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thejusticelounge2013-07-28 01:56 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2013-07-28 01:56 pm
Entry tags:
business lunch
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Is there anything you can tell me about the case the city of Los Angeles is bringing up against Promethean Arms Development?
He sends the next message almost immediately after the first; it’ll arrive as she’s reading the first.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Good afternoon, Kate.
TXT: And good afternoon to you too.
TXT: "Anything" is damn vague, Bruce. Narrow it down for me.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Who CI #9854 is.
Kate heaved a sigh, rubbed the bridge of her nose and her brow between two pinched fingers.
TXT: From DA office scuttlebutt? one of their exec engineers randomly grew a conscience. All I know is a he, he’s got a partner and child that are already in DWP and a male lover under police protection, and he’s a smug asshole regardless.
TXT: if that narrows it down. their senior mgmt is about 150 ppl & 95% dudes.
One hour later, after several deleted drafts.
TXT: did you want me to find out names or were you planning on doing that yourself, querido?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] More than enough information for me to go on. You’ve saved me a lot of time.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Thank you.
Ten minutes later.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] When can I see you?
Twenty minutes after that—enough time to keep him waiting, not enough to raise concern, and maybe part of that was getting the pounding heart under control.
TXT: I’m free after work.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Dinner?
Everything is a bit brighter, down in the Cave, suddenly.
TXT: great minds, bruce. My place or yours?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I don’t care as long as I can get my hands on you.
TXT: you know I do expect to be fed and not just in the metaphorical sense.
TXT: though if that’s good I may consider the metaphorical.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I do. I’ll also let you decide when that happens.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Just let me kiss you first.
TXT: it’s just that I had a grand total of two cups of coffee and a stale donut for lunch, querido. usually I wouldn’t be so single-minded.
TXT: and yeah. okay.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] You be eating, Kate.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’ll feed you, first.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] What do you want?
TXT: ay, lo se, lo se. I’ll have what you’re having.
TXT: [attached: five seconds of video: licking her lips, only the lower part of her face visible]
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I don’t think you’re that flexible, Kate.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] If the point of that was to get me hard to the point of distraction.. Well played.
TXT: Oh, come on, you need to eat something besides ‘me out’.
TXT: and you’ll learn that that’s how this works. especially when I’m just as hungry to go down on my knees for you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Should I save it for you?
TXT: yes. I think that’s what we both want here, Bruce.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Then we should change subjects.
TXT: Why, you can’t handle it?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Not now that I’ve tasted you. Been inside you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’m so goddamn close.
After a moment.
TXT: do it. tell me what it feels like. take the edge off so I can spend a long time enjoying you later.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] No. I want to wait.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] It’s better with you.
TXT: god, I can taste you already.
TXT: may need to just call it a day here at work, this is not going to get finished.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’m in the car. Outside.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] We might have to park somewhere.
TXT: I’m decidedly not well informed on places in the financial district where one can screw in public, I’m afraid, querido
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] The windows are tinted.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’ll find a place.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] get out here.
TXT: Already in the elevator.
She was, actually, and managed to walk very calmly and sedately across the lobby, wave at the security guard, and get in the front seat of the car like someone grownup and professional. Slipping her sunglasses off, she turned to look at the driver, eyes dark.
They drive like…like the wind, it’s a silly metaphor but it’s all Kate has at the moment. Not with the air between them nearly crackling, not with every nerve in her body humming in anticipation, not with the way he can’t even look at her while she studies every line of his face as he drives, the faintest taut muscle in his jaw.
Bruce knows what’s good for him, and doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the road. He pulls away from the building at a good speed, driving the car like it’s nothing but another appendage of his: fluid and effortless. And when he passes the alley—no exit doors to the buildings across from each other, no windows with a clear view to the area uninhabited by dumpsters— he pauses, and quickly, nimbly, reverses the car back into the space.
He keeps the engine running, placing it in park with the emergency brake up and takes a long, deep breath.
Without having looked at her once, he turns, suddenly, a hand sliding into the glorious mane of her hair, the other around her waist, and hauls her towards him, mouth open to kiss whatever skin he can reach.
He reaches for her and she slides onto his lap, half-straddling him as best she can in the confined space, back arching a little as he draws his hot mouth, his sharp teeth, against her collarbone, murmuring his name.
There aren’t words for how Bruce feels, when he sees she’s wearing a skirt that day, and it’s the first place his hands go, pushing it, hiking it up so it bunches at her waist, his hands sliding up her thighs before shifting to her shirt.
His mouth presses against her neck, kissing and nipping along her collar bone, her exposed sternum, as he unbuttons her blouse, rolling his hips against her as he struggles to be careful, knowing he can’t damage her shirt, he doesn’t have a spare. Not this time. It’s infuriating, exhilarating and he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s openly panting as she says his name.
Kate’s already wet, was already wet when they were texting, and she’s sure he’s got to be able to smell her when he pushes up her skirt, feel her against his pants when she settles against him.
"Bruce," she murmurs again, because she wants to keep saying it, to see the look in his eyes when she does, like he can’t believe she’d want him.
