body. She's such a cheap slut and she doesn't care, just wants to touch and be touched.
When the elevator doors open, she starts to pull back but he keeps her close, walking her backwards, his mouth holding his hers and his hands roaming her body. She touches him too, stroking his arms, his back, what of his chest seems accessible, loving the hot skin under her hand.
It's electric, the way she feels in his arms, her body against him -- it makes him almost desperate to feel her squirming under him, feel those slender, strong legs wrapped around him. "Beautiful," he murmurs against her lips as he walks her down the hall, backs her up against the door to the suite, pinning her there as he unlocks it. Then he's got his arm around her waist, half carrying her into the darkened room and letting the door close behind them.
A lamp lights at the flick of a switch, pale golden glow across the room that shimmers through Miranda's hair, and he tugs her head back, claims another kiss.
She smells of spice and rainwater. He draws a soft breath and looks into her eyes, strokes his thumb over the sprinkle of freckles on her cheek. He wants to see her naked, on her knees, trembling. Wants to see her desperate and needy, wants to know what leather straps look like against that creamy skin, and how beautifully she'll beg for what she wants.
"Miranda," he murmurs. The taste of her is still on his lips, the surprise of her first kiss still tingling through his veins, and he wonders how far he can push her, and how fast.
His kisses and touches have left Miranda breathless, wobbly, hungry for more. She's glad he seems to know what he's doing because she's a bit out of control. It's exciting to be so uninhibited: he seems to encourage it, liberate her from her normal wariness. "Yes... " it's an answer to more than his words.
He slips one finger beneath the strap of her dress, slides it over the curve of her shoulder. His arm is tight around her waist, and he knows she can feel his arousal, the hard length of him pressing against her. He kisses her again, sucks her lower lip between gentle teeth as he wraps his other arm around her, glides his hand up her back and teases the other strap down as well, not far enough yet to bare more than her shoulders. A question. "Are you sure?" he asks softly, not enough space between them for her to move, but if she hesitates, he'll give her an inch, see how far away from him she lets it take her.
"Oh yes," it's easy to press further into him, to lean her head just a bit, so her neck and shoulder are bare to him, to open her mouth and taste his skin. "So good." He is breathing heavily too, and his body is taut under her questing hands as she slides under his shirt and finds the skin on his back.
Tangling his fingers in her hair, cool compared to the warmth of her skin, and fine as silk, he tugs her head back, arching her throat further and nuzzling close, little biting kisses against her racing pulse. He finds the zipper of her dress and lowers it halfway, traces the curve of her spine with his palm.
Miranda hisses as he pulls her back, she rarely lets a man control her like this. But this is so hot and good that she'll bend to follow his pull, and touch what of him she can reach. Her eyes are closed and sensations of his hands and mouth on her are exquisite. She moves her hip slowly against his, using her whole body to please and arouse him.
If it were Vin, he'd be smiling, murmuring whore, my gorgeous slut, the strange endearments they use with each other, but he's not so lost to good sense as to try that with a woman he's only just met. She feels amazing, writhing against him, and he claims her mouth with his own as he backs her towards the broad couch, eases her down onto it.
On her back, on the couch, half-undressed, Miranda looks up at Mark. She doesn't know quite where this is going, beyond sex, but there's something more here. And she wants it, needs it more than anything. "Please," she tries to think but her brain won't cooperate, "oh god, this is so bloody good."
"It gets better," Mark says with a grin, reaching down with one hand to tug her dress up over her knees. He parts her legs, sliding one finger along the nylon that sheathes the tender skin of her inner thigh, and he kneels between her legs, his eyes not leaving hers. Slowly, he moves the straps of her dress lower, the silky fabric clinging to her black bra, and he leans close and presses kisses to the swell of her breasts, his hands on her upper arms holding her still.
"Better... yeah." Miranda says, to have something to say. He's unwrapping her and it's incredibly arousing. She groans as he kisses her breasts, then he starts teasing her sensitive nipples, and she moans helplessly.
"Oh yeah," Mark purrs, tugging dress and bra both down now and trapping her arms, "much better." He sucks one tender nipple between his teeth now, sucking gently, biting at it as he cups her other breast in his hand, starts teasing that nub into a little peak. He pushes her skirt higher on her thighs, still alert for any sign that she's changing her mind, and gives her trapped nipple a cruel little twist, just to see how she reacts.
She's got just enough awareness to keep herself from grinding onto him, but she can't keep the desperate noises inside. God, she is putty in his mouth and his big, capable hands, on her nipples, oh god and her thighs. "Oh, oh, oh" she surges up into his touch, he's maddeningly good. Another time she might object to the pinch on her nipple, but now it's just another sensation, stronger and better than most. She can feel the moisture of her pussy soaking her underpants and gives herself over to him, "Oh fuck yes, please, oh, god, Mark."
"Beautiful," he whispers against her skin, pressing her legs apart and skimming his hands up her thighs, over her hips beneath the dress. He hates pantyhose, and with a quick, sharp bite to her nipple as if it were somehow responsible for them, he kisses her again, murmurs, "Raise up."
Miranda whimpers -- her nipples are sensitive -- but then kisses him back, and obediently lifts her hips, wanting her hose off as much as he does, or more.
"Good girl," Mark murmurs as he tugs the nylon down, getting it past her knees and around her ankles before he gives her a little tug forward, scooting her to the edge of the couch and pushing her knees apart. She looks gorgeously debauched, dress down around her waist and up around her hips, panties wet through with her arousal, and with a smile he begins nibbling a path up her thigh, little biting, sucking kisses towards her soaked pussy. He only wishes her hands were bound behind her, instead of only half trapped by her dress and the stretch of her bra.
She's all tangled in her clothes and still exposed to him. He doesn't seem to want a thing from her except her body, so she relaxes and enjoys the sensations as he's mouthing his way up her thigh.
The smell of her is intoxicating, and Mark nuzzles close, licking her through the soft fabric, closing his teeth on the tender flesh concealed there as he strokes her thighs. His cock is hard and aching, painfully tight in his jeans, begging to be inside her, and sliding one finger under the elastic, he teases into the folds of her pussy as he prowls up her body. Fingernails on the back of her neck he tips her head back, kisses her throat, the curve of her jaw. As he pushes two fingers into her pussy he murmurs, "I'm going to put you on your knees and fuck you, unless you tell me no right now."
"Oh god yes," Miranda blurts; someday she wants him going down on her for about an hour, but not now, now is for hard and fast. "Wanna fuck you now," she curls around to kiss him because she needs his mouth, his tongue, his lips. She tries to get untangled from the dress and hopes he has a condom handy.
Mark wastes no time in getting her bra unhooked and freeing her arms from the tangle of fabric, and he pulls her close, kissing her hard as he tugs her forward off the couch, arm tight around her waist. He strokes her hair back from her face, kissing her again, a quick, claiming kiss. "Hands and knees," he says, his voice ragged with desire, "now."
It's a little odd, why that way? but bloody hell, he's turned Miranda on so far she wouldn't object if he wanted her hanging upside-down from the ceiling. She turns and kneels, looking back over her shoulder to see what he's doing.
When she looks at him like that, questioning, lips parted slightly, hair disheveled, dress still half on and half off and her pantyhose around her ankles, Mark feels a rush of desire to have those lips stretched around his cock, and he laughs, shakes his head at himself. "Christ, you look gorgeous," he says, moving in front of her. He hasn't even unzipped his jeans yet, had gotten no further than digging a condom out of his pocket. "I want you to suck me first," he says softly. "Will you do that?
The fuck?, it's one thing if the bloke can't get it up, but Mark's got a stiffie the size of a surfboard in his jeans. Miranda's thinking hard as she kneels up, twists her hair to keep it under control, and she smiles at Mark, "I'll do you, if you do me." Sixty nine seems like a lot more fun than sucking him off.
"No," Mark says with a smile. "That's not how it works. You suck me, I fuck you so hard you have trouble walking tomorrow, and in the morning, if you're a good girl, I'll lick you 'til you've come a dozen times and you're begging me to stop."
Miranda can't believe her ears. She sits back on her heels, acutely conscious that she's practically naked, and he's not. And that his hands are a great deal more intuitive than his words. "What? You want me to suck you and fuck you, and I don't get to come until the morning? That's not how it works for me." She crosses her arms over her chest and waits to see what on earth is going on.
Mark almost laughs, shaking his head and dropping to his knees in front of her. "No, god no, that's not what I meant. It's not whether, it's how." His grin softens and he brushes her hair back from her face. "I want to feel you come while I'm buried inside you, pet," he murmurs. "Want to feel that, the way your body moves around mine when you go over. And when I'm going down on you, I don't want to be distracted by your gorgeous mouth on me. But Christ no, I may be a controlling son of a bitch, but I'm not that much of an asshole."