It’s something like a rolling growl emanating from him then, that punctuates when he untucks, opens her shirt so that he can get at her breasts. He doesn’t bother to undo the bra, but takes a moment to appreciate what she’s wearing: both hands moving to the lower swell, cupping, thumbs dragging over the soft peaks of her breasts from over the material, satin and silk.
Then, he tugs the cups down in a sharp, decisive pull of his fingers at the bottom, and lowers his mouth to suckle, greedily, at one of her now exposed nipples, pebbling it in his mouth.
She reaches back to clench her fingers in the hair at the back of his head as he moves down to suck at her breast, tugging her nipple into a bright sharp peak with his teeth and his lips and his tongue. It makes her moan, spread her legs a little further even though she’s barely got any more room to do it. She’s being as careful as he is, but only because she wants to, because the limitation makes it even better right now, and she bucks softly against his thigh.
But Bruce is having none of it, today.
The smell of her hits him—his pupils dilate, black flaring broadly—and he brings his hand to her thigh, dipping it under her skirt to trace her panties for a second. He pushes the crotch away, and giving the silky folds a perfunctory swipe or two, shoves his middle and ring-finger into the core of her, without warning. He moves them, slowly, but does not give her enough time to really recover before he is picking up the pace.
All the while, his mouth hasn’t left the utter perfection of her nipple, and he switches, dragging his wet lips across her sternum as he goes, taking the other breast in his hand. Between their bodies, he rolls his hips against his own hand, even as he wedges, works it in, thick fingers prying her open. His lips trace her areola, pull back on her nipple, and he speaks, voice rumbling against her skin.
"So wet," he muses, gaze lifting to look at her. “Like you’d been thinking about it even before I said I was coming to get you." His teeth graze her nipple, as he locks eye contact, "..dirty little girl."
It’s a gamble, the word he uses for Kate, but one he’s willing to take, what with the way his dick throbs when he says it, right up against the curve of her ass.
"Dirtier than you know," Kate replies, leaning in to bite his ear, because if this is the game he wants to play, she’ll play it; play by her rules (if he ever referred to her as a girl and meant it, she’d take appropriate reciprocal action), though he might not know that yet.
She’s picturing this as them in a club, up against a dark wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, his fingers inside her—which they are, and they’re glorious, spreading her wide and pushing into her with rough strokes.
Shifting back a little, she pushes her ass into his cock, and whispers into his ear, “You know how to use this thing, tiger?" They both know he does, but this is part of it, ‘tiger’ is part of it (it was nearly daddy but that’s a place Kate isn’t sure she can ever go even in jest, not with him or even Ollie).
His chuckle is low and dark and he responds by pushing her back against the steering wheel, firm enough that she nearly depresses the horn on impact. He shifts himself, the chair sliding back with a motorized hum and he tilts his hand, fingers straining up into her body until he finds the place, amongst the ripples and swirls of her cunt’s desperate kiss at his skin, that the texture inside her changes. Goes soft. He presses his fingers against it, even as he pivots his wrists, fingertips staying in place as the fingers, knuckles work in and out of her.
"You wanna show me?" Bruce groans, looking down between her thighs as he bucks, hard and heavy, against her. He brings his other hand to swipe at her clit’s hood, the calloused pad of his thumb descending to rub short, hard bursts into the tender nub before he removes it.
"Naughty.." He groans, suddenly, a hard ragged breath when he gets another good lungful of her. "..wicked little girl."
The foil sheath of a condom appears in his free hand, going to his mouth.
"Oh, I’m going to show you all right," Kate manages to say, but only just, and it’s choppy, in fine pieces because she’s gasping every time his fingers push in again, increase the pressure on her g-spot. She drags upper teeth against lower lip, a distinct and unconscious gesture he’ll learn eventually is hers, pure and simple, and reaches down with one hand (the other still tangled in and pulling tight on wavy dark) to hike up her skirt, roll it up around her waist.
The car reeks of sex, and she’s sure she’s leaving a stain on his pants—good—as she settles her gaze on him, on the packet in his hand, daring him. “You won’t have had better."
Part of the game.
He opens the condom with his teeth, keeping his fingers firmly buried inside her cunt, his other hand shifting to open the fly of his trousers. He reaches inside, pulling the massive length of his cock out and sheathing it with a smooth push of his hand. He doesn’t bother to unbutton, to pull the pants open so the teeth of the zipper don’t cut into him. He doesn’t care, doesn’t have time, doesn’t want to stop, all of the above.
"Kneel, I want to—" He groans, ducking his head to kiss at her mouth, taking over the abuse of that precious lip, tugging on it sharply. "—need to see how I split you."
Kate rises up, shifting onto her knees, dragging his fingers, clenched deep inside her, with her, before grasping his wrist and tugging a little. He gets the message (it’s Bruce, after all, he knows body language) and seems to reluctantly ease them out as they kiss.
Shifting a little more, she parts her legs further, lets the lips of her cunt graze the head of his cock for a moment, rolls her hips so she can feel it against her clit for just a second. Right then is when she growls, lets go of him, so she can guide herself onto his cock.
It’s a slow process, he stretches her in a way that makes her hiss and arch her back, he’s that damn big, but she’s really, really fucking wet, and she wants to feel each fraction of an inch as they move.