"Struth! The both of us really missed that one, didn't we?" She makes her face a comic grimace. "Lost the mood a bit," she mutters, reaching shyly, to touch him.
"Oh, we'll get it back soon enough," Mark says, his smile not fading as he slides his arms around her waist, draws her close. He nuzzles in, kissing her cheek, then her lips, gently at first, his tongue teasing inside, just barely, fingers threading through her hair.
Humming, Miranda kisses him back, letting him set the pace. This is more like it, more of those lovely hands. She pulls her pantyhose off her ankles, sighing with relief as the air touches her skin. "Time to get you naked," she murmurs after a bit, reaches for his shirt to unbutton him.
It wasn't what Mark had had in mind, but he's not interested in pissing her off again, and this is nice too, the soft warmth of her hands, silky skin. He shifts a little to give her better access, shrugs the shirt off his shoulders when it's undone.
While he's doing that. Miranda slithers out of the tangles of her dress and leans in to taste Mark's chest. His skin, warm and a little salty, helps ground her, piques her senses. "Do you like this?" she murmurs, trying to get back in the mood. "Do you like me?"
"Do I like you," Mark says, still smiling, and he wraps his arms around her. "Yeah, I like you," he murmurs. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't like you." He twines his fingers through her hair and pulls her into a kiss, twists them around and presses her down, onto her back on the soft carpet, skims his hand soft as a feather down her torso.
Oh, when he does that, when he pulls and pushes, she goes all silky. Pathetic really, to be so needy, in this modern day, when she should be his equal in giving pleasure. She strokes her hands across chest and runs down the lovely curve of his back, arching into the kiss and trying to give as good as she's getting. But the way he moves her down makes her mouth dry and a hot thrill run through her body. "Oh," she whispers, and then "oh?" at his teasing touch. As she lifts up to kiss him again and feels his fingers pinning her hair to the floor, she can't help but moan, it's incredibly hot to be held like this.
Smiling at the way she responds, Mark presses his advantage, dipping down to claim another kiss and swallowing the little sounds she makes. "Beautiful," he says with a smile, tightening his fist in her hair and trailing his fingers back up her body to cup her breast, his thumb teasing over her nipple.
The heat rushes back into her, and she just rides it like a wave, letting herself surge against his body. Oh god, it's good, every one of his touches sends a little shock through her and she loves it.
Teasing her nipple between his thumb and finger, he trails kisses down her throat, nipping at her collarbone, sucking gently, to take the other in his mouth, gentle teeth closing on the little nub as he twines her hair around his hand, holding her in place.
"Oh yeah," Miranda whimpers a little, loving the feel of his mouth and hand on her breasts. she can feel his cock hard against her beneath his clothes. The way he's leaning, she can reach with one hand and undo his belt, then start to loosen his fly. Naked would be better, she thinks. Skin. Arse. Cock. Definitely better.
His impulse is to stop her, take her hand and slam it back to the floor, or else straddle her and let her free his aching erection, slide it between her lips and fuck her mouth, see her eyes go wide, feel her throat working around him.
He doesn't do either. There'll be time enough for that another night, if he doesn't either scare her away or piss her off again tonight.
"You gonna undress me?" he asks with a smile, gives her nipple another little bite.
She closes her eyes and makes a little moan, "Not if you keep doing that, oh god." Then a breath and she tackles his flies again.
"Oh," he says with a grin and a nod. "I'll stop doing that, then," and he shifts a little to give her better access, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh and skimming over her pussy, just brushing the soft curls that hide her from him.
By sheer force of will, Miranda gets Mark's jeans unbuttoned and eased down over his hips before she grinds into his hand. "Oh, oh, god, please," is all she can say, she needs his hand more than anything right now, she'd do anything for it, his hand and his cock right there.
Wanton little slut, Mark thinks with a smile, but doesn't -- of course -- say it. He knows how it'd sound, and has had more than one conversation with disbelieving friends and family who don't quite understand how he can think of the word as an endearment, a positive thing. "I love a woman who knows what she wants," he purrs instead, and it amounts to the same thing.
He rolls over on top of her then, pushing her back down and teasing into the folds of her pussy, hot and slick with her arousal. "God, you feel good," he whispers against her ear, sliding one finger inside her, then a second and third as he presses the heel of his hand against her clit, his hard length trapped between their bodies.