But, Bruce could be the one being imapled for how he stiffens, goes absolutely rigid, his hands moving to her hips with a brutally rough touch, fingers gouging their marks into her. If she bruises, it wouldn’t be a surprise. He bites down on her lip, teeth cracking through the very edge, the fine, delicate skin, and he groans when he tastes the splash of copper against his tongue.
He doesn’t wait for her to settle: holding her waist, he plants his feet on the car floor and bucks his hips up, shoving his cock the rest of the way before dropping back. Repeating the motion until he’s half shoving her head against the roof of the car, his mouth falling open with a dark, vulgar snarl: "Fuck.”
She looks back at him as he freezes, a smile playing over her lips for a moment even as his fingers dig into her hips—he can leave bruises, she’ll take that, let Ollie trace them with his tongue. The smile’s eased away by him biting into her lip, though, and she makes a sharp surprised sound, hips jerking downwards a little with the delicious edge of pain.
image
And then—oh, fuck, and then he starts to fuck her, up into the dashboard, into the ceiling, on each move down nearly taking him to the root before he pulls up again.
Despite him working her open, it’s still a shock each time, the kind of deep thrust she loves. In moving, she tries to help, but eventually hangs on for the ride instead, nails clawing down the front of his shirt, leaning in to bite his neck. Reaching down, she catches her clit between her fingers, between their bodies, and rubs hard, bucking her hips as she does, cunt clenching around him even tighter.
“Harder," she hisses, because she can take it, wants it.
His mouth remains latched onto her lip as long as he can, pulling every last droplet of crimson he can into her mouth, to play over his teeth and tongue even as his hips continue to drive up, slam relentlessly into her body.
The noises will be what will haunt him, later, when she’s gone: the sound of his sheathed cock slipping in and out of her body at the brutal rate he’s taking it, makes everything between her thighs, between them, loud and noisy, wet. Achingly, obscenely wet, and there is no tiring of his muscles, he’s worked too damned hard his whole life for this, for this exact moment. His calf muscles are locked tight, heels digging into floor mats, quads tense and close to bursting the seams on the trousers for how he flexes them.
Bruce’s eyes lift, blue dragging along Kate’s body until he reaches her eyes and he nearly stops, nearly slow down to be able to savor the look on it. Her lower lip is swollen, yes, but her mouth is nearly glistening her eyes half-lidded, face flushed, and she’s beautiful.
God. She’s so fucking beautiful, like this, split over his cock, angrily demanding more of him. It siphons the air from his lungs, makes everything get thrown out of focus, nothing else mattering much in that instant besides what she wanted, needed, demanded from him.
Breathing raggedly, a slight sheen of sweat spreading over his brow, across his chest, one of his hands moves down to Kate’s, gripping them both in the broad, expansive hold of his own. His free hand shifts, moves, and depresses the button for the chair to move back, reclining it back.
Bruce remains locked on her wrists, bringing them to rest on his chest, and looking up at her from below, brings his other hand to push through her hair, cupping the side of her face.
He knows she can take it, by now, knows she can handle it physically, even as she gasps and rears up a little in initial pain as he thrusts into her—but it’s only what she’s asked for, and after a moment, hell, even in the moment, she’s loving it, loving how he’s splitting her nearly in two.
Somewhere, elsewhere, the part of her that’s not just focused on how he’s sheathed in her cunt on each upstroke, she notices how his muscles and tendons move (in his legs, in his fingers, that tiny flicker in his jaw as he prepares himself to move again) and memorizes it so she’ll know it when she sees it and feels it again.
She makes a slightly irritated sound when he catches her wrists, even if she likes it, because damn it, she was getting close, fingers sliding in the wet running out of her along him each time he thrust, but his other hand is on her face, almost gentle. Almost as if he’s asking for something, checking on her—
Bruce pulls his hips back, as far as they will go, and bucks into her, harder than he had before. Does it again. Does it again, so hard that the car rocks, that he winces on how the thick root of his cock pulls at her hole, wedging it open with the force of it. He groans, and releases her wrists, bringing his fingers down between their bodies when he pulls back, tracing the rubbed raw skin of her cunt, that clings to him, greedily, and slides his index finger in, against all of the tension, sanity and voices that are telling him he’s taking it too far.
—and then he lets go and his finger’s only on her clit for one blissful fraction of a second before he’s slipping it in against his cock and oh god it’s almost too much and she has to force herself not to tense for more than a moment so he can actually do it.
It’s good, though, when she does, god she loves being stretched, though here and now without any other help and without a bed, she’s not about to let him use any more.
"Not tight enough for you, Wayne?" she hisses through clenched teeth, but the laughter in her eyes lets him know it’s part of the game, that they both know why he’s doing it. Just thinking about Ollie saying what he wanted the two of them to do to her makes her gush a little more wet, settle down further onto his hand and his cock as far as she can manage like this.
Something in the way she says what she does drives a huff of laughter-tinged breath out of him and he groans, his finger twisting inside so he’s looking for her g-spot. It’s painful for him—he presses his nail in against the side of his cock, taking very special care not to clip her with it—so he can’t even imagine what it must be like for her. He almost worries that he’s taken it too far but then her back arches and she makes a heady, dizzying sound and Bruce bucks, suddenly not caring how badly they ruin his clothes.
He turns his finger, stroking up, and when he finds the spongy rise, he attacks it, as masterful as he is at anything.
It’s all overwhelming by now, how he’s inside her, how full he’s making her, and then he has to go and let the tip of his finger graze her inside, just right. there. because of course he knows where he is and what he’s doing, and he didn’t just spread her out for the hell of it. Not that she would have minded.
"Going to make you come, sweet girl," he groans, bringing his thumb down between the wet folds of her cunt, slicking them in the space left after he’s filled her, up and over and down and over her clit.
The bud of flesh is hard and tight, just like everything is tight and hard—the car, the space they take up, how little she can move, how hard he has to thrust, how anyone walking by would be able to tell how hard they’re going at it—and Bruce is sweating now, the front of his shirt damp, his armpits, behind his knees, but he doesn’t fucking care because the air is choking with the smell of her, the nectar of her sex. She’s pulling him out of himself by the root, pulling what makes him sick out of her with each sinfully hot pulse of her cunt, drawing it into herself and expelling it again, where it can’t hurt them, any of them.
She’s driving the sanity out of him with every shuddering pulse of her hips, and he rasps out, thumb pushing up, over the hood of her clit, exposing the pearl of it and flicking his nail along the edge of it.
"You’re gonna come for me, come for me," he orders, commands, “Come for me, Kate."
"Bruce," she moans—whimpers almost, with another sound of almost amazement—and he bucks up into her, moans about how he’s going to make her come. Which he is, she’s not going to last long even before he’d put his fingers on her clit, which is a gorgeous needy relief, she can feel herself clench deep inside, something catch within her, and she rolls her hips to press his cock forward, press his finger harder against her even within the tight confines of her cunt.
"Catalina," he says, and the feeling of her name in his mouth, he groans and he betrays himself, like some whole-body alien hand syndrome, hips moving of their own accord, without Bruce telling them to. His back is arching, he sees her rising up, head shoved into the roof of the car as she scrabbles her nails against it, against him for purchase, tendrils of hair frayed and knocked loose from the professional looking knot it’d been in, with how hard his body tenses and jerks, filling the condom instantly, the searing heat of his seed a light he can focus on as everything darkens at the edges of his vision. Blurs. Fades away.
He’s losing it too, the tiny rational part of her is making that clear, even as she’s clawing at his shirt, trying to find purchase as she rolls her hips again, nearly there, and she will remember that and savor it, what she’s done to him. How he’s called her name, her birth name, like something precious he had to share—but by then she’s coming already.
With the rasp of thumbnail on her bare clit, painfully sweet, the way he orders her to come, she couldn’t not, and she cries out with an initial hard bucking thrust downwards of her hips, then up into the roof of the car as her back arches in rictus.
It’s over fast, but god, it’s a fast that rips nearly everything from her in the process.
In the let down, his hands find the back of her neck, pulling her down and onto his chest, as he remains reclined. His chest rises and falls in sharp increments, leveling out relatively quickly, the cotton and silks damp with how he’s sweat, how hard he’s worked. Worth it, worth every single drop, and he huffs an exhale, sharply, working his hand up into her hair, savoring the dampness there, too, where she’s been sweating herself.
He shifts that same hand, slides it over her back, slipping over her shoulder blades.
"Sweet girl," he begins, half-compliment, half contented-sigh. “Lift up so I can get—" He groans when she rises, and he can slip his hand out of her, a warm rush of fluid making his breath catch. "—there you go, good girl." He brings his fingers to his lips, drawing the excess moisture off with his lips and tongue, even as he continues to rub his hand up and down her back.
He fights the desire to laugh at the fogging of the windows inside the luxury car.
There’s no way they’re going to be able to go out in public like this, even for a minute, and Kate laughs to herself a little as she settles onto Bruce’s chest. She eases upwards, obediently, when he asks, so he can ease his hand away, and after a moment his cock, so he can dispose, swiftly, of the condom (god, the loss of him inside her makes her whimper a little, feel empty as hell).
Maybe Bruce can pull something out of his sleeve for making them look…vaguely decent. Though there’s nothing decent about the way he’s sucking her juices off his hand, and she looks up to watch, hungrily if dazed, licking her lips at the sight of him. He puts on a good show.
He finishes with a tiny bit of lasting pleasure, warming his features, before he settles his hands across her body, holding her close. He is mostly reclined, eyelids half lidded, and he pulls her skirt down, at least over the rise of her bottom, despite knowing how sticky-hot humid it seems in the car, their combined body heat and breath warming the whole space.
After a long, quiet moment, he muses: "..I think I’ll buy this car."
Kate’s startled initially, blinking before she settles back down, lets her head fall back onto his chest, lets him hold her (because god, it feels so good, his arms), even if it’s damn hot in there and absolutely reeks of sex. In the best possible way, though, it’s heady and intoxicating.