"Want more, harder --- oh god, so good," Miranda's sinking onto his fingers, pushing against his hand, rubbing his cock with the inside of her hip. She is so fucking close she can taste it, clutching and cawing at his back as she spreads her legs for him.
God, Mark loves this part. He loves all the parts, really, but having a woman spread out beneath him, writhing into his touch like this, it's intoxicating, and he pushes deep into her, thrusting harshly as he teases her towards climax. "Come on, pet -- I wanna feel you come for me, just like this."
Miranda twists and turns on his hand, gets the heel of it at just the right angle against her clit and comes hard, sobbing a little as she feels the intensity roll through her, "Oh yes, fuck, yes, yes, yes.!" As soon as she comes down, she looks at him -- really looks -- seeing his pleasure in her orgasm, liking even his smug smirk. "Want you in me, " she whispers, "do you have a condom?"
Glancing around, Mark spots the little foil packet where he'd dropped it earlier, and grabs it. "How do you want it, pet?" he asks. "I wanted you on your knees 'cause it's easier for me to make you come that way -- can you come again for me, do you think?" and he nuzzles close, nipping at her lips. "I want to feel you twitching around me."
"I don't come, usually, but it feels so good I don't care." Miranda languidly runs her hands along his body and rubs against him, still hyper-aware but less desperate now. "Want you in me."
"I want it," Mark says, kissing her again. "Don't you know how amazing it feels?" he asks, his voice almost awed. "The way your body moves, holds tight, like -- like it wants, so much, is just eager." He kisses her throat, glides his hands over her as he kneels up and slicks the condom on. "Hands and knees for me, pet?" he asks.
His words and images mesmerize her and she turns for him without really meaning to, arching to show him the line of her back, looking back at him as he prepares.
He strokes his hand down the curve of her spine, his breath catching at the way the light plays across her skin. She looks so perfect like this, and he kneels behind her, presses the head of his cock to slick, hot folds of her pussy. Gripping her hips, he drives into her with one slow thrust, growling softly in the back of his throat at the way her body seems to cling him, drawing him deeper.
"Oh, yeah," it feels so good, so right to be here, rocking back and forth to his rhythm, melting a little at his growl. "Oh, Mark..."
Leaning low over her back, he reaches beneath to tease his fingers over the soft brush of hair that hides her pussy, then slips in to seek out the tender spot just behind her clit, pressing gently into the thrust of him inside her. "So fucking gorgeous like this," he says with another soft growl, his hand hard on her hip as he drives into her.
She feels like a mindless animal, rutting in pleasure, and she could get entirely too addicted to it, god, could go on for hours or do it five times a day. "God, it's good," she says as she rocks her hips back onto him. She wishes he had more hands, like those Indian gods, could touch her mouth and breasts and hold her at the same time.
"So good," Mark purrs, leaning low over her to wrap his arm around her waist, slide up her body to her breast and tease her nipple between finger and thumb. "So fucking gorgeous on your knees," his voice so soft, and he pulls them both upright in one quick motion, driving into her now and searching for the spot that'll make her cry out, pressing little sucking kisses to her throat.
"Oh that's so good," his fingers, she wants to bloody worship his fingers. "Just a little further down..." and he's got it, oh fuck yeah, she feels herself shiver and tense, whimpering, "yes, ohgod please yes."
"Christ you feel amazing," Mark gasps, holding her tight, his teeth almost too hard on her throat as he teases her towards climax. His own is coiled tight, begging for release, but he wants to feel her, wants her body spasming around him when he comes.
It's different this time -- more of a sigh than a scream -- as she arches and clutches against him, "God, fuck, yes, oh god yes."
Her slick, tight heat pulses around him, leaves him breathless, and he drives into her for a handful of hard, deep thrusts and then comes with a growling shout, spilling inside her while she shudders through the last her climax.
The sound of him, his cock inside her, it all does something to Miranda, makes her want to scream or cry. All she can do is desperately push closer to him, and feel his skin on hers, his body covering her back.
Mark holds her close for a long moment, then finally, carefully, draws out of her body, one arm still around her as he strips off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket. He pulls her down to the floor with him then, turning so she can sprawl across his chest, and he cradles her close, his fingers tangled in her sweat-damp hair.
The only coherent thought Miranda can hold onto is "Tomorrow. I'll think about this tomorrow." She burrows into Mark's arms, and closes her eyes.