"You mean you don’t already?" she asks softly, before she actually starts laughing, soft and truly amused, against his shoulder. “Yeah, I think you better, Bruce."
He sends the next message almost immediately after the first; it’ll arrive as she’s reading the first.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Good afternoon, Kate.
TXT: And good afternoon to you too.
TXT: "Anything" is damn vague, Bruce. Narrow it down for me.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Who CI #9854 is.
Kate heaved a sigh, rubbed the bridge of her nose and her brow between two pinched fingers.
TXT: From DA office scuttlebutt? one of their exec engineers randomly grew a conscience. All I know is a he, he’s got a partner and child that are already in DWP and a male lover under police protection, and he’s a smug asshole regardless.
TXT: if that narrows it down. their senior mgmt is about 150 ppl & 95% dudes.
One hour later, after several deleted drafts.
TXT: did you want me to find out names or were you planning on doing that yourself, querido?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] More than enough information for me to go on. You’ve saved me a lot of time.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Thank you.
Ten minutes later.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] When can I see you?
Twenty minutes after that—enough time to keep him waiting, not enough to raise concern, and maybe part of that was getting the pounding heart under control.
TXT: I’m free after work.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Dinner?
Everything is a bit brighter, down in the Cave, suddenly.
TXT: great minds, bruce. My place or yours?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I don’t care as long as I can get my hands on you.
TXT: you know I do expect to be fed and not just in the metaphorical sense.
TXT: though if that’s good I may consider the metaphorical.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I do. I’ll also let you decide when that happens.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Just let me kiss you first.
TXT: it’s just that I had a grand total of two cups of coffee and a stale donut for lunch, querido. usually I wouldn’t be so single-minded.
TXT: and yeah. okay.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] You be eating, Kate.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’ll feed you, first.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] What do you want?
TXT: ay, lo se, lo se. I’ll have what you’re having.
TXT: [attached: five seconds of video: licking her lips, only the lower part of her face visible]
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I don’t think you’re that flexible, Kate.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] If the point of that was to get me hard to the point of distraction.. Well played.
TXT: Oh, come on, you need to eat something besides ‘me out’.
TXT: and you’ll learn that that’s how this works. especially when I’m just as hungry to go down on my knees for you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Should I save it for you?
TXT: yes. I think that’s what we both want here, Bruce.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Then we should change subjects.
TXT: Why, you can’t handle it?
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] Not now that I’ve tasted you. Been inside you.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’m so goddamn close.
After a moment.
TXT: do it. tell me what it feels like. take the edge off so I can spend a long time enjoying you later.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] No. I want to wait.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] It’s better with you.
TXT: god, I can taste you already.
TXT: may need to just call it a day here at work, this is not going to get finished.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’m in the car. Outside.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] We might have to park somewhere.
TXT: I’m decidedly not well informed on places in the financial district where one can screw in public, I’m afraid, querido
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] The windows are tinted.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] I’ll find a place.
[ENCRYPTED TEXT] get out here.
TXT: Already in the elevator.
She was, actually, and managed to walk very calmly and sedately across the lobby, wave at the security guard, and get in the front seat of the car like someone grownup and professional. Slipping her sunglasses off, she turned to look at the driver, eyes dark.
They drive like…like the wind, it’s a silly metaphor but it’s all Kate has at the moment. Not with the air between them nearly crackling, not with every nerve in her body humming in anticipation, not with the way he can’t even look at her while she studies every line of his face as he drives, the faintest taut muscle in his jaw.
Bruce knows what’s good for him, and doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the road. He pulls away from the building at a good speed, driving the car like it’s nothing but another appendage of his: fluid and effortless. And when he passes the alley—no exit doors to the buildings across from each other, no windows with a clear view to the area uninhabited by dumpsters— he pauses, and quickly, nimbly, reverses the car back into the space.
He keeps the engine running, placing it in park with the emergency brake up and takes a long, deep breath.
Without having looked at her once, he turns, suddenly, a hand sliding into the glorious mane of her hair, the other around her waist, and hauls her towards him, mouth open to kiss whatever skin he can reach.
He reaches for her and she slides onto his lap, half-straddling him as best she can in the confined space, back arching a little as he draws his hot mouth, his sharp teeth, against her collarbone, murmuring his name.
There aren’t words for how Bruce feels, when he sees she’s wearing a skirt that day, and it’s the first place his hands go, pushing it, hiking it up so it bunches at her waist, his hands sliding up her thighs before shifting to her shirt.
His mouth presses against her neck, kissing and nipping along her collar bone, her exposed sternum, as he unbuttons her blouse, rolling his hips against her as he struggles to be careful, knowing he can’t damage her shirt, he doesn’t have a spare. Not this time. It’s infuriating, exhilarating and he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s openly panting as she says his name.
Kate’s already wet, was already wet when they were texting, and she’s sure he’s got to be able to smell her when he pushes up her skirt, feel her against his pants when she settles against him.
"Bruce," she murmurs again, because she wants to keep saying it, to see the look in his eyes when she does, like he can’t believe she’d want him.
It’s something like a rolling growl emanating from him then, that punctuates when he untucks, opens her shirt so that he can get at her breasts. He doesn’t bother to undo the bra, but takes a moment to appreciate what she’s wearing: both hands moving to the lower swell, cupping, thumbs dragging over the soft peaks of her breasts from over the material, satin and silk.
Then, he tugs the cups down in a sharp, decisive pull of his fingers at the bottom, and lowers his mouth to suckle, greedily, at one of her now exposed nipples, pebbling it in his mouth.
She reaches back to clench her fingers in the hair at the back of his head as he moves down to suck at her breast, tugging her nipple into a bright sharp peak with his teeth and his lips and his tongue. It makes her moan, spread her legs a little further even though she’s barely got any more room to do it. She’s being as careful as he is, but only because she wants to, because the limitation makes it even better right now, and she bucks softly against his thigh.
But Bruce is having none of it, today.
The smell of her hits him—his pupils dilate, black flaring broadly—and he brings his hand to her thigh, dipping it under her skirt to trace her panties for a second. He pushes the crotch away, and giving the silky folds a perfunctory swipe or two, shoves his middle and ring-finger into the core of her, without warning. He moves them, slowly, but does not give her enough time to really recover before he is picking up the pace.
All the while, his mouth hasn’t left the utter perfection of her nipple, and he switches, dragging his wet lips across her sternum as he goes, taking the other breast in his hand. Between their bodies, he rolls his hips against his own hand, even as he wedges, works it in, thick fingers prying her open. His lips trace her areola, pull back on her nipple, and he speaks, voice rumbling against her skin.
"So wet," he muses, gaze lifting to look at her. “Like you’d been thinking about it even before I said I was coming to get you." His teeth graze her nipple, as he locks eye contact, "..dirty little girl."
It’s a gamble, the word he uses for Kate, but one he’s willing to take, what with the way his dick throbs when he says it, right up against the curve of her ass.
"Dirtier than you know," Kate replies, leaning in to bite his ear, because if this is the game he wants to play, she’ll play it; play by her rules (if he ever referred to her as a girl and meant it, she’d take appropriate reciprocal action), though he might not know that yet.
She’s picturing this as them in a club, up against a dark wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, his fingers inside her—which they are, and they’re glorious, spreading her wide and pushing into her with rough strokes.
Shifting back a little, she pushes her ass into his cock, and whispers into his ear, “You know how to use this thing, tiger?" They both know he does, but this is part of it, ‘tiger’ is part of it (it was nearly daddy but that’s a place Kate isn’t sure she can ever go even in jest, not with him or even Ollie).
His chuckle is low and dark and he responds by pushing her back against the steering wheel, firm enough that she nearly depresses the horn on impact. He shifts himself, the chair sliding back with a motorized hum and he tilts his hand, fingers straining up into her body until he finds the place, amongst the ripples and swirls of her cunt’s desperate kiss at his skin, that the texture inside her changes. Goes soft. He presses his fingers against it, even as he pivots his wrists, fingertips staying in place as the fingers, knuckles work in and out of her.
"You wanna show me?" Bruce groans, looking down between her thighs as he bucks, hard and heavy, against her. He brings his other hand to swipe at her clit’s hood, the calloused pad of his thumb descending to rub short, hard bursts into the tender nub before he removes it.
"Naughty.." He groans, suddenly, a hard ragged breath when he gets another good lungful of her. "..wicked little girl."
The foil sheath of a condom appears in his free hand, going to his mouth.
"Oh, I’m going to show you all right," Kate manages to say, but only just, and it’s choppy, in fine pieces because she’s gasping every time his fingers push in again, increase the pressure on her g-spot. She drags upper teeth against lower lip, a distinct and unconscious gesture he’ll learn eventually is hers, pure and simple, and reaches down with one hand (the other still tangled in and pulling tight on wavy dark) to hike up her skirt, roll it up around her waist.
The car reeks of sex, and she’s sure she’s leaving a stain on his pants—good—as she settles her gaze on him, on the packet in his hand, daring him. “You won’t have had better."
Part of the game.
He opens the condom with his teeth, keeping his fingers firmly buried inside her cunt, his other hand shifting to open the fly of his trousers. He reaches inside, pulling the massive length of his cock out and sheathing it with a smooth push of his hand. He doesn’t bother to unbutton, to pull the pants open so the teeth of the zipper don’t cut into him. He doesn’t care, doesn’t have time, doesn’t want to stop, all of the above.
"Kneel, I want to—" He groans, ducking his head to kiss at her mouth, taking over the abuse of that precious lip, tugging on it sharply. "—need to see how I split you."
Kate rises up, shifting onto her knees, dragging his fingers, clenched deep inside her, with her, before grasping his wrist and tugging a little. He gets the message (it’s Bruce, after all, he knows body language) and seems to reluctantly ease them out as they kiss.
Shifting a little more, she parts her legs further, lets the lips of her cunt graze the head of his cock for a moment, rolls her hips so she can feel it against her clit for just a second. Right then is when she growls, lets go of him, so she can guide herself onto his cock.
It’s a slow process, he stretches her in a way that makes her hiss and arch her back, he’s that damn big, but she’s really, really fucking wet, and she wants to feel each fraction of an inch as they move.
But, Bruce could be the one being imapled for how he stiffens, goes absolutely rigid, his hands moving to her hips with a brutally rough touch, fingers gouging their marks into her. If she bruises, it wouldn’t be a surprise. He bites down on her lip, teeth cracking through the very edge, the fine, delicate skin, and he groans when he tastes the splash of copper against his tongue.
He doesn’t wait for her to settle: holding her waist, he plants his feet on the car floor and bucks his hips up, shoving his cock the rest of the way before dropping back. Repeating the motion until he’s half shoving her head against the roof of the car, his mouth falling open with a dark, vulgar snarl: "Fuck.”
She looks back at him as he freezes, a smile playing over her lips for a moment even as his fingers dig into her hips—he can leave bruises, she’ll take that, let Ollie trace them with his tongue. The smile’s eased away by him biting into her lip, though, and she makes a sharp surprised sound, hips jerking downwards a little with the delicious edge of pain.
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And then—oh, fuck, and then he starts to fuck her, up into the dashboard, into the ceiling, on each move down nearly taking him to the root before he pulls up again.
Despite him working her open, it’s still a shock each time, the kind of deep thrust she loves. In moving, she tries to help, but eventually hangs on for the ride instead, nails clawing down the front of his shirt, leaning in to bite his neck. Reaching down, she catches her clit between her fingers, between their bodies, and rubs hard, bucking her hips as she does, cunt clenching around him even tighter.
“Harder," she hisses, because she can take it, wants it.
His mouth remains latched onto her lip as long as he can, pulling every last droplet of crimson he can into her mouth, to play over his teeth and tongue even as his hips continue to drive up, slam relentlessly into her body.
The noises will be what will haunt him, later, when she’s gone: the sound of his sheathed cock slipping in and out of her body at the brutal rate he’s taking it, makes everything between her thighs, between them, loud and noisy, wet. Achingly, obscenely wet, and there is no tiring of his muscles, he’s worked too damned hard his whole life for this, for this exact moment. His calf muscles are locked tight, heels digging into floor mats, quads tense and close to bursting the seams on the trousers for how he flexes them.
Bruce’s eyes lift, blue dragging along Kate’s body until he reaches her eyes and he nearly stops, nearly slow down to be able to savor the look on it. Her lower lip is swollen, yes, but her mouth is nearly glistening her eyes half-lidded, face flushed, and she’s beautiful.
God. She’s so fucking beautiful, like this, split over his cock, angrily demanding more of him. It siphons the air from his lungs, makes everything get thrown out of focus, nothing else mattering much in that instant besides what she wanted, needed, demanded from him.
Breathing raggedly, a slight sheen of sweat spreading over his brow, across his chest, one of his hands moves down to Kate’s, gripping them both in the broad, expansive hold of his own. His free hand shifts, moves, and depresses the button for the chair to move back, reclining it back.
Bruce remains locked on her wrists, bringing them to rest on his chest, and looking up at her from below, brings his other hand to push through her hair, cupping the side of her face.
He knows she can take it, by now, knows she can handle it physically, even as she gasps and rears up a little in initial pain as he thrusts into her—but it’s only what she’s asked for, and after a moment, hell, even in the moment, she’s loving it, loving how he’s splitting her nearly in two.
Somewhere, elsewhere, the part of her that’s not just focused on how he’s sheathed in her cunt on each upstroke, she notices how his muscles and tendons move (in his legs, in his fingers, that tiny flicker in his jaw as he prepares himself to move again) and memorizes it so she’ll know it when she sees it and feels it again.
She makes a slightly irritated sound when he catches her wrists, even if she likes it, because damn it, she was getting close, fingers sliding in the wet running out of her along him each time he thrust, but his other hand is on her face, almost gentle. Almost as if he’s asking for something, checking on her—
Bruce pulls his hips back, as far as they will go, and bucks into her, harder than he had before. Does it again. Does it again, so hard that the car rocks, that he winces on how the thick root of his cock pulls at her hole, wedging it open with the force of it. He groans, and releases her wrists, bringing his fingers down between their bodies when he pulls back, tracing the rubbed raw skin of her cunt, that clings to him, greedily, and slides his index finger in, against all of the tension, sanity and voices that are telling him he’s taking it too far.
—and then he lets go and his finger’s only on her clit for one blissful fraction of a second before he’s slipping it in against his cock and oh god it’s almost too much and she has to force herself not to tense for more than a moment so he can actually do it.
It’s good, though, when she does, god she loves being stretched, though here and now without any other help and without a bed, she’s not about to let him use any more.
"Not tight enough for you, Wayne?" she hisses through clenched teeth, but the laughter in her eyes lets him know it’s part of the game, that they both know why he’s doing it. Just thinking about Ollie saying what he wanted the two of them to do to her makes her gush a little more wet, settle down further onto his hand and his cock as far as she can manage like this.
Something in the way she says what she does drives a huff of laughter-tinged breath out of him and he groans, his finger twisting inside so he’s looking for her g-spot. It’s painful for him—he presses his nail in against the side of his cock, taking very special care not to clip her with it—so he can’t even imagine what it must be like for her. He almost worries that he’s taken it too far but then her back arches and she makes a heady, dizzying sound and Bruce bucks, suddenly not caring how badly they ruin his clothes.
He turns his finger, stroking up, and when he finds the spongy rise, he attacks it, as masterful as he is at anything.
It’s all overwhelming by now, how he’s inside her, how full he’s making her, and then he has to go and let the tip of his finger graze her inside, just right. there. because of course he knows where he is and what he’s doing, and he didn’t just spread her out for the hell of it. Not that she would have minded.
"Going to make you come, sweet girl," he groans, bringing his thumb down between the wet folds of her cunt, slicking them in the space left after he’s filled her, up and over and down and over her clit.
The bud of flesh is hard and tight, just like everything is tight and hard—the car, the space they take up, how little she can move, how hard he has to thrust, how anyone walking by would be able to tell how hard they’re going at it—and Bruce is sweating now, the front of his shirt damp, his armpits, behind his knees, but he doesn’t fucking care because the air is choking with the smell of her, the nectar of her sex. She’s pulling him out of himself by the root, pulling what makes him sick out of her with each sinfully hot pulse of her cunt, drawing it into herself and expelling it again, where it can’t hurt them, any of them.
She’s driving the sanity out of him with every shuddering pulse of her hips, and he rasps out, thumb pushing up, over the hood of her clit, exposing the pearl of it and flicking his nail along the edge of it.
"You’re gonna come for me, come for me," he orders, commands, “Come for me, Kate."
"Bruce," she moans—whimpers almost, with another sound of almost amazement—and he bucks up into her, moans about how he’s going to make her come. Which he is, she’s not going to last long even before he’d put his fingers on her clit, which is a gorgeous needy relief, she can feel herself clench deep inside, something catch within her, and she rolls her hips to press his cock forward, press his finger harder against her even within the tight confines of her cunt.
"Catalina," he says, and the feeling of her name in his mouth, he groans and he betrays himself, like some whole-body alien hand syndrome, hips moving of their own accord, without Bruce telling them to. His back is arching, he sees her rising up, head shoved into the roof of the car as she scrabbles her nails against it, against him for purchase, tendrils of hair frayed and knocked loose from the professional looking knot it’d been in, with how hard his body tenses and jerks, filling the condom instantly, the searing heat of his seed a light he can focus on as everything darkens at the edges of his vision. Blurs. Fades away.
He’s losing it too, the tiny rational part of her is making that clear, even as she’s clawing at his shirt, trying to find purchase as she rolls her hips again, nearly there, and she will remember that and savor it, what she’s done to him. How he’s called her name, her birth name, like something precious he had to share—but by then she’s coming already.
With the rasp of thumbnail on her bare clit, painfully sweet, the way he orders her to come, she couldn’t not, and she cries out with an initial hard bucking thrust downwards of her hips, then up into the roof of the car as her back arches in rictus.
It’s over fast, but god, it’s a fast that rips nearly everything from her in the process.
In the let down, his hands find the back of her neck, pulling her down and onto his chest, as he remains reclined. His chest rises and falls in sharp increments, leveling out relatively quickly, the cotton and silks damp with how he’s sweat, how hard he’s worked. Worth it, worth every single drop, and he huffs an exhale, sharply, working his hand up into her hair, savoring the dampness there, too, where she’s been sweating herself.
He shifts that same hand, slides it over her back, slipping over her shoulder blades.
"Sweet girl," he begins, half-compliment, half contented-sigh. “Lift up so I can get—" He groans when she rises, and he can slip his hand out of her, a warm rush of fluid making his breath catch. "—there you go, good girl." He brings his fingers to his lips, drawing the excess moisture off with his lips and tongue, even as he continues to rub his hand up and down her back.
He fights the desire to laugh at the fogging of the windows inside the luxury car.
There’s no way they’re going to be able to go out in public like this, even for a minute, and Kate laughs to herself a little as she settles onto Bruce’s chest. She eases upwards, obediently, when he asks, so he can ease his hand away, and after a moment his cock, so he can dispose, swiftly, of the condom (god, the loss of him inside her makes her whimper a little, feel empty as hell).
Maybe Bruce can pull something out of his sleeve for making them look…vaguely decent. Though there’s nothing decent about the way he’s sucking her juices off his hand, and she looks up to watch, hungrily if dazed, licking her lips at the sight of him. He puts on a good show.
He finishes with a tiny bit of lasting pleasure, warming his features, before he settles his hands across her body, holding her close. He is mostly reclined, eyelids half lidded, and he pulls her skirt down, at least over the rise of her bottom, despite knowing how sticky-hot humid it seems in the car, their combined body heat and breath warming the whole space.
After a long, quiet moment, he muses: "..I think I’ll buy this car."
Kate’s startled initially, blinking before she settles back down, lets her head fall back onto his chest, lets him hold her (because god, it feels so good, his arms), even if it’s damn hot in there and absolutely reeks of sex. In the best possible way, though, it’s heady and intoxicating.
"You mean you don’t already?" she asks softly, before she actually starts laughing, soft and truly amused, against his shoulder. “Yeah, I think you better, Bruce."